by Aldrea Alien
IN PAIN
AND
BLOOD
A SPELLSTER NOVEL
Aldrea Alien
Thardrandian Publications
IN PAIN AND BLOOD
Copyright © 2017 by Aldrea Alien.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
http://www.aldreaalien.com
Book and Cover design by Aldrea Alien
ISBN: 978-0-9922645-4-3
First Edition: December 2017
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chaper Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Epilogue
About the Author
Dylan strode through the lower levels of the tower. The evening bell that had sent the majority of its residents scurrying to their quarters had chimed some time ago, leaving the hallways empty save for a few servants and the occasional straggler. He passed them all in silence, giving a brief nod to the former and overtly ignoring the latter. The servants replied in kind, his fellow spellsters seemed even more intent on paying no heed to his presence.
If this were any other time of the day, he would’ve dared to ask if they’d seen the petite elf he searched for. But evening seemed specially crafted for secrets. Acknowledgement of another meant placing your fate in their hands for good or ill, and the guardians—for all their encouragement of spellsters living a proper life—had rather different views on what was considered as right.
Where are you, Ness? He’d already searched her quarters and the library. Maybe, given the late hour, she was off having some fun of her own. Like I should be having right now. He shook his head. So the woman he’d attempted to woo wasn’t interested in some meaningless fun... with him, anyway. Being bitter over it wasn’t going to change her mind or anything else.
A shape moved in the dark, the faint outline of a person, their head turning to watch him. Another guardian. He’d passed several in his travels. Whether they were the deliciously dark hulks in leather armour or the softer figures in grey uniforms bearing the king’s emblem, he couldn’t remember a time when there hadn’t been guardians about, watching their every move, forever protecting them from the outside.
He rounded a corner and spied a familiar figure scurrying down the hall like the world was about to end. Nestria, his long-time friend and occasional lover.
“Ness!”
The pause in her steps was the only acknowledgement he got. Dylan hitched up the skirts of his robe and hastened to catch up with her. She seemed especially lively tonight. The utter disarray of her usually immaculate bun of brown hair didn’t help. What has she been up to? Especially when it left her in such a state.
“I’ve been looking all over for you, my delectable dear.” Dylan flashed his most charming smile, the one she always liked, and gently brushed back one of the frizzy wisps curling about her long, pointed ears. “You know, I was thinking that—”
“Turned you down, did she?” His friend grinned up at him, her hurried pace turning leisurely as they veered into the hallways leading to the tower’s duelling arena. They’d been playing this game for well over a decade now, spending time in each other’s company when other options weren’t viable, so it hardly surprised him to have her jump straight to the point.
He hung his head, shaking it slightly to let the dark tangles of hair fall across his face, and peered at her through the strands. “Apparently, she’s not into tall men.” He grimaced. “Or humans, for that matter.”
The wrinkles collecting at the corners of her large eyes deepened. Without a pause in her step, she tipped onto her toes and patted his cheek. “Poor baby. I did try to warn you.”
Dylan shrugged. He’d already assumed her reaction was a possibility before asking her. But what harm was there in asking? “The worst she could’ve done was refuse.” Loudly. Whilst telling him what a monster he was for even thinking that way about her.
Nestria wrinkled her nose, the tip twitching like a rabbit’s. “She’s done far worse than that.”
He didn’t doubt it. “So...” He leant into her, nudging her shoulder with his elbow. “I’m pretty certain there’s a vacant storeroom nearby. How about you and me go do a little snuggling? I’ll do that ice trick you like so much.”
Her nose twitched again, this time deliberately. “As much as I love being your fallback option, I’ve got plans.”
“Oh?” They’d come to a halt at last and he looked about the hallway. They’d passed several closed doors to stop at the massive entrance that opened out into the duelling arena. No one else was waiting. “Who with?”
“Mary’s—”
“Ness!” Dylan gasped. “Mary? Well, well.” He grinned and barrelled on. “I knew she was a client of your own gorgeous gender, but I’d no idea you were as well. Why if I had—”
“By the gods!” She punctuated each word with a slap of his arm. “Stop storing your mind in your smallclothes for once.” The already delicate pink hue of her cheeks grew steadily pinker as she spoke, whether from anger, embarrassment or a mixture of both, he wasn’t sure. “Mary’s guardian—” She held up a finger as he went to open his mouth, the gleam of impending death in her eyes warning him back into silence. “—has convinced the oversee
rs to grant us full sanction to use the duelling arena for her experiment.” Those big brown eyes widened further, brimming with childlike glee.
