Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 (12 page)
Read Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 Online
Authors: Mark Ryan
Chapter 27
Tetra Bicks
Tonight, Tetra decided. No more being confined to his room. Even as he grew steadier on his feet, if he let himself stay within these infirmary walls, he did so out of fear of what Healer Alma might do. He couldn’t live in fear of anything if he meant to follow this path to vengeance.
Save her.…
Tetra shook his head. It had been weeks since he had heard his father’s voice echoing in his head.
He waited until a couple hours after sundown, after the last noises of Alma and his assistant faded from the main infirmary. Then, guided by moonlight and the soft glow of the castle’s volamps from the crack under his door, he shuffled and lurched out of bed. The warmth of the castle defied the soft smells of the onset of winter filling the air. He instinctively used his affinity to lighten his upper body and condense his lower, relieving the walking effort as much as possible.
For the first time, he stepped across the room to the door without supporting himself on any furniture. Leaning against the wall, he gripped the latch and eased it open. A quick peek out revealed no one waiting. He heaved a sigh of relief, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Exiting the room, he took a moment to enjoy the fresher air. Despite new bedclothes and sheets provided by the healer every day, he’d stewed too long in his own stench. Admittedly his constant exertions had done nothing to help that condition.
One leg quivered, and he reminded himself every moment was precious. Little time to enjoy even simple things when more trials lay ahead. After a faltering step, he found a slow, yet steady pace down the hallway, then out and across the courtyard, heading for the only other area of the castle he knew, pausing from time to time to see if he was observed by anyone.
Not long ago, he’d crawled across this same area, aiming for the threshold leading into the training court. During the few quiet hours when he recovered his strength between exercise sessions, he’d heard soldiers shouting, weapons clanging, feet pounding across the stones. He’d pictured himself joining them time and again, learning to wield a blade, to fight like a true warrior. The day dreams weren’t idle. He practiced the few fighting techniques he knew in his head, hoping that when he finally could pick up a weapon, his body would remember.
But not yet. No one would let him join in the training, he knew, until he proved himself capable. He wouldn’t be the weakling in their midst, forcing them to slow down, to take it easy for his sake.
He would stand strong among them. He would—
His toes caught a raised stone and he stumbled forward. His palms scuffed on the ground and his knees struck hard enough he bit the tip of his tongue. Legs and arms trembling, he fought to remain on all fours, even as icy heat shot up his back and across his shoulders.
Focus, Tetra
. He thought.
The training yard waited just a few feet away. He crawled there on his belly last time, but not now. He might crawl, yes, but on hands and knees.
He spat a bloody wad aside and then moved forward. His tongue was bleeding too badly from the bite, so he ignored it. One hand, one knee. On excruciating pace at a time. Keep his balance. He could do this. Through the threshold. Over a short ledge. Into the first dirt-packed fighting square, stamped solid by countless soldiers’ feet over the years.
Pausing to catch his breath, he took stock of his situation. Every muscle, every bone throbbed and his lungs felt like they were packed with embers, but he knew he had to keep going or he’d collapse. He needed a weapon.
Raising his eyes and sitting back on his heels, he studied the weapons racks along one lone wall, sheltered by an awning. Swords, spears, truncheons, and shields offered themselves. He tracked along them until his gaze locked onto …
His father’s sword. Could it be? It sat on a rack a few weapons over from the edge, as if it had been waiting for him all along.
A simple weapon, three feet long, with a plain iron cross-guard and pommel, it sat dull in the shadows. But it was instantly recognizable. The pommel had a flaw that made it stand apart. A flaw which Tetra had created accidentally, playing with the density of the weapon when he was much younger.
It called to him, and him alone. Unimpressive, hardly anything a great fighter would choose to wield, it sat there, hiding a secret. Yet it had been his father’s, and so must be his. The distance between him and the rack couldn’t be more than five strides, but it might as well have been a bottomless ravine. Gulping air, he steeled himself. Time to jump the ravine.
