Blood Gate Boxed Set

by K L Reinhart

  “Get to cover! Pick up shields!” Vorg was shouting, as men and women scrambled back up the ladders and heaved themselves over the railings.

  “We can’t defend this place forever,” Falan said with an urgent hiss as the missiles grew closer and closer with every heartbeat.

  “We go below decks!” Merin snarled, wounded, and was already throwing herself down the nearest trapdoor. Other sailors were following her, eager for any protection against the strange, living arrows.

  “They’ll just pick you off!” Falan shouted in consternation at them, pointing back to the higher part of the deck that was crumpled and smashed against the cliff wall. A part of it had settled a little bit higher than the cliff’s edge–it would be an easy thing to climb up—

  “Do it,” Terak nodded to Falan as the elf grabbed one of the heavy Brecha round shields. “Lead your people out. We’ll do what we can here,” he said, just as the flaring arrows suddenly arced upwards, gaining height to lance down on the scrambling humans.

  “SHIELD WALL!” Vorg bellowed, falling to one knee and raising the round shield ahead of him at the same time. Terak did the same on one side of the orc, while on the other side at least a handful of Brechan soldiers had taken the orc’s advice.

  Thock-thock-thock-thock! The magic missiles attempted to correct their flight at the last moment, but Vorg had timed his defense perfectly. Terak felt the shudder as one of the flaming arrows embedded itself into the wood of his shield. All along the haphazard line, arrows sprouted from other shields. None of the defenders were hit, but at least two of the scrambling, ladder-climbing soldiers were hit in the back, to scream and fall back to the dirt of the plains below.

  “Up there! Run!” Falan shouted. He waited at the lip of the smashed railings and seized men and women by arms, elbows, cloaks, or shoulders and pushed them ahead of him. Terak turned to see first one, then two, then four more of the Brecha defenders climb and leap onto the top of the higher land and disappear into the dark.

  “Shield wall!” Vorg shouted again, and Terak raised his shield again as another volley of the arrows flared out of the dark sky.

  “Aii!” This time the defenders weren’t so lucky, as the intelligent missiles curved and arced in the air around them at the last moment. Terak had to suddenly spin on his hip to catch the flaming arrow that had somersaulted over his head. There were screams as at least two of the defending soldiers hadn’t been able to move quickly enough.

  “Terak! Vorg! Move!” Falan shouted from behind. As Terak turned, Vorg was already seizing the human soldier beside him and flinging him forward to where Falan would help him climb the broken ship and over the cliff’s edge.

  They had just a little breathing space before the next volley, the elf knew, but there were also only a handful of the defenders left, making it easier to get away.

  Terak held back, knowing that he was quicker than the more awkward humans. To his surprise, he felt a clawed hand seize the back of his tunic and almost fling him up the deck, to scrabble for purchase on splintered and ruined wood, catching and pulling, and then finding a human hand grabbing his arm as he kicked himself over the rock.

  Ugh! Terak rolled over the rock top of the cliff, stumbling forward to see that the top of this cliff was mostly flat, and stretched a little way toward a sparsely-wooded hillside that clutched to the bottom of the Vandra Mountains.

  “Vorg!?” The elf shouted as more flaming lights raced across the plains like malevolent fireflies, heading directly for The Lady of the North.

  “Grargh!” And then, heavy-booted orc feet pounded behind him as Vorg leapt onto the cliff top—before spinning around and falling to one knee just as before, shield held high.

  Terak was already turning, lifting his own shield high as the cloud of fiery missiles shot upwards over the bulk of the ruined air galleon. No one will reach the trees in time! The thought flashed through the elf’s mind as the magic missiles shot downwards toward them.

  And suddenly, they spun in the air wildly, their flames extinguishing in a heartbeat, with some of the arrows even splintering as if they had passed through some intense magical shield.

  “Falan?” Terak said, as fragments of arrows rained down around them, bouncing off shields and rocks.

  “I don’t know!” the young lord replied. Although Terak could see that several of the escaping soldiers who knew the cantrips of battle-magic had summoned their own personal shields, none of the shields had reached the cliff edge, and Terak could see no explanation for it at all.

