Read Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 Online
Authors: Mark Ryan
Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 (17 page)
Chapter 38
Halli Bicks
Halli stood at the edge of the frozen river as she had almost every morning for the past few months. Cracks were starting to appear in the ice as winter ran out of energy. It was still brutally cold, but the razor edge of the freeze faded with each day.
Her buckets, with their woven vine handles, sat beside her, waiting to be filled. She didn’t feel the cold much anymore, especially when compared to the fist of ice sitting in her chest. She didn’t feel warmth either. Hadn’t felt warm at all since Leesa’s death, a month back.
The days became driven by routine. Wake. Check the other girls for any signs of illness or injury. Give Kat her morning mash. Come to down to the river. Draw water. Distribute it to the oroc cisterns and then return for the humans’ share. Feed Kat again in the evening. Then do it again the next day. And the next.
To what end? Until she had to helplessly watch another of her charges die? Until she had to see one of the boys with a skull crushed by an oroc infuriated by some slight? Until their captors finally decided to just kill them all and bury them out in the middle of the forest? There were only about forty of Jaegaen’s children left alive out of the hundred and some that had been taken. The original six cages were reduced to two.
And that’s what the orocs wanted, she knew. To get rid of them. To remove the waste of resources in their midst. The humans were an unnecessary distraction. They offered no challenge. No real amusement. What good were they?
What good was she? The drain on her magic was back, stronger than before. More than anything, she had failed. All she was now was a healer who couldn’t heal. A breaker of promises.
Halli toed the edge of the hole in the ice. She’d become quite adept at cracking it open with one of the oroc clubs, and she’d made it a little bigger than usual today. Large enough for, say, a skinny human to fall through. If that happened, the person would no doubt be swept away by the frigid currents beneath, never to be seen again. Never to be a bother or a burden on anyone.
What would it feel like, to freeze to death? She knew from healing her own frostbitten fingers and toes how harshly the cold could scour the body. Yet it often numbed soon after, and the afflicted flesh sometimes even felt warmed. Would it be like that? A few long moments of wretched chills before numbing warmth seeped through and drew her down into darkness? Would she even have time to regret her decision before all thoughts fled?
Right then, only two things kept her from letting go and taking that last step. The rest of the girls remained back in the cave, waiting for her return. They too had fallen into their daily patterns, going through the motions just to survive. Despite her desires, she remained part of those patterns, and her sudden absence would unravel them. Who would feed Kat? Who would ensure Laney stayed to keep watch over the rest?
Alongside that, Tetra’s presence in her mind provided the slightest anchor, one she held onto with all her ebbing strength. Her brother was alive. She couldn’t guess what went on wherever he was, but what if he felt her in return and relied on their bond to sustain him in some way? What if she cut herself off and, in doing so, took away the one thing keeping him alive?
With a frosty sigh, Halli knelt on the snowy bank and filled each bucket in turn. Rising, she trudged back to the camp and made her way through the oroc masses. Their words slipped into her ears. She now understood the majority of the talk, but she paid it little heed. Insults, mostly, mingled with bored threats or grumbles about her not respecting the balance.
One group of orocs chatted about the mild winter and how, in just another month or two, spring would begin anew. Halli paused, hearing them speak gleefully about how it’d soon be time for the ancients and saplings to merge. It would be time to forage the forest more thoroughly, how fresh flowerings would blossom all around, turning the white expanse into a kaleidoscope of life. The cycle began fresh, and soon snowmelt would gorge the river and they’d celebrate with constant feasts and festivities.
She swayed in place, thinking of spring in Jaegen. Her eyes closed for a second as she recalled the village Heart pole decorated with painting and ribbons, Heart shard glowing atop it. Children darting around, laughing, wearing little more than cloth shifts in the sunlight. Men and women hard at work in their shops and fields, saving what coin they could to splurge on treats and prizes during the festival …
Opening her eyes didn’t stop the sudden flash of carnage and terror. Only hazy glimpses of that night surfaced in her memory, but the stories from the other captives filled in the blanks well enough.
Shaking free from the grip of terror, she started back to the cave, careful to avoid slipping on the packed snow and ice along the path. Halfway there, a hunting party tromped into view ahead of her, a large boar suspended from a pole between the shoulders of the younger harvesters. The smell of slow roasting hog would fill the area in a few hours, spitted above one of the heat vents, but she knew none of it would make its way to the prisoners. Snow crunched under her foot, mocking the warm phantom aromas.
