The Champions (13 page)

Focusing with his vision of the gods he watched as a change
crept over the battlefield. None but Seth could see what was happening; none
could prepare for what was about to take place. Seth saw no way to protect his
fellow Valdadorians as hundreds of blessed troops filtered in from behind the
enemy’s force. Seth tasted their auras and knew at once they were mages. He
also knew immediately that the battle would be over soon if something were not
done. He turned to the giant, mottled colored werewolf at his side and shouted
above the battle.

“Jonas, tell Borrik to recall the troops back to our lines
and get Sara out of there!”

Jonas nodded and within seconds it was obvious Seth’s orders
had been received amongst his werewolves as they all began to turn and bite and
claw their way back in the direction they had come. All over the battlefield
auras began to swell as the blessed mages of Sigrant’s army began to pray to
their chosen gods. Borrik dove from the heavens and landed among the enemy,
growling and barking as he tore soldiers to pieces within his four giant,
clawed hands. Though Seth could not hear Borrik’s words to Sara, he saw his
wife turn and begin bounding back towards him, droplets of blood raining off
her armor and weapons with each leap. If Seth had seen the danger sooner it
might have made a difference, but as it was, his fate had already been sealed.

*****

Ishanya stood within the heavens feeling the changes to her
plan. It was a plan she had been preparing for eons, and set into motion after
a great deal of thought and preparation. Ishanya was not willing to let her
plan fail, and as such decided to act directly to influence the flow of time.
It was a move born by desperation, and one her peers would not miss. It would
take them time to feel the change, though, and more time still to thwart her.
In that time she would become strong enough to face them if she needed to.
Ishanya decided to risk it all. Focusing her immense mind she pushed her
consciousness across time and space, to the very world of Thurr itself. She
ventured then into the kingdom of Valdadore and further still to the battle
raging on its western border. Ishanya pushed still and, unnoticed by all
mortals but one upon the field of battle, she shoved the soul of a man she
helped to create aside and took control of his body.

Ignoring her surroundings Ishanya heaved the large war
implement before her. Turning first one crank and then another she adjusted the
angle of the machine then drew back the great cable upon it. From beside the
machine she hefted a large iron-tipped bolt and fitted it to the machine. With
the mind of an immortal being she calculated the precise time, taking into
consideration not only every moving being upon the field of battle, but also
the forces of nature and magic at play. Pausing momentarily Ishanya waited.
Each fraction of a second stretched out to an eternity as the precise moment
neared. When it finally arrived Ishanya yanked a pin from the giant mechanism
of war and with a whoosh and a twang the machine sent the giant bolt flying in
an even arc over the heads of those upon the field. She watched the three
seconds the bolt sailed through the air and smiled as it found its target.
Lancing through the silly mortal as if he were rotten fruit, Ishanya saw the
bolt penetrate down through his body, causing him to lean backwards from the
blow. The bolt entered his chest, and exited his back and drove down into the
soil below him, propping him up for all to see.

Ishanya felt again the threads of fate and time and, assured
she could now correct the damage done to her plan, she fled back to the plane
of immortals. The human vessel she had inhabited for a few moments was returned
to its owner, none the worse for wear. Likely, he would be considered a hero
among his people. After all, everyone thought the man who was now impaled upon
a giant bolt was untouchable. Yet now he was dead.

Garret could feel himself weakening. Even so, he refused to
panic. A foul taste rose again and again in his throat and he knew his organs
had already began to shut down. His foe, the copper-clad brawler still held his
blade, the king’s last attempt at a strike having failed. The humming of the
brawler’s power increased with every fraction of a second and Garret knew he
was finished. With only one trick left in reserve, both he and his opponent
unleashed their power in the same instant.

One moment Garret and the brawler struggled, locked in
combat, each trying to overpower the other. In the next, having given the
command to his enchanted shield, both blessed men flew backwards from one
another from the power of the two combined blasts. As an electrical explosion
raced down Garret’s sword, he unleashed the power stored within his shield.
Sadly it was already too late to save him.

