The Changing

by Jeremy Laszlo

  Ordering some of his troops to remain behind to keep the giant's attention, Borrik and a dozen of his men began to scale the near vertical rocky sides of the mouth of the mountain pass. Climbing to a height greater than that of even the giant, and clinging on for dear life as the mountain shook from the giant's incessant pummeling, Borrik gave the order to attack. With absolute faith in their alpha, all the wolf men clinging to the side of the mountain sprang into the air to rain down upon the giant from above. Borrik watched as they made their attack, each of them landing to dig their clawed fingers and toes into the flesh of the giant where they began ripping and tearing at its flesh with their teeth and claws. With a howl of pain the giant stood again to its full height and began to spin its massive body to dislodge those clinging to its back. Borrik had hoped for such a reaction, and digging his clawed toes into the stone of the mountain, he crouched as he released his hold with his hands to gain more thrust as he lunged away from the safety of the mountainside.

  Borrik shot through the air, both outward and downward from the mountainside, his eyes unblinking, unwilling to lose sight of his target for even a moment. Hoping he had timed his launch appropriately, Borrik soared through the air for what felt like an eternity as time seemed to slow as it does in the last moments of life. This apparent slowing of time gave Borrik the ability to react to the ever changing angle of attack as his outward momentum began to fail and his leap became more of a plummet. Borrik had hoped, after watching his men spring from the mountain, that if he had timed it right he could land upon the giant’s neck or shoulder where he could slash and claw at the giant's throat and hopefully locate a major blood vessel. With the added weight of his armor, and his larger size in comparison to his men, it appeared he had miscalculated.

  As Borrik plummeted through the air driven by gravity and momentum, he watched the struggle playing out beneath him in perfect clarity. Just as he was sure he would miss his target, the giant, in an attempt to relieve some pain one of the wolf men was inflicting, twisted his body and bent in such a way as to try to reach a portion of his back normally unobtainable. Seeing his opening Borrik growled as loudly as he was able and smashed his two armored wrists together with a loud clang in an attempt to get the giant's attention. His ploy worked perfectly. As Borrik careened the last few feet towards the giant, the great beast of a man heard his growl and the sound of metal on metal and turned his face up towards the mountainside. Borrik, reacting by instinct born of survival, reached to dig his claws in wherever they made purchase. Upon impact, with the added weight of his armor at terminal velocity, Borrik felt his muscles and tendons strain as they worked to ease the blow to his entire body. As Borrik dug his fingers and claws into the fleshy portion between the giant’s beak and ear, he realized time was a luxury he had little of. Wanting to inflict as much damage as was possible before the giant could swat him away, Borrik looked to the only piece of anatomy that afforded him the opportunity he needed. With a great lunge Borrik sprang up the giant's face as the creature kicked and spun, flailing his four massive arms. Just as the giant prepared to extract the wolf man from his face, Borrik turned the tide of the battle in a single blow.

  Grabbing the giant's lower eyelid with one clawed hand, Borrik dug in his toes once again and leaned out from the immense creature’s face to lend his blow more strength. As all things with eyelids do, the giant closed his immense eye in an attempt to shield it from impending danger. The thin membrane of flesh was little in the way of an obstacle to a man with more than human strength and clawed fingers to boot. Driving the blow with all the leverage and might he could muster, Borrik, keeping all of his clawed fingers straight to imitate the blade of a sword, drove his entire arm up to the shoulder through the giant's eyelid and into one of its massive eyes with a gush of a thick jelly-like substance that reeked of putrid decay. Not daring even a single moment of celebration, Borrik extracted his arm, and using all of his claws to slow his descent, slid down from the giant's face in time to watch the blow that would have ended his life.

