Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (71 page)

He shivered, chilled to the bone at the thought, even under the hot sun. Within his sight, the products of forbidden sorceries were killing innocents. Farmers, traders, trappers, merchants, fathers, mothers, children… While the Protectors did nothing to prevent such an atrocity, under the guise that it wasn’t actual forbidden sorcery.

As if that mattered.

Caldan gripped the wall in front of him; rough hard stone dug into his palms. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Do? Nothing. There’s nothing we can do. We’re here to neutralize the vormag, if there are any.”

Caldan glimpsed anguish in Mold’s expression. The master wanted to do something to help but couldn’t. A lifetime of secrecy and following regulations and the directives of the warlocks had left him rigid and unchangeable.

“What good is knowing shielding sorcery if we can’t use it to save people? Why are the Protectors adept at destructive sorcery, if we can’t use it for the greater good?”

“Because weak-willed sorcerers will only use it for their own gain. We cannot risk another Shattering. We do what we can in secret. It’s always been that way.”

“So, you’d stand here and do nothing while innocents are slaughtered before the city walls?”

“You need to come to terms with your situation. It is necessary.”

“No,” replied Caldan grimly. “It’s not.”

He slowly released his grip on the wall and rubbed his hands. He’d been grasping the stone so hard his hands ached. He didn’t belong with the Protectors. Once, in Anasoma, he thought he’d found a place… but no more. If the warlocks were anything like Joachim, hiding sorcerous knowledge for their own gain, among other things, then he didn’t think they’d have his best interests at heart, either. Or those of the citizens of the empire. They were exactly what the Protectors were supposed to guard against. And the Protectors had been corrupted to serve them.

“Master Mold,” exclaimed a Protector twenty yards away on the wall. He was pointing out at the jukari horde. “Look! There’s someone fighting the jukari.”

Caldan turned his attention to the mass of tiny figures, as did Mold. He squinted, trying to make out what the Protector had seen.

“On the road,” the Protector added. “Two men are killing jukari, the ones that get too far ahead of the mass.”

Mold grunted. “I see them.”

There… yes. Caldan sucked in a breath. At this distance, they were tiny, but there definitely were two men killing jukari out there. One on horseback, leading another mount, while his companion was on foot. And it looked like they were trying to give fleeing refugees enough time to escape. As he watched, a jukari came at one. Caldan could see it towered over him, even at this distance. Somehow, the man remained standing, and the jukari fell to the ground. They ran from the fallen beast toward Riversedge, staying between the last of the refugees and the advancing monsters.

Two men against the flood of jukari, doing their best in the face of overwhelming odds. He glanced at Mold, who remained unmoved. And the Protectors watched, their inaction a blight they didn’t even comprehend.

“By the ancestors,” he cursed, turning his back on the jukari. “I can’t watch this. I need a walk.”

He glared at Mold, who returned his look impassively. Leaving the battlement, he made for the ramp, passing three Quivers who were readying the catapult with head-sized stones. He could feel Mold’s eyes on him as he strode down the ramp. Caldan checked his gear.
Trinket
ring,
crafting
s, and a plain but well-made sword. It would have to be enough.

At the bottom, he turned toward the gate, which was still open, searching the incoming crowd for what he needed. There: an old man leading a sturdy brown horse with a saddle.

Caldan fished in his purse and drew out a few gold ducats. More than enough.

“Here,” he said, pressing the ducats into the man’s hand. “For the horse.”

The old man frowned at the gold. “It’s not for sale…” He trailed off, sounding unconvinced.

“I’m sorry.” Caldan took the reins from the man’s un-protesting hands. In moments, he was on horseback, pushing his way past the people surging through the open gate.

“Make way!” he yelled. “Let me through.”

Annoyed shouts followed him as people were shoved out of the way by the bulk of the horse. They flowed around him and closed in behind him, blocking any attempt by Mold to stop him. A quick glance showed two Protectors trying to reach him, but against the surge of the crowd, they had no chance. People wanted to get into the city, not out, and two men couldn’t fight through to catch him.

