The Crowned (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga, Book 6) (10 page)

Without another word, Garret turned and climbed back down
the flight of stairs he had climbed. Seth watched him go, his breath caught in
his chest. He was the only one who realized the enormity of what was really
happening. For fighting an unwinnable battle against the gods themselves, it
was
he
that got the blame. Nodding to himself, Seth began once again
down the stairs. He had hoped that, after this battle, Garret would listen to
his pleas and join him in the fight against future wars. Seth needed allies to
help him bring peace to a war-torn world. They needed to stop fighting. They
needed to stop praying. They needed to stop begging the gods for favors and
stand on their own two feet. Eventually the gods would fade away and people
would be free. But Seth couldn’t do it all alone.

Reaching the street, he continued on with his original plan.
He needed new troops. Valdadore needed his troops. Ishanya needed his troops. It
all fell on his shoulders, and he would bear the weight of the world if he
needed to. Seth became focused the moment he arose from the dead.
No more
emotion
, he reminded himself.
Calculated decisions.

An hour later Seth stood in the storeroom of the textile
district, looking over the multitude of cages filled with the foul rats that,
since its creation, Valdadore had tried to rid itself of. Yet now, the
creatures they had sought to eliminate would become their only hope.

Fortunately for Seth, in the centuries that they had been
trying to kill the creatures, man had developed hundreds of efficient ways to
capture the creatures in a nearly ceaseless flow. Within the room lay the proof
of it. In a single day, collecting the traps throughout the city designed for
the rodents, his men along with members of the city guard had brought Seth tens
of thousands of the creatures.

Within the storage room, cages were stacked in precariously
high piles, each of them filled to capacity with various breeds of the
creatures. The room smelled of their urine and feces, but there was little help
for it. With a thought Seth snuffed the life from them all, containing the
auras within his mind while simultaneously coating the room in ash. Perhaps, at
least, there was help for the smell.

Then, again, it was up to Seth to carry out the worst part
of his plan. Men and women were all but gone, leaving behind the old and weak, or
the young and inexperienced to rebuild Valdadore. With such a circumstance
before him, he had given his men the orders to bring him anyone who had reached
puberty. In the street outside, his future troops stood. They ranged from
eleven to sixteen for the most part, all of them children still, all of them
too young to die. Yet again it was Seth who was likely sending many of them to
that fate.

Stepping into the road, Seth motioned for Jonas to begin
sending them in. Many sobbed, afraid of what would happen to them. These were
not volunteers like all of his previous men had been. These were the children
who had come to the city with their parents for safety, only to be left behind
when their parents marched off to war with Seth and the king. Now they were orphans,
inhabiting the streets just like the rodents they were about to be infused
with. Seth shook his head, reminding himself that this was their only hope.

Unsure what ratio of rat to human he would need, he
estimated and poured the rodent life forces into his first round of subjects. Each
of them fell to the ground writhing in ecstasy as their auras melded with those
of the rats. Each of the children’s skulls began to elongate, stretching to a
point in the front, and dome in the rear. Large teeth sprouted from the fronts
of their mouths, as hair began to sprout and thicken upon their faces and
bodies. Seth found it odd as muscles began to develop beneath the flesh of the
normally undeveloped teens. Their ears grew and grew, becoming large circular
additions to the sides of their heads. The children’s arms lengthened, and
their back legs grew thick and muscled beneath the fur. A tail snaked out from
the base of their spines, which too thickened slightly and curved, giving the
teens a slightly hunched look, forcing their heads and thickened necks forward.
Just as Seth had hoped, their fingers grew into sharp claws, and toes became
thick and strong, also ending in razor sharp claws. He had judged right.

Just like his wolves, it took about two thirds human to one
third rat. In this case, the one third rat consisted of nearly fifty of the
creatures’ auras. As their changes completed, the young warriors began to rise
and appraise themselves and one another as well. This is why he was taking them
in groups. Seeing that they were not alone in the change, the children took to
it more easily.

