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

by Saffron Bryant

  The energy left his hand and panic seized him. He convulsed, his eyes rolling back in his head. His limbs jerked, smacked against the desk and threw him from his chair. He tried to breathe but his heart and lungs seized in erratic rhythms.

  He scrambled to hold onto consciousness but stars filled his vision and he fell into blackness.

  “If you don’t tell me exactly what he was doing, I’ll have you thrown out of here faster than you can blink. Duke or not.”

  “I told you. He was trying to practice control but something happened. I don’t know what!”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot? I’ve seen a thousand cases of energy depletion.”

  Ash recognized the voices of Professor Pulmen and Loren. He kept his eyes closed because every inch of his body hurt. It was as if he’d spent the last week running, jumping, and lifting weights and now his muscles were rebelling. Even his lungs hurt when he breathed, and every beat of his heart created dull pain deep in his chest.

  “This is just what I warned Thimble of. But did she listen?” Pulmen said.

  “Did I hear my name?” Thimble’s voice joined them.

  “Yes, you did. The idiot tried to channel his own energy. I’d stake my life on it. After you specifically forbid him from trying advanced magic. You better expel him for this, Thimble.”

  “You know he’s awake?” Thimble said.

  “What?”

  Ash opened his eyes and met Thimble’s gaze.

  “You can always tell, if you know how to read energy flow,” Thimble said.

  “This is hardly the time to be showing off,” Pulmen said. He stepped forward so he towered over Ash. “What in Fel’s name were you doing?”

  Ash blinked against the bright lights and looked around. He recognized the hospital room. Loren stood to the side, looking miserable, while Thimble and Pulmen stood by his bed, both furious.

  “I was practicing control…” Ash said, voice hoarse.

  “Rubbish.”

  “Perhaps let him finish,” Thimble said.

  Pulmen scowled but waved for Ash to continue.

  “I was practicing control,” he said. “When instead of taking energy from our fire, it was like the energy was coming from inside. Once it started flowing I couldn’t stop it. It was so cold.”

  “Lies,” Pulmen said. “You were practicing advanced channeling.”

  “No,” Ash said.

  Thimble pursed her lips and turned to Pulmen. “Do you have proof he was advanced channeling?”

  “Of course not. His idiot roommate brought him in here like this.”

  “Without proof, I can’t punish him.”

  Pulmen’s jaw worked. He spun away from the bed and strode for the door. “Fine. Hopefully, next time he manages to kill himself and save us all the trouble.”

  Thimble stared deep into Ash’s eyes. “If I ever suspect that this was because of advanced channeling, I will see you hung, not just expelled.”

  Ash swallowed and nodded, although the motion brought ringing agony to his temples.

  Thimble nodded once and strode from the room.

  Loren’s shoulders slumped and he came to the bed. “What the hell were you thinking? I told you not to do it. I told you!”

  “Did I light it?” Ash said.

  “What?”

  “Did I light it?” Ash tried to grip Loren’s shirt but his arms fell useless at his sides before they got there.

  “How can you even ask that? Do you realize you nearly died? I had to carry you all the way here and then it took six healers to channel heat from four furnaces into you! And when they were finished those furnaces were as cold as ice!”

  Ash grimaced. “I feel like I died.”

  “This isn’t funny!” Loren said. “Didn’t you hear Thimble? She’ll have you executed.”

  “Did I light it?”

  Loren rolled his eyes and turned, throwing his hands into the air. “Yes, you bloody lit it! I don’t see how you can be thinking about that now, but yes, you bloody lit it!”

  Ash grinned. It would have been bad if he’d risked everything only to not light a candle.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” Loren said, striding to Ash’s side and glaring down at him.

  “Loren, I—”

  “No. If you try that again, I’ll tell them what you’re doing.”

  Ash froze. “What?”

  “I’ll tell them. I will, if only to stop you from killing yourself.”

  Anger pushed Ash’s heart to beat faster and pain throbbed against his ribs. “You don’t understand. If I can’t channel at any time—”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Braydon will kill you. I’ll teach you how to use a knife, and a sword, I’ll teach you to use a bloody mace if that’ll knock some sense into you.”

  Ash stilled. If he learned how to use a real weapon, he’d have more of a chance than he would with his uncontrolled channeling. “I can’t ask you—”

  “We’ll call it a trade,” Loren said. “I’ll teach you to fight, you teach me channeling. It’s settled.”

  Ash forced his muscles to relax. “Settled.”

  56

  Ash leaned against the rough stone of Yarrow’s tower, gasping for breath. Every muscle ached and his legs trembled, threatening to collapse and send him sprawling across the hard, rock ground. He’d had no choice in coming; Professor Thimble had made it clear that despite his unexplained episode, he still had to report to the tower for his punishment that afternoon. So he’d come, dragging his limp body along as if it weighed four times as much as usual.

  Stars danced at the edges of his vision. He blinked and lifted his hand toward the iron knocker. Before it got there, the door swung open with a wailing squeal.

  “Ash,” Yarrow stood in the doorway in a dirt-stained robe. “Thimble warned me you’d be coming by.”

  Ash tried to stay upright. “I’m supposed to clean your tower, sir.”

