Rise of the Champions

by Nicholas Joslin

  Valon first shook the hand of Chieftain Barod, exchanging a mutual nod. He then shook Titus’s hand, and moved onto Becca and Goreth. He shared some words of magic wisdom to the two, shaking their hands.

  “Anna, are you sure you don’t want to return with us? I know you are pregnant after all,” Valon asked respectfully.

  “No, Valon. My place is here with my chieftain. I must finish this. We will be fine,” Anna said as she shook the Seer’s hand, her other hand lightly brushing against her stomach.

  Finally, Valon approached Garon, the Seer’s gold eye burning brightly with holy magic. He didn’t know what to say but grasped the man’s hand.

  “I applaud your choice to join us in the true fight, Garon. I am sorry for what has befallen your father and your people. If I can spare them somehow, I will. Otherwise, I will do what is necessary to save our people,” Valon consoled as they let go.

  “Thank you. Good luck, Valon,” Garon replied.

  Valon nodded and turned to Guard Captain Jarult. They spoke for a moment, all eyes of the warriors and mages on them. It seemed their time to part ways had come.

  Garon watched as Valon hit the staff on the ground, wisps of holy magic letting loose from it. They formed a shimmering vertical pool in front of him, a thin layer of gold finally revealing the Narsho village. As it appeared, even Garon could feel the immense power it was drawing. It was about ten feet tall, and twenty feet wide.

  “Quickly, men! Into the portal!” Guard Captain Jarult yelled, smiling at his chieftain with pride one last time. “Charge!”

  Garon watched as Guard Captain Jarult ran into the shimmering pool of magic and disappeared into it. Valon waved to them one final time and stepped in afterwards, him and the staff disappearing for good. The other warriors and mages followed behind, yelling as they ran into the shimmering light and vanished.

  As the majority of their forces vanished into the portal, Garon knew it was up to them now. If they failed to do their part, Xerannu’s forces would continue to spread unchecked. He wasn’t sure if the being was bluffing about making things worse, but Garon figured it couldn’t get much worse.

  Moments after the last warrior ran through the portal, it began to sizzle loudly and collapse in on itself. It erupted with golden light, sending a small wave of power out from it. Now they were truly cut off and on their own.

  “Warriors! Mages! We must press forward and finish this!” Chieftain Barod yelled.

  Those behind them roared in agreement, ready for anything. Their swords, axes, and magic were at the ready, knowing this would likely be where they died, but it didn’t matter, as they had seen what could take the lives of their loved ones if left unchecked.

  “Now, let us go. We must destroy this Xerannu and save our people!” Chieftain Barod ordered, looking to his Champions.

  “I will follow you to the end,” Titus said, saluting his chieftain.

  Garon prepared himself, knowing his own end may be around the corner. Despite that, it didn’t dissuade him from walking forward toward the corrupted forest. Everything he had ever lived for was now gone except his new friends. Everyone he had left to fight for was now standing beside him, ready to fight the same foe.

  Garon’s resolve was bolstered as he marched alongside his friends toward the forest where their enemy waited. Perhaps if they defeated Xerannu, his people could yet be saved, although deep down he knew that was not likely the case. Still, he had enough to fight for, and Garon Mace would give everything he had to help save the Allied Clans.

  Chapter 27

  As Valon stumbled from the portal, it took him a moment to collect himself. His entire body felt hot, and the cool drops of harvest season rain felt soothing on his warm skin. As the warriors began pouring through the portal, he moved away, stepping next to a dazed Guard Captain Jarult.

  “By … the gods … that was … ohh,” Guard Captain Jarult moaned, hunched over his knees, hair already damp with rain.

  Valon nodded in agreement, still feeling odd from the portal. He could tell they had traveled using nothing more than holy magic, and he wondered if it would leave any lasting effects on those who had traveled through. However, that was far from important right now.

  “We need to prepare for the attack. There’s no telling how close they are,” Valon urged, shaking his head. “We also need to prepare the ships to sail.

  “Of course. I will ready our defenses and send warriors to begin the evacuation,” Guard Captain Jarult agreed, stopping and staring off toward the portal. “It just doesn’t feel real.”

