by J. T. Hartke
“We must break camp and continue onward. Another patrol is not far behind. They move in great force along the edge of the Bloodwood, already on this side of the Gallond.” The elf moved one hand to adjust his patch, changing at the last moment to run it through his lengthening white crew cut. “Dozens of orcs are on the move not much more than an hour away.”
Boris sheathed his sword. “Then let’s go.”
Khalem Shadar had already begun saddling horses, and Jaerd joined him after cleaning and sheathing Shar’leen. Before long they rode out of their sheltered hollow. Brawny loped ahead with Gael and his mount.
In between the giant Bloodwoods, the party made good time. Once the great trees disappeared, normal sized pine and fir replaced them, closing in the passage. But with an elf in the lead, and less snowfall upon the ground, they still traversed the forest with great speed. By the time the sun breached the horizon, the southern spur of the Dragonscales loomed to their left, covered in even thicker stands of pine.
Day wore on and Jaerd walked next to his horse, giving the steed a rest. Dawne yawned and stumbled beside him, and he offered her his arm.
“Come on, sis, we’re almost there.”
“Where?” she sighed.
“Kirath,” Boris called, his hand extended toward the distance.
A small town with no wall but several large keeps stood on the last low peak of the mountain spur just a few leagues away.
“I hope they have baths,” Dawne whispered.
Healing Talent is a blessing above the skills of mages. To save a life is sacred. – “Healing Abscura” by Lord Doctor Balon Harish, 322 A.R.
Shoving aside her feelings for Tallen, Maddi closed the door to the Lord Doctor’s office behind her. Even though she was quite practiced at focusing on a task at hand, a knot of thoughts still hung in the back of her mind regarding him, offering an enticing distraction. Damn him.
Lord Doctor Tymin Marten sat behind his garish desk, suddenly over-carved and over-gilt to Maddi’s tastes. He steepled his fingers in front of his face, his mud-colored eyes boring into Maddi’s heart.
“Welcome, Lady Doctor,” he sneered. “I assume you have come to deliver your student reports for the semester?”
Maddi stopped the hand that reached for one of the daggers in her sleeve. I don’t want this to turn violent – at least not yet.
“I’ve come to resign the College, both as student and teacher.” She ached to hurt the man, but thoughts of what he might do with Tanya held her hand. “I also demand that you tell me where my friends are. What have you done with Tanya and Ami?”
“Whatever are you talking about?” The doctor feigned innocence with such absurdity that Maddi almost gave in to the urge to pull her knife. “Your little urchin probably ran back to the sewer she crawled out of.”
Maddi stepped back, her heart sinking into a pit in her stomach. What did I ever see in this man? Was he all an act?
“I am no fool, Tymin.” She edged one hand closer to the sleeve. “I know you have them. I know you’ve been planning something since Midwinter. All I want is to disappear with them, because I don’t care what you were scheming with the chancellor. I didn’t really hear anything.” She filled her voice with sadness, trying to force a tear that she almost felt. “Please, for whatever friendship we once had, just let us go in peace. I promise to do the same.”
The doctor rose from his chair, and from his sanguine expression Maddi thought he might do as she asked. Instead, Martin snapped his fingers. A bookcase moved forward and to the side, revealing a torch lit stone passage. Three men with an assortment of clubs and knives entered the room, placing themselves around Maddi.
“You bastard,” she snarled, at last pulling a knife with each hand.
Before she could move, Maddi felt Marten embrace his Talent, much as she had a hundred times before. This time it was different, though. It twisted, turning in on itself and warping in vibration. When he reached it toward her, she felt repulsed, as if it carried a black poison with it. A sucking feeling ripped at her heart as his psahn touched hers.
With a shout, Maddi thrust herself away from him. She embraced her own Talent, forming a shield of psahn as if by instinct. The doctor’s attack pushed against her, and she wanted to vomit at its touch.
“I knew you were a natural.” Marten’s voice remained calm, though it sounded distant in Maddi’s ear. “I had hoped to make you a friend, but I can see you will not have it.” He smiled a syrupy sweet grin. “The thing is, I know far much more than you can possibly imagine.”
