Rise of the Champions

by Nicholas Joslin

  Suddenly, Titus roared, his eyes nearly flaming with determination. The Narsho Champion brought his greataxe from the earth below with great speed, delivering an uppercut of sorts at Glora’s greataxe. Splinters flew as he cut it in half, sending both parts flying from the Highrock Champion’s hands. Moving with a desperate fury, Titus brought his sword around and cut hard into Glora’s lightly armored leg, sending her stumbling down on her other knee. She grabbed for a dagger at her waist, lurching forward and slamming it through the armor of Titus’s leg. He roared in pain but did not stop, instead he brought the greatsword over his head, all in one swift motion after his initial strike. Using the last of his strength, he brought the sword down on Glora, taking her head with one clean, brutal blow. A torrent of blood sprayed as her body crumbled to the ground, shocked yelling emerging from the nearby Highrock onlookers. Anna saw a large, heavily armored Highrock run towards Glora’s body; she figured it was Lorag, the other Highrock Champion.

  Titus wavered, his energy gone. He walked back towards his comrades, his steps unequal. As his massive body began to fall, Anna and another Narsho warrior ran forward to catch him.

  The two could barely hold him, but managed to drag him safely behind the line of battle that had quickly resumed after the duel had finished. Anna herself was wavering in strength, and as they sat Titus down, she collapsed next to him, feeling spent.

  “Anna … Thank you,” Titus managed, looking as though he may pass out.

  “Don’t thank me, Titus. You would have done the same,” Anna replied, looking at the warrior that had helped her. “Go get the shaman! Now!”

  Despite not knowing who she was or why he should take orders from her, the warrior nodded as Anna spoke with confidence. He ran behind their lines and to the gates, which weren’t too far anymore. Anna watched as the Highrock and Narsho warriors continued to fight but noticed some of the Highrock had begun to retreat, though she figured their retreating was based on personal fear, not an actual order.

  “Help me back up … I can continue to fight,” Titus slowly spoke, blood trickling from his pauldron and leg.

  “I don’t doubt you could, but you shouldn’t. You’re bleeding too much as it is,” Anna replied, staring into the distance for the shaman.

  Titus didn’t reply and didn’t struggle to stand. Anna became increasingly worried as he looked as though he may collapse. She grabbed his hand, not wanting him to give up. As he closed his eyes, her heart sank.

  “Titus, don’t fall asleep, now’s not the time,” Anna urged, patting him on the face.

  “I, er, sorry,” Titus mumbled, shaking his head.

  Anna looked over again, but fortunately this time she saw others heading her away. Behind the line of chaos walked their shaman, Olaf, Chieftain Barod, and a few others with blue trim on their armor; Anna didn’t recognize them but knew they were with the Forud Clan. She didn’t stop holding Titus’s hand until they arrived. She stood to greet her chieftain, her legs barely having any energy left in them.

  “Anna! By the gods!” Chieftain Barod yelled, quickly running forward and helping her stand.

  “Titus is wounded, he needs the shaman. I believe he’s bleeding out,” Anna said, pointing to the wounds.

  Olaf shuffled past them and slowly knelt next to Titus. He had a small bag with him, containing bandages and other medicinal supplies. He examined the wound for a moment before turning for help.

  “You two, help me get his armor off,” Olaf ordered to nearby Narsho.

  “By the gods, is that Titus Fardson?” the old, unknown man standing next to Chieftain Barod asked.

  “It is,” Chieftain Barod affirmed, then realized Anna likely had never seen the other man. “Scout Myhre, this is Chieftain Wooll of the Forud Clan.”

  “Hello, Scout,” Chieftain Wooll greeted, his white beard stained with blood.

  “It’s an honor to meet you,” Anna replied, out of breath.

  “Anna, the Highrock have ambushed our village. The battle was looking grim until now. I’m assuming you both have something to do with it,” Chieftain Barod yelled over the noise of battle.

  “Yes, we flanked behind the corner of their line. Chieftain, I have much to relay after this battle is over,” Anna replied, beginning to tear up.

  Seeing Anna in distress, the Chieftain frowned. He motioned for her to sit, helping her to the ground. He gave her his waterskin and patted her on the shoulder.

