Rise of the Champions Page 3

  “Oh, I see,” Prince Mace replied, surprised at the story.

  He had never sought out his people’s history before. He had only known about the Great Clan’s existence, but that was about it. Still, these events must have happened well over a hundred years ago. Nobody alive then could possibly be alive now. It seems the grudge of the ancestors had outlived them. The prince wasn’t sure how he felt about the continuation of the war, as he personally had no grudges against the Narsho, despite having fought them. But unfortunately, it was not his call to make, it was his father’s. If he wanted it to change, he would have to convince his father, not an easy task.

  “Which is why we must make them pay. If it wasn’t for their cowardice, who knows what we the clan could’ve become. We must avenge our ancestors,” Chief King Mace insisted.

  Prince Mace only nodded, understanding his father’s rage. He knew he should feel the same anger, but he simply didn’t. He found it almost hypocritical that his father wanted to know what the Great Clan could’ve become yet was too far gone in his hatred to focus on restoring the Highrock clan to its former greatness. It seemed his father, the chief king, could only focus on war.

  They returned to silence, the prince looking back at his steak. He didn’t know what else to say to his father. He knew by now it was pointless to try to change his mind. When the chief king put his mind to something, he saw it done. If he wanted the Narsho gone, he would likely accomplish it. However, the war had been long and rather unsuccessful so far. But he knew it only took one battle to change everything.

  The prince watched as his father slowly stood from the table, leaning heavily on his large, old mace. He felt bad for his father, who had never fully recovered from a great wound in battle against the Narsho almost a decade ago. Since then, the chief king had become frail, his strength sapped away by not only the wound, but also age. Yet despite his frailty, his father had surprising agility, making him still fierce in battle.

  “Garon, please convey my orders to the warrior general. We strike the Narsho in one week’s time. This time, we assault their home directly. We’ll evade their scouts, outposts, and whatever else stands between us and them if possible. We will finish this war,” Chief King Mace snarled, looking over to his son.

  “Of course, Father, I will go now,” Prince Mace nodded.

  Just before he left, he saw his father quickly look around, as if hearing something. His father cocked his head, as if trying his hardest to listen. Then, he looked back at his son. He seemed paranoid, and Prince Mace certainly didn’t know what his father was trying to hear.

  “Did you hear that? Is someone outside whispering?”

  “What? No, I didn’t hear anything father,” Prince Mace replied, trying but failing to hear anything.

  “Fine then. Keep an eye out when you leave,” Chief King Mace ordered before sitting back down.

  The prince nodded and headed toward the door of the hall, feeling his father’s piercing gaze hitting his back. It almost felt as though his father didn’t trust him or had a lack of faith. However, it was a justified feeling, as Prince Mace didn’t want to fight the Narsho if he could help it. There was nothing he could do about it, however, and would carry out his father’s will.

  Stepping from the hall, the prince was greeted by a cool night breeze gently caressing his fair-skinned face. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment. Their ancestral home, Highrock, was aptly named after the tall rocky hill their village sat upon, leaving them with an almost constant breeze. He had always found this wind calming, at least when the village wasn’t preparing for battle. Unfortunately, that was about to change.

  He looked around, not seeing anyone nearby. In fact, there was nobody up here with them. Being at the top of the peak, the chief king’s hall stood alone at the highest possible point. It was this way to be both symbolic and defensive. He shook his head, continuing on to deliver the message.

  He began to walk down from the peak, his boots scuffing along the worn stone. He could see fires roaring and his fellow clanspeople enjoying the night while it was young. He sometimes wished he could partake as well, but there had always been a divide between him and the rest of the clan.

  Unlike the other clans, the Highrock clan’s chieftains were the result of a long bloodline. Their leaders were bred, not chosen, and while not everyone in the Highrock clan liked it, that’s how it had always been. Prince Garon Mace knew that’s why some of his people disliked him, that and the fact he didn’t have the same barbaric rage they had to fight. His father didn’t have that issue.

  He continued down to the large barracks building at the lowest point of their village. Just beyond that were the sharp wooden palisade walls that protected them. With the wall and the village being on a hill, their village was a superb defensive position. Their ancestors had chosen their settlement well.

  Approaching the barracks, Prince Mace could hear the rowdy warriors from inside. They usually enjoyed drinking copious amounts of ale and gambling away their silver to each other. To no surprise, that’s exactly what they were doing when Prince Mace entered.

  He saw some eyes dart to him as they entered, but most went back to whatever they had been doing. While it was technically customary to greet any member of the bloodline when they entered your presence, Prince Mace had never liked it and told them not to bother. Fortunately, they managed to listen to him over the years.

  “Ah, Prince Mace, good evening,” a short, stocky man wearing an eyepatch greeted as he approached him.

  “Good evening, General Klon. I am here to bring you our chief king’s orders,” Prince Mace began, looking to see that others were listening.

  “Oh? Will we be heading to battle again soon?” General Klon asked excitedly, twisting his moustache in delight.

  “In a week’s time we strike the Narsho village,” Prince Mace replied simply.

