A Slave's New Purpose (4/?)

It’s looking at me again. Arthur gawked at the immense creature on the other side of the fence. The purple dragon was taller than the guards, larger than anything he had ever seen, cloaked in some sort of vibrant violet garment. It appeared almost frantic as it had stepped forward, backward, turned around, and started gagging into the bushes. Arthur could have sworn that its pupils disappeared for a moment. Arthur eyed as it peered over its shoulder at him. From the contorted look on its face, it looked like it was struggling not to vomit. Was it sick, or did he smell that bad?

Without prompting, the image of a deranged dragon bursting through a flimsy chain fence lept into Arthur’s mind, and he was on his feet before he had time to think. It was a mere fifteen paces away from him, only a few strides for the large reptile. He had to act quickly, but not so fast as to startle it. A few of the slaves had suffered from a mind-plague a few years past, and it had reduced them to nor more than frenzied animals. Arthur had no idea how a confused dragon might act, but he knew that showing weakness in front of a predator would only provoke an attack. Do not show fear. Maintain eye contact, deep breaths. Stand up straight. Absolutely do not show fear. Arthur straightened and took a single step back, staring defiantly into the dragon’s eyes.

The violet dragon watched him for a moment, turning back towards him. He waited a beat, then took another step back. The dragon stepped towards the fence, its single pace worth five of any human’s. Arthur unflinchingly glared at it as he slowly stepped away, and the dragon matched his movement, stepping right up to the metal barrier. Arthur hesitated. The dragon peered over the fence, the top of the razor wire just barely under than dragon’s front shoulders. It could step over the fence, but it would have to scrape itself up in the process. Unless dragon scales were harder than steel, in which case it could just walk straight through the fence without a second thought. Or it could just jump over the fence and crush him. Hell, it had wings, it could fly over it. Arthur stood his ground, trying to keep his body from shaking. You’re meat, a voice whispered in his head. You won’t have to worry about working in the mines. You won’t live until sundown. The last thing you’ll ever experience is the feeling of your flesh being ripped from your bones.

Arthur shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying force the thought from his mind. Vivid, gruesome images flashed before his eyes; fangs sinking into his flesh, claws piercing his skin and tearing through his stomach, bones popping and snapping under immense pressure, his eyes boiling inside their sockets as he was roasted alive and screaming, screaming. Oh no, oh God, no. He felt his heart quicken as his muscles seized, his breath reduced to shuddering gasps as cold, strangling terror filled his lungs. No, get a hold of yourself. It’s watching, it’s still watching. You can’t let it know you’re afraid! He sucked in air and held it in, forcing his rebellious heart to slow as spots formed in his vision. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him. Are you going to cry again? the dread taunted, voice clearer than ever. You can’t run, you can’t hide, you can’t even fight for your life. You have no chance of escape, now that you’ve failed. You were born a slave and you will die a slave. It is your destiny, your blood. It is all you are and all you will ever be. Arthur steeled himself against his doubts and looked back up at the dragon, who was staring at him with an arched brow.

“Are you alright?” A feminine voice asked. Arthur’s heart pounded in his ears. “Can you understand me?”

He jerked his head up and down. He heaved in air as the terror dripped out of his fogged mind, leaving his body exhausted.

“Good, that’s good. Can you tell me who did this to you?”

“Did what?” Arthur glanced down at his hands and chest, looking for signs of injury.

The dragon blinked, eyes half-lidded. “Never mind. Why are you over here, alone?”

“I… I’ve been sold. Master says I can’t train anymore.”

“Sold? To whom?”

“To the Sarlyst Mines. In Aureas,” he choked on the words. “They’re going to take me away tomorrow.” Tears blurred his vision, and he quickly wiped them away.

“The Sarlyst Mines. I see.” The dragon’s eyes grew cold, concern and pity gone from her face. “And, might I ask, where is your master now?”

“He’s in his office.” Arthur pointed in the direction of the building at the center of the compound.

