Champion

by Jon Kiln

  “She spoke to me. I can hear the words of those who have passed, sometimes. She does not want you to throw your life away for them, when they can wait forever for you to join them.”

  “Go to your chambers where you will be safe.” Ganry no longer wished to have this strange conversation inside his head. Yet, the boy knew of his situation, and of his daughter’s name. He did not understand how this could be, but the last few years had taught him to open his mind to many things. Talking to the dead was just one of them.

  Grecia approached him. “The boy is to come with us. We need his help to track the witches.”

  ”Is that wise?” Ganry queried. For all he was annoyed at the strange boy, he did not wish him to be in harms way. If he was to be captured, all this would have been in vain.

  “It’s the only way, my friend,” Grecia smiled, touching Ganry’s arm. “He will be very well protected, by us and his new found guardian. If we are to stop this madness, we need to find those witches. Only then will he truly be safe.”

  Ganry said nothing, but he knew she was right. They could not hide him away in the castle forever. Sooner or later the witches would have him. The final battle was approaching, scores would be settled and the fate of two nations hung in the balance.

  34

  The gates of Castle Villeroy swung open as the diverse group left the castle under cover of darkness. Ganry led the way with Artas and Riley just behind. Following them were a small number of the Queen’s Guards, and running at their side were the wolves of Palara. Bringing up the rear, a large giant of a man with a young albino boy on his shoulders.

  The Mirnean army was amassed on the fields surrounding the castle. They had set up camp readying themselves for the assault on Castle Villeroy. They far outnumbered the troops that Myriam had at her command inside the castle, but Villeroy’s walls had never been breached, though it had never faced such numbers before, either. Myriam had called for reinforcements from the Barons in the north, who commanded huge forces all loyal to the Crown, but none had yet arrived.

  Unbeknown to Myriam, General Jeon had foreseen such a move, and had sent a large contingent of men to head off any reinforcements. They had engaged the troops less than ten miles from the castle and were holding them back. Without these men, Myriam’s position was very precarious.

  The invading forces were massacring Palaran citizens as they swept through the kingdom, with the witches reanimating the corpses, adding to their already overpowering numbers. The undead were not as great in numbers as before, as most of the villages and towns were now deserted. The people had taken to the hills, hiding from the invaders. Still the sight of the undead and their ghastly wails could chill the heart of the stoutest warrior. The witches of Mirnee had much to answer for with these despicable atrocities, and it was to that end that the war party had left the castle.

  The boy, Cronos, rode upon the back of the giant, Rochmyr, and by their side ran his other guardian, the wolfman, Torno. He wanted to try and locate the whereabouts of the witches, a crucial task if the castle was to survive the oncoming onslaught. Rochmyr would keep him safe and away from any heavy fighting, at all costs. They headed into the forest, the most likely hiding place of their magical enemy.

  Ganry led Riley and Artas, along with fifty or so of the Queen’s Guards. They moved quietly through the night, keeping a wide distance from the Mirnean camps. It had been his plan to flank the enemy and take their position at their rear. Once the battle began they would sound the horn and lead the corpses away, before finally finishing them off. If the plans were successful, they would cut their way through the enemy’s flank, causing as much destruction and confusion as possible. Ganry hoped this strategy would buy them some time while the boy searched for the witches, but that was not all he hoped for. In the ensuing mayhem he would try to seek out Jeon, and kill him. He needed to exact his revenge for the murder of his family.

  Ganry was concerned that finding the corpses may prove to be difficult. Spreading out his men to cover as much ground as possible, it might reduce the risk of being seen. In the end, it turned out to be an easy task. Their pitiful wails and the dreadful smell led them straight to the area where they had been corralled. They were set well away from the main camp, with no guards to watch over them. It seemed the Mirneans were not enamored with their dead allies. Despite being unguarded, they did not wander at all. Clearly some magic had been cast on them to keep them subdued.

  “Now we wait,” Ganry told Artas and Riley. “When the assault on the castle begins, make your move.”