  “No. No, it doesn’t,” Valon concurred, watching as warriors and mages alike poured from the portal.

  Valon noticed two familiar faces among the mages emerging from the portal. He almost gasped as he recognized his parents stepping out. He had assumed they would remain in the Narsho village instead of fighting. He spared no time running over to them.

  “Mother! Father! You were at the encampment?” Valon asked loudly, retroactively worrying for his parents’ wellbeing, despite them standing before them.

  “Indeed, Son! We couldn’t stand idle and let our son fight alone,” Valon’s father smiled, then noticed his son’s gold eye.

  “By the gods, your eye!” Valon’s mother gasped. “Why is it gold?”

  Valon chuckled, hugging both of his parents. As they walked back together with the horde of clanspeople, he explained everything that had happened. He told them of the elves, the various flows of magic, and every strange thing he had seen. Out of everything they had been told, they were most interested in the fact their son had finally become the Seer. By the time they reached the Chieftain’s Hall, he had told them everything.

  “To think our own son has finally become the Seer of the Ancient Clan. We are so proud,” Valon’s mother smiled.

  “Indeed, we are. Now, what are your orders, Seer?” Valon’s father chuckled.

  “I want you two to head to the ships to help our people evacuate. Heal whoever you can, for we still have wounded. Do whatever you can; we will need to leave this place soon,” Valon ordered, taking his role seriously.

  “Are you certain, dear? We can still fight,” Valon’s mother asked.

  “I am certain. I will do my best to hold them off with the others, but if we are overwhelmed, you must set sail, even if we are overcome. Otherwise, I will see you at the port,” Valon explained, at least wanting his parents to escape their dying land.

  “Then we shall do as you say,” Valon’s father nodded.

  “Long live the Seer,” Valon’s mother smiled, hugging her son.

  Valon hugged his mother then his father, knowing this was not a true goodbye. He had already seen glimpses of his mother sailing south with him and knew their plan would succeed. At least, it would succeed if they all did what was necessary.

  As his parents headed through the bustling village and toward the docks, he saw Chieftain Yarmot exiting the Chieftain’s Hall. The rotund man staggered slightly, as if he had been drinking. As he noticed Valon, he briefly stopped, shocked by the Seer’s glowing eye, then continued walking again.

  “My, my—Valon, right? I have heard from Guard Captain Jarult that you are the new … Seer is it?” Chieftain Yarmot questioned with a hiccup.

  “I am. It is good to see you, Chieftain Yarmot,” Valon greeted, shaking the chieftain's sweaty hand. “Has Guard Captain Jarult explained the threat we face?”

  As Valon asked the question, Chieftain Yarmot groaned as if he were in pain. He held a facade of confidence on his face, but Valon knew how the man truly felt. He could see the fear in the Linta chieftain’s eyes, the lack of confidence the man had in not only himself, but everyone else.

  “He did. The evacuation is underway, and I have ordered our remaining forces to hold the line at this gate,” Chieftain Yarmot replied with a high, stressed voice.

  Valon looked toward the hastily constructed wall in the distance. He knew it would be foolish to try to hold such a larger, less fortified
position. However, now they only had the Narsho village between them and the docks, meaning if they didn’t hold, some of the clanspeople may not be evacuated.

  “We do have another problem,” Chieftain Yarmot admitted.

  “What other problem?” Valon asked slowly.

  “It is impossible to fit everyone on the ship. We can barely fit the people we have here, but even that would be pushing it. Once the others return, there’s no way we will be able to save everyone,” Chieftain Yarmot panicked.

  Valon realized the chieftain hadn’t been fully informed of the situation, that Becca and many others were staying behind to finish the fight. While he would normally approach the situation tactfully, Valon knew they were short on time.

  “Chieftain, the others are not coming back. This is it. We have been told to set sail without them. They are going to find a way to close the portal,” Valon finally admitted, seeing the chieftain’s eyes open in shock.

  “They’re … they’re not coming back? I assumed the attack had failed and you were split up. Did they not follow you here?” Chieftain Yarmot questioned.