The dragon locked her gaze onto the wooden building. She shut her eyes, and when they opened, they glowed an opaque, brilliant crimson. “Thank you for your assistance. Please step aside.” A chill ran down Arthur’s spine as a wave of force emanated from the dragon. The fence between them squealed and buckled under an invisible force, silver metal glowing orange with heat. She stepped forward, and the fence bent inwards as if struck by an invisible hammer, links squealing and hissing under the stress. The dragon continued on, unblinking and towering with unseen might. The fence shook and morphed as she approached, the wrought barrier seeming to cower at her presence. Arthur scrambled out of the way, not wanting to be between the dragon’s otherworldly strength and her destination. The fence bowed inward, and for an instant, it seemed like it would hold. A screeching thunderclap shook the earth, and Arthur felt his heart leap in his chest. He watched, full of awe and wonder, as the fence tore itself asunder under this dragon’s arcane onslaught. Molten bits of metal flew from the wreckage and hissed in the grass where they landed. The glowing remains of the fence smoldered and sagged under its own weight as the dragon marched on, unperturbed by the destruction left in her wake. The compound was silent as every eye turned to watch the sorceress stride forth, glorious in her fury. The guards stared dumbfounded at the monster in their midst, looking between the approaching mage and the smoking heap that had been a fence just moments ago.

Arthur followed close on the heels of the mage, giving the blackened hole she had left in the fence a longing glance. He could escape right now, and not a single soul would notice. But this dragon, this grand fiend of divine might, moved with a furious grace unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. The creature was a force of nature, and the earth bent itself to her will. Most of the guards, quaking in their useless armor, averted their eyes from the encroaching sorceress, lest her gaze fall upon them and work some unholy disaster upon them in her rage. One of the newest recruits, foolish in his youth and eagerness, stood his ground between the hero and her destination. He balanced on his hind legs, sword drawn and fangs bared, and for a moment, he appeared intimidating.

“Halt! This is private property, and you are trespassing! Please vacate the premises immediately!” The guard straightened, almost bringing himself to eye level with the sorceress.

“Bring me your boss.” The mage’s body radiated with heat. Her words could have melted stone.

The guard hesitated. “I won’t ask again! Leave this compound or I will contact the local authorities!” His voice cracked on the last word, and he shifted his weight from one clawed foot to the other.

“If you will not step aside, then I will move you.” The sorceress spoke with such certainty and power that Arthur shifted his weight, instincts tensed and ready to spring. The guard felt it too, and as he stepped towards her, Arthur felt an intense pressure build in the air.

“Vringasha!” The purple dragon snarled a harsh word, and for an instant, her eyes flashed with violet light. Arthur felt his ears pop as the air pressure shifted, watching as a cloud of forceful magic whooshed towards the solitary guard. The sword flew from his hands as he was lifted off his feet and into the air, a powerful updraft of wind holding him aloft twenty feet off the ground. His wings flapped in vain against the pillar of invisible force.

“What is this? Let me down!” The dragon flailed his limbs in a paltry attempt to escape from the magical restraint. His thrashing movements managed to spin him a bit, but otherwise proved useless against the arcane gust. Arthur was a mite disappointed; he had received more than a few beatings from the greenhorn and was eager to see that debt repaid.

The sorceress ignored the helpless guard, passing beneath the vertical gale unperturbed. Arthur felt nothing but a slight breeze as he followed her through the column of air. A few of the younger slaves snickered at the guard’s flailing, and Arthur felt himself grinning. Everyone in the compound had their eyes on the mage as she advanced on the warden’s office like a hero approaching the castle of the Great Devil. The remaining guards cowered in feigned ignorance, unable and unwilling to hamper the arcane intruder’s progress. Arthur watched his tormentors, the malicious, sadistic creatures that inspired hatred and fear, quail in the presence of this new enemy. This sorceress nonchalantly bent nature to her will, conjured hurricanes, and melted steel on a whim. Those Arthur had thought powerful and impervious were torn from their false pedestals by forces that went against the natural order, that broke and rewrote the laws of nature.

A deep, primal longing pumped through his veins, his fears unnoticed, his desire to escape from this wretched place forgotten. His heart surged, a vibrant quickening in his chest that filled his body with fluid energy. Even his anger and hate rage was overshadowed by an intense ache for this new, unknown divinity that had come in his hour of need, knocking down the barrier that had tormented him since the dawn of his existence. He had known fear all his life, him and the fence. This compound was a prison, and he yearned to be free of it; this much, he had longed since the moment of his birth. But now, a new goal emerged from the depths, a gravitational being that pulled his thoughts from freedom and sent his mind soaring to new heights. Aching need gripped his throat, swirling passion and violent awe forming a singular thought, eclipsing his present as he looked to what he knew was his future.

If he had even a sliver of that power, he could reshape his fate. He would heed no master. He would know no boundaries. He would not be shackled by a farce that claimed ownership over his life, his very soul. He would be free.

