In Pain and Blood (Spellster Series Book 1)

by Aldrea Alien

  Dylan picked his way through the carnage, trying not to focus on the broken, twitching bodies or the blood splattered everywhere like a painter’s nightmare. His stomach twisted. He gritted his teeth.

  His foot fell on a slippery patch. A quick glance down revealed it to be the loop of a woman’s intestines, the rest of it snaking out of her gut like a coiled mass of greasy sausage. His stomach rebelled. Before he could stop himself, he was doubled over and heaving up his midday meal all over the corpse.

  The hound eyed him from where he was crouched by one of the bandits, his russet brows lifting even as he cut a pouch from the dead man’s belt. “And they sent you into the army?”

  “He’s new to the whole killing and mutilated corpses business,” Authril answered before Dylan could find the breath to.

  With his stomach still cramping but empty, Dylan halted before the warrior. “Let me see your side,” he rasped.

  She grunted and moved her hand. “Damn needle daggers. Slipped right through.” Blood stained her side. A smile quivered its way across her lips. “Guess it’s a good thing that the hound found you when he did. You would’ve been pretty much screwed for protection otherwise.”

  “Stop talking as if you’re going to die.” He carefully unbuckled the side of her armour. There was a small puncture hole in the padding beneath. “I can heal this.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than a broken bone.”

  “Not for me.” Dylan placed a hand on her side and let his magic get to work. The outer wound would be easy to mend, even for a simple physician, but inside… He was pretty sure the blade had angled up to hit her kidney. In any other circumstance, he could see why Authril thought the stab wound was a death sentence. “Hold still, this won’t take long.” He concentrated his focus into convincing the quickening of the elf’s natural healing to not let the organ die and, when it responded, loosened his grasp to allow the flesh to seal itself.

  Finished, he stumbled back a few steps to lean against a nearby tree and catch his breath. He really needed to get this queasiness under control if he was going to be of any use to the army or they might decide to leave him in the tower. He couldn’t go back to that sort of life, not knowing the Udyneans faced little in the way of opposition.

  A groan came from amongst the bushes.

  Dylan glanced at the other two women of their little group. Both stood there calmly enough all things considered. They seemed intact, or at least didn’t clutch at any obvious wounds, which meant the sound came from another.

  Pushing himself upright, Dylan staggered towards the noise. He parted the bushes and found the man he’d thrown against a tree. The bandit had come to and was trying to get to his feet.

  Tracker straightened from his distasteful task of looting the corpses. “What is this? We have a survivor?” He strode over to the groaning man. With one shove of his boot, he rolled the bandit onto his back. “Well now,” he said, crouching at the bandit’s side. “That was quite the misjudgement your group made, yes?”

  The man laughed. It was a watery, breathless sound that spoke of a punctured lung. “Anna said you’d be easy pickings. Told her you can’t sneak up on an elf.”

  A small smile tweaked the hound’s lips. He gently helped the man to sit up against the tree. “Tell me,” he all but purred. “Are there any more of you?”

  Dylan frowned. He could’ve sworn Tracker had sheathed his dagger along with his sword, yet there it was dangling between those long fingers, hidden from the man’s sight.

  The bandit shook his head. “This is all of us, I swear.”

  “Good.” With one deft flick of his wrist, the dagger came up to plunge hilt-deep into the man’s side. The hound waited until the bandit stopped twitching before withdrawing the blade to silently clean it on the man’s tunic.

  Dylan’s gaze slid to the bandit, vainly searching for some sign of life. “You didn’t have to kill him.” These people weren’t some slavers from Udynea. The man was defenceless, injured. What threat could he have possibly been to them?

  “They’re bandits,” Authril said. “They likely already had a price on their heads. Even then, their lives were forfeit from the moment they attacked us.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the death they’d brought, forcing himself to take in every severed limb and lonesome head. A handful more than the original six he’d first seen had engaged the two elves. Nine in all without including those that’d attacked their flank. And each one lost their life. These people had been why the overseers sent spellsters, sent him, to fight Udynea.

