Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  Milo turned to his queen. “And that, my dear, is how to exploit a thing,” he said smugly. “A farmer breaks his back in the fields but is still rewarded with a modest profit. Servants are provided with food and shelter for their meager, although essential services. But him? I put his life at risk whenever I feel like for the sake of my own personal gain. Even a common animal has more status than that. A man, you say? It doesn’t even have the ability to speak. No, I assure you that thing is not a man. That thing is my property to do with as I wish.”

  Bella frowned up at her husband, her hands clapping methodically as she went through the motions. What could she say? Everything he had said was true. Well, nearly everything...

  Jarlen watched the king, his back exposed as he spoke down to his wife. It was like waving raw meat in front of a starving wolf. Every survival instinct within him screamed with warning, but in the end, the temptation was too great. A single step became ten in a flash, yet seconds felt like minutes as he charged the wall at full speed. He leapt, his body melting into a funnel of black as he whirled up towards the royal canopy. If I can just reach...

  The horrified gasp from the crowd barely registered in his ears. It was all but a distant dream that meant nothing in the here and now. Levitating just above eye level, he came out of his spin, arms melting into solid blades as he hovered over his prey like a vulture. The king turned, glancing over his shoulder with a disinterested look. Diovok pulled a hand from his sleeve and gestured with an unhurried wave.

  Instantly, searing pain exploded through Jarlen’s body. Nearly paralyzed, he plummeted to the ground, bouncing twice off the sand. His hips rose as his back arched, his head thrashing back and forth with uncontrollable spasms. Every muscle in his body screamed, with white-hot pain flaring through his veins as if he were on fire. Soundlessly, his mouth gaped wide open, the agony so great he couldn’t even scream.

  Diovok glanced down at his king expectantly. With a word, he would release Jarlen from the torturous effects of the collar. As of yet, he had received no such command. Milo rested his chin in his hand, looking down at the thrashing creature with a bored expression. He drummed his fingers across his chair’s arm, then stifled a yawn with the other hand.

  “You’ve made your point!” said Bella, her eyes darting from her husband down to the suffering man writhing in the sand.

  “He tried to kill me,” Milo stated, indifferent to it all. “A lesson must be learned.”

  “You were never in any danger,” she retorted, her tone growing urgent. “Your safeguards were always in place.” She turned back to Diovok. “Release him,” she ordered. The shaman ignored her command, his face hidden behind the mask so she couldn’t even read his expression. “I said release him,” she repeated, more forcefully this time.

  “He knows who his king is,” Milo said dryly, as if that were the only explanation required. Bella began to rock anxiously in her seat, knuckles turning white while gripping the arms of her seat. With a disgusted roll of his eyes, the king gestured down towards the tortured soul. His shaman raised a gloved hand.

  Jarlen gasped as if his head had been held underwater this whole time. Now that his lungs were finally able to draw air, he let out a savage, primal wail. It was unclear if he was even conscious at this point, or if his half-dead body was just reacting to such extended torment.

  “Secure the beast,” Milo said to one of his advisors. “And begin sending the people back to their wagons. I’m sure they got their money’s worth today. It’s high time we returned to the city.”

  “And what of him?” said the little bald man, pointing down below. “Once he’s secured, should we chain him back in the tunnel?”

  The king rubbed his chin, considering. “No,” he said at length. “There won’t be another event for at least a few more weeks. Bring him back with the caravan and put him in the keep’s dungeon. I don’t need my prize escaping or starving to death.” He turned to the queen. “Are you ready, my dear?” He held out his bent arm. With frost in her eyes, she nodded, eventually slipping her hand through the crook of his arm.

  The king glanced over the side one last time. He watched as soldiers hoisted the unconscious body off the sand and began wrapping him with restrictive bindings. Others scrambled over, holding chains and a set of locks. Grinning with satisfaction, he led Bella. It was only a short way back to the city from here. They would be back in the keep within the hour.