  Panicking as any man would, the giant sought to save his eyesight by any means possible. The only two options the giant had were to either carefully extract the hairy beast from his face, or pummel the life out of it in a single blow. Much to Borrik’s amusement, the giant had apparently chosen option two. As Borrik slithered from the giant's face, scratching and clawing to slow his fall, the giant bashed himself in his now ruined eye with all of his might sending the foul smelling eye jelly exploding out in all directions to rain down upon the stone below. Such was the force of the blow, the giant caused itself to lose it's balance, and twisting as he fell, the giant creature landed upon his belly with a thud that shook the earth for miles. Those of Borrik’s troops upon the giant's back howled in victory, riding the beast to the ground. Those wolf men already on the ground scurried out from under the falling giant, and Borrik simply waited until the last possible moment then sprang from the creature to land hard, but safely, a couple paces away. Though celebrate as they did with howls, barks and cheers, the pack of wolf men’s rejoicing would be short lived.

  With a moan, followed by a monstrous roar, the giant rolled in an attempt to right himself and regain his feet. Borrik watched as one of his men vanished beneath the great bulk of the giant with a crunch accompanied by a spurting of blood and other foul liquids across the stone. He ordered his men to attack in hopes of keeping the beast upon the ground. His order was accompanied by a great crescendo of howls from a few hundred yards further down the mountain. Reinforcements had arrived. Biting and clawing, scratching and slashing, Borrik’s men fought on in a flurry of attacks as viciously as they were able, but with nothing but their claws and teeth, their attacks availed little more than scratches to the giant, who in his anger began to kick his legs and thrash his massive arms, rolling this way and that in an attempt to crush all of his would-be attackers. Another of Borrik’s men was squashed beneath of the giant's massive legs and another was caught up in one of the beast's giant fists only to be crushed before being bitten in half in the gruesome maw of the giant. If they did not end this fight soon, Borrik knew the losses would be tremendous. Deciding upon a course of action, Borrik sent an image to all of his men, even those that approached from down the mountainside, that held a thousand meanings and emotions. Most importantly, it was an order to keep the giant upon the ground at all costs. With his order given, Borrik began to rush this way and that in the darkness, his keen eyes searching for an implement with which to deal death to the giant, and many moments later, after his reinforcements had arrived and added themselves to his cause, Borrik found that which he was seeking.

  Borrik’s tool of death it seemed would be a crude one. A weapon formed of despair and necessity, but if fate were with him Borrik knew it would serve his purpose. Pulling the scraggly tree from its roots where it clung precariously to the rocky soil, Borrik then used his clawed hands to rip from the small tree every branch leaving naught but the stunted twisted trunk, no bigger around than a child's arm, and no longer than he himself was tall. Tearing off the gangly roots Borrik shaped the base of the trunk into a crude point using nothing but his clawed fingers. Inspecting his work, and assuring himself it was his only option, Borrik took up the makeshift spear and raced back into the fray as the ground beneath him shook and trembled with the giant's struggle.

  Borrik’s men had performed their sole duty perfectly. When Borrik had fled to search for a weapon he had left behind fewer than twenty men to subdue the giant. Now that more of his troops had arrived there were more than four times that number, and with their increased numbers it appeared the men were finally having some success. The giant now appeared to be a great mass of roiling fur and blood. Nearly every inch of the giant lay beneath the slashing and biting mass of Seth’s created race of wolf men and women. If their weight alone was not enough to keep the giant aground, Borrik felt relieved by the fact that they had found another way to keep the giant from regaining his feet. As Borrik raced
to carry out his plan he could not help but grin at a gruesome image that flashed through his mind of the giant's major tendon above his ankle being ripped through. However, as the ground continued to shake, and an occasional wolf man was either crushed or sent flying through the air, the alpha wolf knew the battle was not yet won.

