The God Warriors (5 page)

"I understand that, Sir," she said in a husky voice. "My father explained the guard and barracks living to me, Sir." She finished before glancing at her father.

"Well, I'm not going to mince words because you're testing. You've been gifted with your mother’s endowment. I can see that plainly, even though your figure is large for your gender. Large is good, but some of the men and perhaps a few of the women will be…interested. What would your response be?"

"To seek out my squad leader and voice my complaint," Elsa said, looking down at her full chest and shrugging. The commander was correct. Of the three girls her mother birthed, only Elsa had gotten her looks, breasts, and hair. However, her frame came from her father's side of the gene pool, as her mother was short and petite. Still, she knew she was well endowed, more so than many women.

"And if it still continued?" he asked.

"Well, Sir, Da says to beat them black and blue until they stop causing issues. I already have to do the same with some of the village boys."

The men and few women around her laughed, including the commander, who wryly shook his head and asked another question.

"When standing at attention, if the king approaches you, what is your response?"

"Drop to my right knee, bow my head with my hand on my sword, and not speak. If we are on review or receiving a visitation from a foreign diplomat, then I am to simply remain at attention until told otherwise."

"I see your father coached you well."

"Yes, Sir."

Just then, a large soldier ran up, grasping two practice swords and helms, snapping to attention before the commander. "Sir! Guard Gunnor reporting with two practice swords and helms as ordered," he shouted.

"Gunnor. You won gold in the last quarterly field competition, didn't you?" inquired the Colonel as he took one of the swords and a helm from the guard whose hands were full, holding both swords in one and the helms in the other. As he stood there, the commander removed one of the swords and a helm holding them both loosely with one large hand.

"Three out of four, Sir! Sword, spear, and bow. I didn't make it into the finals on siege craft."

"Aye, well, it takes a special talent to operate one of those beasts, so don't feel bad. This here is Elsa. She's Captain Mad Dog's daughter and seeks a position within the guard. How well she performs will determine if I sponsor her into a superior company or another of the lesser units. The two of you will spar here in the courtyard, then we'll test her on spear and bow." With that, he handed Elsa the wooden blade and the steel helm which she quickly donned. With pleasant surprise, she found the sword was weighted to resemble the steel short swords that were guard standard issue. Tentatively, she took a few practice swings to accustom herself to its heft and was pleased to see that it was similar in length to the ones her father used with her back on the farm. Then, handing her own sword to her Da, she stepped away from the men and waited.

The guard named Gunnor approached her while the others moved back far enough to clear a large space around them. Looking at the massive man who was at least four inches taller than her, and probably outweighed her by sixty pounds, she could already see his eyes had not left her chest, which caused her to snort softly as she assumed the two-handed on guard position her father had taught her for the short sword. Pommel raised to neck level, the blade pointed downward at a thirty-five degree angle. She kept her left side to her target—she was ready to block or strike as the need arose.

"I'll try to take it easy on you, girlie," he chuckled, still watching her chest. She shifted left, then slightly right, just enough to cause her breasts to bounce heavily within her leather jerkin. Her mouth stretched into an evil grin as his eyes widened, following the movement. She knew right then, no matter how good this opponent was, she would beat him.

"And I'll try not to damage you too badly, though you should know that my eyes are up here," she said calmly as she pointed two fingers at her eyes before placing her hand on the hilt again. He laughed in return while holding his own sword loosely in one hand.

"Alright, tap swords and come out fighting. Three strikes or a single incapacitating one and you're out," called the Sub-Captain.

Gunnor lazily swung his sword to tap her blade, and Elsa instantly a half step back, waiting for his first move. She did not have to wait long. He quickly followed her movement with his sword raised and swung at her shoulder.

With a short step forward, she rotated her wrists and arms sideways to block his blade while using the momentum gained from the force of his blow to arc her own sword in an overhand semicircle to rap him sharply on the top of the head, almost driving him to his knees.

