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

by Saffron Bryant

  “That could be never.”

  “Now you know how I feel about channeling. Besides, I don’t know what you’re complaining about; I think I came out of today more injured than you.” Loren held up his left arm where a shard of Ash’s sword had left a deep cut that oozed blood down Loren’s arm.

  Ash reached for it. “Let me.”

  Loren pulled back, eyes narrowed. “Let you what?”

  “Heal it.”

  “No way. You can practice your dangerous channeling on yourself, but I don’t want to end up with three heads, thank you very much.”

  Ash snatched Loren’s arm and brought it closer. “I’ve been practicing. It’s fine.”

  Loren started to say something but Ash tightened his grip and Loren fell silent.

  Ash reached his free hand into his pocket where Rae’s stone rested warm against his leg. “Just hold still.” He took the heat and drew it forth, turning it into the blue energy of life before sending it into Loren’s injured arm. The blue glow surrounded Loren’s injury and sunk into his flesh, as if being absorbed.

  The skin around the cut drew together and closed over the wound until there was nothing left but drying dribbles of blood.

  Ash let Loren’s arm go and sat back. He felt only slightly more drained than he had beforehand; every time he tried it got easier.

  “Wow,” Loren said. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  Ash shrugged. “It’s like it never happened.”

  “Does Thimble know—?”

  “No! And you can’t tell her.”

  “Okay, okay. Just asking.”

  Ash nodded and then went back to studying the courtyard.

  “If it helps,” Loren said. “I don’t think Braydon would stand a chance against you now. You may not be able to beat me with swords yet, but you’ve gotten much better with knives and, like I said, Braydon is average at best.”

  “Is it wrong to hope that he does try to get me?”

  “Not at all. I hope that bastard tries it again. Only this time we’ll be sure to get some evidence.”

  “Exactly. We’ll—”

  Pain burst through Ash’s head, burning outward until it consumed his face, as if his very eyeballs were on fire.

  “Ash?”

  Ash collapsed into a ball on the dirt, clutching his head. Flames licked up his flesh, eating it away, melting it. He screamed and scratched his cheeks in a vain attempt to put out the non-existent flames. Something scratched at his eyes, scraped and pulled, and when he opened them, he could see nothing but black. He tried to scream, but something pinned his lips shut and tore at his flesh when he tried to open them.

  Fear, more fear than he’d ever felt before, roared up from his stomach. His heart raced into overdrive and his breathing stopped, choked in his throat. He wrapped his arms over his head and curled tighter, but the fear and pain refused to go away. He touched his lips but nothing held them together. He screamed.

  He tried to fight away the thought, but he knew with certainty where the pain and fear came from. Rae. That made it even worse than if it were his own body being consumed by flames. He couldn’t help her and yet he could almost hear her screams; they matched his own.

  “Ash!” Loren’s voice barely registered over the writhing pain and fear that filled Ash’s head.

  Ash squeezed his eyes shut, tried to see what Rae saw, but there was only blackness. He fought against the tide of pain but it encompassed every part of him, as if every cell in his body were simultaneously being wrenched apart. He begged for death, for any kind of relief from the extreme agony, but it clutched to him, grinding his bones into dust and peeling every flap of skin from his body.

  It stopped.

  Ash gasped and slumped, flaccid, on the dirt.

  “Ash! Ash! I told you not to heal me, now look what’s happened. I have to get Pulmen or someone. Ash!”

  Ash’s head pounded and the meaning of Loren’s words took a while to filter through but when they did, Ash sat bolt upright and forced his eyes open. “No.”

  “Ash!” Loren turned from the doorway where his hand clutched the handle in a white-knuckled grip.

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  Loren came to his side. “What in Talon’s name just happened? You were screaming…”

  Ash clutched his head and bent over, hiding his face from Loren. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks and his heart pounded an erratic rhythm. He strained and searched until he found a dull flicker; Rae was still alive. He allowed himself a brief flash of relief, but it didn’t last long, replaced by panic. He had to get to her. Whatever she’d been afraid of had hurt her badly.

