The Champions

by Jeremy Laszlo

  Sigrant could not believe the young king had come out to meet him upon the field. He had guts. Unfortunately, for the young king, he would spill them upon the ground soon enough. Sigrant waited for the next messenger.

  Not more than an hour passed and yet another message of import was relayed. Valdadore had begun a full retreat. Sigrant smiled.

  “Harry their lines, give them no reprieve. Don’t stop until all are dead. Bring me the king’s head.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” the messenger nodded.

  Another fifteen minutes and the army began to lurch forward once again. To either side of Sigrant his ice mages focused upon their task of keeping the lake solid.

  Sigrant’s kingdom was large, fully ten times bigger than Valdadore. He had discovered years ago that those blessed with power were becoming more and more powerful. Each year, those born with the gift were stronger than the year before. Two decades ago he had offered an incentive. For every child a couple had they were rewarded with coin. For every child with the ability to wield magic surrendered into the service of the kingdom, the parents were given land.

  Births increased tenfold. The kingdom’s population exploded. Sigrant grew rich in those with blessings, although the kingdom was now scarce in farm land. More food was needed, and Valdadore was a land of rich soil. Sigrant needed Valdadore in order to continue expanding his kingdom.

  The previous King of Valdadore could not have chosen a better time to perish and leave a child behind to rule in his stead. This was a war a lifetime in the making for the new young king to face. He didn’t stand a chance, and for that, Sigrant smiled.

  Half an hour later Sigrant rode his stallion over the threshold between frozen lake and beach. Proof of the carnage unleashed here was evident everywhere. The ice itself was red. Though the vast majority of corpses had been crushed beneath the feet of his army, pieces still remained of those fallen. The king stopped to appraise one such remnant for himself.

  The head was much as the traitor Vladmere had described to him. It was canine in appearance with a shortened muzzle and sweeping forehead. The flesh was covered in entirety with a coat of short fur. The mage prince was said to have created this race of wolfmen. Sigrant wanted the mage for himself. He could use such power. None could resist Sigrant’s offer either. He should try and set up a meeting with the young prince before he fell to Sigrant’s soldiers. Signaling a runner he gave the command to try and spare Prince Seth, at least for now.

  Ahead, a great circle of ash and charred earth bore witness to the power of the death mage. Even now, Sigrant’s troops circumvented the place, fearful of touching the ashy remains of those lost. Some thought the ground holy, others feared it as being cursed. Sigrant pulled on the reins of his stallion. Leading the animal towards the ash, many slowed in their march to see what would become of their king. Uncertainty even showed upon the faces of the King’s Guardians as they followed him into the ash. Just when all expected him to perish on reaching the center of the giant circle, nothing happened.

  Looking back to the soldiers sworn to protect him, King Sigrant shrugged his shoulders before urging his mount forward once more. Another messenger darted between the lines of troops.

  *****

  Sara was a vision sickening to behold. Blood clots from those she had fed upon clung to her chin and neck where even now crimson stains shone wet upon her flesh. Though most died upon her enchanted swords, feeding her life with each blow, many had fallen to her thirst. Alone, Sara had killed more than a hundred troops. Even with the constant exertion she felt better with every passing moment. With each kill she became more powerful. With each drop of blood she was pleasured with, her lust was temporarily satiated.

  She spun amongst her foes like a dancer upon a stage, twirling and leaping to a tune none but she could hear. Voices cried out around her, some gurgling, and others screaming in agonizing pain, their bodies falling to the ground like so many puppets with cut strings. Yet still she appeared weightless, a vision of perfect grace and agility. So quickly she moved, the blood from her blades rained down upon the air like pink mist wherever she passed. Constantly in motion, Sara swept amongst her enemies, avoiding stray beams of sunlight, fortunate it was a cold, overcast day.

  Hearing the call for retreat she sought out the only one she cared for, still standing upon the field. Finding Seth’s eyes she altered her path. Spinning and leaping she carved a broken trail of gore and blood as she made her way back to her husband’s side.

