Page 46 of War Mage

“I drew the short straw,” he says, taking out a key and unlocking the chain keeping us in place at our ankles. “Come on, orc. You know what is coming.”

Silently, I climb out of the wagon, but not before making eye contact with the mage. Her eyes are wide and worried, her emotions in the bond jumbled. She still feels guilty about rebranding me, worried that I might not survive this morning’s feeding, angry that we are in this situation. I send her a heavy dose of calm through the bond, to which she sends back a wave of irritation. She does not want to feelcalmright now. I almost smile at her reaction, but I keep my face stoic, knowing that smiling will only provoke the vampires if they see it.

Guard Leon grabs my arm, his hand not quite big enough to wrap around my bicep, but uses that to steer me toward the magistrate’s opulent tent. When we reach the entrance he calls out, “Bloodslave for you, magistrate.”

“Come in,” comes the soft reply.

This is all similar to yesterday and when we enter I again see the brazier lit with brands in its coals. It seems that the magistrate is not a creative vampire.

“Vargan,” he greets. “Get on your knees for me.”

There’s no use in resisting his order. Instead, I slowly sink to my knees, and keep my head down, as if in subservience.

“What a pretty picture you make like this,” the magistrate remarks. “All low and serving me. But I’ve been thinking about our last encounter and it occurred to me that you never let out one little whimper. One peep to show me the pain that I was inflicting on you. And it wounds my pride, Vargan, that after all my efforts you would not react.”

“I’m sorry for my lack of reaction, master,” I say, even though I know that words won’t do any good. But if there's a slight chance that feeding his ego will keep him from killing me, I must swallow my pride and do it.

“Unfortunately, I cannot forgive you for such a slight,” the vampire says, a sadistic smirk on his lips. “But no matter. I have considered what to do, how to fix this situation, and had the thought that another brand might be warranted. If one pain brand doesn’t achieve the desired result, then surely two will do?”

He smiles cruelly. “I have never given a blood slave two brands at once. This will be quite educational.”

I don’t know what to do. I am convinced that I can handle two brands by retreating to my sanctuary, but if I go there again I won’t be able to react to his actions sufficiently and he’ll merely escalate further. But if I don’t go into my sanctuary and allow myself to feel the pain he is inflicting, the torment will travel along the bond and affect Adara. That is unacceptable.

Zadicus regards me for a moment, searching my face, but I give him nothing to read on my placid features. Then he sighs. “You are a strong orc, Vargan. Stronger than I gave you credit for. But I will have my sounds of pain or you will not last long. Consider that before you try to remain brave again.”

He takes the familiar brand out of the coals, walking up to me.

“Shall we see what happens?”

???

I wake to humming, a haunting tune both lovely and soothing. Soft fingers trace through my hair and dance down over my neck and shoulders. My head is elevated, laying on something both soft and bony. I hurt all over, a twin throbbing on my chest where two brands now lay and my ribs feel like they might be cracked or broken. Breathing is difficult.

My eyes open slowly and I see concerned brown eyes meet mine.Adara.

She is . . . caring for me?

“What happened?” I croak out.

“I should ask that myself,” Adara says, raising a brow at me. “What happened to the magistrate not branding you again?”

“He was displeased that I hadn’t reacted more when he fed on me. He wanted sounds of pain and thought that a second brand would push me over the edge. The last thing I remember is him coming over toward me with the brand.”

“Hmm, that lines up with what I know,” the mage remarks.

“What do you know?” I ask, my voice still scratchy.

“Not much,” Adara says. “Everything was calm in the bond at first, like usual, then there was a spike of something? Physical distress maybe? Then not long after that, the bond went dark. I thought . . . I thought you were dead. But it seems that you lost consciousness. Maybe two brands was too many. The magistrate was irate about it, apparently. I think he kicked you, trying to wake you up, since your ribs are extremely bruised, but nothing worked. He sent you back to the wagon and you’ve been unconscious for three days.”

“Three days?” I rasp, my voice still rough from disuse and dehydration.

“Yes,” Adara replies. “We’re halfway to Evernight.”

“Did anyone hurt you while I was out?” I ask, needing to know.

Adara shakes her head, making me feel relieved. “I’m still not to be touched by anyone but Grazrath. They’ve been feeding me and checking you occasionally. They said to tell them when you woke, but I think that we can wait on that for a bit.”

I try to swallow to say something, but my mouth is too dry, like a parched desert. “Water?” I ask, barely croaking now.

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