Blood Bond

The ground where the massive encampment had stood just days ago was now completely bare. It looked like Theron was already on the move.

Am I already too late?

From my vantage point high up in the air, I spotted the telltale signs of an army on the move: grooves dug by wagon wheels in the mud, stretches of grass torn up by hooves, dots of boot prints on the dirt trails.

I flapped my wings. The wind currents felt different here, heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and iron. I banked on an updraft, my avian eyes picking out details on the ground.

More tracks appeared below.

Voices cried out before the army's new camp site appeared over the break in the tree line. Dots of men and beasts swarmed all over, hauling and pushing heavy machinery. Ballistae loaded with live serpents and vehicles bearing stacked tubes connected to toxic, bubbling vats were being pushed toward freshly dug mounds. Those long-limbed, insect golems lumbered into position. Just ahead the reddish tint of dawn was creeping over the outer walls of Aethelgard.

They must have marched during the night.

A knot twisted inside me. I had a feeling I knew what had spurned them into action.

Slipping past a lanced rider on a dragonettes, I dove for the central tent flying Aethelgard blue. No walls of spears greeted me this time. Theron was expecting me. His lone eye locked onto me the moment I landed. His shoulders loosened, but one of his hands was still a clenched fist.

I dropped the rolled up scroll in my claw, and then tore up the seal with one talon. Then I attempted to retrieve one of the letters rolled up inside of the scroll.

Would be really nice having opposable thumbs right now!

It took me a bit of plucking and peeking to pull out the right letter. I tore the scroll's fine parchment in the process, but the map no longer mattered.

I hopped over to Theron and dropped the letter in his hand. His eyes zipped from side to side as he quickly scanned the letter. Then the expression on his half scarred face softened as he squatted down so that he was eye-level with me. "Elara, I understand your concern. I know that it's a trap. I didn't realize they'd try to blow up the keep and blame me, but that'd only hurt them more. I don't care who they bring in, I'm going to burn them down."

I shook my head, moving my beak from side to side. Please, don't do this, I pleaded with non-existent lips. You'll destroy everything and kill everyone!

I hopped back over to the Castellan board, and moved all the pieces off the board leaving just two. Then I positioned the two in the center and brought all the other pieces in a circle around the center.

Theron smiled as he observed me. "Yes, I understood what you meant about drawing all the Concord into this conflict. I know the ramifications and the dangers. But I don't care." His lone eye narrowed, growing colder and darker as he leaned over the board. "I can't stand back anymore. I'm already committed."

I grabbed a stick on the ground with my beak and then hit the top of the two pieces in the center.

For a moment, Theron's face lit up. He was my brother again, sparring with Kael. He chuckled, dryly. "Ela, I know you're trying to help. You're a good girl and want to save everyone. But you can't right now, can you?"

He opened up his fist, and in his palm was a clump of my hair, caked in dried blood. His lone gaze pierced into my hawk eyes. "You are not alright right now, are you? Have they hurt you badly?" He bared his teeth. "I know this is your blood."

The stick dropped from my beak.

Theron let the letter fall. "You have until night to get out of the city. If you are unable to…" He turned, placing his hands behind his back and looked at all the activity out the entrance of the tent. "Then I will have to ask for your forgiveness when we meet again, my sister."

He can't do this. I can't leave him like this.

I was just a bird, but I moved up beside him and pushed my head against his side. He looked down, surprised. His hand paused and then he slowly, silently, stroked the down of my head.

—

The small fire was flickering beneath the kettle in the middle of the large tent structure. I—the many mes, small, but much larger than Key—scurried around the edge of the tent, hiding in the shadows. I felt the cold, gritty stone beneath many tiny paws, the rough texture of the tent's patchwork hide scraping against my whiskers. The scent wafting off of the kettle was a mixture of meat, grease, starch, and strange human spices.

No one was tending to the kettle right now since the flames were low. Those unsavory-looking brutes were asleep. They laid on the ground like mountains. The muscles beneath their yellowed, torn-up shirts and trousers were like giant boulders rising and falling with each snore. The predawn light inched in over the darkness through the flap of the tent entrance.

I sent one of me forward, and I raced through the open ground. I shot past the flickering flames, singeing patches of my black fur. I crawled up one of the thick wood sticks that formed the tripod which the kettle hung off of.

Once I reached the apex, I looked down at bubbles popping one by one over the surface of the sludge. Then I dove into it.

Pain engulfed me as my body boiled. I pulled back from the rat's mind, but I was still connected to my blood in him. His body broke apart and I spilled into the hot soup.

A person draped in rags walked in. Probably another guard, he walked over to the kettle, picked up the ladle and scooped himself a bowl of soup. One of the sleeping brutes woke and asked for a bowl as well.

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Everyone had their fill by the time Scrap Crow walked in. The old man gingerly sank down into his spot by the kettle. Unfortunately, my blood had already all boiled away by the time he took a sip.

It seems I'd have to use the direct approach with him.

All my rats watched from the shadows as I sent my blood racing through the veins of all the muscular brutes. I seized their hearts, and then seeped into their brains. I now saw through all of their eyes, forming a massive kaleidoscope with the rats. The familiar pins from the strain of control stabbed into my mind, but it wasn't so bad this time. It seemed I could tolerate quite a bit more than four now. I couldn't deny it anymore.

I had grown even stronger at the price of three hundred souls.

Scrap Crow stiffened, realizing something was amiss. "What's the matter with you boys?"

He squinted at one of the brutes, stroking his stringy beard. "Not gonna say 'morning Becker?"

Becker's large hand shot out and grabbed Scrap Crow's bony arm.

