The companions rested in the tavern of Paldoon’s Hold, the trio having traveled as quickly as they had been able for the better part of a week. It had been near two decades since any of them had been this far south, this close to the capital. Much had changed in those years, yet much more had remained the same.
All three had planned together to come to the capital with the spring thaw, having heard tales of the past Choosing ceremony. Yet with the impending war, it seemed the king himself had called them out of retirement.
Many still traveled from the fringes of the kingdom following the king’s orders to gather at the city of Valdadore. For those, like these three who traveled from the north, trekking through the deep snow could be a slow process.
Tales abounded in the tavern as to the deeds of the king and his brother, and the three companions were astonished to learn that Prince Seth had married a young woman named Sara. One such tale said that the young bride had been slain in the battle with the black horde, however the mage Seth had powers unlike anything seen before upon Thurr. Returning weeks after vanishing, the prince came once again to Valdadore with his bride in tow, having resurrected her from the dead. The companions had a good laugh over this tale. Stories of healing miracles came with every major battle, but none came back from the dead.
Sitting at the very same table where once, it was said, the young king and his companions had sat, the retired warriors of Valdadore rested quietly, absorbing the stories and conversations taking place around them. Each of them looked about, listening intently for more than an hour after they had finished their meal. The nearer they got to the castle, the more people they saw. Here, a few days away from the city of Valdadore, this town was bustling with activity. People were still trickling into town, but a steady stream was pouring out of it. As much as the companions would have liked to spend the night in a bed within the town, it seemed the tavern they sat in was closing its doors this very night so that the owners themselves could heed the call of the king.
The nation of Valdadore was marching to war. Not just the soldiers and magicians. Everyone would play their part in this battle, and the three friends watched as the room began to clear. The proprietor had announced little more than thirty minutes prior that there would be no more food or ale served. Most had already left the tavern. Feeling as rested as they would likely be in the days to come, each of the trio of companions sat forward in their chairs, leaning nearer to one another to speak without being overheard.
“Do you think the boys will still be in the city?” Rose asked, her mouth and eyes wrinkling at the corners as the concern showed plainly on her face.
“I don’t know,” James replied. “If anything we have heard is true, it sounds as if we are all in real danger.”
“Don’t worry yourself, James. What we do know is that both of the boys are alive and well. Beyond that they are blessed. We will get word of their whereabouts in the next day or so and then we can go and see them for ourselves,” Jack reassured the worried father.
The truth was, all three had been worried about the twins for months, even though they had received messages from Valdadore through an old friend. Abruptly, however, those messages had stopped coming. Then one day a messenger had arrived in Vineleaf declaring a king’s order. All who had served the kingdom in the last twenty years were to return to service to face an invading foe. James had questioned the messenger to learn that not only had King Valdadore died, but a young knight named Garret had become his successor.
It was in that moment James had called upon his blessing for the first time in two decades and, exploding in size, had snatched the messenger clear off his horse. Grasping the man in one immense hand he questioned the royal envoy until he had every scrap of information about his sons that was available.
That night, James, Jack, and Rose left Vineleaf. Though none of them was in prime condition, living on the outskirts of the kingdom each of them had stayed healthy enough over the years building lives for themselves and their community. Hard work had kept them relatively young, though age had begun to creep up on them. Each of them was in fact much older than anyone else would have guessed. The blessed of the gods aged slower than normal mortals.
They needed no mounts, for in his blessed form, James could cover great distances in a day carrying both of his companions. A trek that would usually take near two weeks on foot had taken only four days thus far, and tomorrow they would arrive at Valdadore. Tomorrow, James hoped, he would see his boys.
Standing, the three companions turned and exited the tavern, leaving a tip for the barmaid upon their table. Together they walked to the edge of town where James again called upon Gorandor and, with a concussive boom, he exploded in size. ‘Giant James’ his colleagues had called him in his time of service to Valdadore. Standing nearly forty foot tall, James crouched down and allowed his friends to climb into his hand. Carefully he lifted them to his breast where they climbed within a pocket upon his tunic. James turned and began to jog at an even pace towards the capital city.
For the entire night James kept his pace, plodding along a hundred yards to the side of the road so as to not trample any fellow travelers. Near midnight, with his high vantage point, James saw the first signs of Valdadore. Far in the distance the sky glowed orange where below it sat the vast city. Though Valdadore itself was still lost to sight in the darkness, James already felt a measureable amount better just knowing the city was within reach.
Hours later James could see the silhouette of the city against the backdrop of stars beyond. He could not help but grin slightly at the sight. The city had been his home for nearly fifty years after all. James picked up his pace a bit, and an hour before sunrise he was less than five miles away.
Pausing, James helped his companions from his pocket, his breathing labored from the exertion. Sealing away the source of his power, James imploded with a pop and returned to his normal size. He did not want to appear an enemy to the city, and so thought it best to arrive in his unblessed size. Catching his breath a moment, without so much as speaking, James started walking anew. His companions fell into step to either side of him, and together the trio walked the remaining miles to arrive at the northern gate of the city as the sun broke the horizon.
