Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (23 page)

Caldan turned to face the window. Shadows moved inside the building. Three crossbows protruded from the opening, all pointed at him. Even this far away, he could sense they were crafted.

Slowly and carefully, he dropped his hand from the sword hilt. He took a deep breath. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He held his arms out in front of him, palms facing the sky.

“I need to speak to whoever’s in charge,” Caldan said, keeping his voice steady.

Hushed whispers emanated from behind the crossbows. There was movement, and clothes rustled, then moments later, a door to the right opened and out strode a large man with short, graying hair. He was dressed in well-worn brown leather trousers and a cream shirt. He took a few steps toward Caldan, appraising him with stark gray eyes that peered out from under bushy eyebrows. He looked Caldan up and down, taking in his shabby travel-stained clothes and the dust covering his boots and trousers. His eyes rested on Caldan’s
trinket
ring for an instant before moving on.

“At the moment,” the man said—it was the same voice that had ordered him before—“you’ll talk to me. I’m Master Mold.”

Caldan nodded. He didn’t know if the crossbow bolts would penetrate his shield, but he wasn’t keen to find out; and he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with these Protectors.

Mold wore numerous crafted rings and amulets. Carefully, Caldan extended his senses and examined the tear of the master’s well. Like Simmon’s, it was constricted, his real strength hidden. He would have to learn how they did that.

Caldan lowered his hands slowly. “I’ve come all the way from Anasoma. The invasion… the Protectors there… they’re all dead.”

Exclamations of horrified surprise greeted his words. In front of him, Mold’s face grew grim.

“We had hoped things weren’t so bad for them,” he growled. He ran a hand over his face. “But this is worse than we suspected.”

Caldan hesitated.
Best to get the bad news over with.
“The Sorcerers’ Guild was destroyed as well. Maybe some survived. I really don’t know.”

“And just who are you?”

“Master Simmon took me on as an apprentice.”

He felt a light touch skitter across his well and realized he’d been examined in return.

Mold looked at Caldan, grim and curious at the same time. “I know Master Simmon well, but we don’t take on apprentices. The young ones here are training with the Sorcerers’ Guild.”

“So I’ve been told. Master Simmon… He… didn’t make it.”

Mold’s shoulders slumped, and his face went bleak. “Not Simmon…”

Caldan could only shrug, though he felt Mold’s pain. “It’s the truth.”

Mold said nothing for a few moments. “So, Simmon took you in as an apprentice.” His tone implied he thought Caldan was lying.

“I didn’t know him for long, but he was good to me.”

Rubbing his chin, Mold nodded to himself, having come to a decision. “What did he always have on his desk?”

Caldan thought furiously, back to the times he had been in Master Simmon’s rooms. He remembered the room, the chests… What was on his desk? Ah, his wife.

“Flowers,” replied Caldan firmly. “In a vase. From his wife.”

The master gave him a thin smile then spoke. “Lower those crossbows, boys. This one’s no threat.”

Caldan breathed a sigh of relief as the crossbows trained on him withdrew into the building. He cut his link to the shield
crafting
.

Mold approached him, holding out a hand. “Quite a strong shield you have there, from what I sensed. Did you smith-craft it?”

Caldan shook his head. “No, mine burnt out during the invasion. I picked this one up when I escaped.”

“I’ve a lot of questions for you, and I’m sure the other masters will have as well. We need firm intelligence about what’s going on in Anasoma. We know a little… a precious little. You’re a welcome sight, despite the bad tidings you bring.”

“I’ll help all I can. But the truth is, I don’t know a lot about the invaders.” Though he knew more than he could tell them.

“Come, walk with me,” said Mold. “What’s your name?”

“Caldan.”

He fell into step as he was led through the door and inside the building. Doorways opened left and right of a corridor. Sorcerous globes illuminated the interior, each set into a metal cage bolted to the walls, presumably to prevent someone stealing them.

Master Mold touched Caldan’s shoulder and guided him up a flight of creaky wooden stairs. Boards nailed to the stringers with sometimes finger-width gaps between them attested to the shoddiness of the workmanship.

