The God Warriors (21 page)

"That would be Korvar. We are headed there next," responded the captain.

"You will find it whole, unless it is under attack as we speak."

"Then we must be on our way, I must admit," now the captain hesitated before he said, "I have found your people to be more honorable than I first thought, Ariston. I do pray to Ares that I am doing the right thing. May you go in peace and be successful at the games." Then, without further word, he turned his horse around, shouting commands to his men.

As the others galloped ahead to the next village, a wagon with a troop of guards stayed behind to load the horse of Garro with double saddlebags of food, enough to make it to the capital, but Ariston waved them away. "Your man will eat what we eat, and it will be nutritious and filling, and I daresay, will taste much better than those rations you guards are so fond of."

"I wouldn't go as far as to say we are fond of them, but they do keep us alive," commented the sub-captain, giving Ariston a look of skepticism.

"Ha! How does fresh meat, bartered bread, and leafy greens sound to you? Our packs contain spices, and we have the coin for any bread we purchase. Trust me, sub-captain, you are in good hands. We are not the savages you seem to think we are," laughed Ariston.

"My name is Rawkin, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Pack Leader." Obviously, the guard had come to a decision, and now he was holding his hand out in the gesture of human friendship. Ariston hesitated only a moment before clasping it tightly in return and responding.

"The pleasure is ours, and you may call me Aris."

Rawkin was surprised at the speed the Wolven could achieve, even running on the side of the road, jumping over brush and fallen trees in their easy long-legged lope, as fast as his horse in its mile-eating canter. He also knew they could run a lot faster than that by going down on all four limbs, making them as fast as most horses could gallop, but a pace they could not hold all day. Rawkin had to continue thinking of them as Wolven and not wolves, for Wolven was their species name, and the last thing he wanted to do was to irritate them. He was not worried what they might do if he called them wolves but because it would be disrespectful and the Wolven deserved respect. He had come to realize this.

That first day had been spent moving south and then east towards one of the main border roads leading to the capital. The Wolven did not stop for a noon meal but instead ate while continuously moving forward. As Rawkin tried to open his saddlebag to retrieve a ration, he felt his hand slapped away. Aris handed him several large thick strips of dried meat, still somewhat moist, retrieved from a smaller leather pack hanging under one arm of the Wolven. Suspiciously, Rawkin had tried one only to discover it was venison and deliciously flavored with unknown spices. It was also moist and chewy, not like the hard as rock, dried meat the guard packed in their rations. Aris simply grinned at his exclamations and handed him a few more pieces before offering his water skin, but Rawkin declined, already having two water skins of his own.

Earlier that morning, they met another company on the road, this one from a troop out of Crystal City and headed by another suspicious captain. With Rawkin there, the meeting had gone somewhat smoothly, and even though it was obvious the other captain did not want to honor the letter placing the Wolven under the king's protection, he had no choice. To violate that letter of protection and free passage would have meant his removal from the guard, a minimum of twenty lashes with the barbed whip, and imprisonment in the mines for no less than a decade. The King took his word seriously and entrusted that word with every guard officer of captain rank and above. Not even a troop commander could violate the king's word once given.

Rawkin did learn some useful information from the captain before the man departed to check the next village on his list. The Illian were still attacking, and the next two villages had been burned to the ground. The first was a simple homesteaders’ village, but the second had been a large trading post of hundreds of people, large enough the priests were getting ready to start a school there, Rawkin was told. Once the captain left, he shared this information with Ariston.

"I have no idea what these Illian are doing, Rawkin. It is a mystery to all of us. Your senior officer is correct in that it is out of character for them. Destruction only for the sake of destruction and not even taking all the female captives they could. Nor the food stocks. I can tell you from personal experience, those of the Illian are always hungry," Ariston said to Rawkin’s nod. Over the hours yesterday and today, they'd had many conversations. The Wolven were not a learned people in the traditional sense a human would reckon, but learned in an oral history and personal experiences far surpassing Rawkin’s own.

"I do not either, but have your pack keep a sharp eye out, if you would. I will fight by your side if we are attacked, of course."

"Ha! My people always keep both eyes open and sharp when not in our pack gathering, but the sentiment is appreciated, and yes I had no doubt you would side your blade with ours, Sub-Captain Garro."

