Page 34 of Captive
"What happened?" Boarstaff demanded, falling into step beside them as they rushed toward the healing house.
"Ambush," answered Barkbinder, his own arm wrapped in bloodied cloth. "They knew we were coming. Waited on both sides of the ridge path. More organized than usual. More deliberate."
That detail sent a chill through Boarstaff. The hunting parties were moving with a coordination they'd rarely shown before. Their normal vulnerability to daylight wouldn't protect the borders for long if they maintained this level of organization.
Inside the healing house, Ochrehand and three apprenticeshamans prepared for the wounded. Their hands already glowed with healing magic as the scouts laid Silverflank on the main table. The warrior's chest barely moved, his breathing shallow but steady.
"Blade wounds," Barkbinder explained, wincing as an apprentice examined his arm. "Not the usual punctures from feeding. They weren't trying to capture, just kill."
Boarstaff studied Silverflank's injuries with growing concern. Deep, methodical slashes followed the pathways of major blood vessels along his torso. The cuts had been made with surgical precision, angled to maximize blood loss without immediately killing. Silverflank's once-vibrant green skin had paled to a sickly gray around the wounds, and dried blood matted his ritual braids.
"They've never attacked like this before," he said quietly. "Never pushed so deliberately into our territory."
"They're looking for Sebastian," Barkbinder replied. "One of them spoke to us before attacking. Said the heir's father grows impatient."
The healing house filled with more wounded as the hour progressed. Not just from the eastern ridge patrol, but smaller skirmishes at other border points. The vampire hunting parties had spread out, testing defenses systematically. Probing for weakness with cold precision.
Ochrehand worked tirelessly, her magic flowing into the wounded. "These injuries will heal," she assured Boarstaff as she finished with Silverflank. "But they'll need time and rest. The attack was precise, strategic. Designed to inflict maximum damage without killing. Almost like they wanted to leave witnesses."
That observation struck Boarstaff as particularly astute. If the hunting parties had simply wanted to eliminate scouts, they could have done so. Instead, they'd left survivors who could carry warnings back to the village. Messages about what awaited those who sheltered Sebastian.
As the shamans stabilized the wounded, Boarstaff's thoughts turned to the prisoner below. Sebastian might know why his father's hunting parties had changed their approach. The knowledge they needed was waiting in the sacred chamber below.
"Send word if anything changes," he told Ochrehand as the othershamans began to join them.
The council had argued extensively about Sebastian's potential value versus his obvious danger. That theoretical value had become an immediate necessity.
The guards at the sacred chamber straightened as he approached. "Any change?" he asked.
"He's been restless," reported one. "Can probably sense the activity above. Keeps asking what's happening."
When Boarstaff descended the worn steps into crystal-lit space, the chamber felt different, charged with energy that made the fine hairs on his arms rise. Sebastian lay where the rawhide restraints held him, but his face had changed since the last feeding. Sections of brass plating had worked free from his cheekbones and jaw, leaving raw pink flesh exposed beneath. Small metal fragments littered the floor around him, each piece etched with intricate patterns now lifeless without their connection to his body.
"What's happening?" Sebastian asked, his voice rough with strain. His expression showed more wariness than concern. "All that commotion above. Something's changed."
Boarstaff approached, maintaining a careful distance. "Hunting parties attacked our scouts at the eastern ridge." He studied Sebastian's reaction closely. "They've changed their tactics. More organized. More deliberate in their approach."
Sebastian's expression hardened, though Boarstaff caught a flicker of something else beneath the surface. "My father's patience wears thin, I see." He winced as another metal fitting shifted beneath his skin, leaving a pale, raw spot at his shoulder. "Taking matters into his own hands rather than waiting for me to return. Typical of him."
"They knew exactly where our scouts would be," Boarstaff said, watching Sebastian's face for any hint of deception. "Almost like they expected our false trails."
"Your strategies haven't changed in decades," Sebastian said, his tone more matter-of-fact than mocking. A shudder ran through him as another mechanical augmentation worked its way free from his forearm, but he clenched his jaw against the pain. "My brother Zarek has spent years studying your people's movements. He can anticipate your tactics by now."
"What will they do next?" Boarstaff asked.
Sebastian turned his face away. "I'm hardly inclined to help my captors." He paused, then looked back. "Wait. The fighting. Was anyone hurt?"
Boarstaff studied Sebastian's expression with renewed scrutiny. "Three of your kind won't be returning to your father's citadel," he answered coolly.
"Was my brother among them?" Sebastian asked, something both hopeful and guarded in his expression.
"No," Boarstaff replied, watching carefully for his reaction.
"That's unfortunate," Sebastian said quietly, the words carrying genuine disappointment. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. "What of your scouts? Were any of them killed?"
The question caught Boarstaff off-guard, more for its directness than its content. In their entire history of conflict, vampires had always viewed orc deaths with cold satisfaction or complete indifference. Yet Sebastian seemed to be asking specifically about orc casualties.
"Why would you care?" Boarstaff was unable to keep suspicion from his voice.