  It came as much of a surprise when, landing from a leap, one of Sigrant’s soldiers acted by instinct and before Sara could rend him in two, the man slashed wildly at her face. Sara felt the force of the blow. She felt flesh flay from bone as the blade slid down her eye and cheek. Momentarily her vision turned red before it was lost, and hot, wet blood poured from the wound. With more strength than she knew she could muster Sara reacted instantaneously and backhanded the man. His helm crumpled beneath the blow as his head was torn from his body and sent careening over those closest to him. Blood sprayed upwards from his neck into the open air. All of his comrades nearby pushed and shoved to make a wide berth around her. They imagined her a demon.

  Before the head landed amongst the feet of his allies, Sara stood amazed as her vision returned. Reaching up to appraise the wound she was astonished to find it completely mended. So engorged upon blood was she, and so full of life, the injury had healed almost immediately. Though it had not been a fatal one, Sara could not help but wonder how much further she would have to go to become invincible. She loved not being the helpless girl she had been just mere months before.

  Her husband was responsible for the change, and again Sara felt urged to show him her appreciation. She supposed, however, that such affections would be inappropriate for the battlefield. Sara returned to slashing her way through the enemy who appeared to move slower and slower with each and every life she ended.

  Moments later Sara stood exactly where she belonged. With her husband at her side, the two, now surrounded by giant werewolves, moved away from the field of battle on a course to intercept the King of Valdadore.

  *****

  Garret fought on, peering deep into the enemy forces, hoping to see an end. Dismayed, it seemed to him that the invading army stretched on into eternity. The foot soldiers he waded through now were but the first ranks of the army. He could kill them ten to twenty at a swipe, but even so it would take him a day or more just to get through these most basic of troops.

  Decided upon a path, Garret turned to assure himself that all had heeded his orders and removed themselves from the surging tide of Sigrant’s soldiers. He needed to speak with his brother immediately, and beyond that the generals to his army and his counselors as well. His plan was not a complex one, but he hoped it would be effective.

  Over the next hour all of Valdadore’s blessed champions extracted themselves from the enemy lines. Fighting as they retreated, they managed to put some space between themselves and the enemy, though the gap would close within minutes. However, minutes was all Garret needed to share his plan, and as his forces converged upon a single point, he used the precious time to dispatch orders to all who would need them.

  “Seth, I have a plan,” Garret stated to a replied nod. “I need your champions to fight alongside my knights. We will retreat back to the city, slowing the enemy every step of the way.”

  “To what end?” Seth asked, uncertain of his brother’s intentions.

  “From all over Valdadore people come to take shelter in the city. We have to buy them as much time as we are able lest they be trapped outside the walls with the enemy,” Garret replied.

  Heads nodded in understanding from all those that gathered. The king was thinking of his people.

  “Can you spare a couple of your men as messengers?” Garret asked his twin.

  “Yes.”

  “Then send word to Felonus to have his archers regroup and form a line. When the enemy comes into range they are to fire a handful of
volleys, then fall back a mile and regroup again. Send word to the battle mages as well; tell them they can join the archers under Felonus’s command. Let’s show Sigrant that we won’t be herded as easily as sheep. We’ll make him fight for every inch, but we have to use caution. We must slow the enemy’s approach, but we can afford to lose no one. Look out for each other; be aware of your surroundings. We have no idea what else Sigrant will throw at us. Fight wisely.”

  Those were the king’s orders. Instantly, Seth’s troops were all notified as a pair of giant wolfmen raced off to find the fleeing archers. Seth looked to his brother’s worried face one last time before he turned to play his role. Garret appeared worn, as if the past hours had aged him. Seth wondered how much more his brother could handle.

