The Champions

by Jeremy Laszlo

  Now the real work started. There were but a handful of healers throughout the history of Valdadore that could completely restore a lost limb on their own. Generally such large undertakings were done by a group of healers working together as it was a rather complex process. Ashton had a natural knack for it, however, and as such he maneuvered around the immense king before placing his hands to either side of the gaping wound where an arm should have been.

  Over the next hour Ashton stood locked in concentration, straining himself and his abilities to reproduce a perfect arm for the king and his friend. He began by forcing the king’s body to produce new bones, muscles, ligaments, tendons, nerves, and blood vessels. As the small arm formed, Ashton helped Garret to produce the required hormones and chemicals to speed the growing and aging process of the newly formed, infantile limb. He did not bother at this point to restore skin to the limb, as it was easier to monitor the proper growth of each component with them exposed.

  Further and further Ashton pushed the growth of the limb until it reached the proper length. Then Ashton forced more and more lean muscle tissue to grow on the limb to match the king’s other massive arm. Finally satisfied with his work, Ashton began to cover the arm and ribcage in new skin to ward off infection and protect the raw nerves from painful overstimulation. Soon, the mending of the king would be complete.

  Chapter Eleven

  He stood overlooking the tests going on in the vast tent erected upon the shore of the frozen lake. Moments before a messenger had relayed that the death mage had been killed. Sigrant smiled and waved the young man away. The death mage had cost him nearly a quarter of his common troops.

  Before him, the beasts his healers were calling vampires were being experimented upon. They were stronger than humans, faster, more agile, and for each person they fed upon they grew yet even more superior. Already, in mere hours, Sigrant and his healers had learned much about the infected species.

  It became evident quite quickly that the species had one major weakness. Once exposed to the sun they lit up like a candle and burned away until literally nothing but ash remained. Once dead, all those infected by the deceased became human once more with no lingering side effects. Sigrant calculated the risks and benefits of such an infection. Calculations were a part of any campaign. At present he saw no reason such a species could not be used for his own purposes. He had never been a strong man, but cunning had more uses than strength. Sigrant ordered the vampires to be killed and exited the tent to prepare his next attack.

  All hope for the defending army had been broken. The vast majority of their champions had fallen, and now their most valuable weapon had been destroyed too. Finally Sigrant could move forward with his latest plans. Strolling across the bloodstained field with his personal guards surrounding him, the invading king called for a pair of messengers. Waiting just moments until they appeared, King Sigrant gave his orders.

  “Destroy Valdadore,” he ordered. “Hit them with all we have available.”

  The first messenger bowed low and sprinted off to relay the orders. Sigrant turned to the remaining messenger and relayed his next order. He and his healers had spent hours studying the vampires. He understood their strengths and weaknesses. He knew how they moved and what drove them. He understood how their species spread, and he realized that there had to be a source. Smiling menacingly, King Sigrant made a decision on his next move. He would need something to complete his plans, and he knew just who to send for it.

  *****

  Without invitation, and without further delay, both Drummit and Zorbin strolled through the massive arched doorway into the capital building of the dwarven nation. Linaya followed behind them, trying her best not to look like a fool even though the immense building, and the carvings upon it, caught her attention, and could keep her busy for months. She forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand, reminding herself that the man she hoped to one day marry, and the kingdom she called home, were both in terrible danger.

  Following the dwarves into the building she glanced around briefly and noted that though the entry chamber was vast, it was not quite as ornate as the exterior. Like a giant hallway the room had doors down either side at regular intervals. Beyond those, a singular massive door stood in the far wall, and to either side of it a staircase spiraled up into the floor above. Dwarves bustled about the building attending to business of one sort or another and each and every one of them was elegantly dressed either in bright shining armor or silken garments laden with gems. The amount of wealth the nation of dwarves held was vast, almost to a point of disgust.

  As they crossed the chamber many a dwarf nodded to, or greeted, Gumbi and he in turn replied to them. Linaya wondered what exactly his role within the kingdom was to be so well known. The city had to house a few hundred thousand souls, yet this man, who appeared but a guard, seemed to be a common sight in the capital building. There was more going on here than she was being led to believe. Oh how Linaya wished she had studied dwarven as a child! Resigned to follow and listen, however, the most beautiful woman Valdadore had to offer kept both her eyes and her ears sharp.

  As the trio approached the opposite end of the building from which they had entered, her dwarven companions slowed. As if they had both had the same thought, they each turned to look over their shoulders at her.

  “M’lady Linaya, it would be best if you did not speak unless asked a question. There is much more at stake here than you might believe, and though we have a mission, at present it is secondary to the fight in the street this very day,” Gumbi stated while Zorbin nodded his approval.

  Linaya slowly indicated her understanding as they reached the massive wooden door standing between the twin spiral staircases. She watched as Gumbi approached and tapped its surface lightly, and observed as a small portal upon the door slid open and a face appeared through it. Gumbi and the face exchanged some words, the small portal closed, and with a deep moaning sound the giant wooden door swung open, straining upon its hinges, to permit the pair of dwarves and their human companion to enter.

