The Champions (5 page)

The only father Seth had ever known was James. To his
recollection, his father had never spoken of fighting in any battle, ever. Yet
here, now, among the champions Seth had created, and among the few valiant
Knights of Valdadore remaining, stood the man who had taken Seth in as an
infant and raised him as his own child. Across the field, beside his brother
the king, James swung a sword with practiced ease, cleaving men and spikes of
ice with each blow. Seth, lost in thought a moment, was returned to brutal reality
as the life of another of his troops rushed through his body. The tide was
turning again.

Focusing on his task, Seth reached out to locate the nearest
mage then winced as his ecstasy faded and he remembered his damaged ribs.
Fireballs rained down from the heavens and lightning danced amongst pointy
fingers of ice. Seth concentrated and grasped at the bloated life of the
nearest mage and ripped both life and blessing away in one fell move. Instantly
the mage crumbled to ash as the pleasure of life power coursed through Seth.

Without delay Seth unleashed a torrent of fire, aiming not
at the troops around him, but at the deadly ice spikes designed to impede and
kill his men. As death by ice became a reduced threat, Seth sought out his next
target. Opposing magics began to diminish as his men closed in on the casters,
yet his troop numbers began to fall as well. Seth needed to even the odds, lest
Valdadore’s only hope fall here and now. Reaching out again to seek a foul mage
blessed with wicked magics, Seth realized he would not turn the tide this time.

*****

Rose smoothed out her traveling cloak and turned to watch
her two dearest friends walk off towards impending doom. They had known each
other for practically their whole lives, each of them being consigned to
service to the kingdom at the same Choosing ceremony so many years ago. Seven
of them had decided together to retire from service after decades, and now only
four remained. Three of them were here now back where their friendships began,
and Rose prayed to her god that this would not be their last time together.

Watching as James and Jack drew their weapons, Rose turned
to face those she had been left behind with.

“Who is in charge here?” she shouted.

Moments later a man, perhaps in his fifties yet appearing in
his early thirties, extracted himself from the throng of more than a hundred
battle mages.

“I am, though currently we take orders from Felonus, captain
of the archers,” he proclaimed.

“Wrong answer, son,” Rose said, and spinning round to address
all those gathered she continued, “I am now in charge of all battle mages. Form
ranks, we march to help our king.”

Unsure as to what was taking place, none moved to follow
Rose’s order.

“And who might you be to declare yourself our master?” the
man asked defiantly.

“I am Rose Devante, former head of battle mages. I come to
temporarily reclaim my post.”

The name alone demanded respect, and the man who stood to
thwart her immediately looked to his feet, ashamed. He should have recognized
his former headmistress. He had trained under her, as did all young mages, in
his first year at the castle. Then she had retired, Vladmere taking her place.
It made no matter; all here knew her name and her abilities. Some had tried to
recreate the things she had mastered, and studied her writings and lessons.
Vladmere had achieved the most success openly, but even so he was but a shadow
before the sun. Bodies burst into action and within minutes Rose had four even
ranks of mages ready to march to battle with her.

“Follow my lead. If you are on the outside of the formation,
use fire shield. Those of you inside, target enemy mages first, common troops
second,” Rose commanded.

Without giving any further explanation Rose strode off
towards the ever-nearing battle. The formation of battle mages fell into step a
few paces behind. Within seconds all those mages vulnerable to immediate attack
cast the fire shield spell. A complete ring of fire blazed around the junior
mages following Rose. So close were they that her very robes began to smolder
as smoke billowed out of her cowl. Rose did not so much as cough; fire was an
old friend. Most of her days she spent sitting in front of the fire. She
enjoyed its warmth, but it had been years since she allowed herself to enjoy
its touch.

Raising her palms to the heavens, Rose chanted an
incantation and her robes immediately ignited in entirety. Seconds later they
were consumed and Rose walked the remaining mile to the battlefield devoid of
clothes, her nude body covered in dancing and swaying flames.

