The Crowned (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga, Book 6) (4 page)

Five or six at a time was not going to be enough, however,
as his forces upon the west wall began to fail at an increasing rate. There
were more enemies than allies, and within moments the wall would be lost. Garret
charged ahead, swinging his blade wildly, hacking anything that did not evade
him. The city was lost. There were too many to hold off with such diminished
forces. Even the few remaining werewolves realized it, as they all howled into
the night as if of one mind. If things were not bad enough, as Garret focused
his attention on a throng of enemies topping the wall, a series of explosions
sounded as a great wind blasted him, driving him back a step. He had failed
Valdadore’s people.

* * * * *

Seth soared along on his great, black, leathery wings,
feeling at one with the night. His magical wind propelled him on at an alarming
speed that made his eyes water and his flesh rise in goose pimples. Flying was
amazing, even with everything that had gone wrong in the last few months. Right
now he did not have the luxury of dwelling on all of his mistakes. He could not
afford to repeat them, either. It was best to focus on the present, and what he
could do to fix it.

Reaching out, he once again checked his progress. Sigrant’s
camp grew nearer by the second, and Valdadore was only a few miles beyond that.
He had noted the small contingent breaking off from Sigrant’s forces, and
checked in every few moments to see their progress. At first, when the two
forces seemed to collide it appeared that Valdadore was winning. Now, however,
the tide was rapidly turning for the worse. Again Seth shut away his vision of
the gods. It would do him no good to watch if there was nothing he could yet do
about it. He could not get wrapped up in the emotional aspect of what was
happening. Such a mistake had cost him on several occasions. He would arrive
when he could and
then
decide what actions to pursue.

Just minutes passed, and he watched as Sigrant’s camp passed
beneath him. Seeking again a look through his magical vision, he could easily
see King Sigrant himself, but there was nothing Seth could do. Sigrant held too
much power. The aura of the invading king was immense, unlike anything Seth had
ever seen before in a man, and it grew by the second. Seth could not contain
that kind of power. He did not know his limitations, but knew for certain that
the power held by Sigrant exceeded them.

Seth’s own power was immense, having grown more and more
each time a person loyal to him died. But the invading king’s power was more
than five times that of what Seth had amassed. Seth both envied and feared the
man below as he winged overhead. The best he could do for now was assist in
defending the city and try to find a solution.

A minute passed as Seth rushed the great flaming walls in
the distance. Even from here he could see the creatures scaling the walls by
the hundreds, their bodies a stark contrast to the white painted walls of the
city. Then it struck him.

Reaching out as he made his approach to the city, Seth
located his few remaining troops and infused them each with power. Diving lower,
he watched as Borrik noted him, an instantaneous howl breaking from his open
maw, echoed by each of the remaining werewolves as the image of their god was
shared telepathically. Explosions occurred again and again as his troops called
upon the power. Seth dove lower, pulling up just before colliding with the
battlements atop the wall. Ahead of him, perhaps twenty paces, his brother
fought in a rage, hacking and cleaving his way across the wall.

Seth folded his wings behind and around himself like a cloak,
watching the scene play out before him. His brother, lost in rage, made no note
of him even as a cheer erupted from those defenders remaining. The common
troops of Valdadore witnessed Seth’s troops valiantly summoning their blessings
once more, and more still witnessed the landing of the walking, now flying, god.
Seth looked upon his brother, his breath catching in his chest a moment. Garret,
the king, was a wreck. He battled on with one arm, growling and grunting as he
stomped a path. His strikes swung wild more often than not. It was apparent he
was weary and worse, being reckless with his own life and the lives of those
loyal to him.

Seth shook his head.
No emotions
, he reminded himself.
Reaching out, he snuffed out the lives of over a hundred vampires upon the top
of the wall as the defenders again cheered his return. Then, with a thunderous
boom, green and yellow lightning split the air, breaking into dozens of
electrical fingers that crackled, each seeking a foe.

Breathing deeply as his brother turned and their eyes met,
Seth tried to remain focused as the metallic giant’s eyes grew moist, a broken
half grin trying to show through the king’s obvious pain.

