Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (16 page)

“No! She’s in here with me. Find that sorcerer!”

Scuffling footsteps sounded close to him. He turned… and looked into Amerdan’s eyes. They were flat, calm, unruffled. A grin flashed across Amerdan’s face as he held a finger to Caldan’s mouth.

“Shhh,” he whispered, moving his eyes to indicate the trees around them. “Listen.”

Elpidia disappeared into the wagon. Caldan could hear her sobbing and muttering under her breath.

“Listen,” repeated Amerdan. He held one of his knives, blood coating the blade.

Caldan turned his attention away from the wagon and to his surroundings, shaking his head to clear it of the last of the fogginess.

Moans came from where he had first encountered the sorcerer—the corporal most likely. Amerdan pointed in that direction.

“The old soldier, wounded, dying. Ignore him.” He moved his hand to point to their left. Caldan could hear someone scrabbling in the dirt, groaning in pain. “The other soldier, also dying.” The hand moved to point inside the wagon. “Elpidia, Miranda, and Bells: ignore them.” Again the hand moved to point into the darkness. This time, he spread his fingers and moved it back and forth. “What’s left?”

Caldan strained his ears, which were still ringing. “Wind,” he said. “Leaves, grass.”

“Good… and?”

“Nothing… I…”

“There is. Listen.”

Again, Caldan strained to hear as the ringing subsided, slowing his breathing, despite his fears. Over the other sounds, he struggled to discern what Amerdan was trying to reveal to him.

More wind… the soft rustle of the grasses and leaves in the trees… a drip…

“There,” Amerdan said softly. “Drip, drip. It’s him. His blood.”

Another drip, the sound like water hitting a leaf. He could hear the drops clearly and wondered how. Was this part of his special abilities? And how could Amerdan hear them the same as him? It didn’t make sense.

Caldan waited. Drip. This time, further to their right, a drop hitting a patch of dry earth.

Caldan felt Amerdan’s hot breath on his ear.

“Can you hear him? I cut him, just like he did the others. Now… he drips like they did; can’t reveal himself to stop it.” Another drop hit a leaf, again to their right. The shopkeeper chuckled under his breath. “I hear you,” he whispered to the night.

Swallowing, Caldan opened his well and spread his senses out to the right. It was faint, so faint, but it was there. The sorcerer, close. Very close. He had to have sensed Caldan opening his well. What would he do?

Ever so slowly, Caldan lifted his right hand up; the sword came between him and the invisible sorcerer. He didn’t know what else to do; he had no sorcerous globes left, nor any basic
crafting
s he could use as a weapon by rupturing them with sorcery. The truth was, he was out of ideas and options, and all that was left was a physical fight.

One moment, Amerdan was beside him, then he was gone, a blur. The shopkeeper moved to his left, made a sudden jagged turn to his right toward where Caldan thought the sorcerer was. Never had he seen someone move so fast, except for himself… when gripped by his uncontrollable abilities.

Mouth agape, Caldan watched as Amerdan’s left hand flashed out. His knife blade disappeared to the hilt. He sprang up and twisted his body, right hand plunging down, and his second knife penetrated flesh.

As a fierce grin stretched across his face, he landed lightly, and the air in front of him blurred.

The sorcerer appeared, eyes wide with shock. He was clutching at the knife in his side with one hand, scrabbling at the blade protruding from his neck with the other.

With a gurgle, he collapsed to the ground, twitched a few times, and then was still. Blood seeped from the two knife wounds, and there were numerous long slashes across his torso, arms, and legs. Dull gray eyes stared at the flickering stars.

Caldan walked unsteadily to the body. Amerdan stood there, unmoving, watching him. Caldan knelt over the sorcerer, who appeared unremarkable, except for the crafted items he could sense through his well. There were a few amulets, two rings, and his metal armbands were dross, ill-crafted and flawed. Nothing else. No weapons at all; no belongings. Nothing, as if the man were moments from home, rather than having spent the last few days hunting them.

“You all right?” he asked Amerdan, voice shaking.

“Of course.” He gestured toward the corpse. “He thought he was a hunter, but… he wasn’t. Not really.”

Caldan nodded slowly then stood, wiping sweaty hands on his trousers.

Amerdan’s eyes remained on him.