Every trace of hair had vanished, yet beneath the fire Rose
walked uninjured. Together with her followers, Rose marched directly into the
enemy and, with a wave of her hand, a tidal wave of fire sprang from her body
engulfing all those ahead and to either side. Her fellow mages took that as
their cue and fireballs of varying size and intensity lanced out in all
directions as victims were chosen and felled. Screams of the burning sounded
from all around the mages as giant werewolves made way for the walking inferno.
Before long, Rose and those at her command became a primary target for King
Sigrant’s mages, and though some fell beneath the onslaught of ice, lightning,
and fire, Rose foiled most incoming attacks. All of Valdadore’s mages retaliated
in kind each time an attack was thrown.

Rose watched as lightning was unleashed towards the giant
flying beast in the air above them but saw that the beast blocked the blow with
one armored arm. What should have killed him did not so much as slow him. Better
than that, Rose located another target, but the flying beast was already upon
the mage who dared cast lightning at him.

Werewolf, mage, knight, and flying beast all attacked the
mages of the invading force, and within an hour they had been destroyed, along
with several companies of infantry as well. Sigrant had taken another hard hit.
Afternoon was growing late and none knew if the invading king would press his
attack through the night, nor what else he might have in store for them.

*****

King Sigrant sat upon his stallion, near enough now to the
front lines to see for himself what played out upon the field. His mages
wreaked havoc upon the giant wolfmen; in moments half a dozen of the beasts
fell. Seconds later one of the foul flying beasts came tumbling out of the sky,
an inferno of blazing feathers. King Sigrant smiled. It was not that he was a
malicious man. He was simply driven. He needed Valdadore so that he could
continue expanding and
he
could afford to lose some men to acquire the
valuable nation. Thus far he had been throwing pebbles at Valdadore. Sadly the
small nation had been crumbling before the pebbles.

As his progress began to slow, Sigrant began to toss some
small rocks at Valdadore and now those rocks were running amuck, devastating
the large beasts that many thought to be demons raised from some abyss. Even a
boulder will eventually relent to sand being thrown at it, and Sigrant had
brought both to the battle, sand and boulders. Thus far he did not imagine
needing the boulders, but just in case he preferred to give them time to catch
up with the rest of his army. They were lumbering things that could destroy
entire villages in a single breath, but by the gods they were slow.

Signaling a messenger, Sigrant gave the order to continue
the fight from their current location, but to move no further. Just as the
messenger dashed off, a great blaze of fire erupted some distance off and began
moving towards the battle. The invading king did not have to wait long to see
what this mobile inferno was. He knew a brigade of mages when he saw one in
action. He gestured to one of his captains and arrows were loosed. Not a single
of Valdadore’s mages fell before the volley, though several of his own men near
to them did. The arrows meant for the mages burnt up completely before
penetrating the barrier of fire surrounding them.

Within seconds Sigrant’s own mages began to hone in on the
cluster of flaming Valdadorians but to little effect. Each time one of his
mages cast a spell they were set upon from above by a flying beast or by one of
the giant wolfmen. If they were not immediately dispatched in such a way,
dozens of fireballs were hurled at them, burning them in magical fire.
Sigrant’s small stones were failing to be effective. He took mental notes of the
failure and began planning for the following day. He summoned another
messenger.

“Have the men fall back a few hundred yards. See if
Valdadore’s champions have it in them to press the attack.”

*****

Borrik soared above both forces, his giant leathery wings
flapping furiously at times to keep him aloft. He watched below as the
battleground turned into a frozen wasteland designed to destroy his men. As the
first few fell to its designs, Borrik began to retaliate. Summoning fireballs
he began to destroy the spires of pointed ice and, as mages turned their eyes
skyward to face him, he either unleashed more fireballs or swept down from
above to cut their lives short. With the many blessings his master had given
him, Borrik was a force to be reckoned with. Like death himself, Borrik was
both hideous and handsome, a creature born of warlords’ nightmares.