Mold noticed him noticing. “Some Protectors, and sorcerers from the guild, are shocked when they first see this place,” he explained. “What most of the sorcerers don’t realize, especially those that spend most of their time in cities such as Anasoma, is that we don’t have time for many niceties here. This building”—he gestured with an arm as they reached the next floor—“is one of the places where most of the Protectors’ work is done.” He paused and raised his bushy eyebrows. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Another test,
thought Caldan. He nodded. “You search for rogue sorcerers who use destructive sorcery.” Without meaning to, he bit his tongue and stopped himself mentioning coercive sorcery.

“Exactly. As well as dealing with leftovers from the Shattering, of course. There are some nasty things out there.”

Curious. Simmon hadn’t said anything about this subject. “Like?” he prompted, earning a questioning look.

“Beasts put together with sorcery before and during the Shattering. Vicious, cruel things. Jukari, for one. Then there’s the leftover sorcerous laboratories and such. I doubt we’ll ever find them all. Dangerous knowledge is still out there.”

Caldan frowned, puzzled. “They’re real? Jukari, I mean. I thought they were only tales.”

“They are as real as you and I, and much scarier. Most of the Protectors in Anasoma probably hadn’t even seen one, let alone had to fight one. They were a bit sheltered. Too much time studying
crafting
and
trinket
s, and not enough time in the real world. But I shouldn’t speak ill of them. They were all right, mostly.”

“Simmon was good to me.”

Mold grunted in acknowledgement, then motioned for Caldan to stop in front of a wooden door. Voices came from the other side.

“The masters have gathered for their regular morning meeting, so you’re lucky. We won’t have to wait until we can gather a few together. I was dragged out when you showed up. But let me warn you, you’ll have a hard time convincing them Simmon named you an apprentice. I can’t remember the last time that happened.” He gave Caldan a shrewd look. “Though, judging by your well, I can see what he must have been thinking. It’s a wonder the Sorcerers’ Guild let you go.”

“Ah… I think it was my age.” Though thinking back, the guild hadn’t let him go; Simmon had used his rank to get him. “They weren’t quite sure what to make of me. I only arrived in Anasoma a few months ago.”

“And Simmon snapped you up before they could? He always was a crafty one. He’ll be missed. Well, are you ready?”

Caldan swallowed then nodded.

Master Mold opened the door and ushered him inside.

Six pairs of eyes bore into him as he entered in front of the master. He could tell from their bearing, clothes, and
crafting
s, the four men and two women were all masters. And not a few wore
trinket
s. He was about to open his well to sense theirs, but at the last moment thought better of it. Best not to make them curious about his abilities. He was here to provide as much information about Anasoma and the invaders as he could, then leave as fast as possible. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Miranda outside the city, but they could hardly have dragged a prisoner inside without attracting too much notice.

The masters sat in comfortable-looking chairs, while three others remained empty. One wall was taken up with a bookcase filled with leather-bound books and scrolls. A large open window let air and light into the room, under which sat one master, a curl of smoke rising from a wooden pipe in his hand.

“Mold,” exclaimed a woman, thin and middle-aged, with long blonde hair. “This is a meeting for masters only, as I trust you well know. Unless this is urgent, I recommend you take this young man elsewhere.”

“Peace, Annelie,” said Master Mold. “You’re going to be glad I interrupted. This lad’s traveled all the way from Anasoma to see us. He’s an apprentice Protector, so he says, under Master Simmon.”

An intake of breath around the table greeted his words, followed by each of the masters laughing and exchanging words.

“Is this a joke?”

“Mold has finally cracked!”

“Really, Master Mold, such unsubstantiated and preposterous claims should be verified before bringing them to us.”

“Pignuts and hogwash!”

Mold held up a hand and waited until the room quieted a little. “Hear me out,” he said loudly enough to carry over their voices. “You know I wouldn’t bother you unless I thought it worthwhile.”

Caldan looked around the room. A few masters were studying him critically, and a number of touches brushed across his well. Interestingly, some felt rougher than others, clumsier. One he barely sensed, so featherlight and fleeting was its contact.