Mary, he mused, rubbing his chin. The woman was one of the few alchemists within the tower, not at all strong in the usual magical feats attributed to the typical spellster. What was she working on? “Is this so she can test her theory about the dog metal?” That had been the rumour, he was sure of it. Something big, too.
He absently toyed with the tuft of hair growing beneath his bottom lip. If he could just remember what that theory was.
“Dog metal?” Nestria echoed, her lips flattening in a failed effort to contain her amusement. “You’ve spent far too much time listening to Sulin. But yes, because of that. She swears the shield is stable, but hurtling magic at a piece of infitialis—” She slowly spoke each syllable of the metal’s name as if he’d never heard of the stuff. “—this size could be dangerous.”
He knew that. Sharing a room for over a decade with one of the most adept alchemists in the tower had left him with a far better idea of the metal their skills let them work than most spellsters. Sulin often spoke of how the infitialis ore had to be coaxed into a stable state via weeks of careful manipulation.
But he’d never heard of anyone crafting an entire shield from it before.
“So Mary’s using you as the ammunition.” Stood to reason that a test of how much damage the metal could handle would be best achieved by getting one of the strongest spellsters to blast it. No half measures. Brave that, considering he’d heard of even worked metal exploding for no apparent reason. Maybe he’d misjudged Mary when he’d labelled her as a bit on the meek side for his tastes.
Dylan peered over Nestria’s head—not a difficult thing when the elf barely came to his shoulder—as she opened one of the twin doors. Try as he might, he couldn’t spot the other woman within the arena’s confinement. “Has she got someone to play target?”
Nestria shook her head. “She’s fixing it to one of the practice blocks right now. The overseers won’t allow a living being to participate until they’ve seen the first tests.” She grinned at him, barring the doorway with one arm. Those brown eyes sparkled a warning of mischief if he dared attempt passage. “That also includes no unsanctioned spectators.”
“Well, then.” He bowed low, flashing another smile. He’d no wish to get on the wrong side of the overseers’ attention. People who did that tended to vanish. “I shall leave you and your darling cohort to your work. Don’t blow up anything you’re not meant to.”
“Oh, Dylan,” she called as he turned to leave. “If you’re so terribly desperate for company, you could always try the woman who’s recently returned from the front lines.”
“Very funny.” He shot her a glare over his shoulder, the seriousness on her face turning the rest of him. There’s actually a leashed spellster in the tower? “Why’s she here?” Only the leashed ever stepped foot outside of the tower confines and when they did, it was to serve the king’s army. They didn’t return. Not unless it’s to compare against prospective recruits. And yet, his guardian hadn’t given any indication of any casualties on the front line that would necessitate new spellsters.
“There was a new call for fresh spellsters just last week. All the adept senior men and women are competing for the honour to join the king’s army tomorrow.” Nestria leant her head on the door edge and frowned. “Didn’t your guardian tell you? Again?”
No, she did not. But then his guardian spent a lot of time dissuading him from the very thought of ever leaving the tower. “Ah, you know Tricia. Everything outside is hell-bent on killing me.” He made a display of wrinkling his nose. “Still, I think I’ll give visiting a leashed spellster a pass. Call me crazy, but I do enjoy a little magical reciprocation and I’d rather not have to speak with whoever has control over her power to get it.”
“You debauched monster,” Nestria teased.
“Guilty. Utterly so.” He waved his hands at her in a shooing motion. “Go. Before Mary yells at you.” He cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered loudly, “I hear she can be quite the sharp-tongued one.”
She giggled into her balled hand. “Off with you, then, or I’ll be sure to blame you for making me late.”
He clutched at his chest, feigning injury. “You wound me, good lady.”
The giggling increased in volume, muffled only by her heavy, cream-coloured sleeves. “Mary’ll do much more if you’re the reason we have to reschedule.”
“Does that mean you’d then be free?” Dylan winked at her less-than-serious glare. “Try not to vaporise too much of the arena, my dear.” The tower had a number of smaller training grounds, but nothing else that could handle a pair of strong spellsters fighting in earnest.
She waved him away, grinning, before vanishing behind the thick door.
Whistling to himself, he strolled back along the hallway. Nestria wasn’t the most confident spellster when it came to combat techniques, preferring to go on the defensive even when her guardian gave her full sanction to attack. Still, she’d have fun. What spellster wouldn’t enjoy a night of unleashing their full abilities upon a harmless object?
