Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (24 page)

Caldan let her constant patter fade into the background as he pondered what to do next. His vow to Simmon was fulfilled, but the Protectors had already shown they would keep secrets from him.

Master Annelie led him down a series of steps to the ground floor and continued along another corridor, this one covered with threadbare and faded rugs.

There was only one secret he cared about now: whether they were practitioners of coercive sorcery, and skilled enough to be able to help Miranda. Though how he was going to get that information out of them, he wasn’t sure.

“Ah, here we are.”

The corridor came to an end, terminating in a wall. A small curtain-covered opening led through to another area.

Annelie directed him through, and the floor changed from rugs to stone. Warm stone. Damp air washed over him. Around a corner, the space opened into a large steam-filled room. In the center was a huge bath; it looked like a lake set into the floor. A number of wooden benches sat against the walls, while on one side of the room there were buckets, small stools, and scrubbing brushes.

Annelie opened a cupboard near where they had entered and removed a towel. “Here,” she said with a smile.

She pointed to the buckets. “Scrub yourself clean, then have a good long soak. Let the hot water ease your worries away. You’re here with us now, and safe.”

Caldan thanked her, and she turned to leave then stopped.

“Oh, I almost forget. Don’t wander around on your own. I’ll have someone wait for you outside to take you to your room. We wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

With that, she left him standing there.

Whatever her motives, and those of the other masters, he did need a good scrubbing. He removed his clothes, making sure to hide all his
craftings
at the bottom of his saddle bags, and was soon clean and enjoying the heat of the water soaking into his weary muscles.

After he had washed up, he would worry about the Protectors and how much they knew of coercive sorcery.

Caldan ducked his head under the surface. The hot water felt good. It felt like months rather than days since they had fled Anasoma.

He wondered how Amerdan and Elpidia were coping with Bells while he was gone.

•

Elpidia woke to a splitting headache. She groaned and rolled over onto her back.

Birds chirped in the distance. Nothing moved around her. She sucked in lungfuls of air smelling of smoke and ash from the fire.

“Alive,” she breathed to herself. “Still alive.”

Dirt clung to her face, along with bits of grass. She brushed at it feebly with one hand then gave up. One side of her head felt sore and heavy.

Whimpering with pain, she managed to drag herself to a sitting position. The world spun around her, and she retched onto the dirt, disgorging her breakfast of mostly tea in a thin stream.

She clutched her head in her hands and suppressed a curse. Crusty dried blood clumped in her hair. She winced as her fingers probed the wound. Not as bad as it felt; she would have a headache for a few days, but other than that, she would be fine.

Bells.
The thought of the sorcerer loose chilled her to the bone. A glance at the tree she should be tied to confirmed her worst fear—Bells had escaped. Rope lay at the base of the tree, cut into pieces, not untied.

But how? The other sorcerer sent to rescue Bells had been killed, but maybe there were more, ones that Caldan or Amerdan hadn’t detected. She hated having to rely on either of them, but if she wanted to survive, she had to follow Caldan around. The strange shopkeeper, however, made her skin crawl. Where was he, anyway? He should have been back by now.

Get up, she scolded herself. Sitting here doesn’t accomplish anything.

Grimacing, she managed to stand on wobbly legs; blood pumping in her head made it throb. She bent over, hands on knees, vomited up the rest of her tea, then spat.

Miranda!
Elpidia realized belatedly
.
Their wagon and horses were still there, though the gear Caldan had left was spread out, as if someone had searched it and discarded what remained as useless. Mirana was sitting where she’d left her, thank goodness. The girl didn’t even realize anything was amiss. Elpidia examined her just in case, but it looked like no one had disturbed her.

Staggering to the fire, she grabbed the still warm pot of tea and gulped greedily at the now bitter mixture.

Better. A little.

Clutching what was left of the tea, she reached her possessions in a few steps, a small pile her life had condensed to. Opening her leather kit, she made sure the vial containing Caldan’s blood was there.

She sighed in relief, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was safe.

