Champion (13 page)

At the crack of dawn the next morning, scattered corpses could be seen across the fields and around the castle walls. The ones at the front had been crushed against the walls, but while they were immobilized, bones crushed and broken, they still tried to move. Their pitiful moans, while quieter than before, still froze the hearts of all who heard.

Ganry dispatched a small team to decapitate the remaining corpses, finally putting them to rest. Those left in the field that had already been finished by Ganry and the wolves were also collected together with the others. A huge bonfire was started to burn the remains, though the bones would eventually have the right of burial and ceremony. The sight of the mound of burning corpses did nothing for morale. These were their countrymen, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters of Palara.

Myriam would have preferred to bury them now, but it was impractical and burning was the best solution to prevent disease from spreading. Later, when all this was over, she would build a monument to those who had been so defiled.

A sickly stench of death was overpowering as bodies burned on the pyre, but before the sun was high in the sky, the flames and the stench had receded. The castle could breath again and a meeting was called by Myriam to discuss the best way to hunt down and kill the evil conniving witches.

Orders were dispatched and distributed by messengers to the outlying villagers, who were to be gathered and moved away from the border of Mirnee. Myriam wished she could house them all in the castle, but that was not practical. Neither could she spare many soldiers to protect them, as they would be needed in the battle. Still, moving them further inland should offer them some protection.

“I have called for more of my people to come,” Grecia said to the humans sat around the large wooden table. “You have a good strong army of men, Queen Myriam, but a sword will not rid the world of a witch of this caliber. Only magic can do that. I fear the next attack will be even more devastating.”

“The soldiers are finding it difficult to fight with the undead.” It was Artas who spoke, for he had been amongst the castle guards and seen their suffering, first hand. “These walking corpses were once their neighbors.”

“I understand how humans can be tormented with such violations of the dead. None of us like to see our dead befouled in any way. It is an evil deed,” Grecia sympathized. “That is their very objective, to spread fear and distress. Your men must stand firm against this evil adversity.”

“We will, but we are fighting a battle we cannot win alone.” Ganry was the next to speak. “We can provide numbers, men with weapons, but it is magic that is at the root of this. We must target the witches. We searched for them yesterday but they were hidden from us. We sorely need Hendon, is there no word of him?”

“No,” Queen Myriam replied. “He has not returned from battle. I do hope he still lives. We must make do with the magic that is amongst us, and hope for Hendon’s safe return.”

It was agreed that the shape changers would lead the way in the search for the witches, whilst the soldiers would defend the castle.

Suddenly, the door burst open and a messenger came rushing in. “Your Majesty, they return with a great army!” he shouted, fear written in his eyes.

There was clearly no point in questioning the man before them. Ganry was the first to leave and others quickly followed as they all headed for the battlements.

When he arrived and looked over the parapet, Ganry was stunned to see so many undead surrounding the castle. Are there any people still alive in Palara outside of this castle, he was beginning to wonder. This time though, it was not only the undead they faced, but a force of Mirnee soldiers were also present. Perhaps they had led an army of undead Mirnee citizens too.

“Queen Myriam,” a woman’s voice boomed. “Send out the albino boy, before you have no people left in your Kingdom!”

Ganry could see the owner of the voice. A tall, pale woman who sat upon a majestic, raven black horse. The horse’s mane and the woman’s black hair billowed in a wind that seemed to only affect them. Her voice was clear and seemed as though she stood directly before them. Clearly magic was at work here.

“We will not negotiate with the boy’s life!” Myriam shouted back, though her voice did not carry as loudly.

“Foolish woman, your stubbornness will see more Palarans dead,” the witch woman announced. “Give me the albino boy and we will leave your Kingdom immediately. Refuse and the humans will continue to die. Is one boy worth all these Palaran deaths, Queen Myriam?”

“Enough, you care nothing for my people, so do not lecture me on this devilish deed. I do not negotiate with defilers and abusers. Open fire!” she cried, and instantly a rain of arrows flew over the castle walls and onto the gathered masses below them.

The attack was directed at the Mirnee soldiers and the witch on horseback. As wave after wave of arrows descended on them, many soldiers fell under the onslaught. They were taken completely in surprise by the attack, having been led to believe that the young Queen would crumble. Many Mirnean soldiers lost their lives that day because of that false belief.

The witch on horseback was completely untouched by the rain of arrows, even though many were directed at her. It was clear that some magical defense was protecting her.

“I would have appreciated some forewarning, my Queen,” Ganry spoke, taken aback by the unexpected attack.

“The time for parley is over, Ganry, too many Palarans have lost their lives. It is time to strike back, and strike back hard. There will be no peace until those witches are dead.”

