Rise of the Champions

by Nicholas Joslin

  “Those things are disturbing. I’ve never seen or fought anything like them,” Becca said in a worried voice.

  “Fortunately, they’re not too tough,” Goreth replied, feigning nonchalance to impress Becca.

  “They may not be dangerous alone, but it is their numbers that ought to concern you. I have a feeling far more are hiding in those woods than we know,” Seer Mordou replied.

  “Then why wouldn’t more attack?” Goreth asked in confusion.

  “They may not want to reveal themselves,” Valon pointed out. “Anna mentioned a voice; there is a chance someone or something is controlling them all.”

  “That’s what I find disturbing,” Garon replied.

  “You have no idea,” Anna agreed quietly, thinking about Fredrik’s walking corpse.

  They continued up a large hill for almost an hour until they eventually reached a revealing outlook. As the sight before them unfolded, everyone either gasped or mumbled a voice of concern at the terrible sight.

  “Look at that…” Anna whispered with wide eyes

  Garon felt his heart sink as he saw the scale of what they were dealing with.

  From high on the hill, they could see the true magnitude of the corrupted forest. The circular black mass expanded as far as they could see forward, and most of what they could see left or right of them.

  “By the gods … Perhaps Distichum was right,” Seer Mordou said, looking at his apprentice. “Perhaps our land is lost.”

  Garon didn’t know what to say, his eyes locked on the terrible sight before them. From here, he could barely make out some individual trees on the very edge of the corrupted land. It was engulfing everything, and even the open areas had been coated in a patch of growth that extended from tree to tree. It looked as though a world-ending plague was enveloping their entire world, and they were powerless to stop it.

  “We can’t just give up, we owe it to all our clanspeople,” Anna said, looking at the others for agreement.

  “She’s right. This is our home; we can’t give up without a fight,” Becca agreed.

  “Master, if we close the portal, will the forest return to its normal state?” Valon asked.

  “That, I do not know. All I know is we are nearing the place I saw my vision. Not too much farther east now,” Seer Mordou said, seeming nervous.

  “Are you sure? How do you know where we are going?” Garon asked, knowing time was of the essence.

  “I can sense magic lingering from that direction. It is what called out to me in my last farsight. We are going in the correct direction, do not worry,” Seer Mordou replied, seeming unhappy to be questioned.

  Before Garon could respond, something caught his eye. He turned to see the corrupted forest had begun to glow slightly red. As he stared, he noticed the trees on the far edge of the corrupted part of the forest near them had turned red. As it happened, Garon could feel the slightest sensation from somewhere around him, but was unable to process it. However, the two mages were able to do so.

  “By the gods!” Seer Mordou yelled, placing his head in his hands.

  “Master! What is that ungodly energy?” Valon asked in desperation, looking all around them.

  “The forest!” Garon yelled, wondering what the sensation was they had felt.

  “I can feel it too, barely. Like a bile in the back of my throat,” Anna said, looking toward the glowing forest.

  “Aye, I can as well. Is it magic?” Goreth asked.

  “It must be,” Becca replied.

  Garon had no idea what to do and looked between his traveling companions. He wanted to help the mages but didn’t know what to say or do. Suddenly, he could hear a voice somewhere in the distance. No, there were two voices.

  “Do you hear the voices?” Garon asked, looking at everyone else.

  “Voices? What voices do you hear?” Valon asked, still overwhelmed by the magic.

  “Seer Mordou! Your eye!” Anna yelled.

  Garon noticed it as soon as she spoke. The Seer’s glowing blue eye was beginning to turn almost purple, the same red from the forest affecting it. Garon had no idea why the man’s eye glowed like that, but he had figured it was something to do with farsight.

  “Master!” Valon gasped.

  “I can hear them too, Garon. But, how can you? You are not powerful enough. How can you possibly witness such magic?” Seer Mordou asked aloud.

  “But what do you hear?” Becca asked impatiently.

