Page 13 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)

Adara

M y eyes widen at the vampire’s proclamation. Urim isn’t going to die, but this new development is barely better.

There’s nothing I can do though, as the menacing magistrate says, “I am not such a bad master, though. You may even eventually grow to like me. Kiss my feet, orc, for my mercy,” before pushing Urim’s head to drive him to his hands and knees.

“The contract . . .” Urim starts, obviously trying to regain some control of the situation.

“The contract was void the minute you promised to bring Lord Grazrath twenty rare slaves and only brought one,” answers the magistrate calmly. “You should be thanking me that I didn’t give you travel papers. The minute you showed up to the palace at Evernight with one twentieth of what was promised, no matter your excuses, Our Lord would have had you tortured to death and that fate would have been a slow one.”

“But she is worth all twenty of those slaves combined!” Urim argues. “An air mage with abundant mana? Lord Grazrath will be unhappy if she is not delivered to him . . .”

“Oh, she’ll be delivered to him, do not worry,” Magistrate Zadicus interrupts again, still in that quiet way of his. “As a personal gift from me, a show of my gratitude for my position and Lord Grazrath’s trust in me. I am leaving for a war council in Evernight tomorrow night and I’ll take her with me. I thank you for arriving so fortuitously with the perfect gift for Our Lord of Pain and Misery before my departure. Perhaps the dark powers are smiling on me. Now, I gave you an order, slave , and I expect you to obey it.”

Urim hesitates again and I can almost see the workings of his mind turning as if trying to see if there’s a way to turn this situation to his advantage. But that hesitation costs him. The guard Leon stomps over at the pause and kicks the orc sharply in the side, a blow hard enough to break human ribs, but Urim doesn’t even wince. “Magistrate Zadicus gave you an order, bloodbag!”

Suddenly Leon is flung across the room, slamming into the wall.

“Did I tell you that you could discipline my property?” softly demands the magistrate, standing in the spot where the guard was. He moved so quickly that my eyes couldn’t track him. He must have fed recently on sentient blood, like the rest of the vampires in this room. Which means they are all fast, strong, and dangerous.

“My apologies, Magistrate Zadicus,” gasps out Leon, winded by the magistrate’s blow. “It will not happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” the eerie, quiet vampire says menacingly. “Or you’ll find yourself chained in the public feeding stalls.”

Silence greets his words as an air of fear enters the room. I imagine that going from master to slave would be considered a fate worse than death to these sadistic vampires.

“Now,” Zadicus says, turning back to Urim, who is still on his hands and knees. “My order?”

Urim has obviously decided that it would be best to go along with the current for now, as he lowers his head and kisses the vampire’s embroidered boot.

“Thank you for your mercy, Magistrate Zadicus,” Urim murmurs and I wonder what’s going through his head right now. He is a prideful orc and comes from a culture that prizes freedom. Is he glad not to be executed, or is this a nightmare for him?

“You may call me master , slave,” the magistrate says, a small smile playing at his lips, a dark pleasure in his eyes as he stares down at the orc. “You should know how a good slave acts.”

Urim keeps his head down as he says, “Yes, of course, master. Thank you for your correction.”

“Hmm,” the vampire magistrate hums contentedly. “I can see the rebellion in your eyes, for all your pretty words. You amuse me, Vargan. All strong males like you do in the beginning. Breaking you and showing you your true place in the world will be a rare pleasure. I believe I will take you with me to Evernight and begin your education on the road.”

“Magistrate Zadicus,” one of the noble vampires in the room asks, a slight whine in his voice, “isn’t it a little unfair that you just have claimed such unspoiled merchandise for yourself without putting him up for auction? It’s been weeks since we had any fresh blood in the city, since the Adrikian navy has been stopping shipments from Terria.”

“It is my right as the appointed of Grazrath to dole out blood the way I see fit,” Zadicus declares in that quiet, unsettling voice of his. “And one of the slaves that he lost was mine. Would you deny me restitution for my loss?”

