Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (70 page)

“Let’s get out of the rain, Rebecci. What’s the point in staying out here?”

Rebecci stood, and green light flashed as she placed the crafted diamond in her pocket. “It helps obfuscate.”

Felice blinked, then swallowed. Decidedly uncanny. “From who?”

Rebecci pointed behind her along the wharf toward the city. “Them.”

Approaching them came two small figures, both rail-thin, like Rebecci. A small boy and girl. They strode along the wharf with an assurance only older people gained. And their clothes—Felice had never seen children wearing such finely woven cloth. Or the
crafting
s she spied around their necks and fingers.

A dozen yards away, they stopped and stood there, not saying a word.

For long moments, the only sound was that of the rain drumming into the wooden wharf. Beside her, the seagull squawked again.

“Will you tell me what’s going on? Please,” Felice asked Rebecci.

The skinny girl made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a titter. “Rebecci,” she called out in a high voice. “Release Savine to us.”

“I will not. The First Deliver has made his judgement.”

“A frail old man, stuck in the past.”

“A hero who saved us all, you included.”

The child sneered. “Ancient history.”

“Still relevant.” Rebecci took a step forward, slightly in front of Felice. “Turn back from your path,” Rebecci told the boy and girl, voice raised, “or you will suffer the same fate.”

Both the boy and girl looked at each other, exchanging words in hushed whispers. The boy shrugged and turned on his heel, striding back down the wharf. The girl stood there, glaring at Rebecci, as if her look could melt stone.

“Ward yourself,” the girl said. “We’ll be coming for you.”

“I always do. Now go, before I scourge you here and now.”

The girl uttered a hiss before turning to follow the boy, both retreating far more casually than Felice liked. They watched them until they disappeared down a street in Anasoma proper.

“Child sorcerers?” she asked Rebecci. “They weren’t children, were they?”

The thin woman shook her head. She looked even paler than normal. “Far from it.” She hesitated. “The First Deliverer thanks you for your assistance, and I’m to explain a few things to you.”

Felice looked up into the gray clouds, water sprinkling her face. “Oh, I think I’ve pretty much worked everything out.”

•

Gazija had been one of the councilors to the high king for two generations before his world was shattered. Even in the beginning, when everything went wrong, he’d been confident he’d be able to save his people. For years they’d fought with hardened steel and virulent sorcery, until they’d been backed into a corner. Their choice was to serve or die. He’d chosen a third option, confident in his sorcerous ability to rescue his people. And they’d trusted him. Placed their fragile lives in his hands. And he’d failed them. The forces assaulting him from his well had been too strong for him to master. In the end, his flesh had burned from his bones, before they too were consumed.

Before this happened, desperate, dying, he’d fashioned a
crafting
unlike any he’d attempted before. Holding the binding symbols in his mind, he’d combined both controlled destructive sorcery and coercive sorcery into a vessel, of sorts. A
crafting
compromised purely of organized energy, held together by strength of will. Able to contain his essence, his awareness.

And he’d survived. After a fashion.

In a newfound strange world, almost insane with the agony he’d endured, he made a decision. Trusting him, they followed his directions. One third of his people didn’t survive.

He saved them, yet condemned them all to an eternity of suffering and torment. A bodiless existence that had to feed on innocents to survive. They’d become parasites.

In a century of searching, he hadn’t yet found a way out of their repulsive subsistence. And another third of his people succumbed to despair, letting themselves just… evaporate, or be willingly imprisoned in inanimate
crafting
s.

His greatest shame. And they worshiped him, still.

“Gazija? Can you hear me?”

He turned at the sound of the voice, leaning on his walking sticks for support. This body was almost done, but he wouldn’t take the easy path and replace it yet. He had to set an example.

“Yes, Luphildern, what is it?”

“The mercenary captains are nervous. They haven’t been up this river before and want to know what to expect. And what’s going to happen when we arrive.”

“So, what did you tell them?”

“The usual. But they’re not satisfied. The weeks they’ve spent cramped in their ships are starting to wear on them, I fear.”

