Your Blood
“Why he got those chains?”
Kole slumped limply on the ground. The fire in his eyes persisted, but the fight was out of him. A sharp jab to the stomach left him vomiting on the leafy ground, the followup now showed in his swelling eye.
“He’s a slave, course.”
“Why he got all dem scars?”
“He’s a bad slave.”
The gang of mercenaries stood in a semi circle around Kole. Two of the others seemed disinterested, but the two that now stared at the youth made his flesh crawl.
He’d been foolish and stepped away from camp. The lure of wild berries was too much for Kole. Berry juice now mingled with blood and brushes around his mouth. The mooks caught him in the open. There were more of them than him, it was a quick fight.
“What we gunna do wit ‘im? Just skin and bones, not much good fer liftin’ shit, He’ll slow us down.”
“I dunno. Something about those scars. He’s covered in them. Old ones, fresh ones. They’re patterns.”
Kole stiffened. The common folk didn’t know what they meant. They were just superstitious and took them as a bad sign. The man grasped Kole by the chain around him neck and hefted him to his feet. Kole tried to look away, look at his feet, feel small and unassuming.
“Could sell 'im. Dunno who’d want a mashed piece of meat like 'im though…”
“Someone does. These are new chains. He’s not hurtin’ for food. He’s clean.”
“Make up your mind and let’s be goin’. Daylight is wasting.”
The first man didn’t respond. His hold on Kole slackened, dropping the boy to the ground. Kole scurried away. The man’s veins bulged against his skin, blue on pale white. The others gave started cries and turned.
“You could return him to me.” Said a familiar voice. Kole looked on with a combination of relief and resignation. It was the thaumancer, standing in the clearing, blood running down his arm from a new gash, the gore glittering in the light with power.
“Fook. Blood witch!” One of the men gaped. “Get him before we all be cursed!”