  “You’ve completed your mission. We will speak after the battle is won. Rest now, and we will finish this,” Chieftain Barod urged.

  “Yes, Chieftain,” Anna replied, feeling as though her body was sinking into the ground.

  “After seeing this carnage, I am sorry we have chosen not to fight alongside you,” Chieftain Wooll apologized, glancing out at the fray.

  “Do not apologize, Herold. Nobody should have to go through this sort of brutality. If you want to help fight now, then help me push back this dishonorable clan and save my village,” Chieftain Barod offered, extending his weathered hand to his old friend.

  “My guards and I will join you,” Chieftain Wooll agreed, shaking his fellow chieftain’s hand.

  Anna sat back, finally regaining the slightest amount of energy as she watched the two chieftains and the Forud guards walk toward the fighting, their weapons at the ready. As she rested, she watched the battle in front of her unfold.

  Chieftain Barod and Chieftain Wooll rushed forward, both carrying heavy battleaxes. Seeing the leaders fighting alongside them, the Narsho warriors let out a cry, their morale bolstering. Now, it was readily apparent the tide of war had shifted.

  The two Chieftains and Forud Guards fought hard, taking down opponent after opponent. Of course, Chieftain Barod had far more experience, and truly led the charge. While he was an old man, the chieftain had been fighting his entire life. He probably had more experience than any other warrior on the battlefield.

  As they continued to push back the invaders, Anna turned her head to look at Titus. Olaf and the men assisting him had made quick work of the wounds and had patched up their Champion. She had even seen Olaf use magic, a sign of a desperate measure. Titus was still understandably exhausted and did not move.

  “He will be alright. Just don’t let him try to fight,” Olaf began, feeling guilty as he looked at Anna. “And Anna, Chieftain Barod and I must speak to you after the battle is over.”

  “Oh, er, alright,” Anna replied, finding the shaman’s cryptic demeanor odd.

  “Good. Now, I have many others to tend to,” Olaf quickly said, wandering back towards the scores of wounded warriors scattered amongst the blood-soaked battlefield.

  Anna looked back, seeing the Highrock warriors had collapsed into a mess, but something seemed off; like with Titus’s duel, the warriors stopped fighting, as if watching something. She struggled to stand and make her way toward the front line.

  She staggered through the muddy, blood-drenched field whose grass had been torn away. She walked around bodies, limbs, and other atrocities as she reached the line about thirty meters away. She quickly pushed through the Narsho warriors, none trying to stop her. When she finally reached the front, she saw what everyone else was watching. Chieftain Barod and a thin, sickly looking man wearing a crown were standing about ten feet apart, both staring at each other with absolute hatred. Standing just behind the older man in the crown was the fine-looking warrior with dual blades. As she made eye contact with the warrior, something about him called out to her again.

  Chapter 11

  As Prince Mace eyed the redheaded woman about his age standing across from him, he felt a strange sensation. It wasn’t her rough yet elegant beauty, and it wasn’t the impressive fact she was wielding two swords. No, he couldn’t place his finger on why he felt a connection of sorts. But for now, it was a waste of his time to fixate on it. He looked back toward his father, who took another step toward the Narsho Chieftain.

  “Chieftain Barod! I demand you face me alone!” Chief Ki
ng Mace yelled, slamming his ancestral mace on the muddy ground.

  Prince Mace watched as the Narsho Chieftain took a step forward, his battleaxe dripping with blood. The chieftain’s chainmail didn’t have a scratch on it, and he looked to be full of energy. The man was intimidating, and the prince wondered if his father could actually defeat his opponent.

  “Mace! You coward! You attack my home directly? Why should I duel someone so dishonorable?” Chieftain Barod yelled back.

  “You dare call me dishonorable! You come from the most dishonorable group of people that has ever existed in this realm! Fight me, coward!” Chief King Mace bellowed, his words seething with hatred.

  “If it is a fight you want, then so be it! Come, strike the first blow!” Chieftain Barod responded.

