Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (13 page)

“This isn’t about ducats,” Aidan said.

Vasile turned to face him and saw he was leaning against the gunwale, arms crossed over his chest. Obviously, this meeting had been prearranged by the three men, perhaps to catch him off guard and make sure Mazoet wasn’t around.

He watched as Chalayan and cel Rau backed away then stopped, leaving a few paces between them. He shook his head.

“Then what is it about?” he asked.

Aidan scratched his head. “I thought we should have a talk, without anyone else around to interfere.”

“Who’s been interfering? Mazoet hasn’t been any trouble, has he?”

“No. Not at all. In fact, we’ve been made welcome—extremely welcome—by these supposed merchants. But I find myself wondering why.”

“Why what?”

“Merchants are, by definition, only interested in ducats. Whatever they say, you know all they want is wealth. It’s like a… a law. There are no exceptions. Except for these ones.”

Vasile swallowed and managed to shrug. “Merchants with a social conscience?” he suggested. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Quite frankly, yes. Merchants with sorcerous powers, who obviously know more than they let on. An old man who speaks in circles. And Mazoet, who rescued us from certain death and follows us around as if we need someone to mind us. Then there’s you…”

“Me!” said Vasile. “I assure you—”

“What?” barked Aidan. “What do you assure me of? You are not one of them, that much is obvious; they are quite… odd. But you’re with them, there’s no doubt.” He looked away, then back again. “What are they up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“They are not merchants, not really. Oh, maybe they go about as if they are, but it’s an act. It has to be. The way Gazija talks, orders the others around, he’s like a commander, not just the head of a large trading house. There’s a difference. They revere him.”

“He uh… he makes them a lot of ducats…”

Aidan scoffed, and Vasile heard the two behind him chuckle.

He spread his hands. “Really, I wouldn’t know. I only just met them myself.”

“And yet they want you to convince us of something.”

“I…” The words stuck in his throat. Vasile feared Aidan and his men would leave, and where would he be then? Not much use to Gazija so he’d be abandoned. And now he was too intrigued with what was happening… he had to stay and find out.

Aidan stepped in and brought his face close to Vasile’s. “We’ve seen things that would make you puke,” he whispered. “Men and women of such evil that even their lesser deeds would disgust you. Monsters from the Shattering that would give you nightmares. Filthy, depraved, inhuman. We…” He gestured to his men. “… can handle whatever you need to tell us.”

“I don’t know any more than you, I swear! But something’s not right with Gazija and his people. It’s only a feeling, and one I’ve nothing to back up, except my experience and the way they avoid certain questions and subjects.” He was breathing heavily now. “One thing I will tell you, and that is I trust them. Whatever they are doing, and I don’t know what that is, it needs to be done. They cannot mislead me in any way. I see through even half-truths. And I tell you this: when the time comes, remember that I know the truth of things, and if I say it’s true, you know it to be so. Without doubt.”

Aidan nodded, as if Vasile’s speech made a certain kind of sense to him.

Vasile nodded in turn to all three then pushed his way between Chalayan and cel Rau.

•

Vasile sat alone. On the floor, with his back against a wooden wall, cross-legged, with a green glass bottle of strong spirits in front of him, just out of reach. The air was cool. A single candle sitting on a shelf caused shadows to flicker around him. It was late. Most of the crew had been asleep for hours.

His cabin was sparse. He hadn’t brought any possessions with him. Nothing tied him to his house anymore. That life, one of many he had lived, was dead to him now. He was enough of a realist to know the truth of that. There was no going back. He had a chance to turn his life around, and become involved in something useful. But that would mean returning to his old self, and that hadn’t worked out well at all. It was a difficult decision.

He rubbed his arms and rocked back and forth. One of his fingers bled where he had chewed the nail down to the quick. He could feel the ship moving, back and forth, back and forth; hear the creaks and groans of wood.

Vasile wiped the blood from his finger on the floor and rubbed at the streaks with his sleeve with an exclamation of disgust, muttering. He looked at the stain on his shirt for long moments then reached for the full bottle he had stolen from Gazija’s cabin earlier in the day, when the old man was on deck. It was good stock, far better than he had tasted in years.