  Borrik raced to the giant’s head which thrashed this way and that in an attempt to keep the wolf men from his face, exactly where Borrik intended to go. Holding his crude spear in his teeth, Borrik closed the distance at a sprint and lunged as high as he was able, digging his claws into the flesh between the great rows of spikes upon the giant's head. Using both his claws and the head spikes to gain purchase, Borrik climbed carefully, timing his movements between jolts as the giant shook his head. Slowly and precariously Borrik clawed his way up to the edge of the giant's great forehead, managing against all odds to keep his footing. Now however was the moment of truth. Borrik knew he needed to time his strike perfectly, but with the giant thrashing around, heaving his head and body this way and that, Borrik could barely manage to hold on, let alone strike a killing blow upon the beast. Borrik shifted his weight time and again trying to gain a better vantage point on his target as well as a more secure base to attack from, however with the constantly changing angle to gravity it was a feeble attempt at best. Borrik could wait no longer. The longer it took him to strike, the longer his men were in danger. Timing his attack as best as he was able, Borrik released his makeshift spear from his maw and grasping it firmly in his dominant hand he lunged towards the eye he had destroyed earlier in the battle.

  Borrik thrust his crude spear into the now empty eye socket driving it down with the weight of his own body and felt as the spear began to drive into the soft tissues behind the eye. It was then the giant destroyed all chances of success of Borrik’s plan. As the crude spear, driven beneath Borrik’s body weight met with the soft flesh beyond the eye socket, the giant again thrashed his head causing the side of the spear to lodge against the rim of the eye socket. With Borrik’s weight behind the force of the blow, the wrenching motion to one side caused the malformed wood of the spear to shatter, sending small splinters exploding out in all directions as Borrik clawed and scratched for purchase upon the giant's face.

  Lodging one of his clawed feet in the giant's singular nostril upon its beak, Borrik clung with his hands to the eye socket as the giant writhed violently in an attempt to shake him from his face. As the giant shook Borrik could see the broken end of the shaft protruding from the back of the eye socket but knew the spear was now too short to do any real damage. However, Borrik realized he still had one option remaining to him.

  Gruesome as it was, with blood mingled with eye jelly and other foul liquids sloshing this way and that, Borrik timed his next move with the shaking of the giant's head. Using gravity to his advantage, he released the monster's nostril with his clawed foot and swung himself into the now vacant eye socket amongst the putrid liquids. Standing within the socket, still violently swinging to one side and then the other, Borrik, waist deep in the giant's head, clung to the rim of bone surrounding the socket and raised one of his large muscled legs as far as he was able, bringing his knee to his chest. Driving his raised foot down with all of his might, while at the same time bending his other knee to lower his entire body, Borrik drove his foot, atop the broken shaft of the spear, several feet down within the skull of the giant where hot flesh surrounded Borrik’s armored leg and fluids began to fill the cavities between his own flesh and his armor. Though Borrik had hoped for a quick end, the giant began to thrash about even more wildly allowing Borrik to do nothing but hold on for his life. Although as the giant thrashed, Borrik’s body shifted this way and that enlarging the hole in its brain causing more and more damage. As if in a final attempt to rid itself of the invader in its head the giant screamed a booming, eardrum-tearing scream and with a final jerk and a shudder, ceased its endless thrashing.

  * * * * *

  Garret strode into the war room looking a wreck. One arm hung limply at his side, his clothes were torn and bloodied, and dark circles surrounded his eyes from both lack of sleep and the tears he had shed in Linaya’s company. As he strode into the room, straight-backed with his head held high, all eyes turned to look upon him. Many a mouth fell open that moment and several gasps of disbelief escaped unchecked lips, though Garret did not notice. Garret was focused. He was a man on a mission. He had, along with co-conspirators, come up with a plan to set the kingdom up for success and he intended to do just that. Though circumstance dictated that once again his plans wait at least a bit longer.

  "What has befallen you, Lord Garret?" Karishtala asked rushing to his side to assess his wounds.

  "They are self-inflicted," Garret said simply.

  "Aha, you see his judgment is cloudy, and you would have him elevated to lead the Knights of Valdadore!" Vladmere hissed from across the room before continuing his tirade. "He cannot even control his own actions in a manner befitting a common soldier let alone a knight of the..."

  "Shut your hole, Vladmere!" Garret boomed using the might of his blessing to add strength to the words. "I sustained my injuries in an attempt to save the life of Sirus' widow, Mistress Sasha. However the attempt was for naught, as healers are sparse in the castle at present," Garret concluded.

