Page 10 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)

Urim

Five Days Later

T he ship rocks and groans, the swells crashing all around us. Sailors rush around, doing their best to make sure that we do not sink. I smother a sigh. I suppose it was too much to hope that this part of the plan would go off without a hitch. This part of the water is not called the Bitter Ocean for nothing. Storms are common here.

“You can’t leave now!” Captain Ruthford is shouting at me. “Going out in a dinghy in this weather is suicidal!”

“The plan was always to leave during a storm,” I shout back to be able to be heard over the roar of the angry, storming ocean. I’m dressed in Terrian clothes in preparation for leaving, like Vargan would. They are sticking to my skin uncomfortably in the rain and sea spray. With some difficulty, I roll up my sleeve to reveal the runic tattoo on my arm that Lady Melelea designed just for me and touch the peaks on the rune in descending order. Doing so activates the illusion magic within and I can feel the tingling on my forehead as the rune of banishment carves itself painlessly into my skin. I take a bandana from my pocket and tie it across my forehead, in the style that Honorless do, hiding my false rune.

The captain doesn’t react to my actions. He just keeps arguing,“A planned, controlled storm summoned by magic and easily dispersed! Not Feri’s wrath coming down on us!” It’s an apt description. Feri is the Adrikian name for the god of seas, and storms like this are called his wrath. The water and sky do seem angry.

“We’re not far from the Barakrini coast. We’ll get there,” I argue, looking out over the churning ocean. Is it my imagination or the waves getting even bigger? “And we can’t risk waiting or we could get caught.”

“The Barakrini navy’s not out in this weather,” argues the captain. “No one that can help it is!”

“All the more reason not to wait. This is a golden chance to slip into the country without you being caught. We’ll leave and you can get out of the area and from under the storm using your wind stone.”

“You’re mad!” Ruthford insists. “But if I can’t stop you, I’ll stop arguing. If you want to risk your lives on a fool’s journey, then on your head be it!”

“I have something to say about that!” comes Adara’s voice behind me.

I smother another sigh, even as my Mating Instinct lurches in my chest at the sound of her voice. I have barely seen her since that night in the captain’s cabin, a ploy to get my Mating Instinct under control, but it hasn’t been working. How can she aggravate me and bring me peace all at once? “We have to go now! That was the plan all along. A storm gives us the perfect excuse to be in a dinghy when we land in Barakrin and to not have additional slaves. We will say that our ship went down in the storm!”

“Our ship will go down in the storm if we leave now! The dinghy can’t take this kind of weather!” Adara shouts at me, glaring at me through the rain.

“I can row in the waves. I’ll get us there.”

“Your arrogance is going to get us killed!”

I shout back. “Just put on your manacles and get in the boat!”

The manacles that we brought with us to make Adara look like a slave look like they are made of iron but are actually made of a silver alloy, which will allow her to still use her powers once she’s in front of Grazrath. They will also cover her mating bite. They are intrinsic to our plan.

“Gods! You are so frustrating!” Adara yells.

“Remember the Mage’s Tower,” I remind her, appealing to her desperation.

“I can’t free them if I’m on the bottom of the ocean!”

“You can’t free them if you don’t get to Barakrin and you won’t get there if we don’t leave now. Besides, we have your magic. It’ll be fine.”

“ Argh! Fine! But I’ll curse you in front of the gods if we sink!” she growls, barely audible over the storm.

“I can live with that. Get in the boat.”

Adara grumbles something under her breath that I can't quite make out over the crashing swells, but she finally climbs in the dinghy.

“Go with Theesia’s grace and may Feri have mercy on you,” the captain shouts at me. “I’ll have my crew lower you down.”

I give a nod and climb into the boat. It has a set of oars and a removable sail tied to the bottom of the dinghy. Adara is inside, ducked down low, the manacles on her wrists.

“What are you doing?” I ask as the crew starts to lower us into the ocean.

“We’re about to be tossed around on the waves like a piece of driftwood!” she angrily shouts back at me. “Getting low is our only chance not to get thrown overboard!”

“I won’t let you be thrown overboard,” I promise, pulling out the oars, meaning the promise more than I should. The idea of Adara coming to harm is getting harder and harder to stomach the more days go by. My Mating Instinct is getting harder to ignore as well, as is keeping my feelings of longing and possession out of our mate bond.

“I would worry more about yourself than me! You’re going to get us both killed!”

