Original fantasy novel, 5th draft

[Dragon Mage]

So yeah, my futuristic fantasy novel. First chapter. Enjoy!



Draft 5

Part 1

Chapter 1

Razina leaned on the door to her shabby apartment and thumped it with her shoulder. The wood squealed and popped open, nearly sending her sprawling on the floor. She muttered curses at the door as she tried to regain her balance and hasten inside.

"Raz, dear? Is that you?" The old, cracked voice came from the apartment next door.

Razina, halfway through the door, closed her eyes in silent suffering. She took a step back into the hall and grinned at the elder woman.

"Hi Mag! Why up so late?"

"You've been getting back so late, recently! I can't help but worry if that scumbag boyfriend found you and I just can't get to sleep."

This time Razina's smile was of amusement. It's amazing the sympathy she got after discretely spreading the story that she was hiding from an abusive boyfriend. People stopped asking questions when they heard that. "Thanks, Mag, it means a lot."

Mag smiled and said the six dreaded words. "You know, just the other day --"

Razina rolled her eyes, knowing it'd be hidden by her sunglasses. Those six words heralded a plunge into hours of reminiscing. All she wanted to do was get to the end of a long day.

A light meow and loud purring around her ankles gave an escape. Razina scooped up her large black and white cat. "Sorry Mag, I wish I could stay and talk but Tinker'll be eating the furniture if I don't feed him! See you in the morning!"

Razina had retreated into her apartment and closed the door before Mag had finished saying goodnight.

"God, that woman talks too much. I'm sure the military would love her. The first non-magical sonic weapon in existence! What do you think?"

Tinker meowed as he followed her to the kitchen.

"I know, I'm such a riot. Life of the party! I agree. You little flatterer."

She scooped out his daily ration of catfood and made sure he judged it adequate for consumption before she went for a shower.

Under the warm stream of water, she poured a generous amount of shampoo on her black hair and scrubbed vigorously. Exotic dancing paid the bills, and was certainly the last place a salvage team would look for an escaped slave, but she hated the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume that inundated the place.

She thoughtfully traced the spidery runes around her wrists as the hot water melted away the thick make-up she slathered on her wrists, neck, and ankles every day. Once, the runes had been functional, but the magical binding had broken when her last owne died. The magic may have left but the runes remained. Until she found a mage who'd remove them without asking questions or turning her in, she'd have to live with them.

After she'd finished washing and dressed in a pair of ragged jeans and a t-shirt, she inspected her jury-rigged defense system. A retrieval team trying to capture her at night would be in for a surprise, though she doubted any team sent after her would be hampered by her stolen ward. Battle slaves were as dangerous as they were valuable, and only the best mercs were sent to recapture them.

Satisfied that all the defenses were still set, the runaway went to make some soup from a cheap dry-mix package. Tinker padded around the kitchen after her as she went about making it, nearly tripping her more than a few times. Such instances earned him a few colorful oaths and, shortly afterward, an apologetic kiss on his head.

She was halfway to the small kitchen table, mouth watering, and carefully monitoring the brimming soup bowl when the ward chirped a warning to her.

The soup bowl shattered on the floor, splashing the cat with warm water.

Just as the door to Razina's apartment burst to kindling, the lights went out.

*

The lead man of the salvage team, Kader, flicked on the gunlight and panned around with the small beam. Seeing nothing more threatening than some threadbare furniture, he gave the signal for the others to enter. The men and women of the salvage team swept past him with the smooth movements that came with long training and experience. Only the mage stayed behind in the hallway, their last resort.

Kader entered last, his back to the doorway and the single spluttering bulb in the hallway. He leaned to his right and, after a moment of groping, flicked the switch. Nothing happened.

"This is the police!" Kader bellowed. "Come out with your hands up!"

A small meow answered him. Six rifle lights scattered around the room until one focused on the large cat that had made the noise.

The cat was wet. It padded to the middle of the room and proceeded to clean off the soup broth from its fur, oblivious to the six strange people around him.

Three gunshots exploded in the quiet. The muzzlefire came from a hallway to the left of the front door but cast no illumination. The three bullets hit the woman nearest to the doorway, and all three pinged off the magical barrier protecting her.

The woman immediately swung her rifle around and squeezed off two tranq darts automatically. The darts audibly thumped into wood.

