by Jeff Gunzel
Tainted Blood Anthology
Copyright 2018 Jeff Gunzel
Books by Jeff Gunzel
The Legend of the Gate Keeper Series
The Shadow
Land of Shadows
Siege of Night
Lost Empire
Reborn
The Trials of Ashbarn
End of Days
Tainted Blood Series
A Rip in Time
Of Blood and Blade
Winds of Chaos
A Rising Storm
Blood of the Fallen
Legacy
Table of Contents
A Rip in Time
Of Blood and Blade
Winds of Chaos
A Rising Storm
Blood of the Fallen
Legacy
A Rip
in
Time
By
Jeff Gunzel
Copyright 2016 Jeff Gunzel
Books by Jeff Gunzel
The Legend of the Gate Keeper Series
The Shadow
Land of Shadows
Siege of Night
Lost Empire
Reborn
The Trials of Ashbarn
End of Days
Tainted Blood Series
A Rip in Time
Of Blood and Blade
Winds of Chaos
A Rising Storm
Blood of the Fallen
Legacy
Prologue
Dust devils spun across the desert floor, funneling up bits of sand and rock as they danced along. Many took on an angry reddish hue, thick and mighty as they devoured everything in sight. Now and then a few broke apart, their powdery contents floating high into the air like mist, riding away on the desert winds.
Perched high on a nearby cliff, armored men gazed down on the desert floor. The weather patterns in these parts had always been turbulent and unpredictable, but today seemed unusually bad for this time of year. General Hyndrid Coleth licked his finger, then turned it slowly from east to west. Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. Strange, unnatural weather indeed.
“Could there be some mistake?” asked the man to his right, nervously scratching at his oily black beard. “It’s possible the scouts gave us the wrong coordinates. Why, it wouldn’t be the first time the first reports were—”
“This is exactly where the rardens were spotted,” said General Coleth, retrieving a looking glass from his side pouch. “Soldier,” he added, extending it with an angry snap. The soldier drew in on himself, silently nodding his agreement. It was not his place to question the chain of command. Tensions were high and all the men were on edge. Hyndrid glanced back over his shoulder at the hundred soldiers waiting in complete silence, the occasional cough or snort of a horse the only reminder they were even there.
Peering into the silver eyepiece, he began his sweep of the area down below. With the view enlarged, he could clearly see the dancing funnels twirling with dirt and debris. Nearly all were beginning to break apart now, sand and tree bits littering the desert floor. Blinking against the dry wind in his face, he continued his fruitless search. Where are they?
“Eyes to the southwest!” came an excited call. Hyndrid lowered his looking glass to see where the soldier was pointing. Others joined as a cascade of fingers pointed, eyes all looking in the same direction. He refocused his tool, dialing the end a few notches in order to zoom in further. And there they were, a small group of rardens gathered near a large boulder.
Skin dry and scaly like lizards’, the creatures huddled together to shield themselves against the blowing sand. Their dull green bodies were large and stout, each with a long scaly tail that could snap like a whip. Their toothless beaks housed forked tongues, bright orange, and spotted with red and black. Webbed hands coved their large black eyes, protecting against the grainy, dry wind. Slitted gills on the sides of their necks flapped open and closed, filtering the sandy air as they breathed. Distracted by the windstorm, they seemed oblivious to the men up on the cliff.
Hyndrid quietly collapsed his looking glass, carefully and slowly, as if they might hear the clicking sound—impossible from this distance, but the general was not one to take chances. Having served in the Redwater army for nearly two decades, these vile beasts were no strangers to him. Savage and barbaric they were, yet dimwitted all the same. Taking them by surprise had always proved to be the most effective strategy.
Flashing hand signs to the soldiers around him, those on mounts trotted forward, hands nervously fingering the pommels at their sides. There were only a few of the beasts down there, and a surprise charge should easily rid them of the minor threat. The scouts had been unable to verify the rardens’ numbers, so bringing a hundred men to deal with the creatures was the conservative estimate. Looking down at the dozen or so beasts, the small army they’d brought now seemed like overkill, but it was always better to err on the side of caution.
