The Crowned (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga, Book 6) (14 page)

Sara gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

“Yes, I know. Lives and collision. But I didn’t have a
choice. They are formidable for their size. I’ll look after them as best as I
am able. To continue, I still think we are destined to fail. Sigrant is too
strong. If he were to attack the city alone, I think he could destroy it. I
don’t know what his abilities are, but if I had to guess I would say they far
exceed yours, Sara, and I think I know why.”

“I know too,” she interrupted. “I know how it works and I
know how to stop him.”

“Yes, me too, but I don’t think it will work. My plan was to
destroy some of the strongest of his infected troops that feed him power. Then,
maybe when he is diminished, I will be able to end him.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Sara interjected. “When we are
new and weaker, and one we have changed dies, it feels like we lose power, but
we don’t. We just lose a connection to the one feeding us the power. The power
we have already gained remains with us. No matter how many of his underlings
you kill, he will remain just as powerful as he is. There is only one way to
take away his power.”

“I won’t do it,” Seth replied before she could even explain,
having worked it out himself already.

“Seth, it’s what the tree people were trying to show me. For
many to be saved a few will have to die. If I die, how many could be saved? They
would all be human again. You could pluck the life away from Sigrant and it
would all be over. You know I am right,” she said, moisture threatening from
the corners of her eyes once more.

“You can’t ask this of me, Sara. I’ve sacrificed too much
already. I’ve killed people that I loved. I’ll not lose you too. There has to
be another way to kill him.”

“I think there is, m’lord.” Jonas said cautiously, then
waited for his master’s command.

Turning to face the werewolf, Seth eyes locked with the once
human’s own before he spoke. “Tell me how to save her.”

“It is a wicked thing that I speak of, but it seems that we
all agree that for many to live, some must die,” Jonas began, his voice deep
and guttural. “What if Sara was to kill the swine?”

“She can’t, he is too strong,” Seth answered, thinking his
hopes had been raised just to be dashed again.

“So we make her stronger,” the wolf man continued.

“Give her a blessing?” Borrik asked, his own feral mind
chiming in.

Then Seth watched as Borrik’s eyes widened in understanding,
having exchanged the idea telepathically between the wolves in an instant. Seth’s
hope arose once again at Borrik’s expression.

“Explain, Jonas!” Seth nearly shouted.

“Feed her the people of Valdadore and they become warriors,
and she becomes more powerful than he.”

Again, Seth’s hopes fell. It would work, but it put them in
the same predicament they were already in. The change would continue to spread
without end. Lives and collisions. Then it struck him.

“We would need a volunteer who was willing to sacrifice
their life for Valdadore. Preferably someone elderly without any family. Sara
could bite the volunteer, then they could bite more and then they bite more and
so on. Then, when Sara kills Sigrant, we lay the volunteer to rest and our
kinsmen are restored to their former lives! It’s brilliant, Jonas!”

“We will likely still have a fight on our hands,” Borrik
chimed in again.”

“Yes, but against humans,” Seth replied. “I can handle
humans just fine.”

Linaya rode her great white Valdadorian war horse with the
ease of a veteran. She was thankful to those who followed her, led by Zorbin. They
were not the force she had hoped to bring, but they were more blessed warriors
than Valdadore had, and as such she was certain they could help. Having left
the carnage of the battle with the giants behind, they had rode the remainder
of the day and straight on through the night. For the most part their travel
was free of incident, minus a dwarf or two hundred falling off their mount. It
would take some time for the smaller statured men to learn to cling to the
beasts with their shorter legs.

Even so, they pressed ever onward still, racing through the
day in hopes of reaching Valdadore by mid-day the very next day.

She prayed often that they would find Valdadore intact,
unharmed, and her army bolstered by the kingdom’s people. If King Sigrant
wanted a fight, she believed he would find one in Valdadore.

