A Darkness Unleashed (Book 2) (5 page)

“Easy, Jahn,” the doctor said with a grin. “We wouldn’t want to hurt the poor thing.”

With a vacant expression, the man untied the bundle and pulled the sack away to reveal Tanya, a small trickle of blood seeping from her nose.

Rage nearly blinding her, Maddi leaped up and hurled against the chain, almost wrenching her arm from its socket. “I’ll kill you!”

Marten leaned forward, his once handsome face scarred with cruelty. “Oh, I doubt that, Maddi. You see, what you don’t completely understand is that our Talent is far more powerful than most doctors ever imagine.”

As he spoke, Maddi felt him again embrace that odd, darker side of his Talent, twisted into a whirlpool that drew inward. She sensed her own
psahn
pulled toward it, and she again threw up the defense that seemed so natural before – much like the one she used to keep disease from spreading to herself.

“You are ingenious, for one so new to their Talent, Maddi.” Marten gestured at Tanya, who stuck her tongue out in his direction. “So much courage. So much life.”

His vortex of dark Talent slunk toward the girl, his face curled in a rictus of perverted pleasure.

“No!” Maddi shouted as the vortex touched Tanya. She strained harder against the chain, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. She sensed the girl’s
psahn
being drawn out of her body, and screamed again when Tanya slumped over. The glimmer of life force dissipated from her presence.

The doctor’s own
psahn
flashed brighter as he drew from the little girl.

“Stop it!” Maddi drew back, her hands drawn up over a horror-stricken face. “Whatever you want…I’ll do it, just stop!”

She collapsed to her knees, transfixed on Tanya’s limp body, just out of reach. A flicker of
psahn
glowed within the girl, and Marten held his vortex just on the edge of draining it.

“Oh, Maddi,” the doctor sighed, “it’s far too late for that. It is obvious to me that you will never be a cooperative partner. I will just have to find someone else.” He edged a step closer, his gaze fixed on Maddi, not Tanya. “I will drain this little girl, and then I will drain you.” He licked his lips with anticipation. “Your
psahn
is so powerful. I cannot wait to taste it.”

Without warning, Tanya’s crumpled form suddenly lashed out with a fierce kick, catching the doctor in his shin. It did not affect him much, but it drew his attention.

“You little piece of garbage,” he spat. He kicked the little girl in the chest, sending her sprawling across the room.

“No you don’t!” Maddi shouted, rage boiling over all her senses at the sight of Tanya’s limp body. Uncertain what guided her, Maddi drew upon her Talent, pouring her life force into the shield she had created to insulate herself from the doctor’s vortex. Once she had reached her limits, she threw it outward, wrapping Tanya’s barely breathing form in a protective shell of
psahn
.

“Well, well,” Marten clucked. “You are beginning to learn the many hidden uses of our Talent…and without any guidance. You would have made a great ally, Maddi. Too bad it is too late.”

He threw the sucking, lifeless whirl of his power at her shield, battering it and threatening to rip it apart. Marten drew even more of his life force, pushing it down on her and Tanya.

Maddi strained for more
psahn
, but she had little left to give.
The distance between us is too great. If only I were closer…

She strained against the chain, threatening to strip the skin from her wrist, but she could get no closer, and her strength ebbed with every moment the doctor assaulted her shield. Maddi felt his power begin to overcome hers, felt it begin to break through to the last few precious drops of Tanya’s life force.

Tanya lifted her weak head to look at Maddi. The little girl softly nodded as if to say it was alright, she did not blame Maddi.

“No!” Maddi shouted once more, and she hurled every last shred of her
psahn
at the doctor’s attack. It threw him back against the cave wall with a resounding concussion. Maddi began to swoon, the strike sapping all her remaining strength. The oblivion of unconsciousness swarmed over her senses. As she faded away, she caught a glimpse of Marten struggling to his feet with the aid of one of his men. Another of his goons moved toward her, and she gave herself over to the silence.

