The Forsaken Hero

The Inquisitors pushed me through a doorway and into a large, open room. Another magic circle was etched upon the ground, spanning nearly twenty feet, with another identical circle carved on the ceiling fifteen feet above. A myriad of tools, tomes, and magical devices were spread across several rectangular tables scattered throughout the room. One of the inquisitors snatched an iron collar off a table and snapped it around my neck while the other fastened iron cuffs about my wrists. The first, a black-haired woman with a strong jawline, whispered a word, magically locking them.

The latter was a cruel-eyed man with a long scar across his forearm. Once the three bands were secure, he dragged me into the circle. The moment I stumbled across the threshold, the heavy weight of the steel bands seemed to double, dragging me down to the ground. Glimmering, magical tethers shot out of the upper circle like tentacles, clawing across my body and attaching to the wrist cuffs, drawing my hands up until my arms were fully suspended. I groaned as they taught, stressing my back and shoulders and forcing me to stand on my tiptoes.

I shifted uneasily, doing my best to relieve the pressure on my limbs. "What do you want with me?"

"Silence," the inquisitor snapped. "Speak only when spoken to." Then, turning to the other, "Prepare the rings."

The black-haired woman nodded and started riffling through the contents of a box on the table. The male inquisitor reached forward, his fingers groping toward me menacingly. Crying out, I struggled against the magical bonds, but was helpless to resist as he grabbed the hem of my dress. Then, exerting a fraction of his seventh-level strength, he jerked away, effortlessly tearing the garment from my body. I froze, rigid in horror, as my slender body was exposed to the sticky, stagnant air.

A terrified shiver coursed down my spine, shaking my entire body, as the man’s eyes emotionlessly crawled over me, lingering on the faintly glowing slave crest between my breasts. A slight whimper escaped my lips, and I turned my head, my tail stiffening in apprehension.

But nothing happened. After a moment, I dared to open my eyes, finding the man bent over, his head dangerously close to my naked chest. But his eyes held no signs of lust or desire, but practically dripped with disgust. Even so, I held my breath, heart pounding, until he finished studying the intricate patterns of the slave crest and turned away.

"Revera’s hand was steady," he said.

The girl nodded and held up a ring drawn from the box. "We are prepared on this end. Shall I fetch the Grand Inquisitor?"