With a snort, I tighten my grip on the hilt of my Orb-Blade. There is only one salvation – the strength of your sword arm, and the sureness of the blow you strike with it.
Suddenly, three Scorp appear at the end of the street.
I rush forward, my feet pounding the pavement. Strangely, the first warrior doesn’t try to engage me – instead, he throws his reptilian head back and screams the call of the Scorp; a blood-curdling sound that travels down my spine like icy fingers.
I reach the creature and slam my blade into its throat, but it’s already too late. The Scorp did not care for defense. He wanted only to alert his beastly brethren.
The second Scorp is battle-minded. He lurches forward with his razor-sharp claws, and I twist, feeling the bony carapace of his pincers barely brushing against my skin. One inch to the left, and my entrails would have been spilled across the street. Instead, there’s a satisfying crunch as Hadone slams the butt-end of his war-hammer right through the Scorp warrior’s chest.
Forn moves like lightning, his twin daggers making short of work of the last Scorp. Forn always like to get in close to his victims, to let them have a chance to best him before he slays them. In circumstances like that, I can actually see the utility of weapons like the one that the old man used to injure Forn.
In a graceful, dancing movement, Forn drives his weapons into the beast’s heart, cheating death once again as the Scorp’s pincers snap and snap inches from his throat…
Then, Forn stumbles.
His leg gives out, and he falls. I rush to grab him and pull my blood-brother away from the dying Scorp, but it lashes out with its claw in a final death blow, slicing a fresh, new cut across Forn’s chest. More fresh blood gushes out, and I feel the surge of pain through our Bond.
The Scorp warriors have fallen, but my most trusted friend has lost too much blood. He blinks, confused, as he falls to his knees. Whatever unnatural medicine Tammy used on him, it only healed him on the outside. It did not replace his life blood.
Forn growls and grabs the Scorp barb he severed back at the hospital from his satchel. I know what he’s about to do, but there’s nothing I can do to stop him. I reach desperately forward, but I’m too slow.
“Wait!” I yell, but it’s too late.
Forn plunges the venom into his thigh. Hadone rips the jagged barb out, but we both know it’s already too late. The venom is already pulsing through his veins.
“You damn fool,” curses Hadone.
“I won’t be the reason the rest of you don’t make it out,” growls Forn, pain flooding through the bond and flaring up in his aura.
From a young age, all members of our tribe are given minute traces of Scorp-venom to grant us resilience and strength. It allows us to procreate with females, something impossible for a non-Scorp-blooded Aurelian.
Our non-blooded Aurelian brethren are infertile, unless they mate with a specific, ‘fated’ partner; genetically and telepathically bonded to them, with DNA compatible to that particular Aurelian and his triad.
For members of our tribe, exposure to Scorp-venom occurs again when we come of age. Our tattoos are inked in a mixture of pigment and Scorp-venom; and through this agonizing ritual we gain great strength and speed. Yet, it comes at a cost. No Scorp-blood Aurelian is left unchanged by the venom coursing through our veins. No man keeps his innocence. We take strength from the Scorp-venom, but the Scorp take part of our soul as recompense.
Tammy screams out as Forn plunges the barb into his leg. She stands with her jaw hanging open, horror in her eyes.
Plunging a barb into your leg is a desperate measure. The venom will pulse through Forn’s veins at a high potency. Like the strange, healing beam that Tammy used, the Scorp-venom will not heal the root cause of Forn’s weakness – but for hours, though, the leader of our triad will feel artificially beastly and strong; and his appetite for violence will only increase.
The venom pulses through his veins. They bulge out, green and glowing. I notice Tammy staring at Forn in shocked horror. She can’t hide her surprise, her eyes wide. To her, it must seem like suicide. Tammy cannot possibly understand that our tribe have made ourselves practically immune to the lethality of Scorp-venom, at least in lower doses.
I say that, but right now it looks like the venom has killed Forn; and a demon as taken his body. His lips pull back in a bestial snarl as he staggers to his feet, totally unaided.
I feel the change in him through our bond. His aura is more primal, his reason muted, and his personality dwindling beneath the current of violence that grows within him.
“Move,” Forn growls, and sets the pace moving forward. I suddenly hear the sounds of hard footsteps behind us, and Tammy starts to run in pursuit of Forn as a wave of Scorp warriors appear behind us.
I grab two of the small children, knowing they’ll never be able to keep up with us. Forn grabs the other two. The small one that runs quickly smacks his hand against my shoulder as I lift him up, and I’m suddenly very aware that the boy is close enough to jab that sharp shard of wood right through my eye if the mood strikes him.
But what else can I do? The choice is between leaving him to die, or picking him up and risking his attack.
I remember words of wisdom a tribal leader once offered me – that the best way to gain a stranger’s trust is to give them your own. I hope that advice holds up, as I carry the two children in pursuit of Forn and the others.
11