In the candlelight, the bottle looked almost mystical, lit by an inner glow. With a twist, he broke the seal and popped the cork out.

“Ahh…” The scent of the liquor reached him, pungent, enticing, beckoning.

He tipped the bottle and poured a thin stream of golden liquid onto his chewed and bleeding finger, gritting his teeth as it burned and stung, but he continued to pour the liquor slowly, bearing the pain until the bottle was empty and a puddle spread across the floor in front of him.

His finger ached like it had been slammed in a door, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He rolled the bottle toward the wall where it hit and stopped.

•

“Look,” Vasile said. “I don’t pretend to know them or their goals, but I do know those they’re fighting—those who attacked you, let me remind you—are bad people. You’ve seen for yourself what they are capable of.”

“So they saved us,” Chalayan said. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s pretended to be on our side to gain our trust before stabbing us in the back.” He looked to his companions.

Both cel Rau and Aidan remained quiet.

Sweat prickled Vasile’s brow, and he wiped it off with his dirty sleeve. “They’re only interested in the sorcerers, the ones who attacked you. They are enemies.” He shrugged helplessly.

“And their enemies are ours?” asked Aidan. “It seems to look like that, but looks can be misinterpreted.”

“That’s why I’m here, so you know I’m telling the truth.” Vasile smiled weakly.

“But we don’t, do we?”

Vasile’s smile faltered. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t know if you’re telling the truth.” Aidan raised a hand to forestall Vasile’s protest. “Oh, you can tell if someone’s lying, I’ll give you that. But how do we know you’re not lying?”

“I wouldn’t! What would I have to gain?”

“What indeed? If we knew you better, maybe we could trust you, but trust is in short supply these days.”

“Isn’t it just,” muttered Chalayan.

“So,” continued Aidan, shooting the sorcerer a dark look, “I am sure you will understand if we don’t take your words on faith.” His face creased in distaste. “These are hard times, harder than I’d realized until recently.”

Vasile frowned unhappily. “Gazija and his people saved you from certain death—”

“Not certain,” interrupted Chalayan. “We don’t know what…”

Aidan’s upheld hand stopped him. He turned to Vasile. “Agreed. They saved us.”

Vasile continued. “Then brought you here, where they have been nothing but kind to you.”

“True,” conceded Aidan. “But I dislike secrets; they’ll kill you in the end.” His eyes bore into Vasile’s.

Vasile swallowed uneasily, and they stared at each other for a moment. “You know Gazija is against these sorcerers and what they did in the… town you stumbled upon,” Vasile said slowly, “and his people are bending their not inconsiderable might toward destroying them.”

“So they say.”

“So they have demonstrated.”

“True again.”

“Then why not join them in this task? They will provide whatever supplies you require. If you at any time doubt their intentions, then you are free to leave.”

Looking around the room, Aidan hesitated. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. They need your men. And you,” he added.

There was a long silence.

Aidan gazed at Vasile with an incredulous expression on his face. “I hardly think Gazija needs assistance from me.”

Vasile squirmed in his seat. “Something is happening. Events… that people like you need to be involved in. Bad things could happen if you don’t help, very bad things.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Aidan said quietly. “But surely Gazija has enough resources to accomplish his aims, whatever they are.”

“They need you,” repeated Vasile, pleading. He had a feeling his own future with Gazija depended on him convincing Aidan and his men to join their cause. “I believe what they say. They are no danger to us.”

“Then we are free to go.” Aidan stood and motioned for the others to join him.

Chalayan and cel Rau came to their feet and headed for the door.

“Wait!” begged Vasile. “Where are you going?”

Aidan shrugged. “I have not heard anything to persuade me, so we are leaving the first chance we have to get off this ship.”

“Don’t… please.” Vasile looked around frantically. “Take me with you.”

“Ah… now we are getting somewhere.”

•

Chalayan’s fingers rubbed a small wooden and metal object in his hand. For a few moments, they stared at the sorcerer. Nothing was happening.

Vasile looked around. “Is there—”

“Shh,” hissed Chalayan.