Then he crawled ahead, arms, legs, and back feeling like they were packed with shards of hot glass. Reaching the base of the rack, he grabbed one of the awning posts and wrapped an arm around it. Stifling a cry with each move, he lightened his upper body as much as possible; dragged himself up. Once he got high enough, he balanced himself and thrust one arm out to the rack. He almost went back over. Shifting his grip, he used the railings to rebalance himself. As he rose to his full height, he eased his weight back to true, letting go of his magic. As colors faded from the edge of his vision, he fought to stay conscious.
But he wanted to take up his sword a free man. Not tied to any magic, of his own will and volition. He wavered there for a while, refusing to give in and let the darkness take him. No surrender. Not this close. Not when he’d come so far.
Claws clicked on stone, and Kafa walked into view in the threshold he’d just crawled through. Tetra flinched, expecting Alma to come right behind, but the hound just sat and watched him, tongue lolling.
Swallowing hard, Tetra straightened his legs. The stone in his gut hardened to iron. He stretched a hand out and wrapped the fingers around the hilt of his father’s sword. Lifting it free of the railing hooks, he accepted the weight. He gripped the hilt with both hands, pride welling in his chest. Then a fang of pain jabbed into his side. His legs gave out and he hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
The sword clanged down inches from his head. Paws padded over, and familiar tongue started bathing his face. Tetra reached up and ruffled the hound’s neck, accepting the small comfort it offered. Kafa stiffened as Tetra pulled against him, letting the human use his poised form as an anchor to regain a kneeling position.
Tetra grabbed the sword and used it like a cane, helping him rise to his feet. This time he used his affinity to lighten the sword before hefting it. Sweat trickled into his eyes, but he rubbed it away on a sleeve and searched for a first target.
His attention fell on a training dummy on the far end of the training court, opposite the weapons rack. He stepped that way and his right leg gave. He caught himself on one knee, the sword planted to keep him from falling flat. Growling in determination, he rose and shuffled toward the training dummy. To think just a moment ago, five steps had seemed like too much.
The straw poking out of the burlap sack beckoned to him. Chop it down to size. Turn it into kindling. Prove he had the strength to fight. The dummy needed a name. A fitting title for a worthy foe.
Gnarrl. Yes, that’d work well.
“What in all the hells do you think you’re doing?”
Tetra didn’t stop shambling forward as he glanced aside. If he stopped, he wasn’t sure he’s be able to start again. Healer Alma stalked across the practice yard. Kafa bounded past Tetra, barking as he ran to his master. Then the hound ran back and planted himself in front of Tetra, forcing him to pause on unsteady legs.
“Stupid child.” Petrius strode closer. “I’m not going to tie you to the bed. I’m going to chain you there.” He moved to take the sword.
“Stay back!” Tetra lightened the weapon further, enough to jerk it up and point the tip at the healer.
Alma pulled back, eyes wide, hands raised. “Damnation, boy, what’re you about? Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Tetra bared clenched teeth. “This … is my father’s sword. I took it from him after he died from the orocs. You want it? You take it from me after I die.”
Alma stared in utter disbelief. Clasping hands behind his back, he paced in a circle, confounded by what to do next. He fixed gaze on Tetra and snorted. “You’re insane, lad.”
Tetra planted the sword tip on the packed earth of the training square. “I told you I’d walk again. You thought I was insane then. Now look.” He took several tottering steps, keeping his gaze fixed on the healer, daring him to deny what he saw.
“Marvelous. So you can stand. Walk even, if you want to call that walking. Shambling, more like. One wrong step and you may just remedy this miracle.” Alma crossed his arms. “What will you do now, hm? With a sword you can barely carry, on legs you can barely walk on?”
“Simple,” Tetra said. “They have my sister. I learn how to fight. Then I go save her, and Aspects damn anyone, human or oroc, who tries to stop me.”
Alma studied him for a long, silent minute, expression unreadable. Then he shocked Tetra by nodding. “Very well.”
