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

Then, rounding yet another curve in the trail, Sara got what
she wished for. Root after thick root crossed the path they traveled, making
the cart bounce uncontrollably. It creaked and squeaked from the strain as the
cage slid and bounced, shifting its weight across the bed of the cart. Closer
and closer the driver came, and then she had him. Grasping his cloak, Sara
yanked with all her might, pulling him up and off his seat to smash backwards
against the bars of the cage with a crack. The reins falling slack, the steeds
took it as their cue to pick up the pace. Reaching through the bars, she
grasped the man’s head in one arm and grabbed his jaw with the other. Rending
bone and meat from his skull she tore the two asunder, assuring herself that he
would never smile at her misery again. Then, reaching into his belt, she found
the pouch she sought and, pulling it between the bars, she loosened the strings
upon it and produced a key from within.

All the while the steeds pulling the cart raced faster and
faster down the rough and all too narrow trail. Standing in a crouched position
as the cart clattered, bounding down the path, Sara reached through the bars
with the key in hand, careful not to drop her only hope for escape. It took
four attempts with the cart bucking and bouncing, but finally mating the key to
the oversized locking mechanism on the cage she turned it quickly, producing a
loud click.

She flung the top open just as the cart veered roughly to
one side. She looked ahead and saw as one steed attempted to turn off the
trail, straining the leather harness that secured the two beasts together. Ahead,
it appeared the trail came to an abrupt end, and both horses struggled to turn
the cart in opposite directions.

Again the cart veered left, the steed upon that side being
stronger than its kin. This time it was too much. Sara attempted to leap out of
the cage as the corner of the cart struck the trunk of a large aspen, but only
half succeeded. So forceful was the collision that the cart came to a near
complete stop, before rolling over to bounce and land upon the two steeds that
had previously pulled it. The cage was flung from the cart as Sara launched out
of it, her foot catching between the bars just before she exited. Careening end
over end through the air with Sara entangled, the cage came to rest a full
forty feet from the collision, with Sara crushed underneath.

She screamed in both, rage and pain, her bones broken,
organs punctured, ligaments and muscles torn. They tried to mend, but with the
crushing weight upon her it was impossible. Only her head and one leg was free
from beneath the cage, neither giving her the leverage she needed to extract
herself.

Looking around for anything useful she found herself just
feet from the point where the trail ended. Except that it didn’t end.

Watching in disbelief, Sara clung to consciousness as the
trees ahead began to uproot, heaving upwards to rain soil down in all
directions. Once unsecured, they came at her slowly, in strides like those of
men, but without joints to bend with. The nearest, an oak bare of leaves,
loomed over her a moment before slowly leaning down, revealing a face upon its
withered bark.

The tree had deep black eyes that appeared hardened sap that
bored into the trunk. Odd knots formed its ears and a peculiar growth split the
tree horizontally creating a mouth and chin. Moss and lichen clung about the
face, creating the appearance of both eyebrows and beard, but it was the eyes
that held her attention. In the deep dark pools an inner light shone that hinted
of wisdom and experience.

It bent slowly lower and lower, and coming face to face it
inhaled through its small knob of a nose deeply.

“It smells like poison and death,” the living tree said in a
mournful voice that reminded Sara of the hollow sound of wind blowing through
the trees. “Bramble, you take it and bring it with us.”

Slowly righting itself once again, the giant tree creature
moved aside as another took its place. This one was smaller, with peanut shaped
leaves of a dark emerald green and smooth gray bark. The new tree leaned down
as well, exposing a face similar to the previous, but with far less moss and
lichen and smoother, less wrinkled features. A multitude of branches bent down
towards Sara as the cage rolled aside. Instantly her wounds began to mend but
even so she was already pulled up and off the ground, branches bending around
her, forming a new cage to contain her. The branches ranged in size, some only
as thick as her wrists, yet others as big around as her thigh. Upon them,
thousands of thorns as long as her forearms pointed inward at her from all
directions except the floor.

