Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2) (27 page)

Something drastic would have to be done to clean up this city, but that would have to wait until the princess was free and safely in Protectorate hands. All he could do was file a report on some of the things he had seen and hope that it would make the city a little safer until he had time to lead a concerted effort. He wondered how many people knew just how bad things had become in this city that was well within Protectorate lands, and who was ultimately responsible for it.

Over the course of the last month, he had been within hours of catching up with the princess on a dozen different occasions, but each and every time the underworld of the city seemed to come together to delay him just enough for the princess to once again slip from his grasp. No matter how many of the thugs he killed, or maimed, it never seemed to dissuade the local toughs from getting in his way. Now he had learned that the Doppelganger and the princess had most likely boarded a ship that had come in during the night. By the time he had reached the docks, the vessel was a dot on the horizon.

You would think it would be an easy thing for the High Commander of the Protectorate to commandeer a vessel in a Protectorate city, but the fact was that most of the ships were run by crews that had grown up in Freeport and like the rest of this city, they seemed to have no love or respect for what the Protectorate stood for. It had taken him the better part of a day to find a captain with a crew willing to assist him in the chase—for a fee.

From what little he had garnered from the unwilling captains, the most likely destination for the mysterious vessel that had taken the princess away was the Dracair controlled port of Drayfjord. The only real port of note in Dracair controlled territories. The Dracair and the Blood Mages had tried for hundreds of years to establish other ports in order to wrest some control of the seas around their side of the continent, but small fleets from countries around the world made them eventually realize that it was an impossible task. Not that they didn’t still try to build a new port every thirty years or so, but each time they did it was blasted into oblivion before they even started building the ships.

Stewart Cantel now sat on the bridge of a small schooner, the city of Freeport slowly disappearing behind him. In some ways, he was glad that the chase had finally left that vile city because it would make the hunt a little easier, but he also knew things were about to get a lot more hectic, and a lot more violent.

Chapter 15

Pershanti

Year: 3045 AGD

Month: Midwinter

First Secondday

Abandoned Mine

              Troublefinder was chasing the ball of string around the cell that the boy had been trapped in for as long as he could remember. He had brought them back to the cell in order for Troublefinder to play with the ball without worry of it flying into the fire pit and being incinerated by the now carefully kept flames. Part of him was a little disturbed by the fact that he had not only somehow saved his companion but had also lit the fire without being consciously aware of doing either. He could feel something inside of him growing stronger, and he wasn’t sure who was in control of the thing.

              Troublefinder stopped and stared at him. The boy thought that it was because the little guy had caught his mood, but a moment later he heard the jangling of the chains from the front of the cave. They both ran towards the front of the cave, the boy grabbing a pickaxe from the guard’s room on the way. He could hear Troublefinder growling at whatever had disturbed the chains, and a moment before he turned the last corner he heard a familiar voice.

              “My word, where did you come from? You are a long way from home, little one.” Pershanti stood in the cave mouth trying to unwind a length of chain from around his leg. “Then again,” Pershanti said seeing the boy, “I suppose that could be said for all of us.”

              “Pershanti! I had hoped you would come back, I don’t think Troublefinder and I could have survived out here by ourselves.”

              “Troublefinder, eh?” Pershanti said turning towards the little furry guy who was now only half growling at the stranger before him. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said with a bow.

              Taken off guard, Troublefinder sat down and turned his head sideways, examining the Grenaldin. After a moment's consideration, he looked back as if asking, “Do you know this guy?”

              “Now,” Pershanti said, finally getting his leg free from the chain. “Where on Terrazil did you find a Quaelyne this far north of the forest?”

              “He kind of found me. I met him yesterday morning in front of the cave; he had been stung by something. It was a strange night, but I think we came out alright. Quaelyne huh? I’ve never heard that name before.”

              “Most haven’t,” Pershanti said. “The general populous might know them better as the Death’s Edge Wolverines, but that name is a misnomer. I have read about these so called Wolverines and they might vaguely resemble the Quaelyne, but evolutionarily and socially they are completely different from that species.”

