bound by simple leather thongs.
Sulrad sat quietly, a knife enfolded between hands that were lifted as in prayer. As the moonlight struck the rabbit, he drew the knife across its throat. Blood rushed out of the wound, covering the knife, the table, and Sulrad's hands.
The blood began to glow a dark green, the green of fresh cut grass. Lit from within, it became brighter and brighter until there was a flash.
The rabbit and the spilled blood vanished.
Sulrad's power surged as the animal vaporized. The Priest sat back in his chair smiling as the swirling dark-green energy wrapped itself around him and sank into his body.
Zhimosom was shocked. Sulrad had taken the life force of the rabbit into his body. Magic was so new to Zhimosom, he thought magic came from within and that how much a person had was up to fate. Sulrad had taken magic and stored it up within himself. He clearly planned to use the sacrifices to make himself so powerful no one could challenge him.
"I knew something was wrong with him," Rotiaqua said. "I could feel it in his magic."
"We had better keep an eye on him," Zhimosom said. He bid his farewell to Rotiaqua and dropped their connection.
A few days past as Zhimosom recovered. He worried that soon he would need to support himself and decided to seek work at the stables in the castle. The stable master was a rough man who had a ruddy complexion and towered over the rest of his staff. He rose from his stool and limped into the doorway when he saw Zhimosom approach.
"We don't need any help." He held up his hand.
"Sir, my family was burned out of our farm. I only seek work to feed myself. I don't eat much and I am accustomed to hard labor."
"Look around you. The whole city is flooded with refugees. Folks come flocking here when things get tough out there and expect us hard working folk to take 'em in and feed 'em."
Zhimosom made his arguments. "I can clean stalls. I can carry hay. I can fetch water for the horses. I don't mind hard work."
The stable master reached behind his stool and brought out a whip. It was long and sturdy looking and had strands of leather tipped with iron barbs. He shook it at Zhimosom. "I said we don't have any work. Be gone."
Zhimosom hung his head and turned back to the inn he would have to vacate all too soon. What was he going to do for food and shelter once Rotiaqua's charity ran out?
He scoured the town looking for work, but the answer was much the same everywhere. The town was choked with refugees, able bodied men and women who had been forced off their farms by the war.
That night, as he sat by the fire, he was consumed with his misfortune. Zheet dead, the farm nothing but ashes, his brothers dead in the war, and even the distant memory of losing his mother; it all seemed so overwhelming. He was totally and utterly alone.
The flames danced on the logs, licking them with their consuming tongues. Zhimosom stared at the glowing embers, so much like his own life. They would soon turn to ash and be swept out with the morning's refuse.
"Why so sad?" came the voice in his head.
"I have nothing. No hope. I can't even find work to keep myself fed. I don't know what I'm going to do." Zhimosom focused his eyes on the image of Rotiaqua that had appeared in the fire.
"Surely a strong lad like yourself could find work. The stables are always in need of help."
"I tried there. The stable master sent me away." Zhimosom shook his head. "He said there were too many refugees in the city and that everyone is looking for work."
She frowned at him. "Try again tomorrow. After the noon meal. Give me a little time to arrange matters."
"But he said they don't need help."
She winked at him. "They will tomorrow."
"But he said there were plenty of people seeking work."
"Tomorrow he will need you. Go there after the noon meal and tell him Rotiaqua sent you to him. I am sure he will have work for you."
Zhimosom was skeptical, but he agreed to try. What would the stable
Sulrad sat quietly, a knife enfolded between hands that were lifted as in prayer. As the moonlight struck the rabbit, he drew the knife across its throat. Blood rushed out of the wound, covering the knife, the table, and Sulrad's hands.
The blood began to glow a dark green, the green of fresh cut grass. Lit from within, it became brighter and brighter until there was a flash.
The rabbit and the spilled blood vanished.
Sulrad's power surged as the animal vaporized. The Priest sat back in his chair smiling as the swirling dark-green energy wrapped itself around him and sank into his body.
Zhimosom was shocked. Sulrad had taken the life force of the rabbit into his body. Magic was so new to Zhimosom, he thought magic came from within and that how much a person had was up to fate. Sulrad had taken magic and stored it up within himself. He clearly planned to use the sacrifices to make himself so powerful no one could challenge him.
"I knew something was wrong with him," Rotiaqua said. "I could feel it in his magic."
"We had better keep an eye on him," Zhimosom said. He bid his farewell to Rotiaqua and dropped their connection.
A few days past as Zhimosom recovered. He worried that soon he would need to support himself and decided to seek work at the stables in the castle. The stable master was a rough man who had a ruddy complexion and towered over the rest of his staff. He rose from his stool and limped into the doorway when he saw Zhimosom approach.
"We don't need any help." He held up his hand.
"Sir, my family was burned out of our farm. I only seek work to feed myself. I don't eat much and I am accustomed to hard labor."
"Look around you. The whole city is flooded with refugees. Folks come flocking here when things get tough out there and expect us hard working folk to take 'em in and feed 'em."
Zhimosom made his arguments. "I can clean stalls. I can carry hay. I can fetch water for the horses. I don't mind hard work."
The stable master reached behind his stool and brought out a whip. It was long and sturdy looking and had strands of leather tipped with iron barbs. He shook it at Zhimosom. "I said we don't have any work. Be gone."
Zhimosom hung his head and turned back to the inn he would have to vacate all too soon. What was he going to do for food and shelter once Rotiaqua's charity ran out?
He scoured the town looking for work, but the answer was much the same everywhere. The town was choked with refugees, able bodied men and women who had been forced off their farms by the war.
That night, as he sat by the fire, he was consumed with his misfortune. Zheet dead, the farm nothing but ashes, his brothers dead in the war, and even the distant memory of losing his mother; it all seemed so overwhelming. He was totally and utterly alone.
The flames danced on the logs, licking them with their consuming tongues. Zhimosom stared at the glowing embers, so much like his own life. They would soon turn to ash and be swept out with the morning's refuse.
"Why so sad?" came the voice in his head.
"I have nothing. No hope. I can't even find work to keep myself fed. I don't know what I'm going to do." Zhimosom focused his eyes on the image of Rotiaqua that had appeared in the fire.
"Surely a strong lad like yourself could find work. The stables are always in need of help."
"I tried there. The stable master sent me away." Zhimosom shook his head. "He said there were too many refugees in the city and that everyone is looking for work."
She frowned at him. "Try again tomorrow. After the noon meal. Give me a little time to arrange matters."
"But he said they don't need help."
She winked at him. "They will tomorrow."
"But he said there were plenty of people seeking work."
"Tomorrow he will need you. Go there after the noon meal and tell him Rotiaqua sent you to him. I am sure he will have work for you."
Zhimosom was skeptical, but he agreed to try. What would the stable
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