  Past the door was an odd vaulted room that had a ceiling so high and arched that the actual peak of it was imperceptible from the floor. There were many cushioned seats within the room, and though they were told the wait might be a lengthy one, none as of yet had decided to sit. Instead, they stood quietly, no one certain what to say to disrupt the semi-solemn mood.

  In contradiction to the warning, only a handful of minutes passed before they were gathered by a dwarf so richly dressed Linaya imagined his clothes alone would be enough to finance the building of a small city. Following the dwarf, they were led through yet another passageway, and further still through a small but lavish chamber before finally entering a room that Linaya could only describe as unexpected.

  Within this room not a single decoration clung to any of the stone walls. No overstuffed cushions adorned richly carved furniture. Not even a rug had been laid out upon the floor. Instead, within the room only a circle of the most basic stone stools sat in a ring around a hole carved into the floor. Though the hole was an unexpected sight itself, it was the vast chamber that existed below it that caught Linaya’s attention. Immediately she knew that this was where dwarven kings were chosen. Where they clashed with both steel and wit, their strength and resolve were the only things they could use to lead themselves to victory.

  It was here, upon one of the plain stone stools, that Linaya first saw the king of the dwarven nation. She had very much expected to see an old dwarf, but the man was beyond her wildest dreams in reality. Though old dwarves were commonly referred to as old grey beards, this man had not a single shot of grey anywhere within his hair. Instead, it was white, if even it could be called that. So lacking of color was the hair of his head and beard that even the white seemed to be fading and entire bunches of strands now appeared semi-transparent, as if it were made of crystals or glass.

  His skin was so wrinkled and craggy that he appeared less a man and more the stump of a
n oak tree with a beard. His bushy eyebrows were so great they brushed against one another as the ancient dwarf looked upon those who had entered the chamber.

  Belaying his age and surmised antiquity, the king stood abruptly to greet his guests, his armor sparkling in the sparse lighting of the room. In one of the fashions common in the capital, the king was dressed in an armor created of scales, only instead of metal like most wore, the king’s armor was made entirely of diamonds. Each scale had been cut and carved from the most revered of gemstones to create for him a nearly impenetrable armor of the hardest substance known to man. Like his beard and hair, the armor had a ghostly, almost transparent appearance to it that made the dwarf look as if he stood between the realms of the living and the dead.

  His lips parting, the king’s gaze swept to meet all the eyes in the room before he began speaking.

  “Zorbin of the house Ironfist, it has come to my attention that you have killed a dwarf in the good standing of this nation who lived by the name Drummit of your same house.” The king turned his gaze to meet Zorbin’s eyes. “Do you deny it?”

  “No,” Zorbin replied simply.

  “It has also come to my attention that he attacked you without provocation, and that you did your duty to teach him the error of his ways. However, it has come to me to decide whether your current standing with the nation supersedes your birthrights as a dwarf within my kingdom.”

  The king looked again to each of them, half expecting someone to come to Zorbin’s defense. None did. Linaya felt the air in the room thicken, as if something beyond her understanding was transpiring. She watched as again the king began to speak.

  “This is a difficult decision even for one as old as I to make. What I decide will be written in my history and will serve as precedent for any similar decisions in the future of the kingdom. Do I wish to be remembered as a king that was merciless and lacked compassion for my fellow dwarves? Would I wish to be remembered as a king who saw it fit not to serve justice to those who abandoned their heritage only to return and murder another of their own kind? You see, my decision on this matter is one that usually would require months of thought. At present, however, I do not wish to ponder such things for months. I am old, I am tired, and I am wearing thin, and for this reason I am going to put the decision within your own hands, Zorbin of the Ironfist clan.”

  Zorbin bowed his head, his thick bushy eyebrows knotting above his bulbous nose. Linaya wondered what battle waged within him, to be torn between two nations, sworn to one by blood, the other by destiny.

  The king, it seemed, was not yet finished.

  “Do you, Zorbin of the Ironfist clan, admit to killing Drummit of your own house?”

  “I do.”

  “Were you, by your recollection, attacked by aforementioned Drummit?”

  “I was.”

  “Did you, as is custom by our people, attempt to show Drummit the error of his ways before laying to rest his body?”

  “I did.”

  “Then, Zorbin of the clan Ironfist, I must ask you as the man who killed him, if you will live in his behalf, keep the promises he made, pay the debts he owed to the kingdom, and support and care for his family to assure they may maintain their standing and position in the kingdom.”

  “I will,” Zorbin grumbled honestly, the concern about what debt his cousin might have had that his family’s wealth could not have covered showing plainly upon his face.

  “So be it then,” stated the king. “I shall absolve you of any crime, and adhere you to the promises you have made before me and these witnesses.” The king raised his arms beckoning to Linaya and Gumbi. “Sadly, time is of the essence, and your debt to the kingdom must be paid now, Zorbin. As you promised, please take Drummit’s place in the coliseum.”

