Authors: Laszlo,Jeremy
Awash in the swarm of biting and pinching insects, each the size of a house cat, Seth and those he led or protected were being attacked on all fronts. As Seth unleashed wave after wave of his power, first turning the beasts to ash and then burning the next wave with magical fire, Sara swept Seth’s black blade through the air cleaving bug after bug in two, prancing like a ballerina with her newfound agility and strength. The feline sisters pounced this way and that avoiding the horrific snapping pincers of the insects, landing bodily upon their prey to crush them, before rending each one apart with their clawed fingers. The small soldiers worked with perfected precision much to Seth and Sara’s astonishment. Like an armored turtle each of the small round formations lurched slowly in one direction and then another, spears bristling, lashing out at all foes from all sides, killing the insects by the hundreds. The death mage knew that hundreds would not be enough. Seth had no time to imagine how long such a battle could continue. He had no concept of such astronomical numbers as these, and could not comprehend how each time he destroyed tens of thousands if not more, within a second or two those fallen had been replaced. Nor did he conceive of how the small race of man had managed a barrage like this nightly for who knew how long.
Again and again Seth lashed out with tendrils of his power extinguishing the lives of countless insects, each time giving his allies a couple seconds’ reprieve before the insects were replaced, and so far no casualties had befallen Seth and his allies. For near an hour the battle raged on with wave after wave of countless insects and already Seth could see the effects of the strain upon his comrades. The feline sisters, though still fighting strongly, had slowed measurably as had the small warriors they helped to defend. It was Seth and Sara alone who had yet to show the signs of fatigue as Seth again and again lashed out with his power in an attempt to give those he fought with some respite from the onslaught of enemies. Sara also proved herself in that hour continuing to slash and stab with Seth’s sword with lightning fast reflexes and unparalleled agility and strength, learning the limitations of the body Seth had unwittingly altered for her. But Seth realized it was only a matter of time before weariness took its toll, and he hoped that somehow Borrik and his men would manage to reach them before it was too late.
* * * * *
Borrik peered down the mountainside to a land awash in darkness that even his feral eyes could not penetrate. He knew his master was out there somewhere, and felt with every fiber of his being that Seth needed him now more than ever. The feline sisters’ scent still clung to the air and Borrik assured himself he could follow it with little trouble, though for how long he was unsure. Borrik had hoped to have located Lord Seth by now, knowing with each day that passed his master's chance for survival could be dwindling. Borrik had no notion of Seth’s condition after the battle a week previous, but assumed that something must have gone terribly wrong. Sniffing the air to again catch the sisters' scent, Borrik flexed and relaxed his leg muscles as the last of his troops spilled out of the mountain pass behind him. Ready to again take up the pursuit, Borrik dug his clawed toes into the rocky soil beneath him and at that moment witnessed both his greatest hope and his greatest fear.
Far in the distance from where the giant wolf beast of a man stood, looking down upon the land below, a flash of light erupted. Had he been looking in that particular direction he might have noted its location better. But having seen the flash Borrik swung his great muzzled head and watched intently, hoping to pinpoint the source of the light if it occurred again. Moments seemed to turn to eons as he watched, his canine eyes straining in the darkness to see every detail of a distant location if the chance arose. As Borrik had hoped, only seconds after the first flash, a second blast of light exploded some twenty miles further to the east of his current location. It was no ordinary light however. Even at this distance Borrik could recognize the unnatural fire of his master's creation, blazing in wicked hues of yellow and green.
In a fraction of a single second Borrik’s mind exploded into action. At this moment he felt surer of his purpose than at any other point in his life. First Borrik noted the location of his master. It was a long run by human standards, but to his troops, twenty miles could be spanned in a matter of an hour. It was also downhill nearly the entire distance cutting that time almost in half if they were reckless. But Borrik had injured men to consider too. As he sprung from his perch, , Borrik sent an order to his troops subliminally. The injured were to be left behind along with five troops to defend them should the need arise. The rest of Borrik’s troops took up the chase on his heels, barking and howling like mad animals, their maws gaping and eyes gleaming with ill intent.
So fast was the descent of Borrik and his men they barely touched the soil beneath their feet, careening down the mountainside at death-defying speeds, leaping dozens of yards in single bounds, dodging trees and rocks alike, where one misstep could mean permanent injury or death. Their master had been found, and more, he was fighting an unknown foe, possibly injured and alone. Seth needed his troops and they heeded the call.
