Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2) (19 page)

Shawnrik looked around the table, finding nothing but compassion in his friends' faces. “I think I need to get some fresh air.”

“Shawnrik,” Sara said, grabbing his forearm as he stood from the table. “My brother is young and impulsive. If he does something stupid, please don’t kill him. Give him time to realize who his true enemy is. He’s smarter than he looks; He’ll figure it out in time.”

Nodding, Shawnrik told the table he’d see them at dinner.

Dracair Territory

Death’s Edge

              “I swear this forest is trying to kill me.” Rundig said, pulling several long thorns from his chainmail.

              “My friend, if this forest was trying to kill you, it would have done it the moment we crossed its boundaries,” Warren said, walking effortlessly through the brambles. “There is more potential violence in this place than any other area I have ever traversed.”

              “Yer a druid, can’t you talk to the forest and tell it that we come in peace?” Rundig grumbled to his Human companion.

              “Death’s Edge forest, hear me! This heavy footed Dwarf who is carrying more forged metal than some battalions wants you to know that he means you no harm.”

              “Oh, listen here, Warren thinks he’s a comedian now,” Rundig said, ambling along behind his companions. “Come back here and I’ll…” Before he could finish his statement, a thin branch slammed into his helmet, nearly knocking him off his feet.

              “It looks like this forest doesn’t like you threatening one of its guardians,” Za’erath said, trying not to laugh at his companion’s discomfort. The deeper they moved into the thick underbrush, the more difficult the effort became.

                “It’s a good thing that no Dracair will dare enter this forest, because you are all making enough noise to tell every living creature within shooting range exactly where we are,” Elandria said, stepping out of the woods to the group’s right. She had been ranging ahead to look for a better trail and any sign of danger.

              “Hey, don’t lump me in with these clowns. Especially that one,” Za’kereth said, pointing to his brother.

              “Well, to be fair, you have been humming to yourself since noon.” Trenton said from his position behind the Grey Elf.

              “What did you find?” Sergeant Mcdowell said, pushing his way through from the front of the line.

Elandria knew he had seen her returning to the group; the old Dwarf’s eyes were sharper than most Elves. “No better trails than this one, I’m afraid. There is a stream up ahead, and I’ve seen signs of something casing our perimeter, but haven’t been able to lay eyes on whatever it is yet.”

              “I’ve seen movement behind us a few times as well.” The voice of Corporal Jameson said, coming from behind Trenton Grimbash, his form completely hidden by the Half-Ogre.

              “Bah, I wish Drake was still around to go see what it is,” Sergeant Mcdowell spat.

A moment of silence dropped around the group then as they remembered their fallen comrade. Drake and Bredwin had both died on the raid of the Orc encampment where Ashur, Dunnagan, and Shawnrik had been held. Drake had taken an arrow in the eye, and Bredwin had been beheaded by the Dracair Assassins as they were leaving the area.

“How about you, Warren? Any idea what is out there?”

“If I were to venture a guess, I would say it is the creatures that are called the Death’s Edge Wolverines. Though from what I’ve been able to discover in my research at the tower, they have little in common with their ancient namesake besides a basic similarity in appearance. In fact…”

“Oh good, another lecture in Ethology and Zoology is about to begin. Could we at least find a place with a little more space before you continue this tirade? I feel like this tree is trying to get to know me a little too personally,” Za’kereth said with only the tiniest trace of sarcasm apparent in his tone.

Elandria knew that he really was fascinated by the things that Warren had to say, as he was one of the few people who would listen to the Druid as he talked about various flora and fauna for hours on end. His brother Za’erath would also sit and earnestly listen to anything the druid said, but the priest was like that with everyone.

“Za’kereth has a point,” Sergeant Mcdowell said. “It’s getting late anyway. We should find a place to make camp for the night.” As he finished his statement, he looked at Elandria.

“There’s a small stream up ahead with a little waterfall that we should be able to reach before we lose any light, and there are several good locations for setting up the hammocks.”

“Alright, you heard the lady. Keep the chatter to a minimum and keep your eyes and ears focused. There’s a reason this forest is called Death’s Edge. Let’s be sure to stay on the living side of that edge.” As he moved to resume his place at the front of the group, the Sergeant began to mutter to himself, “Hey, why don’t you go scout Dracair Territory and see if you can find out if there are any more enemies headed our way, he says. Oh, and while you’re out there, look for any information about the boy. Then this morning we find out the durned Princess could be heading through, kidnapped by a durned Changeling!” He snapped a large branch that was impeding his way a little too forcefully.

“It could be worse,” Trenton added his deep voice full of a dark mirth. “They could have actually sent us on a job that was possible.”

Chapter 11

New Arrivals

Year: 3045 AGD

Month: New Year

Fourth Fifthday

Mine

              The two remaining Goblins and the guards had finished removing the debris and reinforcing the tunnel several days prior to the arrival of the new batch of slaves. During those few days, everyone at the mine seemed to be at peace. The only work that was required was the removal of refuse and excrement, and like the other tasks over the past few Eightdays, he was not required to even do that.