Caldan cleared his throat. “You move fast,” he managed lamely.

With a nod, Amerdan replied. “Sometimes. When I want to. I saw you do it once, when we left Anasoma.”

Caldan noticed he never said they fled or escaped; it was always ‘left’ or ‘departed’. He nodded back, not daring to give voice to the realization that hit him. Amerdan said he could move fast when he wanted to. He had a way to control his abilities that Caldan lacked.

“I can’t control it,” he admitted. “I never know when it’s going to happen. Usually it brings trouble.”

“We are more alike than you realize. I could… teach you. In return, you can teach me about sorcery.”

Amerdan had the same abilities as Caldan. And he was in full control of his talents. He knew what they could do, what they could become. But there was danger here… Why was he hiding as a shopkeeper? There was much Caldan didn’t know, and Amerdan could provide answers. But could he be trusted?

Caldan looked toward the wagon. “Come on, let’s see if everyone’s all right.”

Chapter Nine

Never before had Izak felt like the games he played had such high stakes as they did now. More of Felice’s people had disappeared. He was terrified, but at the same time he’d never felt more alive. He entered the reception hall, suppressing the urge to swagger, where the party was in full swing. Noise assailed his ears, the accumulated chatter of an extremely large gaggle of nobles and important merchants. Everyone appeared to be a threat now. He sniffed air redolent of spices and smoke and caught the faint whiff of a popular new drug. He sniffed again, this time disparagingly.

Despite the invasion, or ‘liberation’, as the Indryallans put it, many of the nobles continued as if nothing had happened. After all, for them, their leader had changed, but their businesses were unaffected. As long as the ducats flowed in their direction, they couldn’t care less who ruled the city. A few of their number had either disappeared or killed themselves in the first days of the invasion, but that hadn’t affected those that remained, secure in their certain knowledge that if they had survived so far, they had nothing to fear. Izak wasn’t so sure.

He was dressed in his finest clothes, washed, dried, and perfumed. Glancing around the room, he spotted a few people he wanted to avoid, as well as some he needed to talk to, though not in front of so many onlookers. He stepped into the throng.

As he made his way to the drinks bar, he nodded to acquaintances and shook hands with those he knew slightly better, but didn’t pause in his progress. A couple of drinks was what he needed before getting down to the business of the night. Business that had brought him to this ill-favored gathering on Lady Felicienne’s orders. Damn that woman. He made automatic replies to other guests as they greeted him, finding himself so far from his usual mood in situations such as this. He really needed to have a drink.

He saw his target, the trader he had found out went by the name Rebecci Walraffen, at the far side of the room, conversing with a group of women, all of whom he recognized as nobles from their elaborate hairstyles. By contrast, Rebecci’s hair was a tangled mess. Then again, he had heard she didn’t care much for appearances. And she looked like she could use a good meal or two; she was all skin and bones.

At the bar, he ordered two strong drinks from the serving girl, who he barely noticed. Really, this stress was affecting his behavior. He couldn’t even have a night out now without there being some ulterior purpose behind it, and with his thoughts flittering this way and that, he couldn’t even present the serving girl with his usual charming self. Disgraceful.

Without a thought, he tossed back one of the drinks and placed the empty glass on the bar, then with the other in hand he moved along the wall of the room, skirting the other guests and making his way toward Rebecci.

A few paces from her group, he stopped, aware they were involved in what looked to be a serious conversation. All four of their heads were close together as they exchanged whispers and giggles. He sighed.

Rebecci turned to him with an inquiring look. The others broke off their conversation and frowned at him.

“Ah… my lady,” Izak said, and bowed from the waist. “I… er… May I have a word in private?”

Raising an eyebrow, Rebecci told her group to continue without her and gave one of them a kiss on both cheeks before moving to join him. Curious glances followed her departing back.

“Is that drink for me?” she inquired sweetly.

“Ah, no. I mean, yes. It could be.” By the ancestors, he wasn’t good at this; why had he let Avigdor drag him into their machinations?

Rebecci smirked then shook her head, white hair swaying. “Never mind. I hate the stuff. So, what can I do for you, sir…?” She left the question of his name hanging.

