Page 27 of Shadowbound

“There’s power inside you boy—power that must be brought to a head. You need to learn to use it for the glory of our GodKing!”

The old priest’s voice stirs fear in my soul. In his hand, he holds the hot iron. He’s been holding it in the flames of the hearth as he lectured me about the Celestial Fire. I’m only seven—my mother left me here less than a month ago. I still cry for her every night. And now this scary old man is telling me I must learn to “build the fire” inside me and threatening me with a brand. I don’t know what to do!

“You must learn!” he shouts at me, his spittle wetting my cheek. His breath smells like the grave and there’s a mad glint in his faded eyes. “For the glory of the GodKing!”

He presses the hot iron into the flesh of my bare back—he made me strip to the waist when he brought me to the small, windowless room. The air is smoky from the fire and I feel the brand like a stinging flame. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt in my life!

I scream in pain but there’s no one to help me. I cry for my mother but she’s gone—she left me and I’ll never see her again! There’s no one to rescue me and I feel the fear and the Holy Fire building inside me like never before.

“Like that—just like that! Build it—let it grow!” the mad old priest cries. He heats the brand again and again he shoves it at me.

I try to dodge away but the room is small and the door is locked—he’s faster than his age would lead anyone to believe. He burns me again and again and again and I feel the pain and fire inside me rising to a fever pitch as I scream until I’m hoarse. It hurts…it fucking hurts!

Suddenly I feel a hand on me, shaking me. I swing out blindly—the mad priest, I must escape him! Then cool fingers are on my temple and someone is murmuring something in a language I don’t recognize.

The dream fades and calm washes over me. I look up and see a beautiful face floating over my own. The lips part and I see fangs. Am I dead? Is she a lovely demon sent from Hell to get me?

And then she speaks my name.

“Alaric,” she says. “Alaric, come back to me.”

I don’t know her at first, but then I remember her name—Sylvanna. She’s not a demon—she’s a Sorceress and I belong to her now. But that can’t be right. No one owns me, do they?

Yes they do—she does, whispers a soft voice in my head.

“Mistress?” I groan, looking up at her.

“Yes, Alaric—it’s me.” She strokes my cheek with her cool fingers and I feel safe and cared for. “Come on—come to bed with me,” she urges. “I’ll make sure the dream doesn’t return.”

I hear the ring of truth and follow her willingly. Sylvanna woke me and broke the power of the dream—I must be hers.

13

Sylvanna

At first I’m not sure what woke me up. It sounded like shouting and thrashing but I live alone—there’s no one else here to make such noises. Then I remember the Paladin—my new Blood-servant.

I slip from the bed and find him half-out of the small servant’s bed I sent him to sleep in. He’s moaning and thrashing. Low cries come from his lips.

“No—no, don’t hurt me! I’ll serve the GodKing but don’t hurt me—don’t burn me!”

My heart seems to catch in my throat at his words and I remember the cruel brand marks on his back. Quickly I reach for the Jewel of Knowing and press it to my temple.

What I see makes me feel sick. Alaric is so young in his dream—just a little, tow-headed boy. He is stripped to the waist in a dark room and an evil, crazy old man is hurting him—burning him over and over with a brand! Alaric is crying—begging for his mother, begging not to be hurt or burned but the evil old bastard won’t leave him alone. He just keeps shouting about the glory of their fucking GodKing!

I don’t usually curse or get angry, but this scene from my Paladin’s past horrifies me. I reached for him but he swings and I barely jump back in time. He doesn’t know his own strength—not asleep as he is now. I must break him out of this dream and calm him.

Carefully, I gauge his movements and then rush in and touch his forehead at the right moment. I murmur the words of a Dispersement spell, banishing the evil memories from his mind and breaking the power of the dream. Then I call his name.

“Mistress?” he looks up at me uncertainly and I see there are still tears in his eyes. My heart burns again for his younger self—that little boy I saw being tortured in the dark room.

“Come to bed with me,” I tell him. “I’ll make sure the dream doesn’t return.”

I know I’ll be breaking my own rules about letting a Blood-servant come to bed with me, but I can’t leave him alone again—not after what I saw.

He staggers to his feet, towering over me, a mountain of muscle in the darkened room. So much power contained in a huge and impressive package. Yet in my mind’s eye, I can’t help seeing that frightened little boy.

“Come,” I tell him again and lead him to bed.

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