Every time she returned to their prison, she half-expected to find the others slaughtered in her absence. It’d take a single command from the oroc ancients, and the weak pests would be gone for good. She didn’t know why they’d been kept alive this long. After proving themselves so murderous, it seemed ridiculous that the orocs would want to avoid more blood on their hands. She’d heard talk of letting the humans loose in the forest, knowing most, if not all, would die from exposure.
She slowed her pace so the hunting party stayed ahead of her. The older orocs teased the sapling harvesters, and it sounded like the hog was their first harvest, as they called them. Though the ancients noted they’d executed the harvest perfectly without needing any sort of help. She startled on realizing Gnarrl joked and jostled at the back of the group. One of the saplings must be his protégé … or even his child, though she’d never seen him with any of the females.
They reached one clan cave, where the harvesters entered to the praise and exclamations of the rest of the clan. Halli studied the orocs, trying to figure out if these were newcomers or had been there since the beginning.
So many came and went regularly, often being gone for weeks at a time, with little to distinguish them except a few crude skin paintings or the way they wove their vine-and-bark adornments. During the coldest winter months, she’d counted at least fifty glowing vents around the settlement, and there could be as many as two dozen orocs camped around the larger circles.
She waited while the rest of the party mingled and told stories of the harvest. They took up the whole path, and to push past would show immense disrespect on her part. Her arms strained to hold the heavy buckets, and the vine cords cut into her palms, but she couldn’t put them down. That would likely get her berated for laziness. Instead, she stood there, head bowed submissively.
One of the females peeled off from the group and stalked back down the path. Halli shifted to the side, but not fast enough. The oroc made no attempt to avoid her, ramming an elbow into her side as she passed. The buckets flew as she failed to keep her footing. Water splashed over another harvester who lounged nearby.
“Watch where you’re going,” the female chirped, smirking as she continued on.
The harvester lunged up with a roar. Easily seven feet tall, and as thick as an old oak tree, he towered over her. “Burn you, human! You think Surro needs a bath?”
The other orocs stopped to watch the spectacle, many of them pointing at Surro and laughing. This just deepened his fury.
“Surro thinks you need a bath, human.”
He grabbed her neck in an unforgiving hand and dragged her over to a nearby cistern—one she helped keep full each day. He shoved her head under the surface, smashing the thin ice that had formed with her face. She almost sucked in a lungful of icy water from the shock. Her hands scrabbled at the stony rim as she struggled to push free. Surro kept her pinned, his fingers an iron band around her neck. Her whimpers burbled away as her vision went red and gray around the edges.
Even as she continued her futile fight, the ice in her chest thawed, releasing a current of peace through her. The cold wasn’t a shock now. Warm flooded her body, and she felt like she was floating alongside her own body. This ended it, then? She’d turned away from this choice and now another made it for her. At least … at least she hadn’t given up on her own. If she went, let it be by their hands, not her own. Perhaps knowing this would give the other girls the determination to keep fighting in her memory.
Something yanked her from the water and flung her to the ground. Sweet, yet painfully cold air swelled her chest, while orocs argued around her.
“I’ll do as I wish with them,” Surro shouted.
She swept dripping hair from her eyes with numb fingers. There was little she could but lay there and shiver. None of her limbs wanted to work. Two orocs faced down Surro, Gnarrl and one of those he’d spoken with outside their prison a while back. Kunat, she thought his name was. Gnarrl eyed her warily, standing so he subtly shielded her from her attacker.
“You would want humans to treat our saplings the same way?” Kunat asked.
Surro blustered. “We all know how humans treat saplings. Fire and death.” Several orocs nodded. “Is that it, Kunat? You want to save humans so they can kill our own kind?”
Kunat’s eyes narrowed just before he lunged for Surro. The two hit the ground with a rumble, trading blows as they grappled. Halli had witnessed beatings and scuffles within the tribe before, but this show of brutality eclipsed all others. She still found it difficult to equate these displays she saw with the teachings of the orocs as a gentle and peaceful race.
Blows fell like sledgehammers. Rock crushed under their feet. The earth cracked around them, and the closer trees swayed. Then Kunat wrapped his arms around Surro’s waist. While the larger oroc pounded on his back, Kunat lifted him into the air and then slammed him to the ground. Halli braced, worried they would begin using their affinity to churn the very earth beneath them, that they would use the stone spikes to hurt each other.
