Shadow of a Slave (The Blood Mage Chronicles Book 1)

by Saffron Bryant

  Ash swallowed, nodded, and ran for the door, unable to believe his luck.

  54

  “Ash!” Loren caught Ash’s arm as he hurried out of the Council building. “What happened? They didn’t kill you.”

  Ash wiped sweat from his forehead but kept striding away from the imposing, black building, spine tingling. “Not this time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Were you hiding from me today?”

  Loren’s eyes bulged. “Hiding? No. I was trying to organize a little get together.”

  “Get together?” Ash said. “I was at risk of being strung up by my toes and you thought it would be a good time for a party?”

  “I figured it would either be a kind of last-meal send off, or a congratulations for such a bad ass show.”

  “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a party.” All his muscles ached and his mind felt like it had been wrung dry.

  “You have to at least make an appearance. Everyone is there.”

  There was no arguing with Loren so Ash followed him through the Institute to The Spilled Mug. When he stepped inside an uneven cheer greeted him. Based on the expressions of everyone present, they weren’t sure if they were supposed to be consoling him or congratulating him.

  “He survived!” Loren shouted over the din.

  A second, brighter wave of cheers erupted.

  Grenwall entered and pushed a brimming mug into Ash’s hand. “A little stronger than your usual,” he whispered into Ash’s ear. “I heard you could use it.”

  Ash nodded and strode to the central table where people shuffled to make room for him and Loren. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he basked in the gaping awe of the other students, took strength from it, until he felt almost as powerful as he did during channeling.

  Avarie appeared out of the press of people and gripped his shirt. “What happened?”

  “Relax. Pulmen knows you had nothing to do with it. You’re in the clear.”

  Avarie slumped and snatched up his mug, taking a long drink. “Thank Fel for that. I’d already started packing my bags!”

  “You’re fine,” Ash said. “Don’t stress.”

  Avarie rolled her eyes. “Don’t stress. Easy for you to say, you seem to walk on water. Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

  “Cross my heart,” Ash said, tapping his chest.

  “What did you get anyway? Have to pick up litter?” Avarie said.

  “A hundred hours of home calls,” Ash said, deciding to leave out the bit about the tower.

  “What?!” Avarie slammed the mug onto the table. “I have to do that anyway!”

  “Yes. But I have a feeling Pulmen won’t be paying me for it. He’s not my biggest fan.”

  “I could have told you that after my chat with him earlier today.”

  “Just focus on the bright side,” Ash said. “You’re in the clear.”

  “I guess that means I can stop stealing Billow Draught.”

  “I dunno,” Ash said. “That stuff was pretty amazing.”

  “Mmm, addictive too.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Enough of that!” Loren yelled. “To Ash, the luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever known.”

  “To Ash!” the room chorused back.

  Ash retrieved his mug and lifted it, grinning at the other students before taking a long drink. It burned his throat but he relished it; he’d escaped relatively unharmed and could get back to saving Rae. He’d find a way to convince Thimble that he was ready for the advanced class, one way or another.

  Several drinks later, Ash stood on wobbly legs. “I have to piss.”

  The others cheered as he sauntered toward the back door. Beyond, an open-aired courtyard with a line of troughs hugged the side of the building. Pipes led down from the troughs and disappeared into the ground below. Ash had no idea where they went; the Institute had the most intricate plumbing he’d ever seen, far more sophisticated than the dirt-covered holes of Falconwall.

  He staggered and had to lean against the wall above the trough to steady himself. He finished and turned toward the sink, but before he got there, a black figure leapt out of the darkness.

  Metal flashed. Ash stumbled sideways and the knife slashed through the air by his right shoulder. He spun, scrambling for the knife in his belt.

  The black-clad figure approached, face covered, but based on the bulky build, Ash had no doubt that it was Braydon.

  “I beat you in class and so you sneak into the toilets to stab me?” Ash jeered, praying for someone to come through the door.

