Read Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 Online
Authors: Mark Ryan
Chapter 42
Gnarrl
Gazing upon the castle known as Drayston, Gnarrl considered the toppled balance in his mind and saw no way to right it. Argant, wisdom be to the ancient of ancient’s forever, had refused to reconsider his proclamation. Gnarrl had tried to persuade him to call off the attack, but the shaman remained unswayed.
The atrocities visited upon the Bearoak clan must be answered, but to do so hastily threatened to overstretch the clans. Too far on this path would send them all falling to their doom. Should they not consider other possibilities? What if humans could become rabid, as the beasts of the forest sometimes did? What if they’d not been in their right minds, and so couldn’t be blamed in full for their action? Yes, it might mean having to kill those so diseased, but it didn’t require eliminating an entire herd. Orocs and humans had lived peacefully together for over a century, building trade and understanding with one another—and Gnarrl would see such relations continue.
The tragedy last autumn had changed everything for most of the clans; there could be no confusing the vile intent in the destruction of the Foxleaf. He’d witnessed the burned bodies with his own eyes. Smelled the sickening aroma of their charred flesh. Wept at their mouths open wide in silent screams, unspeakable agony etched on their withered faces.
Despite that, he’d spoken against the first retaliation, too. An entire clan of ancients, mates, and saplings had been slaughtered, yes, he didn’t deny this. When the harvesters of the Foxleaf clan had returned to find their families destroyed, many of them disappeared into the forest, never to be seen again. A few came to Bearoak, pleading for justice to be made, for balance to be restored. Gnarrl had shared their fury, but doubt mingled in his heartwood.
Were there so many who controlled fire among the humans and so strongly? Yet who else could’ve been responsible? The unfortified camp called Jaegen stood as the only target within a night’s striking distance from the Rocmire. Whoever had slaughtered Foxleaf must’ve come from there.
Once the shaman decided, Gnarrl had surrendered to his fury, to hatred, and committed to the retaliation, the making of justice in the hopes of balance.
No balance came, and the flames from that night haunted him as much as the scene at Foxleaf’s camp. Fire, forever taboo, had been used that night on the humans. More troubling, all refused responsibility, saying it had not been them. Who then? The fires of Jaegen had killed humans, not oroc. Why would humans have used taboo to kill their own? No, it was someone who meant to kill humans. But Gnarrl could not share these thoughts. There was no balance in the tribe, and he already feared that others were questioning his loyalty to the clan. If they deemed him disloyal, he could be exiled, clanless, disconnected from the life trees. The worst fate other than burning an oroc could experience. But beyond that, his doubts could fracture the clan, make them heartless and lost from the balance.
Yet now they prepared to disrupt the balance all over again, and Gnarrl feared the results would splinter them beyond repair. Yes, this time the humans’ guilt appeared more evident. The slain murderers were clothed in the colored fabrics of the great camp known as Drayston. Impossible to argue against. Gnarrl studied the vines and moss covering his arms. Couldn’t humans’ false skins be changed more easily than his own could be regrown? He didn’t know why the thought occurred to him, but something didn’t feel right.
He shoved these doubts back deep into himself, burying them beneath the earth of his convictions. His roots didn’t dig into shamanic soil, but that of a warrior. He was a harvester. Decisions had been made, and he must now follow their course, no matter what channel they carved.
His priority lay in returning as many of the Rocmire clans’ harvesters safely back as possible. Many saplings numbered among them, eager to prove themselves. Gnarrl knew Argant as wise, but the ancient of ancient’s held limited experience with humans. Most of the shaman’s long life had been spent deep in the Rocmire, far from the encroaching settlements of the younger, weaker race. Argant spent more time talking to the rooted ancients that made up the Rocmire forest than the younger orocs, much less exploring beyond the borders of Rocmire into human lands.
A human rider galloped past the hiding orocs. Gnarrl froze, one hand placed on the ground, ready to craft the earth into a weapon against the human. Should they be spotted, killing the human would be the only option. The rider didn’t stop though, didn’t even look away from its course. Gnarrl heaved a sigh of relief.
