A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (26 page)

“
And you couldn’t continue to track them?
”

“
No. They left no trace, same as the others.
”

Gazija hissed in annoyance.
“
That’s eleven of our brethren killed or missing in the last few months. More than twenty in a year! It’s unacceptable. Someone must know about us, I’m certain of it. We need to find out what they know and make sure they are stopped. You know the situation here will deteriorate if they are left to spread their knowledge, and we cannot afford that. The world cannot.
”

“
I’ve notified all our offices of their description and told them to be on the lookout. There isn’t much else I could have done.
”

“
That isn’t good enough! We have worked far too hard and come such a long way for it all to be unraveled by accident.
”

“
Na jimpez go’Ine, na pei zvimta fa baklama ik’ui,
”
spat Savine.
We should not hide, we deserve to be recognized.

“
Stop!
”
shouted Gazija. Echoing down the hall, his voice caused the staff at the other end to pause and look up before hurrying back to work.
“
You know to speak Tyuri Masun is forbidden.
”

“
Bah! We are slowly losing ourselves, our culture. Why shouldn’t we be able to stay true to what we are?
”

“
Because our old life is lost. We made a choice, a hard one, and we must live with the consequences.
”

“
These people know nothing. We should leave them and find our own way, make our own life.
”
Savine glared at Gazija, who returned his gaze without flinching.

“
The Deliverers decided, and so it shall be. Enough of this, I grow weary.
”
Gazija arranged his blanket around him and pointedly looked into the brazier, rather than at Savine.
“
Go, report to the other Deliverers and tell them what’s happened.
”
He closed his eyes and sat motionless.

Savine’s footsteps faded into the distance.

Peeking through an eye he had opened a slit, Gazija relaxed. Savine’s behavior was worrying. Perhaps he should have him watched.

The boy squeezed his way through the door. He approached and hesitated as he saw Gazija was apparently asleep, shifting his weight on his feet and twisting his head to view him at different angles to see if he was feigning or not.

Gazija relented. The boy probably had enough troubles to deal with.
“
What is it?
”
he asked.

“
Oh, I thought you were asleep.
”

“
Unfortunately not.
”

“
Um, there’s a noble to see you. Something about the ambergris one of our ships picked up recently.
”

“
Ah yes, excellent. Send him in.
”
Gazija rubbed his bony hands together.

Shortly, the boy returned with a man dressed in a coffee-brown coat with large cuffs and mother-of-pearl buttons.

“
Sir Jerome,
”
greeted Gazija.
“
A pleasure to see you. I understand you might be making an offer on the ambergris we were lucky enough to pick up?
”

“
Head Trader Gazija, a pleasure as always. Indeed, you guess correctly, again, as always.
”
He gave a wry smile.
“
Probably why the fortunes of your Five Oceans Mercantile Concern continue to rise.
”

Chapter Nineteen

Puzzled stares and the occasional curious look from the apprentices greeted him as they were all woken with the dawn by a clanging bell. One of the older boys introduced himself and showed Caldan to the water pump and washing trough, where they all splashed their faces and rinsed their hands, the water refreshingly warm in the cool morning air. After a quick breakfast of bread, boiled eggs and hot tea, he was pointed in the direction of Master Simmon and found him poring over a thick ledger, penning a few words here and there on different pages.

Simmon passed him onto another person, this time a shy young girl in a worn apron. She took him to a storeroom and supplied him with a broom, dust pan and cleaning rag, and gave him directions to sweep and tidy the meal hall where the apprentices and he had eaten.

Aside from the sweeping and cleaning duties, Caldan reckoned his first few days at the Sorcerers’ Guild went smoothly. He was assigned plenty of odd jobs: tidying the classrooms; pumping and carrying buckets of water to the kitchens, dormitories and masters’ quarters; unloading wagons of grain and various foodstuffs; and beating the dust out of stored blankets to ready them for the winter.

At first, Caldan thought it odd he had been given mundane tasks to occupy his time but was quick to realize he was still not a part of their world yet. He wasn’t an apprentice so couldn’t join them and their classes, and he wouldn’t have fit in either, being a few years older than most of the apprentices. And he wasn’t one of the cleaning and maintenance staff. They treated him with guarded deference, not sure of his status.

Being taken on by the sorcerers had so far proven to be a disappointment. He was no stranger to hard work, but although the tasks they had him performing were tedious, they were not arduous, and he made sure he worked as hard as he could and completed each job quickly and thoroughly. Growing up at the monastery, he had to earn his keep, especially when he was old enough to start joining classes and workshops with the paying students. Hauling water, chopping firewood, cleaning plates and pots and pans had become second nature to him. It was easy to apply himself to the tasks he was set and lose himself in his thoughts until the job was done.

