Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Epilogue
Codex
About the Authors
The Affinities Cycle
Peter J. Wacks & Mark Ryan
Book Description
Finally healed enough from his shattered spine to venture into the giant Rocmire forest, Tetra prepares to try to save his friends. But the kingdom has other plans for him, and an emissary of the king, Tetra’s uncle, comes to take him to the capitol instead.
Halli has managed to keep the other children of her village alive through the vicious winter of the Rocmire. Just as she is making headway befriending their captors, the survivors of the failed attack on Castle Drayston return to the oroc village and everything changes.
Can she keep the kids alive long enough to escape?
All the while the children are being hunted by a cabal known as The Quantus, who are trying to protect the world from a dark magic.
***
Smashwords Edition – 2015
WordFire Press
wordfirepress.com
ISBN: 978-1-61475-366-7
Copyright © 2015 Peter J. Wacks and Mark Ryan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover painting by Zoe Frasure
Cover design by Rebecca Moesta
Art Director Kevin J. Anderson
Book Design by RuneWright, LLC
www.RuneWright.com
Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
Published by
WordFire Press, an imprint of
WordFire, Inc.
PO Box 1840
Monument, CO 80132
***
Chapter One
Pavil Serevin
Pavil crouched in the dark chamber of ice, touching the walls on either side. It was too cold out and they had burrowed into the snowbanks to escape freezing to death. Inspired by the oroc cages, crafted of earth beneath the giant exposed roots of the Rocmire trees, he and Malec had made an icy shelter. Tightly packed walls, patted down until the ice was so dense it was blueish black, surrounded them in their makeshift shelter. The principle was the same they had used many times as kids making snow forts back home.
Surprisingly, the chamber was warm. Dirty furs were spread across the floor and the lower portion of the walls, making the chamber soft as well as insulating. Pavil ran his hands through them, marveling at how long they had been lost in the forest, to have collected so many hides. This temporary chamber had been their home for two weeks and would be till the midwinter cold snap was done.
Malec was out, taking his turn checking the snares and traps they had planted up in the trees. They had set snares on the ground before, but with the heavy snows, they were too obvious. Catching a fox or other winter quarry wasn’t worth the risk of an oroc noticing the trap. Pavil carefully poked his head out, checking on Malec’s progress. Pavil was constantly hungry; the sparse meals they caught were never enough to actually fill his belly. But they were alive, which was more than he had expected when they first realized the oroc patrols were forcing them deeper into the forest, away from the human border. The sun had finally come out, glittering on the soft white draped over the Rocmire, but it was too cold for it to begin melting. Instead it only made the cold a stark contrast, the smell of the snow all that much more cold.
Shivering in his furs, Pavil watched a bunny hop nervously down the game trail. It had sensed them, but it was, like them, hungry. It occurred to him to wonder what bunnies ate in the middle of winter, and why this particular one wasn’t hibernating. Did rabbits hibernate? He didn’t care; he was too hungry. He stared at the bunny intently. Maybe he could lull it, get them a surprise meal.
The rabbit stopped, staring through the white trees off to the east, ears and whiskers twitching. Pavil heard the sound that had caught the rabbit’s attention a second later—heavy footsteps crunching through the layer of ice over the snow. He crept out of their hidden ice house, careful to smooth over his footprints as he went, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Their hiding spot was carefully chosen, sitting between several trees. Anyone passing through would naturally walk around their spot, without actually coming anywhere near it. It could be anything, though, not just orocs. It could even be a ravager, some beast twisted by a Heart Shard it had consumed.
Circling west, he kept his footsteps quiet by stepping into the clear spots underneath the trees and easing his way around tree branches heavily laden with snow. He dragged a fur behind him, erasing his tracks. Fluting voices echoed through the clearing, and oroc laughter. He froze, halfway to Malec, scanning the trees for the creatures. They had gone silent. So far, though, he couldn’t see them. Hopefully they couldn’t see him either.
His heart pounding, as quietly as he could, he reached Malec’s side behind a drooping pine tree. Taking a breath, he whispered to his friend. “Did you hear them?”
Malec grabbed him, pushed a fur under the snow, then carefully slid it over both of them
. He shifted his shoulders, settling the snow over them, leaving only a tiny peephole to watch the outside world. “Shh.” The orocs came into view.
The creatures’ colors had faded with the season. Camouflaging themselves in the colors of winter trees, their leaves lay on their bodies in dull browns and blacks. They even seemed thinner with the foliage draped loosely around them, though they were still immense compared to a human.
