Page 12 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)

Urim

“W hat? ” hisses Adara like an angry feline. “How do you know that?”

“I can hear them coming up the path to the lighthouse,” I tell her. “There’s two of them and a wheelbarrow. You should get your manacles back on, so that they don’t put different chains on you and possibly cut you off from your gift.”

“Urim!” she exclaims. “This is no time to calmly march to your death! We have to fight! Or at least come up with a different plan!”

“I told you, there’s no time,” I say firmly. “And this is the perfect time to be calm. Panic will solve nothing and fear is a disease that will get both of us killed and destroy the mission. Now, put your manacles back on, quickly.”

Adara gives me a mulish, rebellious expression, but moves past me, knocking my arm with her shoulder as she goes to grab her chains and put them back on.

She barely has cuffed herself when there’s a booming knock on the door, a heavy armored fist banging against the wood.

“Shadeswick!” calls a voice from outside. “We’ve come for the body. Open up!”

“Shadeswick is not here,” I call. “He lied to you.”

There’s a pause and then I hear the tell-tale hiss of swords being drawn.

“Who are you, stranger?” the voice calls again. “Where is Dristan?”

“Dristan is dead,” I say bluntly. “I killed him in self-defense and defense of my slave.”

“Slave?” the guard asks, confused. “Dristan only reported one dead castaway.”

“There are two survivors from my ship,” I tell them. “He tried to kill me so that he could take my only surviving property as his own blood slave, even though I told him she is earmarked for Grazrath himself.”

At the mention of Grazrath there is a pause from outdoors. Then I hear the second guard ask, “You are Grazrath’s slaver?”

“I am Vargan of the Master Caste,” I announce. “Honorless slaver and pirate, adopted son of Terria. I have an exclusive contract with Lord Grazrath to bring him my best and most unique slaves, but my ship went down in the storm and I was barely able to escape with my life and my most valuable slave. Dristan let us into his home, but coveted my slave and tried to poison me so that he could claim her as his own, but I smelled the poison he used. We fought and I killed him.”

“I have heard of you, Vargan of the Master Caste,” the second guard shouts through the door. “You were meant to bring a slave for our magistrate as well, were you not? We expected your ship a week ago, though.”

I remember vaguely from our interrogation of Vargan that he’d had a small number of slaves on his ships intended for other customers, including the magistrate of Stormfury Landing. That was the only troll on his ship, a strong male, if I recall correctly.

To the guards I say, “The winds were not favorable from Terria. My luck this voyage has been the worst of my life, like the gods themselves decided to torment me.”

There’s another pause and I can hear whispers being exchanged between the two guards, though the waves outside obscure the content of their conversation. Finally the first guard says, “Open the door, Vargan of the Master Caste. We must take you and your slave to the magistrate. He will have to decide what to do with you and judge your actions against one of our citizens as fair or foul.”

This is the best outcome I could have hoped for. As long as the guards don’t attack and try to kill me now, there’s hope that I can talk my way out of this mess, or at least get Adara to Evernight.

“I am coming to open the door,” I say. “I am unarmed.”

Slowly, so as not to alarm them, I open the door, undoing the interior latch. I find two wary-looking guards, their swords in hand and golden symbols on their chest, a sigil made of two bat wings and a mouth of fangs. Grazrath’s symbol, if I had to guess, though I have only heard reports of it before and have never seen it in person.

“Put your hands up where we can see them. Slowly,” demands the guard closest to me, his sword aimed at my heart. I obey, showing them my hands, empty and deliberate. The two vampire guards exchange a look and then their gaze goes past me, into the interior of the lighthouse cottage. I know they can see Adara standing by the fire and the lighthouse keeper’s body crumpled onto the floor.

“How did you kill him?” asks the second guard.

“We fought. I broke his neck,” I say simply, my hands still raised.

“You are strong to kill a vampire,” remarks the first guard, looking at me suspiciously.

“I may be Honorless, but I am still an orc,” I reply, letting arrogance coat my words, “and a pirate besides. I know how to kill many creatures.”

“Hmm,” grunts the first vampire. “Lower your hands and put your wrists together. We will chain you before we take you to Magistrate Zadicus.”