Though the huge gate itself was lowered, a small door within the larger gate remained open and guards stood to either side questioning those that approached. Within half an hour the companions stood before the guards.
“What is your business here?” an armed guard asked, obviously annoyed by repeating the phrase time and again.
“We heed the call of the king and have come to fight,” James replied.
“Then you’ve come too late,” the guard responded nonchalantly.
“What do you mean?” James and Jack asked simultaneously.
“The king marched west with his army four days ago. Even now they could be facing the enemy though I have heard no reports to confirm this.”
James shook his head. They had arrived too late indeed. Turning, not knowing what else to do, he called upon Gorandor. The people nearest to him were thrown from their feet, none of them expecting the blast that followed his prayer. Apologizing in a deep, thunderous voice, James scooped up his friends unceremoniously and allowed them to reclaim their spots in his tunic before he began to stride parallel to the castle, heading west. With each step he took, he picked up momentum. Each stride he stretched to the fullest. His sons were at war, and he would do anything in his power to see that they had his protection.
Without concern for anything around him, James sprinted down the cobble road heading west from the city of Valdadore, leaving a deep impression in the road with every stop, driving the stones down into the soil below. Inside his pocket, both Rose and Jack were forced to cling to the stitching and fabric within, lest they be thrown around. Though Jack doubted he would be injured in such a manner, it was for Rose’s safety that he held on.
Four hours later James slid to a halt, his sudden stop destro
ying a thirty-yard stretch of road. Before him the forces of Valdadore were fleeing the field of battle. Within minutes they would be surging past the giant of a man himself. Looking around, however, James discovered that this was only the main body of the army. A few miles ahead, ranks of archers and mages awaited the advance of the enemy. Beyond them a battle was being fought as giant warriors like himself engaged an entire army alone.
As James watched, a giant beast swooped down from the heavens unleashing blasts of fire as its vast wings flapped to gain altitude once more. A fireball momentarily cleared a path through the invading troops, and among all the giants on the field of battle one stood out from the rest. Even at this distance, and with his altered skin and immensely changed and sculpted body, James recognized his son. Garret stomped through the enemy sweeping his blade low, cleaving men in two by the dozens. With his other hand he sent men flying with each bash of his shield. Even from this distance a deep throaty chuckle could be heard escaping the young king of Valdadore. Like his father, Garret had the bloodlust.
James began to move slowly forward once again as the retreating soldiers of Valdadore parted before him. He was about to begin running once more, now that a path had opened, but as he leaned forward to start building momentum, a shout reached his ears.
“Giant James!” A forgotten but familiar voice shouted from the masses of fleeing troops below.
Looking down, James scanned the area around him seeking the source of the voice. Jack and Rose recognized the sound too and both of their heads popped out of the giant man’s pocket.
“Over here!” The shout came again.
James swiveled his body around to find an old man standing apart from the crowd to his left. Instantly his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Sulvis, you old hawk, why do you lead your men away from battle?” James asked.
“I follow the king’s orders. The only way we can hope to survive this battle is to wait out the winter in the city and hope Sigrant’s supply lines fail,” the grizzled old general replied.
“How are my boys doing?” James asked again.
“Your boys?” questioned the old veteran. “You mean the knights?”
“The knights too, I suppose, but I was referring to my sons, Garret and Seth,” James responded.
Sulvis’s large white eyebrows rose in sudden realization. “I should have known,” he shouted. “They are well for the moment, and work to buy the rest of us time. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself.”
With a nod, James turned, having all the information he needed. Again he began running, though for him it was only a short distance. Slowing again, he reached to his pocket and asked Rose to climb into his palm. Moments later Rose stood among those of her order, the oldest battle mage upon the field.
James walked the remaining mile, then lowered Jack to the ground as well. Jack exploded, tripling in size to nearly twenty feet, then he split into two men. All three drew their weapons.
It had been twenty-some years since either of them had drawn a sword in battle. They were rusty. They were old. They were once two of the best warriors Valdadore had to offer. James and Jack rushed into battle, yelling a battle cry of Valdadore that most had forgotten.
*****
Garret faced a unit of sword-bearing infantry. Swinging his blade low, he cleaved them in two a dozen or more at a time. Again and again he swung his large sword with one hand, and his large shield in the other. A crimson path flowed out behind him, slippery with gore and destroyed bodies. Yet for all those he killed, more were already there to replace them. Taking note of his position among the front lines of the enemy, Garret swiveled his head and caught something unexpected out of the corner of his eye.
For an instant, Garret swore he had seen his fallen mentor Sirus entering the battle, and with him a pair of other knights although none of them was dressed in armor. On a double take, Garret assured himself that the men who now faced away from him were not what they originally appeared. The biggest of the trio was obviously not the slain Sirus, as the man on the present field of battle was not as broad of shoulder, nor were his muscles as defined. Garret felt rather than saw something familiar about the man, and changing direction to get a better look, he began clearing a new path to near the new champions.
