Bloodletting Part 2

by Peter J. Wacks

  Halli looked around at the other kids before responding. “They are moving their village to a safer place. They attacked Drayston and I think …”

  “They what?” Sven interrupted, incredulous. “Castle Drayston? Like, the home of the lord’s garrison?”

  Halli nodded. “Yeah. It didn’t go well. They are retreating to somewhere safer, deeper in the forest.”

  Sven’s breath caught in his chest. “They aren’t setting us free, are they?”

  “No,” Halli replied. “We are going with them. Some of them aren’t happy about it, Sven. There is tension between them. A lot of them want to let us go, others want to … get rid of us.”

  Sven squeezed her shoulders again, then let her go. He stared around at the vanishing village. It didn’t matter. So long as all the kids of Jaegen were allowed to be together again, he could endure.

  “Did they give you a feast this morning?”

  “Yeah. They did. I helped their healers after the battle. It was a reward. I think that my help got us a lot of respect from the group of orocs that want to let us go.”

  Sven thought about Halli healing the people that had hurt him so much. It was upsetting to think of Halli aiding the orocs. But again, he found it didn’t matter. “Where’s Laney?”

  Halli ducked out from under Sven’s arm and looked around the camp. “She’s with Merise. They’re bringing Kat out.”

  The joy at being united trickled away when he saw Laney and Merise carrying Katerine. Her still form was on a stretcher made of branches and vines. Halli had told him about the girl’s failure to wake all this time, but actually seeing her like this made it far more real. They were prisoners, and they were dying.

  Sven gently pushed through the massed children and made his way to the stretcher. He offered to handle Laney’s end of the stretcher and she gave him a bright smile.

  “Thanks, Sven!” Her golden hair hung caked with dirt, but her natural beauty and sharp eyes still shone through. When he took the branches from her, Katerine’s light weight shocked him. She’d always been slim, but now she looked and felt skeletal.

  “Have you been able to figure out what’s wrong with her?” he asked as Halli pushed up to his side.

  “No,” worry shaded her face briefly, a cloud passing the sun, “but I will.”

  He tried for an encouraging nod. “I know you will.” Then he watched the orocs continue their bustling work. “Is this what I think it is? We’re leaving?”

  Halli nodded, lips thinning.

  “Where are we going?” Laney asked. She picked up the youngest boy, who had begun to cry. Little Zaeden, now a toddler, had been barely a year old when they were stolen from their homes.

  “Deeper into the Rocmire, where soldiers won’t be able to find them.”

  “Or us,” Sven said.

  Halli smiled up at him, though her eyes warned him toward caution. The realization that the younger kids were all looking to the two of them for direction struck him. He loved that smile, though he wished it didn’t look so sad or weary.

  “What happens to us when we get to … wherever they’re going?” Laney asked quietly. Little Laney had picked up on the cue to not panic the children, speaking softly enough that Sven doubted anyone but he and Halli heard her.

  But he didn’t have an answer.

  He had plenty of guesses, few good, many dreadful—none he dared voice. The good options would just raise false hopes, while the alternatives would terrify. He could only try to figure out a way to get them all away before the orocs reached their new destination.

  One of the orocs loosed a reverberating cry and the main mass shifted into motion, the humans toward the center. Once they’d gone beyond the boundary of the original village, Sven glanced back. There was no sign anyone had ever lived, suffered, or died here. He shivered at how effectively the orocs removed all traces of their existence and wondered how easily they’d eliminate the humans once they wore out their usefulness.

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pavil Serevin

  “Sev—no, eight,” Pavil guessed. The urge to use his affinity nagged at him, but the rules of the Round Robbing forbade it. Sanji, the Admired who currently played the thief, glared at him. He opened his hand, revealing eight stones before slamming them down on the flat tree trunk serving as their table.

  “Bah!” He stroked his dark moustache and beard. “You’re too lucky by a half, boy.”

  Three other players who’d guessed incorrectly pushed their stones over to Sanji, who paid them out to Pavil and another Admired who’d also guessed eight stones.