  Turning on his heel, Seth decided it was best to concentrate on carrying out his twin’s orders. The mission was to slow the advance of the invading army. It was now only a few hours after daybreak. Unimpeded, the foot troops of Sigrant could make it to Valdadore by nightfall. Seth had no intention of leaving them unimpeded. Thus he stood and waited as the gap between himself and the enemy narrowed.

  Seth watched as Borrik crashed down among the enemy, landing heavily upon their bodies. He lashed out with blade and magical fire, sending soldiers screaming in panic in all directions. Within seconds a small circle of destruction remained as Borrik took flight once again. Where Borrik left off, his flying female counterpart, Eve, took over. Down she swooped at those who had fled Borrik, and snatching a pair of the retreating foot soldiers up, she ripped them apart with her talons before letting them fall once again. Over and over the scene replayed itself as the distance between the forces slowly shrank.

  Seth reached out with his mind and connected with his remaining troops. He infused each of them with power to sustain their blessings further. The kingdom needed his champions to save those who were defenseless. Yet what good were they really doing, killing these humans in order to save other humans? Did it really make a difference? Lost in his thoughts he absently watched as his men broke ranks and charged their nearest enemies. There they tore with teeth and claws, their blades and might, through the ranks of Sigrant’s soldiers, careful to remain near the front lines.

  The Knights of Valdadore waded back into the fray as well. Slowly, as intended, the defending Valdadorians fell back, little by little, giving ground as needed but slowing the invading army to a crawl. Borrik relayed information from the air to Jonas at Seth’s side, who told his master of the enemies’ progress. Seth focused himself on the task at hand.

  Action upon the battlefield was finally going as planned, or at least that was what everyone presumed, until Borrik relayed a message from the air to his master of an impending danger that threatened to destroy them all.

  Chapter two

  Linaya, the King of Valdadore’s wife-to-be, and Zorbin Ironfist, his most trusted knight, awoke in darkness the morning Valdadore first met its foes. The entire day previous they had spent traversing tunnels bored through the mountain range known as the Rancor Mountains. Hour after long hour the pair were led through one dark passage after another, ever downward.

  Their guide was a dwarf named Gumbi-something or other, a warrior of some sort dressed in lavish armor of a style Linaya had never seen before. From head to toe the dwarf was covered in scales of metal, each polished to a shine. Within each scale a gem had been set, so that the armor glittered and sparkled in the light of the torches they passed in a myriad of colors and hues. Zorbin, entrusted with Linaya’s care, spoke to the other dwarf in their own tongue as they walked. It seemed to Linaya that they walked endlessly down to meet with the ruler of the dwarven race.

  How deep the stout men could possibly have delved into the world, Linaya was unsure. What she did realize, though, was that if forced to flee for any reason, she would never find her way out from this place. Tunnels and other passages intersected at odd intervals with the one they traversed, and to her, each of them looked the same.

  Sometimes the corridor they were in changed direction suddenly, only to veer back the original way again a hundred yards later. Nothing in the warrens of the Dwarves seemed natural to Linaya, yet here she was the oddity.

  From time to time as they walked they would encounter other dwarves. Passing these, or pausing to greet them, Linaya often became an item of scrutiny. The dwarves, seemingly all men, would appraise her, and apparently finding nothing to their liking, would then return their gaze to something of greater import. Linaya felt uneasy.

  That was never the feeling she got when men looked upon her in Valdadore. It was not her usual reaction to the obvious lust that hungrily showed in their eyes. It was something different, new. This was more like panic. Garret had sent her upon this mission in hopes that she could use her looks to persuade the male leader of this race into joining their cause. However, now it appeared that dwarves had no interest in human women. She wondered if her future husband had already been privy to this fact. More often than not, after having looked upon her, the dwarves they encountered on their journey deep into the underworld would look away with pity or disgust upon their faces. What in the hell was wrong with them?

  Here in this world a woman considered almost too desirable amongst humans, was seen as uncouth and abhorrent by the stout race of men who dwelt in it. Linaya wondered just how she would persuade their king to send aid to Valdadore if he could not even stand to look upon her. Her worst fear acknowledged, Linaya found herself trapped. She could not leave on her own, knowing all too well she would become lost in the cavernous home of the dwarves. Yet if she stayed, she likely served no purpose.