“Of course, you are right, but the arrows did not touch the witch. This war cannot be won with sword or arrow.”

“Then now is the time for the wolves to show their loyalties,” Myriam said, turning to Grecia. “Are you with us?”

“The wolves of Palara will always stand with their Queen. We will hunt down and kill the witches, or die trying.”

Myriam smiled and laid her hand on Grecia’s shoulder, in thanks. “Your support is most welcome, my friend. Let us stand together, as did our ancestors.”

Their discussion was interrupted by cannon fire. The guns on the battlement spat out heavy shots, which crashed into the ranks of the undead below. The cannon fodder cut a huge swathe through their ranks, knocking many to the ground, crushed.

Ganry was impressed with Myriam’s decisiveness. She must have organized this earlier, readying her archers and cannons. He looked down on the ground outside the castle, only to see chaos reign. He had not expected the fighting to begin until the witches forced it upon them, but it was his brave Queen who took swift action against an evil foe.

He spotted the witch on the horse, and even from the battlements it was clear she was furious and completely taken by surprise. What happened next was an even greater surprise to all who witnessed. The witch jumped from her horse, springing into the air and emitting a rumbling roar from deep inside her chest. Her body changed before their eyes. When she landed on the ground, she was no longer a woman, but a huge brown bear. She looked up at the battlements, directly at Myriam and Ganry, and roared her anger.

“It is as I suspected,” Grecia shouted over the noise of battle. “She has been bitten by a shape changer, and she is all the more powerful for it.”

As Ganry helped to reload the cannon, they directed it to the giant bear that pounded on the gates to the castle.

“That bear will have those gates down in no time!” Riley shouted as he stood by Ganry’s side.

“We have enhanced the gates, magically,” Grecia said. “They will hold for now and give us some time, but we need a plan, and quickly.”

Ganry nodded. “Riley, go find Artas, I have an idea for the walking corpses. If it works then we can eliminate that threat and our men can deal with Mirnean soldiers, leaving the wolves to deal with the witches.”

Riley left quickly, in search of Artas, wondering what Ganry had in mind. As he ran along, he looked over the battlement, curiously, to see how the battle progressed. The wolfman, Randor, approached him.

“Come, we must hurry,” Randor, said to him. “We need to find Artas. Grecia has sent me to help you and I sense he is close.”

“Why do the corpses not attack the Mirnean soldiers?” Riley asked, more to himself, as he had noticed this.

“It is the witches, they have control of their feeble minds. Look, there, is that not Artas?” Randor pointed to a young soldier.

Standing on the battlement fighting with a Mirnean soldier who was attempting to get over the parapet, was Artas, his sword busy as he slew any Mirnean who had managed to climb the walls.

They ran, and pulled him away from the wall, directing another soldier into his place.

“Leave me be!” he cried as he was forced back. “We need every able man here.”

“You have a far more dangerous task, young Artas,” Randor told him.

“Ganry sends for you,” Riley said, to confirm the wolfman’s statement.

“Well, come on then, let’s not tally, battles need to be fought,” he shouted, running off and leaving his two comrades looking at the space on the ground where he had just stood.

Ganry rallied the soldiers, leaving only a contingency within the walls. They were to take the battle outside. This would help the wolves track down the witches, as the men could engage the army.

Artas and Riley had their own instructions and went in search of horses and the other object that Ganry had requested.

The castle guards marched outside through the tunnels, which led into the forest, offering them some cover when they first emerged. Once on the outside of the walls, the wolf people changed shape and disappeared deeper into the forest, where the witches were most likely hiding. The soldiers, led by Ganry and his commanders, broke into groups of three. A third of the soldiers were to engage the undead, the rest would attack the Mirnee invaders.

The battle was fierce and bloody. Undead were cut down in swathes by Palaran soldiers. Soon the ground was covered in many headless bodies. The battle with the Mirnean soldiers though, was progressing more slowly. These were also seasoned soldiers and difficult to cut down, not giving any ground.

The undead seemed never ending, hundreds upon hundreds of them, all oblivious to their surroundings. Relentlessly they moved forward, biting and clawing at any living creature that stood in their way. Where had the witches found all these people, Ganry thought. He realized that some were also Mirneans, confirming his suspicions that the witches had brought corpses across the borders. This would not have been an easy task, controlling all these mindless creatures. The Mirnean soldiers must have helped by keeping them grouped together like some macabre cattle run.

Riley and Artas rode up to Ganry on horse back. “So what’s this grand plan of yours, and why do we need this Gjallarhorn?” Riley queried, holding up the horn so Ganry could see it.

