Rise of the Champions by Nicholas Joslin

Author:Nicholas Joslin [Joslin, Nicholas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781732162716
Published: 2020-06-16T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

It was the shuffling of items on a table that awoke Chieftain Barod. He coughed, rolling on his side and hanging over the bed. He looked up to see Olaf quickly walking towards him, vials in hand.

“Chieftain! I am so sorry to wake you. I was working on a better rejuvenation potion that may serve you well,” Olaf apologized, shuffling over the crude wood floor towards him.

“Olaf, don’t apologize. I can’t sleep all the time. At some point I’ll need to get out of this bed, or I’ll be here for good,” Chieftain Barod replied as he slowly sat up.

His entire body felt as though it were on fire, and every movement made him feel great pain. However, he still felt better with each passing day. In fact, he noticed he felt so much better he may be ready to stand.

He slowly moved his legs off the bed and onto the cool, wooden floor. He noticed his feet were grey and could see the discolored veins from the poison. He looked as terrible as he felt, but if he was still alive then he wouldn’t be dying from the poison. He slowly began to put weight on his feet, and all his muscles burned in response.

“Chieftain, please take it slow! There is no rush,” Olaf said, standing close to the chieftain.

As Chieftain Barod managed to stand, he noticed he felt weak. He had heard of bedridden people becoming weak over time, but he hadn’t been here that long. Between the poison and lack of movement, he felt horrible. His entire body felt as though it had been torn apart and crudely put back together. He almost didn’t feel like the same man he was even a mere week earlier.

“I’ll be alright, I may just need to steady myself,” Chieftain Barod replied, placing a hand on Olaf’s shoulder.

“Please, it’s the least I can do. The last thing we need is you falling and breaking a hip,” Olaf half joked. “Is there much pain?”

“There is, unfortunately,” Chieftain Barod replied, wincing.

Olaf looked at him with stern eyes, something Chieftain Barod wasn’t used to getting from the old man. He did know that this look meant Olaf was serious, and sure of what he was going to say. He watched the wrinkles on the old shaman’s head move as he spoke.

“Please, let me use some magic. I know you detest it, but I can at least relieve the pain. There is no harm in it,” Olaf urged, grabbing his chieftain’s arm.

Chieftain Barod stared at his old friend, considering his offer. Ever since he was a child, he had been told to hate magic. He had been told to not trust it, and to even be wary of their own shaman. He didn’t want to be skeptical of one of his closest advisors, but it was so ingrained into his soul he could barely find the power within him to say yes. Finally, after much internal debate, Chieftain Barod nodded to Olaf, mumbling agreement.

Olaf placed his hand over Chieftain Barod’s heart, closing his old, weary eyes.

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