The call of a blackbird to his left told him that Kunat’s harvesters were in place. Gnarrl thrummed to himself in satisfaction. Kunat had been his friend and partner since they’d both been plucked from the life tree on the same day. They’d gathered together, caused mischief together, fought together, even chosen companions from the same family. They had almost chosen each other. Only Maraco, Kunat’s younger offshoot, always managed to keep up with them, despite being several years greener. At least, until the night of the raid on Jaegen.
Gnarrl trilled a whistle through his teeth, signaling Kunat to hold. The rest of the clans needed time to get their harvesters in place. He settled back on his haunches and observed the field of cleared land before him. Ancient trees had been chopped down to make room for the false cave humans called a castle. The gloom of night concealed much of the construction’s details, even to his keen eyes.
The harvesters behind him shuffled, but held their positions. Many of them didn’t know what to expect. They’d all heard the stories, of course. Humans fought differently than orocs, and this went beyond their techniques or affinities. When the oroc clans battled, they did so as a show of strength or to settle a dispute. At the most, it was to toughen the bark of sapling harvesters. But unlike the humans, oroc battle included as much healing as it did wounding. One did not let a sister or brother die simply because they’d been defeated. A victor mended the wounds of their fallen foes so they might learn from their defeat and become a better warrior, for the good of all the clans.
No. Humans fought to kill, to destroy, to take without balance. Orocs had quickly learned that to prevail against humans meant fighting on their terms—leaving the wounded to die or finishing them off then and there. Once, only the savage ifrahn did such insult to their enemies.
Tonight’s strategy looked simple in design, but would be complex in execution. The hunting parties of the Bearoak, Willowhawk, and Fangblossom clans would attack the defenses atop the ridges of the Drayston Castle while the Stonewolf and Bullvine clans would bypass the defenses and assault the humans slumbering behind the rock walls before they could dampen the orocs’ magic. The humans wouldn’t even know they were coming until it warriors fought in their midst. Once the humans that could dampen were defeated, the clans would use their earth affinities, pulling down the walls of the castle, giving them back to the earth.
Gnarrl sensed movement to his right and turned his head. His main offshoot, Furl, had crept up beside him and leaned close to whisper.
“Our eyes see the human pathways clear in all directions.”
Gnarrl frowned at the young hunter. Despite his pride, part of him wished his daughter hadn’t brought down the boar recently. The successful first hunt served as a rite of passage for harvesters. Until they proved their skills, they remained saplings to the rest of the clan. Gnarrl admired his offshoot’s intelligence, her cunning in cornering the beast—but it also worried him.
The young warrior’s expression grew troubled as she picked up on Gnarrl’s mood. “Elder?” she asked. “Should I go check the pathways again?”
Gnarrl laid a hand on Furl’s shoulder. “No. Be here for the attack. Yet be ready to withdraw if anything goes bent or cracked.”
“We are ready,” Furl said. “We are hidden. All stones of the plan are laid in a row. What could go wrong?”
Everything, Gnarrl wanted to say. Ingenuity had its place in preparing for battle, and Furl put her elder to shame when it came to outwitting others. Yet traps and tricks often fell apart during battle and survival came down to experience.
Gnarrl turned back to study the castle and tried to quiet his mind in preparation for the battle. Doubts ate at him. He knew they would only grow worse, for there were still hours to wait before the human sleeping time would come. Hours until the clans would attack.
***
Chapter 43
Malthius Reynolds
Reynolds stood on the castle’s causeway, unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sheathed sword. Word had come to him that one of the scouts returned rapidly to the castle and he wanted to be waiting for the report. The cold invaded his lungs, making every breath ache with its ferocity. With spring so close, Reynolds wondered at the late cold snap.
The clatter of hooves on cobblestones approached. Reynolds’ grip tightened. The only reason a scout would be coming this fast and hard at night would be that he had spotted something. Which meant the boy may have been right.
He stood fast, patiently waiting. Years of experience had taught him control over impulse and needless activity. As the rider drew closer, Reynolds saw the quick flash of a volamp as the scout opened and then closed the shutter on the lantern.
“There’s activity, sir.” She didn’t bother dismounting.
“Voids.” Reynolds spat. “Oroc or human?”
“Oroc, sir. At least two clans. I couldn’t stretch my senses beyond that to see if there were more. Sorry, sir.”
Reynolds scanned the horizon. He could see no signs of activity. “Did they see you?”
The scout nodded. “They did, sir. But I kept my eyes forward and maintained my pace. They hid. I don’t think they know I saw them.”