On a few occasions, he noticed Master Simmon watching him, checking up on him, no doubt. Caldan thought Simmon was probably put out Master Garren had dumped him there until Garren found a place for him.

Whatever healing herbs Elpidia had given to him had succeeded in helping his bruises to heal faster than he thought possible. Within a day they had faded to yellow, and on the second day had virtually disappeared. The soreness had vanished and his skin no longer felt tight from the stitches in his cheek. He would have to find out what herbs she had prescribed for him.

Every afternoon without fail, whether sunny or raining, the apprentices of all ages and levels gathered to exercise and train. Mornings were reserved for the less active training and classes, or so Caldan was told. He had no idea what they studied, or why. Afternoons always began with a long run through the internal gardens and corridors, followed by strengthening exercises then instruction on sword technique. Journeymen and masters drilled the young apprentices mercilessly, not holding back when they sparred with each other. Sweat and bruises ended each afternoon’s training session, with the odd trickle of blood from a blow pulled too late. He understood the sword training was akin to the monastery’s guiding principle of unifying body and mind, though some would think it passing strange for sorcerers.

On the afternoon of Caldan’s third day, he was directed to sweep the packed dirt area used by the apprentices as an exercise and sparring ground. There had been no sign of Master Garren yet, but Caldan welcomed the mind-numbing few days of boring work. Since his expulsion from the monastery, his mind had been restless, his thoughts skittered this way and that. He hardly knew what he was thinking from one moment to the next. He had been wrenched from a stable reality to an unstable situation in which he had no control. A few days where he could relax and not worry, not think about what was happening and what was going to happen, served to ground him and bring his whirling thoughts under control.

Caldan brushed the broom across the practice yard, gathering the stray leaves blown in from the surrounding gardens. For sword training, a good grip for the feet was necessary, and he was directed to sweep the dirt from the chalked-in white circle, making sure the white line was clear and the inside of the circle free from loose dirt. The two smaller circles received the same treatment. He had performed this task many times in the monastery before their training sessions in the Way of the Sword, and the simple task brought forth fond memories.

The apprentices filed in and separated into groups, stretching and limbering up. Journeymen selected pairs who sparred with each other, two pairs for the smaller circles and one for the large circle. Caldan understood the purpose of the smaller circles as opposed to the larger one: to keep the combatants close together, pushing at each other so the tension and confrontation was short and intense. Step outside the circle and you lost the fight. Only the larger one left enough room to disengage and back away, to gather for another phase. In the small circles the close pressure was relentless, and finesse was often the first casualty. Inside the large circle combatants could let loose the flowing forms of the sword, they were free to engage then disengage, to show their expertise. Swordplay here was graceful, stylish, polished. In the smaller circles it became brutal and vicious.

Caldan slipped to the side and leaned against a wall, staying to the shadows. He wouldn’t be missed for some time, and he wanted to watch the apprentices train. It felt like weeks since he had held a practice sword himself, though little more than a seven day had passed.

Despite the cool nights, the days were still warm, and Caldan was grateful for his spot out of the sun. He positioned himself next to a stack of empty barrels and took the opportunity to sit on one. Back leaning against the wall and legs dangling over the side, he watched the sport. A light steady breeze flowed through the courtyard and he could smell the dusty, earthy scent of the sunbaked earth coupled with the fresh sweat of the apprentices and a faint hint of grass and flowery perfume.

Caldan estimated there were close to a hundred young apprentices gathered in the courtyard, as well as a dozen older journeymen and three masters, with roughly a third girls. The disparity in the numbers of younger to older apprentices puzzled him. Did they fail and expel so many that in a few years only a fraction remained? Was what they were learning so difficult or arduous that such a winnowing was needed? Or were there apprentices somewhere else, sent for additional training as they got older?

The staccato clash of wooden practice swords brought Caldan back to the present. He could see the younger apprentices were of vastly differing skill levels. They tried to pair them up with a partner of similar ability, but sometimes the gap in skill was too great and the match ended in short order. Best of three touches, no blows to the head, hands or groin, as far as Caldan could tell.

One older apprentice, bigger than his fellows, took delight in pulling his blows too late to prevent most of the impact when they landed. From their pained expressions during and after the matches, it was clear his opponents were not happy to be facing him. A couple of the masters frowned at the apprentice whenever he landed a too hard blow and his opponents yelped in pain or swore under their breaths, but they didn’t stop the bouts.