Infuriated, Gunnor came at her in earnest this time, his blade swinging back and forth like a scythe, almost as fast as the eye could see, but not fast enough. Elsa dropped into a crouch, letting Gunnor’s blade whistle overhead before slashing him in the thigh, then rolling backward out of range, not wanting him to take advantage of her position. Elsa smiled at Gunnor, then winked. He in turn scowled at her and proceeded cautiously forward, using an upright guard position. As he neared, he quickly feinted a blow to her head before spearing his sword forward, trying to take her in the stomach.

Watching his eyes, she knew exactly where his primary strike was aimed and did not fall for the feint. If they had been using real swords, it would have been a killing blow. Even with practice swords, it would still probably have broken ribs. Rotating her upper arms and shoulders while sidestepping in a lightning-quick move, she rapped his knuckles hard enough to cause him to drop the sword. Without slowing down, her body twisted one-hundred and eighty degrees, presenting her other side, her blade rushing through the air like a club to hit his head with a resounding
thunk
of wood against metal. Instantly, Gunnor dropped to the ground, dazed and bleeding from a head wound beneath the helm.

The crowd stared in shocked silence as she relaxed her ready state to salute the commander with her sword, pommel down, blade to forehead and watched as he nodded back while her father grinned like a maniac beside him as he spoke.

"I told you I trained her since she was five. She can beat me most times, unless I pull every dirty trick in the book and then some."

She saw the commander nod and others of the guard moving forward to help Gunnor, but she was closest. Striding forward, she grabbed him under the left armpit with her free hand and helped him to his feet, while he simply stared at her. This time, his eyes locked on hers. Elsa winked again before walking over to her father, handing the sword to the Sub-Captain, who took it, looked at it, then at her, and asked:"That was an unusual guard position you used with the short sword. I assume it's something your father taught you?"

"No, Sir. Well, yes, Sir, but mostly I developed it on my own. With no bracer or shield the two handed grip allowed me more leverage and a faster response." The commander and the other officers nodded in understanding.

The rest of the morning passed as almost anticlimactically when Elsa was taken around the back of the barracks to the practice field for more testing. Presented with a bow, she proceeded to put three in the bull's eye out of five. With a spear, she was able to place all three in the center at the same distance. Apologizing for her lack of accuracy with the bow, she blamed it on the different heft and pull than the one she was used to, a remark the commander simply waved off as inconsequential as he approached her.

"Congratulations. You're in! Any questions?"

With a squeal of delight, she turned to her father, jumping at him and hugging him tightly. He hugged her back just as powerfully, laughing. After kissing him on the cheek, she turned back to the commander and asked.

"Only one question, Sir. Why does everyone call my Da, Mad Dog?"

They never did answer the question that day, but she found out later it was because of her father's penchant to jump into the middle of a group of enemies and attack them mercilessly, often leaving his own men behind.

Falling into a crouch, Onias swung his two-handed sword in a silver arc, neatly cutting through the legs of the two barbarians facing him, just above the kneecaps. Their screams of pain were music to his ears. He stepped on the thrashing neck of one, lunging forward to take a third in the stomach, splitting the man’s boiled leather armor. Then, yanking his sword from the falling body, he blocked a strike with his shield before beheading the next to face him.

His and the other two companies were carrying the day, though Onias knew all three had suffered heavy casualties. Moments before, he heard the horns of more companies coming to assist them and knew they only had to hold out a short while longer before reinforcements arrived. Onias also knew that he wanted to be one of the first to draw wizard blood and was determined to claim that honor.

To the left and right, his men stood beside him in an elongated semi-circle, viciously cutting through the bodies of their foes. The raised platform that lay directly ahead them was lined with soldiers. An overhead chop of his sword carved through the wooden shield of one of those above him to shear down to the boot, splitting it in half. As the man tumbled forward, shrieking, Onias swung his shield hard enough to cave in his unprotected head. He vaulted onto the platform, raising his sword to strike down the first of the wizards, an older man wearing a simple leather vest with a great many bone necklaces adorning his chest. The old man held a stick upon which feathers dangled from the forward end. The man's visage showed rage, calculated savagery, and, with a quick movement, shoved his tiny stick forward, simply touching Onias on his bared arm.

Lightening sparked behind Onias’s eyes. It was the last thing he remembered before his vision went dark, and his now mindless body collapsed backward to the surprised shouts of his men.