Such was the powerful charge the electrical warrior
unleashed, that in an instant, before Garret even hit the ground, the static
charge raced down the blade and climbed his arm from hand to shoulder.
Everything melted away. Not only was the sword obliterated, but so too was
Garret’s entire arm and a portion of his shoulder. The explosive amputation
left a jagged hole where once had been an appendage and from it smoke rose into
the air. Garret choked; he had lost a lung as well. His vision began to fade as
a thrumming began to sound in his ears. At least his heart still beat.

*****

Borrik soared above the battlefield lending himself where
needed. The advantage of an aerial view was tremendous. Not only could he see
the happenings from above, but also through the eyes of each and all of his
men. Flapping his giant wings when necessary, the alpha wolfman rode the air
currents throwing fireballs into the enemy and flying low to cleave men into
pieces by the dozens. His master had blessed him well. There was no other
warrior upon the world like Borrik; at least not on this battlefield.

Seeing a tight grouping of Sigrant’s men below, Borrik began
to dive when his thoughts were interrupted. Jonas, Borrik’s next-in-command,
stood with their master below and had relayed a message. The men were to fall
back. Beyond that Sara needed to be found and told as well. Borrik passed on
the message to his men below and pulled up from his dive to begin looking for
the master’s wife. It took only seconds to spot the young beauty dancing among
the carnage below. So graceful was the princess that Borrik doubted she had an
equal upon Thurr either. He grinned a wicked grin and began his dive anew.

Dropping in amongst a clutch of enemy troops, Borrik slashed
out with his enchanted blades at the same time that he summoned fireballs with
his spare arms given to him by his master. Those who came near him he tore to
pieces with blade and teeth. Those who dared to flee caught magical fire from
behind. In seconds over forty troops were dispatched. Spinning upon his heel he
located Sara and shouted to her across the loud battlefield.

“Princess Sara, my master bids you return to him!”

Sara nodded once in response and without hesitation began to
move back the way she had come, bounding and twirling all the while. Borrik
crouched low to the ground. Shoving with all his might he leapt into the air
once more and began to flap his immense wings. Slowly he climbed, until he
could see the entire battle clearly. Valdadore was so vastly outnumbered he
could perceive no chance of a victory. Even now the huge invading force had
flowed around both flanks of the Valdadorian army, closing them in on three
sides. Within hours they would be entirely surrounded. Borrik thought it wise
to advise the king, and so turned his attention to the battle below once more.

The king was a giant metallic warrior who shone in the sun
and as such Borrik spotted him in only moments. Though the king was some
distance away, Borrik turned and settled into a slow dive, using the natural
currents of the air to propel him in his chosen direction. He watched from afar
as his master’s brother clashed with a sizeable opponent. Looking on still,
Borrik’s gaze turned to one of worry as the enemy struck the king with a flash
of light and the king crumpled, smoke issuing from his ribs.

Borrik began flapping to speed his descent. Again the king
moved to strike his foe, but the enemy simply reached up and grabbed the king’s
massive blade. Borrik neared.

With a flash of brilliant light an explosion erupted and
common men were thrown back from the blast. Both the king and his foe were
hurled back as well and already Sigrant’s champion began to rise. Garret
remained unmoving for a moment. When he did move, Borrik realized the fight was
already over. The king, his master’s brother, had been defeated. Though he
lived, the blast had torn an entire limb from him. With naught but a shield,
the king would be finished in a second, but not if Borrik could get there
first.

Without time to slow his descent Borrik plummeted from the
sky like a wayward rock thrown to the heavens. Bending his knees to absorb his
impact, he crashed to the bloodied soil between the king and his foe, skidding
to a halt. Dirt and debris scattered by Borrik’s landing rained down upon all
who were near though none appeared to notice. Borrik rose to his full height
and turned to face his foe, a deep growl escaping his throat. Snapping his
teeth like a rabid animal, Borrik watched as realization came to his enemy’s
face. The brawler was caught off guard, a smile that had stood upon his face
melted, and hatred gleamed in his eyes. Borrik flexed his muscles and lifted
his swords for the attack with his upper arms, summoning a pair of twin
fireballs with the lower, daring the brawler to approach. But approach he did.

