Dranac Gnorw wanted to scream at their foolishness, telling them exactly how their lives would be taken. But the blood hushed him, holding his voice in its slippery hands. He was worried that, soon, he would not be able to talk to anyone at all. But the warmth surrounding him was a welcome relief against the coldness directed at him.
“You’ll help me find her, won’t you?” Dranac asked the spirited streams. He did not need to wait for the blood to reply. For the crimson river continuously spoke to him.
Drip… Drip… Drip…
Chapter 18
Red dodged around clusters of rebels scattered throughout the winding halls as she trailed after Robyn Thorn, running to catch up to the rebel leader’s long strides. She swiped the faerie orb balanced on top of the pile of parchment stacked in his arms, rolling the smooth glass ball over her open palms.
Robyn stopped in his trek through the halls only long enough to nod his head at Red to follow him. He had been busy with meetings for the past week—paperwork constantly in hand. He also tended to avoid everyone, usually sending someone to steal a plate for him from the mess hall—always to Eliseo Flori’s dismay.
“Hey there, stranger. I’ve been looking for you.”
“And I’ve been avoiding you,” Robyn Thorn retorted sarcastically. He turned his head to look down at Red, flashing her a sly grin.
“I won’t take that personally because the gossip is that you avoid everyone when you get busy,” Red commented. She frowned up at Robyn, tossing the faerie orb from hand to hand. The shifting light danced along the walls, but the magical brightness never dimmed. “The ladies are truly appalled that they don’t get to look upon the ‘face of their handsome leader.’ I guess that’s a real issue around here.”
“I’m not trying to offend you,” Robyn began, ignoring what he knew was a direct quote from some of the ladies, “but I am running late for a meeting and your short legs are slowing my pace.”
Red threw Robyn Thorn a vulgar gesture, the shadow of her hand bouncing against the dirt wall. “I’ll be quick then. As you know, I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and I want to put in my work so I don’t feel like I’m wasting your resources.”
“You can join the cooks since you enjoy eating their food so much.”
“I’m actually being serious here, Robyn. I’ve had nothing better to do than watch the rebels go about their daily business. Everyone has some sort of job to do.” She sighed, fidgeting with the orb while she spoke. “I’m bored. I need something to do.”
“This isn’t another excuse to avoid Estra’s mission, is it?” Robyn asked. He shifted the pile of work in his arms, grabbing the faerie orb out of her hands and setting it back on top of his pile of work. The light shifted with the movement as the illuminating ball rolled back and forth with Robyn’s every step.
Red glanced around the tunnel before she pulled Estra’s box out of the folds of her cloak. The box was dented and rusted and burnt, but its seal had not been breached. Red picked a fleck of dirt off the side, scratching at the tin beneath.
“I’ve been working to open this every day since I got here. I’m also almost out of potion ingredients, so now I’m stuck trying to find the right spell and potion without actually testing it.”
“I can send someone to get you more ingredients,” Robyn Thorn noted, nodding down at the box. “Have you asked Eliseo how to open it?”
“Whenever I mention it, he remarks on the wondrous life Estra Ayrith had and changes the subject. I think he’s started disappearing when I enter the room because I rarely see him.”
“He’s a tricky elf to work with,” Robyn sighed. “I’ll admit that.”
“That’s why I need something to do,” Red added, slipping the box back into her cloak. “I’ll do anything. Train, cook, sweep the dirt from the halls. Anything.”
Robyn chuckled, shaking his head as he imagined Red scrubbing away at the dirt. “The troops have been short a trainer since I got promoted. Do you think you can handle taking them on?”
“Who better to train them?” Red asked. “Look at me”—she waved her hands around herself for emphasis—“I’ll whip your troops into shape in no time.”
“My poor troops,” Robyn Thorn wailed in a mocking tone. “They won’t know what to do with you.”