Seth merely nodded at his brother before leaping off the
wall and unfolding his wings to glide further down the wall. He could feel
Garret’s eyes tracking him but tried to ignore it.

Landing anew, he watched as Borrik raced overhead, lancing
fireballs, his jaw snapping again and again. Seth reached out, snuffing another
hundred or more invaders, feeling the power rush into his reserves once more. Reaching
out past the wall, he turned his palms downward and let the power free. Unholy
green flame erupted from his hands, spreading out in a wall of death below him,
encompassing the entirety of the wall for several hundred yards. From the top
of the wall all the way to the ground was scorched almost instantly, its white
paint peeling and smoldering as the ashes of enemies floated slowly through the
air to the ground below.

Again and again Seth sprang into the air, only to land once
more and extinguish the lives of his foes within moments. When nearly all upon
the walls or climbing them were destroyed, there remained yet another task for
the dark prince. Reaching into the city, he found those infected by the change.
There were nearly two hundred, and the number was rapidly growing. Focusing his
mind he tugged at the sparks of life from each and every one of them, wincing
as he separated the life of a young baby and its mother. Power rushed into him,
but with so few foes remaining he turned as the battle came to an end, and
strode towards his brother, the king.

* * * * *

Anna watched as the beast-man nearest her exploded in size,
howling as it turned to look down the wall of overrun defenders. There a winged
man settled upon the wall, and even at this distance she recognized him. It was
Lord Seth, the prince of Valdadore. She had met the man once, in the tavern
where she had been employed. She had personally served the man and his young
wife. Essentially, he had made her who she was. For that reason she did not
know whether to praise the man considered a god among mortals, or loathe him.

She watched as he snuffed out the first round of enemies
with nothing but a thought. The defenders cheered. Though she was not the
enemy, she truly wasn’t an ally either. Anna realized that if she did not flee,
her end was near. Unlike these fledglings that fell from the wall to splatter
on the ground below, Anna leapt into the darkness, digging her nails into the
stone of the wall as she plummeted downward, slowing her descent. She had been
feeding unhindered for weeks. Her spawn already numbered near a hundred and
they had spawned hundreds more. But most from outlying towns had gone south
seeking prey, instead of coming here to Valdadore.

She struck the ground, jarring both her ankles and knees, and
waited a few moments until her ligaments repaired themselves before sprinting
away from the city, careful to avoid Sigrant’s camp as well. Looking back over
her shoulder, she glanced to the top of the wall where she could see the
immense king in all of his shining glory. Something about him called to her. He
had looked upon her differently than any other man. She would return to
discover why, after the prince departed. That is,
if
Valdadore survived
the war.

* * * * *

Garret strode towards his brother, releasing his blessing,
not really believing what just happened. In that moment, nothing in the world
made sense. His head spun, as if in a dream, and he found it hard to breathe,
let alone wrap his mind around what it was that he saw. He had seen his
brother’s corpse. Seth
had
died. Nearly the entire kingdom of Valdadore
had witnessed his body impaled on the battlefield. This was an apparition, his
brother’s ghost of some sort. Seth had died.

“Garret,” Seth said smiling, his eyes wet with emotion.

“Seth?”

“Of course. Who else?”

“Seth… You’re dead.”

“I was, yes, but now I’m not.”

“You can’t come back…” Garret paused, his tortured mind
spinning. “Is Dad with you?”

“No, Garret,” Seth replied with a choking sob, obviously
fighting his emotions. “It’s just me.”

“But Dad died too, right? And Jack?”

“Yes, Garret, and I am sorry. It is all my fault, and I
can’t fix it.

“But… how?” Garret managed.

“I struck a bargain with Ishanya to return, it seems she has
yet more plans for me.”

“But you’re really you?”

“Yes, Garret.”

“And you have wings?”

“Yes.”

“What do we do then?” Garret asked, his mind still unable to
understand what was going on in entirety.

“We prepare to hold your city against an enemy, the likes of
which the world has never seen.”

“So what should we do?”