  *

  Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal pieces glistening like icicles as they reflected the flickering light from the spice-scented oil lamps. King Milo’s silverware clinked against the bottom of his plate again and again as he carved away at his stuffed pigeon. Bella sat at the far end of the table, quietly stabbing a fork at the olives surrounding her own bird.

  A servant girl entered the silent room from a side door, pitcher in hand. She stepped up near Bella and began topping off her mostly full goblet. The sound of trickling wine nearly echoed in the total silence. Unnerved by the hushed atmosphere, she quickly moved to the other side of the table and began filling Milo’s. Nearly empty, his goblet was in much greater need of refilling.

  “What took you so long?” he asked, boldly slipping his hand around her waist. The young girl of fifteen or so showed no particular reaction to the more-than-casual touch. With a tug, he spun her down into his lap. With a yelp, she juggled the pitcher before managing to grip it with both hands. A bit still sloshed out, luckily only spotting her own dress. “Indeed, it is bad manners to keep a king waiting for his drink,” King Milo scolded. His hand moved up the side of her leg, lifting her dress to expose even more leg. “I find that I have a hard time controlling myself when I’m thirsty,” he whispered in her ear, his bristly mustache tickling the side of her neck.

  Bella slammed her goblet down, red wine sloshing up over the lip.

  “Oh, let me get that for you!” said the girl, leaning forward to try and go clean the minor spill. She saw it more as an opportunity to escape the frisky king than a chore that needed doing. But Milo simply tightened his grip around her waist.

  “That’s quite all right, Gwen,” said Bella in a cold voice, her frosty glare fixed on the young girl. “If you would excuse the king and I, the two of us must discuss business matters regarding the city.”

  “Yes, my lady,” the servant replied, leaping off the king’s lap. After a clumsy curtsy, she nearly ran from the room.

  Milo raised his goblet, draining it in a single gulp. “Matters of the city, you say?” he grunted, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “If you were trying to prevent me from a touch of harmless flirting, then surely you could do better than that?”

  “Who you bed aside from your own wife is your business,” she hissed. “I have no say in such trivial matters, nor do I care. You are the king, after all, and can do as you wish.”

  “And you would do well to remember that,” he growled back, stabbing his fork into a bit of meat from his half-eaten pigeon. “My first two wives made a similar mistake in overstepping their bounds. As you know, they are no longer among us.”

  “And neither is your third wife, if memory serves,” Bella boldly retorted. Immediately recognizing her mistake, her face paled, wishing she could take it back.

  Milo slammed his fists down, sending his goblet spinning over the edge of the table. “Don’t you ever speak of Nuovis in my presence again!” he seethed. “I loved that woman with all my heart. Had that plague not taken her from me, I would still be holding her in my arms! I would happily hand you over to the gods if only to see her one last time.”

  Bella sighed, hands clasped together on the table. “So you’ve told me,” she said in a quiet voice. “But none of this has anything to do with why I sent the girl away.”

  “Oh, yes, ‘matters of the city,’” he mocked, rising from his seat.

  “Have you any idea how many towns and cities have been attacked in recent weeks?” she asked, ignoring his sarcasm. “How long do you p
lan to wait before making preparations? My lord, a defensive strategy must be—”

  “Bah,” he grunted, wiping his mouth with a cloth and throwing it down on his plate. “You seem to forget that I have seen all the same reports. Whatever these creatures are, they have yet to wipe out a single city. Their pattern is obvious, and I’m telling you there is nothing to fear. I’ve already taken precautions.”

  “Pattern?!” she replied. “They somehow manage to kill entire squads of armed men, always leaving one alive. Is this the pattern you speak of?”

  “Precisely,” he said, still refusing to sit back down. “So far, they’ve only attacked patrolling squads beyond the town limits. Not a single city wall has been breached as of yet. As long as we keep a number of patrols moving outside the walls, they’ll likely provide the distraction needed to keep the city safe.” His sudden smile chilled her to the bone.