  “This place . . .” Vorg slowly backed away, lowering his shield inch by inch. The orc took a deep sniff at the air, and the elf wondered just what sort of forces an orc nose could detect.

  “This place has protection,” Vorg grunted, finally dropping the round shield to his side and turning to saunter nonchalantly toward them and the stunned soldiers who had followed Lord Falan. “Something deep lies here. Natural magic,” Vorg stated. “Older than humans.”

  What sort of magic is that? Terak had been ostracized–even hunted–by the aging Chief Arcanum of the Enclave, who was the one responsible for discovering the acolytes’ and novitiates’ magical potentials. As such, Terak knew nothing about the different magics of the world.

  “Root magic,” Vorg grunted, nodding toward the trees ahead. “Need to get under cover. Those plains buggers might not be able to prick at us with their arrows, but that don’t mean they won’t come for us with swords and spears!”

  Terak nodded, feeling tired and confused as the wave of recent battle excitement died in him. He knew that Vorg was right, and he was too tired to question the strange ways of the world anymore.

  6

  The Fifth

  “Does anyone know where we’re going?” Vorg grumbled ahead of Terak, as the assembled throng of humans, elf, and orc picked their way past strange and scaly-looking trees.

  It was full night, but several of their number had set up the small glowing balls of were-light—a common cantrip for even the least magically-trained individual. The eerie lights illuminated the clumps and stands of the trees, none of them as tall as the giant redwoods of the Everdell, but with long, spindly boughs and branches that ended in furs of long-bladed leaves.

  This is a forest I cannot read. Terak frowned as the smells of mineral-laden airs contrasted with what he thought a forest should smell like: earthy, and rich.

  There was a moisture to the air, he noted, and his fine ears could hear the distant burr of waterfalls somewhere up ahead. The forest floor did have layers of leaf litter and fat-leaved ferns, but every footstep though this landscape found hardened rock underneath the delicate top layer of life. The trees themselves did not stand tall and proud, either. Instead, their trunks appeared to like curling and twisting, growing around the many rocky outcrops and boulders that scattered this strange place.

  “We had some diviners amongst us,” the shadowed form of Falan said from ahead. His voice had lost that earlier resolve and confidence. Probably because his crew tried to kill him, the elf thought.

  The Brechans who had decided to stay, however, were all from the soldier complement of The Lady of the North. By the light of the Second Moon, high and glowing pale through the trees, Terak could count only a mere twelve men and women who had elected to follow their rightful king. It had been mostly the sailors, airmen and women, as well as some of the soldiers who had stayed behind at The Lady.

  Where they will probably be hunted by the Benuin. Terak shook his head. He felt no great rancor toward them–even when he thought of the mutinous Acting Captain Merin.

  But there was one realization that was sitting heavy in his mind–and presumably Falan’s as well: if the remaining sailors of The Lady did miraculously manage to survive, as well as manage to get the air galleon afloat again, then Terak knew that Merin wouldn’t hesitate in taking their only route of escape out of there, abandoning their king and the others.

  Humans! Terak growled to himself. He was starting to th
ink that maybe Vorg’s assessment of them had been right.

  “Sire?” One of these humans was padding, soft-footed, back to them. She was a soldier a good few years older than Falan was, with her red hair bound in a tight warrior’s braid down her back and with a smattering of freckles.

  “Lieutenant Hanna,” Falan nodded at her wearily.

  “There’s something up ahead, sire,” the woman said in a worried tone. “I know you didn’t order it, but I took it on myself to send out a couple of us as scouts, and they’ve just come back to say there’s some kind of clearing.”

  “Thank you,” Falan nodded to her, for the woman to bob her head and turn back to pad quickly the way she had come.

  Maybe not all humans are idiots. Terak had to reassess as he shared a nod between himself, Falan, and Vorg, before picking up their steps and jogging ahead.

  The trio saw the radiance from the clearing ahead long before they stepped into it.

  “Wait,” Falan ordered to the other eleven soldiers as he, Vorg, and Terak joined the patient Lieutenant Hanna at the tree line.