Looking around, the orocs eyed the game trail. Pavil bit back a gasp. Malec glared at him again and elbowed him to be quiet.
Tense seconds passed as Pavil held in the gasp that tried to escape as a whoosh of terrified air. After so long running from these creatures, to be so close and not be spotted seemed impossible. The creatures could probably even sense that they were here.
Malec glared at him again, as if by merely glaring, he could stem the tide of rising panic that threatened to choke Pavil.
One of the orocs bent down and picked up a handful of snow, sniffing at it. He turned to his companions, dangling it from his fingers and gesturing toward the trees. The sense of dread spiked in Pavil’s chest. They had to run. They had to get out of here. But they couldn’t. Movement would give them away for sure.
Placing his hand on Pavil’s shoulder, Malec held him in place as if to say that they were dead if they tried to run. There was only one thing they could do, Pavil acknowledged: wait and pray they weren’t caught. But the orocs were Geists. There was no way they could be this close and not sense the boys’ spirits. It couldn’t end like this. There had to be something they could do. Something he could do.
The oroc dropped the snow and laughed at something one of his companions said. He gestured vaguely in the direction that Pavil and Malec were hiding. Malec’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Pavil squeezed his eyes shut, thinking furiously. There was only one thing he could do, and it was something he had never tried before. Leaning his face to the side slowly, he carefully touched Malec’s hand with his cheek. He drew upon his Pathos power, careful to not let it spill over, to keep it contained.
The oroc conversation stopped, the clearing was silent. Pavil opened one eye and peeked out. The oroc harvesters had all stopped. They were scanning the trees. Pavil unleashed his power. He and Malec were flooded with a surge of Pathos, overwhelming both of their emotions until there was nothing there. No panic, no worry, just utter calm; pure emotionless spirits. Simultaneously, he reached away from the orocs, slamming his emotions into the biggest creatures he could find.
A loud crashing sound came from outside the clearing. The orocs hurriedly closed ranks, forming a circle, watching the trees suspiciously. Crunching sounds, ice being broken by trampling feet, filled the air, and forms came into view. rocwolves, giant canines that stood five feet tall at the shoulder, padded into the clearing. The white and gray furred beasts growled when they saw the orocs, exposing deadly fangs.
The wolves circled the clearing, working their way menacingly toward the orocs. Backing up slowly and carefully, the orocs brandished their clubs, warily retreating. They fanned out into a semicircle, keeping the wolves from flanking them. The lead wolf snarled and lunged forward.
Swinging its club in a smooth arc, the point oroc smashed a stone into the wolf’s shoulder, sending it flying. Pavil stoked the fear and rage in the animal. It sprang back to its feet as the rest of the pack watched the alpha.
The orocs sped up their retreat as the pack attacked. The orocs were careful to not kill any of the wolves, batting them about like puppies, but never landing fatal blows. With precise discipline, the skirmish moved backward. Finally, the sounds of the fight were distant, then gone. Pavil let out a huge sigh and stood up, releasing the power he had been pushing.
Cold shocked him as his knees gave out and he slumped back down to sit in the snow. He was starving. Pushing his power may have been a bit much on an empty stomach. Malec pushed the fur back, shaking off the snow, staring at his friend in wonder. “What did you do?”
Pavil shrugged. “Dunno. I just, um, threw our emotions.” He pushed himself back up to his feet, being careful to not overdo it this time.
“What do you mean threw?” Malec tossed the fur over his shoulder and grabbed Pavil’s arm. Pavil was wobbling in place.
Pavil’s vision was going fuzzy. “Um, I grabbed everything in us, like panic, fear, anger, and stuff. Then I just chucked it at the biggest pack of nearby emotion I could find that wasn’t the orocs. Malec, I’m really hungry. Like, really, really hungry.”
Malec sprang forward, catching Pavil as he collapsed. Studying his friend, Pavil realized that Malec’s cheeks were sunken. He looked emaciated. Pavil wondered if he looked the same, perhaps worse judging by his friend’s expression. Carrying him carefully, Malec brought Pavil back to their shelter. Was this what Elder Proumin had talked about, what seemed a lifetime ago? Pavil didn’t need his Pathos to feel the fear from his friend.
“I’ll find us something to eat.” Malec left the shelter again and Pavil drifted to sleep, knowing that whatever food Malec was likely to find, it wouldn’t be enough to replenish the energy he had spent saving them.