He caught Caldan staring at him and sneered. Caldan shook his head and looked away. No point in antagonizing anyone; he would be gone from here as soon as Master Garren returned.

Disappointed expressions and pleased looks ended each practice match, the smaller circle sparring finishing much quicker than the large circle fights. The overall skill of the apprentices was not as high as he thought it would be. Some of the older apprentices approached the practice with a workmanlike attitude, as if practicing a skill they would rarely use, and were going through the motions.

“
What do you think?
”
asked a voice right beside Caldan. He turned to find Master Simmon leaning against the wall next to him.

“
You startled me. I didn’t see you there.
”

Simmon shrugged.
“
You weren’t supposed to.
”
He crossed his arms and looked out at the apprentices.
“
You’re older than most of them and have studied sword fighting. What do you think of their skill?
”

Caldan struggled to come up with something polite to say, shifting his weight on the barrel, finding a more comfortable position to gain time to think.
“
Er… they’re fine. What I mean is… there’s a broad range of skills out there. Some are better than others.
”
He didn’t know why the master was talking to him and hoped it wasn’t another test of some kind.

“
Very diplomatic of you.
”
Simmon continued to gaze out at the apprentices, eyes shifting from one practice bout to another.
“
Give me an honest opinion.
”

Caldan decided to tell the truth, after all Simmon had asked for it.
“
Most are barely adequate. I mean, they are still young, but I don’t see many that move fluidly, that look like they have a talent for the sword. See this one here.
”
He pointed to a boy with reddish hair.
“
He might have some talent. I’d have to watch him a bit more to see. The only others that are good are the older journeymen and the masters.
”

Across the courtyard, the bigger apprentice landed a hard blow on a skinny boy who fell to the dirt, clutching both hands to his stomach. Caldan wrinkled his nose disapprovingly at the unnecessary force.

“
No one fails their apprenticeship with the Sorcerers’ Guild based on their sword work, but we do have a high attrition rate. Apprentices with good sword skills are considered for the Protectors once they become journeymen.
”

“
What is it the Protectors do?
”
asked Caldan frankly.

“
You said you studied history?
”

“
Yes, but there isn’t a lot of writing on the Protectors. All I know is that you’re the sorcerers’ martial arm, like guards.
”

A snort of amusement from Simmon followed his statement.
“
Then you don’t know much about us and what we do. Guards…
”
He trailed off, shaking his head.
“
You’ll learn more later from the masters, if you get to work with them. There are many different roles in the Protectors, as there are within all professions, including the sorcerers. Sword skill is valuable for certain tasks, just as skill in
crafting
is for others.
”

“
You practice
crafting
as well?
”

“
Indeed. The Protectors know a lot about
crafting
, we’re sorcerers after all.
”
Simmon stopped abruptly, as if about to say more but thinking better of it.
“
The older apprentices whose talents lie in other areas obviously don’t need to come to all of these practice sessions.
”
He gestured with one hand to the ones that had, two of whom were struggling to land a blow on each other.
“
But they must at least be able to keep to an acceptable standard.
”

“
And that’s acceptable?
”

Master Simmon again pierced him with a hard look.
“
Think you can do better?
”

“
Ah…well… yes. I think I can.
”

“
At least you say what you think. Come on, let’s see how you do.
”
He strode past a group of apprentices watching one of the matches.

By the ancestors, Caldan had to open his mouth and be honest. He levered himself off the barrel and followed closely in Simmon’s wake.

Simmon stopped at the edge of the larger circle, waiting for the match in progress to finish. A few apprentices eyed Caldan as he stood behind the master. Some whispered to each other and gestured in his direction.

A brief spatter of applause and a few cheers signaled the end of the match. Not as much as usual, though. All eyes had turned to Simmon and Caldan, wondering what was happening. Caldan felt himself propelled forward as Simmon turned and gripped his shoulder hard, then forced him into the clear space. Simmon took the two practice swords from the pair, who stood there still panting and sweating in the afternoon sun. He handed one to Caldan, who accepted it reluctantly.

“
Who am I fighting?
”
he asked.

Simmon grinned at him and stepped back a few yards, sweeping his sword in front of him in a classic guard position.

“
Me,
”
he replied, executing a lunge straight for Caldan’s chest.

A shift in Simmon’s posture had alerted Caldan to the attack, and his own sword whipped up in time to deflect the blade, though it came faster than any he had seen today. He leapt back. Simmon slashed at his neck. Caldan sidestepped and jerked his sword up in defense. Wood came together with a sharp crack. Their blades met again in a tentative probing.