Twin fireballs lanced at the brawler, one right after the
other. Faster and more agile than he appeared to be, the warrior dropped and
rolled aside, thus escaping the magical fire. Borrik growled again, and sprang
towards his foe, spreading his wings slightly to glide nearer. Coming face to
face, Borrik began to hack and slash at the copper-clad man to no avail. Each
blow met a metal-clad hand. The brawler began to hum unnaturally, and having
witnessed the blast only moments before Borrik knew his time was limited. Again
the great werewolf summoned fire and without hesitation he launched yet another
assault. Both fireballs unleashed, he charged in again with his twin magical
blades. Once more Borrik saw no sign that the brawler had been injured even
though one fireball had met its mark. The humming increased in intensity. Like
a man without worry the foe closed the gap once again and raised his fists.
Small sparks jumped between his hands and Borrik knew his time was very short.
He did not know, however, that his time was up.

The brawler attacked like a mad berserker with a flurry of
blows in rapid succession. Again and again he struck Borrik in the ribs and
chest, each time releasing an explosion of pure magical power. He did not
realize that Borrik was allowing him to land the blows. Each strike was
absorbed again and again by Borrik’s enchanted breastplate, draining the power
the brawler had stored to increase his charge. When the champion sworn to
Sigrant did finally realize that his attacks availed him nothing, Borrik was
already on the move.

Leaping into the air Borrik flapped his giant wings twice,
throwing up a cloud of dust and gaining a little altitude. Then, like a bird of
prey, he folded his wings and dove at his opponent. As he fell he brought all
of his limbs to bear, knowing that if this attack were unsuccessful the king
would die before they could reach the healers. Borrik hit the brawler like a
boulder thrown from a siege engine.

Impacting the warrior with his clawed wing tips, Borrik
drove the champion down to the soil where his wings pierced the man’s
shoulders, thus effectively pinning him to the soil. Using his lower hands,
Borrik grasped the brawler’s wrists and forced them to the ground. Again the
humming came. With no time to waste, Borrik reacted as any feral animal might,
and following his instincts he grasped the man’s head with one free hand and
wrenched it back. Without thought Borrik tore into the blessed champion’s throat
with his razor sharp teeth and ripped a large chunk of bleeding flesh from it.
Blood sprayed like a fountain from the neck, yet Borrik was still not
satisfied. Digging his claws in at the many major joints in the brawler’s body,
Borrik brought his inhuman strength to task and pulled with all his might in
all directions. A moment later, Borrik rose from his foe allowing all to
witness his savagery and power. For upon the ground lay a man completely
dismembered in a pool of his own fluids, yet even now the mouth moved as if to
scream or speak. No sound came. For more than a minute the brawler blinked and
mouthed silently before finally his blessing released him and with a pop his
giant carcass shrank and life faded from his eyes. Borrik turned and strode to
the king.

*****

It had been several hours since Linaya had gotten her first
glimpse of Boulder Gate. Still following the winding tunnels downwards, it was
as if the city had been etched in her mind. Such was its beauty that Linaya
almost felt ashamed asking the dwarves to leave such perfection behind.

Rounding what must have been the millionth bend, the cavern
they followed widened and straightened out and before them stood the ground
level of the dwarves’ capital city. Again Linaya was awestruck. From this
vantage point the city appeared limitless. Each building climbed high into the
heavens and she could not see the far side of the city. Carved façades beckoned
her attention and she found herself staring at the intricacies of every detail
as they walked. She smiled often, like a child might when presented with a
treat, for the wonder of the foreign city held her enthralled. Statues of
dwarves stood, twice as tall as she, wearing oddly fashioned armor and
clothing, and bearing with them immense objects, weapons, or even others of
their own race. Battles were depicted upon many a façade and Linaya would pause
from time to time to try and get a better scope of what the artwork
encompassed. Fortunately for her, Zorbin and Gumbi walked slowly, talking about
times past, allowing her to catch up. Bridges filled the voids between
buildings on many levels above Linaya and even upon the ground. Eventually
Linaya realized that the bridges upon the ground level were not just for
decoration for in the city of the dwarves an ice cold river flowed lazily,
providing not only refreshment, but also a natural climate control for the
dwarves. Everything about the city seemed flawless.