  “Muddled voices,” Garon softly replied, trying hard to hear wherever the voices came from.

  “Dark, conspiring voices,” Seer Mordou added.

  “I can barely make them out now too,” Valon added. “It took me a moment, but I found them.”

  “Found voices? How?” Goreth asked puzzledly.

  “The magic that’s flowing around us, it’s being altered, being used, like voices traveling in the wind,” Valon explained, focusing more on the magic than on Goreth.

  Garon found something familiar about one of the voices. That voice was old, cold, yet full of resolve. The other voice was dark, wretched, and full of pain. He could barely comprehend even hearing them, as it was nothing like hearing with his ears. No, this was a sense, something beyond a normal person.

  “It’s becoming clearer now,” Valon added, looking to his master and appearing visibly in less pain.

  “Yes, I can almost hear them now,” Seer Mordou slowly spoke.

  “Who is it?” Becca asked.

  “Is it the Horrors?” Anna added.

  A few more moments of silence passed before anyone answered. Then, suddenly, all their answers came at once in a gush of magic. Even the evening air blew hard and tossed leaves and other debris around in that moment of clarity.

  “Xerannu,” Seer Mordou repeated.

  “Father?” Garon asked at the same time, looking around instinctively for his father.

  Then as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. The red and green glow faded from the forest and the Seer’s eye, and the flow of dark magic stopped, like they had been thrust back into their own time, cut off from the answers they sought.

  Garon fell to his knees, tears running down his cheeks. He had seen, or rather sensed what had just happened. It made absolute sense; his father, fueled by nothing except hatred and vengeance, would seek any enemy of the Narsho. He understood his father's ambitions, but this was a step too far.

  “Garon!” Anna yelled, running over and placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” Seer Mordou asked, regaining his focus.

  Garon couldn’t reply, thinking only of his father. He should have expected this, should have seen it coming. He had told his father about the one thing the Narsho actually feared. It was his fault his father had done this and had forsaken his people. Until he heard one last tiny wisp of magic whisper into his ear.

  “I am so sorry, my son.”

  Garon began to cry, feeling the fear and confusion in his father’s words. No, it hadn’t been some sort of justice-fueled rage that had caused his father to seek such allies. It was desperation. His father had thought he had only achieved failure his whole life, and now, in one final act of desperation, he had sought out whoever he could to win. Garon could tell his father had done this to prove to his son he was not the failure he assumed Garon thought he was. Yes, in some twisted way, Chief King Mace had done all of this for his son, for his family, for all that ever carried the surname Mace. His sacrifice, while having damned himself and his people, was done in the name of his ancestors and son.

  Chapter 21

  “By the gods, Barod, look at that,” Chieftain Wooll fretted, taking a large puff of his pipe.

  “It’s even worse than I remember,” Titus gawked.

  Chieftain Barod did not reply, but stared at the terrible sight before them. The corrupted forest Anna had spoken of was fleshy, twisted, and oozing with unnatural life. A terrible darkness emanated from the corrupted forest. He tried to think of something, anything to say t
o his comrades and thousands of fighters marching behind him. But for the first time in his life, Chieftain Barod was truly speechless.

  “Bah, I wish Goreth was here. I can’t believe we let the Seer take them off on some strange hunt,” Chieftain Wooll added, crossing his arms.

  “Shall we set up camp here, Chieftain?” Guard Captain Jarult asked, noticing how quiet Barod had been.

  “Oh, yes, we must make camp here. We cannot go into that forest until we are ready for a great fight,” Chieftain Barod said, trying to snap himself out of it. “Make sure this position is as fortified as possible.”

  Guard Captain Jarult nodded, quickly turning and barking orders to the many troops behind him. Chieftain Wooll turned to his second-in-command and gave the same orders. It seemed they both agreed this was as good as any spot. The corrupted forest was about one hundred yards away, though constantly expanding in size.

