Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  Tugging at her blue dress, Bella fidgeted with the fabric, shifting around to try and get comfortable. “Troubled? Not at all, my sweet,” she said, forcing an unnatural grin, one which looked more like she was showing off her teeth. “Rufus here is correct,” she added quickly, gesturing to the servant. “It seems your event has attracted every lord, lady, and noble from every corner of the realm. You should be proud.”

  “My plan was sound.” He shrugged, as if not at all surprised by the turnout. “No matter the outcome, this event has already brought in enough gold to run the city for decades to come.” He lifted his goblet in the air, waiting for Bella to do the same. “To that dirty beast,” he toasted, lightly tapping her goblet with his. “May his divine spirit that has served me well over the years travel safely to the underworld.” He took a hefty gulp.

  “An odd toast,” Bella said, having yet to sip from her cup, “considering his planned demise is anything but certain.” She threw her head back, draining her goblet as if drinking to a toast of her own.

  The king smiled, holding her gaze for a time before speaking. “No, it is not certain,” he agreed, placing his cup down. “But since we’re on the topic, what shall we do with the beast’s body should he expire this day?”

  Bella shifted in her seat, her gaze finding comfort in sweeping the faces of the crowd.

  “Considering the good fortune he’s brought to us,” the king said, “I believe his memory should live on in some glorious form or another. Do you not agree?”

  Uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going, Bella began waving to random people—anything to distract Milo—but the king seemed unfazed by her efforts. “I have an idea,” he continued. “Perhaps we can have his head mounted on the wall in our bedchamber.” His fingers crept up her inner leg, lifting her skirt as the fabric balled up over his wrist. He moved in close to her ear. She could feel his hot breath pulsing against the side of her face. “This way, his legendary status can live on forever.” He nipped her ear with a sharp bite, causing her to jerk. Feeling his fingers push up inside her, she gasped at the less-than-gentle penetration. She nearly screamed in pain when he savagely hooked two fingers.

  Pleadingly, her head darted around at the servants and soldiers who seemed to be doing anything they could to avoid looking at them. Diovok towered just behind them, his face hidden as usual. The red-and-black mask made him appear absolutely menacing.

  “He could watch us make love night after night,” the king went on, biting her ear while pushing his fingers deeper. She swallowed, grabbing his wrist to try and push him back. His fingernails were cutting deeply, and she knew she was already bleeding. The speaker had begun working the crowd into a frenzy, but his voice barely registered to her ears.

  “And if it so pleases my queen, you may face the head while I’ll take you from behind and pretend I am him.” Her blood turned to ice, her mouth falling open as she dared to look him in the eye. “‘Jarlen,’ you’ll scream,” he whispered. “‘My dear Jarlen.’” Terror flooded through her, rising up into her throat. The world seemed to spin about in a dizzying blur, yet the king’s face remained crystal clear. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” He snapped his fingers.

  The world plunged into darkness, her scream muffled by the cloth sack slipped over her head. Kicking, she toppled back as the chair fell over. Clawing at the sack, she felt her body sliding along the ground as she was dragged away. A heavy boot to the chest drove all the air from her lungs; a second and third to the head put an end to her futile struggling.

  The king sighed, scanning the crowd, who still seemed to have all their attention on the speaker. The distraction had worked. Waving his hands frantically along with his fiery speech, the speaker had done his job perfectly. It was all so fast that no one seemed to notice the fate of the queen. The speaker’s speech was now winding down, and it was time for the show to begin.

  “I urge you all to witness history in the making. Send forth the darkness. Send forth the creature that has no equal. Lords and ladies, the city of Shadowfen presents to you, the beast!” One of the iron gates rose to a thunderous ovation.

  Watching the gate rise from within his dark chamber, Jarlen rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. Countless times he had watched that gate rise, only to step out into the seldom seen sunlight and crush whatever minor challenge they placed in front of him. He would then return to his dank hole only to be chained and wrapped once more. Sometimes he was left out here for a day or so, other times he was transported back to the keep. But unlike his opponent, he always returned from the sand pit alive. This time, he wasn’t so sure.

