Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  Jarlen sighed. After his years in the pit, he knew what a beaten man looked like. He knew when a person had given up all hope and was resigned to his fate. He recognized that same look all around him now. Lerwicks sat on the filthy cave floor with their backs against the wall, their chins tucked between their knees, eyes often closed or just staring off at nothing. This was different than the low morale typical of soldiers when things weren’t going their way. This was a mentally beaten group that probably wouldn’t stay together much longer. Worse, Jarlen had no idea how to fix it.

  After promising them a life filled with victory and hope, a future where the humans bowed down before the true masters of this realm, all he had given them was a cold, dark cave to sleep in, and barely enough food to survive day to day. Something would have to change soon or he would lose them completely.

  There just might be a few more stragglers out on the road tonight, he thought, eyeing the drifts of snow just outside the cave. It seemed unlikely, but bringing back some more fresh blood seemed like a good idea. Anything he could do to help raise the morale until he could think of something better.

  Eyes already on the cave entrance, Jarlen tensed when he saw a flicker of movement just outside. A second later one of his men came rushing in, fresh off a scouting run. The brief scare served as yet another reminder of how unprepared they were for an attack. “Jarlen! Jarlen!” he huffed, sliding to a stop. “There has been—” He swallowed, gulping air down his dry throat. “There has been another attack. Word is spreading across the realm. The ghatins—” He gulped more air, bending over with his hands on his knees.

  “So?” Jarlen said impatiently. He could no longer tolerate any more of this mundane information that had no bearing on him or their situation. “This is not news. The ghatins attack the humans all the time. You ran all the way here just to tell me—”

  His head shaking even before Jarlen finished, the scout threw down a handful of rolled parchments, scattering them at Jarlen’s feet. Not appreciating the aggressive gesture, Jarlen picked up a few and began unrolling them. “This is but a sample of the urgent messages that came out of Redwater,” the scout said as Jarlen glanced over them one at a time. Having caught his breath somewhat, the scout now appeared more composed and confident. “The ghatins have purged the entire city. None were spared.”

  “Indeed,” Jarlen said, a grin slowly creeping across his face. Unable to hide his amusement, he even barked out a laugh as he sifted through the notes. These pleas for help were so urgent, so desperate. He found a strange satisfaction in knowing that the men who wrote these pleas were now dead, no doubt. “An entire city, completely wiped from the realm,” he said, crumpling one note before opening another. He really was enjoying this. “So the mighty city of Redwater is now nothing but a ghost town.”

  “Not exactly,” the scout replied smugly. Jarlen glanced up from the message he was reading, sensing that there might be more to this report. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, inviting the man to continue. “The humans have been slaughtered, yes. But the city is now occupied by the ghatins. Not only have they purged the city, but they have taken up residence there as well.”

  Jarlen’s look of confusion slowly turned to one of astonishment. “Are you telling me—”

  “No ash, no returning to where they came from.” The man grinned, enjoying his leader’s undivided attention. “Somehow, someway, the curse has been broken. They are free to roam as they wish.”

  Jarlen stood in stunned silence as the realization slowly sank in. The humans’ greatest enemy had been unleashed on the world. This was going to change everything. “You have done well,” he praised the scout, prompting an even bigger grin. “But ultimately meaningless if we can’t figure out some way to take advantage.”

  It was true enough. As both fascinating and satisfying as it all seemed, it really didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. In Jarlen’s mind, the humans were the true enemy and always would be. He didn’t care one way or the other about the ghatins. If they ended up killing off more humans, then so be it. In the long run it just might save him the trouble, but that didn’t mean he held any loyalty towards the ghatins.

  Looking around the cave, seeing all the long faces as the lerwicks sat on the cold cave floor, inspiration struck like a lightning bolt. He knew exactly how to take advantage of the situation.