  For almost an hour they had peace. In that brief time, the warriors had set up their small canvas tents and began to work on creating a rudimentary wall around their enormous encampment. It wasn’t easy to create an outpost quickly, but they knew this peace was only temporary. Plus, the mages of the Ancient Clan were able to speed up construction immensely. Unfortunately, all that work attracted attention.

  A small horde of Horrors burst forth from their gnarled forest and charged at the front of the incomplete encampment. As Chieftain Barod finally laid eyes on the enemy he had heard so much about, he found himself again stunned silent. They were uglier and more otherworldly than he had pictured.

  A group of Ancient Clan mages had been working when the Horrors attacked, and together unleashed enough magic to slay their foes before they even made it to the crude, incomplete wall. There had only been twenty or so Horrors, and now they all lay slain just feet from the wall.

  Chieftain Barod was equally impressed and disturbed at the power of the mages, for they cut down their foes with relative ease, not even having to engage them physically. However, Chieftain Barod had a feeling he knew what the Horrors were doing; that small attack was simply to test their defenses and nothing more. This was not a victory to praise, but a reason to be concerned. Their next attack would likely be far more dangerous.

  “They’re reckless creatures, aren’t they?” Chieftain Wooll asked, staring off into the dark forest ahead.

  “Perhaps. Or whoever commands them does not care if they return,” Chieftain Barod replied thoughtfully.

  Given the sheer number of warriors and assistance of the mages, the encampment’s progress was quickly furthered. In addition to the resources they bought, healthy trees from behind them were cut and used to begin a palisade wall, and for a temporary hall for the chieftains and their advisors.

  Nobody had bothered to count how many humans now stood together in this sprawling encampment, but Chieftain Barod guessed it was in the thousands. The Forud Clan had the most warriors to spare, with the Narsho just behind them. The Linta Clan had a fair number of fighters they could supply, but they weren’t as well trained. Finally, a few hundred Ancient Clan ages of appropriate fighting age and ability had joined them. Chieftain Barod felt odd fighting alongside the mages, as well as slightly guilty that almost half their population had agreed to fight. However, it was a necessity, as only together did they stand a chance.

  The next attack arrived just before the sun set over the encampment. This time, the Horrors arrived in both greater numbers and ability. Unfortunately, the allied clans suffered a few losses from this attack.

  Chieftain Barod ran to the gate as his warriors yelled they were under attack. By now, platforms had been constructed just touching the inside of the palisade wall up which his archers and mages could climb to keep watch. While it gave them a good line of sight, it also made them targets. This made them the first to fall.

  As Chieftain Barod approached the section of wall closest to the forest, a few mages and archers lay dead in the dirt with sharp, organic spikes impaled in their heads. They had died quickly, not even having a chance. Chieftain Barod knelt next to one of the bodies, quickly examining the projectile. It was like nothing he had ever seen. It was not an arrow or anything else he had ever used and looked as though it came directly off the body of one of the Horrors. As he examined it, warriors began yelling from outside the wall.

  He worked his way through the gate behind a line of troops to see a dark mass of mangled Horrors running through the field. As they ran, some tall, lankier Horrors in the back of the formation began to raise their misshapen arms and shoot something forth. A few warriors in the front of the formation fell, being impaled in their necks and heads. That’s when Chieftain Barod realized his assumption was correct and knew the Horrors’ attacks were also ranged.

  “Shields at the front of the formation! Keep them up!” Chieftain Barod yelled to his men.

  “What sort of terrible attack is that? How can they do that?” Chieftain Wooll asked, placing his winged helmet on his head, a piece of armor handed down from the time of the Great Clan.

  “I don’t know. But you have the right idea,” Chieftain Barod said, placing his own finely crafted and ancestral helmet on his head.