"I told you, Aris, my name is Rawkin."

"Yes, you did, but honor due where honor earned."

"Anyways, you still have not answered my question, Aris. Will you and your people join the games?"

"I cannot answer that, in truth. Our god mentioned no exact reason for our attending. He did, I think, make a joke about killing this new champion, but as I said, I think it was in jest."

"It is a hard thing to think a god jesting with a mere mortal, Aris."

"I agree. Fenrir is a god of very few words, but he is ours, and loved."

"I really hope he doesn't tell you to kill the new champion."

"As I said, I feel he was jesting. No one would violate a flag of truce. Our honor is everything. We would, if forced, declare the truce void and that would be the warning your guard needed to remove us. Have no fear, Rawkin. When the god spoke to us a week ago, it was his desire to see this champion up close and perhaps talk to him."

"Good to know."

Another hour’s travel had them passing the first of the burned-out villages, the homesteaders’; four hours after that they passed the hulk of the once-thriving trading post. Two hours after that, as dark neared, they saw a wagon filled with what looked like children and a man on horseback leading a pack of ponies, preparing to set up a camp for the night. Rawkin quickly asked Ariston to call a halt while he rode up ahead to see what was going on.

As he drew closer, he saw a young man place himself between the woman and three children.
His family
, Rawkin thought. He was amazed to see the man swing what looked like a wood and rock stake hammer by a leather strap, so fast it blurred and glowed. It was then that he noticed the second glow emanating from the man. On his cheek was a god's mark, blazing a bright silver, the sign of Dionysus, if Rawkin was not mistaken.

"What would you!" declared the obvious peasant as his hammer twirled faster, so fast a rising hum could be heard, its pitch growing ever higher. Speechless, Rawkin could only stare in shock for a few moments, before pulling his wits about him and quickly responding.

"Easy now, friend, I'm Sub-Captain Garro of the Jordache Guard. I am escorting a group of Wolven under the King's protection. We mean you no harm. I simply proceeded on ahead to determine who you were. You, Sir, are a champion of the gods. That is obvious by the mark, but who are these? Your family?" Rawkin held up both hands in the universal sign of peace while he spoke, and, watching closely, saw the other man before him visibly relax. Then, faster than the eye could see, the peasant slammed his hammer into the ground, all but burying it. Rawkin swore he saw the earth crack in all directions while a tremor issued forth from the force of the impact.
Definitely a champion
, he thought. With a jerk, the obvious champion pulled the huge hammer from its earthly coffin and walked up to him.

"Greetings, Sub-Captain Garro. I am known as Dru, and these are my companions: Keepa, Rewa, Amiel, and Fromon," he said as he pointed out each in turn. The others turned quiet, scared faces towards Garro, and it did not escape his notice that once the hammer stopped swinging, they huddled against Dru's back.

"And I am Ariston, Pack Leader of the Summit Wolven, and we mean you and yours no harm, human. In fact, if you require it, we would assist you," declared a voice beside him, and it was only then that Rawkin noticed Aris must have run to his aid when the hammer slammed into the ground like an avalanche. The Wolven was still as a rock himself and his expression was calm.

"Well, nice to meet both of you. We were getting ready to camp for the night. It's too late to continue on to the next village. Not with the little ones," he said as he pointed with his free hand. "We would be glad to let you share our fire but these…" and Dru paused as he looked askance at the Wolven.

"One moment while I introduce my pack," smiled Ariston as he turned to his brethren, made a complicated hand gesture and soon all were coming forward slowly, single file. As each approached, he named the individual and their pack. That person in turn bowed respectfully, and it was only a short time later when a few of them approached the children, asking. "Who wants to help gather firewood? You can ride on our backs." The Wolven were an instant hit with the young children, and Rawkin smiled in relief as everyone settled down to share stories. Aris sent out hunting parties, and soon there were several roaring fires where three deer turned on homemade spits, along with quite a few rabbits. One of the Wolven returned with a hand woven cedar basket of greens. Flat bread baked on nearby stones. Everyone contributed to the meal.

Soon everyone was eating on plates made from wide strips of birch bark and Rawkin turned to Aris, whispering. "Why are the Wolven up north? You get along great down here. Hell, the kids love your men." Aris shrugged, looked pensive for a moment, and finally responded.

