The Heartfrost Demon Book 1

The Heartfrost Demon Book 1 Chapter 2

The Heartfrost Demon Book 1

Chapter 2

Sound came first. A creeping, gray wave of sound, intangible and formless, but then quickly resolving into distinct, recognizable sounds as moments passed. Horses. Wagon wheels creaking. The voices of men. When Paul peeled his eyes open it felt like someone had poured a bucketful of sand in them, and he tried to reach up and rub them.

His hands moved a foot before something stopped them. The clink of chains, the cold iron on his wrists, brought everything back, an icy wave of deep, sick dread. He sat up, wincing as his fever made his joints burn in response. He was in the back of a covered wagon, along with four other unconscious kids near his age. He didn't recognize them, so he figured they must be from a nearby village.

He looked down at his wrist shackles. They were attached to a short length of chain, bolted to the floor of the wagon. Long enough to allow him to get to his knees, but not stand up. He bent over at the waist and rubbed his eyes, then stared at the rust colored flakes that he saw on his hands. Dried blood. Slaver blood.

Abruptly the image of the slaver above him, the look in his eyes as the hunting knife sank deep into his neck, warm blood dripping down onto his face, seared across his memories. Paul sagged back, gritting his teeth to repress the whimper. He felt that showing any fear, any weakness here, would be worse than death. He had always heard how the slaver nation was brutal, with casual violence the core and the depth of their culture.

The swaying of the wagon made him feel nauseous, making him take long, slow breaths. Everything seemed hard-edged, and too bright. Paul felt like he could barely think, like his running thoughts were slogging through thick mud, and he wondered how his fever had gotten so bad.

He coughed, hating the strange, metallic taste smeared across his tongue. Was this from the fever too? Then, a girl across from him lifted her head, glaring at him through a tangled veil of silver-blonde hair.

"Can you keep it quiet? I'm trying to sleep here!"

Paul gaped at her. Was she out of her mind? Then, as she looked at him, he saw the haze in her eyes lift. He saw dawning realization, followed by crushing fear and grief. Her eyes welled with tears, but he saw her grit her teeth, he saw her fists clench, and he nodded at her.

"I'm Paul. Who are you?"

She sat up, swaying unsteadily, then glared down at her shackles.

"I'm Leah."

She looked around, tossing her head to get her long hair out of her face, then winced at the motion.

"Ow. Feels like somebody was pounding on my head while I was out. And what's this taste in my mouth?!" She turned her head and spat mightily, impressing Paul.

The heavy cloth of the wagon walls up by the front parted as a slaver peered back at them.

"Huh. Two of em are awake already. Must not have used enough of Graycork." He said, eyeing them in surprise.

"Awake already!? How? I gave them all full doses." Another slaver nearby, equally surprised.

"I told you idiots these mountain people are different. Hardier. It's why they make such good slaves. They process drugs faster than any other race, you have to give them at least double doses."

Paul recognized that rasping voice. It was the tall slaver, the one who had thrown him across the cabin.

"Let me guess. It's the girl and the knife boy." The tall slaver said confidently.

Paul shrank back from the cloth covering the opening at the rear of the wagon as he heard footsteps. Leah saw it, and he immediately felt ashamed. He would not show these slavers fear. He would not give them the satisfaction. He kept his trembling, shrinking pose and winked at Leah.