She rummaged through her kit for a potent pain reliever she always carried, then stopped. In one of her normally empty compartments were two field mice that hadn’t been there this morning, which meant Amerdan had been back to the camp while she was unconscious.

By the ancestors, could he be the one to have knocked her unconscious and freed Bells? She recalled what he’d done to the Bleeder… Who was Amerdan anyway? He’d attached himself to their group for no real reason she could determine.

And if he’d freed Bells then why had she been left alive?

Elpidia added a splash of her homemade pain reliever to the tea, paused, then added more. Giving the mixture a quick swirl, she drained the pot to the bitter dregs. It didn’t take her long to throw her gear and what was left of Caldan’s into the back of the wagon. She gritted her teeth through the pain.

She only had one option now: to find Caldan. Bells would likely go after him, and she didn’t know what Amerdan had to gain by joining with the sorcerer, but she bet it wouldn’t benefit her. She needed to keep Caldan alive, at least until she could find a cure for herself.

The compass. With it she could find Caldan easily. She cursed herself for not thinking of it before. Her thoughts were muddled on account of the blow to her head. She reached into her pocket and found it empty. She was sure she had put it in that one. Frantically, she searched her clothes but came up empty. Someone had taken it: either Bells or Amerdan. And Amerdan was the only one of them who knew about it. He had to have been the one who struck her.

Elpidia uttered a wordless scream of frustration.

Think, she admonished herself. Caldan said he had to report to the Protectors, and they should be easy to find. Move your bones, woman.

Farmers, travelers, and merchants on the road into the city stopped and stared with surprise as the wagon came careening through some trees beside the road, barely missing a mile marker and bouncing dangerously along the cobbles. Elpidia hauled on the reins, and it skidded the width of the road, almost lurched over the other side, iron rims of the wheels slipping, struggling for purchase.

“Get out of the way!” screamed Elpidia, wind whipping at her face.

At this speed, the rattling shook her to the bone, the wagon’s timbers groaning in protest at the harsh treatment.

Chapter Thirteen

Before dawn, Gazija had them all wakened with orders to prepare themselves for a day trip to shore.

Vasile shook his head and muttered a curse under his breath. Ordered! They were ferried to shore in rowboats and followed Gazija to the gray, dilapidated, and weed-filled ruins of an old tower. After arriving, Gazija’s men started three large fires and began setting up an awning stretching out from one wall of the tower. Vasile warmed himself by one of the fires until they shooed him away and began using them to heat pots of a tasty-smelling stew. Under the awning, they set up a table and filled it with loaves of bread. The whole lot, firewood, pots, bread, had arrived shortly after them, carried on two wagons. Gazija was preparing to feed a lot of people, but Vasile had no idea who they were.

A dismal place for a meeting. Or so Vasile thought. A constant drizzle falling from the depressingly dark sky didn’t help, either. Water dripped from his nose and hair, trickling down his neck and inside his shirt. They were clumped in groups around and inside the falling down structure. He didn’t feel like conversation, so wandered around the small hill on which the tower had been built. Aidan, cel Rau, and Chalayan sat on stones that had tumbled loose, barely a word spoken between them. He supposed that men who had spent so much time together on the road would have worn out all conversation long ago.

Clinging to the arm of a woman, Gazija stood patiently, eyes perpetually focused on the north, as if expecting someone to appear any moment. He had been standing like that for the last hour.

Vasile sighed as his pants leg caught on a thorny bush. He disentangled himself and kicked the offending plant. He’d never liked leaving the city; the rest of the world was too chaotic. But at least animals and plants didn’t know how to lie to each other. He sniggered at the thought, earning a disapproving glance from Luphildern. The thin man stood with Mazoet, and they conversed in hushed tones. Such a contrasting pair.

Over the last few days, Vasile hadn’t had a chance to talk with Gazija or Mazoet, as both had been busy doing whatever it was they were up to. That was fine by him; he’d had more time to talk with Aidan and his men, to come up with a plan.

So far, they had decided nothing, other than to wait and watch.