When the Northlands unite under a single Warchief – when all clans stand together with their seven banners looking down upon the same enemy – no Human, Elf, or Dwarf will be able to stop us. We will swarm over the Southlands and gorge upon their fat. – Wild Tiger of Wolf Clan, 120 A.R.

S
lar stared out over the Northlands. The view from the Highspur library granted a vista of his entire native country. He held an untouched mug of ale in one hand, the latest message from his forward scouts in the other.
Crossing the Gallond is simple. Crushing the Free Cities will be much harder.

Steps sounded behind him. Slar would recognize the careful gait anywhere. “Sharrog, my son,” he greeted without turning.

“Father,” the young orc warrior replied. “It is good to see you. You appear well.”

Slar snorted. “I am well enough in body, I suppose, but your brother’s death still weighs heavy on my heart.”

“It weighs on all the Orc Nation, father.” Slar heard the pain in his youngest son’s voice. “He was the greatest warrior in the host, and none would dare to challenge that. His death diminishes us all.”

Slar could only gaze out the window in reply.

Sharrog cleared his throat. “Is that the latest dispatch from the front?”

Taking a sip from the now warm ale to soothe a catch in his throat, Slar turned to face his son. The young orc wore battle leathers and his pair of slim scimitars.
Always ready for action, this one. Perhaps, with some more age and wisdom, he could lead as well as Grindar.

“It is a message from Radgred.” Slar handed the thin, rune-scrawled skin to his son. “It has little new within it. Forward battalions approach the Lond River in strength, while our scouts have already crossed it. His target is the city of Kirath.”

“Will you leave soon to take personal command?” Sharrog lifted one black eyebrow. “Or shall I lead the main host forward? I would hate to miss out on the sack of our first southern city.”

Slar inspected Sharrog up and down, assessing the change in the brash boy of a year ago.
He stands with the mettle of a warrior, but a good deal more wisdom rests on his brow.

“Very well, my son,” he said at last. “You may take another twenty thousand warriors of your choice to follow Radgred and the others. Kirath will almost certainly be taken by then, but he is to give you command upon your arrival.” Slar turned back to the window. “We have stores here to last for some time. The humans did not burn everything.” He fingered the books and maps scattered about. “I am stuck here waiting with the Bears and Snakes for the Mammoth Clan, as it seems I have forever been, but we cannot move beyond the Free Cities without Chieftain Sargash’s strength.”

Sharrog tapped a fist to his heart. “As you command, Warchief. Shall I take some shamans off your hands as well?”

The boy may be wiser than I suspect.

“Yes,” Slar answered, “but mostly from Snake and Bear clans.”

He watched Sharrog leave with some regret. He had hoped to keep his son close, keep him safe, but he knew that was not possible.
He cannot stand still, just like his mother. Restlessness gnaws at me too, but I must await Sargash the Ever Slow.

When his son was gone, Slar turned back toward the window to ponder over the Northlands. While he watched the silver ribbon of the Norvus River dance in the midday sunlight, a few dark specks emerged from the water along the river’s southern bank. For some time he followed them as they approached the fortress. Occasionally he sipped his ale. Then they disappeared around the corner of rock leading to the defile that had cost his people so much blood.

“Mammoth’s strength has waned if that’s the whole clan,” he whispered to himself.

Slar continued to study the landscape, his mind mulling the dozen challenges before him. He had solved none when a knock came at the library door. After a moment to straighten his ancient scimitar and brush the front of his cuirass, he called out. “Come!”

At his summons, a Boar warrior entered with a sharp salute. “Warchief! Captain Libor of the Mammoth Clan requests an audience. He has come in advance of the rest of his clan.”

A messenger from Sargash? Or a message himself? I have heard of this Libor. I’ve seen him win Victor half a dozen times. When Sharrog won Victor status, Libor was not at the Clanhold. Rumors were that he hunted ice bear alone.

Slar waved one hand. “Bring him in, Sergeant.”