His words are innocuous enough, but something about the way he says them makes it seem unwise for anyone to argue with him or complain further. The vampires in the room must get that same feeling, because they all look to the floor, including the whining one.

“N-no, Magistrate Zadicus,” he stutters. “Of course not. Forgive me. I spoke out of jealousy.”

“Forgiven,” the magistrate says carelessly, but there’s a dark undercurrent to his tone. This male is not stable. He appears quiet but is quick to violence. I can see why Grazrath favored him with a high position. I imagine they are wolves of the same pack.

Zadicus turns to the guards, Leon having limped his way back over to Gair, and orders, “Take the Honorless and the mage to the wagons and chain them together. We leave at sundown.”

“Yes, Magistrate Zadicus,” the guards say, inclining their heads. Gair grabs Urim by his chains and yanks him to his feet, guiding him out of the room. The other grabs me by my arm in a painful grip and I try and fail not to flinch.

As Leon drags me past the magistrate, the vampire says, “Just a moment.”

The guard stops and Zadicus reaches out, tilting my head up so that he can see my face.

“What a pretty human . . .” he muses. “Shame that. Lord Grazrath takes special pleasure in ruining the pretty ones.”

The magistrate then looks at Leon, ordering, “Be gentle with her and let it be known that none shall touch her. Lord Grazrath will not be merciful to anyone who sullies his plaything before he gets a chance to break her.”

Then he lets go of my chin and waves us away. The guard yanks at my arm but is more careful than he was before. He yanks open a side door and pulls me through. As we turn the corner I catch a glimpse of Urim and Gair ahead of us and then the door behind us swings shut, and we are plunged into darkness.

The guard pulls me along dark hallways, none with light, just like the streets outside. I feel blind as a worm, and just as powerless. I can’t even see Urim ahead of me anymore. I don’t even know if we’re being taken to the same place. The same wagon. But, no, the magistrate ordered for us to be chained together, so at least that’s something. Shit, am I truly glad we’re being chained together? This whole mission has been fucked.

Finally, I hear a door open and I’m pulled outside, where there’s incidentally more light, the sky the pale gray that it turns just before sunrise. We’re in some kind of courtyard where covered wagons stand waiting and more vampires are loading chests and shackled people into the back. I see the other guard and Urim just ahead of us, heading down the steps to the courtyard.

“Zadicus sends new goods,” Gair says, pushing Urim brutally ahead of him with unnatural strength. Another sentient blood-drinker .

The vampires loading the wagons look up and size up me and the orc. One whistles. “Wow, unmarked goods. I haven’t seen bloodbags in such good condition for a while now. They for Our Lord?”

“ She is,” my guard says, pulling me forward. “The orc’s been claimed by Magistrate Zadicus.”

“Then he won’t be so strong and healthy for long,” remarks the other vampire. “Zadicus likes to play a bit too rough with his food.”

The guard holding Urim shrugs. “Not our business. Our business is to get them chained and in a wagon for tomorrow.”

“The other wagon is already full,” a different vampire pipes up. “We’ll have to put them in the second wagon.”

“Then do it,” orders Leon, his grip on my arm tensing for a moment. “Magistrate Zadicus will have us in chains right beside them if we don’t obey quickly enough.”

That seems to light a fire under the vampires loading the wagons, and within moments I find myself being shoved into one of the wagons after Urim. When I’m sitting on the bench in the back, cruel hands yank my leg and I feel a metal cuff closing around my ankle with a loud click . Instantly my mana feels further away and I realize that the cuff must be iron or an iron alloy. Double, triple, quadruple shit. This has just gone from bad to worse. The guards, oblivious to my alarm, place another ankle cuff on Urim and then thread a sturdy chain through the loops before securing it with a heavy lock to a metal twist attached to the floor of the wagon, effectively chaining us to the wagon itself.