  The sun was beginning to rise as they moved into position with the enemy camp a hive of activity. Mirnean soldiers were falling into rank, readying for battle. The whole area was bathed in a deep red light from the rising sun, casting a sinister glow everywhere. Ganry hoped this was not an ominous portent, but he knew that it wouldn't be the sun staining the ground red in the coming hours. A loud horn cut through the early morning air, the signal that the attack was to commence. The soldiers began to march towards the castle. The horn also had a mobilizing effect on the undead as they too began to stir, shuffling mindlessly towards the sound.

  “Now, Artas,” Ganry commanded, and Artas brought his own horn to his lips, blowing a long deep note.

  “I think the witches have learned their lesson from the last time,” Riley said as the undead ignored the sound of Artas’s horn. Instead, they continued on with a relentless march towards the castle.

  “No matter,” Ganry replied. “We can still surprise them from the rear, finish of these abominations, then finally lay into these Mirneans.”

  Riley nodded his agreement and gave the orders to the Palaran soldiers. As one, they all drew their weapons. The advance began first on the ranks of the undead.

  ***

  Queen Myriam fastened the buckles on the last of her armor with the help of one of her ladies in waiting. This had been Queen Beatrice’s armor, one of her descendants who had worn it in the great wars of the North. It had lain in waiting for over two hundred years, but it felt right to Myriam, and it fit her well. Her kingdom was under threat, and the D’Anjue royal family had always fought to protect what is theirs, and she would be no different.

  Despite Ganry’s insistence, she would not hide away in the cellars with the women and children, and the elderly and infirm. She was a D’Anjue, her place was with her Royal Guard. A sword was chosen from the walls of the armory. Not a heavy broadsword, but a smaller, thinner double edged weapon. It balanced well in her hand. She twirled her arm, her sword cutting through the air in sweeping arcs, first one way then the other. Yes, this was a good sword, fit to be carried by a Queen.

  She had insisted that her Grandmother stay below ground and away from the fighting, saying the Duchess was too old for battle and would only be in the way. Besides, she had told her to keep up the moral of the women and children of the castle, who would be in hiding with her. She would also organize treatment for the wounded and food for everyone. The Duchess had agreed and Myriam felt relieved that her grandmother would be safe, at least while the castle walls stood.

  Myriam sheathed her sword and left the armory. She took the stairs direct to the battlements where many of her Guards were preparing for the imminent attack. As she stepped onto the ramparts, her commanders all bowed respectfully before her. They had all come to admire this young Queen who had brought their kingdom together after the coup, and saved the royal Duchess from the Akkedis lizard people. It renewed their hope to see her dressed in the royal armor, ready to fight by their side.

  Myriam stepped forward to greet her men, but before she could say anything, a loud blaring horn cut through the morning air.

  The battle had begun.

  35

  The wolves came to a stop and circled the giant who carried Cronos. Rochmyr lifted the boy off his shoulders and set him on the ground. Once his feet were firmly on the wet grass, he stroked at the wolf’s head. Torno licked at his hand.

  “I will need a few
moments,” he said out loud to the wolves.

  They whinnied and growled low as they made a protective formation around him. He sat on the grass and rubbed at the green blades, making his contact with nature. As he closed his eyes, he could see an image of Ganry on the battlefield, ready to attack the enemy. He wished that no more had to die, on either side. But, he knew that while the witches were free to spread their evil, then this would not end. For this he hated the witches and all that they stood for. Cronos had not comprehended his full powers yet, but he had a strong connection with mother nature. It was she who gave him the visions, and as the trees witnessed Ganry, so could he. They had a special connection. One he could not yet fully understand or control.

  Slowly he moved his thoughts away from the battlefield and tried to spread the scope of his visions. The witches were not yet on the battlefield. They would be in hiding, probably in the forest. He concentrated hard, trying to imagine the differing landscapes that surrounded him. Scanning the huge canopy of trees that had stood in these forests for hundreds of years, trying to see what they could bring to his vision, but nothing came to him.

