Of Blood and Blade (Tainted Blood Book 2)

by Jeff Gunzel

  No, that wasn’t an option—not yet, anyway. There was no escaping this. It was time to face whatever the king had in store for her. It would be nothing short of a miracle if he didn’t have her executed on the spot, but there were no options here. Her best chance was to hurry now and pretend nothing was wrong. Perhaps feigning ignorance might yet save her life.

  The long walk through the keep felt like a short one as she reached the large, red, double doors. It seemed as if she had been summoned only seconds ago. Her trembling hand touched the golden knob before suddenly jerking away. Promptly, she slapped herself on the wrist before trying a second time. Steady, you fool! If this was to be her end, she would face it head on with some dignity. After all, she was still the queen, and she would embrace that title until it was stripped from her, or her life was forfeit. Steeling herself, she threw back the doors and marched into the hall with her head high. Heads turned with a jerk.

  “There’s my beautiful wife,” said Milo, rising up from his seat at the head of the table. With a sort of spring in his step, he rounded the corner of the table and rushed up to her. Fists clenched, her body went stiff as he kissed each of her cheeks. “It is so good to have you with us, my dear,” he whispered softly in her ear. Speechless, her hand clutched in his, he led her to an empty seat near his at the head of the table.

  The table was set with bowls filled with fresh fruit and crystal glasses filled with warm spiced white wine. Four thick candles flickered away, each giving off their own spicy aroma. The atmosphere was warm and pleasant in the low light. What was all this? What was he up to?

  “My lady,” came a formal greeting from the man on her left. Still stunned by her husband’s behavior, Bella had almost forgotten there were others present. The humble greeting was echoed around the table, each man nodding his acknowledgment to their queen. Forcing a smile, she took the time to greet each of them in turn.

  Her head spun as she tried to take it all in. It was difficult to play the part of queen, acting calm and composed, seeing how, only moments ago, she had feared the possibility of a rope around her neck. The king never needed much reason for an execution, no matter who it was, and his devotion to her as of late was spotty at best.

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid we’ve already started without you,” said Milo, pushing her already filled glass of wine closer to her. “Dengar,” he ordered with a snap of his fingers. “Would you please be so kind as to update my wife?”

  “Oh, uh, certainly, Your Majesty,” said his advisor, sliding back in his seat in order to stand. The simple movement seemed to make the heavy man sweat profusely. With the buttons of his shirt straining against his round belly, the short man wiped a stubby hand across his damp black hair. “We’ve only just started planning the specifics, my lady.”

  “Are we arranging a festival?” asked Bella, taking a sip of her spiced wine. It was good. Everything was good. She was fully composed once again. Each passing second brought with it a calming assurance that she just might keep her head this day.

  “Uh...something along those lines,” the man admitted, finding the need to wipe sweat from his forehead once more. “For some time now, Shadowfen has built a reputation among the elites for providing a unique brand of entertainment. That savage half-man of yours has built quite a name for himself.” Bella’s cheek twitched ever so slightly.

  “The only problem we’ve encountered during these events,” he continued, “is that he’s been mostly unchallenged. That is to say, he wins too easily, and sometimes the elites feel slighted, given how much they paid to be entertained. Some have even demanded their coin returned.”

  “I was under the impression that his constant winning was a good thing,” Bella replied, her voice rising in pitch with every word. “Am I mistaken in thinking this? If he were to ever lose, then the shows come to an end. If the shows come to an end, a large portion of Shadowfen’s revenue becomes permanently cut off. I’m afraid I must be missing your point, Dengar.”

  “Why, no, my lady. Your astute observation is correct, as always,” he said, bowing his chin to his chest, making his flabby neck roll to each side. Bella resisted rolling her eyes at his hollow praise, and allowed him to continue.

  “But, my lady, what if he didn’t win...just this once? What if our champion were defeated in front of thousands of spectators?” Her heart skipped a beat. In a single sentence this man had threatened to shatter her entire world. Had she been standing, she would most certainly be looking up from the floor. Although her eyelids fluttered briefly, she just barely managed to keep her emotions in check. It was like holding her hands over hot steam and trying not to make a pained face.

