Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1

by Mark Ryan

  A handful of orocs moved towards the cave. Halli cringed, wanting to flee, but with so many looking that way, any movement would be spotted.

  Argant’s rumbling stopped the assembled clan. The ancient of ancients towered over Mrgle with a look of disgust. “Your message would be that Rocmire clans are as disrespectful and heartless as Drayston humans? Were these human saplings not here when Willowhawk hunters killed Drayston humans?”

  “The Bearoak clan must make justice with the blood of Drayston,” Mrgle said.

  The crowd loosed a roar of agreement.

  Argant studied the Bearoak clan with sorrow. “First you speak of balance, and now of justice. Which is closer to your heartwood? Argant remembers a time when orocs and humans left one another alone, in peace.”

  The cries lessened, and then died off. As one, the assembled orocs listened to Argant speak his case.

  “Argant remembers a time when war was only memory for the Rocmire clans.” He sighed like a mournful gust through the treetops. “The human saplings will live, but Bearoak will make justice, yes. We will send a message written in human sap to Drayston that attacks on Rocmire clans are not tolerated.”

  The orocs started to cheer, but Argant bellowed louder. “Know this! Quenching thirst with living sap only makes greater thirst.” With that, the shaman pushed his way back through the chanting crowd and disappeared.

  Halli met Gnarrl’s unreadable look across the distance. Then he turned away.

  Shivers turning to trembling, she ducked deeper into her hiding spot, her breath coming in short gasps that she tried to conceal behind her hand. Trapped as she was, she would have to wait for the cave to clear to tell the others the dire news. War was about to break out. There was no hope of rescue anymore.

  ***

  Chapter 41

  Malthius Reynolds

  And I’m supposed to just take the word of this boy?” Lord Drayston shook his head in wonderment. “Commit what men I haven’t sent out to a conflict I’ve already told you I can’t get involved in?” He looked to Lieutenant Heiml, who stood at attention beside Sergeant Reynolds. “What do you have to say for this? You’re the one who sent these patrols out—and now you want to rescind the order?”

  Reynolds caught the rueful press of her lips out of the corner of his eye. Drayston paced his meeting chamber, a cup of wine in hand. His sips had already stained the edges of his ruddy mustache violet.

  “My lord,” Heiml said, “these are unusual circumstances. Initially it seemed clear these men had fallen foul of banditry or other unfortunate encounters. However, based on what the boy pointed out, I have reservations. He could be right in that they were slaughtered by orocs. I have no reason to doubt or favor his surmise any more than my own of banditry. The patrol commander reported no other bodies in the area, so it’s logical to assume enough of their attackers survived to drag off any dead and cover their tracks.”

  “This boy … Tetra, is it?” Drayston’s focus shifted to Reynolds. “The one from Jaegen who says it was burned to the ground by orocs?”

  Reynolds conceded this with a lift of his chin. “Yes, lord. The same.”

  “Hm. And now he’s urging us to believe orocs are once more roving the countryside, attacking my men. Doesn’t that seem a little narrowly focused?”

  The sergeant shifted in place. “To clarify, lord, we’re almost certain these weren’t actually our men. Tetra believes they come from Ulfast and were acting as a militia. Whether he is correct or not matters little. We are weakened with so much of our garrison on patrol, and someone has just killed many men that looked like they were Drayston men.”

  “Even better. So not only is this boy getting my officers riled by his stories, these rumors are somehow spreading and causing otherwise innocent villagers to commit acts of war.”

  “Lord Drayston, this attack wasn’t Tetra’s fault,” Heiml said. Reynolds glanced at her, surprised by her rise to the defense. “If Sergeant Reynolds hadn’t listened to him, we might’ve overlooked the evidence altogether.”

  “About that …” Drayston lowered himself into a cushioned chair, setting his cup down on the armrest. “Have you considered there’s nothing to overlook? That he’s been addled by his injuries and is now consumed by fantasies of revenge? Fantasies you’re letting yourselves be sucked into? Couldn’t these men have died at the hand of bandits who’ve also heard tell of orocs attacking Jaegen and decided to start mocking up their victims to shift blame that way?”

