Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  Arms snapping back into blades, she unleashed a full offensive flurry with everything she had. Blocking and ducking, Jarlen continued to stumble back, his eyes going wide at the feel of such an onslaught. His blades worked feverishly, barely able to deflect each strike at the last second.

  To the warriors’ trained eyes, the blows were pinpoint and concise, each barely missing its mark. But to the watching lerwicks, the battle was a chaotic frenzy of movement, their eyes hardly even able to measure the blur of violence. A shrill ringing rang out with no beginning and no end, like a thousand bells all being shattered by hammers. The violence was shocking, the sound deafening, and still their leader had not yet fallen. From what they could see, that alone was nothing short of a miracle.

  With the taunt of her dead teacher driving her rage, Viola continued to unleash, the flurry of stabbing blades coming at him like a tornado of steel. She could see Thatra’s smiling face, could still hear her words of inspiration in the back of her mind. Thatra believed in her. Her death seemed senseless, but she could not reverse time to change any of it. The pain Viola didn’t even realize she was carrying had come out in a rush, all of it feeding her blades and their sudden need for blood.

  Viola’s heart raced, lungs wheezing as she pressed the violent assault. But her arms began to go numb, her pace slowing as the animalistic flurry slowly played itself out. Sweat drenched her body as her blades’ strikes fumbled in at awkward angles, lobbed from the strength of her shoulders because she could no longer feel her arms.

  Gasping, hair slick as it clung down over her face, Viola’s bladed arms dropped to her sides. She no longer had the strength to lift them. Blinded by hatred only a minute ago, her fuzzy vision began to clear. No one should have been able to defend such a long, sustained, violent flurry such as that. Yet Jarlen still stood before her, battered and worn but still on his feet. Multiple cuts and spots of blood proved that she had nicked him many times, but the skilled warrior had managed to minimize the heavy assault. He had certainly been hit many times, but nothing ever landed flush.

  His hair slick with blood and sweat, Jarlen’s eyes flashed with hatred.

  “You cannot defeat me!” he roared, leaping high into the air. Her blades rose at the last second, deflecting the blow that should have ended her life. Both exhausted, Jarlen’s next strike was little more than a pushed blade driven by his stumbling momentum. Viola rolled her head, allowing it to sail wide as he limped to her left. Sending out a probing kick, his boot caught Viola right in the chest. Her energy already long spent, the modest blow sent her limp body rolling along the ground.

  Jarlen marched towards her on unsteady legs, his many wounds darkening spots on his clothes with seeping blood. “How you have survived this long is a wonder.” He kicked her again, sending her tumbling several more feet. “I used to wish you dead simply because you always seem to get in my way. Now, I just view it as a mercy killing. Consider it a favor.”

  Yet another kick rolled her further. She wheezed, certain that her ribs were broken. Each labored breath sent waves of pain and nausea rattling through her broken body. Wincing in torment, she rolled to her back only to see Jarlen straddled over her like a waiting vulture. Broken and bloodied himself, it didn’t seem like he should even be able to stand. But he was still in better shape than she was.

  “There is no shame, dear sister,” Jarlen rasped, raising both blades above his head. “Many a warrior has died at my hand, but none have ever fought as valiantly as you.” Unable to move, unable to breathe, in that frozen moment in time Viola saw a look in Jarlen’s eyes she had never seen before. So foreign it was that he looked like a different person. He hesitated, reluctant to drop the finishing blow. What was he waiting for?

  Suddenly, a wave of power washed over them like a windstorm. Lerwicks went flying as if being carried away by an unseen ocean wave. Covering his eyes from the blowing sand, trying to anchor his feet as they slid, Jarlen squinted enough to see the outline of a man standing nearby.

  “Touch her again and this day shall be your last,” Liam shouted, his enhanced voice rumbling on the winds. “Back away, Jarlen. I will not hesitate to kill you or anyone else who tries to harm her.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you will, old man,” Jarlen said, standing only a few feet from Viola. “Not unlike this delicate little flower here, you have too much compassion for your own good. You’ll hesitate as your kind always does, and then you’ll die.” A split second was all he needed to close the distance between them. At close range, Liam stood no chance against this killer.

  “Do not test me!” Liam warned, picking the end of his staff off the ground and twirling it once over his head. “I spare life when I can because I feel that some measure of good can be found in all living things. You, however, are beyond hope and cannot be saved. You have not earned my mercy. I would be doing the world a favor by ridding it of one such as you. You have the city. You have won, now let that be the end of it.” He raised his staff higher, his eyes beginning to glow. “Let her go!”

  Feeling Viola’s stony glare, Jarlen looked down at her and scoffed. “Go,” he grunted. “Run off and join your precious humans. But this isn’t over. Just remember, the humans won’t always be there to save you.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” Viola said, slowly rising to her feet, her labored breath coming in short, raspy gasps. She looked him in the eyes, allowing the silence to linger before speaking again. “They will always fight to protect me, just as I would do the same for them. That is what friends do. We are loyal to one another.” She gestured to the lerwicks who had been blown several yards away. “These sheep will follow you as long as you provide for them, but they are not loyal. You may have taken a city, and you might even gain more followers because of it. But you will never know what it’s like to have real friends. For that, I pity you.”