  It was a clearing, one which was generally oval in shape and whose floor was bare rock.

  That’s odd, Terak thought. At least some leaf litter and dirt should have spread into that space by the action of wind and time, surely?

  But no. The rock floor of the clearing was just that–roughed and smoothed stone in natural cracked and swirling patterns.

  It wasn’t that fact that set Terak’s teeth on edge, however. The clearing ended in a pool of glistening black water, sitting against a rocky foot of the mountain. It must be a natural spring or a well, Terak thought, as he could see no river, stream, or waterfall that filled the pool up.

  And in the clearing of stone before the pool was a pillar of rock. Terak’s keen eyes couldn’t see the joins of blocks or mason work, so it must have been a natural formation.

  But the large glowing white ball that hung over the pillar was not natural to the null, anyway.

  “Who’s casting that?” Falan whispered. It was a rhetorical question, of course, but all the same, the four of them looked around to see.

  “I don’t think it has been cast by someone,” Hanna said suspiciously. “If it was, then whoever did it must have been truly gifted and powerful to ensure that it held its form here for however long.”

  The Hexan was powerful, Terak immediately thought, licking his lips. “Could it be a sign or a way marker left by the—” he was busy saying. Vorg interrupted him with a grunt and a deep, animal-like sniff.

  “Not the Hexan. His magic smells foul,” the orc said, before repeating his earlier pronouncement of the night. “Root magic.”

  “What do you mean?” Terak asked in hushed tones as they sat and watched.

  “You don’t know root magic? And you’re an elf!?” Vorg squinted at Terak, the light of the glowing orb catching the fierce glitter of the orc’s eyes.

  “I guess you could say I had a strange upbringing,” Terak muttered.

  “Hmm. I guess you did,” Vorg grunted. “Root magic is old magic. Older magic. Before the elves put it into words.”

  Terak thought about the Loranthian Scroll, the artifact that he had to kill to get, and the arcane runes that seemed to buzz and hurt the eyes to look at.

  “Root magic comes up from the stones, but it can be angry magic.” Vorg’s deep growl sounded like the aches and groans of the Tartaruk Mountains, deep in winter. “Orcs are closer to root magic,” Vorg said seriously. “Orcs remember what it was like to live on the land without words.”

  A hushed silence fell amongst the assembled mortals as they considered the orc’s speech and the glowing ball of light hanging over the pillar of stone ahead of them.

  “I’ll go,” Falan said, moving to stand up from his crouched position.

  “No!” Lieutenant Hanna said, standing up quicker than her king. “We all heard what the orc said–this could be dangerous. Brecha needs her king.” Although there was deference in her tone, it also brooked no argument.

  Hanna didn’t wait for agreement from the others, but stepped into the stone clearing by the pool. Terak held his breath–but nothing happened. He wasn’t sure precisely what he was expecting to happen, but he was pleased when he saw Hanna move across the clearing in slow steps, her sword drawn as she reached the pillar–which stood a few hand spans taller even than she was.

  Slowly, Hanna reached up her free hand to touch the stone—

  Thwap! A sudden flash of blinding light as the floating orb expanded unpredictably, engulfing the human soldier for an instant—

  “Aii!” A pained scream, and both Terak and Falan were on their feet and racing across the stone toward her. The orb had contracted once again to its previous size and position, but the human lieutenant was now lying on the floor, her hands clutched to her face.

  “Lieutenant? Hanna? What happened?” Falan was crouched by her side as Terak stood over them, his knife drawn.

  “I can’t see! I can’t see!” Hanna said. When Falan managed to encourage her to drop her hands, her two companions could see that her eyes had become a milky white.

  “We should leave this place,” Falan hissed in agitation. “Whatever secrets are locked here, it won’t lead us to the Hexan.” As he said this, there was another flash of light, but it didn’t bring the orb, and this time it was a rich, burning purple.

  “Ixcht!” Terak sprang to one side, wheeling around. There was a roar of anger as Vorg leapt from his waiting place by the side of the trees.

  “To arms!” Falan shouted, and Terak heard the answering calls from the Brechan soldiers deeper in the strange forest.