  Before he could give any orders, his warriors clashed with the Horrors. Terrible sounds of claws hitting metal and flesh filled the air, quickly followed by the screams of warriors who hadn’t expected such a fierce enemy. Chieftain Barod drew his battleaxe, ready for whatever followed. He watched as more of his warriors poured from the crude gates to engage the enemy. He couldn’t help but flinch each time a Horror howled or hissed, their sounds unnatural and vicious.

  His archers had limited effect but managed to take down the remaining spike-shooters that lingered on the edge of the corrupted forest. Their line was also holding fast, preventing the Horrors from pushing them back within their walls. Chieftain Barod knew they would not want to hide behind the walls, as it was not only a sign of weakness, but left them sitting ducks. Chieftain Barod also knew this attack was not their final either; the Horrors had attacked from a single side, again likely a test to gauge the strength of the clans. He hated waiting, but they couldn’t press into the forest yet.

  Eventually, the few remaining Horrors fled back into the woods, leaving their deceased and dying pack behind without second thought. It was their actions that disturbed Chieftain Barod, as they seemed as intelligent as a human but without any sense of comradery or worry for their own being. They attacked with absolute focus, as if puppets on a string.

  “Get the wounded back in camp!” Chieftain Wooll yelled to the men.

  “Wait!” Chieftain Barod responded.

  “What?” Chieftain Wooll asked with shock.

  “We cannot bring them in yet. Anna said that Bernol changed on their way back after a wound from one of them. If we bring them into the camp, they could transform and attack from within. That could be their plan,” Chieftain Barod explained, realizing he had never told his friend this frightening truth.

  “He what? By the gods! Even if that is true, we cannot leave them out here. They need help!” Chieftain Wooll urged.

  “I know, I know. We must keep them supervised then, or at least together in one place in case the worst happens. We must also tell those guarding them of the possibility,” Chieftain Barod agreed.

  “Then I will do so myself. Some of those men and women out there screaming for help are mine! I will ensure they get the help they need and do not threaten our encampment,” Chieftain Wooll replied eagerly, brushing past his friend and into the fray. “Get the wounded out of there!”

  Chieftain Barod watched as just over a dozen wounded soldiers were hauled off the blood-soaked battlefield. Chieftain Wooll stepped in, grabbing a man and holding him over his shoulder.

  Titus ran up behind him and nearly knocked him over. “Chieftain!” the Champion said, wearing his now refurbished plate armor.

  “What is it?” Chieftain Barod asked, slowly turning around.

  “The dead archers and mages! Th
ey’ve already begun to turn! Just like when I was with Anna!” Titus yelled, pointing back toward the fray inside the camp.

  Chieftain Barod’s blood went cold as he remembered Anna’s tale. He turned back to his friend and noticed the defeated clan warriors on the ground were seizing and returning to life. He had known of this possibility, but not that it could happen so fast.

  Their skin split in some parts as their bodies festered and grew. Bones burst from their flesh as whatever corruption that the afflicted the Horrors overtook their recently deceased bodies. A small blood-red and infectious-green glow emanated around them in the dusk of the new evening.

  “Wooll!” Chieftain Barod yelled, running towards his oldest friend. “Behind you!”

  Chieftain Wooll heard the yelling, and then noticed the glowing bodies of the nine warriors that were turning close to him. Still holding a fallen Forud troop, he almost lost his balance trying to hold on.

  Chieftain Barod flew over the ground between them, but it wasn’t fast enough. The dead transformed too quickly, and he watched as one close to Wooll lurched forward, gnarled sharp hands ready to kill.

  He felt helpless as he watched Chieftain Wooll try to deflect the blows of the afflicted warrior, unable to act quick enough due to the extra weight of the warrior he carried. Despite his skill and strength, the creature finally got a hit in moments before Barod could try to save his friend. The afflicted warrior slashed Chieftain Wooll’s arm, knocking his axe from his hand. Despite this, the chieftain held stubbornly to his fallen comrade, managing to leap away without dropping him. It was then Chieftain Barod reached his friend and decapitated the twisted warrior with a single blow.