“Wait.” Tetra was more off balance from the acceptance than he had been physically all day. “What?”
“What? You think I was really going to chain you up? I helped save your life, lad, but it’s not mine to live. If this is your choice, then so be it. But if you’re going to fight, at least do so wisely. And that means letting yourself heal a bit longer before breaking yourself on an inanimate object. If you let me work with you, rather than hiding your progress, maybe I can move things along faster. Then you can return here and learn whatever you need.”
He held a hand out for the sword. “I’ve never been trying to stop you Tetra. I’ve just been trying to make sure you didn’t kill yourself before you were healed.”
Tetra weighed his options. Could he trust the healer to hold to his word? If so, it might mean recovering quicker—and without having to hide his efforts.
If not, it meant more nights trying to sneak out, fumbling around on his own. He’d be caught again, eventually, and this time Alma might not offer such a deal.
He gave the sword over, hilt first. Instead of setting it back on the rack, the healer instead came alongside him and supported his arm. He led Tetra back to the infirmary room, slowly and carefully helping him maintain his balance, walking the whole way.
***
Chapter 28
Malec and Pavil
The plan would work. It had to work. Malec stared at their oroc jailor, looking for any signs of suspicion. He found it hard to read an oroc’s face, since they shared few expressions with humans. He identified anger easily enough, but just because roars, snarls, and the occasional fights accompanied it. The boys had discovered quickly that the human children were good at instigating anger in their captors.
They had watched the orocs, and the “village” they were in for weeks. Working together, Pavil, Malec, and Sven had managed to put together a solid schedule of the movements of their captors. And then they had seen Halli. It changed everything. An escape plan had started to form. They weren’t the sole survivors, and that meant they had to find a way out. A way to save their friends.
He thought the young oroc guarding the boy’s cage looked bored. He identified him as young by his size—the smaller ones always obeyed the bigger, as far as he could tell. The bigger ones also often gave extended talks to clusters of the smaller, but never the other way around.
Pavil shifted beside him, laid out on the rocky ground a few feet away, pretending to sleep. The escape rested solely upon his shoulders. Using his Pathos affinity, he’d attempt to manipulate their jailor’s emotions and compel him to leave his post unattended, long enough for them to break free. The job was better suited to a Psion, but there were none amongst the human captives. Simple if it worked; enough to get them killed if it didn’t.
Malec didn’t fully trust Pavil’s skills, as the other boy had never shown sustained control or finesse during their training, but they didn’t have much choice. Their glimpse of Halli had cemented their intent to break free and find a way to secure help for the others. Then, not a few days later, they’d seen the girls marched through the settlement and shoved into the caves just visible on the edge of the oroc village. They hadn’t emerged since, and the boys guessed they’d be moved there soon as well. If they hoped to escape, it had to be now.
“Well?” Sven whispered behind him.
“Just be ready,” Malec murmured. If anything went wrong, Sven had volunteered to distract the orocs from chasing after Pavil and Malec. He would stay behind. A gutsy thing, but Sven had insisted, saying one of them had to stay and care for the other children while the others went for help. Sven, as a Tecton, also stood the best chance of blocking those same earth magics the orocs used. Pavil and Malec were the obvious choices to go as the orocs couldn’t sense their affinities, and would lose track of their spirits once they got far enough away.
Malec looked over his shoulder as Sven settled back on his side of the cage. The other boys, all of them younger, huddled together under several furred hides for warmth. The skins were the one kindness the brutes had shown them. Most of them had been captured wearing nothing more than their nightclothes, and would have long since frozen. With his family too poor to pay for nightclothes, Malec had gotten used to sleeping in his normal clothes—a happenstance he now felt lucky for.
The memories of that horrific night danced through his head. His mother dropping dead before his eyes … him pleading with her to wake up … the orocs bashing the door down and hauling him away from his family’s bodies. He’d tried to fight back, tried to use his Magnus affinity, but the orocs carried minimal metal and he’d been so scared, so alone. He’d lost all focus and they took him as easily as a child whose affinity had yet to manifest.