  “You told me you broke the patrol squads into smaller groups so they could cover more ground,” she accused, eyes narrowing. “They’re a distraction? You’ve added more patrols outside the city limits in order to serve them up as some sort of sacrifice?”

  “The deaths of ten are better than the deaths of twenty,” he reasoned in simple, uncompromising logic. “And the deaths of twenty are better than losing the entire city. After countless attacks, these creatures have only let a single man live with no casualties to their own forces. Only one person lives,” he repeated slowly. “And until someone can determine a weakness, all I can do is prepare to cut our losses in the event that Shadowfen is indeed next. Yes, I shall willingly sacrifice the lives of a few in order to save many.”

  For a moment, Bella’s mouth worked wordlessly. With a thousand thoughts assaulting her mind, it was hard to focus on just one. “What if the pattern changes?” she asked after a time. “What if they bypass the patrols and attack inside the walls this time?”

  With a grunt, Milo turned to leave. “That is the question, isn’t it?” he said over his shoulder. “One I’m afraid I have no answer to.” He stopped in the doorway and turned back for a moment. “Will you be retiring to our chambers this evening, or should I make other…arrangements…for my entertainment?” he asked as a courtesy. Her answer didn’t matter one way or the other.

  “Do as you wish...dear husband,” she said softly, her mind a million miles away. When she looked up again, he was already gone.

  *

  After sharing a private conversation with a pair of guards, Bella pushed a gold piece into each of their hands. With nods of gratitude, they hurried on their way. The queen stepped lightly down the stairs and met with a third guard. Eyes straight ahead, he said nothing, refusing to meet her gaze. Without a word, she slipped three gold pieces underneath his greasy beard, allowing them to slide down beneath his breastplate. His dark eyes flickered towards her for an instant. Done with the wordless exchange, he turned and unlocked the thick wooden door he was guarding, then stepped aside to allow her access.

  Bella slipped past, ignoring the tangy stench of unwashed bodies that assaulted her nose the moment she stepped into the dank hall. The moans of prisoners echoed from under the doors as she passed each one, all the while her hand covering her mouth and nose to filter the smell. Some of the prisoners were sick, others outright dying, but there was nothing she could do for them. Sanitary quarters for prisoners had never been a high priority for the king.

  She stopped at a door on her left and lingered for a time. Unlike the other cramped prison boxes, only silence greeted her from this one. Her mind drifted back to her husband’s words. The deaths of ten are better than the deaths of twenty. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the fact that he could take such a cold, callous stance when calculating the weight of what human lives were worth, or the fact that she agreed with his logic. Until they had a true understanding of this dangerous enemy hiding in the shadows, how could they even begin to prepare? His heartless tactic was as good a plan as any.

  Disgusted with herself, she shook away the dark thoughts and lifted the bolt from its iron bracket. With a nudge of her foot, the thick door creaked back. She paused, staring into the dark for a time before stepping in. Eyes unadjusted to the darkness, she scanned the shadows for any sign of movement.

  From a corner, a set of red eyes opened wide. “What do you want?” asked the all-too-familiar voice.

  “I want a great many things,” said Bella, struggling to keep her voice steady. “But as for now, I think it might be best that you kneel before your queen.”

  With impossible speed, Jarlen flashed up to her, his pale face suddenly only inches from hers. “I think not,” he hissed, his black lips curling back to reveal his knowing smile. An open hand blasted across the side of his face. With a tingling in his cheek, he slowly turned back, his smile widening.

  “You spoke to the guards,” she accused, resisting the urge to shake the burn from her stinging palm. “You spoke!” she repeated. He calmly gazed down at her, his smile fading into a more neutral expression. But he certainly didn’t look sorry. “Do you know how much gold it will take to buy their silence?”

  “But a fraction of what’s already accessible to you,” he retorted.

  She reached back as if to slap him again. Without so much as a flinch, he even held his chin out invitingly. Balling her hand into a fist, she lowered it back to her side. In truth, her hand still burned from the last slap, and it was still unclear as to who got the worst of that.