  Yarrow waved him inside. “Sit.”

  Ash fell into the nearest chair and held his head in his hands, fighting off the urge to faint.

  “You don’t look like you’ll be much good for cleaning anything.”

  “It’s part of my punishment—”

  “I’m well aware. However, as I’ve told the Council on multiple occasions, I don’t want some stranger going through my things, especially not a misbehaved student suffering from over-channeling.”

  Ash massaged his head. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Yarrow.

  “But they don’t listen to me. So to keep them and me happy, what say you just sit there for the next three hours and I’ll tell them you did a wonderful job?”

  Ash frowned. “What?”

  “Oh, for channeling's sake. What did you do?”

  “Accident,” Ash mumbled.

  Yarrow snorted. “I’ve heard about your abilities. You didn’t over-channel accidentally.”

  “I was trying to control my channeling and accidentally started drawing on my own body energy.”

  Yarrow stared him in the eye, expressionless. “If that’s the story you’re trying to sell, fine. Who am I to disagree? But I should warn you, I don’t believe it for a second.”

  Ash shrugged and let his head drop back into his hands.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it? I’ve suffered my share of over-channeling. Don’t you worry.”

  “Pulmen said he couldn’t do anything for it,” Ash said.

  “Then the man’s a liar.”

  Ash lifted his spinning head. “So there is something for it?”

  “It’s not that different from channeled healing, but it does take some practice. Hold still.”

  Ash froze as Yarrow lifted a casual finger toward the fire and then flicked it toward Ash. A wave of heat wrapped around Ash’s body and sunk through his skin, into his very muscles. It soaked away his aching exhaustion and chased the stars from his vision until he felt good as new, if not better.

  Ash gaped and stared down at his arms; th
e cuts had disappeared. “What did you do?”

  “You were suffering from over-channeling—you’d used up too much energy. I just put some back.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  Ash ran his hands over his limbs once more. “And that bastard Pulmen said he couldn’t do anything. I just about died getting here, and he could have fixed me with a tiny flick of his wrist.”

  “Don’t be too hard on the Professor,” Yarrow said. “It does take some skill to replenish another person.”

  “You did it.”

  “I’m somewhat of an anomaly.”

  Ash studied him. Now that exhaustion had fled his body, his thoughts finally flowed properly and questions surged to the forefront of his mind. “You lied.”

  “Did I?” Yarrow fiddled with a white stick on the table that looked suspiciously like a human bone.

  “You said I’d find information about the Faceless Monks in the southwest corner of the library. There’s nothing there.”

  “Oh, that.” Yarrow tapped the bone on the table so it made a hollow drumbeat. “Yes, I lied.”

  Ash ignored the dull drumming, even though he could now see the smooth end of the bone where it used to form part of someone’s knee. Instead, anger took hold of him. “I asked you a simple question! If you didn’t know the answer you should have said so, not sent me on some wild chase. I’ve wasted months searching!”

  Yarrow stopped drumming and looked him dead in the face. “Were they wasted?”

  Ash faltered. “What?”

  “You didn’t find anything valuable while you were there?”

  Ash scowled, his mind swooped back over the last few months of its own accord. If he hadn’t been searching in the southwest corner, he wouldn’t have found the advanced magic textbook, he would never have learned about the different powers or sources of magic, and he would have been even further from being able to save Rae. “I suppose not entirely wasted…”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Did you put that book there?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yarrow said, returning to drumming.

  “Do you know where the Faceless Monks are, or not?”

  “Are you ready to tell me why you want to find them?”

  “No.”

  Yarrow shrugged and kept tapping.

  “The Council said you and I were similar,” Ash said. “What did they mean?”

  The room fell into silence and Yarrow studied him. It felt to Ash as if the older man’s eyes could see straight through him, to his heart, and could read every secret written there. “Why do you think we’re the same?”

  “I don’t know. I heard you were good at channeling when you went here.”

  “I was, although I think you’ll find they meant something deeper than that.”

  “Deeper?”

  Yarrow nodded.

  “Can’t you just give me straight answers?”

  “That wouldn’t benefit either of us. Are you ready to be honest?”

  Ash held his breath to stop himself from blurting out the truth. Inside a war raged between the cautious part of him that reminded him it was a death sentence for both him and Rae if anyone found out they were twins, and the reckless part of him that knew he’d never save Rae without the information Yarrow offered.

  “My—” Ash cleared his throat. “My sister was taken by the Faceless Monks. I need to find their stronghold so that I can save her.”

  “Your sister?”

  Ash nodded. It wasn’t a lie; it just wasn’t the whole truth.

  “The Faceless Monks kill their captives. Everyone knows that.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  Yarrow fixed him with a grave expression. “She may as well be.”

  Ash gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. “Do you know where she is, or not?”

  “Why did they take her?”

  “Because they’re monsters!” Ash said, the words escaping before he could stop them.

  Yarrow froze, and then a brief smile flicked across his face. “Yes, they are.”

  Ash paused, replaying Yarrow’s words in his head. They could get the old man killed, and yet he’d spoken as if it were the most unimportant thing in the world.

  “You shouldn’t go,” Yarrow said.