It was a third of an hour later when Borrik broke free of the trees at the base of the mountain range known to humans as the Rancor Mountains. Sprinting another few miles through a sea of tall grasses, Borrik watched as again and again his master’s magical fire exploded before them, with every minute growing nearer and nearer. Another mile vanished beneath the feet of Borrik and his pack and as the terrain changed, grassy plains abruptly giving way to desolate soil, Borrik realized his master's dilemma.
Erupting from the confines of the grassy plain that threatened to trip him with every stride, Borrik landed upon the hard barren soil of the no-man's land that separated him from his master with an audible crunch. Taking several strides to slow himself, while his troops piled up behind him, Borrik looked down into a roiling sea of large insects which with each step he crushed beneath his feet. As the insects began to take notice of him and his troops, they turned and skittered towards them with mandibles and claws snapping. The creatures were unlike anything Borrik had ever seen before, though he knew them to be insects. Each of the small creatures wore their bones on the outside of their body, creating a small armored carapace that protected the organs. All of them were near identical with segmented black bodies that had a metallic quality to it. Each of the insects had two large mandibles affixed upon the head marking the mouth, and arms that protruded from the joint in the body behind the head. At the end of each of the arms was a claw akin to that of a crab, and where one was overly large in proportion to the insects, the other was tiny. They appeared to be menacing creatures except for their size. Borrik was easily able to squash them beneath his feet, but size did not always make the difference. Here the enemy had numbers and, so far as Borrik could tell, the number had no ending.
Borrik could see his master's dilemma, and began his race anew, without so much as an order, dashing directly across the expanse of the wasteland crushing the insects with every stride, spraying foul liquids in all directions. Even without a command, his troops took up the chase spreading out to crush as many of the insects as possible as they blazed a trail through the mass of writhing black bodies beneath them. As Borrik and his men closed the distance between themselves and their master, it became apparent that the insects were not confined to the ground. The closer Borrik led his men to Seth, marking the distance with Seth’s regularly timed blasts of magical fire, the thicker the insects filled the air as well. Borrik and his men were forced to slow down, batting their clawed hands at the flying pests in an attempt to clear themselves a path.
Through a haze of large, living insects, Borrik led his troops across the expanse of the wastelands and somewhere near the halfway point Borrik noticed, at the edge of his vision, if even he could be sure of what he saw, an enemy more foul than those they now trod upon and swatted from the air. It appeared to Borrik that the enemy had larger troops at its disposal than the multitude of small insects. Though he was not able to make out any definite details, Borrik was convinced he had seen a much larger creature, and for reassurance as he continued to run on towards his master, he telepathically sent the image to his brethren to which he received more than a few confirmations. Though Borrik did not realize the magnitude of his discovery, he would know its meaning before the night was over.
The parade was a tiresome and long event that was filled with mixed emotions for Garret. It began at the castle and took a circuitous route to the outer wall of the city where it then followed the wall for one complete lap, to again return to the castle in the apparently least direct route possible. Garret understood the necessity for this, of course, but his understanding made it no less annoying. Garret knew the route was designed this way to allow the entire city to bid farewell to their king, as well as the other honored men and women who had fallen in the battle with the black horde. However, the parade moved at a snail’s pace and this caused the mounts in the procession to become agitated, forcing their riders to struggle to keep them in their places again and again which was aggravating. These were not common mounts after all. They were bred for their size and stamina, their speed and strength, and were trained their entire lives for battle, not to crawl along paved roads surrounded by thousands of watchful eyes and children who darted away from their parents in an attempt to "touch the pony". Though Garret revered all those lost at the battle, he could not help but grow annoyed with the whole ordeal. The only thing that made the six-hour procession bearable was the fact that Linaya accompanied him, if you could even call it that.
Those in the parade were expected to be solemn, filled with grief over the loss of their friends, comrades and king. Though most honestly felt such sorrow, Garret and Linaya had found a reason and meaning to the losses that had allowed them to put aside such grief and look for a purpose in the deaths rather than dwell upon them. Even so, expectations were expectations, and so Garret and Linaya put on a sad face and rode the entire parade in near silence not daring to look at one another for fear they might smile. That aggravated Garret to no end.
It was midday when the parade finished, and Garret and Linaya were finally allowed to share a quick smile as they dismounted their steeds before handing the reins to the stable boys who had come to collect them. The moment was short-lived for immediately following the parade was the burial of the king, the other members of the council who had been lost including Linaya’s father Sirus, and also Linaya’s mother had been added to the ceremony following her tragic suicide at the loss of her husband. Garret knew it would take several more hours for the burials. Placing the bodies in their respective crypts did not take so much time, but as with anything concerning the high society of the kingdom, ceremony was involved. By tradition such formalities had become common when those lost were interred, but it was rare that the scale was so large as with this particular funeral. Nineteen souls there were to lay to rest, and though portions of the ceremony were altered to make it more efficient and able to be concluded in a timely manner, it appeared that timely to those who had done the planning was not timely in Garret’s own opinion.