Caldan itched between his shoulder blades, and he hunched down over his newly acquired horse. Mold still carried the
trinket
sword, and there was a chance he’d feel its effects if the master truly wanted to stop him. But the expected pain hadn’t hit him yet. Either he was out of its range, or Mold had worked out what he was up to and hoped he’d die out there.

Then he was clear of the gate, and he guided the horse to the side, out of the way of the train of people shoving their way into Riversedge. He gave the horse its head, cantering down the side of the road toward the oncoming jukari horde.

Men, women, and children all gave him startled looks as he rode past, some shouting their concern he was riding the wrong way, others cheering him on, as if one man could do anything much against the jukari. But he could make a small difference, and that was what he craved. Inside Caldan, something had broken. His flight from Anasoma, when the Protectors had all been killed, only to have Bells escape and be betrayed by Joachim; the unveiling of the distortion of the Protectors… Miranda’s damaged mind he couldn’t heal. He needed to do something. All his hardship and decisions so far had left him with nothing.

He cantered past a wagon filled with dirty-faced children dressed in rags. Driving the wagon was a man who looked at him with hope. Or maybe it was all in his head. If he was Touched, and had his sorcery, why shouldn’t he use his talents in situations like this? Ordinary men were doing what they could; he’d seen them from the wall.

The refugees thinned considerably after the first few hundred yards. Those he passed now had an air of desperation about them, wild eyes and sorrowful expressions, as if they expected to be run down and slaughtered within sight of the city walls.

Caldan urged his horse on. Ahead, somewhere, were the two men doing what the Protectors should have been doing, and he meant to join them, and ensure they and as many refugees as possible reached Riversedge alive.

There. The man on the horse wielding a bloodstained sword. For a moment, he blocked Caldan’s view of his companion, but the man guided his sweat-lathered mount toward a group of terrified men and women, urging them to keep fleeing, and the other man was revealed. Covered from head to toe with splashes of black jukari blood and dust, he looked like a tribesman from the Steppes, dual-wielding swords with slight curves along with a shorter blades.

He tore his gaze away from the men and toward a group of baying jukari. One or two, the men could face, but it looked as if some had held back and joined with others that had caught up. There were six coming toward them at a loping run. The tribesman was walking calmly toward the creatures, while his companion followed close behind.

Caldan’s first sighting of a jukari. They were exactly like he’d read, and resembled the pictures he remembered sketched in the book. Gray-skinned and tall, head and shoulders above a grown man, with savage grins and jagged, sharp teeth.

With a shout, the swordsman leapt at the lead jukari, swords swirling in a lethal pattern. Blood sprayed from sliced flesh, and jukari howled with inhuman pain. On his horse, the other man stood in his stirrups and attempted to batter a jukari edging around his companion. Not a fighter, this one. Then Caldan noticed he had one arm wrapped in a sling, and was still doing what he could.

Caldan flashed past the fleeing men and woman, scarcely sparing them a glance.

“Go!” he shouted to them, as if they needed to be told. It was all he could think to say.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three more jukari sprinting toward the men only a few dozen yards away and closing fast. Nine. They would be overwhelmed. His blood burned in his veins like molten metal, and sweat dripped from his face.

Caldan thrust a hand in his pocket and threw his smith-crafted automaton into the air. With barely a thought, five strings separated from his well and linked to the beetle. Shiny bronze wings opened, and he sent it buzzing toward the three jukari coming at them from the left.

He turned his attention to the tribesman holding off five jukari, as incredible as that seemed. Guttural, inhuman cries filled his ears, along with shouts from the two men, and a rancid animal stench pervaded the air, combined with the metallic scent of blood.

A horse screamed as a jukari’s massive sword buried into its shoulder. The man riding had only just swayed out of the way of the flashing blade at the last instant. His mount stumbled, and he was thrown clear, uttering a hoarse shout of agony as he landed on his injured arm. His companion buckled under the assault of heavy jukari swords.

Caldan glanced desperately to his left and gave his beetle a sequence of commands, then drew his sword, urging his horse straight at the five jukari ahead. Agonizing pain filled his mind as he forced more strings from his well. A multicolored shield enveloped him, and with a thought, he extended it around his mount.

