Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  “Here,” she said, hopping off her mount. “I better go speak with them first. Tend to my horse and then wait in that alley over there.” She pointed across the street. Silently, he took the reins and led the animal away. He was just fine with not having to speak with the humans just yet.

  After swiping her hands nervously down a dress that didn’t require any straightening, she made her way towards them. Funny, really. She found herself to be quite nervous after deceiving them somewhat, all in the name of a man she no longer loved. Pull it together. I am the High Cleric. I do not answer to these humans. I do not answer to any—

  “High Cleric?” came Thatra’s questioning shout. Assirra nearly missed a step, flinching at the call of her title. Thatra came running up to her, then dropped to one knee. She seemed to forget where she was. People stared, many pointing at the odd behavior. As if seeing two tarrins in the same place wasn’t strange enough.

  “On your feet, child,” said Assirra, moving quickly to help her up. More attention was the last thing she wanted. “You forget yourself, Thatra. Here, we are nothing but strangers wandering in a strange world. My rank and title mean nothing here.”

  “But what are you doing here?” Thatra asked.

  “Yes, what are you doing here?” Liam asked, stepping up to join them. Owen came around from the other side, an apple clenched in his teeth with several more held in a sack.

  “I am already aware of what happened to Viola,” Assirra replied. As Thatra began to gush with apologies over her own failure, Assirra raised a hand to silence her. “I blame none of you,” she assured them. None of you standing here, anyway, she thought. “These unforeseen events were out of your control. I set out as soon as I heard. I knew you would still be here working on a plan, and I wish to aid you in any way I can.”

  “It’s bad,” mumbled Owen, still crunching away on a mouthful of apple. “We think they might be holding her in the keep’s dungeon.”

  “Or any number of undisclosed locations,” Liam added, regarding Assirra while stroking his beard. “The last time we saw her, she had been caged and paraded through the city. Finding her location will be the first step, naturally. But I must ask, how exactly did you hear of what happened?”

  Assirra paused. She knew this question was coming and had played it out in her mind a thousand times already. “Come with me,” she said. It would probably just be easier to show them rather than explain.

  She led them away from the market, weaving in and out through the heavy crowd like a salmon swimming upstream. The others followed without question, but were a bit hesitant when she led them into a back alleyway. Leaning against the wall stood a cloaked figure, his dark-blue hood pulled down over his face. “Reveal yourself,” Assirra said, taking a step forward while the others cautiously kept their distance. Anyone going to so much trouble not to be seen was difficult to see as trustworthy. In a jerking movement, Jarlen pushed off the wall and slid back the hood. White hair spilled down around his shoulders, the tiny bells woven in jingling softly. Red eyes leaped out from his pale face, leaving little doubt as to who this was.

  He sneered at them while all around, itchy fingers stroked the hilts of their swords. “What is this?” Liam demanded, fingering his own blade.

  “He is with me,” Assirra said calmly, stepping between them with her hands raised. “Everyone just calm down.”

  “Why is he standing here, and yet Viola is a prisoner of Shadowfen?” Liam asked.

  “It does not matter!” Assirra said, trying to defuse the inevitable questioning before it got out of hand. “He is here to help us, and I suspect we will need all the help we can get.”

  “They released me,” Jarlen said truthfully. He stepped away from the wall, hands in the air to prove he wasn’t a threat. “After they captured my sister, I was deemed expendable.” Also the truth...if not all of it at one time. He couldn’t have known, but Liam was measuring his every word, gazing into his eyes while reading his soul like reading a book. “What’s happened to her is wrong, and I share in that responsibility.”

  “And what do ye mean by that,” Owen growled, having yet to release the grip on one of his two blades.

  “I alone know what those vile creatures are going to do to her,” Jarlen continued, ignoring the direct question. “I have lived through this nightmare once already. I know what it is like to wish for a merciful death, begging for the torment to end even though it is just beginning. I know what’s in store for her, and I would not wish it on any living thing.”