"Truthfully I don't know. The north is where Fenrir always commanded us to be. Besides, we need greater room to roam. The Wolven don't do cities well." The last comment was said with a smile as the Wolven went back to eating.

"The freedom to roam is always a good thing," nodded Rawkin before saying, "Well, you've met the champion. Has your god spoken to him yet? And if so, what does he think of the man?"

"The champion Fenrir wishes to meet and perhaps speak with is from Korath, and, from what we were told, a military genius from another world. This man here is not him. This is another champion."

"What? Two champions? Not sure that's ever happened before."

"Our history does not indicate such in the past. But, when I spoke with our god moments before, he was sure this was not the champion he wished to meet." Rawkin simply nodded at the words and turned away.

Rawkin went back to talking to Dru and Keepa while everyone ate, and the Wolven played with the kids. Evidently, they were like big hairy stuffed animals to the children, and it was a joy to hear them laugh. He found out the gift of champion had come as a surprise to both Dru and the god responsible for it but not much else. When Dru mentioned finding a job at the next village down the road, Rawkin quickly put a stop to that line of thinking. Dru was a champion and should act like one. The King of Jordache would want to meet him and those he saved, while hearing the exploits of his endeavors. It was time to move on from his mundane existence.

The last week had been extremely busy, with the planning and training of an elite squad of men from his company. For formality’s sake, he had divided their numbers in half with his new Sotar bodyguard who insisted on being by his side constantly and participating in everything he did. Frankly, he did not care, as long as the Sotar obeyed him and not get into trouble. He also knew he would have to work the kinks out of his plans later.

The day he had acquired the Sotar went fairly well. First, a stop at the metalworkers’ to order prototypes of John's new offensive armament, then to the leather worker to order combat harnesses of his own design that would accept the new armament he was equipping his men with. He only wanted twenty-one sets for now, but if an observer from his own world had viewed them, John knew they would have immediately suspected the combat harness worn by elite troops of the United States.

Finally, they stopped at a weapon maker’s, where John ordered twenty-one identical knives of a specific design, along with matching sheaths. A nine-inch high carbon steel blade sat atop a six-inch leather-wrapped hilt with a slightly oversized steel pommel. The blade, razor sharp along one edge and three-quarters of the other, ended near the hilt with a wide, flat section on the side not fully sharpened. John pointed out to Alvaldi that the thick flat part of the shank near the hilt was to block a slash or thrust, to which the man nodded. Even Ulf looked thoughtful as John explained its use.

Purchases complete, and his purse a bit lighter for it, John found and the others at the company barracks. The walk around town had been illuminating, as Ulf told the others of the story involving Shianna, the Goddess of Death. How he and his squad of new warriors had just finished with a band of the Kuthari, then reaching the village in time to meet the Nastar of the Sotar peoples. Then, how the goddess spoke to them by the fire and the grueling march across the sandy dunes of the great desert, before finally trekking halfway across Korath until they finally reached the capital, and their champion. During all this, John quietly examined the man and decided he liked what he found. Just the calm and watchful demeanor of the Sotar put John at peace with his surroundings.

At the Barracks, John found Alf quickly and instructed him to divide the company into four groups he called platoons, each having fifty men, and to pick a platoon leader of senior guardsmen for each of those groups. John wanted the platoons named Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Heavy Weapons. Then Alf was to divide each platoon into four squads and to find some way to mark them so they could be told apart. Finally, Alf was to pull twenty of the quickest and strongest men from the heavy weapons platoon and keep them separate from the others for now. They would still train, but train together. It would be a lot of work getting them sorted out, but it was needed. John was about to bring modern company tactics to this medieval world.

Eventually, John found himself at the main guard barracks, just in time for his meeting with the general, who told him he would be leaving by week's end to Jordache, where he would meet with representatives of the other allied nations. Accompanying them would be the Princesses Alicree and Milsanna. Then with the king present in secret, having taken the connecting passages, promoted John to general of the king’s armies with all rights and privileges hereto. The last was anticlimactic, as John already informed of the crown’s full support, felt a simple notice to the effect would have sufficed, versus the two-hour long celebration after the announcement. Still, it was nice to see the king again, although he would rather be writing up a training schedule for his new company.