  “The village? What about the outposts and scout patrols?” General Klon asked, concerned.

  “We are meant to find a way through or around them if possible, so we may have the element of surprise on our side,” Prince Mace explained.

  “I suppose we have some work to do then. You will be joining us on the battlefield, I hope?” the old general asked, as if to force the prince to say yes.

  “Of course,” Prince Mace answered with a fake sense of excitement.

  “Very well then, we do as the bloodline commands. I shall brief the men,” General Klon nodded, turning and motioning for the warrior leaders to gather.

  Prince Mace did not linger and went back outside. He stared up at the clear night sky, not a single cloud to dim the sight. The thousands of glowing stars in the sky entranced him, and he couldn’t help but smile at the majesty of the sight. He truly didn’t know what he was looking at, but part of him thought they were the many eyes of the gods looking down upon them. Whatever it was, it seemed peaceful.

  He slowly walked back toward the hall, wondering if the other clans were looking up at the same sky at the same moment he was. The Linta Clan was the closest of the clans to them, being not too far southwest. That clan had always taken pride in their craftsmanship and trading, and Prince Mace frequently bought goods from them.

  Then, far west and close to the Narsho clan was the Forud clan. The Forud people had strong, unbreakable ties to the Narsho, and Prince Mace wondered why they didn’t simply become one. If anything, it was the war that stopped it, as the Forud people refused to fight alongside the Narsho. However, Prince Mace figured if it looked like the Narsho would be defeated for good, the Forud may finally join the Narsho in combat. This was why he was particularly worried about their attack on the Narsho Clan. That attack may be enough to drag the Forud people into the fray. If that were to happen, Prince Mace figured they would be defeated by the allied clans.

  He sighed, sitting on a nearby stump and staring to the sky once more. Ever since the Seer had visited their village, the prince had become more interested in the Ancient Clan and their magic. Fro
m what he had learned speaking to many different clanspeople over the years, magic was all around them and could be used by anyone, provided they had the knowledge and training. However, due to its supposed malevolent and unstable nature, it was forbidden to be used by all the other clans. Only a clan shaman was allowed to use it, and strictly for healing purposes. If anyone else was to try to use it within a clan, they would be exiled. This fear of magic was the one thing shared by every clan except the Ancient Clan. Still, it didn’t stop Prince Mace from being curious.

  As he stared at the stars, he felt a sense of dread overcome him. Between the upcoming battle and the Seer’s warning, the prince felt as though he should be doing something. However, his place was to follow his father's orders, and with that he had no choice. For now, he could only keep his wits about him.

  Chapter 3

  As Anna slowly awoke, she immediately felt uneasy. She sat up in a fit of fear, her panicked breathing loud in the silent hut. She reached for a weapon but couldn’t find anything. She looked around frantically, noticing that she was wearing someone else’s clothing. She didn’t even know where she was. At least, not at first.

  “My, my! Scout Myhre! Please, try to calm down!” a familiar voice pleaded from nearby.

  Anna looked to see their shaman, a wise old man named Olaf Tobar, rushing toward her. Being tall, he knelt beside her, stroking his white beard as he slowly rested the back of his hand across her forehead. Then he stood back up and walked to a nearby table.

  “What? What’s going on?” Anna asked.

  “That’s what we would like to know. You’ve been sleeping for almost a full day. You made it to the entrance of our village and then collapsed of severe exhaustion. Your condition was so critical I even had to perform a brief stamina restoration spell because I feared for your life, and you know how much our people distrust magic,” Olaf replied, fiddling around with some herbs and other things on the table.

  Anna took a deep breath, realizing she felt horrible. She remembered running from the ruins, and then it was all a blur. Fredrik, the creatures, she had to tell the chieftain as soon as she could. For all she knew, they would have followed her back.

  However, she must’ve been in a dire condition for the shaman to use magic. Magic was forbidden by all the clans, except for the borderline hated Ancient Clan. Anna knew only a shaman was allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations, and for that reason, she knew she should take it somewhat easy.

  “Olaf … Fredrik, he’s dead,” Anna slowly said, trying not to tear up.

  “Scout Johanson is dead? By the gods, he was a true fighter. What happened?” Olaf asked, leaving his herbs and placing his hand gently on her back, his eyes filled with empathy.

  “First, we found ruins in the Cursed Lands, far east from here. These ruins were, I don’t know, complex? Their buildings were far better than ours, at least they looked nicer. But then they came. These … horrors, abominations, they attacked us and killed Fredrik. He saved my life. Without his bravery, I would be dead,” Anna explained, tears running silently down her face.

  “Gods … The chieftain will want to hear about this,” Olaf said, walking back over to his table. “And Anna, there is something else.”

  “What is it?” Anna asked, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her face.

  Olaf finished preparing a drink and brought it over to Anna. However, now noticing her tears, he stopped talking. Instead he shared a moment of eye contact with her, unable to find his words.