“The witches rounded up the corpses with the sound of a horn. I have seen it a few times now. They seem attracted to its sound,” Ganry explained. “I am hoping we can do the same. Direct the corpses away from the battlefield, that will make our task here easier with just the Mirnean’s to fight. Find higher ground and blow the horn. If all goes as planned, then they will follow you. Take some more men to help control them, but ensure you all keep your distance. Lead them away from the castle and into open land. Once you’re at a distance, start to deal with them. Let’s grant them the peace they deserve.”

The two men saluted Ganry and rode off over towards higher ground. He hoped the witches were too busy escaping the wolves to thwart his plan.

Heading off towards the forest, in the direction he had seen the wolves go, the trees became denser, and the lack of light made it difficult to see clearly. A rising of the hairs on the back of his neck alerted him to danger, and he quickly lunged to his left. A huge spiked club came crashing down on the spot he had just been standing, smashing into a young sapling and sending splinters of wood everywhere. The owner of the club was as comparably huge, a giant of a man in a Mirnean uniform.

“Ganry de Rosenthorn,” he growled, in a deep, husky tone. “General Jeon asked me to convey his compliments, before I kill you.”

“I would ask you to return my compliments to the General, but I fear your life will end here today, Mirnean soldier. Are you ready for that?”

“You are no match for me, Rosenthorn,” the man roared, “I am champion brawler of the 47th Division. I have killed more men in battle than the whole of my platoon. You will just be another notch on my club.”

Ganry stood his ground and watched the huge warrior approach him. He must have stood well over nine feet and towered above Ganry. He wondered if he was a true giant from the north. He had heard of these people living in far off lands. Though he understood them to be shy, preferring not to be seen.

“Let’s find out if you have a heart then, giant,” Ganry said, drawing his sword.

Barely had Ganry finished speaking, than the giant rushed at him, his club swinging back and crashing down towards Ganry’s head. Ganry avoided the blow, spinning around on the balls of his feet, his sword glinting in the dim light as it flashed across the giants huge bicep, opening a wound that trickled red with his blood.

The giant roared, as much in frustration as pain, and stood looking at Ganry with a surprised look on his face. Again, drawing back his club he lunged at the former mercenary. This time he thought he had him, a look of triumph on his face as his weapon swung down, but that soon turned to a look of despair. Again, Ganry had feinted his movement and the giant’s club thudded into the ground. Rosenthorn was like a little gnat, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not swat it.

Ganry swung around and jumped upon the giant’s back, grabbing him in a headlock, attempting to crush his windpipe, but it seemed the man’s neck muscles were made of iron. The giant growled and grunted in his attempts to shake off the man he wanted to kill, but Ganry was strong for a human, and hung on while he thought of his next move. Whatever he did, he must stay out of the way of this giant’s swing.

The Mirnean, unable to shake off Ganry, ran backwards, smashing him into one of the trees, severely winding him. Ganry jumped from the beast’s back and ducked just in time as the club swung again, missing his head by a hairs breadth.

Ganry, on his part, could not rely on his own strength against this huge man, he needed his wits about him. This was not an equal fight, he needed to find an advantage, tire him and it might give him the chance to strike. This time when the giant approached, Ganry turned on his heels and ran.

The giant roared his frustration, calling Ganry a coward as he chased after him. He must kill Ganry, at all costs, for the witches had told him that he had murdered the General’s son. The General had taken him into his army, and for this he would repay such a kindness. His people might be giants, but they were a soft and timid folk. The General had trusted him and trained him into a killing machine. He would do this deed for the General to show his loyalty.

As Ganry ran, he felt something fly past his head, clipping his shoulder with such a force it sent him sprawling to the ground. The giant had thrown his club, narrowly missing his head. He considered taking the club but it was far too large for him to use. Instead, hearing the heavy footsteps quickly approaching, he rolled to one side, just in time as the giant came crashing through the undergrowth.

Both men were so busy in their own personal combat, they had failed to see that a number of undead were approaching. Soon they were both surrounded. The undead advanced on them. Both men, their personal battle forgotten, turned their attentions to the new danger. The giant, now back in possession of his club, smashed through the corpses with ease. Ganry’s sword was busy also, detaching the heads from the necks of any creatures that approached.

Still they came, and despite their efficiency in killing they were soon outnumbered and almost overcome.

Then he heard it, the loud sound of a horn, and so did the undead. They stopped in their tracks and turned towards the sound. A few, those closer to the men, continued to advance, seemingly the draw of the living overruled the sound of the horn. But, Ganry and the giant soon made short work of them.

The corpses had been fooled into leaving the battle ground and followed the sound. He prayed that Artas and Riley had found sturdy horses, for they were about to lead hundreds of corpses away from the castle.

Now, he had to deal with the other problem at hand, and turned back to the giant, his sword gripped tight.