  Tracker cleared his throat. “Consider it this way… If we had not been here to take their lives now, then they would’ve only preyed upon others, perhaps even killed them as they sought to kill us. Think of it as doing those honest people a favour.”

  Dylan frowned. It made sense. It didn’t mean he had to like it. It didn’t help that the man was covered in the blood of those he’d slain or that his belt pouches were full of their valuables.

  “Such a scowl. My dear spellster, if you had glared at them like that before all this, they might have run away.” The hound bounced to his feet. “We should wash off this blood, yes? I believe we passed a stream a little ways back, it could lead to something larger.”

  Dylan stared down at his hand where Authril’s blood still stained his skin. Such a small mark required nothing more than a basin and a little time. “I don’t have much blood on me,” he murmured, more to himself than the others. He should’ve been dripping in it, should’ve killed that bandit outright rather than let the man suffer a worse death.

  A hand clapped onto his shoulder, the strength behind it dragging his side down. “That may be,” Tracker said, “but some of us are not so fortunate. Come, if luck is merciful, we will find a place to camp before nightfall.”

  He trailed after the man as Tracker strode back the way they’d come. Luck be merciful? He didn’t see any of the gods granting him mercy anytime soon.

  They reached the stream without a hint of being followed. It seemed the bandit had been telling the truth, that had been all of them. Not that it stopped anyone from being twitchy. Even the hound would occasionally halt, demanding silence as he listened to the forest, before moving on.

  The stream was a small thing, barely a few feet wide, but more than enough for Dylan to wash his hands. He scrubbed them beneath the frigid water until his skin was pink and raw. The others settled around him, doing the same thing. The water turned murky with their efforts. Dylan moved further upstream before rinsing out his mouth, shuddering as the water hit his teeth.

  Authril carefully unbuckled her breastplate and examined the side. The damage hadn’t looked bad to him, but she wrinkled her nose at the blood-smeared metal. Mumbling, she removed the padding. That had also been soaked through.

  Dylan’s gaze swung to Marin. He could’ve sworn the woman had been limping, although she didn’t seem to be in a great deal of pain.

  The hound, having finished sluicing the blood off his face, bounced to his feet. “Come, my dear man. We should allow our dear companions to bathe in private.”

  Dylan frowned at the man before returning to scrutinise Marin. Surely if the hunter was seriously injured, she would’ve told him. Like Katarina, the other woman showed little fear of his abilities. The hunter seemed more curious than anything.

  Silently waved off by the women, Dylan shouldered his pack and followed the hound into the brush. They walked through the forest, looking for a suitable spot big enough for three tents. He stumbled along the uneven ground, reduced to lifting the skirts of his robe in order to keep up with the man. Some of the leaves in the undergrowth had a certain chill dampness to them that they seemed willing to share with his bare legs.

  They didn’t have to search for long before coming across a clearing surrounded by trees that his time studying dwarven architecture told him were conifers. A pair of such thick-trunked trees stood in the middle of the clearing, bits of branches and small b
ushes dotting the grass around them.

  Dylan wasted no time in clearing a spot nearby to set up the tent he shared with Authril. Finding the right branches wasn’t quite as difficult a task as it had first been, now that he knew what to look for. His struggles to assemble the required framework had also dwindled to little more than the fumbling of still shaking fingers.

  Out the corner of his eye, he spied the hound busy with a similar task. Tracker had brought the tent the other two women slept in and, having already set up his own tent, was currently pitching theirs. They worked in silence, with Dylan pausing every so often to keep an eye on the man.

  Dylan’s gaze dropped to the man’s attire. Whilst the leather bore signs of scrapes and cuts not quite deep enough to part the armour, its dark colour could easily hide an injury. That Tracker showed no sign of being hurt was hardly reassuring.

  Finally, the man straightened from his task of hammering in the last of the pegs and brushed the dirt off his trousers. “Is there a reason you stare at me so intently?”