"What the…" Scrap Crow's eyes bulged in their sockets as another brute grabbed his other arm, holding him in place. "What's the meaning of this! You boys lost your minds? Unhand me!"

"Where… bombs… sewer…" Becker's words came out in a strangled groan. I had never tried talking through a puppet before. It wasn't easy.

"What in the Abyss? Are you all possessed? Snap out of it!" He cried out, as he twisted indignantly against the grip that held him. "You all have magic resistances, use it."

Too bad for him, it wasn't magic that I was using to take over their minds. At least not that kind.

I focused more on Becker's mind, sinking deeper in until his lips and mouth were mine. The aftertaste of that foul soup now coated my tongue. I nearly retched.

"Where did the elves plant the bombs in the sewers?" I spat the words past the awful in my mouth. "Why did you betray Aethelgard?"

"Elves… sewers?" The old man turned his sunken eyes toward me, sneering. "It can't be."

"Answer me!" I demanded. The other brute beside him twisted his arm in an impossible direction causing him to cry out in pain.

A loud crash clamored as a group of ragtag kids crowded the entryway, long sticks and metal spikes rattling in their thin arms.

"Master Crow?" one of the kids squeaked.

He cackled a strange, bony kind of laugh. "Oh, Princess is it? I ain't betrayed no one. You high royals haven't ever even sniffed in our direction before." He bared his lips, showing all the gaps in his teeth. "You ain't getting nothing from this old man."

I gestured to one of the kids stepping hesitantly forward with his stick.

"Don't you care about these children? If the bombs go off, who knows how many of them will be killed."

He threw his oily haired head back and cackled some more. "Yer the only one with a bleeding heart, Princess. The blasts will just bring more of them in."

I couldn't quite believe my ears. "You monster! You actually want the bombs to go off? To create more refugees?!"

He twisted his lips into another sneer as he eyed me up and down. "Look who yer calling a monster. Whatcha done with my Becker?"

"Becker's dead."

Gasps rippled through the kids at the entrance. They advanced hesitantly forward, but a taller boy stepped in front of them. It was Celrian. He eyed me warily, but acknowledged me with a dip of his head.

I turned back to Scrap Crow. "Think. About the elves. About the bombs. Where are they in sewers?"

He looked at me in confusion, shaking his head. "What?..."

"Think about Lelian what her plans are…" I pulled out a knife and sliced the blade across my wrist, drawing blood.

"Becker, stop. What you doing?!" he cried out, frantically.

"Think about where the ships of Serephos are."

He thrashed against me, fear raging in his eyes, but I ignored him. My face expressionless as I yanked his arm toward me, slicing open his vein as well. I pressed our wounds together and my blood flowed into his, consuming his blood essence, and spreading inside of him. His pulse was aged and thready, but it did not take long for my blood to spread to his heart, and then brain.

My blood forced its way into his Frontal Cortex and picked up thoughts that swirled there. Along with the maelstrom of terror and horror at me taking over, I found the memories of Scrap Crow's discussion with the Elves on where best to place the bombs.

He really had sold out Aethelgard.

Then I found the memories of some of his 'boys' reporting they had found ships hidden out in the new Regency construction site.

"Your highness?" a hesitant voice called out to me. "Do you perhaps… need help with these bombs?"

I raised my head as Scrap Crow. "Celrian." My ancient raspy voice made him flinch. "I do have something I want you to do. You know some of the secret ways out of the city. I want you to take all the children and the elderly out of the city. There will be fighting soon, and the bombs. It's not safe."

Celrian refused, shaking his head. "No, my sister and the other kids can lead them out. But I want to stay and help you. Please, I can't leave you like last time."

I sighed. Sending those kids out to find the ships would probably be better than using puppets, as controlling human puppets still took a mental toll on me, especially for long periods of time. I was just hesitant to put them in danger like this, but time was running out and I can't leave Theron out to dry.

"Fine, someone will come by later to give you a pouch of beads and perhaps some rations for the children. I want you to take those beads and place them on the ships that are hidden in that construction site where we met before."

Celrian bowed his head solemnly toward me. "I will not fail you Princess!"

"Just don't get caught. Here's where they were last seen…" I pulled out a stick and began to draw on the dirt ground.

As I was drawing out where the ships might be to Celrian, I sent more rats into all points in the sewers where the bombs might be. I'd have spread my blood into more rats to do so. It wasn't hard finding nests of more, but the issue was that even though controlling each rat didn't strain my mind as much as a human, controlling a few hundred rats was starting to take a toll.

I winced and bore the pain.

After locating the five bomb sites Scrap Crow knew of, I whittled down the number of rats I controlled to only a hundred, leaving a pile of dried up shriveled rat corpses in the sewers.

I drained Becker and the rest of the brutes as well. It wasn't worth the strain keeping them around anymore. Scrap Crow I kept in case I needed to dredge his mind for more information.

I couldn't afford not to do this. There was still a battle looming.

A familiar voice set a group of my rats at the bomb site closest to slums on notice. My focus sank into them.

"Damn the gods, why am I down here! I should be up above, that bitch is locked up ain't she!" The whine of that silky voice echoed down the sewer tunnel.

My rats crept closer.

There he was, dark haired, purple eyes, with sharp ears, and a jug raised to his lips. Jarlen swayed and then threw the jug to the ground, shattering it. "Even spirits taste like shit down here!"

He kicked a shard, which ricocheted off of the large dull grey ball with a hollow ring.

All the other elves beside him hit the ground. "Prince Jarlen! Be careful. You might vaporize us all!"