Onward they raced, finally breaking free of the mountain’s
forested slopes, thundering out into the foothills beyond. Linaya and Zorbin
had spoken earlier in the morning as the sun and moons crept into the sky and
seeing a reflection on the horizon now, she shouted and pointed off into the
distance.

“Zorbin, it looks like water over there!”

Though the only response she got from the stout dwarf was a
grunt and a nod, he veered his brave mount, altering their course, and the
course of the many who followed.

Within a quarter of an hour they thundered up to the large
spring-fed pond. Dismounting, they cleaned their faces and took their fill of
the cool refreshing water. Their mounts drank thirstily, and the thousands of
riders let them. Though Linaya was anxious to continue on, it would be of no
use if their mounts faltered before they reached the city.

Two hours later, the pond’s water level moderately depleted,
they regrouped, remounted, and rode off once again, pushing their mounts to
their limits in hopes of saving a kingdom.

* * * * *

Seth sat with Sara, finally alone together for the first
time in what felt like eternity. They had spoken a while, telling each other of
their affections and how much they had missed one another. But now they simply
sat enjoying each other’s company, leaning into a corner of the room together,
seated upon the floor.

Seth’s mind, as expansive as it had become, was at present a
muddled mess. He believe that he was beginning to unravel the truth that had
been kept from him. He no longer believed that Ishanya had
sent
him
back. If she had, then what was the purpose of changing him? He found it more
likely that it was Sara’s bite that had revived him. If that were the case,
then why the ruse?

Why would Ishanya bother with such a hoax? Making him
believe he had died and she was doing him some big favor by sending him back. Making
him swear to follow her desires precisely. Why, unless she felt she was losing
control? Could a god lose control? Could he be beyond her power? Did she have
the ability to simply end him like she had threatened? Seth had so many
questions that his brain hurt. But the questions alone were enough to bring him
to at least some measure of understanding.

Weeks ago, in a temple long forgotten in a land far from his
own, Seth had discovered something about himself when trying to revive Sara. His
aura was like hers, like every human’s in fact, except that the main connection
within him, that swirling maelstrom of connections, was different in him than
in any other being he had studied. Inside him it was the exact opposite as it
was within every other person. Something about him was fundamentally different
than every other human.

Seth wondered. He questioned everything. Lives and
collisions, the tree people had spoken of with Sara. He wished he had more time
to ponder the things swirling in his mind. But two things were certain. First,
he would follow his oath to Ishanya and uphold his bargain. His companions
might do different, but he, himself, would do as he had said. Second, he would
not bow the knee to a god again, and if faced by one, he would be ready.

* * * * *

In the plane of immortals, Gorandor looked out across the
tapestry that wove time with fate and destiny. He watched the tiny
possibilities grow, knowing that it was a risky thing, playing with fate. He
knew the possible outcomes, and knew that the margin between them was
uncomfortable to say the least. Even so, Ishanya could not be allowed all her
tampering without some retaliation. Looking out into space and time, Gorandor
could already see the first stirrings of ripples created by the tiny pebble
Valonore had cast into Thurr. None could judge with certainty the outcome of
the ripples, but changes were certainly occurring in the world below.

He peered intently into the world he had helped create, and
further still into the human kingdom of Valdadore. Delving further he stood in
the heavens, looking down upon what was perhaps his most powerful warrior. The
king of Valdadore called to him from the floor of Gorandor’s own temple.

He listened to the pleas of his devout follower, the human
asking for much of the same that most asked for. And yet Gorandor knew he would
provide the mortal with the support he needed. At least for now. Even the fate
of this mighty human was uncertain due to Ishanya’s meddling. Ahead, in the
ever flowing torrent of time, the warrior King of the human nation would reach
a fork in the road. The fork he took would determine his fate. All Gorandor
could do was hope that his loyal follower chose the correct path, as it was the
mortal’s free will that would be the deciding factor. If the mortal king
remained wise and honorable, Gorandor imagined him having a life that spanned
centuries. If he fell from grace, then it was likely he would meet his fate
much sooner.