“Oh… forgive me. Izak Fourie, at your service.” He held out his hand, which Rebecci looked at in puzzlement. He withdrew the hand and shoved it in his pocket, taking a swallow of his drink, and with a deep sniff allowed the pungent fumes to clear his head.

“And I am Rebecci Walraffen.” She stood still, meeting his eye.

“Well, Lady Walraffen—”

“Please,” she interrupted, “call me Rebecci. I’m not used to being called ‘lady’. It makes me feel so… significant.”

“Er… quite.” Izak cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Ah… Rebecci, then.”

She gave him a quick smile—a very odd one: wide and bright, to be gone a moment later, as if she had practiced it in a mirror.

Izak cleared his throat again and toyed with his sleeve, straightening the arm of his coat. “I have some friends… well, people of interest, who were… interested when they heard what had happened with your company…” He trailed off as she nodded.

“And what happened?”

“Pardon?”

“With my company. What happened?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell me.”

“Ah.”

“Just that the timing of everyone leaving Anasoma—”

“Almost everyone.”

“Yes. Almost everyone leaving was certainly fortuitous for your company.” Izak was gaining confidence the longer they spoke. “Coming as it did just prior to the invasion.” He raised an eyebrow.

Rebecci raised her own, copying his expression. “Luck was certainly with us.”

“But why leave? I mean, you are a merchant company, and leaving wouldn’t be in your best interests.”

Her eyes bored into his. “And what are our interests?”

“Gaining ducats, I guess, and influence maybe.”

“Of course. Yes. Well, I do as I am ordered, and…” She spread her hands. “Here I remain, so we do have a presence in Anasoma.”

“Much less of one, surely, and that can’t be good for business.”

“What’s good for business isn’t always good for the soul. Isn’t that the saying?”

Izak nodded agreement then stroked his goatee. “Indeed it is. Though most merchants couldn’t care less for their souls.”

“I can assure you, we are very concerned for ours.”

“Ah… right.”

She was an odd one, this Rebecci. Not at all what he had expected from a merchant representing perhaps the biggest company in the empire. “My friends would like to talk with you.”

“Would they?”

“Yes. I…” Izak reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope. With a grimace, he rubbed his hand over the paper in a vain effort to smooth the wrinkles out. “Ah… here, take it.” He thrust the letter at Rebecci, who looked at it wryly.

“And what am I supposed to do with this?” she asked in a voice tinged with amusement.

“Read it,” Izak replied.

“And then?”

“Reply?”

“To whom?”

“Ah… good question.” Izak swallowed another mouthful of his drink. “Me, I suppose.”

“And where can I find you? For when I deliver my reply.”

Izak grimaced. He had wanted to get this over with, deliver the letter, and get out, having done his part for Avigdor and Felicienne, but it seemed he was caught for a while longer.

“I will come to your offices tomorrow and pick it up. The building in Dockside.”

Rebecci nodded and extended a slender hand to take the letter from his fingers. “That will be acceptable.” She stared at the envelope a moment before lifting it to her face and inhaling deeply. “A woman’s scent. Do you represent a woman, Sir Izak?”

“Er… I’m not at liberty to say.”

With a slight shrug, Rebecci lowered the letter and smiled. “Until tomorrow, then.”

“Yes. In the morning.” Best to get this over with.

“Farewell.”

With a shallow bow, Izak bade her goodbye and turned his back on the strange woman.

He walked along a wide cobbled street on the way home, wind whipping at his face bringing foul smells to his nose: urine and excrement, unwashed bodies and the overly strong perfume of those who could afford it; stale beer and pipe smoke flooding out of open tavern doorways. As he shuffled, with the reluctant, measured pace of someone who didn’t want to arrive where they were going, he realized his comfortable life was over, that he would never extricate himself from what was happening and Lady Felicienne’s plans. She was too good to let a tool go to waste when it could do more for her.

•

“Mule-headed, dankish pignut, goatf—”

“I take it something’s awry?” interrupted Avigdor.

Felice drew a brass telescopic cylinder away from her eye then squeezed her eyes to adjust her vision. She handed him the lens and brought a perfumed kerchief to her nose.

“He’s not cut out for this,” she remarked. None of them were.

Avigdor placed one end of the cylinder to his eye and scanned the street below for Izak. “We knew that in the beginning; that’s why he doesn’t know everything.”