by L. R. Flint
I was already half-way across the field from my hideout to the group, before I really thought about what I was doing, but since I was already there I was not going to turn and walk away from the people. Leaving them to that evil man’s will was not something I could bear to have on my conscience, even if I knew I was the only one who knew of their existence, as miserable as it was. “They do have a champion,” I challenged, and my voice rang out strong and clear across the open space. I was glad that my voice had not broken, to betray my trepidation over the scenarios that ran through my mind.
The man was startled and let go of the girl, who quickly ran back to her family, and checked on her father, who had just risked his life for her. The brute turned toward me and guffawed. “You are just a boy,” he laughed.
I ignored his comment and stepped forward into the torch, and moon, light. “Where is your own champion? I would destroy him so that I can send you hightailing it into misery and shame, where you will come to know what you have inflicted upon these people.”
He seemed at least impressed by the fact that I was still holding my ground. “You really think that you can beat whomever I send against you in battle? That you can destroy me?”
“I do. I would follow you into uninhabitable wastelands of poisonous fumes and acidic rain; I would even follow you to the doorsteps of the Abyss and beyond, if that were required to end you.” I inwardly chuckled at my boasting, doubting that there were any lands even vaguely resembling the first I had described.
He laughed, beginning to think that I was just boasting myself into an intimidating figure, that I was mocking him into an easy defeat. “Would you now? First you must defeat my man, and then we will see if you can do these things, or if you are just a foolish boy trying to tempt fate.”
“If you do not mind; I have been waiting over-patiently.”
He smirked. “Bittor,” he roared, exclaiming the name as if to summon some dreadful wonder to come from the Abyss and rend my soul.
My guess came pretty close to the actual thing. From the forest opposite my earlier hiding place, an earth-thundering tread began, and brought my opponent toward the small village. “Let us go have some fun watching this upstart whelp get his arrogance beaten from existence,” the man crowed. He forgot the villagers and led his men out into the larger clearing of the valley. His men herded me along, but after one of them was knocked unconscious, they kept a distance from me.
The horde formed a half-circle in the enormous, flat, open space, and evenly distanced themselves from me, and waited to see my demise. The thundering footsteps carried a colossal cyclops toward me; his size paled in comparison to the demon Lord I had banished, but for a cyclops he was incredibly oversized, his head reached the height of the village’s tallest building.
The cyclops did not have horns as an ogre would, but he had small, stubby tusks that protruded from the sides of his mangled, snarling maw. His single eye was bloodshot, likely an effect of some hallucinogenic substance his master had given him to keep him loyal beyond the point of death. His mouth foamed, and he was eager to be given the word to tear me apart, piece by piece. I wondered how it had been possible to work him into such a state in the small amount of time that I had been talking to the village’s tyrant. Surely it could not be safe to keep the brute around if he were in a constant blood-rage.
Bittor’s hide had been dyed red and his only clothes were a ragged loin cloth with varied lengths of cord hung from it, each covered in brightly painted wooden beads. He had one large, puckered scar from above his eye and down the left side of his face to his jaw. The rest of his body was covered in various white scars, but none of them were as prominent as the one on his face.
“Ah, Bittor, my friend,” the man exclaimed, as if to a pet. “This boy here thinks he can kill me. I need you to teach him a lesson. Kill him,” he shouted passionately. The cyclops let out a bellowing roar and charged me, and raised his club over his head; the weapon was easily as big as my entire body. I leapt from the path of the falling cudgel and it hit the ground hard, and left a crater when the cyclops wrenched it from the earth. While my opponent was distracted with retrieving his weapon, I spun around him and hacked at his calf; my sword clanged after it passed through the hide, and bounced back at me with the force of my blow still behind it. I got control of my weapon as I stepped back to admire the piece of work before me. Not only was Bittor likely the largest cyclops ever, but he had been given an unearthly metal exoskeleton, hidden from his enemies by his thick hide which easily masked the desecration done to his body.
He charged toward me again, as limber as if he had no suit of armor covering his body. I was astounded; the metal plates should have hindered his movements. I let him swing the club at me again, before I leapt out of the way so that he would have to pull the piece back from the ground. Again, I got behind him, but that time I aimed for a joint. I was pleased to discover that my sword bit into flesh, and I heartily yanked it from above the beast’s thigh, just below his hip. The cyclops howled in pain and his master yelled, obviously displeased that I had found the chink in his weapon’s armor.
Though I had easily found a way to get through his defenses, I still had to find somewhere that I could get a killing blow, and I had to keep myself alive in the meantime. His heart was certainly protected, his spine would be as well, but his head could have a spot somewhere around his jaw. I did not know how I would get to his head though—I did not doubt that he would try to bite me in half if I got too close to his maw.
When the club sank into the ground again, I drove my sword into the cyclops’ knee, and heaving all my weight against the hilt, I drove the blade through the joint toward his kneecap. I had to leave the sword behind and run, as his huge hand slammed down toward me. The hand made contact with the ground where I had been standing, and as he lifted it, he bumped the sword, and caused it to stick in the bone. Bittor tried to stand and as he did so, the muscles that had been clenched together, and that my sword had pierced, were sliced as they tore away from each other, causing him tremendous pain. I felt a leap of hope as he fell back to the earth.