  Prince Mace watched as his father stewed in his own hatred, so close to the nemesis he had been wanting to defeat his entire life. He knew his father had been fueled by that hatred, that skewed sense of justice since he was young. Whether it was enough to let him defeat Chieftain Barod he wasn’t sure. Regardless, something told him this wouldn’t turn out well for anyone involved.

  Chief King Mace ran at Chieftain Barod, swinging his heavy, sharp-spiked mace at the man. The Narsho chieftain dodged the first couple swings and parried another, then he swung his battleaxe at Chief King Mace, who sidestepped to avoid it with ease. If Chief King Mace had anything, it was his agility.

  The two continued to clash, equally matched in their own ways. Chieftain Barod had superior strength, while Chief King Mace had quickness. Roars from the crowd reached each of the leader’s ears, causing them to fight that much harder. With each swing of the Narsho leader’s battleaxe, the prince found himself wincing, knowing at any moment he could lose his father.

  Chieftain Barod swung a hard hit down on Chief King Mace, who barely had the strength to parry it. The Narsho leader held his battleaxe against his opponent’s mace, trying hard to shove the blade forward into his enemy’s face. It was a tense moment, and the prince watched as his father withdrew one hand, now barely holding out against the strength of his enemy. Then, the chief king conjured a dagger from somewhere beneath his clothing with his suddenly free hand, and quickly stabbed Chieftain Barod in the gut.

  The Narsho leader stepped back, the sharp dagger penetrating his chainmail. He instinctively touched the wound and looked at his fingers, which were now soaked with blood. He brought his hand to his face, seeing something strange mixed with his blood. A moment later, his fears had been confirmed.

  “Poison? You would use poison in an honorable duel?” Chieftain Barod yelled for all to hear, whisking the blood from his hand.

  “I’ll do what is necessary to avenge my ancestors!” Chief King Mace yelled, his voice crackling with delight.

  Prince Mace shook his head, disappointed at his father. Poison was not the Highrock way and would have led to the exile of any other clanspeople had it been them using it. However, since it was his father, the people roared with excitement. The prince found very little honor to be had in such a move.

  From the corner of his eye, Prince Mace saw General Klon at the front of their warriors, arms crossed, watching. As their eyes met, he felt a seething hatred emanating from the general’s visage. His own anger flared, and Prince Mace longed for the distraction of combat yet again.

  “Your ancestors left the rest of the clan behind!” Chieftain Barod yelled, swinging his battleaxe wildly at his foe.

  Chief King Mace struggled to deflect them all, taking a couple of minor strikes on his arm and side. He lurched back, surprised his opponent hadn’t fallen yet. He placed the dagger back beneath his robe, knowing the poison had already been delivered.

  “It was the other way around! My ancestors fought the shadows when nobody else would! Without their sacrifice, the entire Great Clan could’ve been lost!” Chief King Mace yelled, swinging and missing as Chieftain Barod sidestepped.

  Being struck hard across the back by the blunt part of the battleaxe, Chief King Mace coughed violently, the wind knocked out of him. He fell to a knee and scrambled through the mud to escape his opponent. He slowly stood, seeing he was being approached faster than anticipated.

  Chieftain Barod leapt forward, smashing his battleaxe down on the Highrock leader. With a brutal sound, his ancestral mace cracked from the strike. The spiked head of the weapon slowly slid apart, the metal finally giving way. Shocked by the destruction of his family heirloom, the chief king cried out in anger.

  “No! The council decided together to flee their home. It was the arrogant Chief King of the Great Clan who ignored his council and led his warriors into a slaughter!” Chieftain Barod yelled, coughing up the slightest bit of blood.

  Chief King Mace’s clothes were now stained with blood from his wounds. He looked to General Klon, who quickly ran out and gave him a sword in lieu of his destroyed mace. He adjusted the crown on his head, and slowly approached his foe.

  “Chief King Mace the First was an honorable warrior and great leader! I will continue his legacy as chief king and will unite the clans after the Narsho are defeated!” Chief King Mace yelled.

  “You are no chief king! You are a dishonorable, cowardly warmonger!” Chieftain Barod roared, charging his opponent with all his strength.

