Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (59 page)

Aidan took them from Chalayan and tossed the craftings along the bridge toward the jukari, where they rolled then tumbled to a stop. “We can’t. Just do what you can, and when you see I’m about to be overwhelmed… Well, you know what to do.”

Chalayan and cel Rau exchanged grim looks.

Aidan ignored them and drained the last drops from his green vial. If the opening had been wider, he’d have licked the inside clean. Oh well, probably for the best. He needed to keep his thoughts clear.

As Chalayan crossed to the other side and placed more craftings, Aidan unbuckled his sword belt and, fumbling with his one good hand, drew his blade and tossed the belt aside. It would only get in the way, and with one arm out of action, the fewer distractions the better.

“That’s them all,” said Chalayan. “A few nasty surprises for our jukari friends. With any luck, some vormag will go down as well. Don’t stand between the craftings; stay back toward the village. I’ll do my best from the other side, but with my threads stretched thin and being so far away—”

“Just do what I told you. We can’t stop the jukari, only delay them, give them pause.”

“Are you sure—?”

“Yes. There’s no other way.” He needed to do this; he couldn’t leave the villagers to be slaughtered without trying to stop the jukari. Otherwise Caitlyn’s death was for nothing. Aidan felt a surge of guilt. Could he really justify killing her? He winced at the memory, shook his head clear of the doubts. He’d had to; there’d been no choice. He had to be realistic: she’d brought it on herself.

Chalayan kept his eyes on the bridge, not meeting his eye. “Good luck, then.”

The sorcerer turned and mounted his horse, heading back to the village at a trot.

“He’s never forgiven you for Caitlyn,” said cel Rau.

Funny that. Aidan watched Chalayan’s departing back. “I know. And this new sorcery he’s learned… Now he has a taste for it, I fear the worst. It’s in his nature. Caitlyn understood that. Do you, my friend?”

Cel Rau sniffed and gave a single curt nod.

Aidan clasped his shoulder. “Good. Remain watchful. Never forget our true purpose. You know what to do, if it comes to that.”

Cel Rau mounted his horse and turned to survey the bridge, gaze lifting to the approaching jukari horde. His hands grasped the pommels of his swords so hard the knuckles were white. After a moment, he relaxed and turned to Aidan.

“Die well,” he said, and urged his horse toward the village without a backward glance.

A calmness settled over Aidan, unlooked for, yet welcome. It wasn’t the painkilling liquid, for his thoughts were still clear. Clearer than they had been for some time. He could atone for his sins, by delaying the jukari and vormag as much as he could in order to save the villagers.

He stood in the middle of the ancient bridge and watched the jukari advance. A cool wind whipped across the river and over him, ruffling his clothes. He made sure the sling cradling his shattered arm was tied tight and wouldn’t hamper his movements.

Their tiny figures grew larger and larger. A loose spread-out formation became narrow and tightly packed as they funneled toward the bridge.

A quick check behind him confirmed both Chalayan and cel Rau were well away but had taken up a position in the main street of the village, where they could keep their eyes on the bridge. He could have used both of them here with him, but he’d had to consider the greater good. A man had to stand for something in his life.

Riversedge, and those in the empire, had to know what they knew about the reemergence of destructive sorcery, about Anasoma, about Gazija. Characters would be tested in the coming days, of this he was certain. He hoped Chalayan would choose the right path, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

Guttural barks and howls reached his ears as the jukari loped closer. As they approached the bridge, they slowed, puzzled by the single man standing in the center. They weren’t stupid, these creations from the Shattering. That was why they were so dangerous. They thought. Unlike wild beasts, they could reason. If only they’d been created with empathy. Those were dark, dismal days, when sorcerers were so enamored of their power they considered themselves untouchable.

At the beginning of the bridge, the jukari stumbled to a halt, milling around in confusion. Perhaps the bridge itself awakened some memory of times past and baffled them. No matter. Abominations. As he kept his eyes on the jukari, a few vormag pushed their way to the front. Worse abominations. The must have been scared of whatever power remained in the bridge, otherwise they would try and obliterate him with sorcery where he stood.

Aidan felt their black eyes on him, considering, weighing. Harsh commands were uttered, and a smaller jukari moved toward him. It hesitated, then took a timid step forward between the pillars.