  “And how would Shadowfen benefit from such a thing?” she asked in as cool a voice as she could muster. “As I already pointed out, if he falls in battle, then our practically endless stream of revenue is cut off forever. I don’t suppose you are going to replace our champion?”

  Uncomfortable, Dengar cleared his throat. “And once again, my lady, you prove yourself to be as wise as you are lovely,” he replied, his wandering eyes seeming to roam her entire body with a leering sweep. It was all she could do not to drive a fist straight into his flabby face. “But alas, your husband, being the genius he is, has brilliantly formulated how we may benefit from such a...tragedy. And best of all, it shall all be done in one evening. This spectacular event shall be one for the ages.” Her patience wearing thin with the little man’s long-winded ramblings, her attention drifted back to her husband.

  Taking a long gulp of his wine, Milo barely spared her a glance before lifting an apple from his bowl, then turning it in the air, as if not trusting its freshness. “What Dengar is trying to say,” he said, one eye squinting suspiciously at the fruit, “is that more coin right now is more important than a sustained source of currency in the coming years.” He finally took a bite, then gazed at her blankly as he chewed.

  “That makes no sense,” she spoke softly, barely able to keep the growing anger from her voice. “What reason could we possibly have—”

  “Dark times these are indeed, my dear,” he said casually. Despite his soft tone, there was a dangerous hint of a growing temper beneath his words. It was probably best to let him finish this time before speaking her mind again. “As we’ve already discussed at length, you know what’s happening in the rest of the realm. Random attacks by these ‘ash men’ have practically brought our neighboring economies to a standstill. Folks are more worried about their own lives than spending coin. To be blunt, I’m more concerned about the present than what looks to be a rather bleak future.

  “What will be the point of having that beast fight for us six months or a year from now if the entire realm is under siege and all flow of money has come to a halt? I believe that if things keep progressing as they have, then there very well might not be a future for any of us. So what I propose is this: A final tournament billed as the greatest challenge that beast has ever faced. The odds will be so insurmountable, that by all rights he probably won’t survive.

  “We’ll spread the word near and far, then charge outlandish fees to witness this spectacle. Essentially, I’ll be cashing in all of Shadowfen’s resources at once. If these ‘ash folk’ continue their reign of terror on this world, by power of currency alone we should be the last ones standing. We’ll have the coin to hire mercenaries if need be, and possibly even bribe these creatures to leave us untouched. My plan gives us options not afforded to our neighboring cities, and it protects against the worst-case scenario.”

  Bella sat in silence for a time. Once again her mad husband had displayed his brilliant, practical thinking despite possessing an irreparably broken mind. His logic was sound. This move could ensure Shadowfen’s chances of riding out this storm—if it even had an end. Still, the thought of losing her true love to a business proposition, no matter how sound his proposal was, tore her apart from the inside. There simply had to be another way.

  “And what if he survives your blatant
attempt to murder him for the greater good?” she asked plainly. “He’s faced impossible odds before and still came out the victor. No matter what you throw at the creature, betting against him is foolhardy at best.”

  Milo watched her thoughtfully, his ringed finger clanking against his glass with a steady rhythm. “I see the beast has captured your heart,” he said. She stiffened, alert, realizing just now how easy she had been to read. Her mind raced, searching for some sort of deflective statement that might take the focus off her true feelings for Jarlen. “Which is why I love her so,” said the king, raising his glass in the air. Around the table, wine glasses were raised in toast.

  “Whether it be a wounded bird or a stray cat, your queen feels affection for even the lowliest of creatures,” the king declared. Glasses clinked to chants of “hear, hear!” After the gathered people’s glasses had been drained in a single gulp, the king continued, “But as for your question, my dear, you are indeed correct. If he somehow survives the tournament, it will be nothing short of a miracle. But more importantly, the people will see that as well. All the better, I say, for we shall just have to do it again, then again, and again after that.” Never taking his eyes off her, he poured himself another glass of wine. “But you must understand, my love, that sooner or later...you will watch him perish.” His toothy grin made her skin crawl.