“Were you able to get a count?”
The scout shook her head. “I wasn’t. I saw markings for two clans, but honestly sir, by the time I spotted them, I realized there were hundreds surrounding me. I didn’t want to risk getting caught and not being able to report back.”
If she had spotted hundreds, Reynolds didn’t doubt there were thousands amassing. Orocs were amongst the stealthiest of the races, at least in rural settings. If he hadn’t sent Prios’ to scouting, he had no doubt they would have remained undetected. “Good job soldier. Get inside and get something warm in you. It’s going to be a long night.” He slapped the horse’s flank, spurring it into the castle.
Turning around to follow her in, Reynolds signaled for the portcullis to be dropped. He faced the courtyard as the thick gridded wood of the portcullis slammed shut behind him. Eager faces watched him from everywhere. Soldiers lined the ramparts, filling the courtyard, leaning out of windows. He read nervousness and worry across all of their faces. Perhaps he was projecting.
Lieutenant Heiml strode out of the throng of was waiting infantry. She stopped in front of him, waiting. Sergeant Reynolds snapped to attention. “At ease, sergeant. Report.”
Reynolds relaxed his pose, clasping his hands behind his back. “Orocs, sir. A Prios scout saw a few hundred.”
Heiml processed this, frowning. Finally, she shook her head. “Voids. I had hoped the boy’s observations were wrong. Sergeant, take the men off alert. Prepare for an attack.” Orders delivered, she hurried away to report to Lord Drayston.
Reynolds looked at the assembled troops. Whispers were already spreading from those that had overheard the reports. Reynolds bellowed, making sure all could hear him. “All right, you miserable curs. You heard the lieutenant, get ready for an attack! There’s orocs coming. I want this castle sealed off from all earth magic and ready to suppress their Geists! Get your asses moving!”
***
Chapter 44
Tetra Bicks
Tetra’s flanged mace smashed against the training dummy. Wood cracked, chips fell away. Bealdred had given him the finely crafted weapon shortly after the patrols had been called back.
Best be ready, just in case.
The mace was of the blacksmith’s own make, carefully crafted. While not his father’s sword, Tetra felt honored to wield it, and hoped he got the chance to use it.
Blacksmiths were Tectons more often than not, but on rare occasion a Graviton would take up the craft. The goods they turned out by manipulating densities as they smelted were the stuff of legend. Tetra understood why, handling this mace. It was light. Lighter than his sword, actually, even though it was a much larger weapon. Bealdred had explained that a Graviton using a weapon such as this could strike harder and with no fear of breaking it due to the folds of density within it that could be expanded or contracted with the magic of the wielder.
He envisioned the dummy as an oroc falling before his blows, ignoring the men waiting against the walls of the training yard. It felt strange to go through the exercises with hundreds of silent guardsmen around him. The officers had encouraged Tetra to proceed with his drills even with the impending attack. It’d keep him warmed up despite the night’s chill. That was what they told him. But he was the only one exercising. His suspicion was that Reynolds and Mikkels were planning on keeping him from the fight. But their plan to tire him was having the opposite effect. Every swing of the mace just pumped more adrenaline through his system.
His movements kept the ground around him free of ice, while much of the rest of the castle lay slick and frozen, almost a foot thick in areas. Tidus guardsmen kept the main paths between buildings clear, using their affinities to crack and shift the frozen water area away. The speed with which the garrison’s Tidus corps had coated the entire castle had amazed Tetra. Long forgotten thoughts of what he would learn at the academy in Aldamere floated through his mind.
When he asked one of them why they were doing it, Tetra had learned that the Tidus corps had one job during the coming battle; keep the orocs from connecting with the earth. Neutralizing one of the two magics orocs could use with only a fraction of the human magic being diverted was their best hope for survival.
The second part of the defense was a lot harder to pull off. Heiml and Lord Drayston were relying on the fact that all but the most powerful Geists had to be touching another person to use their affinity. There were simply too few people to dampen thousands of oroc Geists. With some trepidation, Tetra remembered well the night of the attack on Jaegen. Gnarrl hadn’t been touching him when he used Geist magic.
