Rise of the Champions

by Nicholas Joslin

  As the general waned in strength, Prince Mace found his opening. Parrying the general’s battleaxe with one sword, he quickly brought the other around and sliced clean through his foe’s wrist. With a tiny thud, the general’s hand fell to the ground, fingers still angrily gripping the weapon.

  “You—” General Klon began to cry out.

  Prince Mace plunged his sword through the heart of the general, sending him into an instant state of shock. The prince neared the man, bringing his face close. As he stared into the general’s eyes, all he could see was anger and fear.

  “Traitor…” General Klon coughed bloodily.

  Prince Mace simply smiled, knowing he had finally killed the man who had mistreated him his entire life for no other reason than jealousy. In fact, the prince had never done one wrong thing to instigate such aggression. Thoughts of their past quickly raced in the prince’s mind, but he knew there was no point in reflection now. With his sword still impaled through the general, he stepped back, releasing it. With one quick motion, he brought his other sword around with both hands and decapitated the general, sending his contorted, ugly head tumbling into the mud. Before the general’s body dropped, Prince Mace had grabbed his other sword and stared viciously toward his father and the rest of the Highrock Clan.

  “It’s over! Let us stop this pointless fighting!” Prince Mace pleaded, looking at his people and then his father.

  “You … Even being my son, I will not stand for this. Do not return home, Garon. You are exiled from the Highrock clan,” Chief King Mace declared darkly, holding his still bleeding wounds.

  “But father, there is another enemy out there,” Prince Mace continued, taking a step toward his people.

  “Silence! Never forget what you have done today. Because of you, the Highrock Clan has suffered and been deprived the vengeance it deserves. Goodbye, Garon,” Chief King Mace replied, turning away from his son. “Retreat!”

  Prince Mace watched as his people called him names, spat towards him, and began to retreat towards the tree line. He couldn’t help but feel crushed, knowing in trying to save them he had lost them. Now, he truly was an outcast, an exile, and wouldn’t be allowed home.

  The cheering of the Narsho warriors behind him startled the prince, and he turned to see Anna still standing behind him. She had sheathed her swords and stared at him, not knowing what to say. Wanting to make sure he hadn’t sacrificed everything in vain, he approached her, wanting to know more.

  “I am Prince, er, well perhaps not that anymore. I am Garon Mace,” Garon choked out, the impact of his loss starting to set in.

  “I am Anna, a scout for the Narsho,” Anna replied, extending her hand.

  As they shook, Garon began looking at the nearby warriors. The Narsho seemed skeptical of him, which was understandable. From the way they stared, he once again felt like an outsider. However, he wagered the Narsho probably liked him more than his own people right about now.

  “The Seer came to our home too and told of the threat. You’ve seen them?” Garon asked.

  “Yes. In fact, we are going to discuss exactly what we saw now that we’ve won,” Anna replied with trusting eyes.

  “If you’ll have me, I would like to be a part of this discussion. I know I’ve been exiled, but perhaps if I knew the full story, I could still convince my father,” Garon suggested.

  “It is not my decision, but given your peaceful intentions, I will vouch for you,” Anna replied, turning and walking toward the Narsho village.

  Garon followed close behind, not returning the stares the Narsho warriors were giving him. He couldn’t avoid the sight of the nearby carnage, however. Hundreds of warriors from both sides had perished in what was arguably a useless battle. Their bodies, weapons, and armor littered the once open field in front of the Narsho village. Now that the battle was over, other warriors and clanspeople began searching and dealing with the dead. Others were already working on repairing the wall and putting out some of the fires started by Highrock archers’ fire arrows.

  “It’s terrible,” Garon muttered, looking down at his blood and mud-soaked feet.

  “What was that?” Anna asked, slowing down to walk beside him.

  “This fighting is terrible. I’ve been against it my whole life. But my father is blinded by hatred. I am sorry,” Garon apologized, even though he knew he alone was helpless to change it.