  “Ash.” Loren shook his shoulder.

  Ash wiped his tears away with his sleeve and straightened, taking a husky breath. “I have to go.”

  “Yes. To the hospital.”

  “No,” Ash said. His legs trembled beneath him. “I have to leave. I don’t know if I’ll come back.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  Ash shuffled toward the doorway. He had to get his things from the dorm then he’d catch the first merchant cart going north. Even traveling day and night it would take days to reach the last crossroads, and from there he had to find the stronghold somewhere in the forest.

  “Ash!” Loren grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “What the hell do you mean, you can’t tell me?”

  “I have to go. I can’t tell you where or why.”

  “I can’t let you do that. If you’re in trouble, let me help you.”

  “No!” Ash said. “No.”

  “What am I supposed to tell everyone?”

  Ash shrugged as he turned back for the door. “Tell them I ran away, that I died, I don’t care. But I’m going and you can’t stop me.”

  “But, Ash…”

  Ash paused with his hand on the door. “Thank you. For everything.”

  He wrenched the door open and strode away, leaving Loren staring after him.

  58

  Ash shivered and pulled the rough blanket tighter around his shoulders. He sat in the back of a wagon that overflowed with fat pumpkins that jostled him at every small bump in the road. The gruff farmer hadn’t said a word since Ash climbed into the back of the wagon two days before, but that was fine for Ash.

  He’d barely glanced at Falconwall, bypassing its unfriendly walls and catching the pumpkin wagon as it left the northern gate. The city had far too many memories of Rae—and too much danger—for him to risk going back. Even thoughts of Tup and Sinder couldn’t bring him to enter the high city gates.

  He hunched his shoulders and glared down at the stony road as it disappeared behind the wagon, winding away from the warm, summer fields and into the cold, northern tundra. It had cost him every scrap of coin he’d managed to save, plus a few silver Trites Loren had tossed at him, to buy passage north and still it felt too slow. Rae’s presence hovered at the edges of his awareness, but every day it grew fainter, as if she were drawing away from him. He couldn’t face the possibility that it was because she was dying.

  He reached his hand into his pocket and clutched the warm stone within. It helped ease some of the chill from his muscles. He’d almost forgotten the creeping cold of the north, how it sunk to the bone and made every muscle ache. Each breath came as a tiny puff of mist that whipped away on the breeze.

  The farmer pulled the horse and cart to the side of the road and climbed down.

  Without a word, Ash set about collecting firewood from the surrounding trees while the farmer took care of the horse and wagon.

  Ash made a pile of small twigs, and while the farmer was busy, he gripped the heat stone in his pocket and channeled it toward the wood. A hot whoosh accompanied a pillar of flames that consumed the twigs. Ash hurled bigger logs into the fire before it went out, cursing himself for still not having control of his abilities. He rolled a large log into the flames, enou
gh to keep burning through the night, and settled back to stare at the dancing light.

  The farmer thrust a hunk of dried meat at him, which Ash took and chewed without tasting. He saw shapes in the fire, but he also saw energy, tendrils of it dancing and weaving about their camp, licking at the ground.

  The farmer wrapped himself in his thick cloak and lay down, facing away from the fire. Ash did the same even though he didn’t have much hope of sleeping. He’d barely managed an hour a night since he’d felt Rae’s pain. Every time he closed his eyes, he relived the torture. His mind conjured the most terrifying scenarios, which sent him into deep panic that he had to claw back from, only to wake drenched in sweat and unable to close his eyes.

  Ash stared into the darkness. Thin trees dotted the rolling land at the side of the road, although most of it was shrouded in darkness. The farmer’s snores filled the night, accompanied by the occasional whinny of his sturdy horse. Ash’s brain circled with thoughts of Rae, but every time they surfaced he pushed them away, trying with all his might to focus on nothing, to clear his mind in the hope of snatching just a few short minutes of undisturbed sleep.