Kunat pushed to his feet, chest heaving, hands still curled into fists. He stood over Surro, who lay groaning at his feet. Halli took a deep breath. Of course, they wouldn’t use their magic against each other, not for something as trivial as a brawl. The gathering of orocs parted as a taller figure appeared. The antlers strapped to his head made him look even more tree-like as he strode along with a regal bearing. Halli had never seen the clan shaman before, though she’d heard many say his name. Argant.
Despite herself, she felt a rush of reverence. Many orocs bowed to the newcomer, while others knelt, hiding their faces. Instinctively, Halli fought her numb limbs, pushing herself up till she was kneeling respectfully, matching the pose of those around her. The ancient moved with remarkable grace, coming to a stop beside Kunat. As he surveyed the scene, his dark, recessed eyes rested on Halli for a moment before shifting to Kunat. The warrior met this gaze proudly, though he looked up to do so.
The shaman’s voice rumbled like grinding stone. “It has been a long time since I have seen Bearoak clan battle Bearoak clan. Why do you attack your brother, Kunat?”
Kunat looked down and backed away from Surro. “Forgive me, wise one. I acted out of anger.”
As Surro sat up, Kunat offered his hand. Surro slapped it away.
A low growl reverberated through the area, emanating from the shaman. He bent over, grabbed Surro’s right arm, and lifted him to his feet like a child. “Would you provoke Kunat to teach another lesson in manners, Surro?”
“Kunat protects the stupid human sapling from punishment—”
Another growl silenced Surro’s protest. “Argant sees harvesters behaving like saplings. Maybe they need to join ancients again and gather for several moons?”
The orocs’ strange barking laughter rolled about, and even Gnarrl joined in.
The shaman pointed a gnarled finger at Surro and Kunat. “No more battles for you for three moons, save for harvests. Not with each other, not with humans.”
The hunters nodded and the shaman disappeared back into the depths of the main cave. As the crowd dispersed, Gnarrl took Halli’s arm and led her into the cave where the girls languished. His face had gone hard with anger, but his grip remained gentle. When they approached the side hollow, Halli stopped him with a slight tug.
She worked her tongue, trying to whisper their rough language. “Thank you for saving my life.”
He studied her, anger easing into inscrutability. With a bump of one shoulder, he released her and pointed to the cell. She’d need to go back out later for more water, but for now she acquiesced.
The oroc sealed the entry with earthen bars, something they hadn’t done in weeks. To keep her in … or keep other orocs out? As he turned away, Kunat joined him and the two spoke in hushed tones. Gnarrl held the same shamed posture as Kunat, and for the first time she wondered which of them had pushed Surro off of her—and if they now regretted doing so.
***
Chapter 39
Tetra Bicks
Tetra shifted his feet and angled his shield to deflect the incoming blow. Bealdred’s Graviton enhanced strike glanced off and the older man stumbled. Taking advantage of the rare vulnerability, Tetra rushed in. His sword smacked into Bealdred’s leather jerkin, but bounced away as if he’d hit a brick wall. The impact jarred his arm and stung his hand, but he kept his grip.
Bealdred’s gave his usual ornery smile. “Density magic can save your life in a pinch, git. It’s not just for attackin’, y’know.” Holding up a hand to pause the match, he strolled over and plopped into a bench. “There’s somethin’ satisfying about turnin’ a cotton shirt into a breastplate. Doin’ it too much, though, will get yah tired quick.” He eyed Tetra. “Why’d you lighten the blade before you hit me?”
Tetra frowned. “It makes it faster, and … we’re sparring.” When Bealdred just cocked an eyebrow, he explained further. “Who’ll train me if I hurt you?”
Bealdred roared laughter, and it took him a minute to regain control. “Well, since you put it that way …”
Tetra shrugged, taking a seat beside the burly man. Maybe he exaggerated, but he really had no desire to hurt Bealdred, even if he could. No one else could show him the intricacies of Graviton combat.
“Self-control is a good thing, don’t get me wrong.” Bealdred coughed away another bout of chuckles. “But holdin’ back like that in a real fight is gonna get yah killed. Yer enemy will try to kill yah. Return the courtesy, yeah?”
A patrol thundered into the courtyard without slowing as they normally did after passing the portcullis. Kafa barked and raced alongside them.
“That’s enough for today.” Bealdred handed his practice mace to Tetra as the patrol came to a halt. He stood and headed for the patrol, most of the other guardsmen doing the same.
