Read Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 Online
Authors: Mark Ryan
Chapter 47
Gnarrl
The gates should’ve opened by now, but Gnarrl suspected they never would the moment the humans sprang their ambush. Instead, he watched his brethren slaughtered like boars in a harvest. Most of his own harvesters had been spared so far, as they were tasked to protect the Stonewolf and Bullvine clans rather than join the assault on the walls. The Bearoak had also joined in healing the wounded being dragged to the rear of the oroc forces.
If the gates hadn’t opened yet, it meant humans waited inside to kill the orocs as they landed. What other traps did the humans prepare? The flaming arrows had done little good, but after the ice and metal tricks, that was a small favor of the Aspects. Unexpected, yes, but the forest dwellers had become accustomed to dealing with ground fires. No, the humans had something more growing for the orocs to harvest. Gnarrl felt in his roots that none of them would survive this night.
“Gnarrl!” Morag, a young harvester of the Bearoak, ran his way. “Uargan of the Bullvine has called the retreat.”
Gnarrl’s lips dipped. “Where is the Battle-Chief? Why does Uargan call to flee?”
“The Battle-Chief fell to a human warrior as he led the charge up the wall.” Morag looked away in shameful fear.
“No.” Gnarrl shook his head. “It cannot be.”
“He was … they say a human warrior harvested his head with a single strike.”
Gnarrl tamped down on his shock. Any display of fear on his part would infect the other young harvesters, like beetles in diseased tree bark. Humans were not that strong. How could this have happened? Then understanding shone through the tangled branches of his mind. Humans were dangerous, but by the grace of Trocus and Azaria, they rarely came to the outer territories of Promencia. It had been over a century since battle had been joined, and the tribes had forgotten. Many life trees and shamans that would have been were lost this night, to relearn this lesson.
“Uargan is Battle-Chief now,” Morag said. “We retreat before more are uprooted forever.”
A horn sounded in short, quick bursts, making the order official. Gnarrl faced his harvesters. “Back to the forest! Back to the clan.”
Others echoed the command, and Bearoak harvesters lifted the wounded and headed for the treeline, Furl among them. The young harvester carried an injured warrior over each shoulder. Gnarrl scanned the left flank, searching for any sign of Kunat’s party, which had been sent to reinforce those climbing the wall.
A boom sounded from the castle. Gnarrl looked to one of the towers, where the arm of a massive siege weapon slammed against its frame. A glittering cloud flew through the air. Chunks of ice? No. Metal, Gnarrl realized.
Another boom echoed over the battlefield and another glinting cloud formed. A human in gleaming armor stood at the center of the wall, arms raised. Figures flanked it on either side. Screams rose as the metal scraps shot down at the orocs. The human on the wall had to be a Magnus, a master of metal, and the catapults had launched heavy loads of what must have been tens of thousands of small metal shards. The humans on either side of the Magnus were using air and raw force to amplify the attack.
Walls of earth rose to protect the fleeing orocs, but the tiny projectiles tore through them like hail through leaves. Orocs fell by the hundreds. Had the clans not suffered enough tonight? They had already lost over half their number, why must the humans uproot so ruthlessly? The retreat dissolved into a stampede for survival as those helping the wounded became injured themselves.
Gnarrl pounded forward, frantically searching for Kunat. Now he understood the full human deception. Draw the main oroc force into range and slow them with their own wounded before unleashing the Archmage’s power. A brilliant and deadly strategy.
Kunat appeared from the darkness, aiding another of the wounded.
“Kunat!” Gnarrl waved his club. His friend saw him and headed his direction. Then two more catapults boomed over the battlefield.
Gnarrl’s stomach chilled. He hastily pulled at the earth behind them, raising a wall of dirt as thick as possible. Midnight blue blood sprayed over him as the injured oroc’s chest dissolved into mist. Pain blossomed in Gnarrl’s shoulder, back, and arms. He cried out and sprawled beside the dead harvester Kunat had just been helping. Countless orocs were felled as the second volley ripped into them. The humans weren’t just killing them, they were exterminating the clans.
“Kunat!” Gnarrl crawled along to his friend. He took his arm and tried to help him to his feet. The other oroc fell away, and horror gnawed at Gnarrl’s heartwood as he realized Kunat’s arm still hung around his own shoulders. His friend laid face-down in the churned earth, right arm socket seeping blood into the soil.
“Kunat?” he whispered.
He rolled Kunat over. The metal shards had ripped a massive hole through Kunat’s head, taking most of his face. A single, lifeless eye stared back at Gnarrl. He knelt beside the body of his lifelong friend and almost lifemate, unable to move. First Maraco, now Kunat. Why must he bury them both? Why had the clans invited this disaster upon themselves?
The pain in his shoulder flared as someone gripped him. He struggled against the hands pulling him to his feet.
“No! He must be buried!”
Furl shouted in his ear, “We must flee!”
His daughter propelled him toward the trees. Instinct took control, and his clumsy legs carried him to the safety of the grove.