  Several lerwicks had already gathered around them, listening to the news of Redwater’s fall. Jarlen motioned for the others to come closer. “We’ve just learned that the human city of Redwater has been overrun by the ghatins,” he began, his voice carrying off the walls so even those in the back could hear him. “It seems that they are no longer bound by the curse and can move freely throughout the realm. My friends, I believe we are witnessing the beginnings of a new era. Soon, the humans will be on the run with nowhere to hide. But let me remind you, this does not mean that the ghatins are our allies.”

  “But aren’t they helping us?” came a voice from the back.

  “An unintentional outcome, nothing more,” Jarlen pointed out. “Their agenda is their own. But once the humans have expired, who do you think they will focus on next?” An uneasy stir emanated around the cave. “No, they are not our friends in this war. We alone stand at the top while they are simply tools to be used in our favor. Soon, we shall take the first steps towards securing our legacy. My friends, my loyal subjects, everything they take from the humans was rightfully ours to begin with. Stealing from the humans means stealing from the lerwicks.” He paused to let the weight of his words sink in. “And that is why we are taking back the city of Redwater.”

  In a vocal burst, an incoherent murmur of nonsensical sound filled the cave. Gasps, whimpers, and defiant protests all blended together. Jarlen turned his attention to one lerwick near the back, a man whose strong objections seemed to rise above the others. A flesh blade flashed, stopping an inch from the man’s eye. Not only did that quiet his complaining, it quieted everyone else as well.

  “Is that fear I hear in your sniveling little voice?” Jarlen asked, his extended blade hovering with a slight quivering near the tip. “Need I remind you of who we are, what we stand for? In the coming years, the ghatins will likely continue to slaughter the humans like sheep. Physically, they have no equals,” he grinned, “except for us. They fear us more than the humans fear them. And for good reason too.” He extended his blade a bit more, prompting the lerwick to lean farther away to keep it from piercing his eye. “As far as they’re concerned, we are the perfect predators. The same way they can kill the humans with minimal effort, we too can tear through their ranks like weeds.”

  It was a slight exaggeration, but not by much. The lerwicks really were their natural enemy, superior to them in many ways. Realizing that the humans were actually a bigger threat to the lerwicks made the balance of power feel strange and surreal. Three dominant species in the world, each matching up very differently with one other, and only one could come out on top. Jarlen was certainly correct about one thing. A new era had begun, and each species would have to find its place in this ever-changing world.

  “Look around you,” Jarlen ordered. Uneasily taking his eyes off the blade in his face, the lerwick glanced around at the familiar cave walls he and the others had been looking at for so long now. “Do you wish to spend the rest of your days in this mountain cave, or is it time we finally took back what is rightfully ours?” Finally retracting his blade, Jarlen nodded at him, indicating that his aggressive display had been nothing personal. But a point had to be made.

  “I know that things have been hard.” It was Jarlen’s turn to glance around at the cold stone. “But through thick and thin you have shown me your dedication. Even after Orm’rak was killed at the hands of my sister, you all still remained loyal.” He reached down and scooped up a handful of sand off the cave floor, letting it sift between his fingers. “Have we not lived like animals long enough? Let me repay your loyalty by providing us with exactly what we dese
rve. A city. A human city that no longer belongs to the humans...or the ghatins. It belongs to us!”

  Jarlen’s words were met by mesmerized stares from the silent group. He had their full attention, and they were hanging on his every word. Although he was still not the charismatic leader that Orm’rak had been, he had taken another step in the right direction. Patience was key, a lesson in leadership he had only recently learned. It was easier to guide an unsure mind than to force it in any particular direction. But this alone was not enough in the long run. Victory in their upcoming campaign was essential, or their waning loyalty would fizzle out like a candle. Jarlen needed to deliver on his promise.

  They needed to take back the city...

  *

  Leaning against the windowsill, King Milo gazed out at the city from his solitary perch. He watched the men climb up on scaffolds as they worked quickly to repair the outer wall. There was no way of knowing if or when another attack might occur. If it were to happen now, then Shadowfen would likely be wiped off the map. They needed time to make repairs, and each passing second felt like time they couldn’t afford. The king was on edge and for good reason.

