Authors: Laszlo,Jeremy
Garret swelled with pride for his brother, knowing his twin had single-handedly turned the tide of the battle and, for the first time, many of Valdadore’s defenders thought victory was possible. Garret, wanting to play his part as well as Seth had, turned to resume his butchering when he saw Seth stumble. Freezing again in his tracks, Garret watched the ensuing seconds as Sara peeled off Seth’s helm and then her own, and even from this great distance Garret could see his brother shaking uncontrollably as the deep rumble of a massive war horn split the air. As if they were all of a single mind the black army heaved inward, screaming their guttural war cries, racing to slay the powerful magician at their core. But the black army was not the only ones to respond. Garret realized he was too far away to help his brother but even so began racing full tilt across the battlefield, trampling all who stood in his way, watching the scene unfold before him.
Seth’s troops began barking and howling with rage as they lunged and bounded towards their master, and though unbelievably fast for their size, the beasts could not keep pace with the giant forms of the King and Sirus who raced ahead of the howling throng to protect Garret's twin. None had expected the mage to recover, and Garret watched as his brother regained his feet. Those attackers closest to him vanished, crumbling to piles of ash as their brethren trampled over their discarded armor and weapons. Garret swelled with hope, knowing Seth had bought himself valuable time, and redoubled his speed hoping to arrive in time. But even as Garret began to hope, his hope was dashed within an instant. Garret bounded over and through wave after wave of enemy troops, all the while watching his brother and those wishing to slay him. As the nearest turned to ash, Seth spun to face towards Garret's direction, and even from this distance Garret could see the panic on his brother's face. He watched in horror as Sara clutched her neck and collapsed and as Seth rushed to slow her fall. Then Garret lost sight of his brother, his view was obscured by the many enemies that were nearly atop Seth and Sara. Garret pumped his giant metal legs as fast as he could, now seeing as King Valdadore beginning to swing his massive sword to clear his way to Seth. Getting closer, Garret thought he might have a chance to save his twin, when the unthinkable happened.
Borrik stared in horror as the black horde closed in on his master, and all of his wolven brethren and several Knights of Valdadore raced to intercept them. Borrik was racing among his troops too. Though he had started at the rear he now ran at their center, slowly gaining towards the front as they closed the distance. It was going to be a close race, and Borrik prayed to Ishanya to spare Seth this end as he was a courageous and honorable leader who held to his word. Whether or not Ishanya heard him, Borrik would never know, but in those last seconds, seemingly impossibly, Borrik gained a clear line of sight of his master. It was as if all who rushed the fallen mage stepped aside to give Seth’s second-in-command a clear view. Borrik caught sight of his master and found himself relieved that the young mage yet lived, but skidded to a halt as with a bright flash of light and a concussive boom that sent distant men sprawling and near men vanishing to ash, his master, holding his dying wife, vanished into thin air. The blast left thousands dead and thousands more clutching their ears and eyes. Despite the pain Borrik could not look away, feeling it was his duty to bear witness as the king, his knights Philip and Sirus, the mage Seth and his wife, together with nearly a hundred of Seth’s wolf troops all vanished in an instant and were lost. For a moment no one near the explosion moved, but feeling obliged Borrik raced off again, needing to see ground zero for himself. Arriving at the site he was met by a familiar Knight of Valdadore, his master's brother.
Garret stood where his brother had vanished, Seth’s priest the only other who dared to venture among the ashes. Garret was broken. In an instant he had lost his brother, his king, his commander and all sense of feeling. Garret tilted his head back and gave a thunderous, booming battle cry as his vision turned red. His cry was taken up by all those who fought for Valdadore, especially among the wolf troops loyal to Seth. Knowing nothing but pain and rage, Garret rushed into the remnants of the enemy horde leaving a trail of destruction, hundreds of wolf men following suit. The black horde had been decimated. Having arrived on the battlefield with near forty thousand troops, their number now was near equal to that of the defenders. A single mage had destroyed their army, and none who had seen the mage would ever forget his frightening visage. Dismayed and defeated, the remaining trolls, goblins, ogres and orcs attempted to retreat from the battlefield, harried all the way by a giant bloodthirsty knight and an immense pack of monsters that tracked them down and slaughtered them well into the night, miles and miles into the mountain passes of their own lands.