  “No, they did not. We took a portal back and traveled here instantaneously so we could defend against the coming attack. They continue to fight against Xerannu, the leader of those Horrors. They will not return … I am sorry, Chieftain Yarmot,” Valon explained empathetically.

  “But Becca, my beautiful niece. Oh, gods. My wonderful Becca. And what of my fighters that did not return? Their loved ones will … Oh, gods!” Chieftain Yarmot agonized, turning away from Valon.

  Before Valon could console him, Guard Captain Jarult ran to them. He looked nervous, and the look on his face already told Valon what was happening. He quickly spoke, looking primarily at Valon instead of the slightly sobbing chieftain.

  “The enemy has already arrived.”

  Valon only nodded, following the guard captain back towards the front gate. The positioned warriors and mages let them through, quickly moving aside for their superiors. They all whispered between each other, clearly disturbed by the sight outside the gate.

  Finally, they reached the first line of shield-bearing warriors and mages behind them, who glared nervously at their enemy across the scarred battlefield. They made way for Valon and Jarult, whispering about how powerful Valon supposedly was.

  Valon couldn’t help but feel sickened as he stared at their foe across the muddy battlefield. The entirety of the Highrock Clan stood opposite them, all wielding weapons and donning whatever armor still fit their warped bodies.

  Standing in front of them was a single line of nearly two dozen of bulky, giant Horrors which stood close to twenty feet tall. They were thick, tough, and Valon figured were being used as meat shields. He remembered once seeing a drawing of clay golems that looked similarly, and he shuddered at the thought of living flesh. As he sized up their enemies, Valon then noticed a single man emerge from between the flesh golems.

  The Highrock man stood tall, adorned in well-crafted plate armor and wielded a large greataxe. From here, Valon could barely discern that the blade was coated in tarry black blood. It seemed it had been placed there on purpose, likely to infect anyone who was wounded. He could only surmise the other Highrock warriors had the same trick. Even with the light rain, the blood was thick enough to stay on the blade, at least for now.

  “Lorag … the Highrock Champion,” Valon muttered, staring at the dangerous foe.

  “I’ve heard of his brutality, but if Glora fell, he surely will too,” Jarult replied confidently.

  “Look, their blades are coated in the blood of the afflicted. Any wounds will lead to infection unless I can cleanse them, and I will be too busy holding them off to do that,” Valon whispered quietly to Jarult.

  “Damn the Highrock. They know no honor. Is there no way you can teach that, er, spell to the other mages of yours?” Jarult asked quietly.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot right now. I am not sure if I ever could, but if I can it would take far, far longer than we have,” Valon replied.

  “Damn. They probably have even more Horrors behind them too. They outnumber us. We need to evacuate the village,” Jarult grumbled, wielding his battleaxe and placing his helmet over his head.

  “I believe I may have a way to prevent them from breaching our line. There is one spell I have been given that can create a barrier of holy magic. It is immensely powerful and could hold them back indefinitely. The problem is it will take time to conjure. You wouldn’t have my aid in battle, as I would have to focus my power solely on creating the barrier,” Valon added, looking at Jarult for his thoughts.

  “I see … If you really think you can create a barrier, then we can buy you the time you need. Either way, we will lose many brave men and women here, but if you can create a barrier, our warriors will be able to escape without sacrifice. Are you sure this is possible, Seer?” Guard Captain Jarult asked.

  “Yes, it can be done,” Valon replied, knowing what he had to do.

  “Then we will hold them off, I swear it,” Jarult promised.

  Valon simply nodded and held Hy’ria’s staff in his hands. He closed his eyes, searching his memory for the spell among the many holy-infused spells Hy’ria had given them. The spell would conjure a blazing wall of pure holy magic that could surround the entire village. It wasn’t only large in size, but in power as well. Valon knew he would have the power required, but it would take time. However, he agreed with Jarult, and knew the shield would allow any remaining warriors to escape without worrying about being chased by the enemy.