  Someone had fired a magic bolt at them, but who? Terak snarled, spinning around to scan the nearby trees and rocky cliff—

  “You are not welcome here!” A shape moved from the high limbs of the trees, landing with bare feet on the stone. There was a sigh and a hiss of soft clothing, as more shapes fell from where they had been completely camouflaged against the dark trees and skies.

  “Pointies!” Vorg roared, already unslinging his great battle-ax—

  Thwap! To be completely taken off his feet by another searing bolt of purple light. It struck the orc champion in his black-iron breastplate and flung him back across the stone clearing. Terak could see a deep, glowing red spot on his armor, cooling rapidly.

  There was a collection of elves standing at one edge of the clearing, some with short spears leveled, but at least two with small, strangely twisted bows held taut. Only their strings appeared to shine like silver wire, and the “arrows” they held were flickering purple bolts, waiting to be released.

  “Another move, and we will kill you where you stand,” said the first speaking elf. She was a blond elf maiden with hair braided into many plaits and garb completely unlike the soft linens of the Second Family of the Everdell.

  They wore harsh leathers and hides, stripped of their fur or spines. These were woven into straps crisscrossing their chests, arms, and legs and showing their tanned, almost-ochre skin, darker than the ephemeral lighter tones of the Second and Fourth Families that Terak had met before. Their faces were streaked with a viridian blue. Tattoos or inks, the assassin couldn’t be sure. At their hips were curving knives, ropes, and pouches.

  But they were undoubtedly elves. They had the same slightly elongated and sharp features, the eyes that almost seemed to glow, and of course, the long, pointed ears and subtly sharpened, purest white teeth.

  Falan and the others froze. Even the sound of the approaching Brechan soldiers slowed as they must have seen their ruler pinned down by yet more magical missiles. The only sound that disturbed the standoff were the small gasps of pain from Hanna at Terak and Falan’s feet.

  “You must leave. Now,” the elf maiden said, her eyes flickering between Falan, Terak, and Vorg. “And take your orc with you!” she added. Everyone knew that there was no love between the elvish and orcish peoples.

  “Grrurrgh . . .” Vorg was co
ughing and rolling over, and Terak saw one of the sorcerous bowmen tracking his movements precisely.

  Terak took a breath, and slowly raised his hands as he stepped forward, confidently, earning another flickering of a bow toward him.

  “Terak . . .” Falan whispered in alarm.

  “These are my people,” Terak hissed back, although even he couldn’t be sure how they would greet him. Not all elves carry hope for the world, he thought grimly. He took another step toward the elvish maiden–some kind of leader or captain–forcing her to hiss and tense her legs.

  Not all, Terak forced himself to consider. The elvish Lord Yuliel had betrayed the human city of Araxia, bargaining with the dreadful God-queen of the Ungol in return for the safety of his people. Not that it did him any good, Terak thought. He had watched the Hexan kill Yuliel when he had thought that he was of no more use.

  “My name is Terak Var-dalion,” Terak changed his name at the last moment to his true name. The one that his own elvish mother had tried to give him, and the one that he had been refused by Mother Istarion of the Second Family. She had changed it to Terak Var, meaning dagger instead of sharp light of the dawn.

  “—of the Second Family of Everdell,” Terak said. Which was technically true, even if he had never actually lived with them, ever. “You are my kin, and I am your brother, and the Family of Elves must unite against the threat that faces us all.” He spoke clearly, holding the elf maid’s stare as he did so.

  “Halt,” the maiden said with a nod, and slightly relaxed her stance. This small gesture was enough to encourage to Terak to do the same, also. He saw the elf maiden flicker a glance at the elvish archer to one side of her–who grimaced and shook his head just slightly.

  No! Terak gritted his teeth.

  But the elf maid cleared her throat, looking annoyed as she glanced up at the heavens before heaving a sigh. “I have never spilt elvish blood of any family, and I am not about to now. You come to us in dark times, Terak Vardalion, under strange circumstances, and with stranger companions.” Another glance at Vorg, who had now sat up and was glaring at the archers with obvious hatred.