---

Oriana entertained the idea of burning the entire compound to the ground. The thought of reducing this hive of misery to smoldering ashes warmed her heart, but a leash of cool rationality kept a tight reign on her body. While letting her emotions run wild would give her a boost to her magical abilities, years of self-control lessons kept her amplified desires in check. The use of sorcery was a volatile practice, and a majority of her college courses had focused on staying in control of the bubbling, violent feelings that came with it. She still felt the residual rage from melting the gate, and conjuring the column of air made her impatient to finish her business.

She hated using wind magic. Out of respect for the guard’s courage, she dealt with him without causing physical harm, but producing even a small gust left her skin crawling with anxiety. His humiliation would doubtless fuel dozens of jokes and jeers among the slaves for years to come, but at least he tried to stop her. His co-workers busied themselves with menial tasks, none of them willing to meet her eyes. Oriana was incredulous at their incompetence. What was the point of having guards if they cowered before the first threat they met?

Oriana came to a halt a few paces away from the central building. Focus, Ori. No distractions, no needless violence. You’re here as an authority of law, not a vigilante. She steadied her breathing as she neared the shack that represented the heart of this blighted slave compound. She cracked her neck left, right. There was no need to exercise any more of her power, not when there were so many fragile civilians nearby. Slaves as they were, no one deserved to live in these conditions. She could still feel the tickle of the aura magic trying to press its way past her magical barriers, clinging to her scales and the back of her throat. She suppressed a shudder. This tyranny would end, today. How much property damage occurred between now and then was up to the warden.

“Warden!” Her voice shook the wooden shack on its foundation. She rolled her shoulders back, her claws digging into the earth with anticipation. Something felt out of place. Why had he not emerged after the havoc she had caused? For the better half of a minute, Oriana entertained herself by imagining how fast her quarry might emerge should the roof suffer from  spontaneous combustion. Before she could test her theory, the door creaked open, and out stepped a bespectacled yellow dragon. His brown suit was tailor-made to fit is upright form, his tie straight and pressed, his short, ash-grey horns polished to a professional sheen. Oriana wondered how professional he would look under several tons of mud and earth, but such thoughts were unproductive while greeting one’s enemy.

“Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?” The yellow dragon tilted his head to look up at her, his diminutive size not proving much of a threat. There was something about his eyes that put her on edge, something familiar that Oriana failed to place.

“I am Oriana Hemlock, official sorceress of the Drakean council and citizen of Drakean nobility.” She pushed her head back, straightening to a regal stance. The titles served little purpose; a majority of dragons in the area could claim membership on the council, but it gave some weight to her name.

“Well, sorceress, I am inclined to say that it is an honor to welcome you. My name is Selmer Altruvius, proud owner of this fine establishment. What exactly are you doing here?” The warden smiled, but there was no pleasure in it.

Ana blinked at the question. What am I doing here? she asked herself. No one appointed her to be a knight for justice. It would have been wiser to report the usage of illegal magic to the Drakean authorities, who would have gone through the proper channels to produce a warrant to enter the compound. Instead, she had stormed in like an angry beast, unwanted and unannounced, breaking more than a dozen laws. Blasting her way into the compound as a show of force would be deemed unnecessary by the authorities. Wheels turned in her head as her mind raced to find a valiant excuse. “I have come to discuss a business arrangement with you, on behalf of the High Council.”

“Oh?” Altruvius arched a skeptical brow at her. Being Trish’s acolyte allowed her the ability to speak on the High Council’s behalf, but her privileges had limits. “Well, normally the High Council is courteous enough to schedule a meeting. With your unexpected arrival, you catch me at a bad time. My property is currently in a state of disarray.” He gestured wide at the destruction in her wake.

“You needn’t concern yourself with appearances, Mr. Altruvius. Our business is urgent, and my visit will be brief.” Assuming I don’t decide to raze this whole slave camp, laws and regulations be damned.

“Of course. Please, step into my office.” Altruvius opened the door with a manicured claw, and he held it open for her.