  “I have to save her. It’s my fault she got caught.”

  “Perhaps,” Yarrow said. “But if you go, all that you’ll get is dead. She won’t thank you for it.”

  “I’m learning advanced channeling. I’ll save her.”

  Yarrow rolled his eyes and tossed the bone at the fire where it clattered against the stone hearth and lay surrounded by green flames. “Fool boy. Do you know nothing about their power?”

  The room felt suddenly colder and darker, shadows clawed at Ash’s legs and reached out for him from the corners. “I know they’re powerful but—”

  “But you think a student with some mediocre talent in channeling can take on the entire stronghold?”

  A weight sunk through Ash’s stomach and he fought hot tears that stung the corners of his eyes. “I have to at least try. I’m learning everything I can, by the time I go—”

  “You won’t be even a hundredth of the way prepared.”

  “What do you expect me to do?!”

  “Let her go,” Yarrow said. “Not everyone can be saved.”

  “She can be. Now either tell me where they are, or I’m leaving.”

  Yarrow stared at the opposite wall. “You shouldn’t go. I know you probably will anyway, but I’m telling you not to. Nothing good will come of it.”

  Ash remained silent, every muscle in his body tensed. This was it, the information he’d come to the Institute to learn.

  “Their stronghold is in the Northlands, beyond Stonewall. It’s northwest of the final crossroads. If they took her, that’s where she’ll be.”

  Ash let out a long breath that seemed to drag the strength out of his body, and he slumped against the table. “The Northlands.” His chest quivered, it was so close to Wichden, to what had been home. He wouldn’t leave straight away; he still had so much more to learn… but at least when the time came he’d know where to go.

  “Don’t go, boy.”

  Ash straightened and met Yarrow’s hard eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

  57

  Ash scurried back so that Loren’s sword swung wide, missing him by mere inches. Ash darted left and swiped. His wooden training sword whistled as it struck at Loren’s shoulder.

  Loren twisted and lifted his own blade so that they smacked together with a dull sound that echoed back to them from the nearby buildings.

  They’d cleared an unused courtyard, out of the way of any prying eyes, and had practiced every day for weeks.

  “You’re getting better,” Loren said.

  Ash leaned on his sword, gasping for breath, and wiped sweat from his forehead. “Not enough.” Despite his best efforts, Thimble refused to move him to the advanced class and they’d taken away his advanced textbook. He practiced what he could, but without proper training he couldn’t get far.

  “Ready?” Loren said.

  “Already?” He’d barely begun to catch his breath.

  “Do you think Braydon will wait for you to be ready?”

  Ash lifted his sword; it wavered in the air.

  Loren struck first, his blade knocked Ash’s out of the way and smacked against Ash’s thigh. Sharp pain jabbed through Ash’s leg, followed by a wave of numbness. He hopped back on his other foot.

  “Ow!”

  Loren chuckled. “A little trick I learned as a Ranger.”

  Ash took three deep breaths and forced his leg down, despite its tingling. He studied Loren’s footing and feinted right. Loren went to block, and Ash brought his sword around to Loren’s left side.

  Loren threw himself forward and caught Ash around the waist, they sprawled to the ground. Loren landed on top and pinned Ash’s s
maller body to the hard ground. He snatched Ash’s sword out of his hand and tossed it to the far side of the courtyard before pressing his own blunt blade to Ash’s neck.

  “Be careful about over-committing.”

  “Bloody Talon,” Ash said.

  Loren stood and retrieved Ash’s sword, tossed it to him.

  Ash caught it and rubbed his elbow where it had smacked into the hard-packed dirt.

  “Again,” Loren said.

  Ash readied but he couldn’t focus. He had to keep fighting back waves of anger that threatened to come gushing forth over Loren. He knew it wasn’t Loren’s fault, but he couldn’t help panic seizing his chest. He needed to be able to defend himself.

  Loren came at him and they exchanged a series of blows, their blades clacking. Ash managed to ward off Loren’s attack and start an offensive of his own. They danced across the courtyard, sending up small puffs of dirt.

  “Come on,” Loren said. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  Ash gritted his teeth and swung with more fury, his blade a blur as it whirled at Loren’s head from all directions.

  Loren grinned, which only drove Ash’s anger to greater heights. He pushed his aching muscles, faster, harder, but try as he might, he couldn’t break through Loren’s defenses. Ash’s muscles flagged; each blow weaker than the one before. With a desperate cry he put all of his strength into a final swing.

  It smacked into Loren’s sword and Ash’s blade exploded into a shower of splinters. Sharp pieces of wood grazed Ash’s skin and left tiny lines of red, before they scattered across the courtyard.

  “Whoa,” Loren said, letting his blade drop.

  Ash stared at the broken stick in his hand. Now the end was a jagged mess of deadly spikes.

  “Maybe we should call it a day.”

  Ash slumped into a nearby patch of shade and took a drink from his waiting water skin. “Sorry.”

  Loren sat beside him. “Not your fault. Sometimes these things break.” He tossed his own sword to the ground. “Just remember, real swords are sharp.”

  “When will we start using them?”

  “When you manage to hit me with a wooden one.”