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

by Saffron Bryant

  He reached out further. In the next row of trees sat a raven. He reached out for it and wrapped his mind around it. It flapped its wings once before Ash took control and sucked the energy from its frantically beating heart. He grinned as the broken fragments of his skull knitted together. The trees provided a slow, ponderous energy but the raven had heat and movement. It was like a rich delicacy in the bare forest, and Ash drank its energy like a starving man sucking grease from the bottom of a pan.

  The raven toppled from the branches. By the time it hit the ground, it was nothing but a white skeleton with a few black feathers clinging to it. They waved in the breeze, a grim parody of the flapping wings from just a few seconds before.

  Ash relished in the surge of fresh warm-blooded energy and channeled it through his own broken body, knitting together his broken flesh and pushing his bones into place. More… He needed more.

  He reached out the feelers of his mind, reached between the trees, strangling them, sucking the life back into himself.

  The circle of destruction reached twenty feet in all directions, leaving him a twisted black figure in the center of a cleared section of forest. He thirsted for more warm energy, more heat to feed his chilled body and fight the frostbite that threatened to overcome him if his broken body didn’t kill him first. But the animals of the forest must have sensed him because nothing moved, nothing breathed, anywhere in the circle of his awareness.

  A deeper simmering rage joined the other hot flash burning him up, but he put it aside. He’d deal with it later. His skull had fused and his limbs had straightened, leaving just the gaping hole in his stomach where the branch had skewered him during his fall. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, readying for one last rally. He took a deep breath and held it, pushing his awareness out further than it had ever gone. He snatched and grabbed at every spark of energy within his reach and clawed it back to his chest. More trees shriveled in on themselves, their leaves falling in blackened heaps. Even the dormant plants beneath the snow shriveled and died. Insects, deep in the dirt below, convulsed and fell, their legs curled up against their bodies and their tiny sparks of energy flew up to Ash.

  He channeled the energy to his stomach where it pulled the tattered pieces of his intestines back together, followed by his abdominal muscles, and finally his skin until just a puckered scar remained.

  He grinned and fell back, staring up at the dark sky. He’d never felt so exhausted and yet so powerful at the same time. His heightened senses flew through the forest. He could hear leaves rustling in the distance, could smell dirt and ash, could even taste the trees he’d consumed. His mind buzzed and he had trouble focusing his eyes, but his body, which had been on the brink of death just minutes before, was whole again with a few dull aches to remind him of the damage. His heart fluttered and even the roiling clouds above seemed insignificant in comparison to the power he’d had; he’d been unstoppable.

  He blinked. The short moment of elation died as thoughts of Rae flooded back and filled his mouth with the taste of soot. He glared at the gray clouds and his hands clenched into fists. He lurched to his feet and stumbled, head spinning. Only then did he feel the bone-deep chill of his slush-soaked clothes. He shivered and his muscles cramped, hurling him against the blackened stump of a tree. He stayed there, leaning against it and took a shallow breath that left a cloud of mist in the air before him. With trembling hands, he reached into his coat and pulled out Rae’s heating stone. He clutched it close to his chest, ready for its healing warmth.

  Instead of heat, it felt cold as ice and chilled his fingers.

  He stared down at it, mouth hanging open. Dead. The warmth of the stone, which had kept him alive through so many lonely nights, had died. The logical part of his mind knew that he’d sucked the energy out of it and that the warm fire back in Falconwall had probably been reduced to a cold pile of black coals, but in his heart it felt as though he’d lost a part of Rae. The only thing he had of hers lay cold and lifeless in his palm.

  His hand clenched around the stone, knuckles white. New rage rose in his chest, burning against the cold chill. He pulled back and hurled the stone into the trees with all his might, accompanied by a primal scream. The motion made him stumble and fall to his knees in the cold snow but he kept his eyes locked on the rock as it flew through the branches, snapping twigs as it went, until it disappeared in the depths of the forest.

  Ash fell forward onto his hands and stared down at the snow. His arms and legs shook under his weight and the tips of his fingers were blue. For all the power he’d had, he wouldn’t survive another hour without heat, without more energy. He considered curling into a ball and letting the cold carry him away, but he couldn’t; not when the fire of revenge burned in his heart. He lifted his heavy head and looked out at the forest. Dead stumps surrounded him, but farther away, trees still filled with life stood tall and strong.

  He pushed himself up and lurched forward to the nearest blackened stump. The scent of decay and rot filled the air and the wood collapsed under his hand with a puff of black dust. He stayed there for three rasping breaths and then pushed himself off toward the next dead tree. He moved in a reeling stumble from tree to tree until he reached the last line of dead stumps. He fell forward onto his knees and rested his palms on the nearest living tree. Black rot spread like veins out from his fingers, wrapping around the tree and spreading upwards, burrowing deep into the bark. Leaves pattered to the snow around Ash, some coming to rest on his shoulders and skin, staining them black.

  Thin warmth spread into Ash’s fingers. Some of the blue color faded and feeling returned so that he could sense the ridges of the rough bark. The tree shriveled and Ash’s seizing shivers abated to a dull shaking. By the time the tree collapsed on itself in a rotten husk, Ash had enough strength to stand.

  He strode to the next tree and placed his palm against it. This time the black tendrils raced across the bark and the tree was reduced to a pile of ash in just a few seconds. Ash rolled his head and his neck cracked, the sound echoed through the empty forest. He straightened and strode to the next tree, sucked the energy from it, and moved on.

  He strode through the forest like a demon, leaving a trail of dead trees in his wake. He glared forward, unseeing, as he stormed southward, away from the Stronghold. He had one thought, one purpose.

  He would destroy the Faceless Monks, no matter what it cost.

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  Do not use energy from the living. Do not reanimate the dead.

  Warnings that had been drilled into Ash. Unbreakable laws that no one ignored.

  The Faceless Monks changed that.

  If they could be so brazen as to do it, then so could he.

  The shattering of long held beliefs has taken Ash outside of the law. His blatant disregard of the rules could ruin whatever chance he has of getting revenge on the Faceless Monks, and rescuing his beloved sister.

  Ash understands that there are consequences for his actions. Consequences he intends to ignore to get back what is most important to him...whatever the cost.

  Find all of Saffron’s Books At:

  www.saffronbryant.com/books

  The Nova Chronicles

  Survivor

  Pilgrim

  Hunter

  Gambler

  Justice

  Junkie

  Adventurer

  Prisoner

  Stranger

  Hero

  Transforming Darkness Series

  Last Escape

  Last Fight

  Last Refuge

  Other Science Fiction

  The Descendant

  The Last Martian

  Skin Deep

  Fantasy

  Shadow of a Slave

  Shadow of a Mage

  Shadow of a King

  About the Author

  Dr Saffron Bryant was born on the 17th December 1990 in a small town in North Queensland, Austr
alia. She has been interested in fantasy and science fiction from a very young age, writing her first story at the age of seven. She has always been fascinated by fantasy stories and has a passion for The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.

  After an unpleasant encounter with a brain tumour, Saffron turned to writing as a creative outlet and has since published more than fifteen books.

  Saffron currently lives in Sydney with her partner Michael Lee, and recently completed a PhD in chemistry.

  www.saffronbryant.com

  saffron.j.bryant@gmail.com