The Champions (9 page)

*****

Edward could not believe his luck. He had lain his seed
within beautiful woman after beautiful woman for over an hour. Had they not
each filled him with amazing energy and power he would have been exhausted.
Each of them now lay unconscious upon the ground, their hearts slowly pumping a
drizzle of blood out of the two puncture wounds in their necks. He doubted any
of them would die. Soon daylight would come, and with it the camp would be all
hustle and bustle and then healers would see to the girls. It wasn’t the
slightest burden upon Edward’s conscience.

Rising from his latest conquest, wiping the blood from his
chin upon her golden hair, Edward had a thought he simply could not ignore. He
could not help but to wonder if the blood of a king tasted any different than
that of a common person.

Spinning upon his heel he peered back to the slumbering
king, amazed the man had not stirred each time Edward had disentangled another
lover from him. Edward simply could not resist. Feeling sure of himself, he
would simply do the same with the king as he had done with each of the girls.
Pin him down, clamp his mouth shut, then feed upon him until he was unconscious
again.

Without wasting a moment Edward crept to the slumbering king
and lowered himself atop the man. Unlike the fear that each of the women had
showed in their eyes upon waking so brutally, the king’s eyes blazed with the
fire of hatred. Such an angry man, Edward thought, as he sank his teeth into
the flesh of royalty.

Disappointed, Edward realized that the blood was no
different after all. No sooner had he made the realization, however, than
someone burst through the flap of the tent. Thinking the guards were upon him,
Edward rose, still holding the king and using him as a human shield. So tight
was his hand over the king’s face that Sigrant actually passed out due to lack
of air.

Then Edward saw his attacker, except it wasn’t an attacker;
it was some small animal that had found its way into the tent. Now the animal
scurried back the way it had come to the edge of the tent. He dropped the king
back down upon the mattress, thus restoring his air. If the guards had not seen
the animal enter, they certainly would see it exit. Edward needed to be
leaving.

Stepping away from the mattress, Edward looked up and noticed
two things at precisely the same time. What happened next made him wish for an
instant he had stayed in his home village of Sporks.

Ishanya grinned a wicked grin in the heavens, watching as
the strands of possibility stretched across time. Here they crossed and there
they bundled as a great tapestry was being woven. Thus far everything was
looking favorable. Her puppet danced along nearly perfectly to the tune she
played. Even his failures had begun to work in her favor. It was fate’s way of
giving the goddess that which she desired. Ishanya had not pulled the strings
that had brought King Sigrant to Valdadore, but that wasn’t to say she did not
have a hand in it. Though she did not directly watch the happenings on the
world she helped create, she viewed it through the ethereal bindings of time,
and watched into the future as possibilities were woven together to create
events.

Her power was growing. Already she was becoming a threat to
her peers. Soon she would be their equal and then she would surpass them and
destroy them. Ishanya reached into the flow of time and plucked away a
possibility. Time flowed on, ever weaving the tapestry out of possibilities. If
you watched closely enough, you could pull here and push there and guide
forward the future you wished. Especially if no one else was watching, too
enthralled with the events taking place elsewhere.

It was a risky game she played, but without risks there
could be no rewards.

*****

James and Jack, after seeing Garret to his other duties, returned
to the fire that Seth attended alone in the predawn hours. They had spoken
together earlier and dually decided, had come to a decision.

“The only thing we truly leave behind are our children,
Jack,” James said. “Everything else is of no consequence.”

“Are money and a home of no consequence?” Jack asked.

“If you have raised your children right, they can build
their own homes and make their own money; that’s what I am saying,” James
retorted.

“I’m not disagreeing, I’m only saying you can leave behind more
than just your children; you can leave a home, memories, a future for them and
their families, even a legacy,” Jack stated.

“You are right, old friend,” conceded James. “I belong in
battle. That is my legacy, and I have always known it, but it is not a legacy I
wish my boys to continue.”

“Of course not,” Jack replied. “What choice do we have,
though? We cannot stop future wars from happening.”

