Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (11 page)

Amerdan stayed on the path, not bothering to conceal himself. At this time of night, it was unlikely anyone would see him. They’d be inside their farmhouse, doors barred and windows closed against the wind and darkness.

A gate loomed in front of him, and he halted. It was well made, and part of a fence that surrounded an also well-maintained dwelling. There were no missing shingles or weeds growing on the roof. Someone had made a home they… loved. A family, perhaps.

A guttural growl alerted him an instant before the guard dog lunged. It yelped as he bore his weight down on its neck and plunged his knife under its armpit, seeking its heart. With one hand, he clamped its jaws shut, reducing its cries to whimpers as it struggled. Soon, it lay still. Curiously, there was a red ribbon tied around its leather collar.

Amerdan lay on top of the dog for a minute, motionless and quiet. When he was sure the animal’s sounds hadn’t been heard over the wind, he stood and brushed off his pants and shirt. It would be rude to come into someone’s home dirty and looking disreputable.

To his right, the door of a barn swung open then slammed against its jamb. The weather must have caught the farmer unaware, and he hadn’t made sure everything was locked up tight. Leaving the dog lying in the dirt, he went up to the barn door and kicked it, slamming it with a crash. It shuddered on its hinges.

Come on, loving farmer. That should bring you running.

One window briefly went dark as someone passed in front of the light source. Amerdan gave the barn door another kick, and again it smashed into the jamb. Taking a few steps to the side, he crouched behind a water barrel.

A vertical line of light split the night as the door to the house cracked open. A head poked out, and Amerdan heard a man curse in a deep voice.

The door swung open, and a tall brawny man stepped onto the porch, shielding his eyes against the wind. He gave a low whistle and waited. With his enhanced vision, Amerdan saw the man frown when the dog didn’t appear. The stupid animal wasn’t far away, but he doubted the farmer could see its body, having come from a bright room into the darkness only moments ago.

He rolled his eyes as the farmer gave another whistle. Another curse, then another whistle. Then the farmer shook his head and walked toward the barn. As he was about to latch the door, Amerdan stood and slipped behind him.

Moments later, the farmer was on his back inside the barn, spread-eagled on the floor with Amerdan’s hand clamped to his throat. Even in the darkness, the farmer’s eyes widened as they took in the knife blade floating in front of his face.

He struggled; they all did. But in the end they knew their time had come. Their usefulness was at an end.

When the man started begging, Amerdan smiled. It was good he hadn’t pleaded for his own life but the lives of his wife and children.

He closed his eyes and listened to the thing’s mewlings.

•

Miranda squeezed Caldan’s hand tightly for a moment, then again. She sat where they had placed her hours ago, close enough to their fire for warmth, yet far enough away she wouldn’t stumble into it before someone could stop her. He had been talking to her since their evening meal, small inconsequential things about his life at the monastery, the trip by sea to Anasoma when they had met, his trials at the Sorcerers’ Guild. All the while he had held her hand, comforting her, making sure she relaxed after their long day’s travel in the wagon.

They’d come a short way from the road down a dirt track to a flat grassy area the soldiers knew from other trips.

Standing, he stretched his back and glanced around their makeshift campsite. Bells was still chained inside the wagon, fingers tied with strips of cloth and hands restricted so she couldn’t craft, having been led out earlier by Elpidia to stretch her legs before being bundled back inside.

Elpidia now had her gear spread out on the ground in front of her—small vials and bottles, along with paper packets and thin wooden boxes. Since they had stopped, she’d fussed over them, preoccupied. At one stage, Caldan saw her pour a few drops from the vial containing his blood onto a scrap of cloth. She then cut the material into four sections and placed each inside a vial of clear liquid, which rapidly turned a pinkish hue.

Amerdan had been gone from the camp for some time, saying he needed to stretch his legs. During the day, he had looked ill at ease and was no doubt taking his time, relaxing after being cooped up in the wagon.

The Quivers were talking quietly among themselves while cleaning their gear and examining their weapons. Each carried a sword and a dagger in addition to their bows.