  A faint bloom of heat brushed his cheeks. He didn’t think his causal glances had been so obvious. “Are you hurt?”

  The man grinned, a brief chuckle slipping through his teeth. “No. Those bandits were amateurs who have little understanding of how to keep a sword sharp. Not that being hit with a steel club is much better, but your concern is unwarranted. I am uninjured.” The man slung his pack into his tent. “You probably want a little time alone to gather your strength or whatever it is you need to do, yes? I am going to collect some wood. I have a feeling our dear companions will need to dry off a few items of clothing when they return.”

  Dylan shuffled from one foot to the other. Being alone was perhaps the last thing he wanted, but he wasn’t about to tell the hound that. He drew the man’s cloak around himself before the realisation that he still wore it came to mind. “I suppose you’ll want this back, then?” he mumbled, unfastening the clasp.

  “No.” Tracker held up his hand. “It is looking to be a cool night, best if you keep it for now. Just do not wander off.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Dylan mumbled. He wasn’t quite sure where they were in relation to the road and, if he left their camp, there was the likelihood of never finding a way out of the forest.

  “That is good to hear,” the man replied, causing a fresh rush of heat to hit Dylan’s face. He could’ve sworn he’d been too quiet for the man to hear him.

  He settled near his tent and waited in silence as the man disappeared into the undergrowth. The forest had seemed altogether hushed as they walked through it, but now that he was still and alone, small sounds reached him. Birds for the most part, alongside the hum of insects. Low and peaceful.

  Gentle rustling through the brush preceded something a little bigger than a bird nearing the camp. The wild boar attack swiftly came to mind, quietly pulling Dylan to his feet. He let a barrier form, tucking its focus in the back of his mind, as he prepared to defend himself. Hopefully, it was merely the hound or one of the women. If not, then one quick blast of lightning should be enough to stun whatever was out there and give him time to escape.

  Tracker emerged from the bushes carrying a great armful of twigs and logs. He paused on the edge of the clearing, one russet brow cocked, before striding into the middle of the triangle the formation of their tents made. “Take it easy, dear man,” he said, dumping his burden on the ground near the other bits of wood they’d piled up from the clearing’s bounty. “The worst you are likely to find out here is a stag and, seeing that it is not rutting season, they are harmless. Mostly.”

  He didn’t like the way the man tacked on that last word as if it was nothing to be concerned about. But if stags were anything like boar, then they weren’t harmless at all. “Tracker,” he said as the hound knelt by the pile of wood. “Do—”

  Chuckling, the elf glanced up from his task of building a fire. “Please, we are travelling together. Track is sufficient.”

  “Do you think your fellow hound left the camp before the Udyneans attacked?” Bad enough he’d return to the tower with news of the others being taken, but to know a hound died amongst them would likely place the suspicion on him, even if Authril and Katarina gave their words that he hadn’t been near the attack.

  “I cannot say for certain, but Fetch is a resourceful woman. If she was there when they attacked, I have no doubts that you would have known about her presence. It is far more likely that she was gone after your first night there, she is not at all fond of lingering within the army.”

  Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair and sank back to the ground to wait for the women to appear. Such a small thing, knowing one life had been spared the fate of so many. Odd how the knowledge made his chest seem less tight.

  His brows scrunched together in thought. Perhaps if the hound knew where to find her, then she could vouch for him if the overseers doubted his identity. They’d have plenty of questions as it was. Questions he’d no answers to. He didn’t need more to complicate matters.

  “Come now, a pretty face like yours should not be frowning so much.”

  So certain that the man had been too preoccupied to notice anything else, Dylan jerked his head up at the sound of Tracker’s voice to find the hound still busily building the base for a fire. The elf seemed wholly intent on his task.

  Nevertheless, he was sure of what he’d heard. “Don’t do that.” He’d watched the elf kill a person in cold blood, he was not about to allow the man to make any attempts at flirting.

