The Crowned (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga, Book 6) (8 page)

Zorbin nearly fainted. Over sixty one thousand had been
killed in just over an hour. Sixty. One. Thousand. He wondered how many tens of
those thousands were fathers and mothers who would not be returning home to
their children. Dwarves were not humans. They lived for hundreds of years
naturally, and many here had yet to reach their first centennial. He could not
believe the devastation, and wholeheartedly expected the king to pull back his
forces and return to their ancestral home.

He watched as Linaya trotted up on her white warhorse, tears
streaming from her eyes.

“My deepest sympathies, your Majesty,” she sobbed.

“No, lady Linaya, my sympathies to you,” the king replied,
removing his helm. “I can take my men no further…”

Zorbin’s breath caught in his chest. He had been right. Valdadore
would fall without the aid of Dwarven allies.

“Ye see, m’lady, here on this field I lost five brothers. They
been all the brothers me had. Nine of my cousins fell and two of me uncles. I
am the sole remaining male of my bloodline. It is my responsibility to care for
all of their families. I am sorry but I can go no further.”

Zorbin watched as Linaya broke. Already she had been crying,
but now she was wracked by sobs. Even so, she nodded her understanding to the
king.

“The injured and any others who must be returnin’ home to
carry on their line, or for other honorable reasons will be stayin’ here with
me to bury our dead, returning them to the ground from whence we came. Zorbin
Ironfist, ye take the rest on with you to Valdadore and see to it my oath to
aid your kingdom is kept.”

Zorbin could not believe the words he was hearing. Even
Linaya’s sobs stopped momentarily as she struggled to listen. They abruptly
started anew when she realized that at least some aid was still being sent to
Valdadore. Only this time they were tears and sobs of happiness and relief.

Zorbin bowed his head in respect to the king, thanking him
for the kindness and sacrifice he shouldered the burden for.

“What should we do with them?” This time it was Gumbi that
spoke, motioning to the enormous pen housing the dire wolves.

“I might be havin’ an idea,” Zorbin replied, a crooked grin
appearing from within his thick beard.

* * * * *

Sara sat inside her cocoon of wood and thorn, bustled about
like a ragdoll for many hours. If it had not been for her armor, she would have
been impaled by the great thorns adorned by the living tree thing that held her
captive. Upon breaking the point off of one said thorn, she found it to be
hollow and filled with a dark brown, noxious smelling fluid thats scent made
her feel dizzy and disoriented. Eventually the feeling had passed, but she
could not help but imagine what the dark concoction would do to her if she were
pierced by one of the thorns.

Between the branches she could see their surroundings as
they traveled, though even with her improved night vision there were not many
useful references to make note of in a dark forest. She did glean, however,
that they were steadily climbing up hill. For hours they traversed the forest,
and Sara was certain that they were not alone, catching glimpses of what she
thought were dozens more of the walking and talking trees.

It was near morning when they broke through the trees into a
clearing. Ahead, cresting the hill, was the remnants of an ancient fortress. Though
parts of the walls had crumbled, and buildings collapsed, much of the structure
still remained. Coming to a stop, Sara’s captor turned slowly and sighed
loudly, shuddering oddly.

Peering around, the clearing they inhabited was quickly
growing smaller and smaller as more and more of the tree men slowly extracted
themselves from the forest, filling in the clearing one by one. When they
stopped, they each plunged their root-like feet down into the soil, shaking as
if a cold wind had just blown down their spines.

For several minutes, creaks and groans filled the air as
they all settled into position. Moments later a pair of huge oaken men
appeared. In one’s great tree branch arms, the creature carried the pair of
crushed horses. The other carried the driver and the remnants of the cart. They
entered the clearing, and using their great root-like feet they tore at the
soil, ripping huge chunks of the ground up with each movement. Within minutes a
great hole was dug and into it the horses, cart, and driver were placed. The
soil was summarily replaced and then too, these tree men took to the soil,
planting their roots with a shudder.

Sara had no idea what to make of the events. Walking and
talking trees that buried dead creatures and carts. Who knew? The real question
was, however, what was to happen to her? Did they intend to hold her prisoner
long? If so, to what end?

“What do you want with me?” Sara shouted, not really
expecting a response.

A moment passed and her captor shuddered once more, and the
veil of leaves outside her cage parted slightly, giving her a much improved
view of the ruins and tree men surrounding it. A great groan broke the silence
and from just out of view another of the great tree men leaned forward to come
nearly face to face with Sara. She recognized him as the first tree man she had
seen after the accident. At least she thought it was him, they all sort of
looked the same.

“Every life is precious,” the tree began hollowly. “And
every life deserves its life. But not every life deserves to be among other
lives.”

Sara concentrated on the slowly coming words, searching them
for their meaning. She watched the bark upon the creature’s face crinkle and
stretch with the movements of its speaking. He reminded her of an old man, the
way his features drooped and moved with too much slack.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she shouted back at the
tree.

Several other trees nearby creaked and groaned before their
apparent leader began to slowly speak once more.

“Every life has a destiny and a fate that can only be
changed when encountering another life. Now your life has encountered ours, and
so all of our fates have changed.”

Sara gave up on asking direct questions as there were
apparently not going to be any direct answers, so instead she simply repeated
her previous question.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

The tree creature paused a moment, its features changing to an
expression that might have been contemplation before beginning to speak once
more.

“Your companion and the beasts you enslaved to do your labor
perished in our forest because our lives collided. From that collision their
fates were sealed, and now their only destiny is to feed us by giving nutrients
to the soil. It was a sad and abrupt end. One that would not have befallen them
had their lives not first collided with your life. You, foul plague bringer, elicit
an abrupt end to most that your life collides with. It is troublesome, and must
be stopped.”