“Bah! For what we’re paying them, they should keep quiet and enjoy the scenery.”

“I think that’s one of the problems. We’re paying them a great deal, and so far they haven’t had to do much. Some of them are becoming suspicious.”

“You’d think getting paid and not having to fight yet would be cause for celebration. Apparently not.”

“Some of the captains are agitating for more information about what they’ll be facing. They know they’re heading deeper into the Mahruse Empire and think they’ll be fighting the Quivers. And they’re worried about getting trapped inside the empire with no way out.”

Gazija grimaced. “I’ll talk to them. Get the captains together. I suppose it’s about time I told them what to expect. It might be their first time fighting jukari and vormag, and it would be best if they knew. And it might also be their first time as heroes, if the emperor forgives their trespass into his empire.”

Luphildern shook his head. “What possessed their sorcerers to go down that path? To create such monsters?”

“Desperation,” replied Gazija. “It’s strange how choices you’d never consider become more palatable if you’re backed into a corner. But then again, maybe they were just insane.”

•

Aidan trudged wearily away from the bridge. He’d been walking for hours and still thought of himself as heading away from the bridge rather than to Riversedge, because the truth was, he hadn’t walked very far.

The problem, Aidan realized, was that he was exhausted. Physically and mentally. His arm ached like it had needles embedded in his flesh, and he couldn’t think for the pain. Twice he’d found himself standing still, not moving, as he withstood another barrage of searing agony. He didn’t even know how long he’d been there, in those moments. When he gathered the strength to move again, mosquitoes hummed around him, disturbed from their drinking of his exposed flesh, and he realized how thirsty he was. How long had it been since he’d tasted water? No matter, he’d reach Riversedge soon.

He found a trail of flattened grass leading northeast, not exactly the direction he needed to go in, but it would do. The long grasses were tiring to wade through, and anything that saved his energy had to be taken advantage of. Stumbling along, feet dragging across the green and yellow path, Aidan thought for the first time that he might need help, or he might not manage to reach the city. Just when the thought crossed his mind, he spotted figures ahead in the distance, some walking, others on horses or with carts. He blinked dry eyes and swallowed as best he could with his parched throat. He managed a half-hearted wave before letting his arm drop, realizing he’d stopped again. They wouldn’t likely wait for him; he’d better keep moving. Aidan sighed deeply, grimacing as his injured arm shifted.

A paved road appeared in his vision. He stopped, both feet now on firm stone. He looked up, shaking his head. He’d been so focused on moving one foot in front of the other, he hadn’t even seen the road ahead.

Someone hurried past, leading a laden pack horse.

“Ex-excuse me,” he croaked.

The man didn’t look back and kept moving. He was in a rush, as he would be, if he’d heard of the jukari.

Aidan looked down both sections of road. To the west, a line of people and animals traveled away from him, toward Riversedge. Not a soul was traveling in the opposite direction, from what he could see. To the east, more people approached, and a few hundred yards away came a squad of Quivers, looking polished and soft, as if they’d never seen real action in their time as soldiers. Even their horses’ coats shone, freshly brushed, like there hadn’t been better uses of their time.

Aidan suppressed another sigh. Riversedge was in for a terrible time if it’s only defense was comprised of the Quivers. He’d warrant they hadn’t even thought to send out squads to assist the people seeking the shelter of the city walls.

As the Quivers approached, he drew out a small pouch from his pants. It held his most valued possessions, and after a moment of searching, he pulled out an engraved metal disc the size of his palm. Their… Caitlyn’s… writ. From the emperor himself. Their mandate, which had protected Caitlyn from so many atrocities and enabled them to draw supplies from any outpost of the emperor’s forces they wanted to. It tingled in his hand, like something alive. He’d always disliked the object, imbued as it was with sorcery, but it was valuable, and he wasn’t about to throw it away. Caitlyn had bade him hold onto it as she couldn’t stand the way it felt, either.

When the Quivers were within ten yards, Aidan coughed, clearing his throat. He held up the shining disc, one of the symbols of the emperor’s power that no one would dare fake or lay false claim to.