Finally, he was back in his old quarters, having declined a larger and more luxurious room that befitted a general of the guard. Eventually, he would accept the new accommodations because they came with a separate room for waste and bathing, along with a decently large meeting room for staff. The new gold-chased general's armor he found awaiting him in his quarters he was not too keen on, as he felt it painted him as a big bright target for the enemy to aim at. Another argument for another time, he thought as he finally lay down for bed.

[John, get up! You must hurry, the princesses are about to be attacked.] Ares firm voice was in his thoughts just as he was about to fall asleep, causing him to sit up groggily.

What?

[John, there is no time, Mother witnessed the disturbance in the time stream, and it is to happen within a short period. You must reach the princesses in time.]

Roger that, Ares.
Adrenaline surged through his body, waking him fully as he rolled out of bed, pulling on his pants and boots. A curse, then a quick grab at his new armor, and he was dressed within minutes. Directing thoughts to Korth and Kirth, he instructed them to go to the princesses now and protect them until he arrived. Both wolves woofed and took off at a fast lope as John grabbed his sword in one hand and helm in the other, running fast behind with the six Sotar stationed outside his door joining. John was already feeling a spike in his awareness, indicating the impending attack, and as he dashed through the small anteroom of the captains’ barracks, he shouted at the guard stationed there.

"Guard, sound the alarm. The princesses are about to be attacked."

"What? Since when?" the guard sputtered as he rose to his feet, confusion replaced by concern as he finally remembered the first task the gods had given John as a champion. That news had spread quickly after his initial meeting with the king. Quickly, the guard pulled a red rope hanging from the ceiling, and distantly, sharp bell peels resounding through the area, then the sounds of more bells that were picked up around the city. John had no time to get Shadow, nor did he want him, for close-quarters palace fighting was no place for a monstrous war horse. Instead, just outside the barracks were another score of the Sotar, stationed there by Ulf in case of need.

The Lorr wolves were nowhere to be seen, but John could feel them up ahead as he approached the entrance to the castle grounds, where a group of obviously confused guards milled about. Barreling through them, he slapped his helm on then grabbed the one nearest to his left, demanding, "Where are the princesses’ rooms?"

"The royal bedchambers are through the main hall, doorway at the end on the right, but you're not allowed up there, Sir. No one is," the guard cried out frantically as he pawed at the iron fist gripping his surcoat.

"Thanks, but that doesn't apply to me, or when there is danger to the princesses. Keep sounding the alarm, don't let anyone in but other guard or Sotar, and kill anything or anyone that doesn't belong," he growled as he pushed the man away.

Quickly, he ran through the courtyard then into the anteroom where two more guards tried to stop him as they stood over the great ornate doors that were now broken splinters littered across the floor. Obviously, Korth and Kirth had something to do with that. Completely ignoring the guards, he ran through the opening, and then to the doorway he remembered the older princess had taken. It also lay in splinters, and he heard the clash of arms and growls coming from atop the stairs he found just in front of him. These he took three at a time, reaching the top in seconds to find the large hallway in turmoil.

He must have arrived just in time. The king stood with drawn sword, but wore nightclothes, fighting alongside four guardsmen near the end of the hall where they held back at least a dozen black clad figures trying to make headway against their barricade of sharp steel. The two Lorr wolves fought alongside them, lunging forward to chomp onto an arm or leg and then jerk the helpless antagonist out into the hallway where they could be finished off with either sharp teeth or a blade. Idly, John noticed all the attackers appeared to be large black skinned beings with tusks. He spotted both the princesses and the queen poking frightened faces from their chambers to see what was going on.

"Two men on each and get them to the lower hall. Set up a defensive parameter around them, send the rest of your people to seal all the passages," he commanded of the Sotar closest to him, pointing at the female faces still framed in doorways. The man nodded once and issued commands in his own language. Within seconds, the Sotar was running forward towards the indicated doorways to secure the royals.