              “Huh,” the boy said, looking at Pershanti as if he were speaking another language. Troublefinder seemed to agree with the sentiment, letting out a small whine and putting his paws over his head.

              “No respect for academia these days.” Pershanti sighed and began to make his way carefully across the chains. “Nice idea here, by the way; you never know who or what is lurking in these hills.”

              They walked into the guard’s room, and Pershanti looked at the fire and nodded in approval. His foot hit something and he bent over to pick it up. A moment later, he turned towards the two of them.

              “Where did this come from?” Pershanti asked, his voice sounding tight as he lightly held the tail of the scorpion that had stung Troublefinder.

              “It’s what stung Troublefinder. He ripped the thing's tail off and ran.”

              Troublefinder sniffed as if to say he did not
run
.

              “Not to cast doubt on the story, but even though the Quaelyne are especially resistant to such things, the sting of an Apathy Scorpion can mean death for even a full grown Quaelyne.” One of his bushy eyebrows rose. “So, how is it that he seems to be doing fine?”

              “He was having some problems yesterday, but by this morning he was okay again.” As he finished talking, he felt a rough tongue lick his finger. He looked down into Troublefinder’s blue-gray eyes.

              “Well,” Pershanti said, “lucky him, I suppose.” The way he said it let them all know that he knew there was more to the story. “I suppose getting this little fellow home should be our first priority. We probably shouldn’t stay here one way or the other. I doubt that loud mouth Orc will hold his tongue much longer, and those people were definitely looking for you.”

              “Did you find out why?”

              “No, but they definitely think that you need to be controlled and kept a tight rein on.” Pershanti paused. “I did learn, however, that you have a friend who is living somewhere amongst the Giants.”

              “A friend? I wonder what type of person he is.” Looking down at his hands he said, “Then again, I often wonder what type of person I am.”

              “We are whomever we choose to be,” Pershanti said. “You still have a lot of time to figure out what type of man you will become.” Only the sound of the crackling flames invaded the silence that followed that statement. After several minutes, Pershanti looked away from the fire and began to take stock of what they had. “Good idea grabbing those pickaxes, and the way you used those chains was a touch of brilliance. It is too bad we don’t have a way to carry some of this wood out with us.”

              At this the boy's head popped up. “Oh, but we have some string! It’s in the cell. Troublefinder was playing with it before you came.”

              “Excellent! Go grab it and we can be on our way before it gets too cold to travel.”

              Running through the cave, he felt hope blossom in his heart for the first time. He knew the feeling because he had felt it in some of the dreams he had been having, but it had always been a strangely foreign concept to him until that moment. Grabbing the ball of string, he turned around and noticed that Troublefinder had followed him and was wagging his little tail rapidly.

              “Sorry Troublefinder, no time to play right now. We need to get going so we can get you home to your family.”

As soon as he said the word home, Troublefinder did a short leap and spun around running a short distance before looking back.
Are you coming or what?

Laughing, the boy bounced the ball of string in his hand and followed his excited new friend.

First Secondday

Serenity Valley

Instructor Boulette was once again using Shawnrik as a training dummy. He had gotten used to it over the last month, but a part of him still wanted to rebel against all the punishment he received in the name of making the other students better fighters. Today, they were working on what to do if your opponent has a knife and you don’t.

“The first thing to remember when in this type of situation is that you are most likely going to end up getting cut,” Boulette said, his scowl in full effect. “How much, however, depends on how well you are able to keep your focus. Our natural reaction is to freak out and stop the pointy thing from getting anywhere near us no matter the cost, but there are much safer ways to go about it than most of the ways a scared mind will come up with.”

The rest of the class stood in a circle around the pair, as they did with most demonstrations. This meant that Shawnrik and the Instructor would often perform maneuvers several times facing different directions, but it also allowed the students to see the fight from every angle.

“The next thing you need to know is that the person coming at you isn’t going to be using these pretty cuts that we practice in training. They are going to often be short, vicious, and wild strikes. You not only have to deal with the knife, but you have to deal with the person holding the knife.” He motioned for Shawnrik to come at him.