Forming up in lines of five, the mounted soldiers lined the path that led down into the desert. Snorting horses stamped uneasily, bucking their heads in defiance. Even Hyndrid couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling tingling in his gut. As a further precaution, he motioned for the remaining men to notch their bows.
He took one last glance at the rardens down below, which were huddling protectively against the blowing sand. The storm had died down significantly, so they couldn’t wait much longer. What were those stupid creatures doing out there, anyway? The pressing question bothered him more than he was willing to admit. But pondering the actions of such simple creatures was a fool’s game. Hyndrid turned back to the mounted soldiers and lowered his hand.
A hiss filled the air as swords were drawn an instant before the horses began thundering down the path. Fine red dust sifted up in clouds as hooves pounded the dry clay. The startled rardens looked up, pointing and croaking like a herd of toads. With survival instinct overriding the urge to kill the charging humans, they turned to flee. Bodies slithering back and forth, the awkward movements were deceptively fast. Not as fast as charging horses, but certainly faster than any human could run.
“It makes no sense,” Hyndrid grumbled under his breath. Why were they hiding in plain sight only to turn and run once they were discovered? He watched as their dark outlines slithered into a cloud of sand, the drifting debris still lingering from a faded funnel. Right on their tails, the riders galloped after them. In a flash they, too, disappeared into the cloud of dust.
Seconds felt like minutes as the soldiers waited, arrows notched, bows gripped with less-than-steady hands. From this distance, it was hard to distinguish the possible sounds of battle over the wind playing tricks on their ears. Surely several minutes had passed since the riders gave chase. Time had a different feel under these stressful circumstances. What was taking so long?
From the dispersing dust cloud, the outline of a single rider formed from the sifting shadows. Showing no urgency, his mount clopped along at a slow trot. Coming into full view, the rider raised his gruesome prize in the air. As cheers rained down from the cliff, he tossed the severed head to the ground. Eyes still wide open with fright, the head rolled to a stop, tongue hanging loosely from a wide-open mouth.
Other riders began to emerge. Some gripped similar trophies, thick blackish blood running down their wrists. Others held their swords in the air, blades stained dark and glistening with wetness. The clear victory had been an easy one.
Hyndrid let out a sigh of relief. No matter how routine these scouting missions had become, he always feared for the safety of his men. To grow lethargic was to grow careless, a thing he had guarded against for many years.
The rarden had grown bold as of late, wandering near the sites more often than eve
r before. What was stirring them up like this, making them act so restless? Hyndrid dismissed the paranoid thought, dismissing the overanalyzing as a result of old age. Surely his overactive mind was playing tricks on his logic. Another year or two, and I’ll be spending my days in peace. I’m getting too old for this sort of thing.
Turning to the soldier on his right, General Coleth patted the man he had snapped at earlier. “You see? It appears our scouts had the correct location after all,” he said, relief obvious in his voice. Grinning, the soldier nodded while gazing at the men below. Suddenly, his grin melted away. His eyes bulged with unmistakable horror. Hyndrid spun back as shouts of alarm filled the air.
Emerging from the thinning dust, massive dark outlines charged at the riders’ backs. Two men fell instantly, crushed beneath giant spiked clubs.
With arms as thick as trees wielding those weapons, the klashtons had seemed to appear out of thin air. Their massive bodies more rock than flesh, the hairless giants charged in with reckless abandon, clubs taking out more than one rider with each wild sweep. Gray, with chiseled physiques, they stood fifteen feet tall yet moved with an unnatural grace unheard of for beasts that size. These creatures were so rare that not everyone believed they existed anymore. But here they were, at least ten in number and all attacking at once!