“Oh, sorry,” Vasile replied and returned to watching the sorcerer.

There was a vibration in the air, a deep tremor. All sound became muted.

“There. All done,” said Chalayan. His words sounded like they came from a long distance and were drawn out.

“That’s it?” Vasile asked. To him, his words sounded normal.

“Yes. We can speak normally now, and no one will be able to hear us.” Again, the sorcerer’s words were distorted.

They were in one of the cargo holds surrounded by wooden crates and sacks of produce—grains and dried beans, if the labels were correct. After Vasile’s admission, Aidan had silenced them all. They agreed to meet later once he had found a suitable place without Mazoet, and far from prying eyes.

Their only light came from an oil lamp Aidan had brought with him, the flame doing little to illuminate their surroundings but enough for them to navigate the enclosed space. Faint scratching sounds from behind the cargo alerted them to the presence of rats, who strangely ignored them, continuing with whatever they were about, no doubt knowing they would soon be left in peace.

Aidan reached up and placed the lamp on the top of a crate then leant against another stack, gesturing for them to join him. Vasile, Chalayan, and cel Rau squeezed in close, jostling each other while finding comfortable positions. Their faces were blurred and eerie in the flickering orange light.

“Look,” began Aidan. “It’s obvious something’s going on, something you know but are afraid to tell us. And we understand.” He motioned to the others. “We really do; but how can we help you if we don’t know the truth? The whole truth. And isn’t that something you cherish?”

Vasile rubbed his eyes and sighed. Not for the first time, he wished he’d never met Luphildern Quiss. But to be back working as a magistrate, settling minor disputes again, day in, day out? He’d swapped boredom and drink for something far more dangerous. He’d do his best to ferret out what was really happening, because Aidan was right: he valued the truth. It was a shame most people preferred the opposite.

“I appreciate your candor, but… I don’t think you appreciate the situation I’m in. These… people… Gazija and his followers—”

“That’s the first time you have called them followers,” interrupted Aidan. “This is significant, is it not? What do you mean by followers?”

“They aren’t employees of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern. Maybe they have employees, but I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them. I mean, how could I? What do I know about them? Who is who in their organization?”

Aidan held up a hand to stop him. “Vasile, you’re rambling.”

“What? Oh… yes. Sorry.” Vasile rubbed his eyes again. “I haven’t slept much for a few days. The stress, you see. Someone was trying to kill me. Then Luphildern found me and brought me here. Then Gazija—”

“Vasile,” Aidan said sternly.

“Oh, yes. Again, sorry. I don’t know where to start.”

“From the beginning.”

Chapter Eight

Caldan, Elpidia, Miranda, and Amerdan sat in the wagon, Breyton’s cold corpse between them. The still shackled Bells was always smiling at one of them, even Miranda.

Unnerving, thought Caldan.

They rocked back and forth as the wagon moved along the road, heading west.

At this time of night, the road was empty. Travelers were most likely wrapped up warm by their fires or tucked into beds at inns along the way.

He scratched his chin. Coarse stubble had grown since leaving Anasoma, and it had begun to itch. He wasn’t used to not shaving for more than a couple of days, and it was starting to irritate him. The monks were clean-shaven, and he had always followed their example.

He had suspended one of his sorcerous globes from the wooden frame supporting the canvas covering, making sure it only filled the space inside with enough light to chase away most of the shadows so not to give away their position. Though the corpse wrapped in a blanket on the floor did little to chase away their anxiety.

As he had done every few minutes, Caldan closed his eyes and accessed his well, following his string to the
crafting
he had left behind in the tree, and again his vision lurched, leaving him off balance.

In front of him, their abandoned campsite was lit by the dying fire. A thin trail of smoke rose into the night. He concentrated and held the link in his mind as long as he could, studying the image for anything out of place. Nothing. Again.

Back in the wagon, his head began to ache, and he rubbed his temples. The further away they were, the harder it was for him to maintain the link, and the more distorted the vision became.

He growled and prepared to cut his link, when a movement caught his attention. There, just outside the glow from the fire. A shadow moved around the campsite, deliberate and constant, unlike the flickering shadows from the firelight.