One of the boys, perhaps fourteen, flexed his new muscles
for a pair of the girls before leaping up to the rafters with a single bound. Once
there, he bit through a corner of one of the stout wooden beams, chewing the
wood as if it were bread before leaping back down once again. Seconds later,
all of Seth’s new creations were taking to the walls and rafters, learning
their new bodies in little time at all. Children were better suited to the
change it seemed, with a rapid ability to adapt. Though unfortunate, they were
his only choice, it appeared the children were going to serve his purpose quite
well.

* * * * *

Linaya stood back, holding her steed by the reins. The
warhorse had run with a single dire wolf before, but even the well-mannered and
highly trained beast was beginning to show signs of doubt. Just a hundred yards
ahead of her nearly two thousand dwarves, each with a blessing that lent itself
to war, mounted a dire wolf of their own. It was an incredible sight,
especially for a race that did not generally use mounts. Zorbin had been an
oddity in this respect.

She was still uncertain how Zorbin could explain such a
desire to Xanth, and beyond that how in the world Xanth was able to communicate
that to nearly two thousand other wolves. It had to be a man thing. A grunt
here, a snarl there, and wholla, problem solved. It sure as hell didn’t make
any sense to her, how it had been accomplished, but nonetheless, she was
ecstatic that it was.

The plan was fairly simple. She and the mounted dwarves
would rush ahead to lend aid to Valdadore as quick as was possible, and nearly
twenty thousand other troops would follow on foot to arrive in about ten days. She
estimated that she and the mounted dwarves could make it in two to three days
depending on the speed of the wolves, and exact distance to Valdadore.

Placing her foot in a stirrup, she pushed herself up and
swung her leg over the saddle, climbing upon her own mount. Looking ahead, she
pulled the reins as Zorbin motioned for her to come to the front of the line.

Joining the knight of Valdadore, she took her place beside
him as they began at a slow trot, allowing those behind to grow accustomed to
riding.

“Up here yer mount won’t be seein’ all them wolves, scaring
the balls off of it,” Zorbin explained to a replied nod from Linaya.

Made sense, except for the balls part. Obviously another man
thing. Nonetheless, they were on their way to Valdadore. As expected, however,
within those first minutes dozens of dwarves fell from their mounts, bruising
buttocks and egos alike, but before an hour they managed to pick up the pace
with only a few minor setbacks.

As they raced along at a steady run, Linaya exalted with the
wind in her hair, knowing she was going home. She imagined running into
Garret’s arms, the contingent of mounted dwarves standing behind her, a show of
her contribution. Sure, maybe she didn’t do much to acquire the troops, but it
was her fantasy, so who would be the wiser?

Smiling, she kicked the flanks of her mount, driving it to
faster speeds. Zorbin and Xanth kept pace easily, and behind them an immense
pack of bounding beasts carrying armored dwarves rose and fell with each
powerful lunge for as far as the eye could see. High above them, the two moons
chased the sun across the winter sky.

Borrik sniffed and sniffed, catching a faint scent here and
a stronger one there. He had been charging headlong through the forest for
hours to no avail. Every time he thought he lost the trail he would catch the
scent again, but could swear that he had already traversed this area before. Turning
off the trail of the scent, he instead decided to climb the hillside and find a
better vantage. Perhaps from the top of the hill he could perceive a better
course to take. Running, still, as fast as his four limbs would take him, he
picked out a safe route with his keen eyes. It came completely unexpectedly
when his foot caught a root, causing him to trip and careen end over end, right
into a bush filled with huge thorns that he could swear had not been there just
a moment before.

Climbing to his feet, he extricated himself from the itchy,
pokey, and painful annoyance, plucking the thorns from his flesh and fur where
armor did not protect him. Droplets of blood trickled from the tiny wounds,
tinted an odd shade of brown. Borrik could not recall seeing his blood that
color before. Stalking away from the bush, he felt as if he might have hit his
head in the fall. It felt heavy upon his neck, wanting to lean this way and
that to drag him off course. He stumbled once, and caught himself before
running directly into a tree that he had not seen there just seconds before.

