Page 18 of Blood Fist

“But…we have so many men,” he said instead.

Folsom laughed dryly. “And this is Clansmen land.”

Niklas swallowed, shouldering his quiver a little higher. Like the act of holding onto his weapon made him more confident. “But the other battalions fended them off when they attacked.”

Snorting, he shook his head. “My cousin was in that last attack. The Clansmen didn’t attack us. We attacked them.”

Brune tripped again, nearly falling to his face.Attacked them?That’s not what their battalion leader said when they received their marching orders. King Krait said their patrols were being attacked, picked at by the mindless horde in their never-ending need for violence. He said this was for the safety of Kaledonea. For the lives lost in their cruelty.

“But why?”

Folsom flicked him in the forehead. The man was twice his age and half his height, yet he somehow managed to look down at Brune.

“Are you blind, boy? Kaledonea is dying. They built the city with magic, farmed with magic. Even collected water with it. Now the magic is gone. No magic, no Kaledonea.”

“The nobles have magic.”

“Humans aren’t born with magic, Gutter Gut. We ain’t like the dragons or elves. They couldmakemagic; we can just use what already exists. Don’t matter how talented a mage you are if there ain’t magic to use.”

Brune didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about magic. He had no affinity for it and didn’t know how it worked, or that it was dying. He supposed there were fewer and fewer enchanters selling their wares on the corner. Even the officers in their ranks seemed to dwindle.

“The Clansmen don’t have magic,” Niklas said suddenly. He’d put it together faster than Brune. “That’s why they’re so?—”

“Uncivilized?” Folsom guessed, lips quirking bitterly. “Tell me: you ever seen anything civilized in Kaledonea? I sure as hell haven’t.”

Niklas was still pale. “So why attack the Clansmen unprovoked?”

“Look around you.” Folsom gestured to the endless wheat fields. “This land is alive.”

Brune was numb. He didn’t think he cared about the cause. What was politics to him? Lofty nobles arguing about things he didn’t understand in their towers high above the filth. But this? This felt a lot more real. This felt wrong. If the Clansmen hadn’t attacked them, if they were just living their lives—what made them any different from him? Niklas? Even Folsom? Does their success mean they should be targeted?

No, that can’t be it. There must be more to it. He refused to believe Kaledonea would send out an army for wheat.

“There has to be another reason.”

Folsom shrugged. “What does it matter? Right or wrong, we still end up at the end of a Clansmen blade.”

CHAPTER FIVE

COLD KISS OF STEEL

It was one of those days. The perfect kind. Impossibly blue skies dotted with slow moving clouds. They were wispy things. There was a promise in the perfection. A hint of something to come—a chill in the breeze, the darkening of days. Winter was on the horizon.

Ridan scowled at the sky, shifting on the fence post he was perched on. The wood was digging into the back of his thighs, but it didn’t contribute to his foul mood. He hated winter. The cold locked up his joints, made everything more difficult. He preferred the burn of summer. The blistering light of an unimpeded sun.

Blowing some of his hair from his face, he turned his attention back towards the two boys in front of him.

Despite the tranquility of the day, violence reigned supreme on the dusty ground. A loud crash had him narrowing his eyes. Corric was locked with Jonen. His long limbs glistened in the sun, skin still too pale for this climate, even after all these years. He never seemed to lose the reddish tinge of a burn.

Jonen bared his teeth and tried to kick out the taller boy’s legs. Corric crouched lower, changing his balanceso he could take advantage of the change. Jonen’s eyes widened a fraction when he realized what was going to happen. With a shout, Corric had Jonen on his back, pinned beneath the willowy omega.

The bastard had grown up well. What he lacked in bulk, he more than made up with long limbs and an ethereal grace that could only be the byproduct of fine breeding. He wore his hair longer now, the reddish blonde strands tickling the tops of his shoulders when he didn’t have it pulled back into a knot.

With a small smile, he rolled off Jonen and extended a hand to him. He helped the thick set alpha up to his feet, dusting him off good naturedly. Jonen was blushing. His dark curls were stuck to his sweaty forehead, too long for the thick waves to maintain any kind of shape. They deflated in on themselves after a long day, leaving him looking like a bedraggled rat.

At least, that’s what Ridan told him. Repeatedly.

Osmond shouted for Corric on the other end of the training field. He was standing with Shesto and Oosa. They were covered in dirt. Corric said his goodbyes to Jonen and jogged over to them, his long strides eating up the ground.