The Crowned (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga, Book 6) (7 page)

The dwarves, apparently expecting the same as Linaya had,
did not seem to know what to do about the massive infestation of their mortal
enemies. Breaking into smaller and smaller groups in order to engage so many of
the giants, the dwarves’ lines were thinned out. Even so, the odds were near
two hundred to one. At least for the first few moments while everyone,
including the giants, recovered from the shock of the situation.

For a split second it was as if the world held its breath,
as all was silent before the chaos ensued. Linaya watched as the giants began
pulling huge clubs from their crude belts, or uprooting yet more trees to bash
the dwarves like insects. Though many of the dwarves were blessed, they were
tiny in comparison to the giants. Even Zorbin, more than twice his regular size,
was only a third of one of the smaller giants.

The dwarves, it seemed, had a few mages at their disposal as
boulders formed out of thin air to fall like a rain upon a select few of the
giants. Even so, it began as a bloodbath. The giants smashed the dwarves with
their clubs and stomped upon them, smearing them from under their feet like
cockroaches. Orders were shouted here and there, but could not be heard over
the screams of dying dwarves and the giant inferno blazing at center field. Finally
Linaya watched as a giant toppled, his ankle shattered by a blessed dwarf’s
hammer. Moments later another fell ,and then another, as dwarves scrambled to
get out of the way and rushed in once again as the behemoths smashed to the
ground. It seemed the dwarves had devised a method to bring the giants down.

Within minutes a few dozen were felled, but already
thousands of dwarves had been lost. Linaya forced herself to watch every
bloody, gory moment, trying to memorize the heroics that took place upon the
field in an effort to keep herself from being sick or breaking down. It was
horrid to watch the dwarves being slaughtered and not be able to do anything to
help.

More giants fell and then even more. Perhaps six dozen or so
had been brought to ground and slaughtered, but the dwarves lost hundreds in
comparison to each singular giant. Then, when no one thought it possible, the
battle took a turn for the worse.

Rushing from somewhere beyond the field of battle, a giant
unlike any other any of them had seen or heard of appeared. She was no bigger
than the average giant, and sported four arms like the rest of them, with a
boney beak-like structure for a nose and a huge round maw filled with rows and
rows of razor sharp teeth. Her attire is what immediately set her apart.

Upon the giant’s body, great runes had been drawn and each
of them glowed green upon her skin. In one great hand she held a collection of
skulls that dangled upon a cord, collected from her own kind. Opposite that
hand she carried a giant staff carved from an immense tree, its roots were
braided around a huge green colored crystal that served as the top of the
staff. The entire length of the shaft was also decorated in the glowing runes
that adorned her skin.

Linaya watched as the creature reached the far edge of the
battle and touched the tip of her staff to the ground, chanting unintelligible
words in a deep and booming voice. Within seconds the staff and giant burst
into bright yellow light, as a green fog began to rise from the ground and
envelope the nearest dwarves. Those within the fog died within seconds,
coughing and spasming, spewing blood from their mouths as they drowned on their
own fluids.

The fog spread in an ever growing circle, having no effect
on the giants, who stood above the fog breathing fresh air. Linaya knew the
battle to be over, her hopes of saving Valdadore dashed. The dwarves would be
lucky to save themselves.

Seth stood upon the wall, watching both the camp a few miles
off and the western horizon. Sigrant’s forces showed no signs of stirring,
though his vision of the gods assured him they were indeed within the multitude
of tents erected just a few short miles from the city. More than half of them
had changed. By the next day the process would have been completed.

The horizon showed no signs of change. He hoped that at any
moment Borrik would wing into sight, carrying Sara aloft in his arms to return
her to his master’s side. Thus far no such thing had occurred. Seth still had
faith that Borrik would see the deed completed, no matter how long it took.

So instead, Seth stood silently within a deeply cowled black
cloak he had acquired during the morning, the lone defender upon Valdadore’s
walls. His men were gathering the only beasts within the city that they could
find with excellent night vision and strength. Rats.