* * * * *

It was Borrik and his wolves that had the deed of seeking
out that particular lamb that would be led to slaughter. Taking them to the
temple devoted to Ishanya, they spoke briefly to the grotesque priestess, and
within moments she asked her congregation if they held such a volunteer that
would be willing to die for the glory of Ishanya, and likely save the city and
her people in the process.

It all sounded a bit crazy when the woman said it.
Glory
this, oh heavens that
.
Thee and thou
, and the whole nine yards just
seemed a bit over dramatic. Had Borrik done it when he served as the priest
here, he would have been more direct. Then again, he hadn’t had a congregation
to speak to at all, so who was he to judge?

The great beast of a wolf man watched as the priestess
concluded, and hands shot into the air. If you could call the way old, sick, or
frail people raised their hands, shooting. To be honest, he didn’t care who was
chosen. Any one of them could die and it would make no difference to him. They
were old. They were about to die anyhow. Barely the sentiments of a priest,
Borrik chided himself. But it was true.

Picking the first hand he saw, the volunteer slowly
up-righted herself, first pushing herself with her hands to the edge of her
seat slowly, before rocking forward and grasping the pew ahead of her. Another
rock and she pulled with her tiny, frail arms and managed to rise to her feet. Hunched
over, and looking through her barely visible white eyebrows at them, she began
to shuffle her feet towards them. Borrik could have killed her then and there. Shuffle,
shuffle, shuffle, her feet barely moved, not even bothering to lift off of the
floor as she inched ahead so slowly, Borrik imagined he could drool faster.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Borrik looked to his men, his annoyance spread to
them via their telepathic link. One stifled a wolfish grin, replying with an
image of Borrik attempting to carry the woman, her heart failing in the
process.

It was true. Any little thing could make this relic keel
over. And yet at this pace, she would age another ten years and die well before
they brought her back to Sara. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

“Jonas, go and see if perhaps Princess Sara would be willing
to come here instead, and as our prince ordered, we’ll leave him out of it.”

“I will bring her, besides, granny here can start by feeding
on the rest of the congregation.”

Borrik watched as his next in command darted through the
corridor and vanished up the stairs to the street above. He tracked his
progress through the city using visual cues from Jonas’s own eyes and thoughts.
The wolf was resourceful, climbing to the roofs in order to take a more direct
route. Borrik was pleased with the man.

* * * * *

King Robert Sigrant was growing impatient. His power was so
vast he could no longer speak with humans or even fledgling vampires. Even
slowing his voice and movements as much as possible, he was beyond their
comprehension. He needed neither rest nor food, and the desire to feed was long
behind him. The satisfaction his harem gave him was no longer enticing, the
constant flow of power into him far exceeding the pleasure mortal flesh could
bring. He could destroy Valdadore with his own two hands, he believed, ripping
the city stone from stone, if not for one thing standing between them.

Rumor had it the Dark Prince had returned from the grave,
and if that were true, then even Sigrant dared not guess the extent of the
black mage’s power. Instead of risking himself against the prince, Sigrant
would wait until his army was complete, a goal that was only hours from being
met, and unleash the entire horde upon Valdadore.

If nothing else, it would be a good test to see whether or
not the prince lived, and if he did, what were the extents of his powers. Though
trying to wait the remaining hours, a task that equated to several months for
someone who lived at such speeds, was hard enough, the real task over the
previous day had been keeping the army in check.

Nearly every one of his troops thirsted for blood. All of
them could smell the human city and see its walls, knowing blood was just
beyond them. Some resorted to biting one another but the result was less than desirable.
It seemed that vampire blood made vampires incredibly ill. Some to the point of
a rapid death. Word had spread quickly and fortunately no more of his troops
were succumbing to such a disgusting fate. Containment was becoming the issue,
though not nearly as much during the sunlight hours.