  He had already received word of Redwater’s fall. If all the follow-up reports were true, these messengers were nothing but ghosts by now. The city had been purged, and not a single surrounding city had sent aid of any sort. What would it have done anyway? More sacrificial bodies for the ghatins? No, the times of treaties and loyalty were over. It was every man for himself, a governing strategy Milo just happened to excel at. If Shadowfen sent for aid, would any of our neighbors come to help? But there was no reason to think too hard on the matter. The king already knew the answer.

  “My Lord?” The king jumped, whirling back to face the cleric standing in the doorway. His body only leaning halfway into the room, he looked extremely nervous and unsure. “You requested that we send for you when the time came.” The red-robed cleric bowed his head. “My king, it is time.”

  “I will come down shortly.”

  Head still bowed, the cleric slipped back into the hall. The king stared at the vacated doorway long after the cleric had left. Long had he waited for this moment. And now that it was here, the king actually felt uneasy about it. If this last attempt to bring back his shaman were to fail... “I will kill the lot of you,” he growled.

  *

  Clerics huddled in small circles around the room, their nervous whispers sounding like a pack of buzzing insects. Up on an elevated bed in the center of the room lay Diovok, his massive body covered with a white sheet. Whispering among themselves, not a single cleric even glanced his way.

  The buzzing stopped when the door swung open, heads turning to see the king step in. After a sweeping gaze to evaluate, Milo sidestepped the doorway and began pointing to various spots around the room. Armed men came marching through in a single-file line, their armor chinking with each high step. Taking up assigned positions around he clerics, they stood with their hands resting on the hilts of their blades.

  “When I give the signal, kill them all,” the king said. His patience with these men of magic had run out. Milo would either leave this room with his right-hand man alive and well, or everyone here would be slaughtered for their failure. It was simple, really.

  “My king, you can’t do that!” begged one of the clerics, rushing up to kneel before him. But a swift boot to the chest sent him sliding back the way he came.

  “Do not profess to tell me what I can and cannot do,” Milo warned. “Besides, every man here still controls his own fate. Give me what I want, and you will be free to carry on with your meaningless lives. However, fail me again and what’s left of your bodies will be thrown into unmarked graves. Your legacies, as well as whatever work you think you’ve accomplished, will be eradicated entirely. No one will never even know you existed. The choice has always been yours, but I’m afraid you’ve run out of time.”

  Crossing his arms, the king stepped back to block the doorway. It made little difference, seeing as how none of the clerics could escape with all these soldiers surrounding them anyway. But the gesture was symbolic, meant as a reminder of how powerless they were.

  “The body has been prepared,” another cleric said, raising his open hands as a calming gesture. “We did the best we could. This should work if we can just find the proper—”

  “Do it!” Milo boomed, resisting the temptation to just kill them all straight away.

  Nodding, the cleric twirled his hands, prompting the others to surround the body. All bowed their heads save for one. The lone cleric raised his head high, holding his hands in the air as he began to chant. Softly at first, his chant was little more than a soothing melody, hypnotic and peaceful. But within a few minutes his voice grew more assertive, angry, even. His chants became throaty and dark, like the grinding of a sword on a sandstone. The others hummed, their bodies swaying back and forth.

  The room began to darken, lanterns flickering from some unfelt breeze. Although they remained lit, their waning light seemed to get swallowed up in the ever-expanding darkness. The king rubbed his eyes, wondering if the lighting trick was some sort of illusion. If these clerics thought they were going to pull some sort of parlor trick and run away...

  A blinding flash lit the room, the light seeming to come from everywhere at once. It was immediately followed by a second flash, then a third. Milo and the soldiers averted their eyes, blinking away the milky afterglow spotting their vision. The bluish flashes strongly resembled lightning strikes, although that was impossible inside this enclosed room. Three bolts came spiraling down from the ceiling. But instead of disappearing in a burst the way the other flashes had, the blue energy funnels stayed intact, whirling in place like columns of energy.