The horde master stepped toward his puppet, as if he could fix the damage I had done. “Stay back,” I commanded. “You already gave this fight up to him. You have no rights here.” I had no weapons in my hands, so he sent a couple of his men running toward me; they were dead within a couple of yards, a throwing knife sprouted from each man’s neck, and allowed blood to flow from their jugulars. “I warned you,” I reminded. After that the man stood in silence, watching angrily as his thus-far terrifying pet was reduced to clutching its knee and sprawling on the ground in agonizing pain.
I was glad to note that the narcotics the beast seemed to ingest did not remove from him any feelings of pain. If that had been the case, he would merely be limping as he came on for the kill; as it was he had yet to get back to his feet. I checked the weapons I still had, just two throwing daggers in their pouch. I doubted they would do me much good. I wondered if the use of magic would count in that duel, but I doubted that it would; the cyclops had been using only the weapon he had with him, his brute strength and his wits, which he seemed to be low in. I cautiously stalked forward to my prey, whose writhing sent tremors through the earth, and whose bellows could have caused mountains to fall. His free arm was pinned beneath him, but the other still grasped his wound and happened to enclose my sword, still in his kneecap.
I walked to the front of the cyclops; he had his head back, and bayed in pain. I threw my remaining knives, and one hit the very top of his neck armor, but the other’s throw had been perfect; the flesh beneath his chin was soft and tender, and my knife sunk in with ease. I doubted it had even gone completely through the flesh and into his mouth, but it caused the distraction I needed as he brought his hand to his neck, trying to rid himself of what might feel like a splinter or an oversized-bee's sting. I leapt onto his knee and knelt down to grab the hilt of my sword, I moved fast and yanked it as hard as I could. If
I could not get it on the first try then his hand would come down and likely crush me. I could not quite get it and the tug on his injured knee was far more painful than the annoying prick in his lower jaw, so the hand came down, but luckily, after crushing me flat for only a moment to make sure he had me there, he placed his fingers around me, and prepared to either pick me up, or squash me.
I held tight to the sword and he unknowingly lent me his strength, which was enough to get my sword loose from his kneecap. The strength behind his throw sent me entirely over the housetops of the village and on into the treetops of the bordering forest. No bones were broken, but I did incur a bloody huge number of cuts and scrapes; one was just above my left eye and I barely stopped myself before healing it with magic, instead I ripped off the bottom of my shirt and tied it securely around my head, and wiped away the blood that had already flown into my eye.
When I finished, I hurried back to the makeshift dueling arena so that I could finish the whole thing once and for all. As I paraded around the edge of the village and into the sight of the mob, I was met with cries of fury and disgust. “What are you, some demon warlock who can call himself back from the dead?” their leader asked, livid. He had been standing a close distance from Bittor, whispering his version of consoling words.
“No. I am only an elf.”
The man guffawed. “Oh he is an elf. Why do we not all just bow down to our pretty little elf prince, eh?”
“There will be time for petty insults later; in the meantime, I have your champion to kill, and my new village to save from Your Vileness. Back off.” He snarled but, again, backed off.
I walked back to my prey, and kept myself behind him, as I walked quietly toward his head. With a quick stroke I sliced open the hide from the lower half of his skull down to just below his neck, and revealed the place where there was a break in his armor. The cyclops rolled himself onto his left side to try and catch sight of me, but I stayed behind his head, and kept out of sight the entire time. Bittor’s master was situated somewhere in the direction of his feet; I could not see him, but he seemed to know what I was planning, so he yelled, “Bittor.” Fool, I thought as the cyclops bent his head forward, and made my target much bigger. I drove the sword in, the only bones I met were those of his spine, and the weapon drove on and into his brain. His body went limp when I severed the spinal cord, but I leapt away just to be safe, and left the sword behind. I tentatively touched the cyclops’ mind with my own and felt an immense wall of pain; I immediately dropped the connection.
I stepped back to my sword and pulled it from the beast’s neck and then drove it into his brain a second time. When I checked his mind again, there was nothing. I walked around and retrieved from his throat, that time with magic, my throwing knives. I cleaned off the weapons and returned them to their pouch, before I turned to confront the master of the dead Bittor.
He and his men had fled across the valley; none had made it anywhere near the tree line, though, so I easily froze them all where they were, mid-flight. Each of the followers refused to be servants to the villagers, in penance for the crimes they had committed against them, so I easily disposed of them. The leader was a different matter entirely; when I got to him, I unfroze him and marched him straight back to the village square.
When we got there, I froze him again in the center of the clearing. Then I proceeded to courteously knock on the doors of each home, and welcomed the people to come and choose the fate of the man who had been their tyrant for so many years. While I waited for the parents to all gather in the square, I built a number of fires to keep them warm in the cold, morning air. Finally I was told, after a timid tap on my shoulder, that they all had been gathered.