  A fog was blocking out his visions. Feeling frustration at not being able to widen his visual perception, he suddenly found himself flying above the ground. It seemed he was on the back of a large black bird. No, he was seeing through the eyes of the bird as it swooped and flew over the forest canopy. Now he could see for miles.

  To his right the massed army of the Mirneans surrounded the castle, and directly below him the ancient forests of Palara swayed in the breeze. As he concentrated harder, he discovered that he had the power to direct the bird’s mind, making it fly wherever he wished it to go. The bird’s tiny brain offered no resistance to his commands as he directed the creature to swoop lower over the tree tops.

  He controlled the bird for almost an hour, time passing by quickly as he desperately searched for the witches. Although Cronos was not physically flying, mentally it was very tiring trying to keep a connection with the bird. Exhaustion seeped over him and he almost let the bird go, when he spotted an area on the ground that didn’t look right. It was almost as if it were submerged in water, as the terrain wavered around. With one last effort he directed the bird to fly down to investigate the anomaly. The bird circled lower and lower, until it perched on a tree inside the strange area.

  The witches did not give the bird a second thought as it landed and perched on one of the branches high in a tree. With a powerful spell cast on the area they occupied, it distorted the light waves making it impossible to see within. They felt secure in their illusion.

  Yet, a little boy named Cronos had found them, thanks to his feathered friend. The bird had landed inside the witches base of operations. The place from where they were directing the attacks. He could see that they were formed in a seated circle, performing some sort of ritual. A faint chanting came to him via the birds hearing, but he could not make out any of the archaic words.

  “I’ve found them,” he said to the wolves. “I’m not sure what you want me to do, or even if I can do anything?” he questioned.

  Grecia approached him in her wolf form and she spoke to his mind directly with her thoughts. Well, little pup, it seems it’s your turn now. Don’t arouse their suspicions. I want you to lead us there. Can you do that?

  The boy nodded and animated his body to stand so his giant protector, Rochmyr, could put him back on his shoulder. It was not an easy task keeping the bird perched on the tree watching the witches and animating his body. Once settled, Rochmyr strode off through the woods, his long legs striding out to cover the ground quickly. The bird had played his part and the boy freed it. Coming back into his own body, he could now sense exactly where they were going, and were now close by. As he broke his contact, he saw the bird soaring into the air, confused as to how its hunt for food had taken it so far from its nest.

  In a few minutes they burst into a clearing that at first seemed empty. All Rochmyr could see was a glen, bereft of trees and vegetation. Instead there were large rocks with a sandy ground. It seemed barren and deserted. Yet, even the giant knew that something was amiss. When he rubbed his eyes and opened them again, he could see a shimmering essence just off the ground, as if the landscape had no substance.

  Grecia was leading the wolf pack and she was not fooled by the illusion. Quickly they ran into the area and broke the circle of magic, attacking the witches where they sat. They had been taken completely by surprise, confident in their own ability to hide themselves, but they had underestimated the boy and his power.

  Grecia jumped upon the female in the center, the one who had approached the castle. This she felt was their present leader. Leaping her full wolf body, she knocked the witch onto her back with her jaws snapping at the exposed throat, looking for a quick kill. Suddenly, the witch was no more, instead a huge powerful bear was in its place. The witch had shape shifted in seconds, and it caught Grecia by surprise. With a huge roar the bear grabbed the female wolf by the front legs and swung it around before releasing the furry body. Grecia flew across the forest floor and crashed into the trunk of a tree, winding her and leaving her barely conscious.

  Cronos knew immediately that the female leader of the wolf people was in danger as the bear approached her, looking to finish her off while she was winded.

  “Rochmyr, quickly, Grecia needs your help,” Cronos whispered into the ear of his giant guardian.

  Rochmyr was uncertain what to do. He did not want to take the boy into the battle. He had been instructed to keep him away from danger. Besides, the shape changing bear was almost upon Grecia and he would never cover the ground in time.