              This had given him a lot of time to think, and to dream. The majority of his dreams he felt were just that, but every few sleep periods he would have a dream that felt like it was something more. He was fairly certain that the things he was seeing during those special occasions were the memories of people and beings that had come before him. How that was possible he didn’t know, but they were much too detailed to be anything else.

To make it worse, even his regular dreams were starting to take on a life of their own. Often during his dreams he would suddenly be above and around his own body in the cell that he shared with the two Goblins. His awareness spread throughout the cave. He could see, feel, and smell everything for a short distance around his body. That distance seemed to be growing slowly over the last few Eightdays. It had started with a vague awareness of things near his body, and little by little the boundaries of this dream awareness had been stretching.

During his last dream, he had seen a deposit of gemstones about a foot below the area that he usually slept. Part of him wondered how his mind made up some of the things that he had been seeing, but another small part of his mind wondered if that was why he had chosen that spot to sleep. Such thoughts, however, had been interrupted that morning when the guards suddenly became much more animated than they had been over the previous days.

Several minutes later, the reason for the sudden renewal in the efficiency of their jobs became apparent. The first thing that the boy noticed was the familiar clink-drag-clink of a group of people chained together, moving as one. Moments later, they began to appear from out of the darkness: a line of desolate souls, resolute in their captivity. His first visual impression of his new cellmates was that they looked cold. White flakes dotted several heads, and their usually dark or light green skin was now a pallid greenish white.

A half-dozen men accompanied the new arrivals, all of them well bundled up in furs to keep the cold at bay. A light dusting of white flakes cascaded off of each of them as they removed their coats and shook them vigorously. Four of them were Grey Elves who wore equipment like that of the guards that he had seen around the mine for as long as he could remember. They went about the work of preparing the slaves to enter the cell, while ignoring the final two Human members of their party.

The first was an older man who was mostly bald, the little bit of hair that remained on the back of his head was gray with a few black hairs speckled throughout. The final member was a man in his twenties; his features indicated his disapproval of everything around him, from his traveling companions to the stone walls that now surrounded him. He looked back in the direction they had come, as if he’d rather be outside than around such filth.

As the final few slaves came into view, he noticed that several of the captives were not Goblins, or at least not of a kind he had seen before. The two final members towered over the others, and he thought their skin would be a reddish-brown when they warmed up.

In front of the two large slaves was a creature that had the same greenish tint to his skin as the Goblins, but was a head shorter than the shortest Goblin he had seen so far. The only other thing that this new arrival had in common with the rest of the Goblins was a pair of large, pointed ears. Though he was shorter than the Goblins, he looked like he might weigh as much as two of them combined, his squat frame possessed an incredible amount of muscle. Out of the entire group, this little powerhouse also seemed the least affected by the cold.

The guards double checked the manacles on each of the slave’s wrists before they began to unlock the shackles around their ankles. As each set of shackles was undone, the younger Human poked each Goblin’s feet with a pin, drawing a small amount of blood. Moments later, the blood dispersed and the wound stopped flowing, but that wasn’t the most interesting part. Each slave that had been poked in such a manner began to quickly regain the color in their skin and extremities.

“Blood magic,” one of the mine guards whispered and spat, making a sign with his hands that the boy had never seen before.

He had been so fascinated by what the young Blood Mage was doing that he hadn’t noticed the older Human male approach his cell until the man blocked his view. Looking up into the man’s brown eyes, he saw nothing short of hatred.

“So it is true. You really don’t remember who you are. Pity, I would love to tell you all about how the battle at Asylum went. Yandarian has other plans for me, however. I am to go north and meet up with several Troll clans for a special mission. Without you or any of your nosey friends to get in my way, I expect it to be an enlightening experience.”

As the man spoke, the boy’s gaze continued to be pulled back to the dagger that the man wore at his side. It seemed a little larger than the ones that the guards wore, but nothing else was apparently special about it, yet for some reason he felt the urge to hold it. The man had just finished his gloating when he seemed to notice the direction of the boy’s gaze.

“Oh, I forgot. This was yours, wasn’t it? So maybe there is a part of you in there somewhere fighting to get out.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Yandarian has plans for you, boy, and I don’t think you are going to like them. If you are in there somewhere, you had better fight with everything you have, because that old Blood Mage is looking for a dozen ways to make you compliant. Once he finds one that he thinks will work, you can be sure he’ll come for you. I saw what you did to his manor. It was pretty impressive and bought you time, but don’t think it’ll keep the old bastard at bay forever. I hear that…”

“Walkins! Get away from him,” the young Blood Mage hissed from across the room. He had just finished his work on the two large slaves.

“Relax, Temendri, whatever your master did seems to have worked, he has no idea who I am,” Walkins said, turning away from the cell. “I didn’t tell him his name or anything; he’s still your compliant little vegetable.”

“That remains to be seen,” Temendri said, walking across the room. “What is your name boy?”