Their size difference put him on edge, and he was trying to level the field. It was a futile attempt to regain control over the situation. Regardless of their size, she was confident that she could handle this pretentious businessman. With a flick of her fingers and a surge of magic, she began compacting herself down to upright size, drawing a few gasps from the slaves behind her. Arcane alteration was commonplace to dragons, but to most smallfolk, the process was strange and alien. Among the smallfolk, it was both rude and horrifying to quintuple in size without warning, or so she had been told while studying in Altrea. She had almost been suspended from the University after a heated debate with a classmate turned violent. The argument had been over which of them had a better understanding of the advantages and shortcomings of fire evocation; she ended up the victor, of course, but the headmaster had a stern word with her over which methods of debate were acceptable in scholastic circles. Growing to her full height and grinding a fireball against her scaled chest was ‘not a very academic way to make an argument.’ She was prohibited to ever change her shape unless given explicit permission, and even then, she was under strict supervision. The process always drew a few gasps and stares from non-draconian bystanders, and today was no exception. Even after shrinking to her upright form, she remained a full head taller than the warden.

“After you,” Oriana offered, returning his mirthless smile. As he turned and stepped back into the small building, Ana glanced out at her audience and saw one slave standing a few feet behind her. It was the boy she had seen moping by the fence, but his sorrow had been replaced with a furious intensity. As soon as their eyes met, he blurted out a string of indecipherable syllables.

Oriana squinted. “What was that?”

His words came out in a shouted rush. “Please, take me with you!”

Oriana blinked. “I’m, uh, not in need of a slave right now. Sorry.” It was easy to pity the boy, but the same could be said for any other slave.

“Please, I’m begging you!” Tears welled and flowed from the boy’s eyes as he choked back a sob. She glanced about, unsure how to respond. Sensing her hesitation, the boy stepped forward and sucked in a deep breath. In a low, submissive voice, he chanted a rhythm in rapid succession. “I am a trained slave of the Altruvius Company, and I will do anything you ask. I can cook, I can clean, I can read, write, and sing. I can do anything, I will do everything: simply ask, and I shall act. You can work me to the bone and I will not falter, you can make any demand and I will obey. What I do not know, I can and will learn, and I make an excellent instructor for anyone willing. You won’t find a more loyal, more capable, more willing slave in all the world.” The slave gasped, his words getting shorter and quieter towards the end of his breath.

They stood through several heartbeats of silence. Oriana stared, stunned by the mechanical, memorized clarity of the speech. It was chilling to imagine slaves pitching their own lives to potential buyers, giving vocal consent to be treated like livestock. “Sorry-” she began, but was cut off by a hoarse whisper.

“I can’t stand another second in this wretched place.” Desperate, pleading eyes met hers, and Oriana saw an haunting agony behind his helplessness. “For the love of God and everything precious, get me out of here. Please.” Oriana felt a spark of arcane energy, and out of more reflex than volition, her magical sight activated.

The slave’s body glowed. The spiked tendrils of fearful energy that had been grabbing and piercing at the boy’s body recoiled away from an aura of clear force emanating from the boy’s body. Flaxen claws raked to no avail against the barrier, the oppressive magic failing to pierce the abjuring veil around the boy’s mind. Oriana marveled at this new curiosity. He still bore countless scars and bleeding wounds from the magic’s previous damage, but for the moment, he was unhindered by the oppressive aura’s influence. The boy had will; pure, indelible will that could be shaped and wielded like a scalpel or a sledgehammer. Or in this case, a shield.

But the protective bubble wavered. One of the claws wriggled through a crack forming in his defenses, and as soon as the yellow spear pierced his skin, the barrier crumbled. The claws descended on the unprotected human like hungry wolves, thorny vines burrowing deep into his flesh and drawing fresh blood in new places. Oriana shut off her sight before she could watch him succumb to the influence of the toxic atmosphere, but she could still see the slave sag in exhaustion. Whatever strength had possessed him, it was gone.

“Please,” he mumbled, the word no longer carrying the magical ring it had before. His breathing was heavy and labored. His eyes, still locked with hers, held a spark of defiance present among the fatigue and pain. His fiery passion had been reduced to a dull throb, but the flicker of desire remained, ready to blaze forth at the smallest hint of hope. He possessed the mental strength and magical aptitude to resist the aura’s effects for a brief moment, and the slave’s vigilant spirit smoldered through the thick shroud of despair. With tireless effort and study, the human could grow to be a capable mage, and if left unregulated, such intense willpower could prove dangerous to himself and those around him. Under the guidance of a trained sorceress, he could be a force to be reckoned with. Plus, her recent promotion came with a plethora of legwork, and having an assistant would be quite convenient.

She smiled. “Sure.” The boy’s look of shock mixed with utter relief warmed her heart as she turned from the boy and entered the lair of her opponent.