  “Think you’re such a smart prick, don’t you? I’ll show you.” Braydon lunged forward.

  Ash stumbled and Braydon’s knife caught on his upper arm, tearing through his shirt and slicing into his skin. Sharp pain burst through his arm, followed by a bright trail of blood that dripped across the bathroom floor. He side-stepped to get to the door, but Braydon stepped in front of him and blocked his way.

  Ash reached for his pocket but he’d left Rae’s heat stone in his room before the Council meeting. He scrounged for any source of energy he could use to channel, but there were no torches, or even candles, in the small courtyard. Only a cold, glowing orb which at a glance Ash knew would do no more than give Braydon a hot breeze before it burnt out.

  Braydon advanced. “Can’t say I’ll be sorry to see the end of you.”

  “Feeling’s mutual,” Ash said. His drunken haze faded and put everything into sharp focus, including the biting pain on his right arm.

  Ash crouched.

  Braydon stepped forward.

  Ash lurched at his stomach, knife swinging.

  Braydon stepped out of the way and spun, shoving Ash in the back and sending him careening against the far wall. Ash smacked into hard wood, shoulder first, and slid to the ground.

  Blood from Ash’s wound dribbled down to his hand and made the knife slippery in his grip. He scrambled upright but kept his back against the wall.

  “Enough games,” Braydon said.

  He darted forward and slashed.

  Ash tried to knock Braydon’s knife away but misjudged the angle, instead catching it on his wrist where another bright spark of pain exploded.

  The door to the bar swung open, spilling light and noise into the bathroom and outlining Loren’s shape.

  “Oi, Ash, what’s taking so—?”

  Orange light reflected on the pools of Ash’s blood and cast Braydon’s large shadow across the opposite wall.

  Braydon shifted his grip and brought the knife down from the other angle, straight for Ash’s throat.

  “Ash!” Loren dived forward, caught Braydon in the waist, and sent them both rolling across the floor.

  They tussled and both scrambled to their feet. Braydon had the advantage of a knife and stabbed at Loren’s chest. Loren ducked and spun out of the way. He brought his foot up and landed a roundhouse kick into Braydon’s chest. Braydon wheezed and stumbled back.

  Ash stepped forward, uncertain, and brandished his knife.

  Braydon looked between Ash and Loren, and dived at the side wall where a few missing planks made a doorway into the alley beyond.

  Loren started after him but stopped at the hole in the wall. “Bastard!”

  Ash leaned his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Pain encased both his arms and he trembled, more from rage than pain.

  “You know who that was?” Loren said.

  “Braydon. No doubt.”

  “When I get my hands on him… please tell me you managed to cut him. So there’ll be some evidence?”

  Ash shook his head and wiped his bloody hands onto his already crimson shirt. He tucked his knife back into his belt. “Not even a scratch.”

  “Dammit.” Loren came to Ash’s side and examined his wounds. “Those need bandaging. Come on inside.”

  Ash clutched his bleeding arm and let himself be led back into the bar.

  “Where did you learn to fight?” Loren said. “Braydon is
average at best, so you know what that makes you?”

  “Less than average,” Ash said with a sigh. He hated to admit it, but if his time on the streets of Falconwall had taught him anything it was that he wasn’t made for physical combat.

  “Exactly.”

  The normal noise of the bar continued until Loren plunked Ash down into a chair and people took notice of his bloody clothes.

  “What happened?” Kev said.

  “That bastard, Braydon, attacked him with a knife,” Loren said.

  “Do you have proof? He should be up in front of the Council for that,” Kev said.

  Loren shook his head once, angry. “No. His face was covered.”

  Grenwall appeared at the table with a handful of bandages and disinfectant. “I don’t know if I should let you in here anymore. Seems you’re always causing trouble.”

  Loren nodded thanks. “Trust me, Grenwall; it’s not Ash causing the trouble.”

  Grenwall nodded and went back to the bar.