  The hound looked up in a perfect picture of wide-eyed innocence. “And what is so objectionable about lighting a fire?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” It wasn’t the first time he’d heard such words from another man. Whilst he would put a stop to any pushier advances by carefully explaining that he wasn’t interested, mere words were usually ignored. “I’m in no mood to hear your empty sweet-talk.”

  “Ah.” Tracker stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. “I did not seek to flatter you, but if that is how you feel, then I will desist. However, if you would permit me to speak on a more serious note?” The man waited until Dylan nodded before he continued. “I feel I have not given you the best impression of myself. That we began on the wrong foot as it were. I would like to start again. Providing you are agreeable to the notion. Perhaps then you would not seem so nervous around me.”

  “That’s…” He shook his head. “I’m not nervous.”

  “Careful, then? I understand completely that you would seek to curb certain parts of your nature in my presence. I cannot imagine how they must speak of hounds in your tower.” He smiled warmly, although the slightly sympathetic waver at the edges suggested he knew exactly what spellsters were told about them. “But you need not be so concerned with reining in your talents.”

  “Spellsters aren’t supposed to be unleashed beyond the tower much less do magic without sanction.” They tolerated it back home, but only because the logistics of giving every spellster permission for any given task would be a nightmare. That was supposedly why they didn’t leash everyone.

  The elf nodded. “That is true, but your situation is somewhat… unique, yes? You are no runaway nor an untrained youth. As such, I see no reason to hold you under the strict edict placed on them. If it makes you feel any better, I give you permission to use your magic as you see fit.”

  “Providing I don’t use it to harm you or the others.”

  Tracker tilted his head. The sharpness behind those honey-coloured eyes all but bored their way into Dylan’s skull. “I did not think that needed to be said. You do not strike me as the type to indulge in random acts of violence.”

  “Really? You barely know me.”

  The man gave a short, gasping laugh. “You are right, of course.” A few swift strides was all it took before the elf settled himself next to Dylan. “Why, I do not believe you have even told me your name.”

  “Why would you need to know it?” Fetcher hadn’t
asked. He supposed she saw him as just another weapon being transported to the army. Probably helped her keep detached from the abuse they suffered at their warden’s hands.

  “Such suspicion. I would like to know for no reason other than we will be travelling together.” A small smile lifted one side of the man’s mouth. “But if you wish to keep an air of mystery around you, my dear spellster, I welcome a challenge.”

  “Wouldn’t be much of one for long.” Any of the women could speak it in the man’s presence and then whatever mystery the hound thought surrounded his name would be gone. “It’s Dylan.”

  “And if I may pry, Dylan?” His name escaped the elf’s lips in a purr that tingled along his skin and pooled in his gut. “Were you not trained to fight?”

  “Of course.” His guardian sent him for testing alongside all the other pre-pubescent children who showed the magical strength required of those who could serve the army. “Although, it’s been some time since I’ve stepped into the training arena before they leashed me.” Several years. And much of those years had been spent in the tower’s library, translating scraps of text for the dwarves.

  “Perhaps that is it, then. It is just… Well, you seem proficient enough in handling your magic.” He indicated the unlit fire with a jerk of his chin. “I am sure lighting that would serve as no great task for you.”

  Dylan wordlessly waved his hand and the branches burst into flame.

  “See? I cannot begin to comprehend what it is like to force kindling alight with a mere thought, but that looked effortless.” He turned his full attention back to Dylan. In the firelight, his eyes took on an orange glint. “Yet you are quite reluctant to actually cause any harm unless provoked.”

  “I would’ve thought you’d see that as a good thing.”

  Tracker laughed. “Do not misunderstand, I appreciate that you have the apparent restraint to not set everything alight. I was certain you would attempt such an attack when we met. However, it could become troublesome if we are ambushed again. And, seeing that it is my duty to ensure you arrive at the tower in good health, I need to know whether you will assist me in such a goal.”