"Hold your fire!" Kader hissed. The woman grimaced in silent apology. But the damage was done -- the escaped battle slave had tested their defenses and knew what she was up against. They wanted her alive. Now she'd wait for them to come to her, use a sword inscribed with runes of piercing. Bullets were perfect for warfare, but useless against specialized troops with magical protection. Only insanely priced ammo that was of the full metal jacket variety could carry the runes needed to break magical defenses without obliterating the runes in flight. Such ammo was usually made for sniper purposes only, on account that no method had been developed to mass-produce magical items.

Kader duck-walked back to the mage standing in the hallway. "We could use a bit of light," he said gruffly. He hated to rely on the mage to seal a job, but this was a deadly slave they had here. According the slave's history, she'd survived three war zones protecting various generals and had a flawless record of intercepting assassins. The amount of kills attributed to this one slave was more than any two slaves he'd recaptured combined, and there had been some very deadly ones in the past. If the situation called for magic, so be it; he wouldn't risk the lives of his people on mere pride.

The mage smirked, but stayed silent. He wore the same combat gear as the rest of them -- wizarding robes had gone out of style back in medieval times. Taking a step forward, he traced the rune for light and spoke the spell. Nothing happened.

The mage shook his head. "She's got a ward on the place. I can't get rid of it."

Kader held back a sigh. "Can you use your magic at least?"

If scorn had an edge, then Kader would have been sliced in half by the look the mage gave him. "Yes, of course, but it would take hours to break this ward. It's high quality home-defense stuff."

Kader slowly rolled this over in his mind. "Home defense? So we can't see..."

The mage finished his thought. "But she can." He shook his head. "I've never seen a slave this well prepared."

Kader grunted: Neither had he. He took a moment to consider his options. There was always the option of sending the mage in first to try and draw her out, but she might bring him down and they might need him later. Best bet was to do a sweep of the apartment and try to flush her out where the mage could snag her without being in danger.

He cursed under his breath, then returned to his team in the apartment. Using various hand signals, he split them into three groups of two. One group to stay at the door if she ran, one to search the kitchen area, and the last to search the sleeping area.

The lead man of the bedroom group kicked open the door to the small bedroom. The cat hummed threatningly. The sound startled him badly -- he hadn't seen it there on the bed. He waved the muzzle of the rifle, trying to shoo it away. He'd be damned if he let a cat give away his position.

Tinker hummed again and suddenly cut off, the lambent eyes turning toward something in the dark.

The lead man turned --

And two feet of cold steel plunged into his ribcage. The man behind him immediately fired two rounds into the battle slave that had seemingly materialized from the darkness. The darts pinged off her own magical protection.

He cursed, backpedaled and tried to draw his sword, but she was too close. She thrust the blade straight through his ballistic armor and chest. The rune-inscribed sword glowed icy purple beneath the coating of blood.

Razina could hear a second group in the hallway that connected the kitchen and bedroom. Another pair were coming towards the hallway she stood in, the lights from their rifles already sliding over the wall. In a few seconds, they'd have her.

She sped to the far wall of the bedroom and stepped through it. Hidden behind the illusion that concealed the closet, she waited for the teams to meet in the bedroom.

The two teams charged into the bedroom -- and found it empty. Razina held her breath as the mystified lights drifted through a darkness she couldn't see.

A woman moved right in front of the closet, her back turned to the illusionary wall. Moving slowly, careful not to make any noise, Razina pulled the pin of a flash-bang grenade, let it cook for a few seconds, then rolled it out into the room.

The woman saw it just as it detonated.

Shrieks of pain and rage dully registered in her muzzy hearing as Razina emerged from the closet. Even with her hands over her eyes, an afterimage had been seared into her vision. The mercenaries were either stumbling around or on their knees, pawing at their eyes, screaming.

Razina put her clubbed the first merc between her and the doorway with her sword hilt and stumbled into the kitchen hall. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her watering eyes as she ran to the kitchen.

Tinker had hunkered down under the small table on the wooden legs to avoid the still-warm soup broth spreading across the floor. Without missing a beat, she snagged Tinker and ran for the apartment door, sword in hand. She was three feet from the door when her weight suddenly quadrupled.

Tinker dropped to the floor as her arms flung out for purchase on anything. She hit the floor hard, gasping for breath against a crushing weight that wasn't there.

The mage shed his magical camouflage and only glanced at her as he rushed for the hallway where the others were stumbling from, still blind.

Razina watched, her bones groaning from the pressure, as the mage attended to the leader of the team then turned to the others. The lead man saw her watching and stomped over, ripped off the bracelet that held the protection enchantment and swung around the barrel of his rifle. Two darts sank into her back.