Caldan grabbed his sword and made his way to a fallen log just outside the light from the fire. With their frantic pace over the days since leaving Anasoma, he hadn’t had time to wonder about it, and he didn’t want to let anyone know he had such a valuable
trinket
in his possession. So it stayed in the scabbard, and he made sure it never left his sight. Now, with everyone occupied, was the perfect chance to examine it, along with the bone ring, which was another mystery he hadn’t had time to think about much. It wasn’t formed from the usual unknown alloy all other
trinket
s were, and that possibly made it the most valuable item he’d ever seen. Far more valuable than ten of his
trinket
rings. It turned everything sorcerers knew about
trinket
s had been turned on its head. Proof his parents had kept hidden and presumably died for.

He sat and drew out a handspan of the blade, then, unable to resist, another. Such craftsmanship he’d never seen. If it weren’t a
trinket
sword, it would have still been a marvel of artistry. As with Caldan’s
trinket
ring, the metal of the blade was an unknown alloy, the formula no doubt lost in the Shattering.

Caldan accessed his well and ran his sorcerous sense over the sword. Similar to his ring, there were no linking runes to latch onto, nothing that could give the
trinket
its power—whatever that was. And yet something did—and without the usual well and shaping runes required. It was a puzzle, and as far as he knew one smarter sorcerers than Caldan hadn’t been able to decipher. He ran a finger over the blade’s surface; it was smooth and hard and cold. The silvery metal shone with a muted glow in the night.

Shaking his head, Caldan sheathed the blade. No wonder sorcerers spent their lives studying
trinket
s. Their lure was inescapable. They were marvels of smith-
crafting
. He turned his mind from the sword to the
crafting
bell in his pocket. This one was small and silver, no bigger than his thumbnail. After much back and forth, Bells pointed it out as the
crafting
he needed to heal Miranda but adamantly refused to give him any ideas on its functions or how to use it. He didn’t know why she’d given up this information. Perhaps she hoped he’d try to use it and damage himself?

The bell was also a masterwork of smith-
crafting
, one he couldn’t match, even if he had all the resources of the Sorcerers’ Guild at his disposal. He didn’t recognize the metal it was smith-crafted from, but he assumed there would be many traces of rare earths included in the alloy. The runes and glyphs inscribed on both the inside and outside surfaces were exquisite. They were far too fine to be made from a wax cast, as those on his wristband had been. He couldn’t guess how it was made, but if he could have, he was certain he could have replicated it.

He returned to Miranda’s side to check on her then wandered away from the fire, circling the camp, deep in thought.

“Caldan.” A whisper came from the wagon as he passed. “Over here.”

He shook his head and continued pacing. Once again, as he passed the wagon, Bells whispered to him.

“Little Protector, come here.”

He stopped and fingered her bell-shaped
crafting
s in his pocket. Earlier he had, perhaps unwisely, offered her freedom for information. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to honor his offer after her performance with the Quivers. She was a threat to the Protectors, and perhaps the empire. His desire to heal Miranda overrode many other considerations, but did he have the right to put Miranda’s welfare over that of the Protectors?

Caldan returned to his gear and fished out three of his small crafted sorcerous globes, the ones they had used in the aqueduct tunnels. He opened his well and linked to two of them, and the glass balls began to glow with a clean white light. Approaching the soldiers, he handed the two globes over with a smile.

“You might find these handy tonight,” he said.

They accepted the globes with slightly awed expressions. Sorcerous globes were expensive, and they had likely never seen them this close before.

“Sir, thank you,” blurted one.

Caldan nodded. “I wouldn’t presume to tell you your business, but… I assume one of you will be on watch throughout the night?”

The three younger soldiers looked toward the eldest of the four, Lavas. Caldan understood the man was a corporal but also had an extra honorific of ‘broken sword’, signified by a badge over his heart. He’d read that the signifier meant he’d seen action in a number of battles.

“That we will, sir. Just split up the watches. Breyton here”—the corporal gestured at one of the soldiers—“gets first watch.” His eyes narrowed. “And he better get started.”

With a contrite expression, Breyton stood, accepting one of the sorcerous globes, and wandered out into the night.