[Mother, are you sure we have done the right thing?] asked Ares to the glowing figure. She held John's soul in the palm of her hand, waiting for the precise moment to thrust it through a membrane into another dimension.

[It is best if we do not try to second-guess ourselves at this point, my son. There is not enough time to find another champion, and John is ideal for our purposes. We will let this play out and see what happens,] she replied.

[I did as you asked and provided John with a brief history of where he will be going. He has his own ideas on how to fight campaigns, though. Can you believe he was actually derisive of our last champion to that realm? I offered counter arguments to the strategies we discussed, but he was insistent that losses of that magnitude meant the commander was incompetent.]

[How refreshing!] A tinkle of laughter accompanied the words she continued.[My son, each champion is unique, with his or her own skills and attributes. Do not doubt my choice. Support him as you are able, and it might be to your credit to quit arguing with him. He already treats us as he would parents and not gods.]

[Yes, Mother, I will bear what you have said in mind and assist as needed.]

[Good! Now the time has approached. Open the portal while I ensure the joining.]

And it was done…

John woke to find himself being dragged backward by his feet, a large and quite long sword clenched tightly in his right hand. Around him, the clash of metal upon metal, shouts of triumph and the screams of pain, accompanied by a metallic smell of fresh blood, informed John that he was in the middle of a battle. His chin struck a rock as it dug a furrow in the blood-soaked, downtrodden grass. Shouting in pain, he kicked his legs loose from whoever held him.

"The Captain’s up!" A cheer rose around as John staggered to his feet, looking at the men surrounding him. It was obvious they were retreating from what had to be the enemy leaping at the forward ranks of those surrounding him protectively, and he shook his head savagely to get his bearings. Never before had John felt so alive, so in touch with his own skin as much as he did now. It seemed as though unlimited energy flowed through his body, accompanied by a feeling of almost weightlessness as he bounded to his feet.

[Right about now, you might consider doing two things: enchanting your sword with Chaos and fighting for your life,] said the unbidden voice of Ares within his head, and as simple as that, John knew what to do.

Time seemed to slow as he stared down at the four-foot long metal blade in his hand. Ares said to enchant his blade and instinctively he knew how. As his gaze traveled outward, without realizing how he did it, he simply saw the Order and Chaos and how it interacted with all things. It was plentiful, and his mind reached out to grasp both in a grip of iron. With ease, he manipulated the energy all around him, infusing the sword with the wild pattern of Chaos, yet holding it to the blade with bands of Order. White pulsating fire erupted from the hilt, traveling almost instantly down the length of the blade until he held a shining beacon of barely tamed energy.
Thanks, Ares
, he thought to the being inside his head as he pushed the men away from him with his elbows, knowing instinctively that to touch them with the blade would mean their death. Equally obvious was the fact the men surrounding him were on his side and the half-clad savage looking ones were the enemy.

[You are welcome. Now make my mother proud. By the way, you are the captain of this company of guardsmen. They are under your orders.]

John did not need any further encouragement and started shouting.

"Make way, and don't get too close. We're going back in. Protect the flanks at all costs and stay out of reach of my blade." The last thing said was probably unnecessary, as the men were already shying away from the bright glow of his sword. John looked up in time to see a wizard lob a glowing ball of what appeared to be fire at him like throwing an overhand softball pitch, and he instinctively batted it aside with his sword. The fireball travelled overhead to the side and wiped out at least a score of the enemy as his men shouted in triumph.

He jumped towards the enemy and was surprised when his leap carried him over ten feet. He belatedly remembered about the double strength and reflexes in time for terror to fill his veins. He landed up close and personal with a half dozen of the enemy combatants. Instinctively, he slashed the rank in front of him, cutting through two of the men as he bounced lightly in place.
Hey, this isn't half bad
, he thought as he strode forward to slice through the wooden shields and the chests hidden behind them of two more but not before one of them managed to slice into his left thigh just above the knee guard. The remaining two fled but turned as they received reinforcements.

[Don't get too cocky. A sword, arrow, spear, or any number of other objects can still kill you rather easily. Just remember you represent me here.]