  “My lord,” Lieutenant Heiml gave a half bow. “Your pardon, but have you ever known Sergeant Reynolds or myself to be swept up in childish fantasies? Unless the bandits had a supremely powerful Geist with them, it’d be near impossible to mimic that body’s condition.”

  “I suppose not. Still, this isn’t enough for me to act on.”

  “What would be enough, milord?” Reynolds asked. “Short of an oroc chief to stand before our gates, calling for us to surrender?”

  “Careful, Sergeant.” Drayston leveled a finger at him. “The only reason I’m even giving this any consideration is because two of my finer officers have presented me with it, and I respect their opinions—however much I’m doubting their perceptions at this point.”

  “We’re not asking you to send troops into the Rocmire, milord.” Reynolds fought to contain a deep sigh. “Just to send stewards with orders for at least one or two of the patrols to return, and to prepare the castle defenses. We have twelve patrols out now. It’s the least we can do to keep performing our duty in protecting the land but also ourselves. If, if, this bandit attack is other than it seems, we cannot be caught entirely unprepared. If Castle Drayston falls, all other villages in our territory will be left wholly exposed.”

  “My lord, we only have a thousand troops garrisoned here,” Heiml said. “The Rocmire clans number at least five times that. Can we risk not being at least on alert?”

  “I’m well aware of this,” Drayston tightened his fingers into a fist.

  “And I couldn’t agree more.”

  Reynolds jerked his head to the side as a new voice echoed through the chamber. A man strode into view from the back of the chamber, where a short hall led towards a larger assembly room. He wore the finest armor of anyone in the castle, green leather and gold plate polished to a shine and a gleaming saber at his hip. Glossy black hair hung to his shoulders, and his brown eyes gleamed almost dark enough to match it.

  Reynolds bowed. “Lord Major.”

  Even though Lieutenant Heiml outranked Illamer, she bowed as well, in deference to his noble status. The Lord Major didn’t return the courtesy, and Reynolds’ back teeth ground together. Illamer’s intrusion meant he must’ve been just out of sight, listening to the whole conversation. Not the conduct of a military leader, in his opinion, but of one who timed his intrusion on matters for personal gain.

  “What’s the worst that could happen, Calhein?” The sergeant coughed at Illamer’s casual use of Drayston’s name, but no one seemed to notice. “Say we ready the defenses and nothing happens. Why, it’d simply be a good training exercise for your men. I know mine could use the practice.”

  “While you’re touring here, your men are under my command,” Drayston said. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  “Of course. Of course.” Illamer went to the flagon of wine Drayston had set on a side table, and poured himself a measure. He raised the hammered silver goblet, saluting the other two soldiers. “But if maybe, just maybe, this boy you speak of is right and we do nothing? Well, that’d be absolutely disastrous, wouldn’t it?”

  Drayston grumbled. “You’re arguing for an offensive defense, is that it?”

  Illamer offered a conciliatory smile. “I know Lord Calhein Drayston to be a man of perception and foresight. One who is never caught off guard in times of battle.”

  “There’s no assurance there will be any battle, Illamer. I’m also not one to waste the resources I have at hand.”

  Despite his dislike of th
e man, Reynolds kept his mouth shut. The Lord Major argued his point and, notwithstanding the man’s motives, he appeared to be getting through to Lord Drayston.

  “Men wearing your colors lie dead in your courtyard.” Illamer paced to the room’s larger window and peered out, pose contemplative. “I took a stroll to see them myself. Whether or not they were actually Drayston soldiers is moot. Blood has been spilled, and once it begins to flow, it doesn’t easily dam up again. I believe battle is coming. Maybe it is orocs, as the poor boy suggests. Maybe one of your rivals seeks to undermine your authority in the region, and this is a ploy to overstretch your means. Either way, it would be foolhardy to ignore all the signs thus far, even if they turn out to be happenstance.”

  Reynold’s eye twitched. Had Illamer just called Drayston a fool? Heiml frowned next to him, lips now pinched while fine lines cracked her otherwise fair features.

  If Drayston registered the slight, he showed no sign. He stared at the one wall tapestries he kept in the room, opposite the bookshelves, which depicted a warrior kneeling to accept the blessings of the Aspects. At last he rose and nodded at Heiml. “Very well. See it done.”