As his eyes closed he swore to himself that something
unnatural was going on in the forest.

Borrik floated in a cloud of blackness. Looking below him,
he could see his temple. The one he had maintained and watched over near his
whole life. Now, however, a mutated woman who was a grotesque mix of human and
orc stood upon the dais, preaching the beliefs of Ishanya to a large crowd of
followers. Then he was gone, floating away on the cloud once more.

Again a scene appeared below him and he stood below himself,
naught but wolf and man, leading a charge against the black horde. Ahead of
him, Seth and Sara vanished into thin air. The sight still put knots in his
stomach.

The cloud carried him away once more and he watched himself
riding a giant to the ground, a makeshift spear protruding from within its eye
socket.

Next he was dragging the injured king, and spun to witness
the impaled form of his master, a god among men whether he believed it or not. Oddly,
Seth’s corpse twisted upon the pole it was impaled upon and looked at him,
raising an arm to point at him. Not to the him dragging the king, but the him
riding the cloud. The whole thing made Borrik feel uneasy, but then it was gone,
only to be replaced once again.

This time he looked down upon himself standing next to his
master. Both wore leathery wings and armor. Sara too was at their side, and
others were with them that he did not recognize through their helms and visors.
Behind them stood an immense army, armored and clothed in black, that stretched
from horizon to horizon. Across from them stood another army, the two facing
each other across a great field of battle. Borrik heard the familiar cry, “
For
Valdadore
”, before once again the scene was gone, and his black cloud
opened to engulf him, dragging him down into darkness.

* * * * *

From the top remaining floor of the tower at the corner of
the ancient Shadra keep, Sara stood in a shadowed alcove overlooking the return
of three of the tree men, who had left shortly after she had gone exploring.
Entwined in one of their branches was a tangled mess of gray fur, leather, and
armor, that she could not quite make out from this distance.

The tree people lowered the bundle to the ground, stretching
it out before securing it down with their own rooted feet. She could not
believe what she was seeing. Leaping from the building, she sprinted faster
than she could ever recall and with a single bound cleared the remnants of the
outer wall of the keep. Sliding to a stop, she arrived just in time to hear the
tree things speaking.

“It smells like poison and death,” said the first tree man.

“You mean like the Plague bearer?” a second asked.

“Yes,” replied the first. “I think like she, it is a
creation of the Abomination.”

Then the third tree man turned to face her.

“Does this creature belong to you, Plague Bringer?”

“Yes, he is a friend of mine,” Sara replied quickly. “What
has happened to him?”

Sara looked over the limp body of Borrik. He was swollen all
over, his flesh bulging everywhere it escaped his armor. His eyes darted
beneath their lids, and even through his fur it was obvious he was perspiring
at an alarming rate.

“Bramble put him to sleep with the sap from his thorns, but
do not fret, Plague bringer, he will rise again.”

With that the tree men removed their feet from his arms and
legs, freeing him from their holdings. Sara, though physically much smaller
than the fallen wolf man, pulled him up to a seated position and, ducking under
his arm, managed to lift him and drag him up the hill to the ruins without much
hassle. There she sought the shadows, dragging the limp form of Seth’s second
in command with her. Once safely in the dark, she stripped his armor, allowing
his flesh the chance to breathe.

She did not know how he had found her, but was torn between
being grateful he had come, and being disappointed that she still did not have
an idea what she was going to do. All that was left for her now, however, was
waiting for him to recover. Sitting silently she did just that, pondering what
would drive him to seek her out, unless the war was over. Had Valdadore fallen
so easily?

* * * * *

Seth spent the day melding children with rats, ten to
fifteen at a time. Though most handled the change well, there were those who
despised the alteration. But there could be no help for it. Seth’s heart went
out to the children, though he could not afford to become emotionally invested
in them. Such a bond would lead him to making bad decisions in the heat of the
moment, and that could not occur again.