He ignored the voice of Ares as he continued to cut a path through the ranks of the enemy. A quick glance over his shoulder saw more of his men hitting the sides of the host before them, keeping them bottled up in one compact mass, which was both good and bad. Good because few would escape, and bad because there were so many arrayed in front of his company. He shrugged and continued to slice his way through the host, suffering only a multitude of tiny nicks but no wound that was actually incapacitating.

Another fireball arced slowly towards him. He stepped to the side and swatted the three foot wide projectile back at its owner, watching as it took out a half dozen wizards and their attendant guards upon the platform. Another cheer rose up around him as he leaped forward again, this time gaining the platform upon which the enemy stood.

He could only assume these were the leaders. Though still only half clad in a combination of boiled and hardened leather, there was a plethora of gold adorning their forms and clothing. Slashing left and right, he took down most until he was face to face with a wizard who raised a feather covered stick and kept tapping him on the arm with no effect.

"It can't be!" the other hissed, continuing to tap him with the damn stick, which did nothing. "I removed your soul from your body."

"It can be. You simply messed with the wrong people, for I am Ares Champion now." John raised his sword and in a sideways motion removed the head of the other, lunging forward to catch it by the hair then holding it upright to the cheers of his men as all around them the enemy tried to bolt.

[Cocky, cocky.]

Shhh, I'm busy
, thought John as their converging forces quickly made short work of the remaining elements of the opposition. It was easily apparent that once the leaders and wizards had succumbed, the rest simply gave up the fight. Now it was up to him to figure out what was going on. As the enemy threw down their weapons and surrendered, men  gathered them up into a crowd of three to four hundred, surrounded by drawn swords. John carefully released the Chaos imbued within his blade as he many of his men approached him. One stepped forward.

"Sir! The Illians have surrendered. It was a remarkable victory. How did you acquire an enchanted blade?"

[His name is Alf, and the second in command of Company Allard, your company. You just won a battle between your country Korath and the Empire of Illian. Typically, the Illian raid Korath every so often, killing all male adults and children, while taking the young female women and children, along with every farm animal they can steal. Their families typically contain ten to sixteen children, needed to replenish those fallen, as they always lose more than they gain in these raids. Their average life expectancy is short, yet there are a great many of them because of their prolific breeding. To be honest, their gods do not communicate much with the rest of us, so we have no real idea of what their motives might be.]

Thanks! And motives are something to think about in the future.

"I didn't Alf. I created it because I needed it to combat the wizards’ magic."

"Sir, I don't understand. What do you mean by created?"

[You are now marked with my symbol as a tattoo under your right eye,an upright slanted spear, but in silver, instead of black. This marks you as my champion.]

Sheathing his sword, John slowly raised his hand and tapped his right cheekbone, much to the consternation of his second, who immediately recognized the symbol.

"Ares!" breathed Alf.

"Aye. I am his champion and not of this world. This man whose body I inhabit perished by the last enemy wizard I slew, and I was thrust into his place to help this world," responded John, as he tried to speak in the same patterns as the other.

[Alf is a good man with a strong and kind heart; he will serve you well if you are allowed to keep your company.]

"What do you mean, if I'm allowed to keep my company?” asked John.

"Excuse me, Sir?" said Alf with wide eyes.

"Sorry, I was just talking to Ares. I didn't mean to speak out loud."

"You're talking to Ares, the God of War, right now?" whispered Alf as he looked at John in awe.

"Yes, and now I'm irritated at some information he passed to me," John answered as he mentally sorted everything in his head.

"What do we normally do with prisoners in these little raids, Alf?"

"Well, Sir. Normally we leave it up to the king to decide what to do, which is usually sending them back across the border. They lost quite a few more than we did, but hell, Sir, they breed like flies. Most of their captured women spit out twelve to fourteen children before dying in childbirth. That is why they raid so much. It's almost impossible to stop them from coming. The other captains also wish to know what to do with the captives."

"So they invaded us, correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Have we ever invaded them?"

"No, Sir. Not to my knowledge."