  * * *

  With Shadowfen still several days’ ride away, the group continued their slow push through the forest. The passing days were mostly uneventful. Viola had gone back to reading her books while riding as Owen pushed his beast through the overgrown brush, providing a moderately clear path for the others. No longer needing to rely on Thatra’s keen sense of direction, Liam put himself in charge of the map. Even though they were staying off the roads, it still proved useful as a general tool to keep them moving in the right direction. Better to move slowly under cover of the forest, than to shave off a few days’ ride while exposing themselves on the open road.

  The group had developed a routine for the evenings. Xavier set up camp while Viola tended to the horses. Liam and Thatra built a fire, throwing together a small meal for the group while Owen tested out a nearby tree. Leaning against it, he declared his job was making sure it was comfortable enough in case someone else chose to lean against it. After the modest meal of aging potatoes and quickly hardening jerky, Thatra and Viola would engage in their nightly sparring sessions.

  By this time, Thatra had decided that Viola was ready to use a real sword. It was important she get used to the feel and weight of a real blade in her hands. Viola wasn’t very strong, and she struggled with the weight of it, but she was a good student who absorbed every detail. Her speed and agility were improving by the day, but it was her clear understanding of proper technique that impressed Thatra the most. She rarely needed to be shown anything twice.

  This evening was no different. With the city now only a day’s ride away, tonight was probably the last session the two of them would have for some time. Viola had improved considerably as far as basic techniques were concerned. Tonight, Thatra’s intent was to test the level of those improvements.

  The two faced off, each with their weapons lowered, points sunk into the dirt. As usual, the men gathered round to watch. Thatra’s nose crinkled, her startled gaze drifting just over Viola’s left shoulder. Viola glanced back just as Thatra’s blade fired up in a streaking flash. A shrill ringing noise was heard as Viola lifted her blade just in time. Thatra had struck with the broad side of her blade so it wouldn’t have cut her even if it had connected, but there was little doubt Viola would be taking a nap had the hard blow landed.

  “Good,” said Thatra, clearly impressed with the block. Viola’s reflexes were more sharp, and her instincts seemed to take over when necessary. “Many would have fallen for that ancient trick.”

  “But I did fall for it,” Viola admitted, backing away to regroup. Although she had blocked successfully, it left her holding her blade with an awkward, reversed grip. It was another thing she had learned during their training. If she found she was susceptible to a counterattack, she knew to create distance and reset. Before, it had been one action, one counter action. Now she was able to think three or four moves ahead, as well as recognize when she was vulnerable. “But I was quick enough to recover. I suppose I don’t blame you for trying such a desperate trick. You’re obviously afraid of what I might do to you in a fair session.”

  Thatra opened her mouth to laugh, but ended up misdirecting a fierce three-strike combo streaking towards her head. Seconds after deceiving Viola, the younger girl had basically used the same trick on her. Her milky, white eyes went wide. “Good,” Thatra repeated, disengaging with a push. “You never cease to amaze me.” They circled each other, measuring, assessing, trying to predict the other’s next move. “Four!” she grunted, stepping in with her blade high.

  High slash, side, low, side; Viola’s blade intercepted each strike with a ringing crash. The blows were fast and heavy, but she managed to keep hold of her sword. There was a time when any of those strikes would have sent her blade tumbling from her numb hand, but her grip had grown stronger. She was more capable, confident, and now had some experience with these drills—not to mention a pair of calloused hands to prove the work she had put in.

  “Two, counter, single,” Thatra barked, her blade already in motion. It exploded high, Viola clipping its trajectory in a spray of sparks, then whirled back the other way, crashing solidly against a perfectly positioned sword. Viola countered, her blade not moving nearly as fast as Thatra’s, yet her placement flawless. Slashing sideways at shoulder height, the blow was neither high nor low. Thatra’s parry was awkward, her sword tip facing down while her elbows shrugged up to her ears. Her body was so bent out of position that her return strike was more of a fumbling jab. Viola easily slapped the point down, nearly dislodging the sword from her hand.