  Ash waved away the bandages. “It’s fine. I’ll just heal them.”

  “Whoa!” Avarie said. “No, you won’t. I may not know exactly what went on in that meeting today, but I can guarantee that Thimble forbid you from advanced magic.”

  Ash swallowed. Avarie was right; of course, he didn’t intend to follow Thimble’s instructions, but there were a lot of witnesses in the room and the last thing he wanted to do was risk facing the Council again just because of a couple of cuts.

  “Secondly,” Avarie said. “If you had done advanced magic, you would have heard the warning about channeling healing energy when you’re not fully focused. For example, when you’ve had a couple of drinks.” She tapped Ash’s mug. “It’s extremely dangerous. Hell, I wouldn’t heal you and I’ve had half as many drinks as you.”

  Some older students nodded in agreement.

  Ash sighed. “It can do without stitches but will you at least bandage it? I’m not sure I trust Lord Drake there to do it.”

  “Of course.” Avarie shouldered Loren out of the way and went to work.

  “Are you going to take it to the professors?” Kev said.

  “I can’t,” Ash said. “I have no proof it was him.” Ash’s expression darkened. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t exact my own form of justice…”

  “Whoa!” Avarie said. “You just finished facing the Council. Don’t do anything stupid that will get you back there.

  Ash seethed. There was no way he’d let Braydon get away with it. He’d tried to kill him! He just had to bide his time, find the right moment to strike.

  Avarie tied off the bandage. “There you go.”

  “Thanks,” Ash said. “I should probably go home. Thimble did warn me I had to be at class on time tomorrow.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Loren said. “Don’t want to risk you getting jumped on the way home.”

  They said their goodbyes, many of the students wishing ill fortune on Braydon, and stumbled out into the cold night.

  55

  Ash and Loren slumped into their chairs at the back of the classroom. Ash’s head pounded and nausea rocked his stomach, bringing bile to the back of his throat every few minutes. Through stinging eyes he caught Braydon glaring up at him, fists clenched.

  “Ash and Loren, just in time,” Thimble said.

  Ash lifted a shaky hand then let it fall back to his lap.

  “I’m sure you all know what you’ll be doing today,” Thimble said. “Make a line. I hope you’ve all been practicing.”

  Ash and Loren groaned as they stood, using the desks for balance as they shuffled toward the back of the forming line.

  “Ash, you can stay where you are and work on what we discussed yesterday,” Thimble said.

  Ash blinked, taking time to process Thimble’s words, before turning in place and slumping back into his chair. He took a deep breath. He needed to focus. What had he been thinking? Rae needed his help; he couldn’t spend his nights drinking and his days recovering.

  Thimble wanted him to work on control. He closed his eyes, as if focusing on the smooth pond exercise she’d given them all earlier in the term, but instead he reviewed the advanced channeling textbook. The cuts on his arms still stung, despite Avarie’s bandages, and if Loren hadn’t arrived, Ash would have died. All because of a knife.

  It made no sense that someone with his power could be killed by a knife. There had to be a way to channel without having to drag a furnace everywhere. The textbook had had a section titled ‘Other Sources of Energy’. He’d only skimmed over it at the time, but now he cursed himself for a fool. If there was some source of energy he could have on him all the time then he’d never be at anyone’s mercy again.

  In his mind’s eye, he scanned the textbook; the section had opened with heat sources, because they were the easiest and provided the most energy. But after that it had talked about body energy. He’d known it was possible, Thimble had warned them often enough not to channel without an energy source, but the advanced textbook described how.

  It required fine control; otherwise he risked pushing out all his body’s strength and killing himself by hypothermia. But his body provided a constantly available energy source…

  He skimmed the other titles but discarded them one by one. Kinetic energy was no good, how often was there something perpetually moving nearby? Most of the others Ash had never heard of and didn’t want to waste the time trying to find when his own body heat was right there, ready to be used.

  “How’s it going?” A tight grip on Ash’s shoulder accompanied the voice and he jumped, eyes flying open.