"Then kill them all and gather the heads in those wagons over there." John pointed at an enemy supply wagon behind the barbarian's lines. "How far is it to the border?"

"About ten miles, Sir."

"Then load the heads up in the wagons and have them sent back across the border. And no, Alf. I could care less what our king thinks or normally does. Time to do things differently if this keeps happening."

Soon there were great cries of anguish, and the glint of rising and falling swords seen near and all around them. The other captains had been somewhat shocked but responded with alacrity to John's suggestion, but only after seeing the tattoo, realizing he was a god’s champion. It was obvious they were tired of these regular Illian incursions also.

It was some time later that Alf came to John and informed him of the accomplished deed and that the wagons were on their way. One of the men patched up John's wounds, and the rest of the afternoon and evening were busy for all the men as bodies were disposed of, the camp was set, and an evening meal prepared for the victorious. John soon found himself gnawing on a rib beside a roaring campfire that kept the chill off while Alf and several others sat near. Beside John's right thigh rested a wooden tankard of above normal size, filled with ale. He sipped from it frequently. Two of the others near him were the leaders of companies sent to head off the caravans containing the spoils of war back to Illian. In this case, the guards of Korath were able to retrieve almost all of it, including the women, female children, and livestock, even though they'd had to travel miles into enemy territory. Now the captains sat around the fire, conversing with the troop commander (a Commander Conil), who had just arrived.. He had brought two other companies with him, companies Vercuni and Seguzzo. Alvaldi and Duret were also part of his troop, and he was only now catching up to them.

"So, what's it like being a champion of Ares, John?" inquired Captain Alvaldi. "I will admit, I'll miss Onias, if only because he was unpredictable in what trouble he and his men would get into next. It's too bad his soul made the great journey."

"Well, as to that, I can't say yet as I've only been a champion for half a day. But, I think you'll find that I can be as unpredictable as Onias ever was."

"Well, hopefully that's unpredictable in a positive way, which you couldn't always say for Onias, though he was a good man," remarked Commander Conil, who was sitting beside Alvaldi. Beside them, the other three captains nodded in agreement. Now all six men were drinking from tankards, which a plethora of serving girls kept refilled without being asked.

When the commander arrived less than a half hour ago, the first thing he had done was to get the reports of John and the other company captains who had engaged the main body of enemy. When informed that Onias, now John, had ordered all the captives beheaded, and the heads sent back to Illian, he had simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged. That was another aspect of these people John appreciated. Pragmatism and common sense: what was done was done and there was no turning time back.

Then the supply wagons appeared and fresh livestock from the recaptured herds slaughtered. The surviving women went about preparing the evening meal for everyone, which included breaching several large casks of ale. John found the taste of this world's ale unique, yet refreshing, but wished it refrigerated instead of served at room temperature. A small warm hand touched his wrist as he was setting his tankard down and John looked up so see one of the women with a pitcher of ale preparing a refill.

"One moment, my Lord, while I top that off for you," she breathed against the side of his face as she knelt beside him, leaning over. John stared speechless as his mind registered two things. The first was that this woman was beautiful, yet could not have been more than sixteen. John slowly raised his head to see the women smile at him with a look of gratitude before straightening and walking away while looking over her shoulder. Several of the guard captains laughed, causing him to look up in embarrassment, only to see two of them elbowing each other in a friendly manner, smirking at him.

"She's got her eye on you, John!" called out Vercuni, chuckling as the others snickered around him.

"Yes, if not John, then someone else may find themselves with a new wife by the time we arrive at the capital," chortled Seguzzo, who had just arrived.

Both of the two newest captains to arrive sat close to the fire, leaning against a saddle with a full tankard in their hands. Two more girls kneeled to the side of each with a pitcher ready to pour. John simply shook his head at their antics and looked over his shoulder at the raven-haired female watching him from a short distance away. He immediately turned back to the others as another slight blush spread across his face.

"Why do the girls we rescued seem so subservient, Alvaldi?" he whispered to the man sitting next to him, low enough so the others could not hear. He asked Alvaldi because, though they had only known each other for a handful of hours, the other man was rock steady and a growing friendship had already sprung up between them.