Leaves created a barrier that blocked all visibility beyond
the branches and thorns, but Sara could feel the tree creature rise and turn
before stalking off into the forest.

Exasperated, she plopped to the bottom of her new cell as
her last wounds mended themselves within minutes. She had traded one captor and
one cage for another. Silently she wondered which had been the worse.

* * * * *

Borrik soared westward as fast as his wings and the air
currents would take him. He watched the world pass below, scanning for anything
moving west. The morning had brought with it a storm that blanketed everything
below in white, covering any hopes of finding tracks. Beyond the newly formed
lake and Seth’s magically created chasm he flew and further still, onward past
the towers and wall called Westgate.

He knew he already had Seth’s favor, but in the prince’s
absence he also knew it had fallen to him to look out for Sara. Though a deadly
foe, the woman was less experienced in battle and a shining target to any enemy
looking to hurt the dark prince. Borrik had failed to protect her, but now was
offered redemption. He had flown nearly twelve hours straight when he finally
spotted an anomaly below

Diving low to the ground for a better look, he spotted a
pair of wagon tracks accompanied by horse tracks that seemingly just appeared
out of the snow. Apparently this was its location when the snow had stopped
falling, everything behind that point was covered, yet stretching as far ahead
as Borrik could perceive, the tracks continued. He sniffed the air but could
find no trace of the Princess’s scent.

There was no way to know if she was on the wagon, but with
no better leads Borrik opted to follow the tracks and see where they led. The
snow had stopped but six hours ago, giving the driver an apparent six hour
lead. Borrik was faster upon the air than a wagon pulled by horses could even
hope to be.

Flapping like his life depended on it, Borrik climbed to
gain altitude and a suitable stream of air to navigate. Hundreds of feet up, he
found such a stream and sailed through the sky, his eyes never leaving the
tracks.

It was only an hour later when he reached the edge of the
forest, and circling over it twice concluded that he could no longer follow the
trail from above. Settling to the ground on the very trail where the tracks
entered the trees, Borrik recalled his blessed wings and arms, letting them be
reclaimed by his flesh once more. Then, without hesitation he sprang into the
forest upon all four of his massive limbs. It was an unnatural gait, neither
animal nor human, but it served to lend him more speed and spared his legs all
the work.

Darkness was coming fast, and within the treed canopy even
his feral vision was limited. Sniffing as he went, he picked up the scent of
blood. It was not Sara’s, but nonetheless, if there was a struggle she could be
in danger if she
had
been on the wagon he sought.

On foot, Borrik could maintain pace with a Valdadorian war
horse. His stamina at times felt unending. For an hour he raced through the
woods, following the winding trail that oddly narrowed after each curve. The
scent of blood grew stronger with every step, and in the darkness he reached
the origin of the smell. Here a mix of odors polluted the air, and among them
was what he sought. Not the original blood he had followed, but Sara, and her
blood, had also been here.

Sniffing around, both up and down the trail, Borrik realized
that all the scents stopped at this point upon the trail. The cart had not
traveled any further, which meant that somehow it had left the trail. In the
darkness he began navigating the forest in an ever widening circle from the spot
where the cart and all of its scents vanished.

The light had faded altogether, and now he relied only upon
his nose. Breathing deeply he searched the air for a clue, always moving,
always sniffing. An hour passed, and then another, as Borrik began to lose hope
of finding a trail. He wondered if perhaps somehow the horses, cart, and Sara
had vanished magically. Such things were known to happen with people that were
familiar with Seth. Knowing the magically vanishing scenario unlikely, he
widened his search again and got his first break. Upon a slight breeze he
caught the scent of the horses and began sprinting upwind.

Moments later he caught the scent of Sara, and then again
the horses just after that. He was finally on the right trail. Tasting the air
as he ran headlong into the darkness, Borrik bounded upon all fours, dodging
through the trees like one of his feral relatives.