  She and Reynolds bowed. “At once, my lord,” she said. As they strode out into the hall, Illamer joined them. Reynolds sniffed, detecting a faint odor of rose water around the man. Had he bathed just this morning?

  He forced himself to fall back on the sword of courtesy. “We appreciate your support, Lord Major. I’m not sure Lord Drayston would’ve agreed without your encouragement.”

  The man fluttered a hand. “Tsk. Think nothing of it. After all, how often do soldiers like ourselves get the opportunity to see true action these days? Peace treaties are all well and good, but they do little to keep dreams of blood and glory alive among the troops.”

  Reynolds exchanged a concerned look with Heiml, but Illamer shifted between them and chattered on.

  “My own contingent remains in the barracks. I volunteer them to take position beyond the walls once the battle comes—and I do believe it is coming. I’ll lead them myself, of course, as I’ve a clever stratagem in mind.”

  Lieutenant Heiml hemmed. “Dauntless of you to offer, Lord Major.”

  “Not at all. Simply doing my duty, as we all are. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Reynolds?”

  Reynolds managed to conceal another eye twitch with a shrug, which seemed to satisfy the Lord Major. Illamer and Heiml headed on, discussing possible plans, while he lagged behind, trying to subdue the worry writhing in his gut.

  Bloody and glory? Should it come to a confrontation with the orocs, they’d likely see plenty of the former, there always was in every battle. But he had yet to see a soldier holding glory in their hands.

  For now these thoughts were too abstract. He had troops to rally and prepare for the eventuality of battle. Reynolds strode into the courtyard, searching the soldiers there until he spotted the familiar face he was seeking. “Mikkels. To me!”

  The corporal spotted him and ran over. “Yes, sir?”

  “Send out riders. I want all six of our Prios’ sweeping the areas around the castle. We are on alert.” Reynolds studied the men and women moving around the castle. How far to take this? He believed Tetra that Jaegen had been destroyed by the oroc clans. Too many resources thrown blindly were only muddying the waters.

  For the first time, Reynolds felt he was beginning to understand the balance Lord Drayston had to keep.

  ***

  Chapter 42

  Gnarrl

  Gazing upon the castle known as Drayston, Gnarrl considered the toppled balance in his mind and saw no way to right it. Argant, wisdom be to the ancient of ancient’s forever, had refused to reconsider his proclamation. Gnarrl had tried to persuade him to call off the attack, but the shaman remained unswayed.

  The atrocities visited upon the Bearoak clan must be answered, but to do so hastily threatened to overstretch the clans. Too far on this path would send them all falling to their doom. Should they not consider other possibilities? What if humans could become rabid, as the beasts of the forest sometimes did? What if they’d not been in their right minds, and so couldn’t be blamed in full for their action? Yes, it might mean having to kill those so diseased, but it didn’t require eliminating an entire herd. Orocs and humans had lived peacefully together for over a century, building trade and understanding with one another—and Gnarrl would see such relations continue.

  The tragedy last autumn had changed everything for most of the clans; there could be no confusing the vile intent in the destruction of the Foxleaf. He’d witnessed the burned bodies with his own eyes. Smelled the sickening aroma of their charred flesh. Wept at their mouths open wide in silent screams, unspeakable agony etched on their withered faces.

  Despite that, he’d spoken against the first retaliation, too. An entire clan of ancients, mates, and saplings had been slaughtered, yes, he didn’t deny this. When the harvesters of the Foxleaf clan had returned to find their families destroyed, many of them disappeared into the forest, never to be seen again. A few came to Bearoak, pleading for justice to be made, for balance to be restored. Gnarrl had shared their fury, but doubt mingled in his heartwood.

  Were there so many who controlled fire among the humans and so strongly? Yet who else could’ve been responsible? The unfortified camp called Jaegen stood as the only target within a night’s striking distance from the Rocmire. Whoever had slaughtered Foxleaf must’ve come from there.

  Once the shaman decided, Gnarrl had surrendered to his fury, to hatred, and committed to the retaliation, the making of justice in the hopes of balance.