Nothing happened.

The jukari took another step. Then another. With a howl, it broke into a run and headed straight at him, a few of its fellow horrors following behind, baying for his flesh.

Aidan tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were too dry. A quick nervous glance behind told him Chalayan and cel Rau were still watching. He’d known they would be, but couldn’t help himself.

He waited as the first jukari lumbered up the bridge toward him. A runt, it only carried a dagger, but that was almost as long as a sword to him. It came at him, growling, a feral snarl plastered across its inhuman face. Behind the creature, more jukari flooded between the pillars, urged on by the vormag.

Aidan felt a chill deep in his bones, a hollowness in his stomach, and a tightness in his chest. Terror. He was deathly afraid. But he’d made his choice. He was going to die.

Black, murderous eyes rushed at him; steel from the jukari’s unholy forges was raised high. Aidan stepped to the side as the jukari stabbed down—a terrible novice strike that almost made him laugh. He evaded with ease and punched his blade deep into his opponent’s neck. Blood sprayed as he wrenched his sword out, and the jukari stumbled a few steps to a stop.

Aidan spun around, ignoring the fatally wounded jukari. It was only a runt they’d been prepared to sacrifice to test the pillars. It was the rest of the horde he’d have to worry about.

A score of the monsters pressed toward him. Gray-skinned; with black, yellow or orange –eyes; semi-intelligent horrors. Shrieks and howls of glee preceded them. Aidan breathed deeply and readied his sword. What was the hold up? What was Chalayan waiting for?

The leading jukari were almost upon him when shields from two of the sorcerer’s craftings hummed into existence, one to his left, another to his right. They blocked passage on the edges of the bridge, so the jukari couldn’t flank him. Unfortunately, the domes weren’t large enough to cover the width of the ancient structure and left a small pathway between them, wide enough for two jukari at a time.

As the jukari near the shields milled in confusion, one leapt through the gap—a big one, swinging a massive greatsword.

Aidan ducked under the flashing blade and cursed as his own slash skidded off the creature’s crafted breastplate. It hacked at him again, with far more finesse than the first jukari. He twisted, narrowly avoiding the blade, which struck the stone of the bridge beside him, sending shards flying and the sword to ringing.

For the first time, he noticed the brute’s armor was made to fit it perfectly. Breastplate and armbands, even the mail underneath, all made to size. A worrisome detail.

He cut wildly at the jukari in an attempt to keep it at bay. Sharp hums filled the air, like bees passing close to his ear. Guttural, anguished cries came from the bridge. He risked a fleeting glance to see silver threads of… something… some sorcerous force… emanating from a number of the craftings Chalayan had left on the bridge. They floated on the breeze then whipped back and forth.

More destructive sorcery. A web of pulsing, glittering filaments sliced through flesh and bone as if they offered no resistance. Jukari fell as limbs were severed from bodies. Dark blood splashed across the stone. Howls of pain and dismay erupted. Feet slipped on the slick surface.

Aidan’s opponent snarled and stepped back, eyes wide as it took in the fate of its comrades. Further past the whipping threads, the jukari charge stopped in its tracks. Two vormag pushed their way through the throng.

Aidan wondered if he was becoming like Caitlyn, countenancing the use of evil for the greater good? He shook his head to clear it.

The brute of a jukari turned toward him, and they locked gazes.

A wild slash, a feint that turned to a thrust, almost knocking his sword from his hand as he parried the blade. By the ancestors, the beast was fast. It moved the greatsword as if it weighed nothing.

Aidan shouted, hoping to distract it. He didn’t know if the vormag could counter Chalayan’s sorcery, but he wasn’t about to wait around to find out.

Gritting his teeth against the agony from his shattered arm, he dodged more slashes from the jukari. One arced past his sword as he desperately tried to deflect it—and struck his thigh. Pain blossomed, and warm, sticky blood soaked his pants. His leg buckled underneath him.

For a few heartbeats, he staved off death as the jukari rained blows down on him. Stroke after stroke he deflected or dodged, using his smaller size to his advantage, until his sword dropped from numb fingers. In despair, he gazed up at the jukari.