Red did not hide her smile as she nodded her head in agreement. Her hands constantly itched to reach for the blades strapped to her belt. But they remained in their spots lest someone see her and feel threatened enough to get her kicked out.
“When do I start?” she asked, ready to march into a training ring and start swinging.
“Meet Jezamon in the mess hall at dawn. He’ll be your training partner,” Robyn advised, quickening his pace to get to his meeting.
“Jezamon?” Red whined, jogging to keep up with Robyn’s legs. “You know I don’t work well with brutes.”
“That’s because you are one and you don’t like competition,” Robyn Thorn snickered, leaving Red behind as she slowed to a stop, a pout on her face. He was about to disappear around a corner when he called out, “Just don’t kill each other, okay?”
~~~
Red was in the mess hall an hour before the sun even reached the horizon. She managed to scare one of the guards on the early morning shift to wake her when he was to return to the barracks. She desperately needed to get back into a regular routine, so she had no squabbles when the rushed bang of a spear against her door had violently woken her.
Using the guard as her personal alarm was a little much considering that her sleep schedule was even less regulated than before. But Red could not help her mind from wandering during the early hours of the morning. And breaking free from her anxious thoughts was a lot harder than it sounded.
Even as she pushed herself through a grueling warm up, Red struggled to keep her mind from wandering—Estra’s box rising to claim the top spot on her list of worries.
Red had deemed the box impossible to open right from the start. But she still spent most hours of the day throwing whatever feeble spells and watered-down potions she could think up.
Red swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat as she thought about what her failure would mean in the long run. Her mind concocted enough vivid scenarios for her horrible end, each image more grotesque than the one before.
Red shook her head, filing away all thoughts of magic, Estra’s ominous warnings, and her ultimate demise. Instead, she let her mind be swept away by the tempo of her workout.
Red’s body sang to the melody of the blood rushing through her veins—the air rasping in her lungs. The sound of the music built within her muscles, the chorus casting her worries out of her mind. Her limbs danced to the tune without restraint.
Her braid whipped against her neck, conducting the symphony within her. Red’s heart pushed out a steady beat, guiding her along. She could feel the final crescendo rising to fill her aching muscles as she kicked and dodged and punched her imaginary foes.
But Red’s symphony broke apart around her in an unsatisfying crash.
Jezamon Kerick swept up from behind, his gait silent against the packed floor. His large hands grabbed hold of Red’s arms, the scars and calluses scraping against her bare skin. His body enveloped her in what could be mistaken for a hug to anyone unfamiliar with the intricacies of self-defense.
Red bucked and kicked against her assailant, but she was trapped under the orc’s hulking form. Jezamon was an unshakable tree tangling her up in its branches. He rested his chin atop her head, the mockery in his gesture enough to make her grind her elbow into his side.
To no avail.
“Glad to see yer warming up,” the orc whispered into her ear softly, “but I’m in charge now. So it’s time to follow my rules.”
Red wrestled from Jezamon’s grasp, his hands finally falling slack. She sneered up at him, giving him a vulgar gesture before spitting out, “Try something like that again and I will rip your tongue out.”
Surprisingly, th
e mountain of a creature stuck his tongue out at her between his tusks. “That’s only if ye can reach it, sweetheart.”
Red was considering how she could fulfill her promise, but Jezamon turned away, a smirk still lining his scarred face.
“Ladies and gents. May I present to ye’, yer second teacher.”
Red stepped around Jezamon Kerick to find a crowd of rebels watching them. She glared at the few people unlucky enough to be pushed to the front of the pack. The braver ones were smirking down at her, but the rest held expressions just short of pure terror as they took in her and Jezamon.
“How much do they know?” Red asked through closed lips.
“I’ve managed to teach ‘em how to throw a few punches and handle a sword. But they don’t exactly favor learning from me, so the process has been less than easy.”
Gone was Jezamon’s playful swagger—replaced with a trained eye that surveyed the group as if he were seeing them for the first time. Their distaste for each other could be seen by anyone. But the hateful looks that Red received seemed to temporarily distract the rebels of their dislike for the orc.