Borrik raised his stunted muzzle into the air and sniffed for any hint of retreating enemy troops. Finding none he decided with finality that the chase was over. Picturing in his mind his men in ranks upon the top of the hill to the north of the valley where lay the gore-covered battlefield, Borrik sent the image to his many troops with a feeling of urgency, knowing the fight was over. For many hours he and his men had given chase to band after band of retreating enemies, slaying throughout the night over a thousand of the fell creatures of varying races. His troops had come to Seth with vengeance in their hearts, and their living god had provided them the opportunity to deal their revenge. Now, however, having lost Seth in the battle, the troops’ need for revenge was ten-fold. Keeping the pack under control would prove to be difficult in the days to come.
Borrik turned and began to lead the band of wolf men and women down the high mountain trail they had followed in pursuit of a clutch of ogres. Their foe destroyed, the wolf of a priest knew not his future course of action, but realized that in Seth’s absence it was his duty to lead the men, though he did not know where to lead them. All of his captains but one had survived the battle, and Borrik thought it only wise to consult with them to gain a general consensus when they made it back to camp. Thus decided he raced his men the many miles through winding trails and gorges between the mountains, hoping to make camp by morning.
Garret, blessed by Gorandor, had slaughtered any enemy that sought to evade him mercilessly for hours. Though his mind still screamed for revenge, the unthinking, constant act of rushing here and there in bloodlust, slaughtering by the score, had left his body physically drained. A few hours before dawn, he found that subconsciously he had already circled back sometime in the night and was nearing the battlefield, covered in gore and ash, that like the ground, would forever stain his soul.
The red haze fading from his vision, Garret began to weep uncontrollably as he released his hold on Gorandor’s power. Returning to his unblessed size with a shimmer and a popping sound, he stumbled around the battlefield exhausted, dragging behind himself with one hand the massive sword that had dealt a modicum of revenge. Garret no longer felt he had a purpose in life. Growing up his purpose had been to look out for Seth and help his father with the inn. Now he would have to send message to his father that Seth had fallen in battle. Garret knew the man would be devastated by the news, but none the less his father would want to know what had happened. Also Garret felt it was he who should bring the news to Sirus’s widow, who had showed them such kindness only weeks earlier. The king would be mourned by all, and though Garret had not known the man long, he had great respect for the king and had vowed to protect both the man and his kingdom. Soon a new leader would be chosen for the kingdom, and preparations would be made for the old king's funeral. Garret knew songs would be sung and stories told of this battle for generations to come as he sluggishly wandered through the charred remnants of decimated troops. His head hung low, vision blurred by tears, Garret, losing any sense of purpose simply sat upon the blackened earth and gave himself to his grief, letting the sobs and tears escape him unhindered.
Borrik crossed the blackened expanse of ground where the day before his master had destroyed near an entire invading army. Giving his troops the order to leave him behind, he watched as they loped off across the field to join their brethren upon the hill, where the Valdadorian army was encamped. Wanting to pay his last respects, Borrik turned to trudge to where he had witnessed his master's last moments. The sun, having finally crested the horizon, began to burn off a light fog that had settled in the valley as Borrik approached the site of his master's last stand, and found to his surprise that another had come to lay to rest the memory of Seth.
Sitting upon the naked ground, Borrik saw his master's brother prostrated on the exact spot where Seth had vanished. His head hung low, the man sat motionless staring into the dirt between his knees. Borrik understood the man's pain, and grieved with him in his own way, but watching as he approached, Borrik saw Garret release a big sigh and shakily began to rise to his feet. Knowing naught what to do, Borrik strode directly to the rising knight, and grasping him at the wrist, both helped him rise and shook his hand as a comrade. The odd pair stood silently for long moments, looking each other over, each seeing himself reflected in the other's eyes. Garret was a gory mess. The man was stained from head to toe with dried blood and other unspeakable fluids. His only attire, a ragged pair of shredded trousers, clung tenuously to his waist where the last strands holding them in place could split any moment. Garrets eye’s were bloodshot and swollen from grief, and pink and brown streaks ran down the length of his face where tears had mingled with blood and dirt, washing away the stains from his flesh that he would forever bear upon his soul.