•

Vasile looked at the bridge in horror as the tiny figure of Aidan struggled against a jukari almost twice his size. He barely breathed, almost in a trance. He couldn’t look away. Something dark flashed among the other jukari behind the blue shields, too small to see at this distance. Moments later, howls of agony reached them. Next to him, Chalayan jumped up and down and yelled unintelligible words in his tribal tongue.

Vasile wasn’t sure what there was to crow about. He broke his trance and risked a glance at the sorcerer. Chalayan was grinning like a child, but his eyes were feverish and strained. From what Vasile knew, sorcery at this distance was taxing to the extreme, but Chalayan seemed to be reveling in it, the exertion a perverse kind of challenge and reward.

He’d stopped the jukari horde in the middle of the bridge as surely as if they’d found a wall in their way. The front lines of the jukari swelled then subsided, even backing off a few steps. Whatever Chalayan had done, his deciphering of the ways of destructive sorcery had certainly come along in leaps and bounds.

Cel Rau turned his gaze from the bridge and regarded Chalayan without expression. Vasile caught his eye, but the swordsman’s face revealed nothing of what he was thinking. Cel Rau went back to watching Aidan’s violent struggle.

Vasile sucked in a breath as Aidan went down on one knee. Blows from the jukari pounded at the man, but somehow he parried them all—except one. Aidan’s sword fell to the ground. The jukari took a step forward and loomed over him.

As Aidan was about to die, cel Rau spoke. “Now, sorcerer.”

“What’s happening?” Vasile hissed.

Chalayan laughed with glee. “I’m doing what needs to be done. The jukari horde can be stopped at the bridge—if it isn’t there. Watch.”

The jukari raised its massive sword high over Aidan just as bright silver threads twisted around the bridge. A filament of sorcery sliced open its shoulder, and its downward swing went wide of Aidan.

“Do it now, Chalayan,” cel Rau said. “I’d rather it was done by us, not the jukari.”

Chalayan nodded, intense concentration on his face. He raised his arms and made a twisting motion with his hands.

The threads spun in the air, crackling like lightning. Jukari began dying. Halves of the creatures fell to the ground. Some threw themselves down to avoid the sorcery, some turned and ran. One thread passed through the neck of a vormag, and its head separated from its body. Red shields enveloped its fellows, and Chalayan cursed vehemently as his sorcery was deflected. Aidan had thrown himself to the side and lay immobile, hands covering his head.

Vasile’s heart clenched in his chest.

Blue shields sprang up behind the jukari on the bridge, blocking their escape.

“Quickly, sorcerer,” growled cel Rau.

Vasile realized Chalayan was having too much fun. In a situation where Aidan was about to die and countless jukari were being slaughtered, the sorcerer was enjoying himself.

Rolling thunder echoed across the bridge. In an instant, the space between the threads turned black. Something about it made Vasile sick; just looking at the power twisted something inside his mind. It was… wrong.

“Yes!” gloated Chalayan.

Smoke billowed from jukari as their bodies burst into flames, obscuring the bridge.

“And… now,” said Chalayan.

Vasile staggered as a great weight descended on him. He felt as if he weighed double or triple normal. The smoke from the jukari spun in a circle, forming a whirlwind above the bridge. Multicolored lightning arced out, striking the bridge, leaving yard-wide blackened scores in the stone.

Another clap of thunder. The air distorted as a wave of pressure rushed from the bridge. It slammed into Vasile, Chalayan, and cel Rau, sending them tumbling.

They scrambled to their feet.

“There,” said Chalayan. “They won’t be crossing the bridge now. It was a shame to destroy it, but—”

“But you didn’t,” said cel Rau.

And he was right. Despite the powerful sorcery unleashed against it, the bridge remained standing, spanning the river as it had since the Shattering. Jukari corpses littered the structure, sprinkled with vormag. Of Aidan, there was no sign.

A group of vormag walked slowly onto the bridge. Shields covered them, and they each had one arm raised in the air. Tendrils of sorcery flowed from their hands and along the bridge. Something had stopped Chalayan’s sorcery from destroying the structure, and Vasile wagered it was the vormag. A group of five of them were holding hands, mouths moving in unison. Whatever they’d done to stop Chalayan, they obviously weren’t finished.

As Vasile had the thought, a dark violet globe appeared above the vormag and shot into the air. Then another, and a third. Two veered toward the village, while the other… came straight at them.