  He turned his back to them and rolled his cloak up over the top of his head. Raised white scars climbed his back like chaotic vines growing out of control. Given his pale skin, they were hard to see from a distance, but up close, the obvious signs of torture were enough to make any man’s skin crawl.

  Assirra covered her mouth and looked away. How could she have known? How could anyone do such a thing to a human being? But that was it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t human and would never be treated as such.

  He snapped down the cloak with an angry flick of his wrists. “If you do not want my help, then tell me now,” he said, the calmness in his voice an icy hiss. “But I promise you one thing. If we do not free her soon, the next time you see her, you will not recognize the person standing before you.” His eyes turned distant, looking off to something only he could see. “I know this for certain,” he whispered to himself.

  Silence hung like a black storm cloud, each of them trying to gather their thoughts. After a time, Assirra spoke up with a question of her own. “Where is Xavier?” she asked, realizing for the first time that he wasn’t here. She looked at Owen, then grew concerned as he hesitated in answering. Unable to meet her eyes, he groaned and looked away.

  *

  Four powerful wings pumped the air, gliding the hydrogriph through the sky with the effortless grace of a songbird. Each blast of its leathery wings propelled it faster, sending wind rushing all around its scaly red body. It alone ruled the skies, and nothing would challenge it here. Guided along by the pull of some unseen force, a craving, an urge that had to be satisfied, it searched the ground below for those who had summoned it. Its goal was singular, and nothing would stop it until that goal was met.

  Down below, the volcano smoldered, belching out clouds of rolling black soot blooming in the air like dark blossoms. Despite the obvious danger of such a place, it called to him, pulling the hydrogriph ever closer. With a diving swoop, the powerful beast landed at the base of the volcano. Pasty white faces met it at the entrance. Featureless, those faces with wild pink eyes stared out from the darkness. Unable to resist the summoning, the hydrogriph entered with no real understanding as to why.

  A white hand rubbed down the hydrogriph’s neck as its eyes flared with a flash of light. The ghatin clicked in its ear, a sort of rhythmic communication that penetrated the beast’s mind. The ghatin turned back to face the others, its pink eyes blazing with excitement. That too-large lipless mouth split its face in what could only be interpreted as some sort of grin. It hissed words softly, yet they echoed down the corridor clear as a bell.

  “We’ve found her...”

  Chapter 10

  “Hey,” the barkeep said, tapping Xavier on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re done here. You hear me, son? It’s time for you to go.” Head nestled down in the crook of his arm, Xavier’s hand slid back across the bar before falling onto his lap. After fumbling around at his side, he reached up and slapped a coin up on the bar.

  “One... One more...” Hic! “Give me another ale,” he mumbled sleepily.

  “No,” the barkeep said, pushing the coin back towards his barely conscious patron. “You’re not listening to me. I said you’re cut off. It’s time for you to go.” Xavier lifted his head, bloodshot eyes glaring up at the barkeep. His front was caked with drying vomit. After dealing with all sorts over the years, the barkeep had a good sense about folks. Even though Xavier was nearly incapacitated from all the liquor, he could sense how dangerous this o
ne was. “It’s time for you to go,” he repeated, softer this time.

  “It’s all right.” The barkeep looked up to see four strangers coming up behind the drunken youth. “He is with us. We’ll take it from here,” Liam assured him. The barkeep nodded and set about wiping the counter.

  Xavier looked back over his shoulder at Liam. “What do you want?” he mumbled, his words slurring together. Assirra sighed. She could see that word of his condition had not been exaggerated. Xavier blinked twice and shook his head. After rubbing each eye, he looked up at Assirra with disbelief. “Wh-What are you doing here?” he asked, now questioning everything. Was he having some kind of alcohol-induced dream?

  “Yes, Xavier, it’s me,” Assirra assured him, her soft blue eyes filled with pity. “I know what has happened to Viola, and I’m here to help.” He scoffed, something between a laugh and a snort as he threw his hand up.

  “Viola,” he mumbled, his breath stinking of alcohol and vomit. His head swayed, eyes half open.