  Focusing his power, he began to draw from the flows of holy magic. He could feel the fiery warmth of the magic flow through him as though he were a mere conduit, and began to form in the field not far in front of him. Brief flashes of unrequested farsight hit him as he began, and he saw he was on the right path. Now, if his warriors could just hold the enemy off long enough, they could finally escape their doomed home.

  ***

  Guard Captain Jarult took a deep breath, looking away from the now meditating Seer next to him. He could feel the burning red eyes of his enemy on his back as he faced his own troops. As the Allied Clan’s mix of fighters from all tribes stood before him, he knew he needed to boost their morale like his chieftain would.

  “Warriors! Mages! Get ready for the fight of your life! All our people rely on us! Your friends, your family, your brothers and sisters in arms, they need you now more than ever to fight with all you have! Do not let our chieftain’s and other allies' sacrifices be in vain! You no longer fight for your own clan, you fight for humanity, for the Allied Clans!” Jarult boomed, his voice echoing through the formation. “Now, let us charge the enemy!”

  Jarult turned as the warriors yelled in response. He held his battleaxe high over his head; he knew this would be the last thing the Highrock would expect. He pounded the battleaxe against his shield, then pointed toward their foe. On cue, his warriors charged past him and Valon, and he joined the front line. Jarult’s blood pumped as he rushed the startled enemy. However, they quickly responded with their own charge, all the Horrors and afflicted Highrock warriors following behind the lumbering flesh golems. Horrible, blood-curdling roars came from their enemy as they bellowed out in an animalistic rage. The sound of the flesh golems was the worst, their entire being a creation against nature itself.

  Jarult’s teeth clashed together as he eyed his closing enemy, more horrifying than any he had ever faced. Everything was on the line now, and he would not fail his people. He would not fail his chieftain. He clenched his weapons, knowing even one strike against him could be fatal in a matter of moments. This was the day he had trained for his entire life.

  Dozens of sparking magic missiles flew over their heads as they ran, striking the flesh golems that slowly shambled toward them. Given the immense size and strength of the golems, they had to be targeted one at a time. As the first golem fell, it shook the nearby ground, startling all around it

  As a second golem fell,
an opening was created just before the forces merged. Both forces advanced toward each other, both knowing this was the end. Then, chaos erupted as they clashed in an explosion of metal, bone, and flesh.

  Jarult was filled with a passion for his people as he charged his first target, bashing an afflicted Highrock warrior with his shield. As the warrior stumbled back, it made a terrible roar, tendrils emerging from its mouth. It charged at him, red eyes full of systematic hate.

  Undisturbed by the corrupted warrior, Jarult roared his own battle cry, inspiring those around him to do the same. He leapt toward the afflicted warrior, bringing his axe down and chopping through the hand of his foe. Black blood sprayed from the wound, vicious and defiled in color. Jarult continued his attack, deftly striking multiple blows against the terrible being. The warrior couldn’t keep up and was struck more times in its knotted flesh that bulged from its armor. It wailed, attracting the attention of a nearby flesh golem. As it looked over, Jarult made eye contact with the horrible beast. Busy with other foes, the untargeted flesh golem lurched over at him, swinging its thick arms like a clumsy child swatting bugs. It knocked warriors of both sides to the ground into the muddy, blood-encrusted battlefield. However, Jarult dodged to the side, avoiding the wrath of the simple monster.

  Missing its target, the flesh golem wailed in annoyance. It swung again, but this time Jarult was prepared with a bold idea. He slung his shield around his back and grasped a dagger in his other hand, ready for the arm swinging his way. He leapt forward and jumped onto it, stabbing his dagger and battleaxe into the gnarled purple flesh of the being.

  The golem cried out in confusion, swing its arms and trying to shake him off. Jarult clung on for dear life, hoping his weapons would hold. As the golem stopped, he climbed up the arm, using his battleaxe and dagger as climbing tools. With each forceful stab, tarry blood seeped from the wound of the monster, causing it to wail and shake its arms slower and slower. Jarult grinned maniacally, surprised his plan was working as he neared the barely definable head of the golem. With his target in sight, Jarult pushed himself, using all the strength he had to stay on the flailing golem. As he reached the top of the arm, he could see the bloodshot red eyes of the terrible beast staring at him.