Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 (13 page)

Chapter 29

Kellian Mikkels

Only a month into his first winter in service to Lord Drayston, and Mikkels had decided he hated night watch. Especially winter night watch. Oh, he didn’t mind performing duties and would do so uncomplainingly; but these long, dark nights spent wrapped in his cloak, trying to stay awake, smelling snow on the wind … they wore on his mind and spirit. He couldn’t imagine months upon months of this.

He stamped his feet, the one part of himself he couldn’t keep warm, despite thick boots and wool socks. His southwestern home never had winters like these—and he preferred it that way. From his perch on the parapets, he could see down one of the main roads leading up to the castle. Behind him, he could see into several interconnected courtyards, including the training yard and nearby infirmary.

He sighed, scanning the emptiness. Having reached corporal just two months out of training, he now strove to find a way to prove himself worthy of being a sergeant. That’d mean he could make the rounds and check on the sentries, rather than endure being one. However, if the nights remained as dull as they had so far, good luck on his finding a way to distinguish himself. The only thing keeping him awake was the bitter cold. Every time his eyes started to droop, the chill would snap him awake.

A subtle noise came from behind him, to the right near the wide, stone stairs leading up from the base of the wall to the parapets. Another scuff of a foot on stone. Kellian drew his dagger but kept it hidden under his cloak.

Sergeant Reynolds appeared on his left. “You’re dead, Corporal.” His breath came out in white puffs.

Kellian grinned. “So are you, Sergeant.” He glanced down to where his dagger poked Reynolds’s leather breastplate.

Reynolds glanced down. “Very good.” He turned to survey the cleared land around the castle. “Of course, if I were an oroc, I’d just need to get close enough to turn the castle’s stone against you. Or rip your spirit from your body.”

“That’s awfully close, sir. Severing a soul requires all but the most powerful Geists to touch their victims, if I recall correctly. And I’m sure I’d spot them long before they could impale me on the castle’s stone.” He nodded at the stairs, where the first noise had come from. “Plus, Sergeant Grahm isn’t nearly as quiet as you. If orocs are as loud as him, they’ll wake the whole regiment before I have a chance to raise the alarm.”

Reynolds chuckled as Sergeant Grahm’s head popped up from the top of the courtyard stairs. As he turned to head back down, the older sergeant’s words drifted up to them, “Damned whelps and their young ears …”

Kellian sheathed his dagger and checked to ensure no one else stood within earshot. “Any word yet on Jaegen, sir?”

Reynolds shook his head. “There haven’t been any more serious incursions reported or discovered. The scouts I sent into the Rocmire haven’t turned up a thing, and the treaties prevent us from sending in a larger force—not that Lord Drayston would ever risk it.” He spat. “Damn politics. With winter settling in, we’ll likely have to wait until spring to find answers.”

Mikkels studied his superior’s face. Rumor had it that Reynolds used to be a captain, but got busted down the ranks for insubordination. The way the sergeant played fast and loose with the rules, Mikkels thought there might be some truth to those rumors. It was the only reason he could think of that Reynolds would be the only sergeant in the world that allowed himself to be addressed as “sir.” He believed in him, though. And spring would be too long. “By then, I doubt there’ll be anything more to spot. It doesn’t seem right, sir, doing nothing.”

Reynolds faced the courtyard, his cloak’s hood casting his features in shadow. The ramparts and parapets of the castle were lit only by the dimmest of volamps, to not ruin the sentries’ night vision. Mikkels didn’t have to see to know the sergeant’s left eye twitched in frustration.

“At this point, I’ve done all I can. If my misuse of the scouts is ever found out, I’d be lucky to just get knocked down to private—I could be executed for treason. Lord Drayston can’t take any action without sanctions from the King’s council. He knows we saw what we saw, but until he throws an oroc head on their table and can prove they intend to assault more human territory, they won’t let us violate the treaties.” Reynolds shook his head again. “Even then, there’d just be talk and more talk, with plenty of factions calling for peace up until the moment the orocs tear down their own homes. No one wants to be blamed for starting a war.”

Mikkels understood, though this hardly meant he agreed. Strict adherence to the treaties had bought them a hundred years of peace with the orocs, not something anyone wanted to jeopardize without definite evidence. He didn’t understand a lot of the kingdom’s politics, but that he got.

Mikkels sometimes wondered if the five they’d killed didn’t even have anything to do with the Jaegen attack. But the boy remained unwavering in claiming the orocs were responsible, even if he had a few blurry memories of the actual event and aftermath.

Thinking about Tetra brought a grin to his face. “How long do you think it will take tonight, sir?”