His psahn slammed against hers, throwing her physically across the room. The doctor’s henchmen moved without hesitation, wrapping thick arms around her and tearing away her knives. The blow from Marten’s life force left her staggered, dazed by the sudden strange collision of their Talents. Maddi could not resist as they dragged her into the secret passage. She barely registered the doctor following close and shutting the door behind him before she blacked out.
Pain throbbed in Maddi’s temples. A slight groan escaped her lips as she rolled onto her side. Her arm did not follow, and the clank of metal rang in her ears. Am I chained?
Her vision opened on dimness, revealing little more than they had when closed. A small fire burned in the distance, eventually resolving itself into a torch set in a rock wall. She heard rustling sounds and smelled oil smoke. Pushing herself upward, she leaned against a stone shelf. The chain clanged again, and Maddi realized her wrist was shackled to the wall.
“There you are, my dear.” Marten’s voice, though still the same soft baritone, held a sinister edge she had never even imagined before. It sounded empty and hollow, and it echoed harshly in the dark chamber. “I was so hoping you would awaken in time for me to show you what our Talent is truly capable of. Oh, we can waste it on healing others – and at times that has rewards of its own, I’ll grant – but why not use it to better ourselves?” Her eyes had adjusted enough for her to see his pale face and the urgency that jumped around on it. “Pure self-interest is the only moral virtue one should care about, Maddi. I admired that in you when we first met. You seemed so driven to improve yourself and your lot in life.”
Marten crossed his arms, his expression shifting to a smirk. “Oh, I know about your past…about a rooftop in Dern. I have more connections and influence than you know.” He leaned forward, his hand forming a fist. “That is the real reason why I brought you up so fast here at the College. I thought you would be an asset to our cause.” Sudden fire came into his voice. “And it is a just cause!”
Maddi stared at him. He waited as if he expected a reply. He’ll get none.
Marten glowered. “That night…at Midwinter,” he began, as if he had never paused. “I wanted to bring you into our plan. I did not intend to hide it from you much longer.” He leaned back again, calming his voice and posture. “King Arathan is old. His mind fades and his body is not far behind. You gave him healing. You had to have sensed it. How long do you think he has left to rule?”
Again he paused, and again Maddi gave him nothing but an icy glare.
Marten pursed his lips in frustration. “We must ensure stability for Gannon when that happens. It is the responsibility of the Lord Chancellor, the High Elder, and I – as members of the High Council.”
Maddi lifted an eyebrow. “So the fat man is in on it too, eh?”
The Lord Doctor spluttered. Maddi could see the rage bubbling under his features. He’s barely keeping it in check.
“You must understand,” he pleaded, his hands spread. “We only seek to secure the kingdom.”
Snorting a laugh of disdain, Maddi jerked the chain clasped to her arm. “With poison? And I’m sure you’ve lined your own pocket quite well in the meantime. I heard about the money for the hospital.”
The doctor stood from his seat and stalked closer to her. “How can I expect a Free City wench to grasp the nuances
of power? You were a street urchin – little better than that wastrel you keep playing mother with.” His face screwed up in anger. “Well, let’s see just how much of a mother you really are. Bring her!”
He snapped his fingers, and one of the three men Maddi had only glimpsed in the shadows left through a doorway. A moment later he returned, a kicking, snarling bundle in his arms. He tossed it on the stone floor at Marten’s feet.
“Easy, Jahn,” the doctor said with a grin. “We wouldn’t want to hurt the poor thing.”
With a vacant expression, the man untied the bundle and pulled the sack away to reveal Tanya, a small trickle of blood seeping from her nose.
Rage nearly blinding her, Maddi leaped up and hurled against the chain, almost wrenching her arm from its socket. “I’ll kill you!”
Marten leaned forward, his once handsome face scarred with cruelty. “Oh, I doubt that, Maddi. You see, what you don’t completely understand is that our Talent is far more powerful than most doctors ever imagine.”