Almost three hundred men stood ready, positioned through the main courtyards and over the gate facing the nearby woods to the south. Though the fields to the north, west, and east were cleared, making a stealthy approach difficult, command still had full units guarding each wall. Despite their increased numbers, most of the soldiers remained out of sight, with just the usual night guard contingent visible on the upper walls. Lord Drayston’s strategists didn’t know how much intelligence the orocs had on the castle, so they erred on the side of caution and attempted to make the night appear as routine as possible.
Tetra’s scowl deepened as he hammered the dummy harder.
Save her.…
The words whispered through his mind. This close to the orocs. This close to his sister. Rage blazed within him, growing hotter every day he went without seeing Halli’s face. In his practice sessions, he’d killed the oroc, Gnarrl, a thousand times over.
Tonight, he might get to do so for real—even though he knew Sergeant Reynolds and the others intended to keep him as far from the real battle as possible. As soon as the battle began, he was to return to the infirmary and lock himself in, where Kafa would be the only one to keep him company as real soldiers did the real fighting outside.
Despite everything he’d done to prove himself so far, they obviously still thought of him as a child. His back flared in mild pain, a reminder that his age was not the only thing they saw as wrong with him. He had healed from a shattered back in less than six months. He had learned to fight in the same time. Couldn’t they see that he was so much more? Well, tonight gave him a chance to prove them wrong. He just had to spot his opportunity and seize it.
Tetra paused and stepped onto a nearby patch of ice to get a better view of the battlements. Increasing his weight to ground himself on the slippery surface, he drew on his power to stabilize his shaking legs. The effort pinged needles of flame along his back, the second flare up in as many minutes. He carefully controlled his expression, masking the pain. If anyone caught him in the throes of fighting his back injury, that would be it. Back to the room, no question about it.
He looked to the wall as Lord Calhein Drayston emerged from a tower, followed by an entourage of officers. They strolled the parapets with confidence, as if for a casual inspection of the guards. Orange volight reflected off the lord’s armor, making him look wrapped in flame. While not the hulking warrior Tetra had heard stories of, his reputation as a brilliant general made him look intimidating. Tetra, who knew nothing of battle, hoped that tonight he would learn from the best.
“Get them thoughts outta your head, Tetra.” Bealdred spoke up behind him, voice holding an odd, metallic echo.
Tetra looked over his shoulder and then spun to face Bealdred in astonishment. The blacksmith had doffed his apron in exchange for a full suit of ebony plate armor. A helm encased his head, the visor raised to reveal the man’s grizzled smirk as he tightened the buckles on his bracers. The outfit rivaled Lord Drayston’s in all but its gleam. A massive war hammer hung strapped to his back.
Graviton armor. No, it was more than that. The ebony sheen was Graviton. The armor was built with extra mass, allowing a Graviton wider use of their affinity. But what caught Tetra’s eye was the portion of the chest that wasn’t as dark. The king’s seal was etched there, in glowing lines of power.
Tetra had heard of such a thing, but never dreamt he’d see it. Rumors said the breastplates of such sets contained Heart shards to ward against a Volcon fire, a Magnus magnetics, Tecton earth, Archon kinetics … the armor was proof against all magic. The shards wouldn’t prevent the affinities from being used against the armor, but would stop them from affecting it directly, protecting the wearer from even an Archmage’s direct influence. If true, it meant the blacksmith wasn’t just a Graviton, but a Dreadknight.
There were only twelve Dreadknights in the kingdom, one for each affinity. Which meant that Bealdred, his teacher, was actually one of the hands of the king. Tetra gulped. His eyes went wide. Realizing he stared, Tetra collected himself and stammered, “w-what thoughts?”
“Thinkin’ ’bout how you can join the fight.” Bealdred, clad in a full suit of armor, walked as softly as a whisper as he strode closer. “Maybe cut a few orocs to even the score, eh? Battle ain’t glory, git. It’s bloody and scary. You see things through eyes of vengeance, and that’s a good way to be getting’ the people around you killed.”
The observation hit Tetra as hard as the revelation about the man’s true status.
Bealdred chuckled, seeing Tetra’s confusion. “It’s writ thick on your face. So clear I coulda wiped it off with a rag. And ’sides, it’s what I’d be thinkin’ in your spot.”
Tetra flushed and raised the mace. “If I’m not supposed to fight, why bother giving me a weapon? Especially this one. Why bother training me?”