“Not sure. It’s later than usual. Maybe he doesn’t want to come out in the cold. But then again …”

Kellian glanced over his shoulder and spied the young man hobbling out of the infirmary door. Alma’s hound, Kafa, was watching him from a warmer spot in the doorway. The boy’s awkward gait spoke of deep injury, and even from this distance, his face could be seen as a mask of pain. He carried his father’s sword, as he had almost every night since he took it from the training racks. At least tonight he’d also remembered to wear a cloak.

Kellian remembered the first night he’d witnessed Tetra drag himself into the courtyard. Another dreary night watch for him, which had turned out to be a more remarkable night than he’d expected. They’d all heard the rumors round the castle—the boy would never walk again. Lucky, in fact, if he survived another week or two. Then he marveled at the spectacle of Tetra hauling himself along on his hands and elbows until he collapsed … followed by his workouts in the infirmary room and Sergeant Reynold’s order to put the sword in the training courtyard.

Seeing him now, sword in hand, on his own two feet, it lifted the chill from Kellian’s shoulders. If the boy could display such an indomitable spirit … there was no way Mikkels could call himself a soldier in the face of that if he let a cold night drag him down.

Both men watched the scene below. Tetra reached the courtyard and eased into a series of stretches, limbering up before he started hacking into one of the training dummies. Always the same dummy, too, Mikkels noticed. Each chop of the sword came slow, with a strained hitch of the boy’s shoulders; yet he struck the straw and wooden chips more often than not. The faint knocks of metal on wood drifted up from the courtyard.

Reynolds mumbled, “Give me a full squad with soldiers half as tough as him, and I’d face down an army of orocs.”

Kellian grunted in agreement. He’d broken his leg once and had refused to put any substantial weight on it for almost two months. A gust of wind ruffled his cloak, and he shivered.

“Not used to the cold yet, hm?” The sergeant flicked a bit of frost off the crenellation he leaned on.

“In Vuldaramere, the coldest things are the lakes we go swimming in year-round. Sir.” Kellian felt warmer just thinking about home.

“I’ve never been down that way. I hear it’s fine country.”

“Best land in Promencia,” Kellian straightened a bit with pride.

“Home always is.”

“Where’s home for y—”

“Oh, Aspects be merciful,” Reynolds leaned over the wall, staring into the courtyard. “The good healer must’ve been working late.”

Kellian frowned, wondering why the sergeant dodged the question. Then his gaze traveled to Healer Alma, who’d entered the training yard and stopped Tetra’s practice. To his surprise, the healer didn’t march the boy back to his room. Instead, he helped him sit down in the dirt and appeared to be having a calm conversation. Then he stood and massaged Tetra’s back, pressing here and there, helping him bend and stretch.

“Looks like they’ve reached some sort of agreement,” Mikkels was surprised. Last he had heard, Tetra was going to be tied to a bed if he tried to get up.

“You’d think so,” Reynolds said, tone going dark. “But Alma sent me a few requests just the other day. Seems he feels the boy is reckless and remains a danger to himself. He’s given him a few concessions, but these nightly sessions apparently aren’t part of the arrangement. He wants me to post a guard to keep the boy inside each evening. And I’m to confiscate his sword until permission is given for its return. His note didn’t say it outright, but I think that he’s willing to bring the matter up with Lord Drayston if I don’t comply.”

Mikkels scowled. He recognized the need to let injuries heal, but taking away the boy’s ability to train, especially in the face of his determination, would be even more crippling than the wounds he’d suffered. “What’re you going to do, sir?”

The sergeant sighed. “Healer Alma is right. The boy is a danger to himself.”

“Sir, really, can you be so—”

“Which is why I’m putting him under your supervision.”

“Sir?”

Reynolds pulled his hood back, revealing a sly grin. “How’d you like to get out of night watch for a while, Corporal?”

Mikkels held his breath, waiting for the sergeant to get to the point, not daring to guess.

The other man squared his shoulders. “First, I want you to confiscate his sword and return it to the training racks. He only gets to use it while in the yard and doesn’t get to wear it on his person until he learns to properly care for a weapon. I won’t have any men under my watch being sloppy with their equipment.”

A shade of a smile worked onto Mikkels’ lips. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I’m reassigning you from the walls to the infirmary until further notice. He wants to learn how to fight, but he’s going to get all sorts of bad habits and techniques stuck in his bones doing it on his own. Starting tomorrow, you’re going to start showing him how to fight properly.” Reynolds moved toward the stairs. “Night sessions only, for now. Start with hand to hand.”

“You’re trusting me with his training? I could break him if I push too hard.”

“Then break him. He hasn’t given himself any mercy. Why should we? Test him. See how deep his iron really goes.”

“And what about Healer Alma, sir?” Mikkels rubbed his hands together, warmed by the prospect of being inside and helping this boy

“Leave him to me. I’ve faced down worse.”

Kellian saluted. “Yes, sir.”

***