He intended to bolster his troops with rat men. It was a
decision made of necessity, but hopefully would serve the purpose he intended. At
least the rats were proving plentiful in some places within the city. Already
cages had been filled with hundreds of them. Soon he would begin experimenting
to find the perfect combination of human and rat to suit his purposes. Until
then, Seth decided to send King Sigrant a little welcoming message.

Focusing his thoughts, Seth reached out across the miles to
Sigrant’s camp. It was a long distance, but Seth was determined. Sending out
tendrils of his power, he created illusions of himself and hundreds of his
werewolf troops surrounding the tent city. Sweat beaded upon his forehead with
the effort of maintaining so many illusions, but still he was not finished. Now
he needed the enemy to see them. Concentrating his efforts, he focused on the
air above the enemy encampment. There he forced his will and power to become
one, as hundreds of thousands of tiny droplets of fire sprang to life to rain
down upon the tents in the enemy camp. Within seconds the screams started as
small holes burned through the canvas of tents, allowing rays of sunlight to
penetrate into the darkness. The fires spread and soon entire tents were
engulfed as Sigrant’s vampires fled the fires to be caught in the sun.

Screams and death cries filled the air as great plumes of
smoke arose from the encampment. Those vampires caught in the sun caught fire. Burning
and blind, they only helped to spread the destruction. It was near ten full
minutes before Sigrant’s mages created a dense fog to blanket the camp,
effectively blocking the sun and smothering the fires. Before they were done,
however, Seth reached out to the mage nearest the invading king. Just paces
away from Sigrant, Seth latched onto the aura of the mage and tore the bloated
life away from him, letting the man disintegrate into a pile of ash before his
king.

Then
Seth was satisfied. Thousands had died in mere
minutes. Thousands more had seen his apparitions. More importantly, when the
vampires died something miraculous happened. Thousands more within Sigrant’s
camp were changed, their auras becoming fully human once more. Seth pondered
the possibilities. He was beginning to understand just how Sara’s condition was
being transmitted and used as a weapon. Already he was developing a theory on
how to defeat the blood-sucking horde, but in case he was wrong he turned and
stalked back down the steps of the castle wall. If Sigrant’s troops came to
call he would easily see them coming with his magical vision.

His thoughts returning to Sara and Borrik, he climbed down
the many flights of remaining steps in preparation for the day’s activities.

 * * * * *

Linaya watched as the masses of dwarves parted and a single
soldier darted between them, as boulders began to rain down on the giant
shaman. She watched as not only did the dwarves part, but they began to flee
from him in all directions. The giants realized something was amiss and several
began to rush the lone warrior, but the dwarf ignored them and continued
running as fast as his short legs would take him.

As it appeared he would be intercepted before reaching his
target, the dwarf raised his hammer and without so much as pausing brought it
down to the earth with a blinding flash of light. Following the light by a
fraction of a second was a concussive boom, the likes of which Linaya had never
heard before, and following that the ground split in a wide chasm, beginning
where the dwarf had struck and snaking out towards the shaman. Linaya managed
to watch as the blessed dwarf sentenced himself to death, his momentum not
allowing him to stop before he careened over the edge of the chasm he had
created, never to be seen again.

The shaman could not react in time, and neither could those
giants who had rushed the hero. All of them plummeted into the abyss, giant
masses of flailing arms, legs, and echoing death screams. Other dwarfs then
rushed the chasm and, bending to the ground, they began to glow as the chasm
began to close, the dwarfs working to mend the damage they had done.

The battle resumed once again as it had been before. By the
time the chasm was closed another fifty giants fell, but not without taking a
toll. Nearly thirty thousand dead dwarves littered the ground, some of them
smashed and smeared to become indiscernible from those around them. Even so,
the ratio was beginning to change in the dwarves’ favor.