She was dimly aware of Tinker licking her brow before everything went black.

 

[Dragon Mage]

Chapter 2

Razina stood on display on a small square platform, kept immobile by a type of paralysis spell, and watched the buyers meander along the slave market. All the potential buyers were well dressed and sipped expensive wine. A gray-haired man accompanied by a blonde woman less than half his age stopped in front of Razina and glanced at the lightscreen that held her impressive record as a battle slave.

"This is a very fine specimen, sir," said the salesman. A nervous, mousy man, he had a bad habit of twitching his nose when under stress. Razina had been watching him dart in and around all the various slaves on display, trying desperately to sell one of the discounted 'problem slaves' while still keeping the price at least a quarter million. She wished him luck with that.

"The records say it has discipline problems," said the gentleman. "Surely Sentinel, the esteemed and respected battle slave company that it is, doesn't expect me to buy a slave that would refuse my commands?"

The salesman started babbling, as he always did. "Of course not sir, but I assure you that the binding runes are of the newest and most efficient designs and are inscribed by a senior mage and--"

"Does Sentinel just toss out problematic -- and dangerous -- slaves to its clientele without first solving the discipline problem? Is the safety of the consumer really so... trivial?"

Razina watched in amusement as the salesman's nose twitched fiercely and he puffed up his thin chest. "I assure you, sir, all that can be done to safely break the will of a slave has been done. Sentinel is completely dedicated to providing the best and most reliable slaves as bodyguards and protectors and will do anything necessary to supply such slaves. This slave has an unusually strong will--"

"And when is that my problem?" The gentleman's gaze bore holes through the salesman, whose nose was twitching a mile a minute. The young blonde beauty grinned at the salesman's obvious discomfort.

"Well, ah, sir, you see..."

A new voice suddenly entered the conversation. "I like my slaves with a strong will. Makes them more flexible. Natural initiative. They can defend you from yourself."

A middle-aged woman strode up to the group, and studied Razina's naked form with an appraising eye. She wore the silvery-blue formal robes of a magess of the Seventh Rank, a rank capable of powers so great, it was often treated to as almost deific.

"Yes, exactly, my lady!" The salesman, grateful for the life raft unexpectedly tossed his way, began to babble on about the benefits of having a battle slave capable of taking initiative to nullify potential threats.

"Isn't that right, Mr. Cauldwell?" the magess asked. The salesman fell silent, suddenly aware that a contest of wills far greater than he was at work.

Cauldwell stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"Slaves, particularly battle slaves and bodyguards, function more efficiently when they possess a strong will. In my experience, slave that do not have such qualities serve their masters poorly."

"I've find that hard to believe. My slaves have always served me well. Obviously I wouldn't be here now if they hadn't protected me and my interests perfectly. I see no need why a slave should be allowed to preserve some notion of independence."

The magess smiled politely. "I see. May I ask where your slave is now? Is this it?" She gestured to the blonde who was still hanging on Cauldwell's arm.

Cauldwell cleared his throat. "No, this is Tania. My slave went to my wife in the divorce."

The magess feigned shock and dismay. "Oh dear. I heard something of a divorce, but I hoped they weren't true! My condolences. If I may ask, why the separation?"

He stiffened and cleared his throat again. Razina would have grinned if she could move anything besides her eyes. The news of the affair involving the CEO of MagiTek Inc. had been all over the news a few days after she'd been recaptured. "She discovered that I was engaged in an inappropriate relation. She found out by interrogating my former bodyguard slave."

"Ah, how unfortunate. A shame that your interests could not have been protected better. A slave is only as good as their ability to keep secrets, correct? The old practice of cutting out tongues of royal slaves seems to have some merit after all. Ah, well, it's truly deplorable your slave could not protect you in this one matter. Quite sad when a slave cannot summon enough force of will to resist answering one little question to protect their master."

Cauldwell glared at the magess, who in turn gave him a smile of the utmost politeness and sincerity. He gave a curt goodbye and stormed off into the slave market, jerking his mistress along by one spindly arm. Razina never tired of the scent of scorched pride.

The salesman coughed meekly and rubbed his nose. Razina figured it had to be sore with all the twitching. "My lady--"

"I'll buy it."

He blinked. "Beg pardon?"