An instant later, they crashed into the first jukari, knocking it flying. His horse screamed with terror, but the shield absorbed much of the impact, sparkling purple motes spreading over them. Momentum barely checked, Caldan slashed his blade into a stunned jukari’s face, splitting it in two. The creature’s head jolted back with the impact as it dropped lifeless to the ground. He raised his blade again, a ribbon of black blood flying, and slammed it down at another jukari. Steel rang on steel as the creature raised its own sword and blocked his blade. Caldan screamed, blood boiling, and struck again. The jukari’s sword broke in two. His blade sliced deep into its shoulder, and it howled like a thing of nightmare. Caldan easily turned its broken sword as it attempted a thrust with the splintered end. Another slash, and he opened its throat. Then he was through the group and out the other side.

The three jukari that remained alive hesitated, giving him time to deal with the other group. On the ground now, his beetle opened its carapace, and out rolled a small sorcerous crafted globe. He’d learned his lesson beneath Anasoma with his first metal automaton. There was no gain in destroying that which took so much effort, and expensive materials, to create, when a smaller
crafting
would do. His beetle buzzed back toward him. A quick glance, and he confirmed the tribesman was backing away toward his friend, who still lay prone on the ground.

The new group of three jukari snarled as they approached, jaws gaping, and stepped toward his crafted globe. Caldan’s head was about to explode, he was holding so many strings. It was too many. He had to decide which ones to cling on to, else all would slip from his grasp. His shield vanished, and he linked to the sorcerous globe, pushing as much power into it from his well as he could. Brightness erupted from the ground. Jukari staggered and shielded their eyes.

Caldan ruptured the anchor.

The globe was annihilated by the forces from his well. A clap of thunder reverberated from the site as an invisible force knocked the jukari flying. Strands of lightning surged over their bodies, blackening their skin and sending out billows of steam. Caldan re-linked to his shield, almost too late, as the forces washed over him and his mount. He gritted his teeth as his shield sparkled a deep purple, but managed to keep the strings in his mind’s grasp. Tendrils of lightning flooded over him, crackling with intensity. His shield withstood the forces assailing it with ease. Caldan wiped his brow, his only concern now that he was holding too many strings. They might slip from him at a critical moment.

Caldan rushed the remaining three jukari, only to see the swordsman take one down with graceful slashes to its thighs and stomach. It squealed, flailing on the ground, clutching at its innards.

The two remaining jukari darted away, turning tail to flee. The swordsman looked about to chase but stopped after a few steps. Caldan glared at their retreating backs as they raced away, but the swordsman was right; no point chasing them when they could be moving closer to Riversedge. There was no time to waste.

He urged his horse toward the swordsman, who was rushing to his friend’s aid. He slipped out of the saddle. The man on the ground groaned, face white and mouth clenched in pain. A short distance away, his horse lay in a pool of blood, still alive, trembling. The second horse he’d been trailing was a few dozen yards away, staring at them.

“I’ll get the other horse,” said Caldan. “If we can get him up on it, he’ll stand a chance.”

The swordsman nodded curtly, not saying anything. He sat his friend up, who let out a shriek and clutched at his bandaged arm. A score of heartbeats later, Caldan had the spare horse’s reins and led it back. Together, they hauled the injured man onto the horse, where he sat uncomfortably, head lolling back and forth. They wrapped the reins around his good hand.

The swordsman sniffed. “It’ll have to do. Get on your horse.”

Caldan met his gaze. “And what about you? You need to recover, after what you’ve been through. I’m fresh enough. You ride, and I’ll run alongside. I have a feeling we’ll both need our strength before we’re safe in Riversedge.”

The swordsman grunted. “Thank you for saving us. I’m Anshul cel Rau, and that’s Vasile.” His companion didn’t look like he’d heard them. He was almost done in and barely clinging to the horse.

“Caldan. I wish we’d met under better circumstances.”

Anshul let out a laugh. “Killing jukari’s a good circumstance. You’re a sorcerer?”

“A Protector. Someone had to do something to help.”

Anshul seemed to weigh Caldan’s words, then nodded thoughtfully. “There are vormag among the jukari. They’re sorcerers as well but cowardly and not as skilled as you Protectors or the warlocks. They’ll hang back for the time being, until they gather some courage. Enough talk. We have to keep moving.”