Linaya watched as a huge brute of a giant swung his club low
to the ground, flinging dozens of crushed dwarves into the air to rain down
upon their comrades. Again and again, the giant repeated the process
unhindered. Linaya’s mouth fell open as she saw Zorbin charging the brute from
behind upon the great dire wolf that served as his steed. Without slowing, the
armored dwarf and wolf crashed into the giant’s legs from behind causing them
to buckle unexpectedly. Down came the mighty giant, crushing dozens more
beneath him as he crashed to the ground. Those nearest that survived the
debacle charged in and swarmed over the creature like angered ants. Within
seconds the giant’s screams of rage ceased.

More and more giants fell, and finally it seemed the dwarves
would have victory as the remaining giants began to flee. But that was before
she realized just what was happening.

* * * * *

Zorbin and Xanth brought the brute down in a twisted heap. It
was the third behemoth they had felled similarly, and were getting quite good
at it. Leaping back into the fray, they dashed across the field to the nearest
giant and watched it tumble as they neared. Doing their part they sprang upon
the giant, Xanth ripping and tearing with teeth and claws while he brought his
massive war hammer to bear against the giant’s joints and skull. They had lost
many men, far too many to even be believed. Scanning the field, he estimated
they were at half the strength they arrived with. Fifty thousand dead in less
than an hour. The thought sickened him.

Leaning in his saddle to guide the giant wolf, they lent
themselves to yet another felled foe and watched as the remaining giants began
to flee. Sadly it was not the terrorized flight of a defeated foe, instead the
giants ran a short distance and turned to fight once more. At first, Zorbin
thought them regrouping. Until he heard the screams.

Turning in his saddle, he watched the unthinkable. Those
dwarves that had fallen in the noxious fumes created by the shaman had begun to
stir once more. Their comrades thinking to help, rushed in to lend aid. It was
not long before they realized the error of their thinking.

The re-risen dead of the Dwarven army clutched and clawed
their comrades down to the ground, ripping off the rescuers’ armor before
beginning to feed upon their flesh. The newly dying cried out for help but none
dared enter the fray against such unholy creatures. The giants had not fled,
they had simply placed Bouldergate’s army between themselves and the living
dead. Once again the dwarves were attacked on two fronts. Without any options,
all they could do was begin felling the giants once more as those nearest the
revived dead re-killed their own kin.

Zorbin was now closer to the undead than the giants, and
shared a concern with Xanth through their telepathic link. They agreed that
Zorbin would do the fighting, in case the wolf could become infected by biting
the mindless creatures.

Charging into the tottering undead, he was disgusted to see
that those who had been bitten by the undead began to spasm and jerk about
uncontrollably before vomiting blood. These men were repeating what the
previous had done and would likely rise again as well.

Leaping into action, Zorbin began bashing the creatures,
learning almost instantly that they ignored any injury that did not put their
head out of commission. So it was that he guided the great wolf through the
throngs of undead, bashing skulls with his war hammer, as if it were a
sickening game of sport.

Before long, boulders began to rain upon the undead, ending
them in mass quantities. Not wanting to risk being struck by friendly fire,
Zorbin and Xanth extracted themselves from the undead and watched as the giants
began to flee in earnest, their numbers having been whittled down to no more
than a couple dozen survivors. The dwarves let them go. Too many had already
been lost. Minutes later the barrage of falling boulders stopped, having
smashed every last one of the undead dwarves to bits.

A horn trumpeted, and every dwarf turned and began to
converge between the giant altar of fire and the massive arena of caged wolves.
Zorbin followed as the dwarves formed into ranks in order to calculate their
losses. Some brought the injured with them, others hobbled about confused, and
were ushered into place by those without injury. In just minutes a count was
made, and Zorbin reached the king and Gumbi just in time to hear the news.

“Thirty seven thousand sir, and just over sixteen hundred
injured.”

“We lost thirty seven thousand?” Zorbin asked, devastated by
the news.

“No, Zorbin,” Gumbi replied, his face ashen. “We have only
thirty seven thousand men remaining.