  Jarlen opened his mouth, but she was already limping away, making her way towards Liam. Beaten and broken, she practically fell into his arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice so weak he could barely hear her.

  “Nonsense. I’m just glad you’re safe.” He held her as tightly as he dared, seeing how injured she was.

  “He could have killed me.”

  “But he didn’t. It is over. Best not to think about it anymore. Come, it’s time to go home.” Liam turned and began leading her back to the ravens.

  “He should have,” she repeated one last time, too soft for Liam to hear. “But he couldn’t go through with it.”

  *

  The flight back was quiet and slow, with Salina taking extra care to keep the ride smooth. “You could have gotten yourself killed back there,” Salina said, finally breaking the long silence when the tower came into view.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” Viola said. Salina snickered in response. “But how am I supposed to be a leader if I don’t take risks? I need to set an example for those who follow me. They need to know that I am willing to stand beside them on the battlefield. They need to know that I am not afraid to take risks.” She sighed. “I don’t know how else to convince the lerwicks that they can count on me. Loyalty must be earned, and I believe that actions speak louder than words.”

  Salina gently nudged her and pointed down to the path below. “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Look!” The road leading up to the tower was packed. Lerwicks were everywhere, all making their way towards the tower with all their possessions packed in small bags. Owen and Liam looked back from their mounts, smiling at Viola while pointing down at the surreal scene. Sides had been taken, and a great many were making their way right to her doorstep.

  Viola smiled, waving down at them as she flew overhead. Some waved back while others cheered and pumped their fists. “So many, I never dreamed...” Viola swallowed the swelling lump in her throat. Her call had been answered, and answered loudly.

  Epilogue

  Unseasonably cold this evening, Xavier lay on his back to g
aze up at the stars. The night sky was clear, yet the moon’s light was still not enough to drown out the twinkling starlight. The occasional cloud passed over the moon, providing a weak, purplish shadow that reminded him of a wandering spirit. The forest was still this evening, without so much as a cricket or bird making a peep. The utter stillness did little to aid Xavier’s growing loneliness. Alone with nothing but his thoughts, even the distant hoot of an owl would have been a welcome sound. It felt as if he were the only man in the world.

  With a shiver, he scooted closer to the dying fire, its low embers burning a deep red. Too tired to go fetch more wood, he would enjoy what little heat it had left before drifting off to sleep. It would be another lonely night out in the middle of nowhere. But somehow, that didn’t bother him as much as it could have. Yes, this life of solitude was probably the only life he would know from this day forward, but at least that burden landed squarely on him.

  Out here, he had no chance of hurting anyone, and that was the point. His friends would forget about him soon enough, if they hadn’t already. Viola would be safe in the spiritists’ tower, and he would most likely never see her again. This is the only way it can be. It is for the best. Even while trying to convince himself that that was true, the thought still pained him deeply. But it was for the best, and to look at it any other way was just plain greedy.

  Besides, she was still alive! That alone was more than he could have ever hoped for. So what if he would never see her again? She was safe and that was all that mattered. It was his duty, no matter how painful, to make sure she stayed that way. He had to protect her, even if it was from himself.

  His eyelids growing heavy, Xavier gave in to a long blink as the starry sky disappeared for a moment. Focusing on the moon for what would probably be the last time this evening, he yawned and closed his eyes again. Tomorrow, he would probably travel another seven or eight miles before continuing on his lonely journey to nowhere.

  Nearly asleep, his eyes jetted wide open to a face only a few inches from his. With rings in his nose and lips, the man stared down at Xavier with an intense look on his face. Reflexively, Xavier rolled his shoulder to throw a punch, but his arm wouldn’t move. Neither arm would, as there were others here too, each one pinning down a leg or arm. Impossible. How had they snuck up on him like this? It was impossible to believe his warrior’s instincts had dulled so quickly.

  “Wha-What do you want?” Xavier grunted, trying to thrash free.

  “I am sorry,” the man said, the crazed look in his eyes at odds with his calm voice. “You must come with me. Aurabelle wishes to speak with you.” Without the slightest hesitation, the man reared up quickly, his fist coming down like a hammer.

  Xavier saw a flash of white, and his world was sent into a spin before succumbing to the darkness that swept him away.

  Legacy

  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

  Unseasonably cool this particular morning, a frigid breeze filtered through the treetops, causing the leaves to flutter and dance. The cool weather was so strange, in fact, that it most certainly would have been the main topic of conversation, had the village politics not been turned upside down in recent days. Given their constant squabbling and bickering as of late, it was unlikely anyone would notice a forest fire these days.

  The breakfast gathering was usually a happy affair here in Eldham, a time to reflect on the coming day and a time to give thanks to Odao for all he had provided. But instead of the usual delight found in being in each other’s company, the mood was tense—dark, even—and had been for days now.