I move to obey him, careful not to make any sudden movements. I can’t make sure that they’ll take Adara to Evernight if they get spooked and kill me here. The second guard comes forward, sheathing his sword and pulling a thick pair of iron manacles off of his belt. The first guard keeps his sword on me while the second chains my hands. As he finishes, I lower my hands in front of me, surreptitiously testing the strength of the manacles. They are strong, made to hold the strength of vampires, I’d wager. However, I am strong even for an orc and I think I could snap the chain if I needed to in case things go south and I must fight to get Adara out.

The guards relax somewhat when I am chained, obviously considering me a neutralized threat. Then the second guard jerks his head and says, “Come, girl. We will take you and your owner to the magistrate.”

I can smell the spike in Adara’s spicy scent, the offense she takes at the vampire’s words, but she says nothing, stepping forward with her head bowed as if in fear and subservience. Good. She is playing her part well.

“What should we do with Dristan?” asks the second guard as Adara arrives at my side.

The first guard sighs. “Well, we brought the wheelbarrow for a corpse and we have a corpse. I suppose we should take him with us to show the magistrate what occurred.”

The second guard makes a sound of disgust. “I’m not wheeling him.”

“I outrank you,” the first guard says, “so, yes, you are.”

The second guard sends his superior a baleful look, but says, “ Fine . Get the warmbloods out of the way then, so I can carry him to the wheelbarrow. Then we can head back to Magistrate Zadicus. The sun will be rising soon and I don’t want to have to walk in the light.”

???

After some more angry muttering, the second guard gets the lighthouse keeper’s body into the wheelbarrow and we set off down the wooden pathway to the city. The storm has quieted down to only a misting sprinkle falling, the howling wind and sheets of rain no longer marring the gentle lap of the waves outside. The lighthouse is still operating, shining out into the darkness, the clockwork turning even though its keeper is dead. A full moon hangs in the sky, only partially obscured by a few remaining clouds. It illuminates the path the guards guide us down toward Stormfury Landing. I follow them easily enough, my orcish eyes adjusted to the dark, but Adara struggles, especially when we are out of sight of the lighthouse and enter the cobblestone streets of the city. There are no lumen crystal lanterns or torches lighting the way, but that is to be expected. Vampires have almost perfect night vision, even better than orcs. The darker it is, the better they function, as their eyes are extremely sensitive to light. It is one weakness that all vampires share, though their warriors train during the day to learn to adapt to the disadvantage, much like other species train at night for the same reason.

After Adara trips for the fourth time, I grab her upper arm in a firm, but gentle, grip, guiding her along the path with my manacled hands. The mage stiffens under my touch, but doesn’t protest my help. The guards glance back at us, but do not stop me from helping Adara. I can feel her radiating warmth under my hands as we weave through the city. My Mating Instinct enjoys the contact, but I ignore the satisfying feeling. My instincts are a liability, one that I can ill afford. They have no loyalty to anyone but the mage. To her happiness and safety. Still, the more I have tried to ignore it, the stronger my Mating Instinct has become. It is distracting in its intensity, but I am well-practiced in ignoring my feelings and I am the master of myself, not my Mating Instinct. I will do everything I can to see this mission through, even as my instincts scream at me to take my mate away from danger.

My face gives away none of my thoughts. Instead, I stone-facedly walk through the streets, careful not to give the guards any reason to change their minds about taking us to the magistrate. The roads are eerily empty for such a large city. Here and there, a cloaked figure walks, maybe two, scurrying over the cobblestones. There are stalls of merchants that they stop at, but everyone converses in whispers and does not tarry long. Menacing figures stand at the street corners, hands ready on the pommel of swords, as if ready to draw their blades and start swinging at any moment, gold badges with the symbol of Grazrath winking on their cloaks under the full moon, matching the guards that escort us. Everywhere there’s a feeling of nervousness and fear. My sources weren't lying, apparently, about people not gathering in crowds and the oppressive authority of the demon. Those Grazrath underlings have the air of those eager to do violence and the citizens on the streets seem careful not to provoke them.

Finally, we come to a large building in the center of the city, with a bell tower's spire reaching high into the night sky.

“This is the magistrate’s building,” murmurs the first guard to us, his quiet words almost sound like shouts after the oppressive quiet of the city. “They’ll deal with you here.”

With those sobering words, we enter the building, which is a stark contrast to the outside. A roaring fire is lit in a huge fireplace, surprising me with its brightness. I suppose that it is the beginning of winter, the last vestiges of autumn already dying, and they might want warmth as coldblooded creatures, even if they have to put up with the light, though a chainmail screen is draped in front of the fire, obscuring some of the brightness. Voices shout and exclaim as vampires dressed in opulent, gaudy clothing call out to each other. There are far more than five people in the room, some bumping into each other as they make their pronouncements. On each of their chests shines a symbol of Grazrath, some the same gold as the guards but others are encrusted with jewels, as if they are prized symbols of wealth and loyalty.