  You can save her. A voice whispered inside Cronos’s head. For a moment the boy’s face crunched in a puzzled frown. Then he opened his eyes wide, and smiled. He knew what he had to do. Sat on his lofty perch on Rochmyr’s shoulders, he closed his eyes to the world and focused his thoughts upon Grecia.

  The bear was almost grabbing for her, its teeth bared and claws retracted ready to make the kill. With a triumphant roar it raised high on its hind legs, readying itself to drop onto the prone wolf. Its triumphant roar soon turned to a frustrated cry as Grecia suddenly disappeared. The bear was confused, for the witch knew that the wolves were not capable of this type of magic. Yet the wolf had vanished into thin air right before her eyes.

  Grecia could see the bear advancing through her heavy eye lids. The force of the throw, and then the collision with the tree had taken her breath completely away. She was unable to move. Baring her teeth at the approaching bear, determined to leave her mark on her assassin, she felt a rush of warmness spread throughout her body, like a a warming elixir. She immediately knew this was Cronos. Yet, she could not understand what was happening. The look of malicious joy on the bear’s face soon turned to one of puzzlement, and then frustration. Cronos’s voice came into the wolf’s head, whispered to Grecia.

  It’s alright, she cannot see you, but lay very still.

  Somehow the boy had managed to make her body disappear. She could still feel herself, and knew that she was in exactly the same spot where she had landed. Somehow, the bear could not see her. It stood roaring in its anger. Cronos had made her invisible.

  Furious at her prey being taken from right in front of her, the bear turned around looking for something else to vent its anger on.

  Making the most of her invisibility, with her strength quickly returning, Grecia launched an attack on the bear as it moved away. Running after it she leapt on to its back, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh at the back of its neck, looking to bite right through the spinal column.

  While Grecia fought with the shape changing witch, the other wolves attacked the remaining witches in this coven. The witches fought back, using their magical crafts, but they were no match for the wolves of Palara. Soon, most of the witches lay on the ground, throats torn open and their life’s blood staining the forest floor.

  The bear felt an agonizing pain and knew
what had happened. Somehow the wolf, had become invisible, and now it was on her back looking to end her life. The bear desperately tried to throw the wolf off, bucking and writhing around, but Grecia’s grip was firm, her teeth clenched against the bear’s backbone.

  The bear was tiring as it fought with the wolf, its strength waning with every effort it made. With horror, the shape changing witch realized that death was close. She made one last effort to save herself, slamming her back against a tree to crush the wolf between her and the trunk. Grecia, winded once again, loosened her grip and slipped off the bear’s back.

  The bear ran, angry at her fellow witches for allowing their magic circle to be infiltrated by a mere boy. She was furious with herself for underestimating him. How had the boy discovered his magic skills so quickly? The Emperor’s son was crucial to their plans. Without his blood and sacrifice, they could not raise their powerful mistress from her banishment. Running deep into the woods to search out other witches that were in hidden camps, the leader needed to regroup. Things were not going as planned. Ravyyne knew that it should all be over by now, resulting in her mistress’s return. The almighty Queen Thalia should be taking her rightful place as ruler of all these lands.

  36

  Myriam was not unfamiliar with the use of a sword, and she was determined to stand by her soldiers in the heat of battle. Her advisers had warned her, countless times, that she should not be risking herself, as leader of her kingdom. Yet, how can a Queen expect her people to defend their land if she was not willing to do the same?

  She had first learned how to use a sword to defend herself at the time of the coup, when her uncle had usurped the king, her father, and took over the kingdom. He had murdered her parents and would have done the same to her if he could have found her.

  As a Princess, her life had been in danger, and she had been on the run for many months. After she had regained the throne for the D’Anjue’s, she had traveled to the neighboring lands of Vandemland, to rescue her kidnapped grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue. They had battled with the Akkedis lizard creatures who lived underground. No, she was no stranger to combat and danger. Her life had been full of it, and thanks to Ganry, her personal bodyguard and trainer, her sword skills were well honed.