Shocked by what he was seeing, Hyndrid’s mouth worked wordlessly as he watched the carnage unfold. He couldn’t think...couldn’t breathe. Could this really have been just a chance encounter with these rare beasts? Impossible! “I led us right into a trap,” Hyndrid mumbled under this breath. He watched the last of his riders as he was hoisted from his saddle, held in the air like a child by one hand.
With black spots for eyes, the head turned to look at the party atop the cliff. A slit zipped open across that round rock of a head. Twin rows of flat, human-like teeth sank into the soldier’s body, easily biting through his body armor as if he were wearing none at all. The klashton tore half the body away and began chewing, the sound of bending steel creaking in his mouth as he stared up at the cliff. The ball of red meat that was the soldier’s body rolled about, staining the beast’s perfectly white teeth. Throwing the lower half aside with a wet smack, he grinned, those jet-black eyes appearing like lumps of coal pushed into a rock.
Hyndrid snapped out of his horror-filled trance, his veteran instincts urging him to refocus. Men were not meant to see such things, but mourning these men’s lives would have to wait. Revenge, however, could be served immediately.
“Archers!” he bellowed, hand rising over his head.
Eyes glassed over, many of his bowmen were too stunned to move. Upon seeing their fellow soldiers fall so quickly, so gruesomely, many just stared in shock. Those that held their wits drew back, the creaking of tightening bowstrings echoing about. The klashtons were coming at a full charge now, rumbling up the side path.
“Loose!” the general called, lowering his hand with a chop. There came a hiss as arrows were released, zipping through the air towards the charging beasts. After a short flight, arrows impaled the ground around the creatures. Of those that hit home, most splintered against their stony bodies, shattering on impact. A small percentage actually penetrated their tough hides, causing some to roar with pain as they dropped to their knees. These minor wounds were far from life threatening, but enough to slow their charge.
For a fleeting moment, Hyndrid considered giving the order to fire at will. But these giants were far too strong for such an intermittent offensive strike. With hides so thick, their fire needed to be concentrated in order to be effective.
“Draw!” he boomed, glaring as the enemy drew ever nearer. Giving a silent command, he flashed his hand in the air—closed fist, finger, finger, open hand. A louder creak filled the air as those who hadn’t fired the first time regained their nerve. It was do or die, and they needed to trust the wisdom of their general. His hand signals were clear and they all took careful aim. “Loose!”
A torrent of arrows hissed through the air, peppering the lead klashton. His stony body seemed to sprout arrows, feathered shafts covering him from head to toe. Those that missed only did so by inches, striking those directly behind him. His body crashed, dead before he hit the ground, then slid a short way across the sandy clay.
That was one less to deal with, but a secondary objective had been accomplished. Seeing one of their own fall so easily, the other klashtons hesitated. Had they kept charging at full speed, they might have overwhelmed the humans inside of three volleys. On the battlefield, seconds gained were the difference between victory and defeat when spent wisely, a lesson the crafty veteran had mastered years ago.
“Draw!” he repeated, hand flashing in the air. Closed fist, two fingers, two fingers, one, open palm. Gaining confidence, the archers drew back, aiming with precision as opposed to reckless firing. Each volley needed to count. “Loose!”
Aware of both their position and instructions, the skilled soldiers let another barrage of arrows fly. Starting as a cluster, they separated in mid-flight to find their chosen targets. Three klashtons crumpled to the ground, each with nearly the exact same amount of shafts embedded in their chests. From this closer range, even those solid hides had no chance of repelling the vicious air assault.
The remaining klashtons slid to a halt. Nearly half had fallen, and they had yet to reach the troublesome humans. Hyndrid held the gaze of one of the beasts, staring into those jet-black orbs. This time, he was the one who grinned. Slowly, tauntingly, he raised his hand, refusing to break eye contact with the thing that had slaughtered his brothers. Open palm, fist, hand lowered with a single finger pointing to the enemy. Send them to the afterlife!
