Blood-Bound Ch2
#2 of Blood-Bound
Whew, I read the first two reviews I got before I started writing chapter two.
Really wanted to make sure that it was OK, and that people liked it! :)
(I don't have much self confidence :p)
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BTW, Drak is a title, similar in meaning to 'master'.
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Ch.2
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I held the cloth barrier aside and bowed low as Grash passed me to approach Tiran. Grash cut a clean figure, his large, scaled body, hugged by form fitting clothes. His scales gleamed in the light from the window, deep blue reflections coming off of them. His head was graced by two rear facing horns, coming to a sharp point just behind his head.
The clothes he wore shifted in the light, seeming to be every complimentary color to his scales at once. I watched the woven pattern switch lazily between a gold thread rune to a rust colored dragon. The main color shifted whenever I blinked, changing from light gray to a dull gold.
I eased myself in and stood to the side, being as unobtrusive as possible. Drak seemed curious as to what the customer required, and this time I made certain that I would not open my mouth to offer an opinion.
Tiran stood, extending his wings slightly in a stretch as he let out a light sigh. He easily moved forward and extended his hand in greeting, applying the same pressure that he had to me earlier. Drak kept a polite look on his face as his eyes filled with disdain, obviously judging the man before him based on clothing and mannerisms.
"I would like to thank the owner personally for the wonderful meal I have had today." Tiran said in his wonderfully lilting voice, giving a slight bow to Drak. "Your staff is wonderfully trained, and this young man has a wonderful opinion of food. I would not have been able to enjoy my meal as fully if he had not offered a suggestion while I was looking at the menu."
At these words I paled immediately, wishing I could run, or fade into the wall. Drak's eyes caught mine as I held my polite expression, and I could see a wicked gleam in them telling of a light punishment for what he had heard. My mind ran through all the scenarios of how Drak would find out about me eating with Tiran. Maybe a blood-bound would tell him as I was receiving my current punishment, or it would spread through the entire staff, working its way up to Drak in a few days. Either way I was doomed.
"And tell me, were there any other suggestions? How did the meal go?" Drak asked, making my stomach drop to my feet. He would not need another to tell him rumors or suspicions, the hawk-man would tell him exactly what had happened, no assumptions to cover what I had done.
"The meal was wonderful, we talked as we ate the food." Tiran stated. Then, looking thoughtful, he added, "He has some wonderful ideas that would most likely make this restaurant one of the best in the world." I remembered only small bits and pieces of the conversation we had had, but in none of those memories had I shared the deeply buried ideas with the hawk-man. I paled further, panicking more than before. Not only was I going to be punished, I had no memory of doing the crime.
Expressing ideas to a Freeman was like signing a death warrant. Blood-bound were only allowed to express ideas directly to their masters, and only when asked. And most masters frowned on that!
"I would like greatly to meet with... Oh, my. I haven't gotten your name!" said Tiran's musical voice as he looked straight at me, obviously waiting for an answer.
"I-I am N-numb-ber Thirty Th-three." I stated politely, my voice trembling as my hidden shaking came into the open. My face paled further, and silent tears ran down my cheeks. There was no way I was going to come out of this alive. If Drak Grash did not order my execution immediately I would die from the torture.
Rumors went around the blood-bound that Drak had a thing for torture. He was said to have a whole sound proofed room in his apartments. Inside he would torture the human blood-bound that had crossed him mercilessly, sometimes sealing himself in for days at a time.
I had seen it happen once, five years ago. The man had come out, but barely. His eyes were dead and he didn't eat or drink. It's not that he refused, it's that he just didn't. There was nothing inside of him.
He had died a week later.
"Number Thirty-Three?" the hawk-man questioned, "That's not a name. Please, tell me what your name is."
It all made sense now. Tiran had not reacted negatively to me expressing my opinion earlier because he was oblivious. He knew nothing of the blood-bound. He had no idea what would happen to me, or what could happen to me, just for letting a little bit of unprompted speech slip from my mouth. He had no idea that talking to Drak was going to get me into the worst trouble of my life. Not even when I had worked at the bath house had I gotten into this much trouble.
"I a-am a slave." I spat out, my eyes filled with tears, "A blood-bound. I am nothing, therf-fore I have no name. I am N-number Thirty-Three." By now my whole body was shaking, silent sobs wracking me as my legs let out from under me. My knees hit the tile hard, one cracking and probably broken. But it was nothing. Nothing compared to the pain I was going to face. Nothing compared to the endless torture that would crush my soul.
My legs were splayed out behind me as I stood on my knees, keeping myself straight and my face polite from the years of practice. The loincloth folded on the floor beneath me, the long tatters not having broken my fall in the least. My face was wet, and then there was a sharp feeling on my neck. My eyes cleared and I looked at Drak. He had a small silver knife in his hand.
It slid down my skin gently, not yet parting it until he reached my chest. The pain was excruciating, more painful than it had any right to be, but I kept my face straight and polite, stilling my shaking. Crying would only make the situation worse, but I knew nothing could make it better. He started on my left side, about four or five inches above the nipple.
"Now," Drak said to the stunned hawk-man, "If you will excuse me I have to get along with the punishment." The blade dragged into my skin deeper, curving around coming to a point before he dragged it over the same pattern. Blood dripped down and my sobs started again, I was going to die.
"Wait!" Tiran yelled out, finally breaking from his trance. "He is a slave, correct? I will buy him from you."
At this Drak smirked. "And how much would you offer for this well trained blood-bound slave."
"Five gold." Tiran stated confidently. The knife in me stopped moving as Drak stared. I stared at the hawk-man also, disbelieving. Five gold was a small fortune in itself. I was worth nowhere near that much, maybe close to one gold, maybe! Five gold would buy Drak ten replacements for me, each needing only a little training. It was an outrageous amount, but I knew Drak would not take it at that.
"Well..." Drak stated calmly, resuming the knife dragging through the same pattern on my chest and extending another point that cut my nipple down the middle. "I might be persuaded to sell him for six."
"Deal, but only if you stop with the knife right now."
The knife halted in its tracks, then pulled slowly out. Blood poured down, but I didn't feel it. I was lost in thought. This hawk-man had only known of me for an hour and he was paying six gold. I resolved that I would not let him down if he believed in me that much. I would be there for him, and serve him to the the best of my abilities. Drak took a chain of blood coins from around his neck and carefully selected mine. A large copper one with a chaste mark engraved into it, like the rest of the coins.
He pressed the coin into the stream of blood that had already reached my waist, then placed it into his own palm. He made a quick incision with a gold plated knife that he had pulled from a coat pocket then offered the blade to Tiran. Tiran looked at the blade, then made a quick incision on his upper arm with a sharp talon. Drak pressed the coin and his own bleeding palm to the hawk's arm, covering the bright glow that showed the trade had been completed.
I looked at my new Master, my eyes tearing up at thoughts of what he had saved me from. Then I looked at Drak... No, not Drak anymore. Now he was simply Grash, no longer Drak, no longer Master. He looked back down at me and smirked, then walked away.
Master bent down next to me and tore off a bit of the loincloth, pressing it to my chest to stop the bleeding from the almost feather shaped gouge. I ached in many places, but my heart was no longer one of them. I would do everything and anything for Master to thank him, for my life was his. It would not exist without him.