Then our dinghy touches down on the water and we begin bobbing violently. Water crashes over the side of the boat and for a moment I worry. But, no, we’ll be alright. I will make sure that we are. This was always the plan.

“Make a shield with your flames,” I order Adara. “Keep as much water out as you can.”

Adara sends me a baleful look and I think for a moment she won’t comply, but then a large wave comes at us and the mage lifts up both hands, spraying out a cone of fire, dissipating the wave and sending cold steam into the air, making a thick mist around the dinghy.

“Perfect.” I approve. “Keep doing that and I’ll row us to shore.”

The mage gives me another mutinous look, but blocks another wave as I undo the ropes tying us to the ship. When we are loose, I start rowing. It’s not easy. I didn’t think it would be, but the water seems to have a mind of its own, tearing at the oars and trying to take them from my hands. But I manage to keep my grip, just imagining that they are the haft of my ax slick with blood in the midst of battle. I have never been disarmed before and with the Father God as my witness, it won’t happen now.

I fight the ocean, tossed this way and that, but I make headway, Adara stopping water from getting into our boat. The ship is long out of sight at this point and I can only hope they used the wind stone to control the air and push themselves out of this storm. Lightning crackles in the sky, but our sail is down, so I don't worry about lightning strikes like I would in a taller ship. My arms and shoulders ache with exertion, but I keep my head down and row.

“Urim!” I hear Adara shout, but I ignore her, continuing to pull water with the oars.

“URIM!” she screams.

“What?” I finally shout back.

“LOOK!” Adara points behind me.

I turn to see a monster wave coming at us, tall like a mountain. It breaks at the top, a sign that we are getting close to shore, but that’s no comfort now. The wave hurtles toward us, about to bury us in a watery grave. Fuck . Adara was right. I miscalculated. As an orc, I might be able to survive, having a larger capacity for air and greater strength to fight the water, but our dinghy and Adara will not be so lucky. I will have failed the mission, whether I survive or not.

And my mate will be dead.

“Hold on to me!” shouts Adara. I’m confused by her order, but the mage doesn’t give me time to question her. She grabs my arm in her chained hands and then falls backwards pulling me with her through a tear in space. Everything goes dark and cold as we enter the void, and I float in space, weightless and only anchored down by the mage’s grip.

“Don’t let go,” I hear her voice echo through the infinite space as if from far away, even though she’s right next to me. “If you do, I’ll lose you in here and you’ll be trapped forever.”

I reach out blindly with my hand, finding her arm and close my fist around her bicep, not strong enough that I would injure her, but tight enough that I won’t be letting go. I don’t trust her grip on me as much as I do my own.

“Which way is the shore?” Adara asks.

“West,” I reply, my own voice sounding disembodied to my ears.

“I must move quickly, or I won’t be able to open the space again,” I hear Adara explain as we begin to move, almost floating through this void between space and time. The mage takes ten, no eleven steps.

“Here goes nothing,” I hear her mutter, her voice still echoing, then there’s a tear in the void and we tumble out. Right into the ocean.

“Fuck!” Adara yells, right before we plunge into the salt water. I still have her arm in my grip and I haul her up with me to the surface as I powerfully kick with my legs. We burst out of the water, but I’m blinded by the ocean and the heavy rain for a moment.

“I didn’t take us far enough!” shouts Adara. “We should almost be to shore, but—”

The mage’s words are cut off as we are picked up by a huge wave and thrown against a boulder. I feel my rib groan in protest as I am bodily thrown right against the rocks, but I manage to keep hold of the boulder. Adara is not so lucky. Her head hits the jutting stone and her eyes roll into the top of her head, going unconscious, and slipping away from my grip and back into the ocean.

Cursing, I dive back into the surf, grabbing her body and pulling her back to the surface. Her eyes are closed and a trickle of blood spills down the side of her head. Fuck, I don’t even know if she’s still alive or dead, but I keep hold of her. Hopefully she’s alive and I just need to keep her head above the water.

But rocks mean the shore is close, like Adara was saying. She must have gotten us most of the way there. I keep furiously pumping my legs, keeping both me and Adara above the waves and away from the rocks as I try to get my bearings. Turning to look wildly around, I finally see it, even through the violent storm. A beacon to my right, not too far off. A lighthouse. We are close to safety, if I can just get past the rocks ahead. With that thought lodged firmly in my head, I situate Adara so that my arm is under her armpits, holding her head out of the seawater and kicking my legs, stroking my free arm through the churning ocean and swim. And swim and swim. It seems never ending, and waves push me violently against the rocks, but I keep that light in my sight and push my strength to its brink. For every length forward we seem to be pushed two lengths back by the water and wind, but I don’t let hopelessness win. Slowly, oh so slowly, the light gets closer.

