My brother, how does your campaign fare? Have you managed to break into that vault you mentioned in your last letter? Or does the genius of the underdwellers still thwart your ambitions? Tricky little bastards, aren’t they?
-Excerpt from letter believed to have been written by ancient [Champion] Marius Bastyon, to his brother, [King] Fleming of the Shrouded Forest
Winesap Moon, Day 11
Week of the Centaur (Archery Units +1 Range)
Tightening my fingers around the hilt of my grandpa’s sword until my knuckles turned white, I scowled at the shoddy walls “protecting” the east side of my village. Even in the poor, flickering orange light of our makeshift torches, I could see that they were worse than we could have made ourselves.
The wood was almost paper thin, and from where I stood I didn’t even have to try hard to see plenty of holes that were all big enough for me to fit through.
Spitting on the ground in disgust, I turned to Erwin, the other [Peasant] on east wall duty with me and said, “I’m telling you, if the [Champion] believes that these bits of firewood will hold back anything stronger than a stiff breeze, he’s delusional. Surely you can see that too, right?”
Erwin, a tall man with a dark beard that he grew long to hide his balding pate, rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his broad chest as he groaned, “Not this again, Aster. Please. I’m begging you to stop.”
“This is our home, Erwin. Don’t you care what happens to it?”
He met my glare with one of his own, his green eyes burning, and the pitchfork in his hands gleamed beneath the azure moonlight. “Of course I care, you idiot. That’s why I joined with the rest of the village council in voting to spend all of our Gold and most of our Wood to hire a [Champion] to come and protect us. While we did what was necessary, you ranted like a fevered madman about using a [Full Muster] and digging trenches in the middle of the woods! You were wrong then and you’re wrong now. We’re safe with Sir Davion!”
“Not with walls like these, we aren’t. Don’t you see all the holes? Do you really think the howlers will even slow down for such a pathetic excuse for a barricade?”
His expression flickered and I tried to press my advantage. “My grandpa always said that when it came to sieges, a set of sturdy walls was worth more than almost any amount of valiant men.”
Erwin threw up his hands in exaggeration. “I can’t stand any more of this inane prattling! Do you hear yourself, Aster? Your grandfather said? The man served as a [Man-At-Arms] for a single campaign nearly a century ago!”
“He was a [Squire], actually.”
“Doesn’t matter. A single tier doesn’t mean shit. But even if he’d been a [Knight], do you really believe that he somehow knew more about how to protect a city than one of the Blessed? Surely you’re not that naïve, right?”
When I didn’t respond, he gave me an incredulous look. “Stars above, friend. You’re serious! Just how thick is your skull?”
Our conversation was interrupted by a chilly breeze blowing through the village. Both of us shivered, and I blew into my hand to try and warm my fingers. Despite the bite of the cold against my exposed face – my armor, if it could even be called that, was little more than a thick robe with a hood and belt to keep it all from falling off – I grinned and turned my eyes back to the horizon. Still no sign of dark shapes moving on the hills nearby. Good.
“My skull isn’t any thicker than yours. Come on, Erwin. You have to see that these walls are no good. I know you’ve got more sense than to trust a drunken old charlatan like Sir Davion.”
My friend’s entire body stiffened, and Erwin’s voice was tight as he violently thrust his arm toward the [Champion]’s tent in the center of town.
“Don’t you dare blaspheme a [Champion], Aster. The stars don’t like it when a man speaks above his station,” he said, deadly serious. “It’s not our place to judge the Blessed. I know we’re friends, but I won’t stand for talk like that. If you keep it up, I’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about the howlers.”
I could see that he wasn’t kidding, so I bit my lip until tasted blood, then spat again.
“Fine. I’ll just think it.”
Erwin’s eyes were still a little crazy, but after a tense moment, he got ahold of himself. “Look, I think you’re crazy, but if it’ll make you shut up, talk to Sir Davion about the walls. Dazzle him with your grandfather’s lessons, which you keep closer than any Texts. I’ll keep an eye on things here. Since I’m such a generous fellow, if the howlers attack while you’re gone I’ll leave a few wounded for you to slay so that you can steal a slice of my glory once you return with your tail between your legs. How’s that sound?”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Off in the distance, a mournful, piercing wail filled the air. Though it was closer than the last had been an hour ago at the beginning of our watch, it still seemed pretty far away. I mulled Erwin’s offer over. While it was impossible for me to be completely sure about the distance, my best guess suggested that there was plenty of time for Sir Davion to rebuild our walls before the wolf-demons reached our village.
I clenched my fist once more and drove the tip of my sword into the ground. The soft black dirt parted easily.
There had to be enough time.
“Deal,” I said as I yanked the weapon free. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve made him see reason. Stay alert!”
Erwin spat as I left.
“Make a [Champion] see reason,” he muttered as I hurried away. “You’re nothing but a damn fool, Aster.”
Sheathing my sword, I ran to the [Champion]’s tent to make my case. A few of the other [Peasant] guards on duty called out to me as I passed, and their jeers were much less polite than Erwin’s had been. They shared my friend’s opinion that my concerns were at best unfounded and at worst completely delusional.