  Moving with precision and grace, the crackling funnels drifted along, circling the red giant. All chanting now, the clerics stepped back so as not to get caught in their path. Hands in the air, they twitched their fingers, tilting their heads forward and back in some hypnotic, trancelike dance. Soldiers shielded their eyes, many already drawing their swords.

  The blue funnels began to expand and contract, their energy pulsing in living breaths. A single bolt lashed out from a funnel, striking the dead giant where he lay. But the sheet never went up in flame, or even showed any obvious signs of damage. Instead, his body just seemed to absorb the bolt. The other two funnels did the same, each striking out with bolts of blue energy that appeared to bathe the giant in a swarm of crackling light.

  Diovok’s body lit up with energy, his massive outline on display beneath the sheet. At times his skeletal features sparked into view, a part of his rib cage, his skull, even the bones of his arms and legs all flashing in and out at various intervals. It was as if he were being electrified before their very eyes.

  Suddenly, the energy funnels slammed together in a brilliant flash of light. Even the clerics turned away, shielding their eyes from the burst. Then, in a quick reversal, the room plunged back into darkness. It was so dark, they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces.

  “Seal off the doors!” the king shouted. “Don’t let them escape!” Certain this light show was one of the clerics’ plans to try and flee, he stepped cautiously through the darkness, a probing hand leading the way. Surrounded by the hiss of steel leaving sheaths, he touched a cold wall before turning around. Already he was beginning to regret his order. Getting stabbed in the middle of a blind scuffle was certainly a possibility.

  Slowly, their vision began to return. A dull, orange light filtered through the room as the lanterns’ flames fizzled back to life. All the clerics were still here and accounted for, soldiers surrounding them with blades drawn. The red giant’s motionless body still lay under the sheet. Despite all the commotion only a short time ago, the room was now deadly silent.

  “Try it again!” the king grunted, breaking the silence. Seeing that the clerics hadn’t tried to escape, his focus shifted right back to his top priority. “And again after that! I order
you to do whatever it takes.”

  “My Lord,” one of the clerics squeaked, wringing his hands as he dared to step forward. The others stared at him, wide-eyed, shaking their heads in warning. Had only a few made the gesture, it might have been more subtle, but all at once attempting to quiet the cleric sent the message loud and clear.

  “So that’s it, then,” the king said. “You can only try it once. My shaman is gone forever.” He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Kill them all,” he groaned. The businesslike command carried no anger or emotion. It was simply time for them to pay for their failure. Swords in hand, the circling soldiers stepped forward, prepared to make short work of the unarmed men.

  “Wait!” one of the clerics shouted. “Look!” He pointed. The body beneath the sheet began to stir. The clerics began to back away from it, apparently more afraid of the body than they were of the soldiers. Groaning, the body sat up and the sheet fell away, exposing a face that could turn the stomach of a goat. With a creeping hand, Diovok reached for his mask laying nearby. Two of the clerics spun away and threw up at the same time. After sliding it down over his face, he rose to his feet. Sturdy, massive, he stood there in complete silence as he had always done.

  “My friend,” the king said, rushing up to Diovok. Groping the giant’s chest and arms, he patted him down as if trying to prove to himself that this was no dream. “My friend, you have returned to the world of the living. It is good to see you.” Turning slightly, Milo waved a hand as if painting an imagined image in the air. “We have so much to do yet, so much to accomplish. I knew it was not your time.”

  “Yes, there is much to be done,” Diovok rumbled, a dry, throaty voice. Astonished, the king pivoted back around to face the giant. Years and years Diovok had been by his side, and not once had he ever spoke. “There is but one problem.” His eyes seemed to glow from behind his mask. “I no longer serve you, my king.”