I can make it, I chant to myself. I can make it.

Then all my mental energy is tied up in pushing toward the light and nothing else matters.

???

Endless minutes go by as I fight the waves that try to push us this way and that. Everything in my body hurts, but I don’t let myself stop. I cannot let myself stop. Finally, with three last powerful strokes of my arm, I manage to catch on a wave that carries us to shore. Hauling Adara out of the surf, I pull her up the pebble beach. When we’re clear of the crashing waves, I finally can check if she’s alive. The bond is dark and quiet between us, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that she's dead, just deeply unconscious. With hands trembling from exhaustion and perhaps a little fear, I check her pulse. It jumps and pumps under my fingers, showing me her vitality. But she needs to get out of the storm and get some care if she’s going to survive this ordeal. Reaching into reserves of strength I didn’t know that I had, I lift her in my arms, carrying her toward the lighthouse and safety.

She saved me. The fact is not lost on me. True, she didn’t quite get us to the shore, but she could have left me in the dinghy and she didn’t, even though she truly owes me nothing. Now I owe her a debt that can’t be repaid.

I get to the lighthouse and bang on the door. Standing under the rain and the salty sea-spray, I wait for what seems an eternity before the door opens.

“What in the Nether?” the lighthouse keeper says, taking in my bedraggled appearance and the woman in my arms. “Where did you come from?”

“Our ship . . .” I gasp out, surprised at how difficult it is to speak. Swimming took everything out of me. “It went down . . . struck by lightning. Only my slave and I escaped.”

The words feel like ashes in my mouth, calling Adara a slave after everything that has happened, but it is part of the plan and it’s our backstory for the mission. Still, I can’t help but feel . . . guilty.

“Slave? You one of those Honorless slavers, bringing the sentient blood slaves?” asks the lighthouse keeper. I notice for the first time that he has fangs in his mouth. If I didn't already know that we were in Barakrin, this would remove all doubt.

“Yes,” I say. “I had cargo meant for Grazrath in Evernight, but they all went down with the ship. Except this one.”

“A Favored One,” the lighthouse keeper says, sounding reverent. “She must be fine goods. You’d better come in, then. If she dies from the cold, she’ll be no use to anyone.”

“My deepest thanks,” I respond sincerely, though I am wary. His obvious regard for Grazrath and his reference to Adara as “goods” make him seem like someone it would be foolish to drop my guard around, no matter how tired and spent I am. The lighthouse keeper moves to the side and I sidle in, still holding Adara.

“Why is she unconscious?” he asks curiously.

“The ocean was violent as we tried to cross in our lifeboat,” I answer, leaving out the voidwalking. “We capsized and she hit her head.”

“Is she dead, then? Or dying?” the lighthouse keeper asks, concerned, though he looks at the woman in my arms with something suspiciously like hunger.

“I don’t think so, but she needs rest and attention.”

“I have a healing potion around here somewhere that you can use. But we should also get her near the fire,” he says. “Her lips are blue. That’s a bad sign for humans, isn’t it?”

I nod, noticing the same thing. Is Adara about to die of the cold? Normally she is always warm, using her magic to keep her temperature regulated. Did her head wound affect her powers somehow or is she so close to death that her mana isn’t responding?

There’s no time to lose.

“Where is that healing potion?” I ask.

“Just a moment,” the lighthouse keeper replies, walking away from me. While he’s gone, I get Adara to the crackling fire and start chafing her arms and legs, but it’s no use. She’s too cold and wet and her complexion stays the same.

“Take off her clothes,” suggests the lighthouse keeper, coming back over, potion in hand.

“What?” I ask gruffly, his words throwing me for a second.

“Her clothes,” he repeats like I’m a fool, though he hands me the potion. “They are wet and lowering her body temperature. Get her out of them and she’ll warm quicker.”

His words make sense, but my honor stays my hands. To remove her clothing while she’s unconscious . . .

The lighthouse keeper notices my hesitation and cocks his head curiously. “Are you so worried about the modesty of all your slaves? What a curious slaver you are.”

He’s right. My story will fall apart if I can’t treat Adara like the property we are pretending she is. “I just don’t want someone who hasn’t paid for it to see the merchandise,” I reply pointedly, looking at the lighthouse keeper.

He raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture, though he looks annoyed. “I have to rewind the clockwork of the tower anyway,” he says, moving to leave. “And send a message to the magistrate that there have been castaways, as is the law. Blankets are in that basket. You can wrap yourselves in them after you remove your clothes. Then you should get some rest. You both look like you’re on your way to the Nether.”

The lighthouse keeper leaves and I get to work, removing the mage’s manacles and shucking the clothes off of Adara. I’m cold and methodical about it, not lingering and looking, trying to honor her modesty as much as possible. Only when I have her wrapped in a blanket and lying by the fire do I pop the cork on the potion vial, trickling a little in her mouth. I wait for a few tense seconds for it to slide down her throat. She’s so unconscious that she doesn’t have a swallow reflex, so I gently stroke her throat, coaxing the liquid down. Relief fills me when, in a moment or two, the wound on her head begins to close, showing that the potion is taking effect. I methodically trickle in a little more, still massaging her throat, until the potion vial is empty. The wound on her head is completely closed, though a bump remains, and I am confident that she is no longer dying. Finally leaving her alone by the warmth of the fire, I tend to myself, divesting myself of my wet Terrian-style clothing and wrapping myself in a blanket as well. I don’t need the blanket as much, as orcs are hotter-blooded than humans, and more hardy besides, but it still is comforting after my fight with the ocean.

Adara seems to be improving, no longer ashen with bluish-purple lips. Her skin has taken on a more golden hue and her breathing is even, the fire, potion, and blankets doing their work. I hang our clothes around the fireplace to dry and hunker down next to Adara, my back against the wall. I’m exhausted, more so than I ever have been, even after the long battles I have fought in the past. But something about this lighthouse keeper puts me on edge. I don’t trust him enough to sleep, so I force myself to keep my eyes open, warily glancing around the cozy room.

After a while the lighthouse keeper returns from his task. He glances at me and Adara. He nods in her direction.

“She’s looking improved. So are you.”

“My thanks,” I reply, trying to sound friendly and trusting. “For the shelter you are providing us.”

“It’s my job,” he returns before sitting at the rough-hewn table in one corner. “I also sent word of you to the magistrate while I was with my clockwork, so city guards will be coming to interrogate you as soon as the storm passes. What’s your name, friend?”

“Vargan,” I reply, giving him my false identity. “Of the Master Caste. And you are?”

“Dristan Shadeswick, at your service,” he replies. “My family have been Stormfury Landing’s lighthouse keepers for five generations. Master Caste, eh? I suppose that means that you live in Terria?”

“After I was banished from my homeland, Terria took me in,” I lie. “Became my new fatherland. They placed me in the Master Caste, as was befitting my status as master of an impressive slave stable.” The words are bile in my mouth. To pretend to be an Honorless is an offense to everything I believe in. Even as a clanless orphan, I always had freedom and believed others should have the same. Orik has never had a slave trade, even under the worst of rulers, and looks down heavily on countries like Terria and Turin that do. The Honorless slavers are the most shamed and reviled of our culture, even more than cowards, deserters, and traitors. The brand and banishment they are given is to force them to live with their shame. But I have been briefed on the backstory of the orc I am impersonating and I can spin a tale about it with the best of them.

Dristan nods. “You are lucky to have found a new home, then. Not so lucky losing your wares in the storm though.”

“Once I receive the slave price for this one,” I say, gesturing to Adara, “I can return to Terria and rebuild. Grazrath has promised a king’s ransom for one such as her.”

“What makes her so special?” queries the lighthouse keeper.

“She is a powerful air mage. I’m told that for blood-drinkers the experience of her blood is exquisite.”

“Should you not replace her iron manacles then?” he points out. “In case she wakes?”

“Good idea,” I say, trying to sound agreeable, like we are on the same side. “Though after the knock to her head, she probably will sleep for a while more.”

I move to replace the manacles on Adara’s wrists and notice that the lighthouse keeper relaxes a fraction when the metal cuffs click closed.

“She is quite pretty,” the vampire remarks. “Bump on her head aside.”

“She is flawless,” I agree, though my suspicion deepens. “As is required by Lord Grazrath.”

“A worthy gift for our king, then,” remarks Dristan. “I’ve heard that he likes to gather the choicest morsels for himself.”

“That’s my contracted duty with him,” I confirm. “Do you have a blood slave of your own?”