  “It is useless. We should be standing together against invaders, not fighting each other. But do not apologize, you do not lead the Highrock people,” Anna answered, her words colored with mixed emotions.

  Garon nodded, knowing she was right. Now he would never lead the Highrock people. In fact, he didn’t know what would happen if his father were to pass, for there was no one else from the bloodline left. Unless his father had another child with someone else, the hereditary rule would come to an end. He shook his head as they entered the village, knowing it wasn’t his concern any longer.

  “Just answer me this, Garon. Why turn against your father, your people, like that? I cannot guarantee Chieftain Barod won’t send you away from here. Why suddenly put yourself between the Highrock and Narsho people?” Anna asked as she stopped walking and turned to the former prince.

  “Because I want what is best for my clan,” Garon answered as they stopped. “When the Seer came, I believed him. Since you’ve witnessed that threat, I cannot stand by and let your people face it alone. Even if the Highrock Clan cannot see that now, I will still fight with whoever it takes to defeat this enemy. I am here because I believe it is the right thing to do.”

  “Then I’m sure you will be welcomed. Now come, there is much to do,” Anna replied, patting him on the shoulder.

  Garon followed closely behind, feeling sure he had made the right decision. Considering how she described the so-called Horrors, it seemed the Seer’s warning was true. Knowing that even the Great Clan itself had once fallen, he wanted to ensure that fate didn’t befall his people. Even if they didn’t consider him to be a part of the Highrock Clan, he would still fight for them. For once in his life, Garon felt for certain he was finally on the right path.

  Chapter 12

  Valon found himself unable to even think as the ritual progressed; he could constantly sense the magic being used, distracting his every sense. Even sitting alone in his small home, nestled in his chair by his fireplace, he could find no solace. With each moment, he worried more about his master and all those mages who were assisting him.

  He wanted to meditate during this time, not having anything else to do. Unfortunately, between his own mind and the magic disturbance from the nearby cave, he could only sit in slight torment. An old book lay open on the table next to him, its worn pages not calling to him. Wanting to give it another shot, he picked up the book and attempted to focus on reading.

  The book he was trying to distract himself with was a copy of an ancient tome his master had in his tower that spoke of the goblins their ancestors of the Great Clan had faced. Valon was curious as to whether the book may have answers regarding the being that now invaded their lands, but so far, he couldn’t even find evidence the goblins used to use magic; so far the book only said that they were quite simple, vicious, and lived in an even more primitive form of society than humans did. The one thing Valon found interesting was the Great Clan found that the goblins had disappeared after decades of fighting. The wording suggested the goblins either left or were defeated by someone else. It made it sound like the Great Clan didn’t strike down the last goblin alive. Valon wondered if the devious Shadowalkers that had broken apart the Great Clan were what destroyed the goblins.

  Valon shivered, recalling some of the details he had read about the Shadowalkers. While it was worth noting the authorless tome that his master had shown him potentially lacked credibility and accuracy, it did provide the most descriptive language of the terrible race his master had ever encountered.

  They were described as ‘foul, evil beasts with a bizarre appetite for flesh
of all kinds.’ They had sharp white teeth, which were sometimes the last thing a person would see, as they supposedly could blend in with the shadows and become almost invisible. Both their skin and eyes were as black as midnight, and the tome had even gone as far to describe them as otherworldly.

  However, his master's initial farsight didn’t give him that impression. Just after the great disturbance, they had immediately begun a farsight ritual. It was after this that his master saw what he could only describe as an ‘infestation by a powerful entity.’ Still, that infestation had worried the old Seer enough to go to the Highrock, Linta, Narsho, and Forud Clans, something he had never done in his entire life. It was then Valon knew how grave the threat was, and how powerful the magic his master had sensed.

  As he sat back in his chair, he pondered the concept of farsight once more. Numerous times his master had described to him how it felt to utilize such a spell but the vague descriptions had only made him more perplexed. From the sounds of it, farsight was not more than allowing a mage to visually see another place or point in time; no, it wasn’t that simple. That sort of sight was something Valon figured he could only truly understand when it was his turn.