Shawnrik swung the blunt practice blade towards the grizzled veteran knowing full well that it was going to mean pain in the next few seconds. Boulette moved his body to the side, making it less likely that the blade would reach him, and used one of his hands to push the blade away while using the other to redirect the blow.

“There are two things you can try here, depending on how strong your opponent is. The first and wisest choice is to try to twist their arm and pry the knife from their grasp. The second way is to immediately switch your deflection into a push and try to stab your opponent with their own blade. Now, obviously the second choice is only something you should try if you are sure that you are much stronger than your opponent.”

The pair went through the different motions several times, showing several different ways the action could take place. Shawnrik’s arm was twisted and pinched in more ways than he thought possible by the time Boulette was satisfied that the rest of the students understood.

“Something like this wouldn’t work against someone like Shawnrik, however,” Boulette said, and they showed what would happen if you tried either maneuver on someone with Shawnrik’s strength. Shawnrik simply didn’t allow Boulette to deflect or redirect his attack and used pure strength to push the knife home. “If you are faced with someone like this your best bet is to stay as far away from them as you can. Keep your distance and focus on evasion until you can find something to give you an advantage. On the small chance that you are in a completely flat and open field with nothing to use but dirt, your best bet is to try to get inside his reach and go for any available weak spots.”

Shawnrik groaned as he realized what would be coming next. Sure enough, Boulette motioned for him to move forward with his attack and the man took a short “cut” on his forearm in order to move in for a debilitating kick to Shawnrik’s man parts. It was all done in slow motion and well controlled, but the blow still came and it was no comfort in that moment that it could have been much worse.

“Now, I want you all to split into your usual partners and practice what you’ve just seen, minus the last one,” Boulette said, eliciting a small uncomfortable chuckle from the gathered boys. “Nice work, lad,” Boulette said, helping Shawnrik off the ground. Shawnrik knew he was heavy, but the chiseled veteran showed no strain as he pulled his student's bulk up.

“Next time you can attack me with the knife, and I’ll kick you in the groin.” Shawnrik grumbled quietly to the Instructor, which earned him one of the man’s rare smiles.

“Bullshit,” Boulette whispered back. “All you’d need to do is deflect that knife with one of those bracers and coldcock your attacker into oblivion. You aren’t going to have to fight too many things that are bigger than you, boy, and if you ever fight anything stronger than you, it might deserve to win just on principle.”

“I bet a Dreadnaught is stronger,” Shawnrik said.

“Aye, but you are probably only on your second or third growth spurt, huh? I bet another one and you’ll be able to hold your own.”

“Wait…” Shawnrik turned to the Instructor so that the man was looking straight at him. “What do you mean second or third growth spurt?”

“Well, I’ve heard rumors that you have Giant blood in both sides of your family,” Boulette said, suddenly appearing uncomfortable for the first time since Shawnrik had met the man. “I just assumed that you had already gone through some. I’ve heard stories about cross blooded Giants that went through a half dozen growth spurts in their lifetime.”

“I went through one over a year and a half ago,” Shawnrik whispered. “If it hadn’t been for Dunnagan, I’d have probably died from it.”

“Dunnagan Stormhammer?” Boulette said, his voice rising for the first time. “Don’t tell me it was David who trained you.”

“Yes sir, though most call him Ashur.”

“I’m sure they do,” Boulette said, his scowl returning in full. “I’ve always hated that nickname, but he wears it proudly. I don’t suppose he told you the story of how he got it?” Shawnrik shook his head and the Instructor continued. “Well, it’s not my story to tell, so you’ll have to hear it from David. On to more important business, though, what do you mean you’ve only had one growth spurt so far? Not only that, but why do you seem surprised that there will be more?”

“No one I’ve talked to has said anything about it. Dunnagan wasn’t sure what was going on, though the Dracairei seemed to have dealt with such things before, from what Ashur told me.” Shawnrik’s mind was racing, and he now wondered if his own body was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off.