“Get some rest, bloodbags,” Leon says, throwing some threadbare blankets into the back of the wagon. “You’ll need it for what’s coming.”

The other guard chuckles darkly at his friend’s words and then the canvas flap of the wagon falls closed, leaving Urim and I alone. Though the sun is rising and the interior of the wagon is light, it’s fucking cold, the nip of winter is in the air and my fires are locked behind iron. I turn on the wooden bench, looking at the orc beside me with a feeling of helpless rage. I know it’s not technically his fault that we’re in this situation, but damn if it doesn't feel like it.

“Urim . . .” I begin, not really knowing what I’m going to say. What are we going to do? We’re fucked? How’s that master plan working, genius?

But before I can say anything, his warm fingers are against my lips, stilling my speech. Then he leans forward so that our heads are close together, close enough to kiss. I feel alarmed at that thought when his head slips past mine until his lips are by my ear.

“Don’t use my real name,” he murmurs next to my head. His voice is so low that I almost can’t hear him, even though he’s talking directly into my ear. “Vampires have keen hearing and there’s still a guard outside that will be able to hear every word we say. Call me Vargan.”

My heart thumps in my throat, his nearness doing something strange to me. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my ear, can almost taste the salt of the skin of his finger against my lips. He smells like seawater and something earthy and rich. Like fresh-tilled earth and spongy moss. It’s strange to focus on that right now while we’re captured and everything’s gone to shit, but maybe it’s because of our situation that my mind is honing in on my senses, scrambling to ground itself in the tangible.

Still, I need to know what we are going to do. He’s the one in charge of this mission, fucked though it is, and now that he’s not on his way to being beheaded, he must have an idea of how we can adapt to our new shitty circumstances.

Grabbing his finger and moving it from my lips, I lean in closer, my cheek rubbing against his in my haste, but I ignore the sensation. When I’m finally next to his ear, I whisper as low as I can, “The ankle chain is iron, cutting me off from my gift. Even if they deliver me to Grazrath, I won’t be able to attack him as long as I’m wearing this. I—”

“Calm, Adara,” Urim murmurs, his hand lightly pressing onto my back, the warmth seeping into my skin, making me realize that I’ve been shaking. A mix of fear, rage, and the cold, I suspect. His hand is strangely comforting, being that it's attached to an orc who I hate. Urim continues, his silky voice soft in my ear, “All will be well. This isn't ideal, yes, but the mission can still continue. You’re still going to be delivered to Lord Grazrath and no one will touch you. I have hidden two pieces of wire sewn into the lining of my trousers. I can pick the lock of your cuff when we get in front of the demon if they haven't removed it and you’ll still be able to take your shot.”

“What if you don’t last that long?” I whisper back furiously. “They said that the magistrate . . .”

“I’ll last that long,” he says calmly, but grimly. “I have the will to see this mission through. Nothing will stop that.”

“It will if you’re dead,” I murmur back to him. “You saw those other blood slaves in the room. They were weakened and hopeless. You’re going to have to survive at least a week of travel, of being the magistrate’s only blood slave. You can’t possibly guarantee that you’ll survive it.”

“I’ll survive it, Adara,” Urim says, his voice full of certainty. “I’ve survived worse.”

I almost retort that that’s impossible to know for certain, but something in the tone of his voice stops me. I don’t know much about this enigmatic, stoic orc, except that he has no heart and is unfailingly loyal to his rulers and mission. I think of my own past, of being six and begging on the streets of a strange land where I didn’t speak the language. That was bad; just as grim and hopeless as our current situation. I survived that through grit and more than a little luck. Who am I to say that he hasn’t survived worse? Maybe he has. Maybe he will. The thought calms my fear-filled mind. Still, I’m not stupid. I know that if things have gone wrong once, they could go wrong again.

“I hope you’re right,” I whisper in his ear. “Or the whole world is fucked.”