“Pair up into groups of four and start yer sparring exercises,” Jezamon shouted over the crowd. A unified grumble washed over heads and out into the hall as the command was passed on.
“Whoever complains gets to take on Red Riding Hood over here,” Jezamon added, clapping Red on the back with enough force to knock the breath out of her chest. The crowd’s groans were not silenced, but they did quiet down so that they would not be forced to see the orc follow through on his threat.
Creatures of all sizes and shapes trickled into the dining hall. The tables and benches had been pushed up against the walls to provide space, but the hall was still packed. Many groups crammed themselves into the corners of the room, trying to create the biggest gap between themselves and their teachers.
Red circled around the room, observing the factions that people had immediately fallen into. Some were grouped based on their skills, but many were clustered together based on gender or species.
Many creatures looked down their noses at Red, not trying to hide their disgust. The rest shrank away from her stare, missing their mark or forgetting to dodge a blow just to avoid her attention.
Red slid up to the cluster of groups that clearly saw themselves to be at the top of the rebel food chain. They had the proper skills and focus, but lacked the grace and balance that came with fighting.
Red watched the leader of the pack show off to his mindless followers. “Your stance isn’t balanced,” she commented, stepping into the middle of the stretched circle. “A soft breeze could knock you over.”
The man in the center had to be ten years Red’s elder. But his voice whined like a child’s. “I don’t need lessons from someone like you.”
Red cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows curling up in mock confusion. “I’m exactly the type of person you should want to get advice from,” she shot back coolly. “I suggest you take it before you go out into the real world and return to this base in pieces.”
“I don’t need to learn anything from you,” the man sneered. “I could knock you on your pretty little ass with one punch.”
The group nearest them paused in their fighting at the sound of his threat. Other groups soon gathered closer to ensure that they would catch the juiciest details to share during the gossip tradeoff at breakfast. The grunts and huffs around the room quieted as the whispers of a fight spread to the farthest corners of the great hall.
Jezamon Kerick pushed through the crowd, ready to pull the fight apart. But he stepped back into the ranks of the rebels, a smirk on his face as he eyed Red.
“Would you like to bet on that claim?” Red inquired. She stepped up to the man, leaving barely a foot of space between them. She looked up into his gray eyes. “It is an impressive task to knock someone out in one punch.”
The man looked back to find the support of his group meshed in with the rest of the crowd. He had the good sense to be afraid of Red’s tone of voice. But his arrogance would not let her tear down his claim that easily.
“I’m not one to stray from a bet.”
“I hoped you would say that,” Red stated. She turned to the crowd, moving in a slow circle to ensure that all heard her. “This man is now the representative for all of you. If I win, you will listen to Jezamon and me without complaint. And you will take this training seriously.”
“And if I win,” the man cut in, “you will take your filth from these grounds and find lodging elsewhere.”
Red turned back to face the man, a tax collector’s grin on her face. She thrust her hand forwards, grabbing a hold of the man’s hand before he could back out of the bargain. “Deal.” Red squeezed the man’s clammy fingers tightly before stepping away.
The crowd pushed together, arms and shoulders clashing and cramming against each other. A large circle was formed around Red and the man, leaving no room to escape. Shouted bets were placed despite the fact that no one had any money to give if they lost.
“Begin!” a bodiless voice chanted from the middle of the crowd. The shrill cheer that followed sounded like the blaring bells that were used to start countless tavern fights around the continent.
Red circled around the ring nonchalantly, stretching and swinging her arms around to warm them up again. She watched the man shift his weight with every step she took. His stance was as unbalanced as before.
“Take that murderous wench down, Nik!” the man’s friends shouted from their places at the front of the circle. “Show her no mercy!”
Nik dared to glance at his counterparts, smiling wickedly. That smile vanished when Red lunged for him, eyes alight as she caught him off guard and slammed a fist square in his jaw.