  He stepped into the blinding light as roaring cheers rained down from above. The restless crowd had come to see blood, and it didn’t matter whose. At first, he was taken aback by the size of the crowd. What looked to be thousands glared down with their fists pumping the air. So you’ve all come to watch me die? Forgive me if I don’t intend to cooperate.

  Lifting his long, white hair away from his face, he spit in the sand and glared up at the royal canopy. His eyes locked settled on the king. If he could just get his hands on that snake— Wait, something’s wrong! He noticed the empty chair next to the king. Where was Bella? Shaking away the distracting thoughts, he turned back to the center of the sand. He needed to focus on the task at hand. None of that even mattered unless he survived the day.

  With a smug grin, the king rose from his seat and lowered his arm. Three gates began to rise at once, their collective creaking driving the bloodthirsty mob into a frenzy. Three enormous shadows began stirring from within the darkness of their individual tunnels. Even before a single beast had stepped out into the sunlight, Jarlen knew exactly what they were. He had battled klashtons before, but never three at once! He braced as all three came charging from the darkness.

  Given their trajectory and speed, they would probably converge at exactly the same time. Their combined size and power would almost certainly be too much to overcome. Dashing forward, Jarlen rushed at the one charging head-on, hoping to engage him before the others could assist.

  Appearing to be the only one armed, it swung its club straight down at the streaking pest, hoping to finish this in one blow. Moving so fast he was almost a blur, Jarlen came to a dead stop just as the club sank into the sand with a heavy thump. Glancing down, he realized he could almost touch it with his toes. As if he never stopped in the first place, Jarlen burst forward with all the same momentum and launched himself off the beast’s wrist.

  The crowd gasped as he soared like a bird right towards the klashton’s face. Flinching, the giant jerked away, releasing its weapon as it stumbled back. Landing on his shoulder with the grace of a cat, Jarlen twirled once, steel flashing across the giant’s cheek. Chips of stone sprayed the air as the creature roared in pain. In quick succession, Jarlen’s steel flashed multiple times in a spinning blur, faster than any human could possibly move.

  With the side of the klashton’s face raked and gouged, Jarlen sprang straight up as a fist came crashing down. The second giant had arrived, and its first swing did more damage to its companion than anything else. In awe of the spectacle, the once roaring crowd fell silent. Completing two full turns in the air, Jarlen landed on the shoulder of the new arrival. The klashton turned to its shoulder, raising a hand to crush the pest. Infinitely faster than the giant, Jarlen’s blade found the beast’s eye long before the crushing hand fell. Shrieking in pain, it tumbled onto its backside, both hands grasping at the grievous wound.

  His feet having yet to touch the sand, Jarlen flipped through the air once more, landing on the back of the third klashton’s stony neck as it came charging in. A shockingly strong hand wrapped the beast’s forehead, forcing it to look up as its head bent back. Jarlen roared, his sword arm raised high. But he released the blade from his grasp, letting it fall to the sand below.

  What looked like a punch to the back of the head quickly revealed its true nature when the flesh blade broke thr
ough the front of the beast’s neck. With no air to release its death scream, a moaning gurgle bubbled from the neck wound as the creature dropped down to its knees, then tipped forward like a chopped tree.

  With the others already gravely wounded, Jarlen took his time stepping off the dead giant. Strolling over to each of the others writhing in pain, his arm zipped out like a spear, penetrating their thick skulls as if they were made of paper. The whole battle had taken less than a minute, and it proved to be more an inconvenience than an actual challenge.

  Viola’s heart raced, her hands shaking. No matter how many times she had played this out in her mind, not once had she imagined anything like this. The violence, the speed; she could hardly wrap her head around what she was witnessing. She didn’t want to see any more, but couldn’t force herself to look away. That was her brother down there. That was her own flesh and blood fighting for his life. But her rising horror slowly evolved into blinding anger as she gazed around at the cheering humans. Yes, she was part human, but she’d never felt more detached from them than at this moment.