The magess had turned back to skimming over Razina's combat history. "I said I'll buy this slave." She glanced up at the salesman, who'd given up trying to conceal his confusion, and sighed. "Cauldwell is a fool, a brilliant one, but still a still a fool. He wouldn't know a good slave from a fence post. He would've bought this slave and used the discipline problem as an excuse to drive the price down by no less then forty percent. I'm willing to pay fifteen percent off the price you are asking. Now will you sell it to me or not?"

He bowed frantically. "Yes my lady, I'll get the forms right away. Shall I have the slave readied for transport?"

"That will do nicely, thank you. I will do the binding myself, however."

The salesman motioned for the mage that worked at the market to deal with the still immobile slave. The mage, wearing the rust-colored robes of the Third Rank, bowed incredibly low to the magess, then turned to Razina and spoke a word of the spidery arcane tongue and snapped his fingers. Razina blinked and found herself inside the loading dock, her skin tingling from the teleport spell. Two men grabbed her before she'd even realized she had control of her body again and a third put a steel collar on her neck. The other two locked her wrists into the cuffs attached to the collar, wrote the name of her buyer on her bicep with a marker then pushed her into the line with the other kneeling slaves awaiting pickup. One of the handlers ran a thick chain through the ring on the back of her collar.

Repel screens and synapses-inhibitors were used every day for criminals, but such technology wasn't wasted on locking up mere slaves when chains and a little magic did just as well. Criminals, for all that they had done, were still human. Only Tainted were slaves, and so slaves had no pesky humanity to worry about.

After a few minutes, when the handlers were busy playing poker, the slave next to her, a thin, weary looking man, spoke in undertone. "Hey. You're a battle slave right? Can you read who my buyer is?" He had what appeared to be teeth cresting from red bumps all over his body.

Razina twisted against the metal collar, trying not to disturb the chain, to read the name scrawled on the man's bicep. "It's McGrath. How'd you know I can read?"

The man sighed in relief. "Thank God, I was afraid it'd be Millsur. I saw the extra rings of protection runes on your arms and figured you must be a battle slave. Those are supposed to be taught to read, right? To read, like, orders and stuff?"

"Yeah, something like that. Though every general I ever guarded never wrote me an order. I think it's because when someone is trying to kill you, you don't go 'oh look, someone is trying to kill me, why don't I write my battle slave a nice note telling them to kill the assassin?' '"

The man chuckled, and the chain clinked a little. One of the handlers looked up, his hand slipping toward the energy whip at his belt. The slaves sat deathly still. Finally, the handler lost interest and turned back to his game.

The McGrath slave whispered again. "I wish I could read. I can't even remember my name. Just a bunch of numbers."

Razina said nothing. One of the handlers had just lost an unhealthy chunk of cash in the poker game, and stormed away from the table, glaring about for something to vent his rage upon. His eyes met Razina's before she swiftly looked away.

He removed the energy whip from his belt.

***

Razina had a number of owners in her past, and each had two ways of transporting a new slave -- put the slave in the back seat of the levcar, or put the slave in the trunk.

This owner preferred the trunk. The collar made lying down a bit tricky, but she considered it rather cozy after she'd managed a suitable position. It was a big trunk. She had the unusual sensation of flying, as she sat there in the pitch black, which she supposed was true. A few flawless bars of sky crystal on the bottom of the limo is all it took to let it glide through the air. The piccolo notes of tiny gimble-mounted turbines increased or decreased as the driver steered. The hollow thrumming of the main turbine, directly below the trunk, set Razina's bones to humming.

Enclosed in the humming darkness, Razina found her first moment of peace and quiet in months. In the ward for runaway slaves, there was never a moment of quiet. Heavy metal rock shrieked nonstop, wearing down the mind and will of the problematic slaves. It was easier for the torturers to break the mind of a weary slave. She soon fell asleep.

A rush of cool air woke her. She opened her eyes to the incredibly hideous face of what could only be the slave overseer. He looked like a wax figure left too close to a fire -- one eye had slid down to his cheekbone, and three smaller ones made a bridge to his other eye. His nose had unsuccessfully tried to meld with his mouth, and it was only a wonder how he could talk. But his eyes -- all five of them -- were a breathtakingly beautiful blue-green, a cruel mockery in contrast to the rest of his body.

"Come," he said. His voice sounded like gurgling mud. Razina struggled and wormed to get out of the trunk, a task made all the more difficult since she couldn't use her arms. The overseer made no move to help her. Muttering a dire Klopesh curse, she finally set foot on the the springy roadmoss on the driveway. Evening had already come, and the bio-luminescent moss had just begun to glow.