The vampire shakes his head. “I am not important enough to warrant such an honor yet. I have a goat that I use for my regular feedings and I get to sample the public slaves once a week, as do other common folk. Once we win the war with Adrik and Orik, though, we have all been promised an exclusive bloodbag for our use.”

“Bloodbag?” I ask, though the term seems self-explanatory.

He chuckles lightly. “Forgive me. It is what we vampires call the sentients on which we feed. Not a flattering name, I’ll admit.”

Abruptly, he stands and starts pouring things into a small cauldron. A bottle of what appears to be wine and spices. He says, “I’m sorry I have nothing to offer you to eat after your ordeal. I’m not used to entertaining warmbloods like humans and orcs. But I could offer you some mulled wine, to ward away the chill?”

He’s changing the subject. Why? What does he want? I can’t get a read on this vampire, though I am certain that his intentions aren’t as friendly as he is trying to appear. I scent the air surreptitiously, but get nothing. That’s not surprising. Vampire scents are even fainter than an orc’s. All I get is the slight whiff of old blood.

“That would be most welcome,” I say, sounding amiable, but eyeing his actions warily. Is he going to try to drug me? Poison me? Why would he do that though? It doesn’t make sense, as we have just met and I have done nothing offensive to him. He adds more spices and some berries, but nothing smells out of the ordinary. I continue, “I didn’t know that vampires partook of mulled wine, though.”

The vampire carries the cauldron to the fire, stepping over the unconscious Adara and hangs the metal pot on the hook over the fire.

“Vampires subsist on blood, but we can enjoy other liquids as well. For taste and pleasure. We like alcohol as much as the next sentient,” he replies, stirring the concoction over the heat. “Just nothing solid, like warmbloods tend to consume.” He shudders a little. “Forgive me. The idea is a little disgusting to me.”

“No forgiveness is necessary. The idea of consuming blood is much the same to me.” I answer.

“Just so,” he nods, still stirring the cauldron.

We stay in silence for a while after that, until the room is filled with the fruity scent of simmering wine and spice. Something about the scent is off to me, though I say nothing. After a time, Dristan removes the cauldron and pours it into a pewter pitcher through some cheese cloth to catch the berries and spice. He then pours two matching pewter goblets of steaming wine, bringing one over to me. I take it with a murmured thanks. It’s almost uncomfortable to hold the goblet, it is so warm, but I keep it in my hand. I pretend to take a sip, all while watching Dristan, who sips his as well.

As I hold the goblet close to my face, I finally catch it: the subtle scent of nightberries. A common fruit in the wild, they are almost indistinguishable in both sight and scent from wild strawberries, but are deadly to most species, even in low doses, though vampires are immune to most poisons, so it’s probably safe for Dristan to drink. A clever attempt at murder. Most would not have caught the scent, even orcs with their sensitive noses. However, being spymaster of Orik, I trained extensively in poisons and can catch the subtle differences in scent, even when it is disguised with the smell of the wine and spices. I’ve also developed immunity to most poisons through careful consumption of small doses, including nightberries, so this plot will not work like he thinks it will. Though I can’t fathom why he’s trying to kill me, that doesn’t matter. He’s an enemy and Adara and I aren’t safe.

Dristan has almost emptied his cup, looking at me with a practiced air of disinterest, though I can see him watching to see me drink. Deciding to play his game to see what he’s up to, I take a healthy swallow of the warmed liquid. It fills me deliciously, the heat sticking to my chilled ribs, though the nightberries leave a muted bitterness on the back of my tongue. I only have a moment to enjoy the warmth before my head gets a little clouded and my belly cramps lightly as the poison begins to act, but I’m not worried. A slight reaction is to be expected as my body filters the toxin and I have experienced this feeling before during my training. It will not kill me and I’ll be able to see what his next move is.

Still, I let out a false pained groan, letting the half-full goblet fall from my hand, the wine splashing across the floor as the pewter clatters against the boards.

“What is happening?” I gasp out, playing up my supposed reaction to the nightberries. I shake and slump, pushing some foam out of my mouth and rolling my eyes to the back of my head, before falling backwards against the wall. I might be overacting a bit, but I want him to truly believe that his attempt has worked.

“Farewell, slavemaster , ” he says, the words sounding gleeful. “May your journey to the Nether be swift.”

I keep my eyes rolled up and collapse, going still and holding my breath. Vampires have acute hearing and he’ll be able to tell if I keep breathing, but orcs have a high lung capacity and I’ll be able to stall my breathing for a while before needing another breath.

Now I wait and see.