  Savages... They’re here just to see blood and couldn’t care less whose body spills it! Laberaths are violent by their very nature, but at least they don’t try to hide it! She felt sick to her stomach. How could such mindless violence be viewed as a sport? For the first time, her stubborn wall of denial formed its first cracks. This was no longer about watching her long-lost brother flex his muscles in front of these weaker humans. This was not a show! His life was in danger! For the first time, she truly accepted that she might be seeing him for the first—and last—time. How could I be so naive?

  She trembled when Liam touched her shoulders from behind. It was obvious how visibly shaken she was. “We don’t have to stay, you know,” he said, privately hoping she had seen enough of this. He knew she was probably the only one here who wasn’t truly aware of how this was supposed to end. Perhaps he could still save her from witnessing the death of her brother. “If you wish, we can leave right now.”

  “No,” she said, steeling her nerves, shrugging his hands off her shoulders. “I know I can’t help him, but I won’t leave him, either. No matter what, I will stay here until the end.” Liam groaned under his breath, glancing back at Thatra. Viola’s mind was made up. There was nothing more he could do.

  King Milo rose from his seat, gesturing for the crowd to settle down. Several minutes passed before they finally complied. He glared long and hard at Jarlen, who sneered back up at him. It wasn’t all that surprising that the creature had survived this challenge, but the ease with which he had dispatched the klashtons was a bit unexpected. They should have at least worn him down a little. No matter. It was time for this game to end.

  The king clapped his hands twice before retaking his seat. Jarlen picked up his sword, eyes darting this way and that. With the gates already raised, he caught a glimpse of movement coming from the dark tunnel straight ahead. Smoothly, confidently, the shadow warrior stepped out into the light.

  He wore black cloth armor that covered every inch of his body. The black fabric looked to be made of individual rings like any standard chainmail, only soft and flexible as well as strong. His helmet looked metal, though. The black metal cap sat snugly on his head, then fanned out in layers of black plate that covered the tops of his shoulders. His face was hidden behind a mesh of black iron bars. Thin slits of red flared brightly from a shadowed face. Looking directly into that face was like peering into a pitch-black cave. It seemed to absorb light. Not even the slightest facial detail could be seen.

  Liam could hardly believe his eyes. He had heard of the legendary shadow warriors who inhabited the far east, but never thought he would actually see one. More spirit than flesh, these mysterious beings existed only for battle. It was said that no human had ever seen one’s face and lived to tell the tale. Liam had no reason to doubt that claim.

  Eyes on the shadowy being before him, Jarlen detected a rustling from the crowd up above. Daring to spare a quick glance, he saw archers pushing their way through the crowd, taking up positions around the edge of the pit. The pit echoed with the creaking of tightening bowstrings. Arrows were notched and ready to fly. So this is your game. He spared a second glance towards the king. Milo grinned, a knowing, lopsided half smile. So you really are this determined to see me dead? No matter what, I will survive, if only to see your head on a pike.

  With all the speed he could summon, Jarlen streaked across the sand, hoping to steal initiative from this mystic being. Steel flashed high in hopes of removing the shadow being’s head. His sword was easily intercepted. The shadow’s weapon had not even been drawn when he surged forward, yet he unsheathed it and parried easily in a single stroke. Even his blade was black, yet is seemed to radiate a gleaming energy about it.

  Their blades locked together. No that they were face to face, Jarlen could see for the first time how large this being actually was: nearly seven feet tall. The shadow completed an effortless parry using only one arm. There was nothing human about this creature at all. It seemed to have Jarlen’s agility and speed, but was considerably stronger.

  It pushed off, sending Jarlen skidding across the sand on his backside. With his warrior instincts chiming like the bells in his hair, Jarlen launched his feet up and over, completing a backward somersault just as three arrows pierced the sand in rapid succession. He rolled twice more, arrows thumping the ground while making a trail leading towards him. He rolled to his feet, slashing at the air just in time, shattering two arrows into splinters before they touched his flesh.