  “I’m out,” Sanji eyed Pavil. “Again.”

  The last player looked at his pile of stones—only ten left—then at Pavil’s forty. “I concede,” he pushed his stones over.

  Pavil laughed and started separating the stones into piles of ten. “So, that’s cleanup duty tomorrow for you,” he said to Sanji. A smug smile spread across his face.

  The man stood and stretched. “Sure, you little bastard. But don’t get too used to winning. It ain’t gonna last forever.”

  Pavil stuck out a tongue then listed the rest of the duties each defeated opponent agreed to cover for him, and they grumbled consent as they left the table.

  Malec spoke up from his seat by the fire. “No one’s going to play against you anymore, if you keep winning like that Pavil.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m good at the game.” Pavil said aloofly while he slipped the polished, white stones, each etched with one of the twelve Aspect emblems, back in their leather bag. The leather bag was smooth and brown, with just a filigreed Heart of the World Emblem adorning the outside.

  Malec poked the fire with a stick. Embers floated up, tiny phoenixes dancing above the flame. He watched the Admired walking away. “Sure, but you just sent them away with three days of work.”

  “So?” Pavil placed the bag back in the wooden chest and set it aside. “That’s three days I don’t have to do chores. What’s wrong with that?”

  “So what good is your skill if no one wants to risk taking on your chores?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean if you win all the time, no one will play you because they’ll know that they are just gonna have to do your chores for you.”

  Pavil frowned as he joined his friend and sat down. Malec made sense for once. “What should I do then? I don’t want more work. And I can’t help it if I’m really good at Round Robbing.”

  Malec smiled. “The trick is to get ahead and then start losing. Keep yourself up, but not too much. That’ll keep them playing and you can still come out on top—if just barely. Try moving all the chores around while you play, too, so that no one ends up with their original list. If you’re careful you can get only the ones you want to do.”

  Pavil tossed some twigs onto the fire. “So then why do I have to shift all the chores around?”

  Malec rolled his eyes. “Dimwit. If you make sure you only come out a little ahead and no one leaves with the chores they started with, even if they figure out what you are doing they won’t care. They’ll know they can play with the chores they really don’t want and get rid of them.”

  Pavil gaped. “How do you know all that?”

  Malec’s smile faded. “I used to play Round Robbing with my parents. My father was really good. Came from playing with other soldiers when he was deployed.”

  Pavil stared into the fire, envious of his friend’s memories. His parents had died soon after he’d been born, and he only remembered his grandparents. He always wished he’d known his parents. There’d been plenty of happy moments with granddad and grandma, but no more.

  He tried not to think about it, but the events had been seared into his mind. How he’d woken to the door shattering beneath an oroc’s foot. The silent forms in his grandparents’ bed across the room. His cry for them to wake and run—before he saw the bloody spikes protruding from their chests. He rapped knuckles on the side of his head, try
ing to dislodge the images.

  “Boy,” a voice called from another fire. Pavil and Malec looked at one another, recognizing Riktos’ voice. “Boy!”

  “What?” Malec put a hand on Pavil’s shoulder, stopping him from getting up.

  “When I call, you get over here. You don’t ask what. Now get over here!”

  “There’s two of us, Riktos. You said boy, not boys.” Malec didn’t care about antagonizing Riktos. While most of the camp had adjusted to having them around, and the boys were fitting in, a few of the Admired still treated them like slaves. Riktos was particularly bad. The man was a bully and Malec always fought back whenever a bully attacked, even if it was only verbal attacks.

  Anger cracked Riktos’ voice. “Then both of you come. Now get your empty heads over here.”

  They rose and shuffled over, Malec pushing Pavil slightly back so that he was standing closer to Riktos, between the Admired and his friend.