Tetra returned their equipment to the racks and then ran after, sensing something amiss. He stayed back a little, not wanting to get close enough to be noticed and sent away. Grabbing a shovel from a nearby tool shed, he pretended to work at the piles of icy gravel built up along the nearest walkway. He’d been assigned the chore anyways, a way to keep his strength up even when not training.
Several of the patrol horses had guardsmen draped and tied in place over their hindquarters. They must’ve taken losses in a skirmish—but with who? Bandits? Orocs? The soldiers dismounted and began laying the slain guardsmen in a line on the ground. Sergeant Reynolds joined the group. After glancing at the situation, he sent a runner for a lieutenant or the nearest officer to be found. Tetra edged closer to eavesdrop.
“Not any of our men, but they’re wearing our colors.”
“Yeah, but you call that armor? Looks like a buncha ragtags dressed up to fight and got more than they bargained.”
Tetra studied the dead. On closer inspection, they did appear to wear shoddier, mismatched armor, with patched leather and cloth forming most of it. Several even lacked mail undershirts. Not that Drayston’s troops were outfitted with anything special, but their green-and-gold uniforms were kept at a respectful orderliness.
“Could they be Cultrayne’s men, from the western outpost?” one soldier asked.
Reynolds shook his head. “I’ve met most of Captain Cultrayne’s men, and he hasn’t received any new recruits for months.”
“They’re not from Mirewatch,” another guardsman said. “Their standard is blue and black.”
The crowd continued to grow and Tetra worked his way closer, hiding among the numbers.
“What’s going on?” a woman’s voice called. Wiry and blonde, she marched through gathering, with soldiers going to attention and saluting.
Reynolds straightened and saluted as well. “Lieutenant Heiml, seems we’ve suffered casualties, but we can’t place them.”
“You’re kidding me. We have dead that no one knows?” The lieutenant glanced at the bodies. “Where did this happen?”
The patrol commander pointed north. “We found them just outside the northern edge of the Rocmire, five miles west of Mirewatch, sir.”
Not too far from Jaegen, Tetra remembered. Near Ulfast, one of the closest villages to his own home.
“Any sign of their attackers?” Lieutenant Heiml asked.
“No, sir. They were cold when we found them. No tracks or anything around to even indicate a battle. Like they was killed elsewhere, and then dumped there to be found.”
Grumbles ran through the crowd. Tetra frowned. No tracks? He knew exactly what that meant.
“Sergeant,” said the lieutenant. Several voices answered, including Reynolds’. She faced him. “I want the patrols doubled and I want them patrolling yesterday.”
“Yes sir,” Reynolds said.
“Concentrate them around the villages in Fallel Hills. We’ve noted an increase in highway banditry there lately.” She scowled at the bodies. “Give orders for all civilians and recruits to be questioned so we can find out where these men came from. And be doubly sure to warn of the consequences for those who masquerade as our own troops.”
She raised her voice to quell further mutterings. “We’ll bring their killers to justice, sure enough, but right now we have a responsibility to protect the settlements under our banners. Secure the territory, then we’ll investigate.”
“Right away, sir.” Reynolds barked orders to the men around him, the other sergeants joining in. Soldiers ran off to prep their gear and horses.
In the bedlam, Tetra abandoned his chore and went to examine the bodies. Whomever they’d run afoul of had been none too kind. Some of the slain had a dozen major wounds, any one of which would’ve been lethal. Gruesome, yes, but Tetra had seen such gore before. And their outfits, while torn and shredded by battle, looked even more slipshod up close. Nothing a real soldier would wear. These couldn’t be guardsmen, and especially not from Drayston.
He came to the last body in the line and stopped. Mud and blood covering the body made it hard to spot what had killed the man. Tetra bit back a gasp. The corpse had no visible wounds and the clothes, while sloppy, weren’t torn or cut. Locked open, the eyes stared into the sky as if revisiting the last seconds of death, the face rictus of horror. Tetra knew this look, too. He reexamined the other slain to reassure himself he saw true. One crushed skull, many broken limbs, and numerous gut punctures.
His back tensed as the memory of his father came back to him. The wounds he had sustained.…
Your Sister. You must get her back. Save her.
“Tetra, what are you doing?”
Tetra jumped and turned to see Corporal Mikkels watching him. The corporal thumbed over at the shovel the boy had dropped. “Shouldn’t you be working? Go on now. We’ll take care of all this.”
“Corporal, take a look at—”
“Leave them be. Healer Alma will examine them.”