Garret had only been to two funerals in his life, and both of those as a child. One was when his mother died, and the other when Rose's husband, one of their neighbors, had passed away. Even so, Garret hated funerals. Who didn't hate funerals? In fact Garret could not imagine a single person to ever have said that they liked a funeral. It was ludicrous. If everyone hated funerals so damned much, why extend the event out to unbearable lengths? Just say some nice things, give your condolences to the family and be done. Then everyone can go home and mourn in their own way if that is what they choose to do. This ceremony was unbearable by any standard, and yet Garret had to bear it hour after painstaking hour. Finally when he was sure he would explode in a fit of rage and call upon his blessing from Gorandor, simply stomp each of the caskets into the ground, ending the wretched funeral once and for all, it was then, as the service finally concluded that Linaya turned to face Garret and a strange expression crossed her flawless face.
"You look awful, are you OK?" Linaya asked Garret.
Garret was unaware that he had become so angered by the lengthy affair that his face had actually turned red, his eyes becoming bloodshot, as his blood heated within his body, building pressure. Unsure of his ability to speak without sounding annoyed, Garret kept his answer short.
"Damned funerals...I hate 'em," he replied simply.
"Me too," Linaya agreed with a knowing smile on her face.
Leaving the funeral as quickly as they were able, Garret walked Linaya back to the castle proper as the sun dipped below the castle walls leaving everything in shadow. Walking Linaya all the way up to her chambers, Garret and the petite beauty that was his charge spoke for a short while now that he had calmed himself. Like the day previous, Garret promised to return as soon as the council meeting that was starting two floors below them concluded.
Leaving Linaya to her own amusements, Garret strode down the corridor feeling lighter of heart than he had in many days. He took the stairs two at time as a child might, hopping with both feet, and rounded the corner at the base of the stairs. He picked up his pace, as once again he was late for the beginning of the council meeting. As he neared the war room, the main entrance to the castle, a great wooden door that stood across the corridor from the war room itself, swung open and two guards rushed in panting heavily, still attired in their ceremonial armor. Seeing Garret’s approach, they froze in their tracks in an attempt to regain their composure, though both of them looked troubled beyond reason.
"Lord Garret, there has been an incident," one of the guards blurted before being acknowledged.
"What sort of incident?" Garret asked concern in his voice.
"Lord Vladmere has set the mages’ tower ablaze and fled with some of his students, heading west out of the city," the guard reported as his comrade simply panted, nodding his head in agreement.
"Did no one stand to oppose him? You just let him leave?" Garret questioned, and then realized the answer himself.
None could have stopped the battle mage and his students, the mage would have incinerated any that stood in his way on the spot. Garret only knew two men who could have successfully opposed the head of the order of red-robed mages, himself and his twin. Garret could withstand fire in his blessed form, at least long enough to reach and destroy the source, and Seth could have simply dropped the egomaniacal mage where he stood. However, that mattered little now. Garret, without thinking to call upon the council, raced from the castle as the guards to the many gates of the defensive courtyards and various other persons dove to remove themselves from his path. Calling upon his blessing, Garret exploded with a concussive boom to an immense size as he raced down the tiered courtyards of the castle complex towards the mages’ tower, where even now he could see smoke billowing out from the dozens of windows on each floor. At the base of the tower those battle mages loyal to the kingdom fought to control the flames by manipulating them. Even though the mages seemed to be getting everything under control, the inner structure of the stone tower smoldered on, creating vast amounts of smoke and ash rising up through the tower that might linger for hours. As Garret neared the tower two young healers, several stories up the building, began to climb out from the windows lest they suffocate. Garret closed the distance as quickly as his enormous body allowed, and coming to stand a full seven stories below the healers in the window, Garret looked up to the young pair and spoke as calmly as he was able in his deep booming voice.
"Jump and I will catch you," Garret said, his deep voice enhanced by the power of Gorandor pulsing through his body.
The first healer did not even hesitate. Lunging from the stone sill of the window the healer plummeted feet first, his robes flapping as he fell. Try as he might however, Garret attempted to catch the healer as gingerly as he was able, but with his steel-like skin, even his best attempt was met with a cracking sound as the healer met his hands. Even so, Ashton looked up to his friend with a child-like smile, for the moment his adrenaline masking the pain of several broken bones. Carefully, as if he held a small child, Garret lowered Ashton to the ground with a smile, where other healers rushed in to aid the boy. Without hesitation Garret again turned his attention to the window above and repeated his call. "You can do it. Close your eyes and jump, I'll catch you," Garret shouted.
