Page 129 of Blood Fist
Ridan was aware of what he was asking. He didn’t need to see the shock on the faces of the small group around him to know that. While they were all descended from one clan, the clans of his day were not exactly of one mind. Over the years, they’d become more insular. As time and distance grew between them, they sometimes wavered closer to enemies than family.
It was more than competition for resources. There was also a heavy dose of pride. Each clan thought it was the best. Problems needed to be solved internally, and other clans kept at a distance.
Asking the other clans for help was akin to rolling over and exposing his belly. Ridan was admitting weakness in a time when their clan was already fragile. Thewn, especially, would not hesitate to take advantage. Whether it be in the form of asking for territory or some kind of boon, it would certainly hurt the Stone Blade in more than just their pride. Even Auhert of theWindy Cliff, who was generally tolerable, would use this to his advantage. Hell, Areine certainly would. Ridan just found her slightly more palatable. Perhaps because she was a fellow omega. Or because she had been honest with him from the beginning. Either way, the prospect of asking Areine for help chafed him far less than asking the likes of Thewn.
Ridan would rather eat Jonen’s hair than ask Thewn foranything.But this was beyond him. It was beyond the Stone Blade, beyond petty squabbles or pride. This was Artrax’s Sacrifice. Not just their history, but the act the Clansmen built their entire life around.
When the only response he got was incredulous looks and mumbled disgust, he dug in. “You heard the sentry’s report. Krait brought a force three times larger than the one led by Bargrave.”The one that killed my motherremained unsaid, but everyone heard it, anyway.
Osmond crossed his arms, leaning back against a large slab of granite. “Kaldonea soldiers are poorly trained. One of our warriors is worth three of theirs.”
“And what of the magic users?” Ridan asked, rounding to his youngest lieutenant. “Can you fight what you don’t understand?” he let that sink in before making eye contact with everyone present. “The magic users we fought last night were weak, and we still almost lost to them. If it weren’t for Schok, we might not be here to have this discussion.” His arm still hurt where that magic user had attacked him.
There was a general murmur of discontent that grew until Sehleh cleared her throat, lifting her chin in defiance at anyone who dared meet her eye. It was no secret the small beta had an affinity for the two magical outcasts, and no one was willing to cross her. She can, and had, taken her cooking away as a threat and no one could think of a crueler punishment.
Schok’s presence had largely been ignored. After his dramatic introduction, people didn’t really know what to think. On the one hand, his murderous spree at the festival was still clear in their minds, but his actions the night before couldn’t be ignored. Schok had no reason to join that battle. He wasn’t Stone Blade, and yet he stepped into the fray and saved them all. That was an act they could respect.
The clan's confusing feelings toward the magic user had culminated in them simply ignoring his presence. Which seemed to suit the man just fine.
“We cannot afford to admit weakness,” Gustall said calmly. “Thewn has already made overtures for your position. Can you afford a challenge right now?”
He couldn’t, and everyone knew that. But this wasn’t about Ridan.
“I’ll lose my position, my pride, even my life, before I allow Artrax’s sacrifice to be in vain.”
For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Henroen slammed his palm against his prodigious chest. “Then we fight. With the clans by our side, or with nothing but the wind from Artrax’s wings at our back, we fight.”
Caught up in his enthusiasm, Osmond and the rest of the group mimicked his action. Even Gustall begrudgingly nodded. Whatever said about the Stone Blade, they would always rally for a good fight.
The next few days saw Ridan in a whirl. He barely slept, which was hardly new, but there was an added urgency now. An extra layer of anxiety that throbbed into sheer terror the few times he found himself alone.
They were sending parties out to attack Kaldonea’s army. Ridan wasn’t foolish enough to fight them on even ground, so he sent small, quick groups to harass the fringes. Things like taking out sentries, setting fire totheir supplies, and anything to keep the soldiers on their toes. The damage wasn’t great, but it slowed them down. It also gave the clan a needed morale boost. Every time they came back blooded and victorious, it lifted the heavy mood that had settled over the camp.
A fine drizzle was coming down when Ridan returned from one such trip. He handed Peppercorn’s reins off to a young stable girl and pulled the ratty map from his belt, smoothing it over a cleared section of ground close to the trunk of a spindly tree. His hair was plastered to his forehead, tickling his eyes and nose as he bent over the parchment.
“They’re bringing supplies in through the Road. The wagons are too big to cut through the swamps.”
Osmond nodded, ignoring Halm bandaging a laceration on his neck as Ridan spoke. The healer looked ragged. She’d been in high demand.
“We could block the road. Fell some trees?”
“They’re only sending one or two guards with the wagons. It’ll take them time to cut through,” Ridan mused, scratching at the stubble growing on his chin. He felt disgusting. Grime and sweat caked onto his skin. As comfortable as he was getting dirty temporarily, he had always considered himself fastidious about hygiene. He would give anything for a few moments in the springs with a bar of soap.
Brune was standing beside him, arms crossed and tongue poking out as he assessed the map. He didn’t look any better than Ridan—clothes ripped where slight cuts and knicks littered his skin. His comforting rocky smell was diluted by the smoke from fires and the stench of others clinging to his skin. It made Ridan itchy.
They’d been together constantly, but always in sight of another. There was no privacy in their makeshiftcamp. Ridan hadn’t realized how much he needed their quick touches, the hugs and quick scentings when they had a moment together.
It’s not that he was ashamed to do any of those things in front of his clan—he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought—but there hadn’t been time. Every spare moment had been spent either riding out to stop Kaldonea or planning ways to stop Kaldonea. And if he wasn’t doing that, he was organizing ways to keep them alive in their current camp. Rationing supplies, finding water, collecting plants for wound treatment, and everything in between. Even the horses required his attention.
Derry and Shesto walked by carrying several large, flowering plants between them. The blacksmith held up one of them. “Halm, is this the one?”
She barely looked up. “Yes.”
Laughing gleefully, the two skittered off with their plants raining dirt behind them.
“What was that about?” Ridan asked, certain he didn’t want to know the answer.
Halm sighed. “They’re going to sneak that plant into the Kaldonea water supply.”