“So it is true that you can create champions, Seth?” James asked.
“Borrik is one of my champions,” Seth replied, gesturing to the beast man at his side.
“What do you need in order to create them?” the twins’ father asked further.
“Power and volunteers, sometimes animals as well, but right now I have all I need stored within me – minus the volunteers.”
“Let us move then to join the remainder of the army.” Garret turned without another word and began to walk east towards his main forces. The others followed him, their minds filled with puzzling thoughts of gods and champions. The night would prove to be a long one indeed.
Chapter Four
For several hours King Sigrant sat at the desk in his makeshift command tent. Though the desk was basically useless, he found comfort in placing his feet upon it and leaning back precariously in his chair. He needed no maps to chart troop movements. He also did not need parchment, quills or ink to list troop totals, rations, and other supplies upon. In fact, the only reason King Robert Sigrant needed a tent at all was for enjoying his women, and sleeping. Usually in that order.
For the mundane details of the day to day operation of his forces all he needed was his head. Nearly everything about running an army came naturally to the king. At any given time he knew precisely where his units were and where they were going. He knew how many rations they needed and how many sick and injured they carried with them. King Sigrant knew, down to a grain of rice, precisely how much food he needed on a daily basis to keep the army alive. He also knew how much he needed to keep their bellies full and happy, but seldom were the two numbers even in the same realm of reality.
Instead of taking notes, Sigrant leaned in his chair as a steady stream of messengers poured into and out of his tent, spewing updates that Sigrant nonchalantly added to and subtracted from the totals in his head as needed, paying specific attention to the numbers of losses sustained. Though thousands had died, the number could not be accurate for several commanders reported troops missing altogether, probably sealed beneath the ice of the still frozen lake. More than a couple hundred were injured and were now being transported to healing tents set up deeper within friendly lines.
Those who had fallen were being treated with respect as well and currently mass graves were being dug for them. However, these were routine things that Sigrant mentally cataloged before being stunned by yet another messenger bringing news that Sigrant found most concerning.
“Carry on,” Sigrant ordered.
“Yes, your majesty,” the messenger replied. “It seems thirteen men survived being attacked by the wolfmen as bite marks show clearly upon their necks.”
“Why is this a health concern?” Sigrant questioned.
“Though only five have regained consciousness thus far, Sire, all of them appear disconnected, and confused.”
“Could that not be from blood loss or a head injury?” Sigrant asked, thinking his healers and the messenger might have sustained head injuries themselves.
“Yes, but the healers report that their blood is restored, yet they have still been blacking out and waking up disoriented. They also say that something within the men prevents them from diagnosing the problem. They fear it is some sort of infection,” the messenger answered.
“Then monitor them closely. If the symptoms persist by morning then we will put them to death and burn the bodies,” the king decided.
With a motion he dismissed the messenger, and for now, at least, it seemed the flow of messengers had stopped. Leaning back yet further in his chair he thought hard about the battle of the day. Valdadore had withstood much, yet not without losses. It was a small nation that he could easily crush, but little could be learned from crushed objects. No, Sigrant wanted to bring Valdadore to its knees. He wanted to kill the kingdom slowly, torturously. He wanted to watch the small nation twist beneath his heel. More than anything he wanted to see just how much the kingdom and its young king could take before they snapped. Settling upon a plan, King Sigrant went for a late night stroll.
First the king, known for his cunning and decisiveness, visited the mass graves that had already been dug, and looking in before they were covered once again he was sadly disappointed. Anger flashed across his narrow face momentarily as he looked around the great holes for someone to accuse. Spotting an officer he unleashed his tongue.
“Lieutenant, this is unacceptable!” the king shouted, pointing his finger at the junior officer.
“Your majesty, I was simply following orders,” the officer replied, shame upon his face.
“You think that this would be acceptable to me?” Sigrant asked mockingly, gesturing wildly at the giant grave with bodies and limbs tossed inside haphazardly.