“But sir, I know what killed them. At least, I think I do.”
Mikkels’ expression turned quizzical. “What’re you talking about?”
“Look, this man has no wounds. Isn’t that … odd?”
Mikkels seemed ready to wave him off, but stayed his hand. Walking closer, he ignored the others scrambling around the courtyard. He studied the body for a long moment, then the others, then back to the first. His gaze went distant, as if recalling his own memories for comparison.
Then he straightened and shouted, “Sergeant Reynolds!”
After a few seconds, the sergeant emerged from a cluster of guardsmen, looking for who had called him. Mikkels waved to get his attention.
“What is it, Corporal?” Reynolds frowned as he noticed Tetra. “What’re you doing here?”
“I think you should hear this, sir.” Mikkels put a hand on Tetra’s shoulder. Bealdred appeared beside them, beefy arms crossed.
“Well?” Reynolds said when Tetra didn’t speak up.
“This one, sir.” Tetra pointed at the particular body.
“What about him?”
“No wounds. Nothing more than a scratch.”
Reynolds exchanged glances with Bealdred and both men knelt to examine the body closer.
“He’s right,” Bealdred said after a moment.
“Bandits would’ve had a few swords or daggers, right?” Tetra asked. “A lot of the wounds here are crushing ones, like from clubs. The bigger wounds look more like they were impaled, not just stabbed. Really thick spears maybe, but …” Tetra said. “I … I think I know what did this. It’s just like everything I saw in Jaegen.”
After inspecting the others, Reynolds and Bealdred rose. The sergeant nodded at him. “I know where you are headed Tetra, but go on. Explain.”
“All of these wounds are the same as Jaegen. I think this was done by orocs, sir.” Tetra stared at the sergeant, willing him to believe with the conviction he felt.
“Tetra.” Reynolds drew in a ragged breath, frowning. “You have been hurt by the orocs. But you see them around every corner now. You even named your training dummy after one of them, isn’t that right? I don’t dispute that what you see could be correct, but that doesn’t mean it is. What reason would these men have to get into a fight with orocs?”
Tetra swallowed to wet his dry throat. He was going out on a limb, with no evidence to back up his idea, but … “I think villagers from Ulfast and maybe some of the other close settlements decided to take revenge for Jaegen. Because Lord Drayston didn’t do anything, they formed their own militia.”
Reynolds swore. “Wearing our colors. If your theory is right, this is going to end badly.”
“Yes sir. And they went out to hunt any orocs they could find.”
“How would they know to do that?”
Mikkels spoke up. “We haven’t sent out any official word about the attack, sir, seeing as it’s all unconfirmed. But there’s plenty of rumors and whispers. It’d be easy for anyone looking to place the blame to latch onto the orocs as the culprits.”
Tetra pointed at the slain. “These wounds are just like what you’d get if you fought orocs and lost.” He placed a hand over his stomach, where a faint puckered scar remained from his own impaling. “I’d know.”
The sergeant looked to Bealdred. “What do you think?”
“I think …” The blacksmith paused. “I think thirty seasoned guardsmen missed what the git saw right away. Doesn’t mean he’s right. But do we want to take the chance of ignorin’ him if he is?”
“Killed by orocs,” Mikkels shook his head. “Did they instigate the attack or did these poor fools?”
A first patrol, twenty-five strong, thundered out of the courtyard gate.
“If the git is right, I’m bettin’ they killed at least one defendin’ themselves.” Bealdred gnawed a thick lip. “But with the getups, they damned well instigated. They went lookin’ fer trouble and couldn’t handle what they found.”
Another patrol left the castle.
“If Tetra is right, we have a problem. I’m inclined to believe him, if only because disregarding him could invite disaster. The lack of tracks away from where the bodies were left points at a Tecton being involved. If it was orocs they will be telling others about being attacked by humans, men wearing Drayston colors.” Reynolds watched a third patrol gallop out of the castle’s southern gate. Sudden understanding flared in his eyes. He sprinted for the castle’s command wing, where the lieutenant had gone.
“Ah, Voids.” Bealdred shook his head. “If the Rocmire clans decide to retaliate, they’ll hit us here. The Rocmire clans outnumber us by at least five ta one already.”
“And we’re sending everyone out on patrol,” Mikkels finished.
Bealdred grabbed Tetra’s shoulder, turning him so they were facing. The blacksmith squinted, worry written across his features. “I hope to the Aspects that yer wrong, git.”
***