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Slave King Chp 2

 
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avwedhorn



Joined: 01 Feb 2008
Posts: 49

PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2010 7:42 pm
Post subject: Slave King Chp 2
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Chapter 2

Doral swept the outer chambers of the hall of war wizards, his eyes lowered. Beatings had taught him long ago not to make eye contact with the masters in their rune-marked black and silver robes. His deformed foot dragged behind him as he did this same task that he had been doing for as long as he could remember.

The two passing masters had made derogatory statements about his own master keeping him. Scathing remarks about how he should be killed for his deformity. Sharp tongued comments that Doral knew, they would not dare utter in my master’s presence.

If not for his master the other war wizards would have killed him off long time ago.

Their derisive and scornful sneers proved how the Elvynn believed.

Perfect in every way, Doral thought, schooling his face to remain calm although angry bile burned the back of his throat. Humans and other lesser races were beneath them and one with a deformity, he glanced down at his foot, his hands tightening into white knuckled on the broom, were worthless.

My master, he thought balefully, is the only reason I’m still alive. Maybe, this year, he might heal my leg. Bone mends weren’t that difficult. He couldn’t work the magic on himself, he had tried several times.

No one but Loriass knew about his abilities. Doral doubted there was another human in Talathandria who could work creational magic, much less have earned it from the Elvynn Highmage. Early in his childhood he had started mimicking the things he watched his master practice in privacy.

Loriass had explained once that the ability had probably been forced into him by all of the magic wielded at his time of conception. Refusing though to send him away, the supreme mage had instead kept him close. Constantly, stating, “You are my reminder of what unrelenting pride and shame can lead to.”

The Highmage had made him swear oaths that he would never reveal what he could do or that he had taught him. Teaching a slave, especially a human slave, the more superior forms of creational magic was a penalty punishable by death.

Looking down at his hands holding the broom, and thinking about what magic he had been practicing earlier Doral knew, he was capable of more than his master realized.

Growing up in the war wizards Tower of Talathandria, he had learned early on where the Elvynn were concerned, never reveal how much power you have unless you are in the ruling family, or it could be used against you. But when it came to displaying magical prowess, all of the Tua-latin took exorbitant amounts of pride in their achievements. He had watched and learned how to do all of their displays. His master, the most powerful war wizard on the planet had made him constantly study his every move and action both magically and physically for as long as he could remember.

Despite his cruelness and icy nature, Loriass was the closest thing that he had to a family or father. Unlike the other war wizards of the Tua-latin Loriass believed, use and practice with everything. He practiced with weapons as much as he did with magic.

As Highmage, Loriass had a difficult time finding adequate training partners. He killed all of them so that they couldn’t reveal any weaknesses to any other war wizards seeking his post.

Finally, he had trained Doral to be his fighting partner. Despite his twisted leg and bent foot Doral managed at times to hold his own against his master.

Turning a corner in the mages’ tower, his broom moving across the silver and black marble floor, he saw a new addition. Eyes fixating on her, he felt his breath catch in his throat. She was elegant in form but the sight of her face caused his eyes to widen. Jagged whip scars covered both of her cheeks. Her dark eyed gaze caught him looking and she started to turn away, but he stopped her with a quick smile. Seeing that there weren’t any masters about, she demurely returned it.

Adjusting his sweeping, Doral angled in her direction. Slaves were not permitted to fraternize except during times of respite, early morning or in the late afternoon. Talking during working hours bought a harsh punishment that could vary depending on how severe the master was or in his case, who the master was.

Using hand signs, something that the masters in their arrogance hadn’t figured out, Doral asked her name and master. Using the same mode of speech, the pretty slave responded, Bethany and was owned by Iindra Nye.

Iindra Nye was a name Doral knew. She was an up and coming war wizard, one of the Tua-latin from a lesser house who his master spoke of showing much promise. When Doral told Bethany his master’s name, her eyes went wide and she dropped the figurine she was cleaning. As it shattered into tiny fragments, the blood fled from her face. She stared down at the mess, cringing at the sound of the breaking statue.

Seeing her distress and the look of fear Doral did the one thing he never was allowed to do. Hastily throwing a look about the hall and seeing no masters, he quickly sought out the lines of power and gathered the creational magic to him.

Using a small trickle of creational power, he hurriedly reformed the shattered statue into a solid piece and bonded it back together with a holding spell.

The female slave’s eyes went even wider than earlier. Rubbing a hand across her face, as if trying to hide her scars, she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor. As if she was speaking to one of the masters, she gasped in a soft voice, “You can work magic?”