“If you would prefer them organized, your majesty, I will see it done.” The lieutenant was already turning to bark the appropriate orders at those he commanded.
“Organized?” the king questioned. “You fool, look at all the weapons and armor in that grave. Such things have value. Dig it out!”
“Yes, your majesty!” the officer replied and spinning upon his heel he began to give orders.
Sigrant strode off to see what other mistakes his simple-minded soldiers were making. Along the way he visited several figures of worth, including the head of his mages, and Vulgan, the captain to the Gnashers. The bone-clad warriors were his most ferocious troops, and tomorrow he would put them to use among others of his favorites.
Near an hour into his stroll, the king paused briefly as a series of screams pierced the relative quiet of his encamped army. Turning in the direction of the cries he located the healers’ tents. The screams ended rather abruptly and, resuming his course, King Sigrant presumed that the particular surgery being performed had not gone well. Mentally he added another to the dead.
Though his information had been anything but accurate, Sigrant could not help himself but to walk near a mile deeper into his army to visit a newfound friend. Once there, the guards stepped away from the cart, allowing their king to be alone with the mage prisoner.
“Vladmere, I find your company quite enchanting, yet your inaccuracies… Well, to be honest they disgust me,” Sigrant said to the disrobed mage confined within the cell on wheels.
“What inaccuracies?” Vladmere questioned, assuming his condition would only persist until the king trusted him.
“You said Valdadore was lacking in champions; the army was naught but less than a dozen knights, a hundred mages of average talent, and the mage prince. Today my forces faced hundreds of giant wolfmen, flying beasts who threw fire, blessed knights, mages, and more. Tell me you knew not of such things.”
“I did not know, your majesty. The prince must have created more champions,” Vladmere replied.
“Created champions?” Sigrant asked, disgusted. “You compare him to the gods?”
“Of course not,” Vladmere sniveled, “he is but a pretender. Slay him and see how his champions fall around him.”
“I will, Vladmere. Do not worry, but if you are incorrect again, though, I will have you delivered to my torturers. They have means of deriving the truth.”
Without awaiting a response King Sigrant turned and strode off into the night. Returning to his tent, he sent a messenger to retrieve his royal harem, and within minutes his tent was filled with the scents of flowers and women of varying ages and experience. Tactically he put them to use, adding his seed, subtracting their clothes, and dividing their legs. From time to time he multiplied the pleasure by including several of his women at a time.
Hours later, exhausted, the king slept amongst the many nude woman who had spent the previous hours pleasing him. Morning would come soon, but none would feel better rested than King Sigrant.
*****
Seth sat next to a large fire as the night turned savagely cold. Sara had come to join him shortly after midnight, and together they leaned into one another. Each of them found comfort with the other, at least momentarily, be
fore Seth’s volunteers began to arrive.
First to come was the famed Thousand Hole Tommy. He was a man appearing in his late seventies, but who was probably closer to two or three hundred years old. However, as a man blessed by Vikstol, he had aged slowly, and served his god well. It was said the man could not be killed. He had sustained every known injury over his lifetime, but every time he rose again to continue fighting. Tommy’s every organ had been pierced by a blade or arrow at one battle or another, and three of his four limbs had been reattached at least once.
Tommy would make the perfect assassin. Beyond his refusal to die, there was nothing special about the man. He was of average strength and size, and even his intellect was nothing impressive. Seth looked to change that. Sorting through the menagerie within him, Seth sought out those attributes he felt would make Tommy a more promising killer. Seemingly decided, Seth began piecing together the puzzle that would create for him an assassin unlike any other.
Again and again Tommy cried out in pleasure, his body wracked with spasms with each new torrent of power that entered him. Seth gave him no reprieve. After each attribute was given, Seth sought the next and snapped it into place, making the pieces work with one another.