“They won’t attack during the day. Get everyone healed and
rested, you especially. The sun will be up soon. Me and my men will keep watch
through the day.”

“OK.”

Without another word Garret turned, his shoulders sagging
and back hunched. Those near him and Seth upon the wall had heard what was to
be done, but even so he located an officer and gave his orders. All of the
soldiers were to rest during the day and visit the healers if needed.

Garret walked, mindlessly numb, across the wall and down the
nearest staircase. Flight after endless flight he climbed down the steps,
before reaching the street and heading east towards the castle. The roads were
dark, but those who had come to the city for safety inhabited them and watched
their broken king as he passed them. They whispered prayers to him as he
passed, asking Gorandor to look over him. Some thanked him for the solace he
offered them, others simply watched him either in awe or with pity in their
eyes. Garret noticed none of them.

More than an hour passed as he made his trek across the
city, passing through the gates into the castle complex. He first turned
towards the knights’ garrison but then, thinking better of it, changed course
to the mages’ tower.

Knocking upon the door that had once been enchanted to open
of its own accord but had recently been replaced, Garret grinned oddly as the
door swung open to reveal a young woman in a white robe.

“I crushed that once,” Garret said, jerking his head towards
the door.

“Yes, your Majesty, I recall the tale,” replied the young
woman, concern showing clearly in her face. “Let’s get you inside and see if we
can get you patched up.”

* * * * *

King Sigrant felt the loss of each of his newly created
troops. But found solace in the fact that his power did not diminish with each
one’s death. Even if it had, his power was growing so quickly they were each
but a drop in the pond. Slowly he noted the deaths as they came, amused that
Valdadore had such issues in killing them. Many minutes later a small torrent
of connections left him as if a large fraction of his troops had died all at
once, and a moment later another wave of deaths. Within the span of another
quarter hour the deaths stopped, all of the troops he had sent to Valdadore
having apparently perished.

He stepped once more into the crude ring created by the
tents and beckoned to his opponent, one of his most valiant blessed warriors. The
man who was captain to his knights charged at breakneck speed, yet to the king
it was as if he jogged across the meager sparring field. Stepping back at the
last moment, Sigrant thrust out his arm, catching the man under the chin as he
passed, the momentum of his movement ripping the captain off his feet to land unceremoniously
on his back. Again he rose and tried to strike the king, but to a man as
powerful as Sigrant even his fastest warrior seemed slow and weak.
Perhaps
if he were bitten he would again become useful? Maybe if given more strength
and agility he would be a challenge. Then they could spar again and perhaps it
would actually feel like sparing.
Sigrant, bored beyond measure, decided to
test another theory. Walking to the middle of the small clearing he turned and
faced his captain, beckoning him with a hand to continue. The knight attacked
with what was once considered lightning speed, his thrusts and jabs vicious and
relentless.

“Enough,” Sigrant said, looking down to his tattered
clothes, the only proof of the thousands of wounds he had received in only a
couple minutes time. “I suppose that I need not worry, as no blow has the
ability to kill me.”

His knight captain bowed, obviously impressed, and turned to
return to his duties. Sigrant stood a moment longer, a moment that to him felt
like hours, and pondered how Valdadore had managed to kill his troops so
quickly. A man of calculations, it seemed that he may have overestimated the
abilities of his troops and would need more than a single night to destroy
Valdadore. Thus decided, he altered his plan. The city would need to be taken
in a single attack, but required more than a single night. Yet his troops could
not withstand the sun. Calculating the days, King Sigrant smiled. His solution
was being given to him by the gods. All he needed to do was wait.

* * * * *

Borrik settled to the wall, bowing low to his master. Though
Seth had confided in him that he was not a god, now even Borrik doubted the
words. Here he was, risen from death, a true leader and most powerful being. Here
stood a man that could both create and destroy with a thought, altering the
course of creation and making of men, more than could have been fathomed just
months ago. Borrik remained bowed for a long moment of silence, showing both
his obedience and respect. It was a feral maneuver, but one that he could not
overcome. Rising again, he was met by Seth’s smile.