“Never leave anyone without a weapon when a battle’s loomin’,” Bealdred said. “If worse comes to it, then everyone needs a way to fight back. Yer my git, no one else’s. That’s why the mace. The trainin’s so you don’t keel over dead the first time your enemy looks atcha funny. You’ve got plenty of fights in your future, but they don’t start today.”
He studied the walls and soldiers around them. “Speakin’ of which, if the orocs penetrate the castle’s defenses, I want you to go to the northeast tower. Find the stairs in the floor and take them down ’till you reach a door.” He pulled the double-ridged helm from his head. “The tunnel behind the door will take you to a field north of the castle. From there you can—”
“You want me to run. Like a coward.”
Bealdred sighed. “I want you to be smart, git. I want you to live.”
“I want to fight. I’m strong enough to stand in a real battle. I know it.” Tetra slung the mace in an arc, finishing with the weapon resting on his right shoulder.
“Maybe you are. Maybe you could. But does it mean you should? I’m telling you to run, if’n it comes to it. You shouldn’t fight yet, git.”
Tetra frowned back. “Why shouldn’t I?”
The Dreadknight grabbed Tetra’s shoulder and swung the boy to face him. “Listen and listen good. Battle’s an ugly thing, boy. If y’ aren’t careful, it can turn you ugly, too. You’re in a dangerous place, with that chip on yer shoulder.”
“I’m not afraid of a few more scars.”
The man snorted. “I mean your soul. Your spirit. Fightin’ can twist and mangle a man right ’round until not even those he holds dear recognize him anymore. It can take you so far off the path, you look back a long while later and don’t even remember where y’came from.”
Tetra gestured at the other soldiers. “How can you say that? You all fight and you’re good people. Why would it twist me and not you?”
“That’s ’cause we fight for a good reason.” Bealdred cocked an elbow to where Lord Drayston conversed with his officers. “Y’think it’s just his big ol’ namesake that keeps us loyal? No. We believe in what he represents, in what the kingdom’s all about. Protectin’ those weaker around us, keepin’ the land safe, drivin’ out all the wrong wherever we find it and tryin’ to fix what’s left behind. D’you get what I’m sayin’?”
Tetra listened carefully. He wanted to ignore the words, state his case to fight. But the connection with Halli sat in his mind, his heart, whispering to him, reminding him of his sister’s constant compassion. “You’re saying when I fight … aside from just fighting for my life … it should be with others in mind? That if it’s only for me, it’d be like leaving juice in a skin and never pouring it out. Eventually it’d go sour.”
“Knew you was smart, git!” Bealdred clapped him on the back. His gauntlet clacked against Tetra’s brace. Its support helped keep him from flying across the ice, though he still skidded a foot.
Tetra grinned weakly, still trying to understand all the man said. There was a struggle at his core, one he was becoming conscious of. His father’s words haunted him daily, hourly. He had to find a way to rescue Halli. Somehow. It drove him on, gave him the strength that was at his center.
But … what these men were teaching him was something completely different. They were showing him how to distance himself from that drive. How to fight for others without being overwhelmed by his own purpose. The Aspects truly did favor him to provide teachers and caregivers like Malthius Reynolds, Kellian Mikkels, Petrius Alma, and Bealdred … with a start, Tetra realized he had no clue what the Dreadknight’s last name was. It didn’t matter, he supposed. What was really important was what they fought for, and what they were teaching him to fight for.
“All those things you said. Protection and getting rid of everything wrong in the world? That’s what good people fight for, right?”
The blacksmith chortled. “The world? Y’hear me say anything about the whole world? That’s a whole lotta wrong to reckon with.” His smirk slipped. “And no. That’s part of it, but it ain’t all.”
“What else?”
Bealdred’s jolly attitude dropped away, along with his gaze. “Sometimes a man just has to hold onto his memories. Sometimes they’re all he’s got left, but they’re still worth fightin’ for. Paths that coulda been, paths that shoulda been …”
Tetra studied the mace head for a non-existent flaw, discomfited by such a raw admission from an otherwise unassailable man. The silence between them swelled like a soap bubble, straining to pop. As Tetra opened his mouth to release the tension, Bealdred’s nostrils flared and he looked to the walls again.
“They’re here. They’re comin’.”
***