***
Chapter Two
Klithissala Kai Dren
Klithissala carefully stepped through the scorched remnants of the human settlement. Cold air blew past her, making her scales shift from a lighter green to midnight green. The wreckage of Jaegen lay around her, a charred skeleton: black beams and stone poking up through the year’s last snow. Around her, in a small circle, the snow melted, the heat from her Mah’Kali casting a wide circle.
The robes were uncomfortable, pulling at her body with their weight, but they were needed. In the winter months, outside of the deserts, all of the ifrahn tribes wore the Mah’Kali. There just wasn’t enough heat in the cold lands. She adjusted the robes, using both her Archon and Volcon magics, shifting, then warming the sand of her home desert, packed tightly into a thin layer between the fabrics in the robe.
Blessed warmth emanated from the sands, heating her veins. Sluggish thoughts sped back up, and she walked forward into the wreckage. The only part of her feet exposed to the elements were the wide hooked talons, excellent in the deserts, but difficult in the cold lands. Last fall they had manipulated the orocs into attacking this village, but it seemed their plan had failed. The Quantus lived. It was apparent. A Psion of unrivalled magnitude had been altering the entire region, forcing people to strange decisions since the raid. Only the Quantus could accomplish that on such a scale to stretch from the castle to the heart of the forest.
Klithissala studied the ruins and the patterns it held. Everything possessed patterns, but some proved difficult to perceive. Her tongue flicked in thought, tasting the cold, fresh air as she considered the reports from her scouts. The battle at Castle Drayston hadn’t gone as planned. It should have been the final spark to catch the tinder, the final piece of kindling on the pyre.
A winter campaign was not easy for her people, but the Quantus could not be allowed to emerge. This village had been the prophesied one’s home. She hissed and scratched at the ground. She believed in the Pattern, not the Prophesies, and this winter’s war was like a blizzard in the sands. The pattern was to kill the Quantus every century, and prophesy showed them where it was born. Even so … was it not just another aspect of an affinity? She gathered her thoughts, focusing. What was important was this mission, this moment. Not to question.
The shards said the Quantus still lived. She knew what had gone wrong. Watching from the shadows, providing the final tinder to spark the village during the attack, she had seen the orocs carry the hatchlings away. Would that she could have shared her knowledge with the forest dwellers. Or even with her own people …
Her plans were as sand under the wind. One could pile them as high as they wished, and the slightest breeze might scatter them to the dunes without warning. In much the same way, the fire the ifrahn wielded possessed a chaotic spirit, as like to burn the caster as the victim. This plan, this cours
e of action, was in danger of burning her tribe. Was in danger of burning the whole world. She wasn’t sure what she sought here. It had been eight months since the village had been razed and the Quantus had escaped. Perhaps some clue. Something she had missed before.
She snatched up a blackened log and snapped it. The wood crumbled to ash between her talons, and she let the wind steal it from her palm. Drawing upon her Archon power, she spun the shasun blades attached to her outer robes, whirling them through the floating ash. She briefly touched the Prios crafted amulet hanging from her neck, but nothing was revealed. Ash floated and fell. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the smell of winter.
They had studied the humans for many sheddings, since the destruction of the tribes by the Dreadknights some thirty years before. Cycles of the snows in the cold lands had come and gone, the softskins unaware of being observed. They had been so sure the Quantus had been here. They had studied and studied, trying to find it, but had taken too long. They had been forced to just wipe out the village. The risk was too great otherwise.
What had they missed, then? Where had the pattern coiled awry? These humans were a fragile, fleeting species in the baking sands of Scaladrin, where weakness brought swift death. Yet here, the humans defied the natural order and cast themselves up as lords and kings over nature. This could not be abided any longer.
As she prowled by the split trunk of a ruined, charred tree, one talon grated over a larger, round lump of bone. Cold ran up her foot, a shock to her system. Klithissala hissed to herself and waved. The snow at the base of the tree melted away, revealing a human skeleton. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air. She took up the skull and inspected it, her red-and-brown scales contrasting its ivory hue. Staring deeply into the empty eye sockets, she stroked the skull.
“Why did you protect the Quantus as it coiled among you?” she whispered. “Did you feel the shadow of your doom? Did you know you were marked for death? Of course you didn’t. You should have let it go.”
A flex of her talons crushed the skull to shards. Drawing upon her Archon power once more, she spun the shasun blades as she tossed the remnants of the skull. She touched the amulet. As the fragments dropped, she studied how they fell into the snowmelt, which had already begun to freeze over. The three largest shards settled on the outside of the pile, dagger-like tips all aimed in opposing directions. She regarded these with fascination, knowing exactly where they pointed.
Bloodletting Part 2 Page 1