  Thatra grinned, amazed by her student’s pinpoint accuracy. Even three days ago Viola could not have done that. But over the last two days she had done it consistently, proving it was no fluke. “Four, counter two, triple,” the tarrin said breathlessly. The high-paced session was beginning to take its toll on both combatants. Viola deflected four high strikes firing at her head from each side. She countered with a similar head slash. When the strike struck steel, she rolled her wrist, bringing the blade straight up in a sweeping uppercut. She had practiced that often on her own, but had never tried it in a real drill until now.

  Sidestepping the upward slash, Thatra fired back, her blade coming straight down. Viola intercepted, then lowered her blade to the side to take on the follow-up side slash. Blade gripped tightly, her breathing heavy as sweat dripped from the tip of her nose, Viola looked confused. “I thought you said four, counter two, tripl—” In a desperate reaction, she dropped straight to the ground as the broad side of Thatra’s blade soared over her head, missing only by a matter of inches. And that final delayed strike completed the triple.

  “Why, yes, I did,” chuckled Thatra, her hands dropping to her knees as she bent down to suck air. She was exhausted. They both were. “But I suppose I wasn’t clear about how much time I would use to complete the triple. It’s not my fault you misinterpreted.”

  “Dirty,” Viola accused playfully.

  “Resourceful,” Thatra corrected, holding up a finger.

  “Deceitful.”

  “Creative.”

  “And I believe you are both correct,” said Liam, walking up to the kneeling girls, who were both exhausted and breathing hard. “Therefore, I’ve decided I no longer like, or trust, either of you.” He lowered a hand to each of their shoulders as they laughed. “But seriously, if I may, I would like to take over the rest of today’s session, if that is all right with the two of you.”

  Thatra nodded, relieved to get a little extra rest for a change. Viola’s conditioning wasn’t superior to her own, but her student seemed to like to push things until her body had reached its limits. These nightly b
outs had proved to be quite grueling at times.

  “And you?” Liam asked, turning to Viola. “You’re not afraid of an old man, are you?”

  “Hardly,” she said, hopping up off her knees. She blew out a breath, then whirled her sword around in a sweeping circle. “I promise I’ll go easy on you. Wouldn’t want you throwing out your back or having a heart attack.”

  “I would mind my tongue if I were you,” he said, drawing his blade with impossible speed. Viola blinked, then felt the coolness of steel pressed against the side of her neck. True, she had improved greatly as of late, but what made her think she was anywhere near the level of this former soldier? The simple act of drawing a sword quickly was a basic, practical move, one the veteran had practiced tens of thousands of times throughout the years. Smooth and with deceptive speed, he made the maneuver look effortless.

  “I assure you my back feels just fine,” he said with a wink.

  Hands up in surrender, she released her blade, letting it fall to the ground. She felt foolish.

  Liam glanced at the sword and smiled. “Not bad for an old man, eh? Besides, you won’t be needing that, anyway. Tonight, you and I are going to focus on something a little different.” He removed the sword from her neck and gave it a twirl. “One must be able to defend themselves at all times, no matter the situation.”

  “That’s why I’m working so hard,” she said, rubbing her neck.

  “There may come a time when you don’t have a weapon handy.” He eyed the sword on the ground once more, than glanced at his own. “Then what will you do?” She shrugged, not exactly sure what he was getting at. “Luckily, you seem to have abilities that pureblooded humans like myself can only dream of.” He traced his blade down the side of her arm. “My dear, you are a weapon, and perhaps it’s time you learned to harness that innate power of yours.”

  She stepped back, lowering her head as she rubbed her elbow. The topic obviously made her uncomfortable. “I don’t know why that happens,” she mumbled, sounding ashamed. “It’s not something I do on purpose, it just happens. I wish it didn’t.”