Borrik, Garret, James, Jack, and Sara watched on as Seth created a harbinger of death out of a legendary hero. As the great fire lit the process, its growing and waning tones of red, yellow, and orange made the whole thing look surreal, casting odd shadows that crawled and sputtered over the entire scene. It was a memory each of them would carry until their final breath. Few could hardly blink as the man squirmed upon the ground as his body changed in new and horrible ways.
When the process was done the man stood. He moved awkwardly at first, as if his memory refused to conform to action within his new form. Yet turning to face the fire, his nude body completely exposed, Tommy stood for all those gathered to appraise him.
Seth could not smile at the man’s appearance, but he was happy with the result. He had tried things that he had only theorized about before and each had worked, if not with at least a little manipulation. Instead of replacing entire appendages Seth had gone deeper, making alterations from within the bones themselves. Tommy was no longer recognizable as human at all anymore. His visage was so gruesome that hardened battle veterans briefly turned their gaze away, only to return to look upon him again in awe.
Tommy’s head had expanded slightly as Seth thought it important to thicken the skull to prevent injury. Beyond that his forehead pushed out and his neck was made more stout. Over the top of his head all traces of hair had been removed and in its place were rows upon rows of short knobby spikes. Seth had made his head a weapon, something he could use to bash an opponent.
His face had changed immensely. Nearly all definition had been lost as his sunken eyes had grown and smoothed out with the rest of his face, each of them turning a dark purple color. His nose had completely vanished beneath his flesh leaving behind only a pair of slit-like nostrils. His lower jaw bone had thickened slightly, and opening his mouth a forked tongue flicked out between rows of small, razor sharp teeth.
Each of the man’s arms had grown longer and thicker, the muscles barely contained beneath the flesh. At the end of each was an attribute never seen before among man or animal. Here Seth had taken particular care for the man’s hands had been altered beyond recognition.
Where once had been four stubby fingers and a thumb, now there was an appendage that could only be described as a claw. Seth had stretched the bones beyond what would be viewed as normal, and had melded them with those of other beasts. The skin of the hands was hard like the shell of an insect, and instead of four fingers the man had three. Each of them was easily doubly as long as would be acceptable for a human, and each of them ended in a long, sharp, hooked talon. The thumb upon each hand was much the same, but only stretched to about half the length of the fingers. Beneath the flesh, with every twitch and flex of the fingers the tendons and ligaments could easily be seen moving as if something alive crawled beneath his skin.
Tommy’s chest had become oddly disproportionate to his body. His shoulders were overly wide and his waist was narrow beyond belief. Every muscle in his upper body bulged over the huge tapered ribcage he had been given. Each rib that showed through his flesh was as wide as one of Sara’s arms. There the bones had been altered to not only be incredibly strong, but to nearly completely fill the gaps between them. Any blade would find it difficult to slide between Tommy’s ribs.
Below his waist, Tommy had oddly angled hips that forced his legs to remain in a strange crouched position. He could stand like the rest of them, but it appeared wholly unnatural. The angles just did not make sense. His legs were too long, and even in the crouched position he retained, he was nearly as tall as he had been before the alteration. Below his elongated legs were two wide feet. Each foot consisted of three incredibly long toes that appeared to be the foot of an amphibian although the webbing between the toes had been removed.
Turning, Tommy revealed a long slender tail like that of a lizard. Currently it flicked back and forth seemingly having its own mind. His body was covered almost completely in thin, leathery, bumpy skin that was an odd shade somewhere between his original skin tone and a new sickly green hue. Into the body Seth had poured the lifetimes of twenty men.
“I feel amazzzing,” Tommy said to all those who stared at him in shock.
He flexed his muscles, swinging his arms this way and that, and then, lowering himself further, he leapt into the air. For a moment Tommy was lost from sight as all looked up into the night sky. Then plummeting like a rock, down Tommy came again to land more lightly than any could have imagined him doing.
“Tommy, take a deep breath and hold it, then, using your abdominal muscles, I want you to strain to exhale, but hold the air in,” Seth ordered.
Tommy did as Seth commanded and watched as everyone around him gasped in shock. Looking down, Tommy coughed out the air, realizing his skin had changed from the sickly pale green to a deep brown.