  His eyes had just drooped closed when something rustled in the nearby grass.

  Ash’s eyes flew open but he could see nothing in the gloom. He waited, his hand creeping down to the knife at his side.

  Another rustle… closer this time.

  Ash slowed his breathing, trying to appear asleep. It might be an animal come to investigate the fire.

  Four shadows leapt out of the deeper darkness toward the fire. They brandished knives that glinted in the orange firelight. Two of them dove at Ash while the other two went for the farmer. They pinned Ash’s arms to his sides before he could snatch his knife and by the time the farmer woke, he was caught as well.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” said the man holding Ash. An uneven beard darkened his chin and the foul smell of his breath, gut-rot booze, made Ash gag. “We’ll just be taking your coin and your horse, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  Hands ran over Ash and searched his pockets.

  “Get away!” the farmer said. “That’s mine.”

  “Not anymore, friend,” the bandit said.

  The hands on Ash tugged the warm stone from his pocket.

  “What’s this then?” said a new voice.

  The lead bandit snatched it and turned it toward the light of the fire. “Looks like a rock, you idiot.”

  “But it’s warm.”

  “Probably been tucked in his ass cheeks.”

  “Seems like one of them magician stones to me.”

  The lead bandit raised an eyebrow and ran his eyes over Ash. “Been stealing from magicians, aye? That’s nasty business.”

  “Give it back,” Ash said through clenched teeth. He’d die before he let them take Rae’s stone; it was the only thing he had left of her.

  “Ah, so it is special.”

  Ash strained but the hands held him firm. His heart thumped faster. “Give it back, or else.”

  “Or else what? You’ll throw a pumpkin at me?”

  More bandits appeared out of the shadows, one of them leading the horse and another carrying a small bag which Ash recognized as the farmer’s coin purse.

  Ash’s rage burned brighter. All he’d wanted was to travel north, undisturbed. Now these bastards had attacked him and stolen from him. If he couldn’t confront a pathetic gang of thieves then what hope did he have against the Faceless?

  He twisted his head to stare at the fire and reached out for the snaking tendrils. They infused his body, spread through his chest and into both arms. The energy fed his muscles, giving him strength. He took a deep breath and wrenched free of the bandit.

  “Wha—?”

  Ash leapt to his feet. He stretched one hand toward the fire and with the other he pointed at the closest bandit. Flames snaked out of his hand and wrapped around the man. The man’s clothes caught fire and he turned into a flaming ball that shrieked as it collapsed to the ground.

  “Sorcery!” the lead bandit said.

  Ash drew more energy from the flames and hurled them at the bearded man. He tried to run but the flames caught him, choked and consumed him. His skin blistered and blackened. He rolled on the ground, but as fast as he put out the flames, Ash channeled more into him. The bandit convulsed, losing the strength to fight, and became a flaming corpse. The horse shied away from the flaming bodies.

  The other bandits dropped everything; knives and coins clattered to the ground. They turned and sprinted for the cover of darkness, their pounding footsteps and occasional curse echoing back to camp.

  Ash sent a few columns of flame out into the night after them, lighting up nearby trees and making the horse rear back.

  Ash let his hands drop, glared for a few more moments into the darkness, and strode to the bandit’s charred corpse. Rae’s stone lay by his side, singed on one side, but otherwise undamaged. He picked it up and tucked it back into his pocket before turning to survey the damage. Aside from the corpses, they’d come out none the worse for the attack. It was only then that his eyes fell to the farmer, who stared up at him, white faced and mouth gaping.

  “They’re gone,” Ash said. He slumped back onto his thin blanket, although he had no hope of being able to go back to sleep.

  “A sorcerer! You’re a sorcerer!”

  Ash shrugged.

  “I’ve been transporting a demon lover! May Talon have mercy on my soul.”

  “I’m no one’s lover, least of all a demon.”

  “Please don’t hurt me,” the farmer said. He edged away from the firelight, eyes sliding toward his horse.