*****

Seth watched as a flaming contingent of battle mages marched
onto the field of battle, led by a singular mage who herself was ablaze. Seth
had never seen such a display among Valdadore’s mages. He was impressed.
Watching their effect upon the battle Seth worked with them to even the odds.
Over and over he located and snuffed out the life of an enemy magician. Each
time he consumed and locked away the immense amount of power released. Seth
needed time to speak with his brother, and now his father too. They all needed
to realize that this battle was for nothing.

No sooner had Seth had the thought, as afternoon strayed
into evening, than the enemy troops began to fall back and regroup. Seth
ordered his men, through Jonas, to hold. It appeared the attackers would relent
for the night. Such a thing was both good and bad. It was good that Valdadore
could get some reprieve, regroup, and properly defend themselves. But it was
bad in that the enemy lines stretched all the way to the horizon. They had
fought but a small portion of the invading army this day and had lost over a
thousand troops, including well over half of Seth’s champions. By daybreak
tomorrow they would be facing a force at least three times as large.

This day, fighting as they fell back, they had lost ground
at a slow, even pace, but then they had held the enemy for the last several
hours. They had given up only a few miles. Seth watched as his brother and
fellow knights extracted themselves from the slowly melting battlefield. James
walked beside his son, the king, a hand on his shoulder. Behind them another
familiar face appeared as Jack came into sight. Oddly, right behind Jack was
another Jack. Then the second Jack began to blur and, with a flash, vanished
altogether. Seth began to walk towards the impromptu reunion himself, keeping a
wary eye on the enemy. Borrik winged down from above and, touching his bracer,
he gritted his teeth as his wings and second pair of arms began to melt away,
crawling beneath his skin once more.

Sara came skipping out of the melting spires of ice like a
girl through a field of daisies. Though her demeanor hinted at playful glee,
her wicked red eyes showed a different story entirely. Sara had been a great
asset in battle. She had single-handedly killed hundreds of soldiers, and a
pair of mages as well. Seth could not resist but to smile at the woman he loved
as she pranced towards him looking like the fool come to the funeral. At least
she had taken the time to clean the blood from her face somehow.

Now, for the first time his father and his wife would meet,
and though it was an important event in anyone’s life, Seth thought the
introduction was more or less just a formality as there were more important
things to discuss at present. The decisions made in the next moments would
change the course of the battle, perhaps the course of the human race. Seth
needed to know what his role would be in the days to come.

Approaching the King of Valdadore, the death mage with his
vampire wife and werewolf second-in-command came to stand before those whose
lives relied upon them.

“Well Garret, we survived again,” Seth said sarcastically.
“Dad, so glad you could make it; it seems we have some catching up to do,” he
added with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yes, we do Seth,” James replied, matching his tone. He was
glad that in light of the current situation both of his sons were still the
young men who had left home so many months before. Minus, of course, the
blessings by gods, marriages, mutated human servants and such.

“You must be Sara,” James said and reached out to shake the
woman’s hand.

“Careful Dad, she bites,” Seth said trying not to laugh.
Borrik too choked back a laugh. Garret simply shook his head.

“Now that we have that behind us, perhaps we should discuss
a strategy,” suggested Garret.

All gathered nodded, their mood changing to one of a more
serious nature.

“Forgive me if I am mistaken, but it appears we are grossly
overpowered, outnumbered, and possibly outmatched,” James said.

“That about sums it up,” Garret replied. “However,
considering that, we did quite well today.”

“You think so?” Seth asked. “It seems to me I lost more than
half of my troops.”

“Yes, but the enemy lost more than we did,” Garret stated.

“He also has significantly more troops than us, Garret. At
this rate we will not survive through tomorrow,” Seth responded, “not that it
actually matters.”

“What do you mean?” Sara asked, a quizzical look upon her
face.

Everyone surrounding Seth looked at him, and the longer they
looked the more serious they each became. They could see the gravity upon his
face. Moments passed and Seth thought about his reply. It was obvious and yet
no one else realized it. It was a secret held by the gods, and there could be
consequences to exposing it. But only if it changed the way the world operated.