  Without another word, two dwarves appeared from the shadows carrying with them a ladder nearly twenty feet in length. Lowering the ladder into the hole in the center of the room they held its legs to support it for the dwarf who would be climbing down it.

  Linaya watched in confusion, unsure exactly what had just transpired. Zorbin simply nodded to the king of the dwarves before walking to the edge of the precipice. Looking down through the hole, he then turned his gaze back to Linaya who stood, unsure of what she should do.

  “Gumbi will see to it that you are given a room and your needs are met over the days to come. It is time for me to heed the call of my people, and repay a debt I have stolen from them. I hope to see you again.”

  Without another word Zorbin turned and, grasping the ladder, he swung over the edge of the hole and quickly climbed below the surface of the room. Seconds later the dwarves yanked the ladder back up and out of the hole only to return it to the shadows. Linaya, still not realizing what had happened, spun upon her heel to face Gumbi, a million questions fighting to form upon her lips.

  Her confusion evident, before she could even formulate a proper question, the king turned to her with the information she so desperately needed.

  “Lady Linaya, it is my pleasure to meet you and hear your request for aide. At this time however, it saddens me to tell you that I will not be marching out my armies on any more campaigns.”

  Linaya’s heart fell into her stomach. He knew why she had come. Already he had denied a request she had not even had the chance to voice. Silently she wondered, as the king began to speak again, if pleading her case or perhaps begging would avail her anything.

  “You see, Lady Linaya, I am too old for such things, and it is a king’s duty to lead his troops into battle. That is why, as in the days to come, you will be able to observe below us; a new king is being chosen to lead the dwarven nation.”

  Realization began to dawn upon Linaya. The debt Drummit had owed had not been money. He had been sworn into the coliseum to compete to lead the dwarven nation, but before he could arrive he had died. Now it was Zorbin who was representing Clan Ironfist in the battle to rule the dwarves. Linaya gasped. Her hopes and dreams for success had literally just been tossed down a hole in the floor to fight their way back out. Linaya remembered Zorbin’s explanation. Twelve entered the chamber, and only two would come out. One would rule, and the other would submit to rulership. That was the way of the dwarves.

  Linaya was momentarily distraught. Their plans were in ruins! It wasn’t until her gaze met Gumbi’s that she saw the dwarf wink with a wry grin. He had known. If Gumbi had known then surely Zorbin had as well, but when had they realized? How long had they known?

  There were a great deal of questions swirling in Linaya’s head, and it became apparent that the only real answers lay below. Zorbin was now her only hope. Only he could reverse the king’s ruling not to help the human kingdom, but only if he won the submission of a peer after defeating the rest. Only time would reveal the outcome of this battle. All Linaya could do now was wait and watch what transpired below. Zorbin had told her that this could take minutes or months. Valdadore didn’t have months.

  *****

  Ashton struggled with his power, bending it to his will. No matter how hard he focused, the skilled healer could not achieve that which his patient required. His friend, the king, though on the mend, was still far from being healed. A great hole lay upon his ribcage, exposing the muscle, flesh, and bone beneath. Beyond that, upon the opposite side of his body, an entirely new arm had been created, but as of yet had not been covered in flesh. Ashton could not make the flesh grow, try as he might.

  In Garret’s blessed form his skin was metal, or at least metallic, and Ashton could not force it to grow and expand to cover the exposed muscle and sinew. If the king awoke now, he would likely go into shock from the pain, or perhaps simply pass out again with so many exposed nerves.

  If Ashton could get him to wake, and make him relinquish his blessing, at least for an hour, he could then complete what he had started, but now it was unlikely. Something upon the battlefield had changed abruptly. Whatever it was, it had lent courage to the attackers for now they pushed forward driving the Valdad
orians back. The great wolf troops that Seth had created barked and growled, snarling in the distance like a pack of mad dogs. Sigrant’s mages pressed the attack on all fronts, throwing magic at anything that stood to oppose their forces. Ashton reached into the king with his blessing. He needed the king to wake.

  Already the soldiers around Ashton were falling back. It was a slow process, but even so it was inevitable. Speeding the recovery of his one time traveling companion, Ashton pressed on until he felt Garret begin to stir. As he released his blessing momentarily his white glow subsided as pleasure and joy washed through him, sending a shudder up his spine. He spasmed for a second, a grin on his lips, as he refocused on his patient.

  If Ashton had thought himself prepared for Garret, he had been mistaken, for as the king’s eyes flashed open he snarled in rage and sprang to his feet looking for his sword. Then the pain hit him. Like a man run through the gut, the king uttered a blood-curdling, painful roar as the nerves in his side and arm awoke, sending unbearable pain to wrack his body.

  Screaming, Ashton got Garret’s attention, and just as the king’s pained face turned to meet his own, he spotted something across the battlefield and indescribable anger consumed his features, as shock and unconsciousness tried to take him.

  “Fix my arm, Ashton!” the king yelled, the agony and rage evident in his booming voice. “Now!”

  “I can’t while you are blessed!”

  The king became unsubstantial for a second and with a pop he shrank considerably.