Champion by Jon Kiln Page B

Mirnee, with grey, colorless skin, hanging in tatters to show exposed bones. Wide eyes, bloodshot and lifeless. On the floor lay two of his men, what was left of them, their ravaged bodies surrounded by the creatures who seemed to be feeding on their flesh.
    One among them still slept despite the carnage. Artas was in a deep dream, a beautiful woman danced provocatively before him. As he tried to approach her, she seemed constantly out of range. He started to run, to catch her up, but she was always just out of reach. In the back of his mind he could hear the sounds of battle, but whenever he tried to concentrate on them, the beautiful woman came close enough to touch. Then, when he reached out to touch her, she was gone again. Looking around, whichever way he turned his head, all he saw was the dancing woman. What was she hiding from him? He knew something was happening. He was needed, but he could not break this mesmerizing spell over the woman of beauty before him.
    There was no clanging of swords, for the dead did not parry with weapons. They simply used their hands and teeth. This was an army without command and also without feeling. The dead were not scared, they felt no horror or fear. They simply had a constant hunger, a hunger to feed on the living as if that might impart on them some of the life they had lost. They continued to swarm out of the lake, and soon the soldiers were surrounded by ungodly bodies of putrefaction.
    In unison, they all opened their mouths unnaturally wide, gaping dark pits that filled even the bravest of soldiers with fear. A high pitched wail, deafening to the living, emanated from their gaping mouths, transfixing everyone where they stood. Unable to move, even to raise their swords in defense, they creatures approached slowly on the undefended men.
    Ganry, using all his willpower, forced his mind to cut out the deafening screech. Once he fought off the paralysis, he barked out orders. “Their heads, cut off their heads, it’s the only way!”
    His words spurred on the rest of his men, the spell broken by his rallying cry. Soon all were attacking the undead creatures, swinging their weapons down in an arc, detaching heads from bodies. Though the dead outnumbered the living by ten to one, it did not take long for the soldiers to work their way through them. They were cumbersome in movement, slow and ungainly. They offered no defense when attacked, instead just moving relentlessly forward. By the end, a few of the troop were injured, but thankfully no others were lost.
    The soldiers left standing gathered the dead together in a pile and set them alight. The flames burned a bright orange and blue, unlike any flame they had seen before. After what they had witnessed this evening, nothing surprised them. Everyone gathered around the pyre, watching as the creatures burned, which they did so remarkable easily. Covering their mouths and noses against the stench, the heap of bodies was nothing more than a pile of ashes in no time.
    Ganry, satisfied they were safe for now, looked for Riley to plan their next move, but he was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Artas. He quickly went to Artas’s tent and there he also found Riley, leaning over the young nobleman.
    “He has slept through the whole event,” Riley said, confusion on his face. “I’m not even sure he sleeps, but yet still he breathes.”
    Ganry bent down to inspect Artas. Not only did the he sleep deeply, he slept with his eyes open. He spoke his name and roughly shook him. “Artas, come on, wake up you lazy dog.”
    Artas’s eyes slowly shut. He brought up his hand to rub them. When he opened them again, he was finally awake.
    “Ganry, I had the strangest of dreams. What is happening to me?”
    “I don’t know, boy, the world has gone crazy,” Ganry said, sighing with relief that he was conscious. Just for a moment there, he thought he might not ever waken. “One thing I do know, wherever those dead are, the witches aren’t