The Crowned (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga, Book 6) (9 page)

“Indeed,” Garret agreed, “Do you know the whereabouts of
Karishtala?”

“Last I seen the head mistress, she was headed out to tend
the troops near the west wall.”

“Thank you, Ashton, I’ll find her. And thank you also for
restoring my arm. It really is amazing work.”

“Anytime, Garret. Well, anytime you give me enough time to
work that is,” Aston returned with a grin.

“Very well. I get the point. Next time I will be sure to let
you do your job.”

“Better yet. How about you just keep the ones you have and
there won’t be a next time?”

Garret laughed and the two friends clasped hands, patting
each other upon the back familiarly.

“It was good to see you, but I need to prepare our
defenses.”

“Be careful out there,” Ashton said. “May Gorandor protect
you.”

“Thanks,” Garret said, striding from the room.

Two hours later Garret approached the west wall, seeking out
the head of the order of clerics in Valdadore’s employ. Locating the woman in
short order, he was saddened to find her normally gleaming white robes soiled
and covered in blood, dirt, and gore. Under her eyes were dark rings, proof
that she too had not rested in days.

“Lady Karishtala,” Garret announced as he approached,
gaining the cleric’s attention.

“Yes, my King?”

“I have a few requests that I would like you to personally
see to.”

“Of course,” she replied, wiping the blood from her hands
onto her already filthy robes.

“First, create shifts during the day for tending to the
wounded, allowing your healers to fill their bellies and get some sleep.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Secondly, your shift is over, get some sleep, we’ll need
you
at your best when the enemy comes.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she repeated with a hint of a smile.

“Finally, Seth believes that the enemy will not attack until
dark, so prepare your healers to man the walls at regular intervals as the sun
sets so that they are in place when we need them.”

“Very well, my King, I will see it done. Oh, and might I add
that you appear in much higher spirits.”

“I am, Lady Karishtala. Some rest and treatment by your
order has given me renewed hope and strength. We all need hope and we all need
strength. So you be sure that everyone gets the rest they need.”

“I will. I promise,” she added with a smile.

With that, Garret turned and strode off towards the nearest
access point to the wall’s battlements. Reaching them in short order, he began
to make the climb up when he witnessed the mutated form of his brother coming
down in the opposite direction. They had many things to discuss.

Zorbin had explained his plan briefly, but with absolutely
no idea if it would work, let alone if it was safe, he proceeded alone. The
rest of the Dwarven forces, injured and all, had fallen back to the tree line,
watching in silence to see how the plan played out.

Calling upon his blessing to provide Xanth with a physical
advantage, Zorbin smashed at the vines woven between two great trees that
formed a small portion of the wall. Heaving his battle hammer again and again,
the vines broke and fell slack, slowly opening a hole in the makeshift barrier
created by the giants. The mass of dire wolves within the pen backed away from
him, but usually skittish, these wolves were cornered and could attack him at
any given moment, even though he worked to free them.

Keeping a close eye on the beasts within the corral, Zorbin
brought his hammer to bear time and again until the hole he created grew. As it
became large enough for the feral animals to escape, some sauntered nearer the
working dwarf, but the hole was not yet large enough for Xanth to pass through
in his blessed form.

Dire wolves were more intelligent than the more common breed
that man was accustomed to. Even so, they were still wolves and they lived much
the same as an ordinary pack. With that in mind, Zorbin continued to swing
until he was sure Xanth could squeeze through the ragged portal. From that
moment on it would be up to his mount and trusted friend.

Stepping aside as Xanth trotted forward, his gleaming eyes
focused straight ahead, Zorbin wedged some large branches and small logs into
the hole, effectively sealing Xanth inside.

Something came over the massive collection of animals,
Xanth’s intentions revealed, and immediately more than two dozen of the wolves
sprang into action. Even though his mount was massive compared to its
non-blessed brethren, and wore armor that protected much of his body, Zorbin
feared for him. Luckily, the odds were better than he had anticipated with so
many animals in the pen.