* * * * *

Mid-morning came and went, as the Dwarven army grew ever
nearer to the source of the smoke. Linaya rode in a near trance, having fallen
prey to the rhythmic pounding of the dwarves’ boots upon the soil. Scouts came
and went from the front lines to the wilderness again at regular intervals, and
she grew accustomed to vaguely marking time with their scheduled arrivals and
departures. She was hungry. No. Famished, and could not imagine what those on
foot must be feeling. They had been rushing all morning to reach the smoke and
find the cause for it. When the army came to an abrupt halt, so dazed was
Linaya that she nearly trampled the dwarves in front of her with her mount.

Yanking the reins at the last possible second, she stirred
shaking the fog from her mind. Up ahead in the front lines, a pair of scouts
talked hurriedly with the king and Gumbi, gesturing with their hands like a
pair of raving lunatics. Apparently on the trail ahead was something big with
clawed fingers that bounced around like a bunny while waving its hands. To be
honest, Linaya found the scene rather amusing until she realized the ground was
still shaking beneath them.

She had grown so accustomed to the vibrations caused by the
immense army she had not realized that they continued even after the troops had
stopped. Then she pieced the puzzle together. They were marching into a fight.

Linaya watched as Gumbi raised a hand, making three motions
with his fist, raising various fingers each time. Quietly the ranks of troops
broke into three equal contingents and began moving as silently as was possible
for a hundred thousand armored troops. They split paths, each contingent
striking out in a different direction.

“What’s going on?” she asked Zorbin.

“We’ve stumbled upon some giants and be preparing to attack
them.”

“Why are we attacking them? Couldn’t we go around?”

“Giants and Dwarves be havin’ history, m’lady, we’ll just
call it a land dispute that’s been ongoin’ near a thousand years. Besides, the
men could use a bit o’ practice.”

“Are they in Smirole?” Linaya asked, fearful that the town
had been slaughtered by the monstrous giants.

“We won’t know till we gets there, m’lady.”

With a nod of understanding, Linaya stopped her line of
questioning, allowing Zorbin to focus on the battle ahead. Riding beside him
slowly, she kept her eyes focused ahead, looking for any signs of the giants.

An hour passed as the dwarves crept down to meet their foes,
and Linaya found the pace slow and grueling. She did not want the dwarves to
fight the giants, but the
anticipation
of the fight with the giants was
a hundred times worse.

Loud deep chanting could now be heard, interspersed with
terrified screams and yells. The ground quaked beneath them and Linaya fought
to maintain control of her terrified steed. Something unnatural was occurring
ahead and she could not help but feel a bad omen approaching their foes.

More minutes passed and finally the giants began to whoop
and scream, having been alerted to the dwarves’ presence. The order to charge
was given, and in unison the dwarves lowered their hammers from their shoulders
and began to pray to their god as they heeded the call to charge.

Away the dwarves ran, calling out battle cries in their deep
guttural voices. Linaya watched as Zorbin called upon Gorandor with a
resounding boom, and he and Xanth sprang forward to join the fray. She knew she
had no place in war, and so followed at what she thought a safe distance might
be to simply observe the battle. It was not what she had expected.

Breaking into the clearing ahead, Linaya was met by a roar
of rage that consisted of hundreds of mind-numbing, booming voices. She had not
been prepared for this. Every story she had ever been told about giants had
consisted of only a handful of the beasts. It was believed that they lived in
small family tribes of a dozen or less. Most thought that there were few of the
creatures, maybe a hundred or so. All of what she had heard was wrong.

In the clearing, which had indeed once been a town, were
hundreds of the huge slobbering behemoths. They had demolished the town and
surrounding farms, building a pyre out of the very buildings and setting it
ablaze. Atop the pyre they had tossed the inhabitants of the city, some who
even now writhed in the smoke and flame seeking an end to their torment. These
were the screams they had been hearing. Beyond the pyre was a huge, crudely
built cage formed from uprooted trees that had been shoved down into the soil
and bound with vines. Within it she could see hundreds of the dire wolves like
the one Zorbin rode. These, she supposed, were to be the next sacrifice to
whatever god the giants served.