***
Chapter 48
Malthius Reynolds
Soldiers cheered all around Reynolds as the last of the orocs disappeared into the trees. Over two thirds of his eight hundred guardsmen had been killed, and at least half of the survivors were being tended to by the healers. He said a silent prayer of thanks to the Aspects even as he leaned on Mikkels for support. Without the corporal, Reynolds wouldn’t have been standing.
With the casualties this bad on his side, he could only guess how badly Illamer fared. He scanned the area for Lieutenant Heiml. Her voice penetrated the cries of victory and of the wounded, still shouting orders. He started across the field toward her and Faulk fell in at his side, pushing her way under the opposite arm from Mikkels. A fresh wound glistened on her shoulder.
“Get yourself to the infirmary, Faulk.”
“I’m fine, sir,” she said. “You need me more than I need to be waiting for the healer to get to me.”
“I know you can handle it, but I don’t want you getting an infection, Corporal. Mikkels has me just fine. Besides, I’ll need your help if they return to try again.”
“Yes, sir.” She headed off, leaden footsteps showing her exhaustion.
Heiml’s words sharpened as he neared. “… they’re going to need help with this many wounded.”
A soldier hurried off to fulfill her orders. The lieutenant turned to him, a hand resting on her blood-stained sword hilt. Her grimace said she knew exactly what he wanted. “Illamer.”
He looked to the main castle gates, where the first of the Lord Major’s troops trickled back in.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Just try to stay calm, Sergeant. I saw it, too. The Lord Major better have a good explanation. Lead the way.”
Heiml, Reynolds, and Mikkels made their way out of the gates and onto the field of death. The truth of the destruction they’d wrought on the orocs staggered Reynolds as they crossed the battlefield. The last attack had reduced many of the creatures to piles of mangled flesh and bone, and little clear earth offered itself to walk on between the bodies.
Distant cheering grew louder as they approached Illamer’s position. Several dozen soldiers surrounded the lord and raised him to their shoulders. Scores of Drayston wounded and dead still lay on the ground behind them. Lieutenant Heiml stalked ahead of Reynolds.
“What’s going on here?” she shouted.
The cheers died off, except for Illamer’s snap of laughter.
“Victory, Lieutenant! Surely you can see—”
“We’ve hundreds of wounded to be tended to while you’re wasting time out here holding a parade, is that it?”
The lord traded looks with certain soldiers, most likely his personal guard. They lowered him to the ground.
“There are always casualties in battle, Lieutenant,” he said. “Forgive my men and I for celebrating that we are not among them.”
Reynolds came up beside the Lieutenant, keeping his voice level with enormous effort. “You broke ranks and attacked before the entire oroc force was in motion. You exposed our ambush and forced your line to confront the enemy off the protection of the ice. Some of these deaths lay squarely at your feet. Sir.” He spat out the last word.
“I engaged the enemy when I thought it most timely, Sergeant.” Reynolds’ rank rolled off Illamer’s tongue like an insult. “I don’t answer to you on these matters.”
Reynolds quaked with barely contained rage. “There was a plan and you cost the lives of my men, Voids take you, and of your own men when you abandoned the plan for your own glory.”
“Sergeant,” Heiml cautioned.
Illamer’s eyes widened at first, but then a grin cut between his cheeks. “Would you like me to take your rank for this insult, or would you prefer banishment? I’m merciful enough, but only suffer fools such as you so far.”
Reynolds stepped towards Illamer, and Heiml laid a hand on his arm. “Only fools order their own men into certain death.”
Illamer spat at his feet. “You’ll be tried for this insolence. Hanged. I’ll be there to watch.”
“Push it,” Heilm said, “and I’ll see you stand accused next to him, Lord Major.”
Shock flashed across on Illamer’s face, replaced by a mask of calm. “Very well, Lieutenant. Why should we argue on such a day of victory?” He waved a gloved hand to his men as he stalked off. “Tend to the wounded.”
She scowled at Reynolds. “That wasn’t wise, Sergeant.”
“Was I wrong?”
She sighed and shook her head. “No, but you overplayed your part, Malthius. You should’ve let me handle him. And you know why.”
Her use of his first name surprised him, implying she knew more about his past than she let on. But how much? “I’m not afraid of him, or any other lord for that matter.”
“I know. And that’s why you’re here saluting me instead of the other way around. Lord Illamer is a dangerous man, Sergeant. Maybe more so to his own men on the battlefield, but in the king’s court he’s feared for a good reason.”
“Then why did you stand up for me?”
“Because you’re my responsibility, Sergeant, and I don’t take such things lightly.”
She spun on a heel and headed off, leaving him to ponder all she’d said—and left unsaid.
***
Chapter 49
Tetra Bicks
Tetra woke, groaning and struggling to place himself. For a moment, he thought he’d been fighting orocs through smoke and fire, listening to people die around him while the earth itself came alive with murderous intent. When his vision cleared, he recognized his usual infirmary room, with weak blue sunlight streaming through the window. Right before dawn, he guessed. Had it all been another nightmare then? Another fever dream? The memory of screams and moans still wavered around him. Would these tortured memories of Jaegen plague him the rest of his life?