As he spoke, Maddi felt him again embrace that odd, darker side of his Talent, twisted into a whirlpool that drew inward. She sensed her own psahn pulled toward it, and she again threw up the defense that seemed so natural before – much like the one she used to keep disease from spreading to herself.
“You are ingenious, for one so new to their Talent, Maddi.” Marten gestured at Tanya, who stuck her tongue out in his direction. “So much courage. So much life.”
His vortex of dark Talent slunk toward the girl, his face curled in a rictus of perverted pleasure.
“No!” Maddi shouted as the vortex touched Tanya. She strained harder against the chain, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. She sensed the girl’s psahn being drawn out of her body, and screamed again when Tanya slumped over. The glimmer of life force dissipated from her presence.
The doctor’s own psahn flashed brighter as he drew from the little girl.
“Stop it!” Maddi drew back, her hands drawn up over a horror-stricken face. “Whatever you want…I’ll do it, just stop!”
She collapsed to her knees, transfixed on Tanya’s limp body, just out of reach. A flicker of psahn glowed within the girl, and Marten held his vortex just on the edge of draining it.
“Oh, Maddi,” the doctor sighed, “it’s far too late for that. It is obvious to me that you will never be a cooperative partner. I will just have to find someone else.” He edged a step closer, his gaze fixed on Maddi, not Tanya. “I will drain this little girl, and then I will drain you.” He licked his lips with anticipation. “Your psahn is so powerful. I cannot wait to taste it.”
Without warning, Tanya’s crumpled form suddenly lashed out with a fierce kick, catching the doctor in his shin. It did not affect him much, but it drew his attention.
“You little piece of garbage,” he spat. He kicked the little girl in the chest, sending her sprawling across the room.
“No you don’t!” Maddi shouted, rage boiling over all her senses at the sight of Tanya’s limp body. Uncertain what guided her, Maddi drew upon her Talent, pouring her life force into the shield she had created to insulate herself from the doctor’s vortex. Once she had reached her limits, she threw it outward, wrapping Tanya’s barely breathing form in a protective shell of psahn.
“Well, well,” Marten clucked. “You are beginning to learn the many hidden uses of our Talent…and without any guidance. You would have made a great ally, Maddi. Too bad it is too late.”
He threw the sucking, lifeless whirl of his power at her shield, battering it and threatening to rip it apart. Marten drew even more of his life force, pushing it down on her and Tanya.
Maddi strained for more psahn, but she had little left to give. The distance between us is too great. If only I were closer…
She strained against the chain, threatening to strip the skin from her wrist, but she could get no closer, and her strength ebbed with every moment the doctor assaulted her shield. Maddi felt his power begin to overcome hers, felt it begin to break through to the last few precious drops of Tanya’s life force.
Tanya lifted her weak head to look at Maddi. The little girl softly nodded as if to say it was alright, she did not blame Maddi.
“No!” Maddi shouted once more, and she hurled every last shred of her psahn at the doctor’s attack. It threw him back against the cave wall with a resounding concussion. Maddi began to swoon, the strike sapping all her remaining strength. The oblivion of unconsciousness swarmed over her senses. As she faded away, she caught a glimpse of Marten struggling to his feet with the aid of one of his men. Another of his goons moved toward her, and she gave herself over to the silence.
When the Northlands unite under a single Warchief – when all clans stand together with their seven banners looking down upon the same enemy – no Human, Elf, or Dwarf will be able to stop us. We will swarm over the Southlands and gorge upon their fat. – Wild Tiger of Wolf Clan, 120 A.R.
Slar stared out over the Northlands. The view from the Highspur library granted a vista of his entire native country. He held an untouched mug of ale in one hand, the latest message from his forward scouts in the other. Crossing the Gallond is simple. Crushing the Free Cities will be much harder.
Steps sounded behind him. Slar would recognize the careful gait anywhere. “Sharrog, my son,” he greeted without turning.
“Father,” the young orc warrior replied. “It is good to see you. You appear well.”