With the heavy chain of organized strategy removed from their necks, the archers began randomly firing away. With sure aim no longer a priority, arrows took flight with chaotic speed and fury. The klashtons remaining turned to flee, thick arms flailing around as if swatting away stinging bees. Feathered shafts rained down on them, most shattering or ricocheting away off their rocky bodies. Regardless, it was enough to send them into full retreat.
Taunting cheers rose up from the cliff. Bows pumped in the air. They hadn’t been ready for the surprise assault, yet the trained soldiers had managed to act with calm precision. Hyndrid let out a sigh, hands falling to his knees as he bent over.
True, they had turned back their attackers and won the day, but he found little comfort in that. They had lost too many brothers this day. If he could go back, what would he have done differently? The general always beat himself up over casualties, constantly replaying the battle in his mind over and over.
As his soldiers cheered, Hyndrid remained deep in thought. If all this was planned, why were the rardens so clearly taken by surprise? Surely they hadn’t given up their lives willingly. What’s more, the damn things were simply too stupid to be part of any elaborate plan. In all likelihood, they had been unwilling bait! But who set them up? The klashtons? No, they were only marginally smarter. Were these beasts evolving into a more organized force?
The general shuddered at the disturbing thought. Bah, I’m going mad! We just need to gather our fallen and—
Hyndrid looked to the sky as others pointed as well. Even from this great distance, he could recognize hydrogriphs when he saw them—large, powerful creatures soaring on the wind. Dark red in color, they strongly resembled bats with their leathery bodies and rodent-like heads. Larger than horses, they required four separate wings to stay airborne, two flapping over each other on either side as they pumped in unison with a deep, whooshing sound.
Hyndrid swallowed, sweat trickling down the side of his face. There were at least twenty that he could see, possibly more coming over the horizon. “Archers draw,” he boomed, fighting hard to keep his voice steady. He could no longer deny what was happening here. Somewhere along the lines, without anyone realizing it, these beasts had evolved into thinking creatures. Not only had they been set up, but it had been done with chilling tactical precisio
n. This was the third wave of an organized attack!
Tightening bowstrings creaked with loaded arrows. The men’s faces remained hard, stony. They would trust their general until the end. Not moving particularly fast, the creatures kept coming. Double wings on each side flapped lazily, the beasts gliding more often than not. Hyndrid’s veteran instincts were nearly screaming at him. This was not a full-on charge, yet they were undoubtedly coming straight at them.
Arms began to tremble, the tension of bows drawn too early starting to take their toll. Lazily flapping along, it suddenly became clear the creatures were dropping something along the ground. Dirt or sand, something white sifted down from packs attached beneath the hydrogriphs. But that was simply impossible! Even if given the intelligence of humans, their sharp talons couldn’t function as hands. Who tied those sacks to these wild beasts, and more importantly, what was in them?
The general raised his hand as they finally came into range. Fist, fingers spread, hand lowered. “Loose,” Hyndrid called out. Just as the hissing arrows streaked upward—all perfectly divided among individual targets—the hydrogriphs pulled up. Heavy whooshing sounds filled the air as they displayed some measure of urgency for the first time, their wings thrashing the air as they climbed in altitude.
Arrows drifted up to their apex, nearly nipping the claws of a few of the flying beasts before looping back downward. Tiny clacks could be heard as they harmlessly peppered the cliff only a few yards away. Watching as the winged beasts sailed overhead, a few of the men gave a start, smacking at their face and shoulders as if fending off buzzing insects. White dust fluttered down like snow, frosting helmets, armor, and the ground alike.
The hydrogriphs glided on, high out of range but showing little interest in the humans below. Hyndrid kneeled down, running a finger through the white, fluffy soot. Spreading it between two fingers, the dry substance became a black-and-white swirl of fine powder. “Ash?” he muttered to himself. Others brushed it off their shoulders, swiping furiously as if it might burn at any moment.