  “Yes, Viola,” Assirra repeated, more sternly this time. “I have come a long way to aid you all, and I don’t have time for this drunken foolishness. We are all depending on you, Xavier. Viola is depending on you. We need you sober and thinking clearly.”

  He swayed in his chair but said nothing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he noticed a fourth presence, a dark-lipped man whose face was mostly shadowed beneath a hood.

  “I’ll explain about him when we get back to the inn,” said Owen, reading his apprentice’s confused expression. Although he was always complaining or angry at something, Owen seemed completely different now. “Lad, if you could only see what I’m seeing right now,” he said, a deep sadness in his voice. Xavier looked at his master, a man he didn’t always agree with but one he often viewed as a father figure. Ashamed, nearly on the verge of tears, Xavier tried to speak. Words failed him.

  Owen shook his head, silencing Xavier’s attempt at an apology. “Let’s go, boy. Time to sleep it off.” Owen hoisted him up from his seat and they all left the tavern together.

  *

  Low, high, high... Salina’s weapon slapped away the three-strike combo in rapid succession. Wooden swords locked together, she stepped in closer to taunt Nald with a long, hard look. He pushed off with a laugh and twirled his sword in one hand. “You’re improving,” he acknowledged.

  “As are you,” she said with a wink, raising her sword high.

  Lately, these increasingly harder practices had opened up considerably. Having learned all the basic strikes as well as their counters, the drills were now full contact. The learning curve was accelerated even further by the harsh reinforcement of pain. These wooden practice swords couldn’t actually cut flesh—not deeply, anyway. But they formed bruises just fine, and each blow landed was a lesson learned. The burning sting of getting hit in the same spot twice practically guaranteed it wouldn’t happen a third time. Protecting that tender area usually became top priority.

  Grinning, Nald raised his sword and rushed her. Blade high, he suddenly stopped in mid-swing, eyes shifting up over her shoulder. Thinking it might be a dirty trick—the sort she had used more than once herself—she stepped out of range before following his gaze. Her grin melting away, she lowered her sword. Viola was walking out onto the sand, her fingertips barely pinching the hilt of a sword she dragged along. Eyes down, dried tear tracks streaked her cheeks. Obviously she had been in training once again.

  This brutal practice seemed to be taking place more often lately, sometimes twice a day. She was always completely healed afterward, save for the scars left behind. But the gruesome memory would live on in her mind forever.

  “Viola, you work with Nald,” Ozryn ordered, snapping his fingers to get her attention. With no obvious acknowledgment of his command, she changed direction slightly and veered towards Nald, the tip of her sword leaving a line in the sand as she dragged it along. She looked too weak to be sparring at all. Wandering up to Nald and Salina, she forced a weak smile. Of course her eyes were always red, but now they were darker than blood.

  “Viola,” they both acknowledged at the same time. They wanted to ask if she was all right, to know if there was anything they could do. But they knew there was nothing for it. Such questions, no matter how well-intentioned, just seemed cruel now. Although they had made a pact to not make any mention of her ongoing torment, ignoring a tornado ripping through a building would have proved easier.

  “Salina, I want you to work with Umoro,” Ozryn said, clapping his hands for them to hurry this along. They needed the work. He knew they weren’t ready yet for what was to come. Twice Salina opened her mouth, but simply couldn’t find her voice. Rubbing Viola’s shoulder, she gave it a firm squeeze before jogging over to the brute.

  “You can rest a minute,” said Nald, unable to hide the pity etched all over his face. “We don’t have to start right away.”

  “Yes we do,” said Viola, glancing over her shoulder at Ozryn, who had yet to take his eyes off her. In truth, her body felt perfectly fine. The healing that always followed her training always did what it was supposed to. It was the mental fatigue she suffered from, the disconnect between mind and body that was so hard for her to grasp. One moment she was screaming from the unbearable pain, clinging to sanity by her fingernails. The next moment, it all came to a halt, no pain, agony, or even the slightest lingering effect. Everything about her training was completely unnatural. But something was changing. She was beginning to feel...different.