The older soldier’s eyes flicked to the globes. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you a journeyman sorcerer?”

“Only an apprentice,” replied Caldan with a shake of his head. “Though I was confident I’d be raised soon if… well, if the invasion hadn’t happened.”

“Not to worry, sir. Once we get word out, the emperor will be sure to teach these invaders a lesson.”

“I’m sure he will. If you’ll excuse me.” Caldan resumed circling the fire. A tinkle came from the bells as he thrust his hand in his pocket.

Elpidia looked up at the sound then went back to her work, scratching on a piece of paper with a pen, occasionally dipping the metal nib into a pot of ink. Of Amerdan, there was still no sign.

Passing Miranda, Caldan gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze then made his way straight to the wagon, hauling himself inside. Against the back wall, he could make out Bells, despite the lack of light, but, as when they were in the aqueducts, he wanted to keep this talent hidden.

Once again, he opened his well, and once again, a clean light emanated from the glass ball in his hand. It illuminated Bells, who sat in the back of the wagon, covered with a blanket one of the soldiers had thrown over her for warmth during the night. And as he did whenever he came near her, he split his well into another string and linked to the shield
crafting
but didn’t activate it. Though he knew the
crafting
had to be on your person to work, he wasn’t sure of her capabilities and was wary. If she tried anything, he wanted to be ready.

She stirred when she heard movement and saw him climb into the wagon, then averted her eyes when the sorcerous globe lit.

“Good little Protector,” she purred.

“I’m not your little Protector.”

“Indeed you aren’t. Far from it.” She eyed him suggestively and squirmed under the blanket, which dropped from one of her shoulders. “I knew you would come. We are cut from the same cloth, you and I.”

“Far from it,” echoed Caldan. “We couldn’t be less alike.”

“Ahhh,” she said, shifting her body so the blanket fell to her lap. “Somehow, I don’t think so. People like us… talented… more so than the others… we know we’re different.”

“I’m not like you,” he replied with a hint of irritation. “I don’t kill innocent people.”

“You killed the soldiers looking for me… But, no one’s innocent.”

He frowned at her words, realizing she might have a point. “They would have killed us. Or you would have, once you were free.”

“There is no good or evil in this world, Caldan. Just people trying to make the best of what they have.”

“So, slaughtering the sorcerers and the Protectors was just you making the best of things?” he said. “By the ancestors, spare me your deluded explanation.”

Bells shrugged. “We didn’t want to kill them. We thought they could be contained, but the God-Emperor thought they were too dangerous. And when he decides on something, you don’t argue.”

“So, is blind obedience your excuse?”

“So quick to judge me? There wasn’t much else we could do. You don’t know the God-Emperor.” She shook her head. “Kelhak’s been our leader for a long time, and he has absolute power. His sorcery and acumen are second to none. When he orders you to do something… well, let’s just say if you don’t do it, there are plenty of people willing to take your place.”

It couldn’t be… But the name was the same. “What did you say? Kelhak?” Caldan frowned and stared at Bells. “That’s impossible… no, it must be someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was once a Kelhak at the monastery I grew up in, a hundred years ago. He was exiled, traveled to Anasoma, where he won a Dominion competition, then disappeared.”

“The God-Emperor has never been beaten at Dominion. Never.”

“Coincidence only,” Caldan muttered. It couldn’t really be Kelhak; that would make him a century old. Maybe he’d traveled to Indryalla and made a name there, settled down, and his name passed down the generations. The alternative was… impossible.

Caldan put thoughts of this God-Emperor from his mind. He was supposed to be questioning Bells for information on how to cure Miranda. “I… I need your help.”

Bells tilted her head and looked at him curiously. “Do you honestly believe I’ll help you? After what you did?” She turned and spat on the floor of the wagon.

“Miranda is innocent. She—”

“There are no innocents,” Bells said. “Everyone’s guilty of something.”

“Not her. All she wanted was to make a life for herself, without struggling to survive day to day. A comfortable life with no turmoil. That’s all she wanted.”

“I very much doubt that.”