Only a few fell swoops of the blade later, and the giant man and his companions turned toward him. Garret’s metallic jaw fell slack. There, clad in nothing more protective than leather leggings and cloth tunics, were his father, James, and his father’s best friend, Jack. Only now there were two Jacks. Garret could not believe his eyes which now watered uncontrollably. Smiling in his direction, James and the duplicate Jacks changed course to intercept the young king. Sadly, none of them were paying attention to the sudden change upon the battlefield when the first wave of attacks was unleashed.
Chapter Three
Seth and his troops fanned out before the front lines of Sigrant’s force. A dozen yards ahead, Sara danced through the invading army, a whirlwind of death and destruction. Together with his troops Seth and his men held this portion of the enemy force at a standstill. While Seth blasted wave after wave of magical fire and lightning into the approaching troops, his wolfmen tore them limb from limb with their teeth and claws. So efficient were they that a mound of corpses and dismembered limbs began to form the length of the line. Over the course of an hour the mound deepened, and before long the approaching enemy was forced to climb over their own dead and dying just to meet the defenders of Valdadore.
From above, both Borrik and Eve swooped down time and again, leaving none below without fear of being snatched off their feet and carried away into the sky. Body parts and organs rained down with blood and gore each time a neighbor vanished into the air above.
Seth hadn’t lost a single one of his werewolves or champions in over an hour. His line was holding. Yet this fact brought him no comfort. He alone realized that the war had no purpose. No one was winning; they were simply killing and dying to feed the greed of the gods. Seth had no time at present to explain his fears to his brother. He could not simply leave the battle. For as little as it mattered which side won or lost, he would rather Valdadore win for no other reason than it was his home and he was sworn to protect it.
For a while Seth simply let his mind wander of its own accord as he siphoned the life from a few hundred enemies, then returned the energy as a wave of fire, killing hundreds more. Over and over power washed into him, and over and over he expelled it just the same. The pleasure that came with the power did not overwhelm him as it once had. He had become stronger since then. Now the feeling was only great when dispatching a blessed champion of the gods.
Though Seth was not paying attention when the first changes began to transpire, Borrik above was, and he relayed a message to his master.
“My prince,” Jonas shouted above the melee, “Borrik warns that new troops are approaching from the rear and hiding themselves within the ranks of those we now fight.”
“What weapons do they carry?” Seth asked.
A moment passed as the question was communicated and Seth watched as Borrik swooped low to get a better look, his great leathery wings having become one of his biggest assets.
“None, my prince, they appear to be unarmed,” Jonas replied.
“Shit!” Seth yelled. “He has more mages!”
As if to verify Seth’s statement, within an instant the battle altered beyond measure.
Lightning, fire, blasts of ice, and gusts of wind raced across the battlefield, seemingly from everywhere at once. Though Seth was spared in the initial wave, something struck him none the less.
As the first barrage hit, Seth felt something snap as power rushed into him, filling him momentarily with pleasure. Then feeling the loss of the connection Seth mourned it, and turned his head in time to watch the burning form of Eve, his avian champion, fall from the skies in a smoldering heap.
In a moment of panic Seth’s eyes darted around the skies until he locate
d Borrik’s massive form hovering well above the field of battle. Then Seth felt another rush of power as another connection broke. A moment later and a third champion fell. Seth reached out with his mind to locate the mages at the same time as he turned to face Jonas and give his orders.
“Have Borrik guide you and the men, and destroy the mages.”
Jonas bowed his head in understanding and within a second over a hundred giant werewolves were bounding through the invading troops, singling out those who were the greatest threat.
Magic blasted all around and Seth silenced one mage after another, but his troops were falling before the onslaught. Water began to seep up out of the soil as Seth turned another mage to ash. A moment later, something smashed into Seth that drove him backwards to the ground, several of his ribs either bruised or broken. Struggling to breathe, Seth rolled to see the giant ball of ice that had struck him in the chest. He had never seen it coming with his vision of the gods. Unlike magical fire or lightning, the ice was natural. It was created by actual elements, although by magical means, so once hurled, it retained no power and thus was invisible to his god-like vision. Staggering to his feet as Jonas took up position to better guard him, Seth threw up a magical wall of pure power, and went back to work snuffing out the life of his foes.
The water upon the ground was now more than a foot deep. Suddenly, as if coming to life, the water surged upwards into the air and, as it did, turned unbelievably cold as wind blasted the field. Giant spikes of ice, as tall as a man, formed all over the battlefield. Some of them encased Sigrant’s soldiers while others were stained and filled with blood and gore. Around them all was ice. Combatants from both sides of the fray began to slip and fall upon the ice between the immense spikes. However for those of average size it was just that, a fall. For those blessed with size, falling meant landing upon the spikes of ice, and within a minute Seth lost another dozen troops. Looking around Seth spotted something he never in his life would have expected.
The Champions Page 3