“C’mon, Nik,” Red teased with a sweet smile. “One punch is all it takes, and this whole ordeal can end.”
“One punch will get you down, the rest will permanently wipe that smirk from your face!” Nik growled in return, shaking the stars out of his vision.
“Here, I’ll even give you a free punch,” Red stated, palms facing up at the ceiling as she shrugged at the man. “I believe that it was you who said that you would only need one punch to knock me out. Time to prove it.”
Nik had the good sense to look wary as Red approached him, her hands still raised. But he dropped his own fists as he sauntered into the middle of the ring, meeting her half-way.
“Just one little punch,” Red whispered. “And I’ll stop embarrassing you.”
A snarl ripped out of Nik’s throat as he lifted his fists. He shifted his feet in the dirt, taking his time to fall into position. Nik slowly reared back his arm aiming for Red’s face. He threw everything into his punch, every muscle in his body pushing energy into his fist.
And missed.
Red twisted her body to the side. The soles of her boots scraped across the ground as she easily righted herself. “I never said I wouldn’t dodge the punch,” she commented, watching Nik teeter as he fell forwards.
He barely caught his footing before launching himself at Red. His jabs and punches were sloppy. Red deftly dodged and parried each blow.
All the while, Red commented and shouted out rules and techniques to the engaged crowd. “Don’t put too much of your energy into the punch itself,” Red stated, grabbing hold of Nik’s outstretched arm, twisting it backwards. “You’ll tire yourself out before your opponent even starts to get winded.”
Red ducked low to avoid an elbow to the ear. She shot out a foot as she dropped to the ground, catching Nik in the shins. The crowd pulled away with a hiss at the sound of bones cracking. But they kept their eyes glued to the pair as Nik slammed to the ground.
“If you fall,” Red panted, brushing loose strands from her braid out of her face, “let your body catch you. Ankles and wrists are weak when it comes to hard impacts. If you can’t throw another punch because you have a broken hand or wrist, you lose.”
The crowd was enthralled. It
looked as if the entire room was in a trance. A bloodthirsty trance.
The people in the front had been forced to take knees so that everyone behind them could catch a glimpse of the fight. Some creatures were seated on the shoulders of their stronger, taller friends. The smaller beings went as far as climbing the support beams in the back of the room just to catch a glimpse of the battle. Others were seated on the ground, watching between the legs of their counterparts.
Nik lay crumpled in the dirt, cradling his limp wrist to his chest. Despite the pain, though, he still managed to curse at Red as she talked. But he did not rise to face her again—his pride and energy completely depleted.
“Your biggest mistake is when you do not listen to orders. Disobey and you will die.”
“I think that is enough fightin’ for today,” sounded Jezamon. He pushed through the crowd to stand next to Red. Jezamon looked down at Nik without an ounce of pity in his dark eyes. The latter shrank back like a wounded dog.
“Someone take this fool to the med bay. Maybe the doctors can give him a brain.”
Two men hastily stepped out of the crowd. They hauled Nik up and dragged him out of the circle. Nik’s string of curses followed them out of the great hall.
The rebels took no time to flee from the room. Whispers followed the group as they emptied into the hallway and onto their different living quarters. The gossip would take no time to spread. Red assumed that she would have until noon before she was scolded.
Jezamon Kerick clapped Red on the back again, smirking down at her returning glare. “If I thought that would work, I would have tried that months ago.”
“It’s a shame that you’re too thick-skulled to have thought of it on your own,” Red shot back, stretching out her arms to loosen the tightness already creeping into her muscles.
Jezamon barked out a boisterous laugh. He strutted past her, pulling one of the hall’s doors shut. Before he closed the second one, he peeked his head back into the room. “I must say, yer even scarier in person than in tavern stories.”
Cloak of Darkness (The Destroyer-Blessed Saga Book 1) Page 27