Page 30 of War Mage

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 itisthe 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.

---