  “The king believes you can’t speak,” she continued. “He thinks you’re nothing more than a trained animal. The less attention you draw from him, the better it will be.”

  “Better for whom?” he cut in.

  Her tense stance relaxed, tight shoulders rolling back as she leaned into his bare chest. “Better for us,” she whispered, her hands slipping back around his waist. “He doesn’t suspect a thing, I’m certain of it.”

  “And what of those who do?” he asked firmly, arms stiff at his side, not returning her embrace.

  “They’ve been given enough gold that I could now reasonably demand their children in return,” she said, the side of her head pressed firmly against his chest. “I swear you only have to put up with this treatment a little while longer. Soon, you and I shall be free of Shadowfen and all its politics. You and I shall go live in the country, far away from all of this.”

  “You would drop everything just to be with me?” he asked, suspicious.

  With a sigh, she pushed off his chest to look him in the eye. “We’ve been over this time and time again. Insecurity is not becoming of a man of your status. What exactly is it you think I’m leaving behind? My grand position as the king’s royal pet? I have no say in city politics, no voice when it comes to public affairs. The only thing I am certain of is that the king will someday have me executed once he grows tired of me.” She stepped forward, pressing herself against his muscular chest. “You see yourself as a burden, but in truth you have saved me.”

  Her thumbs worked their way beneath the sides of his loose-fitting pants. “I don’t want you to feel as if my visit was a total waste,” she said, wiggling the band down over his hips. She kissed his chest, then kissed her way down across the flat, defined muscles of his stomach. With a second tug of his pants, Jarlen found himself fully exposed.

  Only partially aware of her wet lips moving along the inner portion of his groin, his mind wandered. The thought of finally being free from this place was nearly too much to hope for. Did he dare allow himself such a fantasy? Could the time really be so close? Much would have to go right, and Bella would certainly play a large role in that. It was important he keep her happy.

  His wandering mind snapped back to the present as a warm moistness suckled between his legs. An unavoidable gasp escaped his lips as he stumbled back against the wall. His hands dropped down to the back of her head, fingers entangling in her long, black hair. Yes, he needed to play along and keep her happy, but there was no reason he shouldn’t enjoy himself in the meantime.
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  Gripping her hair, her thrust his hips forward, forcing her to take him in. Her resistance to his aggression was minimal, only in the form of her hands pushing back lightly against his hips. Ignoring her halfhearted protest, he thrust himself deep inside her again and again as bits of her hair tore loose in his fingers.

  He spun her around, planting the back of her head against the stone wall for perfect leverage. With her head unable to move, he continued to thrust into her. Aside from gagging sounds and the occasional gasp for air, the queen accepted the sexual abuse without a single complaint.

  She loved him, needed him. She loved his power, his violence, and even his gratuitously fierce sexual ways. He was ten times the man her husband could ever be, and she would find a way to spend the rest of her days with him. But for right now, she was a willing vessel for him to release his sexual tensions, a role she eagerly embraced.

  Chapter 1

  Wet, filmy fingerprints dotted the glass as little arms with stubby fingers pressed against the inside of the casing. Crying and confused, the slime-covered baby gazed out at the strange people wearing cloth masks that left only their eyes exposed. Various tubes bubbling with clear liquid ran from her stomach and wrists, then spiraled about before attaching to another clear cylinder only a few feet away.

  The frightened baby rolled to her side and glanced over to the nearby chamber. Although the glass was too frosted to clearly see through, she could see another small hand with stubby fingers pressed against its walls. Feeling a warm comfort from the symbolic gesture, she too pressed her hand against her glass prison, as if they could somehow touch if they tried hard enough.

  “Those two are going to die just like all the others,” one of the masked men said. “That is...if they’re lucky,” he added, gesturing to a glass tank in the corner of the room filled to the top with murky water. A moment later something slithered about just beneath the filmy substance on the surface. A webbed fin rose up, cutting through the sludge just as a burst of bubbles further disturbed the water.