Slar snorted. “I am well enough in body, I suppose, but your brother’s death still weighs heavy on my heart.”
“It weighs on all the Orc Nation, father.” Slar heard the pain in his youngest son’s voice. “He was the greatest warrior in the host, and none would dare to challenge that. His death diminishes us all.”
Slar could only gaze out the window in reply.
Sharrog cleared his throat. “Is that the latest dispatch from the front?”
Taking a sip from the now warm ale to soothe a catch in his throat, Slar turned to face his son. The young orc wore battle leathers and his pair of slim scimitars. Always ready for action, this one. Perhaps, with some more age and wisdom, he could lead as well as Grindar.
“It is a message from Radgred.” Slar handed the thin, rune-scrawled skin to his son. “It has little new within it. Forward battalions approach the Lond River in strength, while our scouts have already crossed it. His target is the city of Kirath.”
“Will you leave soon to take personal command?” Sharrog lifted one black eyebrow. “Or shall I lead the main host forward? I would hate to miss out on the sack of our first southern city.”
Slar inspected Sharrog up and down, assessing the change in the brash boy of a year ago. He stands with the mettle of a warrior, but a good deal more wisdom rests on his brow.
“Very well, my son,” he said at last. “You may take another twenty thousand warriors of your choice to follow Radgred and the others. Kirath will almost certainly be taken by then, but he is to give you command upon your arrival.” Slar turned back to the window. “We have stores here to last for some time. The humans did not burn everything.” He fingered the books and maps scattered about. “I am stuck here waiting with the Bears and Snakes for the Mammoth Clan, as it seems I have forever been, but we cannot move beyond the Free Cities without Chieftain Sargash’s strength.”
Sharrog tapped a fist to his heart. “As you command, Warchief. Shall I take some shamans off your hands as well?”
The boy may be wiser than I suspect.
“Yes,” Slar answered, “but mostly from Snake and Bear clans.”
He watched Sharrog leave with some regret. He had hoped to keep his son close, keep him safe, but he knew that was not possible. He cannot stand still, just like his mother. Restlessness gnaws at me too, but I must await Sargash the Ever Slow.
When his son was gone, Slar turned back toward the window to ponder over the Northl
ands. While he watched the silver ribbon of the Norvus River dance in the midday sunlight, a few dark specks emerged from the water along the river’s southern bank. For some time he followed them as they approached the fortress. Occasionally he sipped his ale. Then they disappeared around the corner of rock leading to the defile that had cost his people so much blood.
“Mammoth’s strength has waned if that’s the whole clan,” he whispered to himself.
Slar continued to study the landscape, his mind mulling the dozen challenges before him. He had solved none when a knock came at the library door. After a moment to straighten his ancient scimitar and brush the front of his cuirass, he called out. “Come!”
At his summons, a Boar warrior entered with a sharp salute. “Warchief! Captain Libor of the Mammoth Clan requests an audience. He has come in advance of the rest of his clan.”
A messenger from Sargash? Or a message himself? I have heard of this Libor. I’ve seen him win Victor half a dozen times. When Sharrog won Victor status, Libor was not at the Clanhold. Rumors were that he hunted ice bear alone.
Slar waved one hand. “Bring him in, Sergeant.”
The sergeant barely gestured before an orc larger than Grindar stalked into the room. Catching sight of the hulking warrior, Slar nearly gasped at the likeness to his dead son. But this orc, with swirling tusk tattoos on his face, carried a fiercer visage than Grindar ever had.
The warrior offered a curt bow, his thick leather and mail creaking. “Warchief Slar…” His voice held only the minimum respect. “…I greet you on behalf of Sargash, Chieftain of the Mammoth Clan. I am Libor, son of Corup, captain of the Mageslayers, and I am at your service.”
From the warrior’s carriage and tone, Slar doubted that was altogether true. “Welcome, Captain Libor. It is a great day to see members of the Mammoth Clan at last among our united horde.” Slar shifted his scimitar while eyeing the black battle-axe slung over Libor’s shoulder. “Do you carry a message from your chieftain?”