Borrik too was a mess. Though his fur was short, bits of gore, blood, and soil matted it down in several places where it was visible beyond his armor, and many gashes and scrapes now graced the surface of the wolf man's hideous armor. His upper lip was split where he had taken a blow to the face, and dried blood clots hung from it down to his chin. The beast looked like a feral nightmare come alive, but Garret could see compassion in the monster's gleaming eyes that betrayed his human emotions.
The two had lost much in this battle. An inn-keeper’s son and the priest to an all but forgotten god, both turned warrior, both loving the same man, had lost him. But both of them knew that Seth had not been lost. He had been sacrificed. Seth had given himself to destroy the enemy and had succeeded. After many moments, both the knight and the priest began to smile anew, reliving in their minds Seth’s great deeds. They spoke together of their thoughts openly, each of them wandering around the site of Seth’s last stand, kicking debris left from bodies turned to charcoal. As they spoke, beginning solemnly, their moods changed and they began to jest and laugh at Seth’s destructive vices. As they talked, walking about the blackened site aimlessly, it was Borrik who first discovered the discrepancy.
Borrik, mid-sentence, stopped the story he was relaying of his fallen master, and spinning on his heel, he peered across the landscape strewn with charred carcasses and shells of armor, littered in-between by the weapons of those who had been vaporized by Seth’s might.
"He's not dead!" Borrik shouted in a half-bark of excitement.
Before Garret could even question the half-wolf, half-man, Borrik continued explaining his realization. Every foe Seth had felled had left evidence behind. In fact, everywhere upon the field surrounding where Seth had vanished, clothing, armor, weapons and ash littered nearly every available space, along with charred bones and singed remains. As Seth dispatched his foes, their bodies were reduced to ash but their material belongings remained.
Borrik rushed back to the center of the great circle burned into the earth, but search as he might, could locate no trace of Seth or Sara’s armor, just as he had suspected. Even the king and the other Knights of Valdadore who had been caught up in the final blast had left behind their weapons and armor. But no sign of the young couple remained. Garret too took up the search and as they sifted through mounds of ash and discarded items, both began to harbor a hope that neither of them had thought possible only moments before.
Seth remained clinging to Sara as he opened his eyes. He had no idea how much time had passed as renewed vigor and power joined with his own being, expanding both his inner aura and his mind. Though he knew his troops had died at his own hands, lending to him an immense amount of power like he had never before felt, he had no time for remorse. Sara clung to life in his arms, having lost most of her blood. Her heartbeat had slowed, becoming sporadic at best. Her breathing was so shallow Seth could see neither rise nor fall of her chest beneath her armor, but had to place his ear to her mouth to feel the slow ragged breaths. It seemed that her bleeding had miraculously stopped. With so little blood left to flow in her veins, a clot had somehow managed to form, staunching the flow. The aura of her life force continued to thrive, but without proper healing, or even some sustenance, her body would be unable to replace the blood it had lost. Seeing there was nothing at the moment he could do, but hope and wait, Seth looked to his surroundings and realized he had been here before.
Seth held Sara in his arms in an immense circular room of stone. It was dark with no source of light, but even so, Seth managed after some time to begin to discern details of the room. Neither door nor window graced the walls, no sconce for a torch, only a dirt floor below and a ceiling too high above to distinguish through the darkness. He had been here before, though not in person. Ishanya herself had graced this room with him in a dream, the same dream where the goddess had first made claim to him.
A shiver ran down Seth’s spine at the realization, and he wondered if the goddess had had a hand in bringing him here.
-End