              “I haven’t figured that out yet. Do you know who I am?” he replied.

              “Of course I do, you are no one. You are an unimportant slave who should do his work and behave if you want to get out of here alive someday.” His disapproval of his surroundings had turned into a sneer of derision when he looked upon the young boy. “Now, let me see your hand.”

              Placing his hand through the bars of the cell, he winced when the pin stabbed into his thumb. A large globule of blood welled on his fingers before puffing away.

              “The block is still in place,” Temendri said, dismissing everyone else in the room from his thoughts as he pulled out a small notebook and began mumbling to himself. “Unusually high activity in the hippocampus, the subcortex, and the temporal lobe. May be a natural part of the subject’s unique physiology, but recommend…” Whatever the young Mage said after that was lost in the din as the slaves were brought towards the cell.

              “Good luck, kid, you might have to show a couple of these idiots who is boss though, some of them are rather rowdy,” Walkins said, looking back towards the boy for a moment before he followed the young Mage, who was wondering back towards the entrance.

              One by one, the manacles were unlocked from the slaves' wrists before they were pushed through the open cell door. The boy and the two Goblins that had been with him in the cave-in moved back towards their usual spot in the cell, leaving room for the rest to come in and find a place. As they filed in, most of them didn’t even bother looking around, they just ambled forward and found a place to sit or lay down along the wall. When the strange squat Goblin entered the cell he looked around, his eyes boasting a keen intellect. For a moment, his gaze settled on the young boy, a look of curiosity flashing across his features before he chose a spot along the wall between the two groups.

              Finally, the two Orcs entered the cell, their skin now a ruddy brown. The larger of the two looked around disdainfully at the Goblins. His eyes didn’t even stop on the young boy in the corner, dismissing him immediately as unimportant. Walking over to a spot in the middle of the large gathering of Goblins, he began speaking in a language that the boy could never remember hearing before, yet each word rang clear with understanding in his mind.

              “Move, you filthy curs, this is my spot.” The Goblins didn’t seem to understand the language, but it quickly became apparent what the Orc wanted. For whatever their reason, they simply gave in and moved away, a large space opening up for the two Orcs. When they settled in, the two Orcs began to converse in their harsh language.

              “I still can’t believe you let them sneak up on us, Grelesh,” the larger Orc said.

              “Oh yes, it is my fault that ten Dracairei just happened to be traveling southwest and came upon our camp. I’ve never even heard of that many Dracairei moving together. I don’t know what is going on, but it must be something big.”

              “If I would have had time to grab my axe, I would have taken one or two of them out and died gloriously.”

              “Yes, Warak, I imagine waking up with a dagger under your chin will make you rethink a fight just as much as having seven of those demons appear in front of you while you feel something pressing into your lower back,” Grelesh quipped.

              “The first opportunity that presents itself, we are getting out of here. These puny Elves won’t be able to stop us, and I’ll slay any of these little green bastards that get in our way.”

              They quieted for a time after this, leaving the cave in near silence, with the only sounds coming when someone shifted position or a guard wandered by. As the boy began to doze off, his mind was focused on one thought.
What is a Dracairei?
He had heard the name before—the guards had spoken it in hushed whispers—but the image the Orcs painted in his mind made them silent demons stealing through the night.

              “How’s the leg?” Tyrdra asked, knowing full well that it was nearly completely healed. She had checked it early this morning before Dalton had awoken.

              “Better than yesterday, not as good as it will be tomorrow. At least I can walk on it without support now. Not that you care,” Dalton said, throwing a glare in her direction, though it didn’t have as much heart as it had a week prior.

              “Pain teaches its own lessons. You will be more grateful and thoughtful for your health once it has returned in full. We have only been slowed a little in the last week. I expect we should reach Mountainview by tomorrow morning,” Tyrdra said, taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. Fall would be upon them shortly, and she knew they would have to be on their way home well before winter settled in or they wouldn’t make it back to South Harbor until next spring. She knew that Dalton’s mother would be irate if that happened, and an enraged Alexander was something that most sane people tried to avoid.

              “It still seems strange to me that anyone would want to settle this far from any form of civilization. Are there even any Warden patrols this far out?” 

              “Some people enjoy the isolation. They don’t feel comfortable being under the gaze of a power like that of the Protectorate. Even though the Protectorate is fairly unobtrusive, as far as kingdoms go, these are the sort of people who don’t want anyone telling them what to do or where to do it. Usually, they are an alright lot, but be careful when we get there, because some of them are easily agitated by outsiders.” Tyrdra replied. “As for the Wardens, I don’t know if they send any patrols to this side of the Blades. I would think they do, just to keep an eye on the border, but I can’t say for sure.”

              As they came around a bend in the trail, the trees opened up to give a spectacular view of the valley below. Pine needles crunched under the soles of their boots, and the evening sun shot rays of light through several breaks in the clouds above. However, in the distance, rising above the next ridge that they needed to traverse, a dark plume of smoke marred the beautiful landscape.