  “Move any slower next time, and I’ll move you myself,” Riktos said. A powerful Archon, he could set nearly any object in motion. Malec suspected he might even be strong enough to make good on his threat, overcoming their natural Affilial resistance to throw them around. He felt Pavil’s hand on his back, cautioning him. While Pavil had avoided actively using his Pathos affinity, he still picked up ambient moods, and in that touch Malec felt a surge of warning from his friend.

  Malec could smell the alcohol on Riktos. He extended a stone mug Malec’s way. “Fill my drink.”

  Malec looked at the cup and then at the skin of liquor sitting on another of the tree trunk tables. Glancing back, he saw that Pavil stood at the edge of the firelight, waiting, his eyes narrowed as he watched the men. With a sigh, he fetched the skin and did as Riktos demanded.

  “Be happy you’re doing something useful,” the others around the fire laughed.

  Malec started to replace the skin on the table but was interrupted. “No, no. Stay here with it in case I need more.” Riktos turned a bleary eye on Pavil. “You, too, in case he gets tired.”

  They stood there as the men around the fire drank and ate and laughed. Pavil stared at Riktos, and the first flicker of hatred woke within him. He realized with a start that his affinity was picking up latent emotion from within Riktos, who was enjoying their misery. He knew how this harassment affected them, beyond just humiliation.

  Even with others taking on some of his work, Pavil remained exhausted. If they were forced to stick around all night, the lack of sleep would only make the next day worse and give the men plenty of reasons to berate them. Riktos reveled in the pain he was causing them. And Pavil himself was being influenced by the emotions; that seed of hate reflected outward, sprouting in Pavil’s heart. He didn’t like the feeling.

  Pavil studied the scene around the fire, breathing slowly, trying to rein in his feelings. Maybe he could tweak the men and get them to let the boys head to bed. Sibyl had warned against using their affinities without permission, but she’d gone off earlier in the day and hadn’t returned. Maybe he could get away with a little nudge …

  Flexing his fingers as a focus, he stretched his affinity out and touched Riktos’ emotions, steeling himself against the hatred he knew he would be touching. His walls weren’t strong enough. He snatched his talent back as fast as he could, too late. A bitter taste welled in the back of his throat, and he barely managed to turn away from the fire before dropping to his knees, retching.

  Riktos and several others leapt to their feet. “Hells, boy, what’s wrong with you?”

  Pavil emptied his dinner onto the grass, snot dribbling from his nostrils as he tried, and failed, to get himself back under control. Malec dropped the liquor skin and ran to him, grabbing his shaking shoulders.

  “Let me take care of him, please,” he begged of Riktos.

  The men around the fire started laughing drunkenly at Pavil as he continued to empty his stomach. Riktos waved them off in disgust. “Get him outta here. And then you get back and clean up his mess. Make it fast or I’ll thrash you, whelp.”

  Malec slipped Pavil’s arm over his shoulders and helped him stagger off until they stood safe and alone beyond the firelight. There, Pavil went to all fours again, arms trembling.

  “What’s wrong?” Malec knelt next to his friend. “What happened?”

  Pavil finally drew a clear breath, but couldn’t answer his friend right away. He stayed locked in the sensations he’d felt from Riktos, even from such a brief touch on his emotions. People emanated all sorts of odd emotional auras, which he sorted out into various shades of anger, happiness, guilt, fear, and so on. This, though, had been unique.

  At the core of Riktos’ feelings, at the seat of his soul, a darkness coiled there. A delight in the suffering of others, in torment, in pain. A wicked glee in seeing innocents trampled—especially under his own boots. Even a deep current of love for death.

  Pavil could only think of one name for it all.

  Evil.

  He looked up at Malec. “Riktos. He hates us.”

  Malec nodded. “I know, Pavil. Don’t worry though. He’s just a bully.”

  “No, he isn’t. He isn’t just a bully.” Pavil grabbed Malec’s shirt, twisting it between his fingers as he made a fist. “He’s a murderer. He’s killed a lot. And not in war, Malec. He hates us, and if he gets the chance, he is going to kill us.”