“Didn’t realize you were born under a different start than the rest of us,” someone shouted as I ran by. “Where’s your gauntlet, [Champion]?”
His remark was met with cruel laughter, but I ignored it. I didn’t care about their opinions, so I didn’t bother wasting my breath on shouted responses. I trusted my grandpa’s wisdom and my own lingering sense of unease: the walls were useless and we’d all suffer if they weren’t fixed.
When I reached Sir Davion’s abode, I paused and caught my breath. I didn’t want the [Champion] to dismiss me out of hand due to a scruffy appearance.
The Blessed’s tent was an old and weathered thing, the strips of red and gold fabric stained in some places and ripped in others. Still, it was easily one of the most luxurious things I’d ever seen, and its vibrant colors were a stark contrast to the drab hues of the roughly hewn logs that made up the rest of the buildings scattered around the village.
I pushed the flap of the tent aside and my stomach rolled over as the spicy scent of dreamer’s smoke mixed with a bitter, acrid tang. Ale, and lots of it.
My confusion turned to frustration, and then became fury when I saw the [Champion] responsible for protecting my home slumped over a large chair on the far side of the tent.
It was a disgraceful sight.
Davion looked to be unconscious. Had it not been for the steady rise and fall of his gargantuan stomach I would have thought him dead. Pieces of his armor lay discarded in the dirt next to puddles of spilled ale and piles of half-gnawed chicken bones. His blonde beard was matted with alcohol and grease, and there was a dullness in his unblinking blue eyes that I’d only ever seen before in the gazes of the skinny street urchins along the streets of Calamizh during a trip with my grandpa. The only thing about Davion that looked remotely presentable was his [Champion]’s gauntlet. The blessed artifact shone as if it’d been freshly polished, and the glimmering runes etched into its plates filled me with a sense of awe that was impossible to accurately describe.
Resisting my urge to scream and strike him, I tried to get the [Champion]’s attention, but so great was his intoxicated stupor that Davion neither saw nor heard me, so I was forced to scrounge around the tent until I found a vessel that wasn’t empty. Filled with pale, dirty liquid, it smelled awful. I didn’t think it was water but I didn’t care. It was cold and that was all that mattered. Tilting it over, I doused the [Champion] with the vile liquid and stepped back as he snapped back to consciousness with a start.
“Wuztha – What’s the meaning of this?” he spluttered as he leapt to his feet. Like a monster himself, he bared his teeth at me and lifted his sword. “Who are you and why do you disturb my preparations for the battle ahead?”
“My name is Aster, and I’m one of the [Peasants] protecting the eastern wall of the village” I said with a bow that was truthfully little more than a slight incline of my head. I made sure to keep my weapon firmly pointed toward the ground, fully aware that the difference between our strength was so great that I’d never be able to parry a blow if he deemed me a threat and struck me with his sword.
Or…was that truly the case? Seeing that Davion was such a slug, I couldn’t help but wonder.
“Honorable [Champion], I’ve come to come to ask you to remake the walls near my post. I fear that they’re too thin and weak to resist even a single charge from the howlers.”
Davion’s cherry-red nose twitched like a rabbit’s as he slapped me straight across the face.
“You doubt me, [Peasant]? You dare suggest that my tactics are flawed?”
The force of his blow was enough to send me reeling back a few swaying steps, but I somehow kept my balance and met the man’s eyes as I straightened back up. My thoughts were racing; I’d heard enough tales of [Champions] to know that I should be unconscious on the floor or worse.
The Texts were clear: the Blessed were stronger than mortal men in all ways, always. How was I still standing? My anger became a blended mash of horror and fear. Could a man such as this truly protect my home from the howlers?
I thought about Erwin and all the other men of the village. They’d ignored my advice and pleading, blindly following Davion because of the gauntlet he wore on his arm. Would they still feel so confident in their decision if they knew what’d just happened?
“Well?” Davion snarled, interrupting my train of thought. "What say you?”
He looked like he was winding up another blow, so I hurried to find a way to soothe his temper.
“I’m afraid of the howlers, Blessed,” I blurted out. It was the truth, too.
His face softened. “Of course you are. Fear not, young man. I, one of the lucky few chosen by the stars, am here to protect you. As soon as those filthy mutts show their ugly faces around here, I’ll activate my [Hexgrid Sphere] and summon my stack. Then you’ll see that you never needed to worry. Everything is under control.”
“But you haven’t even [Garrisoned] one of your units on the east side,” I said. “It’s just us [Peasants] over there, and though it pains me to admit it, we’re not enough to hold back the howlers if they mass there. Please, we need better walls! There’s still time for you to build them!”
Davion scoffed and waved me away.
“Begone, child. You know nothing of what you speak. The eastern walls aren’t important. The howlers will come from the north and the west, make no mistake. That’s where I’ll deploy my stack. Now leave me, so that I might continue my preparations.”
Though my tongue felt as large as a toad in my mouth, I did as commanded and turned around to leave. However, before I managed to exit the tent, I heard something that froze me in my tracks: the snarling growls of horrible monsters and the screams of terrified men and women.
Raising my sword, I sprinted out into the darkness.