However, it soon becomes apparent what they are doing.

“I’ll trade two human males for an elf female!” yells one.

“No one wants your leavings,” retorts another. “Everyone knows that your slaves are sickly and dying!”

“A ruby and an ox for any sentient blood slave in good health!” shouts a female vampire, ignoring the other exchange.

“Killed another one did you, you glutton?” laughs a different vampire to her side.

“I want a freshly-turned vampire female,” one proclaims loudly. “I’m willing to go as high as twenty gold for one that has been separated from her fated mate.”

It’s a slave market , I realize, my gut churning. These must be the ones that are favored enough by Grazrath to bypass the gathering rule and have their own sentient blood slaves. They are trading them like livestock, bartering carelessly with actual lives. I see in the corners of the room are said blood slaves. All are in chains and rags, looking far too thin and pale. There’s a mix of humans, elves, some vampires, and a few orcs. I wasn’t expecting the orcs. They look in better health then the humans and elves, probably able to withstand the rigors of being fed on better than those of the fair races. A few stand tall, with a defiant, angry gleam in their eyes that is missing in the other slaves. Are they prisoners of war, I wonder? Or were they captured elsewhere and sold to Terria before coming here? I suppose they could have been captured by a pirate like Vargan and sold into slavery.

I have never been more grateful for my emotionless face as I am now. It takes everything in me to not let my revulsion for the slave owners and pity for the blood slaves show on my features. For though Adara thinks it of me, I am not actually stonehearted and this sight affects me deeply. But I am meant to be a slaver and would be hardened to the plight of slaves. So my face stays placid and unaffected, though I push some nervousness onto my face, like one worried about their fate. A cowardly Honorless like Vargan would be afraid of execution.

Adara, however, stiffens further in my guiding grip. Alarm spikes in the bond and the scent of horror rolls off of her in waves, making her normally spicy cinnamon scent rancid. I hate the scent of her fear. It sickens me and overtakes my senses. Surreptitiously, I stroke the soft skin of her arm with my thumb and send a soothing reassurance along the bond, trying to calm her. I know she must be shocked, seeing the condition of the blood slaves for the first time with her own eyes, and I know she is worried about what will happen if they kill me, but her alarm does not serve us right now and is only a distraction to me at this juncture. My subtle touch and reassurance seems to jolt her out of her thoughts and she drops her head to look like a subservient slave again, playing her part.

For a moment, the busy bartering vampires don’t notice that we’ve entered, arguing and trading as they are, but then there’s a loud boom boom , as a large staff is banged against the floor twice. A vampire with an iron circlet on his brow sits at the top of a set of steps, looking down over the proceedings like a judge, the staff in his hands. The magistrate , I note, as the other vampires go silent at the sound, turning to look at what has caused the commotion from the magistrate.

“What is the meaning of this, High Guard Gair? Guard Leon?” asks the magistrate, his voice low and menacing, his eyes flicking to the dead vampire in the wheelbarrow and then to us. He speaks so quietly that it would be hard to hear him except for the fact that everyone else has gone silent. He wears authority like a cloak, his quiet words weighty and menacing. This is not the kind of individual to let your guard down around. He continues, “I thought you were just gathering a dead castaway from the lighthouse keeper. Why is Dristan Shadeswick dead and who are these warmbloods?”

The first guard, Gair, bows. “Magistrate Zadicus, we went to gather the dead castaway as ordered, but there was a complication.”

“Oh?” queries the vampire, leaning forward in his chair, long locks of midnight black hair brushing forward on his shoulders, his circlet gleaming in the firelight. “What ‘complication’ would bring about these circumstances?”

The first guard grabs me by the arm and I drop Adara’s bicep as he drags me forward. “Explain, orc. Tell the magistrate what you told us.”

I drop my head into a bow, the Barakrini way of showing respect. “Magistrate Zadicus, it is good to see you outside of our communication.”

The vampire magistrate doesn’t react to my words, his face unreadable. “Do we know each other?”

“I am Vargan of the Master Caste,” I announce, reaching up with my chained hands to pull off my bandana to show my brand. “Honorless pirate and slave master of Terria. We previously communicated about me bringing you a troll blood slave with my newest shipment.”