“No we can’t. Especially if what Seth says is true and the
gods need war here to win battles in the heavens.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Jack asked.

“No more than we’ve already agreed upon. All we can do is
spare our children as much pain as possible. In this case that means becoming
better warriors and shouldering more of the burden,” James shrugged.

“Do you think he will agree to it?” Jack asked, doubt
clearly in his voice.

“I don’t know, and there is only one way we will find out.”

Another quarter of an hour passed and not a word was spoken
between the two warriors who had been friends for longer than most had been
alive. Together James and Jack walked to the fire, and approaching the boy who
used to close his eyes while hunting, they asked him to make them better
killers.

“I can’t, Dad. Garret would never forgive me!” Seth cried.

“What would there be to forgive? We are volunteering,” James
said, his voice remaining calm.

Seth thought on his words for a few moments, and after a
time found the truth in them. As such, he began to think aloud.

“There is not time for anything elaborate. All we can afford
now are some simple alterations. If I change you there is no going back,” Seth
replied. “It won’t be like Borrik sprouting wings then absorbing them again.
Those changes take much more time. We have two hours tops.”

James knew his son. Seth was no longer refusing. Now he was
stating facts. This meant the answer wasn’t ‘no’ any longer, but it wasn’t
‘yes’ yet either.

“Seth, as we are we can save many men with our blessings. If
what you say is true, than the gods will do everything they can to
make
us kill each other. Let us help you thwart the gods. Make us better warriors so
that with our sacrifice we can save countless others,” James pleaded.

Those were the words needed to convince Seth. Thus far,
since the day he had made a deal with a goddess, it had been Seth alone who
worked to thwart a god. Now it was all the gods he was trying to work against.
A single mortal simply was not enough to ebb the flow of souls returning to the
gods. Seth needed help. His brother might hate him for the rest of their lives
but in that moment Seth gave in to his father’s rational argument. In order to
save many, a few would need to be sacrificed. Seth was willing to make the
sacrifice, but alone it was a losing battle. Seth sighed in defeat.

“OK Father, I have just the thing for you. I had been saving
it to reward someone else, but know that none will never,
ever
look upon
you as human again,” Seth said, a single tear slipping down his face.

Seth was willing to sacrifice, even if it meant sacrificing
those he loved. Telling his father to disrobe, and Jack likewise, Seth pulled
up his sleeves and began working on the pair of veteran warriors. Their
history, much like his own, was a mystery to Seth. He imagined that once upon a
time they had vowed to never fight again. Yet here they were, giving up their
humanity and that oath to battle once again to save mankind from the greed of
the gods.

*****

Tommy ripped through the roof of the royal tent to land atop
what could only be described as a pile of naked women. Had he been a few
hundred years younger, and somewhere other than the middle of an enemy army, he
might have taken advantage of the situation. Unfortunately, current
circumstances did not permit it. Looking around inside the dark tent, as cries
of alarm sounded outside, Tommy was surprised to witness what happened next.

As he gathered his bearings, a small man covered in fur
sailed across the room onto the chest of a soldier twice his size. Snarling and
clawing, the small beast of a man rode his bigger enemy all the way to the
ground. As the two hit the floor, a fountain of blood erupted from the bigger
man’s lips. Tommy thought his job already finished for he saw that the fallen
man had a short shaft of wood protruding from his heart. Preparing to leap out
of the same hole he had entered through, he was just as surprised as the small
furry man when another person in the room abruptly sat up gasping. Though it was
dark, both men moved to fell this new foe. Tommy lunged across the room,
slashing with his twin blades at the same time as the small furry man struck
out with his clawed fingers. Both assassins landed their blows. Falling back,
the larger man had lost an entire arm, and his belly had been sliced to
ribbons, his entrails spilling out around him upon the bed. That did not even
include the wound in his neck that leaked blood as well. In mere seconds he
would be dead.