  “Er, it can wait. However, I urge you to drink this formula. It should help restore your health and vigor. Also, do avoid the impure vices we enjoy—smoking anything, drinking alcohol—as it will delay your healing for now, alright?” Olaf asked, handing her the cup.

  “I will try,” Anna replied, taking the blue colored formula and cringing at the bitter taste.

  “Good. Feel free to keep those clothes, as yours were, er, rather soiled. When you gather your strength, the chieftain wants to speak to you. He also currently has your backpack, in case you were wondering,” Olaf explained. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No. Thank you, Olaf,” Anna answered, finally finding the strength to stop her tears.

  “Then I shall leave you alone for now,” Olaf replied, stroking his beard as he left the hut.

  Anna lay back down in silence, already feeling the effects of the shaman’s brew. She liked and trusted Chieftain Barod, but it would be hard for her to go into the details of her ordeal. It was too soon, and too painful. However, she had no choice. They needed to know there was a threat, one that seemed greater than their current war with the Highrock Clan. After all, Fredrik would want her to. She had to finish his task.

  She then rested for a while before finding enough energy to leave the shaman’s hut. It was a cloudy day, and she could tell the nice part of harvest season was soon ending; before long, a harsh winter would likely befall them.

  Eyes of her fellow clanspeople were on her as she walked through the village, and she could tell she was the current gossip, yet nobody dared approach her. At least, the civilians wouldn’t, not before the chieftain spoke about it. A cheeky warrior might risk it, but they were all likely either in training or patrolling for Highrock warriors.

  She looked down at the muddy ground, smelling the recent rain she must’ve just missed while asleep. Trudging forward, she felt immense grief lingering within her. Yet she knew that she must press on and tell the chieftain of the threat.

  She walked through the muddy paths of the Narsho village, keeping her eyes to herself. It didn’t take long to make it to the large hall of the chieftain, and with a deep breath, she entered.

  Inside she found Chieftain Barod, Guard Captain Jarult, and Titus, Champion of the Narsho. It was no surprise their leader of the chieftain’s guards and the Narsho’s most gifted warrior would be joining. If anyone needed to know the threat, it was those three men. Unfortunately, Titus Fardson, Champion of the Narsho and only a few years older than Anna, was often described as not only the strongest, but also the rudest of the Narsho.

  “Ah! She joins at last,” Titus bellowed, staring at Anna with an almost condescending look as his enormous muscles twitched.

  “Greetings, Scout Myhre, please join us,” Chieftain Barod boomed, slamming his fist down on the wooden table and causing a great sound.

  Anna saluted her chieftain, placing her left fist over her right shoulder, then proceeded towards them. By slamming his fist, she knew her chieftain had officially started the meeting. As she approached, she realized the items she had found in the ruins were now spread out on a large table in front of the men with her blood-covered backpack on the floor next to them.

  “We’re glad to see you up and well, Anna. Unfortunately, our shaman has just let us know that Fredrik did not make it. His loss will affect all of us, for he was a great man and a great scout,” Chieftain Barod mourned.

  The others nodded, even Titus showing brief sympathy. Anna gulped, mentally readying herself to retell everything that had happened. Something about those creatures had haunted her, and just thinking about them gave her chills.

  “It was horrible, Chieftain. The monsters we fought were like nothing we had ever seen before. Hideous, brutal, warped, and hard to kill. Fredrik saved me and took on at least a dozen of them so I could come back and tell you what we saw. It was his final request,” Anna slowly explained, managing to hold back tears.

  “Monsters? I didn’t think monsters were more than tales to keep children in line,” Titus sneered.

  “Do you doubt I know what I fought?” Anna replied with angrily squinted eyes.

  “Okay, easy,” Guard Captain Jarult urged, holding his hands up and mainly looking at Titus.

  “Yes, we must remain calm. Monster or not, Anna faced a brutal beast that killed one of our most adept scouts. The fact you saw at least a dozen more is worrying too. Where did you encounter these beasts?” Chieftain Barod asked.

  “We f
ound the ruins of an old yet seemingly advanced town far east of here in the Cursed Lands. The buildings’ designs are impeccable, made of fine white stone and carved with master craftsmanship. It is like nothing we or any of the other clans have made,” Anna explained as she stared at the tome on the table. “That is where we found those monsters.”

  “Is that where you found these as well?” Chieftain Barod asked, noticing her stare.

  “It is. We briefly looked through the building and I recovered that tome and those other pieces of parchment. A couple look like maps; however, I cannot read any of it,” Anna replied.

  “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Titus added.

  Anna thought she saw the guard captain roll his eyes as Titus spoke. It was likely nobody had ever seen anything like it. Almost nobody wrote or read the tongue of the clan, though she knew the chieftain and Shaman did. If anyone could read what she found, it would be them.

  “Unfortunately, the same applies to me,” Chieftain Barod admitted. “I cannot decipher any of these symbols, although the drawing on the cover of the tome is most interesting. Still, these odd letters are nothing any of us can read. The hammer is especially well crafted, but nothing like we would make. I thought it may be remnants of the Great Clan, but nothing leads me to believe that.”