  Prince Mace watched as the two collided, his father unable to match the Narsho leader’s strength. The self-proclaimed chief king was sent hurdling into the ground, his crown flying into a nearby bloodied mud puddle. However, this wasn’t before the Highrock leader got a partial stab through Chieftain Barod’s left arm, causing him to drop to a knee.

  Prince Mace instinctively took a step forward as his father fell, part of him wanting to help his old father. He stopped himself quickly, knowing his father wouldn’t intervene if it was him. Besides, anyone else like General Klon could’ve stepped in, and they still hung back. It wasn’t normal to interfere with a duel.

  “Damn you, Barod! Damn you and the Narsho Clan!” Chief King Mace howled from the ground, still not standing.

  Chieftain Barod said nothing, only coughing up blood. He couldn’t quite stand on his own and was still stuck on his knee. It looked as though the poison was finally taking effect. Prince Mace noticed the young red-haired woman was walking toward her chieftain despite protests from nearby warriors. They seemed to address her as Anna.

  “What are you doing?” Prince Mace asked loudly, walking toward her.

  “I’m not letting him die of poison!” Anna yelled back, her two mismatched swords at the ready.

  “I cannot let you interfere with this duel,” Prince Mace warned, drawing his own twin swords.

  “But we have bigger things to worry about! The Horrors to the east get stronger with each moment!” Anna yelled back, desperation plaguing her voice.

  Prince Mace stopped, noticing her words seemed genuine. Could she have been talking about the same thing the Seer had warned them about? Had he gone to every village? If so, it sounded like she had seen what the Seer had foretold.

  “What? Do you speak of the Seer’s warning?” Prince Mace asked, slightly lowering his swords.

  “Son! What are you doing?” Chief King Mace yelled as he slowly stood from the ground.

  “Yes! We’ve seen them!” Anna yelled for all to hear. “There are powerful, terrible beasts we call Horrors running amok in the Cursed Lands! They are infecting the entire forest and will eventually reach us if we do not act now!”.

  Prince Mace listened intently, judging her words to be genuine. Based on the look in her widened blue eyes, he could tell she had seen something that tormented her. He lowered his swords so their tips touched the ground, not interested in fighting. He wanted to speak to her more, to figure out just how much of a threat lay east of them.

  “Garon Mace! Stop consorting with that wretched Narsho,” Chief King Mace demanded, having just pulled his crown from the mud.

  “Quiet! Has your hate blinded you so much, Father? She speaks of what the Seer warned us about
!” Prince Mace protested.

  “My hate does nothing but focus me! Your enemy lies before you and you speak to them like an acquaintance,” Chief King Mace berated as he approached his son. “Now step aside and I shall finish that weakling Barod once and for all.

  “No!” Prince Mace yelled, holding out his arm to stop his father.

  “Father or not, you dare stop your chief king?” Chief King Mace yelled, pushing his son.

  “I only want what’s best for our people,” Prince Mace yelled. Then, fueled by his anger and conflicted feelings toward the man, the prince shoved his father back with both hands, careful to keep his blades pointed away, but it only took him a moment to realize his mistake.

  He quickly looked behind him at those he was trying to protect and noticed Chieftain Barod had already been removed from the battlefield. Now, only Anna stood behind him. Prince Mace watched as General Klon grabbed his battleaxe with his one hand and charged towards him.

  “You insolent little worm!” General Klon yelled, swinging his battleaxe wildly at Prince Mace.

  The agile prince parried and dodged the general’s sloppy attacks. Having lost his dominant hand the night before, the general’s attacks were anything but deadly. Prince Mace found it easy to keep the general’s attacks at bay. This time, however, the prince would not let the general walk away alive. Fueled by frustration, Prince Garon Mace made his decision. He didn’t waste his breath on the man that hated him and began his own flurry of attacks. His twin swords were too fast for the one-handed general, whose face was contorted in loathing. As they fought, Prince Mace’s eyes kept being drawn to the Highrock warriors standing behind his father. They were staring at him with a hatred close to that of the general. While the duel last night had been about status within the clan, their fight now proved the prince wasn’t truly a part of their clan, at least not to them. While their looks and jeers toward him weighed heavily on his heart, it did not stop him from fighting with all he had. No, Prince Mace was full of his own righteous fury.