The sergeant barely gestured before an orc larger than Grindar stalked into the room. Catching sight of the hulking warrior, Slar nearly gasped at the likeness to his dead son. But this orc, with swirling tusk tattoos on his face, carried a fiercer visage than Grindar ever had.

The warrior offered a curt bow, his thick leather and mail creaking. “Warchief Slar…” His voice held only the minimum respect. “…I greet you on behalf of Sargash, Chieftain of the Mammoth Clan. I am Libor, son of Corup, captain of the Mageslayers, and I am at your service.”

From the warrior’s carriage and tone, Slar doubted that was altogether true. “Welcome, Captain Libor. It is a great day to see members of the Mammoth Clan at last among our united horde.” Slar shifted his scimitar while eyeing the black battle-axe slung over Libor’s shoulder. “Do you carry a message from your chieftain?”

Sneering, the warrior took a long swig directly from a nearby wine bottle, draining it in a few gulps. He wiped the dripping red liquid from his chin with a belch, and threw the bottle aside to crash into the stone wall. “Only that Sargash has shared a great deal of counsel with our master, Galdreth. That he brings the great clan not far behind my Slayers. We will join your horde, Warchief.”

Slar listened intently to the tone of Libor’s last word. It held respect, though not much. “Then you may go, Captain. Take rest, and when the remainder of your clan arrives, our combined horde will march out to join the forward forces.”

Libor stood his ground. “There is another thing, a message I was to deliver to you from our master.”

Straightening, Slar took a quick breath.
Galdreth communicates to me through another!
The long quiet twinge in his stomach burned with a quick flare.
I might be thankful to have some of this burden taken, if I believed Galdreth or Sargash would allow me to survive.

Disgust rising in his gut, Slar hooked his thumbs on his belt. “And what is this message?”

Libor folded his arms. “My Mageslayers and I are to chase down and capture the master’s vessel.”

A spurt of acid burned up Slar’s throat, and he fought not to wince. “A wise decision, as is always the case with Galdreth.” He took a few steps toward the window to cover a swallow and grimace. “You will leave with the dawn.” He held up a hand to forestall the protest brewing in Libor’s face. “As Warchief, I insist you remain as my guests tonight. Rest your men, and they will be better able to hunt the vessel. I will also have some of my own join you.”

The growing anger on Libor’s visage deepened until he sputtered, “I must protest…
Warchief
. My men work best alone.”

“Do you have shamans?” Slar asked.

“Four,” the warrior replied, “and each can wield a blade as well as Fire.”

Forcing down the rage, Slar kept his expression smooth. “You do not go to slay a mage,
Captain
. You go to capture one.” He tapped one claw upon the wooden table. “I will send two Boar shamans with you. They have learned a trick to seal a wizard off from his power.”

Libor pursed thick lips, his brow smoothing. “Can these shamans of yours move swift and silent? Can they go three days with no water and five with no food? My men move fast, Warchief.” He folded his arms. “If they come with us, they must keep up. I will not slow my squad for fat holy men.”

Along with the pounding of his blood, the heat in Slar’s stomach seemed to rise to his ears. He struggled to hide his desire to tear out this orc’s throat. “These are war shamans who smashed the great fortress of the southern armies! While Sargash worried where to take his morning crap, they burned the humans, elves, and dwarves out of Highspur!” He heaved the table over, throwing papers and writing skins all about the library. Libor took a startled step back. Slar eased his tone only slightly, and swallowed the spittle gathered in his mouth. “I will not have you question their strength or their honor. They will join you when you leave in the morning.”

A confrontational scowl returning to his face, Libor attempted to speak, but Slar cut him off. “I have twenty thousand warriors leaving camp today to join our forward battalions. I will not have you interfere with their leaving.” Slar rehooked his fingers behind his sword belt, his anger at last coming in check. “Look through our store rooms. Visit our forge master. Take anything you need or desire that is not already claimed by another. Eat and rest well tonight. Take one of the camp women, and then leave with the dawn.”