  The entire day she walked behind the pair of dwarves who paid her scant attention. She did not understand a word that escaped their lips. Finally, as the day apparently ended, the dwarf in scaled armor led both her and Zorbin to a small chamber off the tunnel they followed, then stalked off after relaying something to Zorbin in the dwarven tongue.

  “What did he say?” Linaya demanded, finally able to speak to Zorbin and aggravated by the long hours of being ignored.

  “He said to rest the night here, since you could obviously use the beauty sleep,” Zorbin responded with a smirk.

  “Ha ha,” Linaya replied. “So if they think me a disgusting wretch, then what purpose do I serve here?”

  Zorbin shook his head, showing that he too was unsure what either of them could do.

  “How did he even know that it is night-time?” Linaya asked another question.

  “He feels it. Do you not?” Zorbin replied.

  “I feel tired. I feel disoriented. I feel we have wasted our time,” Linaya declared.

  “As do I, Lady Linaya.”

  “What is it the two of you spoke of for the whole day?” Linaya asked yet again.

  “We spoke of the goings on here in Boulder Gate. We spoke of days past. He filled me in on the happenings in the warrens, who has passed, the mood of the thanes, and the current temperament of the king.”

  “And you have learned…?” Linaya probed, hoping that her annoyed day of silence had given them something of use.

  “Gumbi thinks it unlikely the king will send aid to our kingdom. He says the thanes have been arguing about mining rights. The king is in a poor mood as of late. He tires of squabbling. He is old and wishes for peace and quiet. However, he is expected to step down soon in which case a new king will be chosen from the houses of the thanes.

  “But how does that affect our mission?” Linaya asked, missing the point.

  “Lady Linaya, the king is old and many expect him to give up his throne. He has made his name and carved it into the walls of the dwarven kingdom to last for all time. He is weary and wants to rest for the remainder of his days. It is time for a new king. A younger, more ambitious king. One who has yet to bring glory or wealth to the dwarves. A new king will want to do something memorable in order to inscribe his name on the walls of his home as well. This could give us an opportunity. If the current king declines
our wish, Garret told us to stay and await new orders. But if a new king takes the throne, we will get a second chance to garner assistance for the kingdom we serve,” Zorbin explained.

  “Perhaps we should begin speaking to the upcoming king now? Do we know who the successor will be?” Linaya asked.

  “No. Each warren will put forward a successor to the king. Some will offer up the thanes of the warren themselves. Then there will be a battle of proving, and he who is to lead the dwarves will be its victor. That victor will become king and lead the dwarven nation into a new era. Hopefully we can sway him to send us help. Unless, of course, we can get the current king to aid us first.”

  “So we may get two chances to succeed,” Linaya thought out loud. “This is good. So what do you suggest we do now?”

  “I suggest we sleep. Gumbi will return in the morning to escort us the rest of the way into the city. Once there we can request an audience with the king,” Zorbin replied.

  So it was decided. Looking around the room Linaya realized that the dwarves were a very talented race. Everything in the room was carved of stone, though she knew not the purpose of the room itself. Into one wall rows upon rows of bunks sat atop one another where more than forty people could sleep. There were as many chairs in the room, and great tapestries clung to the stone walls adding color and life to the otherwise blandness. Upon one wall a small half circle of stone jutted out three feet above the floor, and approaching it Linaya was surprised to hear water trickling. Within the small fountain water ran cold and clear to pool in the center where once again it disappeared into the stone. The dwarves had running water.

  Cupping several handfuls she washed her face and hands, and then chose one of the many bunks to lay down in. Her imagination was filled with what other wonders the days and caverns ahead might reveal, but eventually, long after Zorbin began snoring, Linaya too fell asleep to dream of fanciful things.

  *****