  No balance came, and the flames from that night haunted him as much as the scene at Foxleaf’s camp. Fire, forever taboo, had been used that night on the humans. More troubling, all refused responsibility, saying it had not been them. Who then? The fires of Jaegen had killed humans, not oroc. Why would humans have used taboo to kill their own? No, it was someone who meant to kill humans. But Gnarrl could not share these thoughts. There was no balance in the tribe, and he already feared that others were questioning his loyalty to the clan. If they deemed him disloyal, he could be exiled, clanless, disconnected from the life trees. The worst fate other than burning an oroc could experience. But beyond that, his doubts could fracture the clan, make them heartless and lost from the balance.

  Yet now they prepared to disrupt the balance all over again, and Gnarrl feared the results would splinter them beyond repair. Yes, this time the humans’ guilt appeared more evident. The slain murderers were clothed in the colored fabrics of the great camp known as Drayston. Impossible to argue against. Gnarrl studied the vines and moss covering his arms. Couldn’t humans’ false skins be changed more easily than his own could be regrown? He didn’t know why the thought occurred to him, but something didn’t feel right.

  He shoved these doubts back deep into himself, burying them beneath the earth of his convictions. His roots didn’t dig into shamanic soil, but that of a warrior. He was a harvester. Decisions had been made, and he must now follow their course, no matter what channel they carved.

  His priority lay in returning as many of the Rocmire clans’ harvesters safely back as possible. Many saplings numbered among them, eager to prove themselves. Gnarrl knew Argant as wise, but the ancient of ancient’s held limited experience with humans. Most of the shaman’s long life had been spent deep in the Rocmire, far from the encroaching settlements of the younger, weaker race. Argant spent more time talking to the rooted ancients that made up the Rocmire forest than the younger orocs, much less exploring beyond the borders of Rocmire into human lands.

  A human rider galloped past the hiding orocs. Gnarrl froze, one hand placed on the ground, ready to craft the earth into a weapon against the human. Should they be spotted, killing the human would be the only option. The rider didn’t stop though, didn’t even look away from its course. Gnarrl heaved a sigh of relief.

  The call of a blackbird to his left told him that Kunat’s harvesters
were in place. Gnarrl thrummed to himself in satisfaction. Kunat had been his friend and partner since they’d both been plucked from the life tree on the same day. They’d gathered together, caused mischief together, fought together, even chosen companions from the same family. They had almost chosen each other. Only Maraco, Kunat’s younger offshoot, always managed to keep up with them, despite being several years greener. At least, until the night of the raid on Jaegen.

  Gnarrl trilled a whistle through his teeth, signaling Kunat to hold. The rest of the clans needed time to get their harvesters in place. He settled back on his haunches and observed the field of cleared land before him. Ancient trees had been chopped down to make room for the false cave humans called a castle. The gloom of night concealed much of the construction’s details, even to his keen eyes.

  The harvesters behind him shuffled, but held their positions. Many of them didn’t know what to expect. They’d all heard the stories, of course. Humans fought differently than orocs, and this went beyond their techniques or affinities. When the oroc clans battled, they did so as a show of strength or to settle a dispute. At the most, it was to toughen the bark of sapling harvesters. But unlike the humans, oroc battle included as much healing as it did wounding. One did not let a sister or brother die simply because they’d been defeated. A victor mended the wounds of their fallen foes so they might learn from their defeat and become a better warrior, for the good of all the clans.

  No. Humans fought to kill, to destroy, to take without balance. Orocs had quickly learned that to prevail against humans meant fighting on their terms—leaving the wounded to die or finishing them off then and there. Once, only the savage ifrahn did such insult to their enemies.

  Tonight’s strategy looked simple in design, but would be complex in execution. The hunting parties of the Bearoak, Willowhawk, and Fangblossom clans would attack the defenses atop the ridges of the Drayston Castle while the Stonewolf and Bullvine clans would bypass the defenses and assault the humans slumbering behind the rock walls before they could dampen the orocs’ magic. The humans wouldn’t even know they were coming until it warriors fought in their midst. Once the humans that could dampen were defeated, the clans would use their earth affinities, pulling down the walls of the castle, giving them back to the earth.