35 MOUNTAINS OF ICE
After a moment I could no longer hold my tongue, I could not believe that, after all those people had been through, they wanted to let the tyrant roam free. “Please, hear me out a moment,” I said. They willingly turned to listen—after all, I had just saved them. “As your Champion I cannot easily let this man wander the lands freely. I would never believe that he had changed his ways and would no more tyrannize another village he might come across, or even come back here for retribution of the humiliation he has just suffered. I would ask none of you to do the deed, nor would I force you to agree with me, but I suggest that his life be ended. Let the Abyss and its demons give him the just reward for the evil deeds he has done here.”
“That would still be murder,” one of the people cried out.
“Yes, it would; I will not deny that, but he has already killed so many of your loved ones and, you,” I placed my hand on the shoulder of the man who had confronted the horde leader, “You know what he would have done to your daughter.” The man hung his head, as had all those who had lost family members to the man who stood frozen before us. “I have looked into this man’s thoughts,” I said softly. “He will not change; not now, not ever. He survives off the pains he inflicts on others.” I paused a moment before finishing, “Do not ask me to let this man go, that he may continue to destroy lives.”
An old, feeble woman walked forward with the help of one of her grandchildren. “My friends, my family,” she said quietly and everyone kept silent to be sure that they could hear her. “This young man is right. I do not see in him the desire to kill for the sake of killing, so his words are true and honest. It would be better that we let this one man die, than to let many souls be destroyed by his treachery.” She grabbed my hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong for one so old, and raised it as far as she could. “Behold, our Champion.” Though the words were quiet, they were full of feeling.
The villagers raised their fists toward the brightening sky and shouted, “To our Champion.” I bowed my head in gratitude of their praise, and then I spoke quickly with them concerning the disposal of the bodies that were now littered without the village. The ground was frozen so they agreed that I should burn them, near the forest so that the ashes would not contaminate their planting grounds. I then had to tell them that I was already on a quest and could not stay with them, but I swore to return as soon as I could and then I made a chant, laced with magic, that they could say to call me to their aid.
“What is the name of this place?” I asked in parting. The reply was that it had no name and so, it became The Lost Village and I, the Champion of The Lost Village.
~ ~ ~
I disposed of the bodies as had been decided and then I left with no further word to the villagers, to let them enjoy their first few hours of freedom with uninterrupted slumber. I climbed the hill I had been hiding atop at midnight, and found the dagger I had forgotten about through the course of the morning’s events. Seriously, I thought. All of that just to get my dagger back?
I turned to face the small village and whispered a spell of safekeeping over the inhabitants, and one to hide it from the eyes of those with ill intentions. I raised my hand in farewell, even though I doubted that anyone could see me, even if they had been looking in my direction.
~ ~ ~
When I returned to camp the sun was still a couple of hours from coming up over the horizon, but everyone was already awake, waiting for me. “What took you so long?” Balendin asked. I was too tired to think of an excuse, so I gave them a straight account of how I had woken up and continued on, until I was hiding at the top of a hill, overlooking a large valley with a small town cradled in its center.
“And so you became the Champion of the Lost Village,” Izar interrupted.
“What?” I was surprised to hear those words come from her mouth; I had not yet said anything about the battle and the villagers.
“We scried you when you were found missing and saw everything from when you were sneaking up on the village, until you waved goodbye to your new little flock of charges,” Erramun said. “That was quite the touching element,” he added. I grunted and they all laughed.
“Let us give our little Champion a quick respite before we head on,” Kepa suggested.
“And all of us who have been kept awake for his little show,” Arrats demanded.
“Aye,” the dwarf agreed.
I laughed. “If we let you fall asleep now, you shall not wake until nightfall and we will all have to carry you,” I said to the dwarf. He grunted but smiled, humored.
“I shall keep watch then.”
I gladly dropped to my blanket and pulled the cloth from my forehead scrape down over my eyes, to keep the sunlight at bay. I would heal my wounds after I woke.
~ ~ ~
I sat up, rubbed my eyes and tried to decide whether or not I thought the night’s events had been real or just a dream; I still had cuts everywhere and the one on my forehead had reopened and was dripping blood down toward my ear—it had been real, alright. An eerie mist covered the ground, emanating from the forest, and surrounding the sleeping bodies of my companions. A faint singing tinged with mourning sounded far off in the distance and brought my senses sharply into focus. Those still sleeping seemed to be pulled further into the realm of sleep by the faint sound. I heard a grunt from under the layer of mist, which was nearing my waist and slightly to my left, so I swung my arm at whatever it was that created the noise.
“Ouch, you bloody, blundering idiot,” the voice was that of Kepa, who was still on watch duty. I was glad to hear that someone else was awake, hopefully hearing and seeing the same things I was, which would mean that I was not hallucinating.
“Kepa?” I said. “What is going on?”
“It is the ghouls; they come to feed on our souls.” The rhyme in the dwarf’s words sent a shiver up my spine and I asked how we were to defend against the ghouls he spoke of.