  ***

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tetra Bicks

  Clouds floated sparsely through the sky of the bright, cheerful day. Early spring was making itself known. Fresh foliage and growth sprouted from the ground. The smell of greenery drifted through the air.

  As the birds sang in the trees overhead, Tetra lugged the two heavy packs along, one strap for each over either shoulder. They dug in and tweaked his back with each step, but he didn’t care. This was too important.

  Healer Alma had done some reworking on the back brace in the two days since Uncle Andros had ridden into the castle, saying that it would need to be redesigned to grow with him. The brace was more flexible now, with a toughened leather strap at the center of interlocking steel rings.

  Good exercise, a way to strengthen himself that didn’t involve chores around the castle, was a daily pursuit for Tetra. He looked back through the narrow strip of trees to where Castle Drayston squatted on the horizon, just visible after an hour’s laden march north.

  He fixed the location in his mind, trying to create a mental map with landmarks all oriented to one another, including the castle, the forest road off to the east, and Mirewatch to the north. If he guessed right, he didn’t have much further to go.

  He kept his pace steady as he continued straight through the trees. Not a thickly wooded area, but hilly enough to make him work, especially with his burdens. He tried to remain observant of his surroundings, listening to the occasional birdsong, tracking small animals that darted from his tramping. Keeping his eyes peeled, he identified as many different types of trees as he could, but found himself woefully ignorant. Nor could he pick out what berried bushes were edible or not.

  There was so little time before Uncle Andros was going to steal him away, making it impossible for him to rescue Halli. Every second of the day had to be spent learning survival in the forest as quickly as possible. Whether he was ready or not, he had to learn woodcraft because he was going. Maybe if he’d been a Magnus he could orient better, but without the magic he had to rely on tracking the direction of moss growth. Malec had always made a game of asking the other children what direction they faced, and then gleefully correcting them if they were wrong, which they were more often than not.

  Tetra eyed the trees. Apparently, the whole thing about the side of a tree moss grows on was a myth, because to his untrained observations it looked like it was growing on both sides of everything around. That just wasn’t fair. Somebody in the castle had to have a compass. Maybe he could—

  “Who goes?”

  Tetra squawked as a Drayston soldier appeared from a hidden wat
ch post, a short sword leveled at his chest. The man’s stance was relaxed, his extended arm still bent at the elbow. His other hand gripped his own wrist, supporting the leveled sword. Tetra noted that the guard’s sword arm was the side of his body furthest from Tetra. While he had a sword leveled, the guard was concealing his true reach, and could snap that sword forward another three feet easily with a single quick step.

  Tetra grinned to himself. He really was learning the arts of war and fighting. Boy and guard eyed each other. Tetra’s mind spun, trying to come up with an excuse. His eyes seemed to work on their own, continuing to observe. While still dressed in an official tabard, the gold in the man’s uniform had been muted closer to brown, letting him blend in with the surroundings more easily. The dirty bronze hawk on his shoulder marked him as a private. He had obviously carefully smudged his uniform to stop metallic reflections. The filigree and insignia were the only portions dirty.

  The guard frowned at Tetra and lowered his blade to half stance. “Hang on. You’re the Jaegen boy, aren’t you?” When Tetra nodded, he sheathed the sword. “Hells, boy, what’re you doing out here?”

  “The kitchen master whipped up some special meals for the advance camps,” Tetra said, adjusting the packs. “I volunteered to bring some your way. Anything to get out of the castle chores.”

  The private smiled and waved for him to follow. “Well then, come on. Almost lunchtime as it is, and I know the rest will be happy to see you bringing special treats.”

  Tetra silently reprimanded himself as he followed the scout, noting another skill he’d need to work on. Focus. Awareness. He’d become so lost in his own thoughts. If the private had been an enemy, Tetra would’ve been run through before he even realized that there was someone else around.

  Tetra noted with interest that the guardsman whistled shrilly once then waited, holding out a hand to stop Tetra from walking forward. There didn’t seem to be a response, but after about two minutes the guard nodded his head. “Okay, we are clear to head in to the camp.”