He pushed the terrible memories away. To succeed here and now, he needed to be ready, focused. Strong. Pavil claimed he could pull it off. Malec studied his friend, looking for any sign of progress. A sheen of sweat had broken out on Pavil’s face despite the cold winter air.
A cry of alarm rang out. Malec twitched as a large group of orocs jumped from their seats. What happened? Were they somehow discovered before they even began? Malec fought to keep his breathing even.
Then a female oroc threw herself on one of the males in the group. The rest began rumbling their strange laughter and high-pitched cheers for the wrestling pair. It was abnormal behavior, at least compared to everything Malec had learned about the orocs, but they didn’t notice. While he looked in the direction of the commotion, their guard remained at his post.
Malec leaned in to Pavil and whispered, “I think you got the wrong one.”
Pavil’s left eye cracked open and observed the ruckus. “Ugh.…” His eye snapped shut and his face scrunched up in deeper concentration.
Malec turned back as the fight abruptly died down. The female oroc jumped off the male and pointed a finger, shouting something. Raucous laughter broke out as she stormed away. Even their jailer chuckled to himself.
Pavil’s eyes reopened and locked on the amused oroc guard. “Not bored anymore are we?” he whispered.
The oroc’s laughter increased until it nearly doubled over. Malec fought to contain his smile. Not quite the plan, but it worked. The laughing oroc took a step toward the others, then another.
“Keep it up,” Sven whispered.
Pavil grimaced. “I can’t push too hard. If I do, he’ll know something is wrong.”
The oroc broke into a stride and joined the group. Malec heard Sven quietly moving on the opposite side of the cage.
“Malec, come help me!” Sven called softly.
Malec slipped away from the front of the cage and back where Sven worked with a section of vines and limbs they’d spent a week stretching loose.
“Pavil?” Malec asked.
“Almost ready.” A moment stretched passed, full of oroc laughter. “That should do it.” Pavil rose to his hands and knees and crawled around the mound of sleeping boys.
“Remember,” Sven said as he stretched the cage open, “don’t run or use magic until the moon is directly overhead. By then you should be far enough they can’t sense you with their spirit affinities … hopefully.”
Malec tipped his head to the sleeping boys. “Take care of them. And yourself.”
Sven gripped his shoulder. “You too. And find us help.”
Malec squeezed through the opening and turned to help Pavil out. Pavil stopped to clasp Sven’s forearm, lips working without words. Then he smiled and lightly smacked Sven on his cheek twice before turning and pushing through the hole. Malec rolled his eyes and flashed his best angry look at Pavil. Every second wasted meant another chance of getting caught.
He turned to start into the forest when Pavil’s hand locked on his arm in a death grip. He froze. Heavy footfalls crunched on leaves not more than ten feet to their left. The boys held their breaths until the newcomers continued on toward the still-laughing circle of orocs. Once assured they’d moved on, Pavil released his arm and they crept off into the darkness.
Slowly creeping through the oroc village, Malec fought the urge to use his magic to sense which direction they were going. Causeways stretched overhead, with orocs moving along them despite the late hour. Malec and Pavil carefully moved from shadow to shadow.
Both boys were careful with where they put their feet. Early winter frost coated the ground, doubling the chance that a misstep would be heard. Even the leaves on the forest floor crackled and snapped under their tread. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they reached the edge of the oroc village. Fate had left them one final obstacle. Fifteen feet above them on an outer walkway, a sentry watched the forest.
The two boys stared. Malec started to creep forward, but felt Pavil’s hand on his arm. He stopped. Pavil was holding up a rock, motioning for Malec to wait. Could such a simple plan work? Pavil hefted the rock, the size of his fist, and hucked it as hard as he could. The guard turned toward the forest, trying to see what had made the noise. The two boys lit off into the foliage in the opposite direction.
***