  Thimble stood at his side, staring down at him.

  “Fine,” Ash said.

  “What happened?” Thimble said, gesturing to his bandages.

  Ash’s mood darkened. “Braydon came at me with a knife.”

  Thimble’s face froze. “That’s a vicious accusation. Do you have proof?”

  “No.”

  Thimble leaned in close so that only Ash could hear. “Despite the fact that I agreed to take over your sponsorship. Don’t think for a second that I’ll tolerate you causing trouble.”

  “It’s not my fault, he—”

  “Enough! I don’t want to hear about it again.”

  Ash bit his lip to stop himself spitting out a string of curses.

  “You’re to report to the tower tomorrow to begin that part of your punishment.”

  “Yes, Professor,” Ash said.

  Thimble nodded and strode back to the front of the class where a short student with brown hair failed to make the fan spin.

  “Ash, what are you doing?” Loren said.

  Loren sat on his bed as Ash set an unlit candle in the middle of his desk and sat himself directly in front of it. He’d spent the afternoon eating as much food as he could and now his stomach pressed against the waist of his pants, but he’d reasoned it would give his body more energy to burn.

  “Trying something,” Ash said.

  Loren stood and snatched the candle away. “Not without telling me what it is. I don’t know what your game is, but you seem to be constantly trying to break the rules. What’s going on?”

  Ash swung for the candle, but Loren danced out of his way.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “It is if it’s happening in my room. If you’re doing something illegal, it could get me thrown out too. And I do not want to go back there.”

  Ash gritted his teeth. Loren had saved his life the night before, the least he could do was be honest. “I’m trying to use my body as a source of energy for channeling.”

  “What?” Loren’s arms went limp and Ash managed to grab the candle back. “Are you insane? You’ll kill yourself.”

  “I need to be able to channel my own energy. Next time Braydon comes after me, you might not be around.”

  “So let me teach you how to handle a knife! Don’t kill yourself trying to light a candle.”

  “I’m not going to kill
myself. I’ve read all about it.”

  “It takes control,” Loren said. “Which is exactly what you don’t have.”

  “I’m doing this. If you try to interrupt me, you might be the reason I die. Just let me do it.”

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “We’ll see.” Ash set the candle back on the desk and sat down so that his eyes were level with the wick.

  Loren hovered just behind his right shoulder, shifting his weight from left to right.

  “Stay still. It’s distracting,” Ash said.

  Loren froze.

  Ash took a deep breath and focused his gaze on the thin wick. He let his heart-rate settle. A thin layer of heat coated the surface of his skin, getting stronger the deeper into his flesh he looked. He ran his concentration over his skin like a broom, scooped up the first layer of heat, and gathered it in his right hand.

  He held his hand near the wick, urging it to light. The heat in his palm glowed red but it was far from the thick tendrils he usually took from the glowing furnace.

  He did another sweep of his body, going deeper this time and scraping more heat from his muscles.

  He shivered, cold seeped into his flesh. He ignored the feeling and gathered the new heat in his hand so that the glowing ball got brighter.

  Still the wick didn’t light. A tiny spark may have flashed briefly into life, but it could have been a trick of Ash’s eyes.

  Ash took a deep breath and did a third sweep, this time wrenching heat from deep in his flesh. Even his heart and lungs felt cold and his breath came out as white puffs of mist. He shoved the heat at the candle.

  Tendrils snaked to his palm and the glowing ball grew, but it was pale, weak. The tendrils sizzled against the wick and leached into the surrounding air, doing little more than creating a warm breeze.

  Ash’s body shook, muscles convulsing. It was as if someone had shoved an icy shard deep into his stomach. But he was close, he knew it, so he reached a fourth time, deep into his chest.

  He gasped as icy fingers clamped around his heart, but he kept pushing. Bright tendrils ran down his arm toward his hand. He hissed and shoved the heat toward the candle.