Turning, Razina had the first glimpse of her new owner's home. She whistled in reflex. The mansion was enormous, a magnificent house of elaborate and intricate architecture with pointed arches at every opening. She turned at a small musical chiming behind her and beheld an enormous crystal tree dominating the garden in the middle of the circular driveway. It gave off an ethereal light blue glow from within and the crystalline branches chimed again in the wind.

"I can't wait to see the bathroom," Razina said.

The overseer drew his energy whip and lashed Razina across the back before she knew what had happened. She fell to one knee on the soft roadmoss as the overseer flicked the whip again and again, gritting her teeth against the pain. Energy whips affected the nervous system, causing pain but no damage, ideal for slave handling.

"Do not speak!" The overseer gave her one last flick of the whip to reinforce his command. Then he grabbed her collar by the ring on the back and jerked her to her feet, and began marching her across the beautifully sculpted grounds.

They eventually reached what looked to be the slave quarters. With the overseer pushing her ahead of him, he brought her to the communal shower, pushed her under a showerhead, and turned on the freezing water. When she was clean enough, the overseer grabbed the ring again, and pushed her into another room where another slave waited and left. This new slave, a woman of some age, with bony protrusions erupting from her flesh, smiled at Razina. She withdrew a tape measure from a pocket and began to take measurements, dictating the numbers to a hovering notepad by her ear.

"Hello, dear. I'm Nema. So you're the new battle slave the Lady bought?"

"Nailed it in one. What gave me away?"

Nema gave Razina a curious look. "You're awfully cheery. Someone said that you'd run away from your first master?"

Razina was quiet for a while. "You're a housekeeping slave, right?"

Nema nodded.

"Did you know that the expected average lifespan for the battle slave is only seven years? I was first bought when I was twenty. That was eight years ago. How much longer do you think I have to live?"

Nema nodded slowly. "I can understand that. Did you really think they wouldn't find you?"

Razina snorted. "No, never. I knew they'd find me eventually. I just wanted to live a little longer. But you know what they say about beggars and wishes."

Nema smiled wryly. "That's true. The thing I want the most is more cloth to work with. I love tailoring clothes and making them just to fit, but I have just the same old cloth and pattern to work with."

Razina stayed silent as Nema finished measuring. She was fairly certain that Nema didn't have a clue that her love for her 'job' had been mentally conditioned into her since birth. Every slave loved their job, wouldn't want to be anywhere else but doing their job. Razina remembered getting an extra hour of sleep and other rewards when she excelled in her training, twenty years ago.

When all measurements had been taken, Nema helped Razina step into a pair of underwear and tied a makeshift halter top made of what had once been a table cloth on her. "Wouldn't do to get the young master bothered by a nice figure like yours," she said, winking. Razina was just grateful to have some clothes on again.

Nema went to the door and banged it a few times. "Ready!" The uneven, shuffling step of the overseer started down the hallway. To Razina, she said, "Don't worry dear, I hear the Lady does bindings very well."

"Oh hurray, I might start hopping with joy," Razina muttered. Then the overseer grabbed the ring on the collar and nearly swung her off her feet as he shoved her to the door. Razina began plotting her revenge against him. Battle slaves were second only to the overseers in the little slave hierarchy on big estates like this, but battles slaves also got special treatment and were forgiven for lots of slips. She would remember this indignity.

The overseer marched her up to the back entrance, a dull and uninteresting portal unlike the grand front door, which would assuredly have been richly decorated. Front doors in [continent name] told a lot about a family, what kind of people lived behind it and what status they held. This door would tell her nothing about her new owners.

Inside, she was taken to what could only be the drawing room, where she was forced to her knees on the rich, plush carpet. The magess had abandoned her formal robes for more casual wear. "Thank you, Grush, that will be all." The overseer made a clumsy bow and shuffled out again.

The magess set down the lightscreen she'd been perusing and said, "Mickey?"

A digital tone answered her from seemingly nowhere. "Yes, Lady Phoenix?" The house AI spoke in a soft soprano.

"Please tell my youngest to come to the drawing room. His new slave is ready for the binding."

"Yes, Lady Phoenix."

Silence reigned as they waited. Razina kept her head lowered, staying strictly within proper slave-master protocol. They didn't wait long. The clump of footsteps soon announced the arrival of the person she would soon be bound to expend body and soul to protect. Razina turned to see her new master.