The dwarves had tried to estimate their number, but with the
beasts’ constant pacing, it was hard to determine just how many there were. To
their best guess, there were more than fifteen hundred of the animals, and now
Xanth faced all of their pack leaders at once. Zorbin watched as his companion
took up the fight, but saw it too through the eyes of the wolf with which he
shared a strange telepathic link while in their blessed form. It was a terrible
thing to see from any perspective, but all eyes remained trained on the pen and
the vicious battle within.

Zorbin watched as the first two wolves lunged at Xanth’s
head but the great beast caught the first in his jaw with a snap and turning,
allowed the second to smash into his armored shoulder. There it stuck
momentarily, impaled by the cluster of spikes that adorned the wolf’s armor at
every joint. But then the remainder were on him. Within a fraction of a second,
near two dozen more of the biggest, most ferocious of the dire wolves leapt
into the fray, putting Xanth on the defensive. Biting and clawing, they went down
in a tangle of teeth and claws. Blood and tufts of fur covered the ground as
the mass of roiling bodies seemed to roll in one direction and then another. Yelps
sounded from time to time, some ending abruptly, others carried out in
mournful, pain-induced cries. Zorbin counted seven more dead but still the
struggle for leadership ensued.

Watching still, Zorbin was happy to see Xanth extract
himself from his opponents. Righting himself, the large wolf pounced upon those
who were smaller than he. Biting and clawing he tore at them, but turning their
disadvantage into an advantage, the smaller wolves began biting at Xanth’s
unprotected belly. In a deeper, louder voice than his brethren, the giant dire
wolf yelped as his belly was torn open. Reaching down with his giant maw he
caught up the perpetrator by its head, and with a snap flung the headless body
away, allowing the wolf’s dismembered head to roll out of his mouth to the
ground.

Still the lesser wolves attacked, tearing at Xanth’s flesh,
but with less than half their original number Zorbin had faith that his
companion would see the deed done. Without warning, another pair of wolves
entered the fray. These ones were fresh into the battle and their lack of
exhaustion showed. Leaping, one of them bit into and clung from Zanth’s neck,
where a torn strap had caused the armor to hang loose. The other latched onto a
leg as the giant wolf struggled to remain upright.

Snarling and giving it everything he had, the giant among
the wolves caught another of his foes in his maw, before leaping upon another,
crushing its spine. Then, charging the wall of tree trunks and vines, Xanth
smashed bodily into the barrier, crushing the wolf hanging from his neck. Shaking
his head, apparently dazed, the wolf slowed noticeably. Zorbin watched as the
remaining nine attackers took the cue and pounced upon the larger wolf, driving
him back to the ground. It had been a feint.

Without warning Xanth began twisting and writhing like a
beast gone mad, his determination driving him to move faster. He drug one wolf
under his paw with his razor sharp claws before smashing another in the face
with his armored head. A third he kicked with a hind leg, an audible crunch
sounding as the smaller wolf was launched backwards. Yet another was felled by
his teeth as the great wolf regained his feet once more. Only five attackers
remained, yet they each backed away, circling Xanth at a safe distance. Panting
and injured, one of the remaining wolves limped towards Xanth and, showing
supplication, fell to the ground before rolling over to expose its tender
belly. The others quickly followed suit.

As if to be sure that there were no more would be attackers
hiding among the throngs of wolves within the pen, Xanth turned then and faced
the large mass of his kin. Barking and snapping, with saliva and blood dripping
from his mouth, he paced back and forth, driving them all back. It appeared
that he dared them to come, daring them to oppose him. Yet none did. Instead,
one by one, and then dozens at a time began to bow the head to him, before
turning to hundreds at a time, each cowering below their new leader. Xanth was
accepted as the new alpha for the largest pack of dire wolves ever seen upon
Thurr, and Zorbin was not only proud of his lifetime friend, but grateful. Now
the dwarves had a chance of making a real impact.