  "Sasha is gone?" Karishtala asked already knowing the answer. "She was a dear friend, I've known her since we were children," she added. "Let me tend your injuries, Lord Garret, before we continue our meeting."

  Without so much as awaiting a response, Karishtala began a slow sweet chant as she grasped Garret’s arm at the shoulder and wrist. Near instantly her hands began to shed a light of their own as Garret’s arm heaved upward back into the socket and his collar bone and arm snapped back into place fully mended. Bruises, scrapes and cuts seemed to vanish as all pain subsided and once again Garret stood a whole man, free of discomfort, having been healed both physically and mentally at least for the time being.

  Feeling renewed Garret expressed his gratitude to the head of the order of healers. Walking at her side around the great table at the center of the room, Garret nodded to those he passed in greeting as he and Karishtala found themselves seats to begin the meeting anew. No sooner had Garret’s backside made contact with the chair than chaos erupted from all sides of the table with people yelling over the top of one another in an attempt to be heard. This type of politics Garret had no patience for and he once again drew upon his blessing to enhance his voice.

  "That is enough!" Garret’s voice boomed, causing the furniture in the room to vibrate and everyone to fall instantly silent once again. "We will accomplish nothing in this manner. King Valdadore has yet to be laid to rest and you all act as a pack of dogs fighting over what part of the kingdom to devour. Treat each other with some dignity, and for all the gods' sakes, let’s do this in an orderly fashion. At least strive to act with the demeanor befitting your stations." Garret received looks from those around him as if they were all whipped dogs.

  "What would you suggest, Lord Garret?" Sulvis, the old army general, asked.

  "I would suggest we begin at the lowest position that needs to be filled and work our way up in an orderly manner," Garret replied.

  Heads nodded around the table in agreement and before long a system was worked out where a vacant position was announced, members of the council would present names to fill those positions and a vote would be taken for each person. Their plan already in place, the men and women of the council who wanted better for the kingdom and not for themselves, began using their votes to fill posts with men and women worthy of new titles. As those were filled, that newly-titled person was called from the chamber beyond to take his or her seat at the war table to be included in the next vote. Many a new member was added to the king's council, including the infamous Dillon Storm, a man of many wives and many more children. He had taken the position of royal grain clerk. It was a lowly position in the overall scheme of things, but who bett
er than a man with thirty-one children to ration out the kingdom's grain stores.

  Garret sat patiently as the hours passed, casting his vote time and again, memorizing each new face and name that came to the table. All the lower positions of the council had been filled by early morning, and now it was time to fill stations of higher regard. These came with titles and land. These were the positions that the greedy and power hungry would strive for. Just as predicted, Vladmere and his cronies began offering up themselves into positions greater than their current ones. But also as planned, Garret and all of his original kingdom-minded allies, along with many of their newly appointed honorable men and women, dashed all their hopes of gaining further power. Garret was highly impressed with the outcome and for the first time in days he felt that things were actually going the way they should. At least that is what he thought until they announced the last position to be filled by the council.

  Garret sat quietly, often mimicking Sulvis's or Karishtala's votes as they had much more knowledge of the people being recommended, as well as the positions being filled. It wasn’t until nearly every council seat was filled that Garret found himself caught off guard in a situation unlike any other he had been in before.

  "Next on the list is Knight Captain to the Knights of Valdadore," Sulvis stated, eyeing his list pragmatically before he continued. "I would like to suggest Lord Garret for the position."

  Garret nearly choked on his own breath, his stomach immediately clenching into a million knots and all blood draining from his face. Before he could even respond or react, a vote went around the table and it was near unanimously decided that Garret be awarded the position, apart from Vladmere and a few of his purchased allies. After a moment of silence all eyes turned to Garret, who still needed to cast his vote, though by majority the decision was already made. Seeing the eyes upon him, Garret did the only thing a man of honor could do at that point.