Doral gaped incredulously, not sure what had come over him. Fear coursed through his veins like ice in a frozen river and his magic fled. He couldn’t believe what he had done. If Loriass found out he would kill him.

Quickly, before any masters appeared, he anxiously hissed, “I can only do that much. Please don’t tell.”

“You did it to protect me,” she responded softly, trying to ease his fears, and still trying to shield her face. “I’ve heard that some humans in the Du’artha slave mines could work magic but I didn’t believe it. My mistress said that they were all killed for doing so while revolting.”
“A revolt? Du’artha? Where’s that? I’ve never heard of such.”

A small, hard smile curved the edge of her lips and twisted her scars. “Your master keeps you safe and protected, sheltered in his chambers. Dwelven, dwarves and humans in the slave mines have tried launching several rebellions. The humans, this time, tried learning the dwelven’s magic to overcome the masters, but most failed and they were again put to death. Their bodies were hung on chains throughout the tunnels above the heads of the rest of the slaves to serve as learning lessons.” She grimaced, a small shiver coursed through her body, as if she too had seen the corpses.

“How do you know all of this, how’s it possible that you’ve heard this and I have heard nothing when my master is who he is?”

“My mistress, Iindra Nye, rules over the slave mines. She is reporting to the Queen about this revolt. Your master is probably learning of it in the Highchambers right now.”

Doral shook his head, letting out a soft sigh. This would put his master in a foul mood. Staring down at his deformed leg and foot, he knew he would have to live with it a little longer.
* * *
“You seem distracted?” hissed Loriass.

Doral tore his eyes off of the broom propped up against the side of the chamber wall and his thoughts of the girl. Valiantly, he tried making an effort to avoid what was coming but Loriass was quicker. Spinning like a top, his master’s staff snaked inside of Doral’s defensives and before he could stop it he was slapped hard in rapid succession. Both sides of his ribs, his balance slipped and the staff was between his legs. Surprisingly enough the blow that normally would have caught him in the testicles and crumpled him didn’t come and instead Doral found his feet knocked out.

He landed hard on the tiled floor, air exploding out of his lungs and his own staff flew out of his hands. Before he could gather his senses enough to move he felt the tip of Loriass’ staff hitting him in the throat.

“Just because today is your named day doesn’t mean that you can allow yourself to become distracted when we fight. If you were anyone else right now I would kill you for such disrespect.”

For a moment fear filled Doral, how could his master know, he had only just met her a few hours ago.

“Your leg, you are thinking about it again and whether or not I will heal you this year, right?”

Hiding his sudden rush of relief behind a downcast face, Doral quickly answered, “Yes master, I have been thinking about it, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to fail you.”
Silently, he stared at Loriass taking all that he was seeing, he wasn’t the only one who seemed out of sorts, his master seemed distracted. That never happened.
* * *

The robed figure strode into the room and all of the slaves besides Bethany sucked in their breath, fell back a few steps and threw their heads towards the floor. Iindra Nye pushed back the cowl of her black and silver hood revealing her face, a face out of a nightmare. Her features were a gruesome mask that looked as if they had been melted and molded by a hideous fire. Her eyes burned in the sockets with a feverish light as they fell upon the female slave. Bethany saw a faint suggestion of a smile play on the edges of her mistress’s twisted mouth.

The Elvynn woman spoke, her words barely rose above a hiss as if that was all the noise that she could manage. “You met his slave today, pretty Bethany?”

“Yes mistress,” answered Bethany, keeping her head low and her eyes lowered. “We talked for a few moments in the hallway outside of his master’s rooms.

“Good,” hissed Iindra, flicking a tongue out, licking her scarred lips. “Now all you have to do is find a way for him to take you inside his master’s chambers. He must do that! Once you are in, you can lay the seeds for his master’s destruction, the groundwork that will lead to his defeat and allow me to move into his seat of power.” Iindra’s hand shot out in a blur of speed, her long nails seizing Bethany by the face, digging into the scars on her cheeks, causing the female slave to cringe from the pain. “You must not fail in this,” she hissed, “if you do, your life will become forfeit and you will be cast back into the mines where I pulled you from. Do you understand me human!” Eyes blazing with emerald green fire, she thrust the female slave away. Drawing more creational power into her, Iindra turned and faced the rest of the gathered slaves. All them cringed like beaten dogs and moans began to fill the air as she advanced.
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