Gazija and his ilk might say they were fighting a greater evil, and
believe
it for truth, but that didn’t mean they were, only that they held a belief his talent couldn’t verify. As he often realized, and where his talent led him astray, was that just because someone believed something with all their heart and mind, it didn’t make it truth. Which was why he preferred to make a judgement based on reason and evidence, with his talent as further confirmation, if possible.

All he had was Gazija and his people’s word to go on. Could he justify helping a lesser evil to overcome a greater? Was that even what he was doing?

He shivered in the rain. A sad state of affairs.

A whinny broke his thoughts, and he raised his head. While he was contemplating their predicament, a number of people had drawn near the hill. Five to be exact, with only one horse between them.

Aidan, cel Rau, and Chalayan were now standing, while a few of Gazija’s people moved to surround him.

In spite of the newcomers’ bedraggled and wet appearance, there was an edge to them, a sense of purpose and suppressed readiness. Gazija stepped forward to greet them as they approached, waving an arm in the air. Vasile scurried over to join him as the group approached warily.

“Ho!” shouted Gazija, then broke into a fit of coughing. Hunched over, he gestured to Luphildern, an indication for him to take over.

With long strides of his spindly legs, Luphildern strode toward them. Vasile decided to scamper after him, earning a disapproving stare from Gazija as he passed the old man.

The group stopped ten yards from Luphildern—three men and two women, all dressed in clothes of different styles, so Vasile assumed they were not soldiers of any kind, but there was a ruthlessness to their stares that left him cold. Either they had done cruel things, or witnessed them, or life had been unkind. He supposed that description fit a lot of people these days.

The horse carried not a rider but a number of bundles covered with a sturdy cloth and tied with rope.

“Well,” remarked Luphildern. “Lovely day for a walk.”

Vasile gave him a questioning look and shook his head. Silence greeted Luphildern’s words.

The thin man coughed into his hand. “Ah, you must excuse me. My attempts at levity are sometimes… unappreciated.”

One of the newcomers stepped forward and spoke—a large man, clean shaven, with black hair neatly trimmed.

“We’re just passing through; we don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, my, no trouble from us, I assure you.” Luphildern looked toward the two women. “Which one of you is Lady Felicienne.”

The clean-shaven man looked back at his companions, who remained expressionless, then back to Luphildern.

“Never heard of her.”

Luphildern motioned Vasile forward. “And what do you think, Vasile?” he whispered. “Should we believe this man?”

“Ah, no. They know who she is.”

“Excellent!” Luphildern rubbed his hands and raised his voice. “I was told to expect more of you, so I presume they are on their way? No, don’t answer; we know of Lady Felicienne, who met with our… representative, Rebecci. She arranged for a good number of you to escape Anasoma and explained you would meet friends down the coast. Well—” Luphildern waved a hand to take all of them in. “—we are those friends, and we expect Rebecci to join us soon. So I ask again, which one of you is Lady Felicienne?”

The men and women exchanged grim looks.

“She was meant to join us days ago, the day after we left Anasoma, but she didn’t appear at the meeting spot. We waited a few days but… there was no sign of her. We don’t think she made it out.”

“Either captured, or for some reason unable to escape, then.”

Rubbing a weary hand over his face, the man shrugged. “We don’t know.”

“Well,” said Luphildern. “I’m sure she will be joining us soon. From what I’ve heard, the lady is quite sharp and resourceful. What do you think, Vasile?”

“Of Lady Felicienne? I know of her. A hard reputation. An intelligent and skilled woman, by all accounts.”

“There, you see! All will be well. Rebecci might have more up-to-date information when she arrives. Why don’t you go back and round up your men; I’m sure they could use a hot meal.” He gestured toward the cook fires and the table under the awning.

•

Over the course of the morning, groups of men and women dribbled into the area surrounding the tower. At midday, Vasile ate his fill along with Aidan and his companions. He saw Luphildern turn his nose up at the food, though at Gazija’s urging he swallowed a few mouthfuls. No wonder he was so thin. By midafternoon, the flow of refugees had diminished to almost none.

Gazija’s people kept the fires burning and refilled the pots of stew, though the bread became a little soggy when the wind shifted, driving the drizzle onto the tables.