Six more masters to convince he knew Simmon and was an apprentice Protector, and he had no idea how many of them had actually met Simmon, let alone would know he kept flowers from his wife on his desk. None, he would wager. They would likely spend hours questioning him and still come to no conclusions, even with Master Mold to vouch for him. Their stupidity would drag on for hours, and he would rather get this over with. The sooner he was done here, the sooner he could get back to Miranda. He could only see one way to convince them of who he was and earn their trust, and to discharge his promise to Master Simmon at the same time.

He stepped into the center of the room and clapped his hands. All voices stopped. Silence settled over the masters.

“My name is Caldan. I was only in the Protectors a short time after Master Simmon took me in. I had no idea you didn’t usually take on apprentices, but that is neither here nor there. Anasoma has fallen. The Protectors are broken and most likely all dead. Master Simmon himself is dead.”

The masters began speaking all at once.

Caldan raised his voice over theirs. “Simmon urged me to escape and seek help. He wanted me to warn you of the destructive sorcery used against them, and of the coercive sorcery.”

A few of the masters hissed. One gave a wordless cry of dismay.

“He shouldn’t know…”

“That knowledge is forbidden…”

“Be quiet!” shouted Caldan.

The masters, including Mold, stared at him in shock.

“Before he died, Simmon assigned me a task: to escape and tell you the truth behind the invaders’ sorcery, which I have done. But he also asked another thing of me: to bring you this.”

Caldan gripped the handle of the sword and drew the blade fully from the scabbard.

A
trinket
like none he had thought possible, whose value he could only guess at. People would kill for such a blade, no matter what its function was. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. One of Simmon’s last acts had been to ensure the
trinket
didn’t fall to the Indryallans. Caldan owed it to him to pass it into safe hands.

The blade shone, even in the subdued light inside the room. All eyes were drawn to the sword. The masters gasped with astonishment as one, then just as quickly, their expressions went blank.

Caldan felt a hand on his shoulder—Master Mold’s heavy grip.

“Thank you, lad,” the master said solemnly. “That’s… Master Simmon’s prized possession. One very few people know about. He likely thought bringing it to us would prove your story. If I could just…”

Master Mold reached for the sword, and Caldan relinquished his grip. Though the masters were obviously trying to suppress their reactions, Caldan noticed there was a visible lessening of tension in the room when Mold took possession of the
trinket
.

Feigning indifference, Caldan unbuckled the sword belt and handed it to Mold, who sheathed the blade, leaving only the plain, battered hilt and pommel visible.

Again, Caldan felt as if the tension in the room lessened when the blade was returned to its scabbard. He filed the information away then put it to the back of his mind. Whatever the significance of the sword, whether it was Simmon’s or the Protectors’, he really didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, it validated his story and proved he could be trusted. And that meant he would be done with them and back to Miranda all the swifter.

He braced himself for their questions.

Master Annelie stood and approached. She only reached to his shoulder, and up close, her eyes were a remarkable green. The way the other masters deferred to her indicated she held some power among them.

“Well,” she said gently. “I’m sure you have some questions, but they can wait until later. We thank you for bringing us Master Simmon’s sword.”

“
Trinket
,” added Caldan.

Annelie’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Indeed it is. But I’m sure you’re in need of rest.”

“It’s morning, and if it pleases you, I have some questions I’d like answers to now.”

She shook her head. “Later; once you’ve washed up. We haven’t finished our morning’s business yet and have much to discuss.”

“Yes,” added Master Mold. “There are things we need to sort out, the usual business of running things here, nothing to bore you with.”

Caldan kept his face expressionless. Whatever it was, he was sure it had to do with either him or the
trinket
, though most likely the
trinket
. They had certainly been surprised and relieved when he revealed the blade.

Annelie grabbed Caldan’s arm and urged him out the door.

He looked at Master Mold.

“Go with her,” the master said. “She’ll find you somewhere to stay until we need you.”

He nodded and let her guide him into the corridor.

“Follow me,” she said and strode briskly away. “We have a few rooms spare. I’m sure you’ll be thankful for a decent bed after your time on the road. You’ll likely appreciate a bath as well. You do know Riversedge is famous for its hot baths, don’t you? Why, I’m sure you do…”