Page 31 of War Mage

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. Ihatethe 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 loudboom 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 beforeThe Corsairsank 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.”

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