  Yuznal, the acting High Cleric, sat at the head of the table as usual. Picking lightly at the fruit on his plate, his gnarled, withered hands trembled ever so slightly while those around him bickered among themselves. It was not a sign of unease caused by the dreary atmosphere, but the spent nerves of an old body that had seen too many winters.

  Ancient, even by the standards of the long-living tarrins, his mostly bald held still held a few strands of stringy white hair. Although all the tarrins’ eyes were a frosted white color, his right eye held a dull gray look to it, while the other was always partly hidden behind a droopy eyelid.

  Unconsciously, the old man always seemed to be fingering the edge of his broken horn, as if trying to remember how it happened in the first place. It had been broken for so long that no one else seemed to remember, either.

  Having humored their squabbling for long enough, the old man rose to his feet. The simple gesture was enough to silence those sitting at the table. As spoons softly clinked down onto plates, all eyes turned to acknowledge the ancient symbol of the old ways. Not all agreed with the old man’s views, but he had lived long enough to earn this temporary position.

  “As I sit here and listen to the bickering of children, I can’t help but wonder if yet another day shall pass without word of where she may be or what she may be trying to accomplish in her absence,” came Yuznal’s raspy voice. There was no need to clarify who she was. Speculation of Assirra’s sudden disappearance had been the talk of the village for some time now.

  “How many more moons must pass before we acknowledge what is right in front of our eyes? The High Cleric has betrayed her people, and yet there are those among us who still refuse to see the truth.

  “Out of respect for the few who are too blinded by their personal grief to face reality, I have said little these past few days. But my patience for this ignorance is wearing thin. Idiocy is not an excuse. Grieve her deliberate absence if you must, but do not continue to deceive yourselves. Assirra is a traitor and will always be remembered as such.” What was dead silence suddenly burst into a chorus of sound. Roughly half the tarrins quickly agreed with Yuznal, while the other half began aggressively voicing their doubts.

  “Yes, she has forsaken our people!”

  “She would do no such thing. Our High Cleric is in trouble while we sit here and do nothing to help her.”

  “Who would have taken her, and for what purpose? Such claims with no evidence are absurd at best.”

  “It was the humans, I say! We were fools to have ever trusted them in the first place.”

  “You dare to call our High Cleric a traitor?” This particular voice was directed right at Yuznal. Voices quieted as eyes dropped to the table. “That is a serious accusation indeed.” Pressing his knuckles against the table for support, the young tarrin rose to his feet. “Do you have even a shred of evidence to back up these outrageous claims, or are these accusations just the tired ramblings of an old man who has tasted power for the first time, and decided he doesn’t want to give it up upon her return?”

  Hands rose quickly to mouths, trying to smother their gasps. Disagreeing with the acting High Cleric was one thing, but openly challenging him was quite another. Yuznal’s thin lips mashed together, a rare sign of irritation displayed by the sleepy-eyed old man.

  “Go on, then, speak your mind, Lotray,” Yuznal said, waving his hand dismissively before slowly retaking his seat. He was the acting High Cleric, after all, and he would have the last word no matter what. What harm could come from showing just a bit more tolerance for the ignorant youth?

  “Yuznal, I mean no disrespect,” Lotray began, gently backing off his initial angry tone.

  “You will address me as High Cleric,” Yuznal corrected without the slightest hint of contempt in his voice, but his sleepy eyes did seem to flare for a brief moment.
/>
  “High Cleric,” Lotray repeated, biting off each word. “And you do indeed have the right to that claim. No one is disputing that. But if I may speak directly, I, as well as several others, find it rather disturbing that you are so quick to claim that Assirra is a traitor. In truth, we have no idea what happened to her. While you continue to publicly criticize her, she may in fact be hurt...or worse. Rather than making these wild accusations day after day, you instead should be—”

  “What?” Yuznal cut him off. “Forming a search party to help locate the one who abandoned her people?” He clenched his fists as his gnarled knuckles cracked with tension. But he calmed quickly, then raised a silencing hand when Lotray tried to keep talking. “No, I’ve had enough of these excuses. I will no longer sit here and listen to the same defense of a traitor spun one hundred different ways. If and when I form a search party to go look for her, it shall be to bring her to justice. Nothing more.”

  Raising a finger in the air, Yuznal turned away from the table and began talking to the space above his head. “Let me tell you, all of you, what I find to be quite disturbing. That woman has betrayed not only our village, but Odao himself. And still, many of you seem compelled to defend her actions. I can’t help but wonder where this logic, or lack thereof, could possibly be coming from.”

  The withered, yet surprisingly spry old man tapped a finger to his chin before pacing back the other way. It was clear he was talking to everyone, although he seemed to just be thinking out loud. “Is it blind loyalty, perhaps? Complete and utter denial of the highest level? Or perhaps it is even something more sinister than that.”

  He whirled about, sweeping a finger across the group as if accusing them all at once. “There was a time not so long ago, when the act of defending a traitor was considered an act of treachery.”

  “Now you’re being paranoid,” Lotray barked defiantly.