  “I’ve been traveling with you for two days. If I wanted to hurt you I would have done it by now.”

  The farmer swallowed.

  “You should tie up that horse or she’ll run away,” Ash said.

  The farmer stood as if in a trance.

  “You could say thank you,” Ash said.

  “Th—thank you.”

  Ash nodded, although he couldn’t have cared less what the farmer thought of him, except that he needed him to get north. Ash had felt the usual rush of power when the energy of the fire raced through him, but now all he felt was empty and all he had to show for it were two charred corpses.

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Relax. It’s just a little trick I learned, nothing to be scared of.”

  The farmer nodded but he spent the rest of the night awake and staring at Ash. They left the camp before the first rays of sunshine crested the horizon. Where before their silence had been relaxed, now tension pulled it tight so that it seemed to strangle Ash. The farmer kept glancing over his shoulder, as if he expected Ash to snap and kill him at any moment.

  Ash tried to get comfortable between the pumpkins and resigned himself to a very long journey north.

  59

  Ash was unsurprised when at the next town the farmer made an excuse about having to stop to visit friends and handed Ash’s money back.

  Ash buried his frustration and managed to coax a trader named Ollie to let him ride in the back of his wagon. Ollie was headed toward Aelmere and his route would take him straight to the final crossroads. He seemed happy enough to ride in companionable silence after his first few attempts at conversation fell flat on Ash’s sullen ears.

  Now, two days later, swamps spread out on either side of the thin road. Drooping trees hung their leaves into the quagmire and occasional splashes echoed from across the still water. Rotten stench filled the oppressive air that left a layer of sweat on Ash’s skin. They’d passed the narrow wooden bridge toward Wichden the day before. Ash had barely glanced at the sign before returning his gaze to the road. There was nothing left for him in Wichden anyway.

  He smacked his arm, a splatter of blood colored his hand around the mashed corpse of a mosquito. He flicked the twisted insect away and swiped at the blood with his sleeve. The insects swarmed around their wagon like a cloud, their incessant buzzing
driving Ash insane. Every inch of skin itched from where they’d bitten into him and red welts covered his flesh.

  He smacked his leg, but too slow to catch the mosquito resting there. It lifted into the air and flew a short distance away, mocking.

  “Bloody bastards are everywhere,” Ollie said. “I did have candles that would keep them away but I sold them two towns back. Idiot.”

  Ash nodded and slapped his hand where a mosquito had managed to get between his fingers.

  “At least we don’t have much more of this left.”

  Ollie was right. By the time afternoon came, the still waters had retreated out of sight, turning first to sinking mud that would bury a horse in a few seconds, then to wet grasslands, and finally firming to solid ground. There, the stifling air became icy, freezing the sweat on their skin.

  Ash shivered and pulled his cloak tighter, although it did little to stop the northern frost. He reached into his pocket and cradled Rae’s heat stone, doing his best to channel the warmth up through the rest of his body. Steam rose from the frost on his jacket.

  “Whoa, you got a fire under there?” Ollie said.

  Ash glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugged.

  “Okay, okay, you have your secrets. I won’t pry. Still, I could do with something like that myself.”

  Ash fiddled with the stone, careful to keep it out of sight. “You might be able to buy one. From the Institute…”

  Ollie raised an eyebrow. “Familiar with sorcery, are you, boy?”

  Ash shrugged and turned away. After the pumpkin farmer’s response to his magic, he wasn’t about to show it off.

  “Best to keep that to yourself, lad. Still, I’ll look into it next time I’m in the southern kingdoms. The nights here get mighty cold.”

  Ash nodded and closed his eyes, pretending to fall asleep, although that was the last thing he felt like doing.

  They made bumpy progress for the rest of the day. The forest around them grew thicker, filled with towering pines and fir trees that coated the ground with pine-needles and dried logs.

  Evening set around them, the orange glow of afternoon darkening to a deep purple that barely penetrated the canopy above.