“You are Vargan the Honorless? Personal slaver of Lord Grazrath?” asks Magistrate Zadicus in the eerie quiet way of his. “Where is your ship then, The Bloody Corsair? And your wares?”

“Gone to Ornos’ graveyard,” I reply, using the Terrian name for the god of the sea. “We were struck by lightning in the storm last night, splitting the ship in two and lighting it on fire, even in the rain. I was barely able to make it to a dinghy with my rarest slave before The Corsair sank into the depths.”

“Do you have any proof that you are Vargan?” inquires the magistrate, still quiet and threatening. “Of your story?”

“I have the contract signed by Lord Grazrath himself,” I say, reaching into the inner pocket of my coat. The guards next to me instantly go alert, their hands flying to their hilts with inhuman speed and I pause, not wanting them to think that I have a weapon.

“Stand down, guards. He may produce the contract,” the magistrate orders.

The guards step back, but keep their hands on their swords in case I become a threat. I suppose that I could have some sort of magical weapon or object, but I just pull out the oiled leather envelope where the contract lies, carefully passing it over to the guard Leon, who takes it with suspicious eyes.

“Bring it here,” Magistrate Zadicus commands, in that whispery way of his. Leon obediently carries the pouch with the contract in it to the magistrate up the steps and hands it to the vampire. Magistrate Zadicus flips up the flap of the envelope, revealing the bespelled paper inside, its ink protected from the elements by the charm on it. His eyes run over the words on the pages, obviously and easily reading the Terrian contract.

Then he looks up, his dark eyes gleaming with interest. “This does prove you are who you say, along with your Honorless brand,” the magistrate admits, “but it doesn’t explain my dead lighthouse keeper.”

“We washed ashore, our dinghy having capsized,” I tell him, weaving my tale, a mix of truth and lies. “My slave was injured and we barely survived the sea to make it to your shores. I brought my slave to the lighthouse to ask for aid, as lighthouse keepers are obligated to give. When Shadeswick saw my slave, he . . . coveted her.”

The silence in the room is oppressive as I talk, the weight of judging eyes on me. I am grateful that though vampires have impressive hearing and can smell blood from a league away, they don’t have the sensitive noses of orcs and cannot smell my half-truths. Though they are obviously not on my side, as I have killed one of their own, my ability to lie to them gives me a chance to spin this mess favorably.

I continue, “The lighthouse keeper spoke of his longing for a blood slave of his own and inquired about my human. I told him that she is exclusively intended for Lord Grazrath, the only one of his order that I was able to save. He asked why she was special and I told him, seeing no reason to lie.”

“And why is she special?” interrupts the magistrate, his eyes moving from me to Adara behind me. My Mating Instinct prickles at the dangerous male looking at the mage, but I suppress its reaction.

“She is a mage of air,” I tell him boldly, hiding Adara’s true Affinity, as was the original plan. “Very strong. It took five of my warriors to bring her down and trap her in iron. She is worth a king’s ransom to any country who would want a weapon, but my allegiance is to Grazrath, who has promised abundant riches in exchange for magical blood slaves.”

“This is true,” muses the magistrate. “We all know that mages are to be playthings for Our Lord only. But why did you not command her to save you in the storm, if her Affinity is air?”

“I did not have time to fit her to an Obedience Collar, as you can see,” I say, gesturing back to Adara’s bare throat. Obedience Collars are often used on slave mages to force them to comply with commands or suffer extreme pain. It makes it so that it is safe for slavers to keep them out of iron and use their powers for themselves. It is similar to Adara’s tattoo in that the mage that it is on cannot use their magic to attack the one who put it on them, but they can still use their magic in other ways. We didn’t put one on Adara though because we didn’t want anyone to think that they could have her use her powers and then discover that we lied about her Affinity. The tattoo Lady Melelea gave her was a safer choice. I continue, “She also is not broken yet. Grazrath likes having the privilege of doing that himself.”

“Breaking a slave of their will is the most amusing part,” comments Magistrate Zadicus. “But it is unfortunate for you that you could not use her to save your crew and cargo.”

“Most unfortunate,” I agree. “But I will be able to rebuild once I get the slave price for the mage. Anyway, I told all this to the lighthouse keeper and he seemed to understand. He offered me some mulled wine to help with the chill of the waves. I was grateful . . . until I scented nightberries.”