* * * * *

Sigrant screamed in anger as he felt the connections being
stripped, as thousands of his troops died within minutes. His own tent caught
fire too, but so powerful was he that his skin did no more than blister. It
healed just as fast as it burned, though consumed a lot of power to do so. Taking
shelter in a corner of the tent, it took only moments for his mages to put a
barrier from the sun’s light in place. Thick fog blanketed everything, made
more dense by the cold outside air. But even so he watched, as before his own
eyes one of his men crumpled into a pile of ash. The man had not yet become a
vampire. The sun had played no part in his death. An omen that did not bode
well.

Someone was trying to coax them into a fight in the
daylight. King Sigrant wasn’t interested. Instead he preferred to focus on his
preparations, the army’s progress, and consuming more power.

When the attack ended, several thousand had died, and more
had been reverted to their frail human selves once again. A problem he knew
would be remedied before dark. But retaliate, he would not. Not yet. At least,
not with any troops he cared about.

Once they were safe from the sun, messengers began to stream
into and out of the tent of the king, bringing word of what damages and
casualties his units sustained. Several of them mentioned that troops had seen
Valdadore’s dark prince, seemingly resurrected from the dead. Was it possible
he was a necromancer? Or perhaps only the fallen puppet of an even more
powerful force? Sigrant hoped the answers to both were no.

Running his fingers through his shortly cropped, black hair,
he sat back on his cushion as power continued to flow into him. Just three more
days and not only would his army be ready for the attack, but the world would
also give him the reprieve from the sun they needed. Even so, he dared not give
the defenders three days of rest.

“Tell the gnomes to take down Valdadore’s walls,” Sigrant
told the very next messenger to rush into his tent.

If Valdadore wanted to throw fire, he would do a little
throwing of his own.

* * * * *

Seth climbed down the immense stone steps towards the street
below, fully intent on creating a new breed of troops from the city’s vast
rodent population. Instead, however, as he neared the ground level, he was
surprised to see his brother, with arm restored, climbing up to meet him. Garret
looked rested and much more together than he had the night previous, but it was
apparent that much was on his mind. Watching as his brother came, Seth noticed
the stern look upon the man’s face that reminded him wholly of their father and
the look he wore when punishing the boys as children. The expression reminded
Seth anew of his failure to their father, to Garret, and to himself. He would
miss the man who had taken him in, for the rest of his days.

“Seth, we need to talk.”

“I can see that, brother.”

“No. Now I am speaking to you as the king of Valdadore,”
Garret began. “As much as I want to rejoice in your return, the new addition of
your wings frightens me. You become less and less human each time you return to
this city. You are powerful, Seth. Everyone knows that. But you are dangerous. Look
out past the walls and you will see the proof of it. We stood a chance in a siege
against humans, but not those monsters out there. Those are your creations. So
once again I find myself trapped. My kingdom trapped. The only choice I have is
to let you carry on with your plans to ruin more of my people, in a hope that
by doing so we will all be saved. Then I wonder what the consequences of your
actions will cost us in the days and weeks to come. If we somehow survive,
where will these new oddities go? What will they become? Like the monsters
outside our walls, will they return to haunt us, to hunt us, to feed upon us
like sheep?

“Enough, Garret!” Seth shouted. “I get it. I’ve fucked up
more often than not, but rarely has it been my choice. I have been forced into
impossible position after impossible position, and made to make decisions that
no one should make. I’ll take responsibility for my failures. Yes, Dad died
because of me. Jack too, and Rose. Yes, those are my monsters outside the gates
clawing to get in and kill us all, but I can stop them. I know I can. I have to
believe that, or else what is the point of trying?” Seth concluded, fighting
his emotions.

“You are not the only one making hard decisions, Seth. Look
around. Everyone has lost those they loved. Everyone has sacrificed. All I am
saying is this; if we survive this, in the slim chance that we prevail, even
then, you and I will never be the same. I can never forget the sacrifices you
chose for
me
to make. I can’t make any more sacrifices for you, Seth. I
just can’t.”