Then Sara thought she understood. Her alteration was being
spread and apparently had been noticed by more than just herself. These tree… things…
planned to kill her to stop her from creating more vampires like herself.

“So you plan to kill me then? I thought all life was
precious?” she said, sneering at the creature.

More groaning and creaking ensued from around the gathering,
and old wrinkly face started to talk exhaustively slow once more.

“Your plague creates an explosion of life collisions, ending
lives and altering others’ destinies to something that has no real purpose. All
lives are meant to serve life and creation. The lives you change serve only
death and destruction, constantly killing, feeding, consuming, spreading,
without want or need to make new life. You, Plague bringer, are to remain our
captive until we can decide what is to be your new fate.”

Then it all came together. The tree man was right. He had
said little that she had not heard before from her own husband. Not the exact
words perhaps, but the meaning remained. Life was precious. The gods used men
to create war in order to further their own agendas. By her alteration, and
subsequent series of mistakes, she had changed the natural cycle, accelerating
them all to an inevitable end. The end of life for mankind.

Those infected by her would feed unchecked. They would kill
most, and those who were not killed would succumb to the infection and become
like her, accelerating the process to only one possible outcome. Eventually her
kin would outnumber the uninfected and then it would not be long before there
were no more uninfected. Then they would feed on each other. The extinction of
every race of man was the destiny she foresaw if things did not change.

It was her bite, and her inability to ignore the need to
satiate the thirst that filled her with wanting the pleasure that came from
feeding. Her weakness had served the gods better than any war. She
was
the plague bringer. She was mankind’s worst adversary, and perhaps worse, she
had undermined her own husband, making worse that which he had fought to
prevent. He had died trying to save mankind from the evil gods that used them,
and she had spat on his efforts.

Sara began sobbing, the realization reminding her of her
grief, her loss, and all the evil she had done. For a long time she cried
freely, apologizing through her sobs to Seth for warping the gift of life he
gave her and unknowingly using it against him. The tree people watcher her
silently, allowing her to get all of the emotion out. Finally, when the sun lit
the clearing marking it daytime, Sara’s sobs came to an end. She saw only one
solution.

Hardening her resolve, she turned her face back to the tree
man who looked upon her through the living cage.

“Kill me,” she said, her eyes and nerves steeled.

Long moments passed and again creaks and groans suffused the
air as if the trees communicated amongst themselves. When the sounds subsided
the weathered tree man’s face became animated once more.

“All life is precious. Even yours, Plague bringer. Already
our destinies have been altered by our meeting. Your fate does not lie here,
for killing you would alter the fate of all those you have touched. We will not
kill you, Plague bringer, for to harm you would be to harm life, no matter what
your deeds have been in the past.”

So it was decided. The tree creatures would not kill her,
and she could not in good conscious take her own life. Seth had risked his life
on too many occasions to save her, for her to simply throw away the gift he had
given her. She needed another way to make it all right again. She needed to
carry on what Seth believed in. She needed a purpose, but even if she had one,
she was a prisoner.

“What is to become of me then if you will not kill me? What
am I supposed to do?” she asked.

Many moments of groans and creaks, followed by a little
rustling of branches and leaves later, the tree creature uprighted himself once
more, no longer directly in Sara’s face.

“We do not choose the paths of other lives, nor do we decide
their fates. It is up to each life to do as it chooses.”

“What does that mean?” Sara asked for the third time.

“You are free to choose your own destiny, Plague bringer,
and through it, find your own fate.”

With that, the great thorn tree that held her rustled as the
branches that formed her bars parted, its thorns turning slowly to face away
from her. Leaping from the tree she landed lithely upon the ground, and turning
she faced not only her captor, but all those tree people gathered.

“I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I haven’t… um…
chosen a destiny yet.”

“Then stay among the guardians of Shadra, keep in the depths
of Shadra forest until you find your destiny, Plague bringer.”

Looking around Sara decided that the offer was a kind
gesture coming from the gentle race of giant plant people. It was daylight and
already her eyes were growing weary of the light. If it grew any brighter she
would have to suffer the burning pain it brought. Bowing low to her captors, or
perhaps saviors, she turned and strode into what remained of the fortress to do
some exploring of both the ruins and her own heart.

She could not stay long. Of that she was certain. She needed
to find a way to fix what she had done. A way to carry on what Seth believed
was the answer. She needed a plan. She would stay until night and then begin
the journey back to Valdadore.

* * * * *

Garret stirred and sat up abruptly, thrashing his head back
and forth to gather his bearings. Light streamed in from a window, telling him
that morning had come and gone already, though how much time had passed was a
mystery. Spinning upon his bottom he placed his feet upon the floor, and using
his hands shoved himself up and off of the unfamiliar cot.

Hands. Not hand
. Garret looked down, appraising his
restored arm and hand with a crooked grin. Reaching across to examine his
shoulder, his fingers could not locate so much as a scar where before a
hideous, purple, jagged one had been. He raised his arm, testing its movement
and opened and closed his hand, wiggling his fingers. Everything worked just as
it should. All in all, he felt very well.

It had been a long time since Garret had gotten any real
sleep, and the fog that had numbed his mind the night before seemed to have
dissipated. Stretching his muscles after the much needed rest, he turned
towards the door just in time to watch it swing open without so much as a knock
for courtesy.

“Garret! Er… I mean, your Majesty!” Ashton said with a
boyish smile, his blond bowl cut half covering his blue eyes. “I am glad to see
you fully recovered,” he added, eyeing Garret’s arm.

“Yes I am,” Garret replied happily. “Is this your
handiwork?”

“Yeah. As it turns out, you tend to give us healers more
time to do our work when you are unconscious,” Ashton said, with a cat that ate
the canary smile.