The Champions (17 page)

Ashton began work on the blood vessels. If they remained
damaged, no matter how much power and time Ashton expended, the king would die
from blood loss. After a few moments all the blood vessels, both minor and
major, had been repaired allowing Ashton to move on to organs. Next Ashton
repaired Garret’s heart, reconnecting the destroyed fibers of the muscle in
each chamber and repairing the valves until the heart again was whole. Then
Ashton moved onto the lungs, first forcing the king’s body to reabsorb the
fluids within them and then mending the damage and charred tissue.

Nearly half an hour had passed since Ashton first got the
call that the king was down. Now he repaired the muscle tissue between the
king’s ribs, wrapping them all in a protective layer of sinew but otherwise
leaving the wound open. Double checking his progress he moved to the king’s
shattered collar bone and carefully pieced the bone back together before
interlacing the fragments once again with new calcium. The majority of the
life-threatening damage repaired, Ashton sat back a moment, assured the king’s
vitals were normal, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Around him the battle
waged on, but Ashton and the king were relatively safe, being some distance
from the front lines.

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.

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 an 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.