Champion by Jon Kiln Page A

was all Artas replied.
    “And stop calling me sir,” Ganry grumbled as he turned his horse to ride to the rear end of the party. He would talk with the Sergeant, make sure Artas was given the same instructions as the rest of the soldiers. He would request the medic that was riding with them to keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t ill. Something was making him tired, and it wasn’t from hard work. If he did some manual labor then perhaps he’d sleep well this night, and ride better in his saddle during the day, without looking as if he was going to fall off it.

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    Artas continued to play his part, contributing where he was instructed. Although he slept deeply on a night, he was still so very tired all the time. The medic had confirmed there was nothing physically wrong with him, so Ganry had no real reason to send him back, not that he wanted to. He knew that sending him back would do nothing but harm to Artas’s reputation, and that served no purpose. Ganry just hoped that in time, Artas would shrug off whatever it was that ailed him.
    After a few uneventful days of traveling through Palara, they were nearing the Slohal Prairie. The route took them past a huge stretch of water, Lake Gomaran, and Ganry felt it a good place to camp. The lake waters would allow them the luxury of bathing, something they had not been able to do since they set off.
    Camp was soon set up and food cooking on fires. Most of the men bathed in the lake, grateful to be washing away days of road grime. The atmosphere in the camp was relaxed and jovial, with good food and even a little wine. Soon, they were settling into their bedrolls for the night. Most had been apprehensive about their quest, having heard they were to enter the wolf territory. None had ever been there before. Tonight, what lay before them concerned no one. They were happy to be clean, well fed and relaxed. Guard duty was light with only two men at a time on night watch.
    Even Ganry, for the first time since he had returned to Palara, felt at ease and was soon fast asleep. Though as always with Ganry, his senses, tuning in for any dangers, remained alert, even when he slept. He felt nothing could threaten them here. They were still well inside Palara’s borders.
    The night watch walked the perimeter every hour, starting at the same point together and going in opposite directions before ending back up at the point they had started from. They had just returned from a perimeter check, and it was almost time to be relieved by the next Watch. Sitting down with their backs to the lake, one of them pulled out his pouch of tobacco and filled his pipe. Alighting it to share, they sat quietly chatting, unwinding for their turn to sleep.
    The lake was large enough to create its own tide, and the shore line lapped by the gentle ripples of movement in the water, lulling the guards into a relaxed state.
    They were so deeply engrossed in their shared smoke, that neither of them heard the sounds of footsteps emerging from the water. Shadowy figures approached them, unseen, from the lake.
    Suddenly, looming over them were a large number of creatures, dripping wet. Too late, they realized the danger, as one of the creatures grappled with a guard before biting deeply into his neck. The soldier screamed in agony as his life’s blood spurted from the huge gaping wound. The other soldier, terrified at the sight of what looked like dead men walking, was frozen to the spot with fear. In no time, he was completely overcome by a number of the creatures who ripped and bit at his exposed skin.
    The screams from the last dying soldiers alerted the others in the camp, and soon everyone was on their feet, swords in hands.
    Ganry, instantly upon hearing the scream, leapt out of his bedroll, WindStorm ready for the attack. Even he gasped at the sight that unfolded in front of him. By the dim light of the campfire he could see the creatures attacking his men. They were same as the undead he had witnessed in