“Now Tommy, inhale and exhale quickly,” Seth instructed again.
As Tommy did so, his flesh began to lighten. First the brown paled and then turned to a deep red then orange. Faster and faster Tommy breathed as his flesh turned yellow and then near to white. All around him stood smiling. It was an amazing ability.
“The faster you breathe, the lighter your skin becomes, and the slower, the darker. For your darkest tones you have to hold your breath and strain a little,” Seth said. “Garret, Dad, and Jack, you need to spar with Tommy for a short while so he can quickly learn his limitations and strength,” he added.
Understanding the need and nodding or voicing their approval, they each turned and walked off with the man who was now part amphibian and part reptile. Seth smiled knowing that his brother, father, and Jack were in for some surprises. Even so, Seth had more work to do and gesturing to Borrik, his second-in-command, he relayed orders to send the next volunteer to meet him. The man was said to be a hunter and tracker blessed by the god of the druids. He was a small and wiry thing with taut muscles and a long nose.
Seth spent an hour perfecting this second assassin, a man by the name of Chad. Already he was gifted, and Seth worked to enhance his talents. Seth gave him a more sensitive nose and keener eyes. To that he added strength and agility. Though he actually made the man physically shorter, he gave him stronger instincts and beyond that he made him ferocious. Chad had already adapted to his new body as he stalked off into the night with his orders.
He had been a loner much of his life before, preferring the forest and nature as companions. Now he needed to be alone; his instincts and temperament demanded it. Seth had even promised it to him, but first he had a job to do. Chad prowled off, away from the fire that hurt his eyes, and dropping to all fours he rushed off into the darkness.
Seth called for another volunteer and then another. Hour after hour for the majority of the night he would alter those who wished it into h
is own champions. Others he blessed with size and strength, like that of his father and brother. Mostly he hoped his assassins would succeed and spare the lives of thousands. Seth toiled, sharing his power with those he chose, until finished at last he sat back to watch as the first flakes of snow began to descend from the sky.
*****
Garret drew his sword as did his father and Jack. Tommy pulled a pair of short swords from the clothing he had discarded before being altered into the creature he was now. He squeezed them in his new hands and swung his arms testing the weight. Garret watched him intently.
“Are you ready Tommy?” the king asked.
The mutated man turned and nodded to him, and before he could react, Tommy leapt across more than thirty feet, driving his knobby head into Garret’s gut with unbelievable force. Garret lost his breath as the wind was knocked from him and he was driven back more than ten yards by the blow. Tommy twisted as they rolled and, springing into the air, he came down a few steps in front of James. Garret, still struggling to breathe, watched as Tommy was rushed by his father, but thwarted the attack by grabbing the man’s arm and leaping with all his might, dislocating the appendage at the shoulder. Only Jack was left in the fight, and moving slowly he tried to anticipate what Tommy would do. Not one of them expected what did come.
Tommy feigned an attack. As Jack raised his sword to block it, Tommy leapt to the man’s chest. Landing like a frog upon a vertical surface and using Jack’s body for leverage, Tommy leapt off the man with all his might. The force of his unnatural legs was so strong that Jack flew backwards in one direction as Tommy flew in the other but somewhere in the action, Jack had managed to draw blood.
The King of Valdadore watched as the newly altered Tommy landed and lifted his foot to appraise the wound he had sustained. The tip of one of his long toes had been severed completely. Garret thought to call a cleric to heal him, but realized that they would probably be of little use to the man now that his anatomy was foreign. However, just as soon as Garret had the thought, Tommy revealed yet another blessing given to him through the alteration of his body. Though it was an inherent gift for both amphibians and reptiles, Seth had increased the ability by giving Tommy such an abundance of life. So as Garret looked upon the newly created assassin, he was amazed when in the span of no more than three seconds the toe that had been severed regenerated as if it had never been injured at all.
The Champions Page 5