"Fall back," John shouted as he made the defensive line in the hallway in a large leap, then grabbed the king by the back of the robe to toss him away from the battle, while taking his place. Instantly, his blade licked out to take what had to be a Jugazi in the throat then an overhead slash took another while the guards with him dispatched two more, only losing one of their numbers. Deflecting a slash aimed at his face, he took the brunt of the blow on his forearm gauntlet then backhanded the Jugazi while spearing the next through his armor-covered midsection before pushing his way into the middle of the enemy, igniting his sword. Two more quick slashes, and the Jugazi were defeated, causing John to extinguish the Chaos wrapped along his blade, lest he hit one of the guards by accident, or the king who apparently was trying to get back into the fight. It was only then he heard the din of more arms clashing coming from the entrance at the end of the hallway, and with an oath, he took off running in that direction.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he growled as he saw even more of the black clad figures surrounding his Sotar, several of whom lay still across the forms of the princesses and queen. Each motionless Sotar seemed to have been shot by short crossbow bolts, and even more lay dead upon the marble floor as the plains warriors desperately battled superior numbers.
Where are they all coming from
? thought John as he leaped into the fray, then ducked as a bolt flew past his head, narrowly missing. Straightening, he saw an even dozen black forms with small crossbows crouched around the room, firing on its defenders while even more streamed from a wide doorway on the opposite side of the room.

Feeling the king bump into his back, holding his sword and a flimsy chair as a shield, its wooden surface already adorned with two bolts, somehow, John knew instinctively what he needed to do. Grabbing the king, he threw him down with the Sotar covered forms of his daughters and wife then, stepping on his back to hold him in place, he raised his blade, igniting the Chaos and bands of Order. A bright wild glow of multi-colored fire erupted along the length of the blade while flickering bands of a dark Order held it in place.

"My Sotar, attack!" he shouted in their own language as he concentrated on the raw power held to his blade then quickly rotated the Order, while multiplying and expanding it. Within moments, John had a huge cage of rotating Chaos above his head with an open top and bottom, high enough to slice through the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. His men charged the enemy as ordered, and only he stood over the fallen forms of the royal family and dead warriors. Gauging the size once again, he dropped it downward, enclosing those around him in ever faster rotating strings of Chaos, held tightly by those of Order.

Faster and faster, the bands continued to rotate until they resembled the spinning round turbine of a farmer's windmill, and then faster still until they blurred into a semi-translucent shimmering globe around them that no bolt or weapon could penetrate. John felt the power radiating from his body, controlling what in effect had turned into a very large force field. He knew he would soon need to reduce the size before the drain overcame him.

"Stay down," he commanded the king, who was trying to throw John's boot off in order to rise. John pressed down even harder, getting a yelp from the king before the monarch subsided. Holding his concentration intact, John saw those defenders around their position were down, but more Sotar and guards poured through the broken remnants of the shattered outer doors to engage the attackers in their place. Crossbow bolts tried to penetrate the barrier of Chaos, and as John watched through the kaleidoscopic surface of the globe surrounding them, he saw several of the attackers attempt to leap through the barrier with drawn blades in an attempt to reach him before being destroyed.

The dark ones’ efforts were to no avail as their bodies exploded on contact, showering the room with blood and bits of muscle and bone, the majority of their forms having incinerated. Soon it was all over. The last of the attackers disappeared under a pile of defenders near the far entrance that John later learned led to the kitchens, where the entire cooking staff lay slain.

"Lower the barrier, Sir John," shouted a voice he recognized, and peering through the curtain of fire, he saw Adrostos motioning for him to let go of the Chaos. He nodded in an exaggerated way and concentrated, moving his sword upward to raise the barrier from the ground. The cage of Chaos and Order rose, but was still spinning in a blur, even though he was desperately trying to slow its rotation.

"Get the royals out of here," shouted John as sweat beaded upon his forehead. Again, he tried to slow the spin as he felt guards crouching and helping the family move away then out the doors. Soon, the room was empty, apart from a presence by his side. It was Adrostos, and he was standing beside John while critically watching the pulsating shell above them.

"John, you can't slow it down, can you?" Adrostos asked.

"Nope."

"Okay, you have created what we call wild Chaos, or crazy Chaos some call it. It's so big, it's feeding off itself and all available energy in the area. Really hard to control, but I'll walk you through it, ok?"

"Adrostos, just evacuate the castle. Get everyone out of here. I can hold it that long."