“You scented nightberries?” the magistrate questions. “How? They are the subtlest of poisons.”

“I grew up in the woods of Orik and was taught from a young age the faint differences in the scent of nightberries so as not to accidentally poison my family with my foraging,” I lie. “I am more familiar with them than most and so I ascertained his intentions immediately. I confronted him and that’s when he attacked me.”

“Is this true, slave?” the magistrate asks, surprising me by looking past me at Adara. “Is what your master says how it happened?”

I hear Adara hesitate behind me, but I’m not worried. I know from our past interrogations that she is a good liar. Just not good enough to fool an orc’s nose.

“I was unconscious at first,” Adara finally starts, keeping her voice soft and unchallenging. A difficulty for her, I’m sure. “But I woke with the commotion. I saw the orc fighting with the vampire, who said something about the orc needing to die because he had no taste for orc blood and that he deserved to keep me. I startled at his words, crying out, and that distracted the vampire long enough so the orc could grab him and snap his neck.”

“It is true, my lord magistrate,” the guard Gair surprises me by saying, “that Dristan was known to dislike orc blood. He complained loudly, to whoever would listen, when he had to feed from an orc at the public stalls.”

“Hmm,” hums the magistrate, considering. “Your words do ring of the truth and even your slave who you claim has no loyalty to you vouches for your words. So, it does seem like self-defense and defense of Lord Grazrath’s property. But you are an outsider who killed a citizen and the law is very clear on the fate of the outsider in that case: beheading.”

I inject some fear and anger into my voice, playing the part of Vargan. “What about the higher law of hospitality, placed upon us by the gods themselves? He violated his sacred duty as the keeper of the lighthouse to house and shelter castaways and tried to murder and steal my property, property that is destined for your own lord.”

“This is true,” muses the magistrate. “What would you have me do, then? When two laws oppose each other so drastically?”

“I would ask you for travel papers,” I declare boldly, even as I am wary. Something about his attitude is setting off alarm bells in my head. “So that I can deliver my promised goods to Lord Grazrath. In the grand scheme of things, one lighthouse keeper is not as important as Lord Grazrath receiving his due.”

The vampire rises from his seat and begins to descend down the steps. “Pretty words, pirate. To think you have such loyalty to Our Lord, it warms the heart.”

“I am loyal to my customers, as any good merchant is,” I say, still wary as he gets closer to me.

“Not all your customers, it seems,” remarks the quiet vampire. “I am out a blood slave I was so looking forward to because you chose to let it sink to the bottom of the ocean.”

That warning in my head grows louder. “I will make it up to you,” I promise him recklessly, trying to placate him. “Two, no, three, trolls at my next shipment. Two males and a female so that you can breed more.”

“What a kind gesture,” Magistrate Zadicus says, but his low words sound mocking. “But I’m afraid that I, like my lord, am not very forgiving of failure and your losing the rest of the shipment of slaves is a grave failure indeed. That, added to the fact that you killed a Barakrini citizen demands immediate repayment. In fact, I think you should pay for it with your life.”

In a blink, the vampire is behind me, kicking out at the backs of my knees. My warrior’s training instinctively wants to avoid the blow, but I stay still and allow him to drive me to my knees. I can’t risk my cover being compromised, because that would compromise Adara and the mission. Even if he’s about to kill me.

Once I’m on my knees, the vampire grabs my hair and wrenches my head back. His grip is strong for a human but weak for a vampire and I could break the hold if I wanted to, but I stay still and widen my eyes like I’m afraid.

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask, injecting some fear into my voice, even though I’m not really afraid. Not of dying, at any rate. I knew that it was likely to happen, as soon as I had to kill the lighthouse keeper. Afraid of failing the mission? Yes. Failing my king and queen? Of course.

And failing to protect Adara , whispers an unwelcome part of my thoughts.

The vampire magistrate chuckles lightly, sadism in his tone. “Kill you, pirate? Oh, my dear wretched orc, you will wish that I had killed you when I am done with you.”

His finger strokes my throat with a long sharp nail, almost a loving gesture, tracing along my jugular. Feeling the pump of my blood there, I’d wager.

“No, your sentence is not so merciful as beheading,” Zadicus remarks, hunger in his eyes. “As repayment for your failures and crimes, you will take the place of the troll you cost me.”

He grins, feral and slightly insane. “Looks like I have a new blood slave.”