  “Honestly,” she said, her strength appearing to come back just a little. “It’s better if I start moving right away. Somehow, the distraction seems to help me reset myself.” She lifted her sword above her head. Unlike a moment ago, her smile seemed genuine this time.

  “Very well,” he conceded, setting his feet and readying his stance. He stepped in, weapon coming down in a probing chop. Her sword rose to block it easily. Now that he was confident she was ready, he pressed harder, their blades snapping against each other in an intricate dance.

  Sparring had become the highlight of Viola’s day. She was able to lose herself for long stretches at a time, forgetting all about the daily torment, if only for a while. Lost in the warrior’s dance, she didn’t have to think, nor feel, but simply react. It was the closest thing to meditation, a moment where neither a dark past or a fearful future had a place to exist. There was only the present moment, their blades cracking together in the heat of combat.

  Nald had gotten much better, Viola had to admit. His movements were fluid and deceptive. His transitions from one form to the next had become smooth. He was reacting instead of thinking, which made for a much more formidable practice partner. Working up a sweat now, she backed off a bit while working her defense. His body control was seamless, his movements flowing effortlessly. She was reminded of how tall he was, giving him a constant range advantage that was apparent with nearly every strike. Although he still wasn’t the swordsman she was, he was physically gifted.

  Then it hit her. She had nearly forgotten the time when he swiped those items right from under her nose. Very few people in the world could have done that. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses. Ozryn was a good all-around instructor, but he was clearly not a people person and wasn’t open to altering his lessons to take advantage of one’s strengths.

  “Stop,” Viola said, raising a hand as she leaped back. Thinking she probably just needed a breather, Nald relaxed and lowered his sword. “No, no, raise your weapon,” she said, tapping his sword with her own.

  “I thought you needed a rest,” he said, his own heavy breathing hinting that he could use one himself.

  “I think we need to work on something,” she said. Some of her thoughts and memories were becoming a bit blurred as of late. She had learned so many techniques from Thatra, but her books had also mapped out a number of battle strategies as well. She had gained substantial knowledge, but could no longer be certain from which source it was attained. That bothered her. It sort of
felt like having someone else’s memories. Her daily training was messing with her mind.

  “Your hands are fast,” Viola continued. “Possibly the fastest among us. That, and you seem to be unaware of how long your reach really is. With your range and speed, I don’t see any reason you should ever get hit.”

  “Well, I’m just using the techniques we’ve already been shown,” he explained.

  “Of course you are,” she agreed. “We all are. But we’re all very different people too. I think with just a simple adjustment, I can help you take advantage of your strengths. Here, I want you to try something. Shift your stance to ‘gentle wind’ and hold.” Assuming the rather neutral stance, he put one foot forward and kept his weapon raised above his head. “Attack one counter one,” she said, stepping in with a downward slash. He turned his blade, blocking the blow with a loud snap. Then in one fluid motion, he rolled his wrists slashing from left to right. The two-part attack and counter was pretty basic, something they had all but mastered some time ago.

  “Good,” she said, stepping in to steady his wrists. With a gentle push and tug, she altered his stance so that his arms were extended out further, and his upper body was tucked and leaned towards her. “Now try it like this.” She stepped away and turned back to face him. “Attack one counter one,” she repeated, slashing just like before. With the subtle change in his stance, their swords collided far earlier than the first time. She had gotten nowhere close to him before being forced to fend off the slashing counterstrike.

  “Keep going,” said Viola, continuing to attack from random angles. “Get off first. Get off first,” she repeated as they engaged. The leaning stance was a bit counterintuitive to Nald, and he often straightened up as the match continued. “Use your range,” she reminded on those occasions, prompting him to lean in once more. The difference was obvious. Neither had gained any substantial skill within the last day, but with Nald using his range more effectively, Viola now found it impossible to get close enough to land any strikes. “See? I can’t get near you now,” she said, bobbing and weaving while sincerely trying to land at least one blow. “When you’re bigger than your opponent, you need to fight like it. Use it all to your advantage.”