“In the name of the emperor, I ask you to halt.”

Shocked looks greeted his outburst, and their gazes were drawn to the writ. One of the Quivers nudged his mount closer. He looked annoyed. The man took his time examining the metal disc through narrowed eyes. Eventually, he sniffed and tipped his head.

“What’s this about, then? We’ve had a rough time getting here, and we’re in a hurry. There’s been an invasion in Anasoma and rumors of sorcerous creatures from the Shattering in the surrounding countryside.”

So, they don’t know about the jukari horde about to descend on Riversedge. Aidan took in their soft hands and immaculate uniforms and gear. He almost laughed, then stopped. These men were what stood between the jukari and the people of Riversedge.

“I’m afraid things are going to get worse.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Caldan remained on the battlements surrounding Riversedge. Behind him, Master Mold was holding hushed conversations with the Protectors that had gathered in response to his summons. Dozens of them had trickled in over the course of a few hours as the sun continued its journey toward the western hills. In truth, they looked a fearsome sight, clad in crafted plate armor, and carrying shields and swords. The accumulation of
crafting
s, along with the occasional
trinket
, set his bones to vibrating. Some of the armor looked newly smith-crafted, while other pieces were ancient. One set of plate was even jet black, forged by a process Caldan could only begin to guess at. The
crafting
runes covering its surface were old, far more stylized than those in use today.

Mold had segregated them into smaller groups and directed them to guard positions around the wall once the jukari arrived. And now he was speaking to each of the groups separately, no doubt telling them not to do anything except to combat whatever sorceries the vormag released.

Let them talk, thought Caldan. What use was sorcery if it had to be rationed for fear of… what? Would some farmer seeing a Protector rescue him from jukari suddenly be able to use destructive sorcery and go on a rampage, bringing another Shattering on the world? Something wasn’t right. Mold thought what he was doing was for the best, but who did it really benefit? Who stood to gain if destructive and coercive sorcery were suppressed? Who had the Protectors doing their bidding, concealing any sorcery other than what they wanted the population to know about, but using forbidden sorcery themselves? The warlocks, like Joachim.

Caldan’s skin itched at the thought of the warlock and what he’d been prepared to do to him. Were the Protectors merely pawns? Had the Protectors started out as a righteous order, prepared to prevent another Shattering, and been twisted into something else? And behind the warlocks was the emperor, who himself had to know about forbidden sorcery. What better way to keep such sorcerous power to himself and those around him than to suppress its practice by anyone else?

Caldan began to wonder just what use the Protectors were. What Mold and the Protectors were doing now, not helping the people fleeing the jukari, just seemed so… horribly wrong.

A young Protector appeared beside him, offering a waterskin. Caldan accepted it with thanks, not realizing how thirsty he’d grown the last few hours, left alone with his thoughts. He drank deeply and rested the half-empty skin on the battlement beside him.

The dark smoke from the fires was getting closer, as were the plumes of dust in the distance. A shadow had begun to darken the land to the south at the very edge of his vision. Caldan frowned, squinting up at the cloudless sky. That was no shadow.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. His other hand inched down to clasp the hilt of his sword. Slowly, the shadow crept closer, until he could make out individual figures: jukari. They had to be. And not just a few groups banded together—a hundred or so, the trappers had mentioned. There must have been thousands of the creatures.

In front of the horde raced other tiny figures—humans, trying to outrun the jukari. Caldan watched, horrified and sickened, as the shadow swallowed the slower moving people before it.

Mold appeared by his side. The master grunted when he saw the approaching swarm, face grim, but said nothing else.

A few groups in front of the horde broke off and headed east and west toward side roads converging on the main road, while the main force continued toward Riversedge, devouring more victims as it advanced.

Caldan swallowed bile, sick to his stomach. Whoever was too slow to escape, or was caught on the side roads and in the countryside, would be killed without mercy. For that was how the jukari operated, what they had been bred to do during the wars of the Shattering. They were crafted creatures, a product of sorcery he couldn’t begin to fathom. A vile sorcery which twisted nature to its will.