  Feeling restless, he stood from his chair and walked toward the front door. He suddenly felt stuffy, and the constant surges of magic from the cave were driving him mad. Opening the door to his small home, he thrust himself out into the cool yet humid evening air. He quickly glanced up towards the hill where the cave was, then turned away, knowing he had to follow his master’s orders. He instead walked south down the village boardwalk, heading toward the exit. Valon wanted to clear his mind.

  The swamp frogs were loud as he made his way toward the gate. Their clan’s walls weren't large or strong around the village but made just tall enough to keep wildlife out. After all, nobody would want a swamp beast to come walking into their home.

  Valon suddenly noticed a young man in brown robes standing at the gate, facing away toward the heart of the swamp outside the village. As Valon approached, he recognized the young man as Kynud. He chuckled to himself as he neared the young man without him even realizing it.

  “Good evening,” Valon greeted.

  Kynud quickly spun around, instinctively holding his hand out as if to cast a spell at his elder. Seeing it was Valon, his cheeks grew red and embarrassment coated his face.

  “Valon, sir! I’m so sorry,” Kynud apologized.

  “What for?” Valon asked, not wanting the kid to be hard on himself.

  “For daydreaming! I was staring off into the swamp, imagining what sort of things lay hidden beneath it all,” Kynud explained awkwardly.

  “Don’t be sorry for that. It’s not as if threats to our village come from within often anyway. As long as you’re looking out there, I’d say you’re doing fine,” Valon answered with a small smile.

  Kynud looked relieved and stood awkwardly in front of Valon for a moment. He then realized the only reason Valon was here was to exit the gate, and quickly opened it.

  “Thank you, sir,” Kynud simply replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “No, thank you for keeping guard. I’ll be back shortly,” Valon replied as he exited his clan’s village.

  He continued down the path, which turned to mud the moment he left the village. The Ancient Swamp had been the home to their clan since before the era of the Great Clan. The presence of magic was strong here, and even when the Great Clan thrived in a now destroyed city supposedly far west, their village had still been used as sanctuary for many wandering mages.

  Valon continued into the swamp, large trees with hanging vines surrounding him on both sides. The swamp itself was a muddled brown-green color, some areas bubbling from mysterious gasses being released. While the smell was pungent and generally disliked, Valon was rather fond of it.

  As he followed the winding path through the Ancient Swamp, the nearby frogs croaked to signal his presence. It was beginning to get dark, and Valon conjured a small ball of light from his hands. It slowly floated around him like a lazy cloud hanging in the sky, a bluish light that projected all around him, revealing whatever was ahead.

  He was lost in a mix of thought and nostalgia as he slowly wandered down the old path of the Ancient Swamp. Valon had spent much time here as a child, exploring every inch of the swamp he could. He had always hoped to find some sort of buried treasure or secret society here. Given how enormous the swamp was, he still wondered even as an adult if such things may exist. However, there was one thing in the swamp that nobody knew the origin of.

  A few minutes later Valon approached what most considered the heart of the swamp. From what they could tell, the center of the large mire was here. Standing directly in the center was an ancient and finely carved statue standing upon a block of fine white stone.

  Valon looked at the statue, which seemed as mysterious and incredible as it had been the first time he laid eyes on it. It was carved to look like a thin, armored man and stood almost twenty feet tall. In one hand the statue held a curved sword, and in the other he held a book. He wore an elegant looking helmet, which appeared to have wings or ears of some sort made on the top. Considering some Chieftains had helmets with wings, it made him curious. Valon had always wondered if the things coming off the helmet were wings or ears, not that it made any difference. Still, the man seemed slender, and his body somehow more elegant looking than those of human clanspeople.