  “What are they doing?! This isn’t fair!” Viola shrieked, thrashing about while Liam and Xavier tried to keep her still. Had the crowd not been cheering so loudly, she would have been making quite a scene. In truth, her shouts were mostly drowned out by the calls for blood. Few even noticed her thrashing at all. “What madness is this? This is not a competition—it’s an assassination. They’re trying to kill him!”

  “Yes they are!” Liam shouted directly in her face, gripping her struggling wrists in each hand. She stopped struggling, her gaze turning vacant and cold. “This was never meant to be fair! This event was never anything more than a calculated murder disguised as entertainment for the rich. He was never meant to survive. Everyone here knew that. Even he knows that!”

  She pulled her hands free of his grasp. “And you knew this the whole time?” she hissed. His silence was all the answer she needed. Without another word, she turned back to the sand pit. Even knowing what she was about to witness, she was still determined to keep her promise to the brother she never met. She would not leave or even look away. She owed him that much, at least.

  Jarlen rolled across the sand, the shadow’s blade crashing down again and again while just missing his ankles. Springing back to his feet, he whirled back just as their steel collided in a three-strike combination, spraying sparks in the air. He half expected to take an arrow in the back, but the expected blast of pain never came. He realized at that moment that that was the key. As long as he stayed in proximity to the shadow creature, the archers wouldn’t release their arrows. Even upon understanding that fact, he still wasn’t convinced that staying close to this being was a better plan.

  The shadow’s movements were so smooth that they became deceptive even to Jarlen’s trained eyes. Methodical blade strikes floated in, then exploded into ten-strike combos with ease. Having difficulty seeing the black blade, Jarlen’s blocks came almost completely on instinct. Never saying a word, not so much as a grunt or deep breath, the graceful shadow creature flowed in and out in silky movements. Jarlen’s blade worked furiously, almost purely on the defensive while chipping away perfectly placed strikes again and again. Never had he faced an opponent such as this.

  Jarlen whirled around, turning a zipping arrow into splinters before turning back just in time to fend off another explosive flurry. It seemed like the archers were still taking shots, but only when they had him dead to rights. Jarlen’s arms began to burn; each
block and parry took a considerable effort, while the shadow floated forward in fluid movements.

  Jarlen had to take a chance. He couldn’t keep defending against this tireless creature while his own energy drained away by the second. Each successful block felt like parrying a heavy stone falling from twenty feet. The maximum effort involved was quickly taking a toll. Arms numbing, lungs burning for air, Jarlen lashed out with everything he had. Sword going high, he tensed for what was about to come, leaving his midsection wide open. The creature’s blade flashed across it like lightning. Liquid black flowed so smoothly, the fluid strike almost appeared slow to the naked eye. Jarlen’s weak high strike was dodged easily, the shadow’s head shifting slightly to the left. But that was as far as it could go...

  Ignoring the fiery pain ripping across his stomach, Jarlen’s arm jetted straight out. Flesh hardening in the blink of an eye, the formed blade streaked right through the barred faceguard, shredding its metal before blasting out the other side. The stunned shadow’s body quivered, its limbs going limp as the black blade fell to the sand. Now the only thing still holding it upright, Jarlen ripped his arm free, allowing the body to fall.

  The stunned crowd fell silent. Even the archers lowered their bows, not sure what to do next. They had been given no instruction as to what to do if the shadow fell. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gripping the shallow but painful wound across his stomach, Jarlen stalked towards the fallen creature. Grimacing, red eyes blazing with white-hot fury, he kicked off the black helmet. These shadow warriors were not immortal, and he had just proven that to the world. Let these bloodthirsty humans set eyes on the dead flesh of this mysterious being.

  The empty helmet bounced along the sand. In what seemed like a swarm of insects, a black haze funneled out from the headless armor. As the buzzing blackness flowed outward, the black cloth chainmail deflated. The swarm spun circles in the air, then mashed together to form a hovering, distorted face. In a silent roar, it opened its mouth before Jarlen’s face, its long teeth looking like smoky black daggers buzzing with insects. Displaying no reaction, zero emotion, Jarlen watched it with a blank stare. As fast as it had formed, the black mass disassembled into a buzzing black cloud, then blurred up and away until it was out of sight.