Then he realized the sounds didn’t come from any dream. He jerked upright, ignoring the twinge in his lower back. Sounds of suffering came from the infirmary wing beyond the room. He strained to listen, but heard no noises indicating an ongoing battle. Had it ended? Had they won?
The door opened, admitting Healer Alma, who wiped blood off his hands with a white cloth. “Up then? Good. I feared I’d be changing your bed sheets and loincloths for another four weeks.” He stepped aside. “You’ve a visitor.”
As the healer left, Sergeant Reynolds took his place. Oroc blood, and other fluids, splattered the sergeant’s uniform, enough to hide the gold in the design. He smoothed down his mustache with one hand, the other tucked behind his back. Reynolds looked like he had aged a decade overnight.
“So you fought,” he said.
Tetra sighed and slumped against the wall. “Going to yell at me for disobeying orders, sir?”
The sergeant’s lips quirked. “They say you killed two orocs on your own and directly saved the life of at least one man. No, Tetra. I’m not going to yell at you. I came to give you a commendation.”
“What’s that mean?”
Reynolds drew his other arm out and revealed the sword he held. Tetra’s sword. His father’s sword. Walking stiffly, the sergeant came over and placed it in Tetra’s shaky hands.
“It’s yours now. You’ve earned it, and no one will ever take it from you again. Not without a fight, at least.” He clasped hands behind his back, shoulders straight.
Tetra ran fingers along the blade, re-familiarizing himself with the weapon. He tried to imagine his father’s hands on the same hilt, guiding the blade in battle. After accepting this was real and no dream, he leaned it against the side of the bed, alongside the mace Bealdred gave him. He’d need another loop on his belt for an extra sheath.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“You only slept a night,” Reynolds smirked. “We’ve only just begun tallying our losses.”
“What happens now?”
Reynolds grimaced. “We deal with the dead and then keep on living. It’s the most we can ever do after a battle.”
“What about Halli? My sister?”
The sergeant frowned. “What about her?”
“I’m still sure the orocs have her. I’m still sure she’s alive, and maybe others from Jaegen. I’ve got to after her and at least find out.”
Reynolds cleared his throat. “You’ve seen how savage orocs can be twice over now, and you really think they’ve kept a bunch of children alive all this time?” He held up hands at Tetra’s pained expression. “I don’t mean to be overly blunt, but you have to at least consider the possibility.”
“What about the possibility that I’m right? I mean, I was right about the orocs attacking, wasn’t I? Doesn’t that mean something?”
The sergeant studied the floor for a long moment before meeting his gaze again. “It means a lot, yes. And I think you might find Lord Drayston a bit more amenable to the idea of going after orocs after all this. But give us time to recover. We’ve got to get the castle back into a defensible condition and wait until those patrols we sent out return. Otherwise, if we launch a counterattack right away and the orocs come back while we’re gone, we could easily return to a smoking ruin.”
Tetra winced, reprimanding himself for not having thought of that. Still, the idea of holding back, of leaving her fate unknown galled him to no end. He reached out, trying to sense her as he always had. She was still there, but she seemed so far away, so lost.
Reynolds must’ve understood his expression, for he held a hand up. “Patience, Tetra. You’ve waited this long. What’s another few days or a week?”
Tetra clutched fistfuls of the sheet. “I’ve been here all this time because I had to be. Do you have any idea what it’s like to just leave your family and friends with the enemy, wondering if they’re being tortured every minute of every day?”
The sergeant eyed him until Tetra looked away uncomfortably. “You’d be surprised.”
Tetra puzzled at the unexpected answer, but the sergeant didn’t seem eager to share any other details. Instead, Reynolds’ hard sigh puffed his cheeks out.
“Wait until things settle here and I can at least give you a proper introduction to Lord Drayston,” he said. “Hear him out on what he chooses to do next.”
Tetra lay back, knowing full well that after last night, he needed to rest his back anyway. “Fine. But if he still refuses to do anything about Jaegen, then I’m going into the Rocmire by myself.”
Reynold’s laughter startled him, but the sergeant refused to explain what he found so funny. He left Tetra, chuckling to himself.
Healer Alma returned in his wake, frowning. “What are you still doing here?”
Tetra looked around. “Isn’t this my room?”
Alma hustled in and stripped the sheets off his legs. “Are you mad? I’ve got near a hundred wounded and dying and I need as much space as I can get to tend them all. Now get out and see if anyone else can put a brave fool like yourself to work.”
Tetra gathered his things as the healer rushed around him, prepping a number of cots and clean linens. There were still so many questions to answer, so many things he had to do to rescue his sister. But for the first time, there was a way forward. A way to achieve his goals.
Strapping on his belt, Tetra hung the mace from its loop and then slid the sword in opposite. He tightened a few buckles on his back brace, and then firmed himself to head back out into the castle grounds, where death still ruled. Despite the extra weight on his hips and in his soul, his feet felt steadier and his head felt clearer than ever. With the weapons secured, it gave him a sense of being centered. It felt right. It felt balanced.
It felt like hope.
***