  Both the statue and the stone it stood on had succumbed to the swamp around it. Valon walked forward, scraping off some of the swamp debris from the block of stone. While it appeared dim and was covered with moss and other growths on the outside, the stone underneath was surprisingly a fine white color. Despite being such a work of art, the elders of the Ancient Clan did not know where it had come from or who made it. The only thing they all agreed on was it had been there since before they were born, and their elders of the time didn’t know the origin either. Valon had thought of many ideas over the years, but resigned to the fact that he may never know.

  A few feet away from the statue was a large, ancient stump that had been there since Valon was a child. He walked to it now, sitting down on the old, many-ringed stump. He sat and enjoyed the silence, closing his eyes and pretending for a moment he was a child again. Back then, he didn’t have any worries, responsibilities, or real reasons to feel conflicted or stressed. Now he felt as though the world may soon be thrust upon his shoulders.

  Suddenly, he heard a strange bubbling.

  “Good evening, Human,” a deep yet peaceful voice said from somewhere nearby.

  Valon’s eyes shot open and he stood quickly from the stump. He looked all around, trying to see who had greeted him. However, all he saw was trees and typical swamp foliage all around him. Not even the frogs were croaking anymore.

  “Hello?” Valon asked, curiously looking up towards the statue.

  The voice began to laugh as he looked at the old statue. Valon now heard it was coming from the left of him. He directed his magical light to illuminate the area, but still saw nothing but trees, though upon closer inspection, he realized something about the trees looked off. Then, he watched as a knot on the tree opened, revealing a singular blue eye similarly colored to the Seers.

  “Hello, Human,” the tree repeated, its mouth illuminated with a the same magical blue as the Seer’s eye.

  “By the gods. Are you … What are you?” Valon asked, not worrying if his lack of manners offended the tree.

  “Older than you, Human, by centuries. I am Distichum of the Arboreals.”

  With that, the tree slowly stood from the swamp, water and mud draining from it. Valon watched in amazement as the roots of the tree acted as its legs, and the branches its arms. He had never heard or seen such a thing and wondered if he was hallucinating. After all, swamp gas could cause such things in prolonged periods. However, as he approached the tree-being, he knew what he saw was real.

  “Hello, Distichum. I am Valon of the Ancient Clan. I have
never met or even heard of an … Arboreal, was it?” Valon slowly replied.

  “I know, Valon. We prefer it that way. In fact, I am only here because of the dire situation our realm finds itself in,” Distichum explained, scratching some moss from what looked like his chin.

  “You mean the threat in the Cursed Lands? My master is currently using farsight to see how to stop it, or at least figure out what exactly it is,” Valon replied.

  “Ah, so that is the powerful magic I currently sense coming from your village. I am familiar with your Seer, Lorenz Mordou. He is powerful for a human. Farsight can be dangerous, however, and I’m surprised a human can withstand its effects,” Distichum scowled.

  “He can. And soon I will too,” Valon replied, unsure of Distichum’s feelings toward him.

  “Well, be careful. Magic is a delicate, chaotic thing. But that aside, I’m here to warn you, Human. Your kind cannot defeat this strange foe,” Distichum cautioned.

  “You seem to say ‘Human’ quite a bit. I get the impression you do not like our race,” Valon replied, getting the feeling he was being talked down to.

  Distichum laughed to himself, shaking his entire body. He scratched his chin as he stared at Valon, his bark loudly rubbing together. Then he took another step and leaned forward, his entire body creaking.

  “I do not have an opinion yet. Your race is young, but you remind me of those arrogant elves,” Distichum explained, his voice lightening slightly as he realized he may have offended Valon.

  “Elves?” Valon asked, having never heard the word before.

  “Yes, the Holy Elven Empire. You were just staring at a statue of Imperator Ty’roel. I assumed you knew who they were,” Distichum explained, his voice sounding both concerned and frustrated.

  “Are they the Shadowalkers?” Valon asked, growing more confused.

  “No, no, no. They are not those accursed Shadowalkers. They make the elves look like saints. Bah, I have made a mistake. I should not have revealed their existence to you,” Distichum rambled, putting a leafy hand over his face. “The less you know, the better.”