He frowned as he ascended the stairway leading to the senior quarters. Well, maybe not that harmless. The last he’d heard of Mary’s theory was through Sulin. The man hadn’t been convinced that what she planned was entirely safe. But if the overseers have sanctioned it... They wouldn’t let her do something completely dangerous.
She’s strong. Dylan knew that through experience, being one of the few Nestria actively chose to spar with. Although he’d yet to meet a willing opponent that could match him the last time he’d stepped into a duelling arena, she came close. Would if she’d put just a little more effort into her teachings. Still, if something went wrong, if the metal did explode, Nestria was fully capable of shielding herself.
A pity he hadn’t known about it sooner. He was a bit rusty with some of the stronger spells, preferring to spend his free time researching the texts of the lost dwarven culture, but he could’ve given the overseers a proper display of battle tactics. Maybe it would’ve been enough to convince them to let him compete tomorrow.
Was it too late to join? There was much about his magic that made him eligible. He’d a fair grasp of battle spells. Perhaps not as fresh as those who trained daily, but there was also his flair for healing, which should be helpful on the front line and an instant mark in his favour.
He flexed his fingers, trying not to let them clench. Why hadn’t Tricia told him? Yes, it would mean being fitted with one of those collars and having his magical abilities suppressed until ordered to use them. But it was his only chance of having a life beyond the tower and its walls. He could actually walk through the forests and fields he’d only ever seen from afar.
For that chance, he would suffer being leashed.
“It’s rather late for you to be up,” a familiar voice said, pulling him out of his musing.
His head snapped up. Tricia, his personal guardian, stood at the top of the stairs. He took in the crossed arms, accompanied by the measured tapping of her foot, and swallowed. “Mother,” he murmured, giving her a small bow.
She wasn’t his actual mother, despite having raised him from birth. No spellster was allowed to have direct responsibility over their own child. He doubted his parents even knew which of the countless spellster children was theirs any more than he knew which couple had been responsible for his creation.
By the quirk in Tricia’s pursed lips, humouring him was not on her agenda. “You should be in bed, young man.”
Dylan scrunched his shoulders, trying to look as small as possible as he climbed the remaining steps between them. “I was talking to Ness.”
His guardian harrumphed. “I swear, that girl is nothing but trouble for you.”
He smiled to himself. If his childhood friend’s ramblings were anything to go by, Nestria’s guardian often said the same thing of him.
Having joi
ned Tricia on the landing, he resumed trudging through the hallway to his quarters. As he expected, his guardian followed, silently ensuring he made it there. Perfect. “Did you know Mary’s trying out her theory on the infitialis metal?”
“Yes.” Her lips twisted sourly. The deep brown scar marring the plumpness of her left cheek darkened further. “Her guardian is far too lenient with her, but the overseers have decided.”
They walked for a while, the hallways solely theirs. Unlike the lower quarters where the children and servants slept, guardian presence here, especially at night, was limited to those who’d had a hand in raising the spellsters sleeping here, all on the basis that they’d done a proper job in instilling the right rules into their charges.
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of a suitable way to broach the subject of the impending competition. “I heard there’s a leashed spellster in residence.”
Tricia gave a noncommittal mumble. Such a response was hardly surprising. Any time someone mentioned life beyond the tower walls, especially the decades-long war they had with the Udynean Empire or the people they sent to fight on the border, she seemed to prefer ignoring the issue.
“Ness says they’re looking for recruits and I... was thinking of competing?”
She came to an abrupt halt and stared up at him, completely horrified. “You want to leave the tower? Have you heard nothing I’ve told you over the years?” Tricia threw up her hands. “It’s a dangerous world out there. This tower is your home and you want to just... leave?”
“No, I...” No spellster could ever just leave. They needed to be leashed first and that took overseer permission. Trying otherwise meant spending a lifetime being hunted by the king’s hounds. “I want to join the king’s army.”
“Child, you don’t know what you’re asking.” Her calloused and wrinkled hands cupped his face. “You know why we keep your kind here.”
He rolled his eyes. It was a long time since he’d been a child. The better part of nineteen years, in fact. Whilst most of the other guardians stopped keeping a tight rein on their charges long before they neared their third decade, Tricia seemed intent on mothering him into his old age. “Of course I know,” he mumbled. “To keep us safe. But I—”