As the guards charged into the tent, Tommy leapt up and out
again, landing far enough away to make a clean escape. Chad was not so lucky.

*****

King Sigrant awoke to a man clamping a hand over his mouth
but, angered beyond measure, he made no attempt to scream. At least until the
man had bitten him. However, struggling with all his might afforded him little.
His attacker could not be budged. Then, just as the king had given up, hope was
restored.

With someone suddenly bursting through the flap in the tent,
Sigrant’s attacker rose, bearing the king with him. King Sigrant calculated the
man had less than half a percent chance of surviving his guards. However, the
king might never know for sure, since when his attacker had dragged him to his
feet, his grip upon his mouth had slipped and now Sigrant’s nostrils were
blocked as well.

Struggling for breath, he passed out.

Coming to, an unknown amount of time later, Sigrant
discovered that indeed his attacker had been slain. He knew not whether to
reward his guards for killing the attacker, or punish them for allowing him to
enter. All too soon he realized the decision mattered not at all. Sigrant stood
to survey his surroundings.

Two creatures were in the room with him, and both rushed him
simultaneously. Weak from blood loss and recovering from his recent blackout
there was little Sigrant could do. Being nude without so much as a knife did
not help either.

As his opponents struck, the invading king stood defiantly
at the end of his bed. Unable to defend himself, he simply raised his arms to
ward off the attack. An instant later he lost one of them as, at the same time,
his entrails began to spill from his gut. The monsters had killed him.

Bleeding to death Sigrant watched one of the beasts leap
clear through the roof of his tent as the other scrambled to cut his way
through the canvas of the wall. Too late, Sigrant’s guards came in. At least he
would get to watch one of his killers find the same fate as he.

His vision becoming hazy, Sigrant fell back upon the bed as
his four massive guards tore the small, hair-covered attacker to pieces.
Meanwhile, the healer that always stood with his guards began to tend to his
wounds. Before Sigrant blacked out, all he heard was, “Dammit, the infection is
spreading. I have to work to seal the wounds before it is too late.”

King Sigrant awoke an unknown amount of time later. He
remained in his tent. Raising his arms he was glad to find he had both of them
again. He clutched his neck and the wound there was gone too. His abdomen was
perfect. His wives had been removed, the tent cleaned. It appeared as if
nothing had transpired at all. Sun shone through the thinner material that
formed the top of his tent. It had not been a dream as there upon the fabric
was the evidence. Where once had been a tear, new stitching closed the gap in a
hasty repair.

Sigrant rose from his bed. He wanted answers.

Already wearing trousers, Sigrant strode outside to find his
camp coated in snow. The guards outside his tent snapped to attention, their
faces grim, worried. The head of his healers was there as well, so he knew it
was she who had saved him.

“Your majesty,” the head mistress bowed. “We caught one!”
she added excitedly.

“One of my attackers? Yes I saw, they tore him to pieces and
the other got away I presume,” Sigrant replied.

“No, my king, one of the other creatures that attacked you
and your wives,” she said, hoping to trigger his memory.

“The beast who bit me?” Sigrant asked.

“No, he died my king, and lucky for you too,” she replied.
“We have much to discuss. I am already beginning to understand how this
epidemic is spreading.”

*****

Sara sat looking down upon the previous day’s battlefield
and the huge sprawling encampment beyond it. The air was cold and snow still
fell; the ground and everything else was blanketed in the stuff. Large ominous
clouds were in the sky, but no longer directly overhead. In fact, for the most
part, the sky was clear. Sara awaited the sun.

In mere moments it would rise and Sara hoped that those
she’d created would be caught out in its rays and perish more quickly than they
had been spawned. Three generations had arisen during the night, the third just
barely so. Good thing too, for there were more than a thousand of them. Near a
dozen had turned to over two hundred, then those had already spawned many
hundreds more. Sara expected the number to double in the next hour or two. She
hoped Sigrant would call his troops to muster before that time. The more that
were caught out in the sun, the better. They were monsters, like her.