The young healer shook her head and clung to the window frame lest she fall. Smoke rolled thicker and thicker from the window surrounding her, and seeing no other choice Garret, using the windows of lower floors for foot and hand holds, began to scale the building. It was not a long process as the windows were spaced evenly around the tower and up its sides, and as such Garret was able to climb the tower like a giant ape scaling a tree to the very level where the remaining healer still clung for life. Reaching her Garret eventually coaxed the young woman into releasing her grip on the window frame, and with Garret’s help she managed to climb atop his shoulders where she then clung to the collar of Garret’s now immense tunic for dear life, her body dangling down Garret’s back. Garret comforted the woman reassuring her of her ability to hang on as he climbed back down the tower accompanied by cheers from below and others lending shouts of encouragement to the woman. Reaching the ground, Garret knelt upon his knees allowing the woman to slide, with aid from her peers, to the ground safely.
Garret reached inside himself and locked the power of Gorandor away. With a pop he shimmered, blurring around the edges, returning in an instant to his normal size. Seeking out his friend, Garret located Ashton who was being tended to by a pair of his fellow healers.
"I knew she was in the study, and couldn’t find her outside the tower. I had to go back for her." Ashton said, explaining why he and the woman had become trapped within the tower.
"You are a brave man, my friend," Garret said. "There are few that would risk their own death to save another," Garret added, bringing a smile to his injured friend’s face.
Garret turned to the healers working to repair Ashton's broken bones. "See to it that he is well taken care of."
With a final smile to his friend, Garret looked around assuring himself that all was under control. Seeing that indeed the flames had for the most part been extinguished, he turned on his heel and strode back in the direction of the castle.
Garret thought deeply as he walked back towards the most important meeting the kingdom may have ever had, a meeting that he was now exceedingly late to. That was not Garret’s primary concern however. What troubled Garret most was the fact that Vladmere had fled from the castle heading west. Not only that, but the magician had not gone alone. There was only one place for the mages to run to in the west, and the goings on in the kingdom of King Sigrant had already been hinted at by other council members. Garret feared that Vladmere's flight from the kingdom might foretell troubles for its future. With that in mind, Garret passed through the many fortified courtyards of the castle proper, saluting the guards at each gate. As if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Garret strode into the castle and directly across the corridor into the war room, swinging the door back heavily upon its hinges.
As Garret entered the war room he apologized openly for his delay, and relayed the tale of Vladmere's flight from the kingdom as he rounded the massive table to take his seat beside Karishtala, the leader of the white-robed clerics. Each regarded him patiently taking his words at face value, each waiting for him to seat himself. Garret reached his chair feeling that the atmosphere in the room was far different than it had been the previous night, though he attributed this to the tension mounting with the dire need to choose the king's successor.
"Lord Garret," Sulvis, the grizzled old general greeted. "The guards filled us in on Vladmere's tirade after they had informed you, so we are all aware of the situation. You have no need to explain your delay to us. You are a valiant man and a hero, Garret, so if we may continue, I shall give you the floor," Sulvis concluded.
Garret found the quiet faces around him, all staring in his direction, very odd, as if he had walked in upon a conversation not meant for his ears and all mouths had snapped shut mid-sentence. Even so, Garret believed it to be his imagination and so stood to address the council.
"Honored members of the royal council, It would be my absolute honor to present to you for the position of king..." Garret began, but was interrupted by the man he was about to place up for a vote.
Sulvis coughed loudly into his fist, both interrupting Garret and getting the knight’s attention. Garret watched as the old man, shaking his head, began to speak.
"The announcement has already been made in your absence so please just give us your vote Lord Garret," Sulvis informed him.
"Indeed, my apologies again," Garret said somewhat embarrassed. "In that case I vote ‘aye’ to the elevation to the position of king," Garret concluded casting his vote.
The room exploded into applause, each and every member of the council joining in, except of course Vladmere whose seat was obviously empty. They all turned to face Garret with smiles upon their faces.
"Well done, your majesty, well done!" Sulvis shouted over the tumultuous clapping and now cheers as well.
"Wait?" Garret said confused. "What’s going on?"
Realization began to dawn on him. Garret had been tricked, a ploy of the wise Sulvis no doubt, but tricked none the less. Garret had walked into an already completed vote that had been carried out in his absence, and trusting in General Sulvis, he had unwittingly cast the final vote to elect himself the successor to the king. As the applause began to die down and Garret began to feel the vast weight of the kingdom upon his shoulders, he sought to object.