Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (32 page)

Despite his mood, Vasile smiled. “It wouldn’t work. He already knows what I can do.”

“Then you’re halfway to persuading him.”

“Maybe.”

“We can talk more on the road. I want to get out of here. I know you say Gazija has the best intentions, but he makes me nervous.”

Vasile looked at the horse assigned to him and sighed. It was an old brown mare that didn’t look pleased to be leaving a comfortable home for a journey into the unknown. At least they had that in common.

Chapter Eighteen

Morkel signaled for them to stop and motioned Keevy to his side.

Quickly, Caldan dismounted and joined them. Morkel frowned at two saplings in front of them, slender trunks a couple of paces apart. He looked worried, and as Caldan and Keevy approached, held a hand up to make sure they didn’t pass him.

“I dare say we’ll soon have some idea what we’re up against,” said Morkel.

“The trees?” asked Keevy.

“Yes. She’s made the trail a little too obvious. Then there’s the curious question as to why someone would veer upslope off the trail, off the easiest path, to pass between two trees.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Caldan. “Unless you had a reason.”

“And if you thought you might be chased or tracked, then the only reason would be to lay a trap. Which is what we have here.”

Morkel looked around then retrieved a stick from under another tree. He edged closer to the two saplings, taking short careful steps. Gingerly, he squatted and probed the grass clumped around the base of each tree.

“Ah!” With a sudden movement, Morkel thrust the stick between the trees.

Caldan felt Keevy stiffen beside him, but nothing happened. Morkel stood and backed away before turning to face them.

“Well, there’s a
crafting
at the base of each tree. Makeshift ones made from sticks tied together with dried grass, but probably no less effective for that. Whatever they’re made to do, they wouldn’t have to last long.”

“When you placed your stick between the trees, nothing happened, though,” said Caldan.

“I suspect there’s another trigger, or else a wild animal passing through could set it off. And there’s not much that distinguishes us from animals, except for metal. Do you have any ducats?” he asked Caldan.

“Which type, gold, silver, or copper?”

“Better make it gold, if you’ve any.”

Caldan handed over a gold ducat, and without ceremony, Morkel tossed it between the trees. Again, nothing happened.

“Hmm,” murmured Morkel, wiping his hands on his trousers. “A sophisticated
crafting
, for one made in a hurry. But we can’t leave it where some innocent might accidentally trigger it.”

“Maybe it’s tuned to sorcerers?” suggested Caldan. “Someone who has their well open?”

Keevy took a step back. “I’m not testing it.”

“No one’s going to test it that way,” said Morkel. “I’ve an old
crafting
we can use; it’s had its day, anyway.”

The Protector pulled a necklace from under his shirt. Suspended from the chain were five crafted medallions. He removed one then tucked the rest back out of sight under his shirt. “Here we go, then.”

Caldan felt him open his well and did the same, stretching his senses to inspect the tear. Quite strong, but… jagged somehow.

Morkel’s
crafting
sailed between the trees. A crackling split the air, and a light flashed as bright as the midday sun. All of them flinched and turned away. Caldan winced as his eyes stung and began to water. Lemons and the scent of hot metal filled his nose.

Smoke streamed all the way up the trunks of both trees, and from a patch of blackened grass on the other side, presumably where the
crafting
had landed. Morkel hastily used his stick to drag two objects from the growth under the trees, small shapes comprised of twigs tied together with dried grass. The improvised
crafting
s were twisted and blackened almost beyond recognition.

“How did she carve runes in twigs that thin?” asked Caldan. “She doesn’t have any ink or pens.”

“The twigs themselves form the shapes of the runes. A nasty piece of work. Crude but good. Very good.” Morkel squinted at the
crafting
s in his hands then glanced at Caldan. “I don’t think she likes you. It couldn’t have been meant for anyone else. And if she can craft functional sorcery out of sticks and grass, we’ve got ourselves a big problem.”

Morkel circled around the saplings, which now had a black line scorched along their trunks, and picked up his
crafting
. He held up the two pieces of medallion. “Sliced in half. I’ll keep this as a memento. Keevy, I think someone’s lost a gold ducat in the grass over there. Would you be so kind as to fetch it, and we can use it to buy some drinks when we get back. We could even generously buy a couple for the apprentice here, if that’s all right with him?”

Caldan nodded his agreement. Anything he could do to get on the good side of these men would help him. A kind word from men Annelie trusted would go a long way.

“Let’s get going, then,” he said. “
Crafting
that trap must have taken time, so we’re gaining.”

Morkel remained where he was, examining the saplings. Keevy went to stand next to him, and they both fingered the black line.

“What is it?” asked Caldan.

“Come here, boy,” replied Morkel.

Caldan approached, and Morkel guided him to stand on one side of a sapling while he stood on the other.

Caldan could see Morkel through the sapling’s trunk. It wasn’t just a scorch mark: the tree was split in two; both were.

Morkel and Keevy exchanged glances.

“I’m not so sure we want to catch up with her now,” muttered Morkel, and Keevy nodded.

“I captured her on my own once,” Caldan said quietly. “When she had all her
crafting
s. There’s three of us now.”

Morkel grunted. “So you say. Let’s see where she goes, then. I’ve a bad feeling about this.”

•

A short time later, they stood atop a hill overlooking Riversedge. Bells’ trail skirted in a wide arc around the city before making an abrupt turn where they were now and heading directly for it.

Down below was one of the city’s main gates, crowded with people, horses, carts, and wagons at this time of day. It was easy enough for a stranger to pass through without attracting attention.

With a curse, Morkel mounted his horse. “Looks like our job just got a hundred times harder. But at least we know where she went, and we’ll have more support. Come on, let’s get back and tell Annelie what we’ve found.”

Caldan couldn’t help feeling his desire to heal Miranda could cost the Protectors and the empire dearly. Bells was loose because of him. A powerful Indryallan sorcerer with knowledge of both destructive and coercive sorcery that eclipsed anything he, or they, had ever seen.

As they rode down the hill toward the gate, his chest grew tight, and he drew shallow breaths. Calm yourself, he thought. Breathe. In the end, he’d compromised himself and the Protectors for nothing. Wanting to keep Bells out of the Protectors’ hands for fear they’d keep her from healing Miranda, he’d ended up in a worse situation. And the Protectors wouldn’t trust him now. He’d tried to skirt a narrow line and put Miranda’s welfare and his own needs above the greater good, and this was the result.

•

“We need to find somewhere to hide out,” Bells told Amerdan. “A room at an inn, or an apartment, if we can. An out of the way location. The Quivers will be crawling over this city when they find out I’ve escaped.”

Amerdan nodded, though he didn’t like the idea of hiding like a criminal on the run. It grated on him. He was used to hiding in plain sight, which lent a certain freedom to his movements. At the moment, he’d have to pander to this sorcerer’s whims. She was his ticket to greater things and had to be kept… viable.

“I have some ducats,” he said. “And I’d prefer an apartment. An inn is too… busy. People would take note of our comings and goings.”

Bells nodded in agreement. “Probably a good idea.”

They passed another farmer driving a cart filled almost to overflowing with vegetables. Ahead, a trader led three pack-loaded mules with a guard in tow. Amerdan wrinkled his nose at the guard’s slovenly appearance and flaccid belly.

The line to enter the city was getting shorter but still wasn’t quick enough for his liking. At least they didn’t have to wait behind the farmers and traders with their horses and mules defecating all over the road. People without livestock, wagons, or carts formed their own line, which moved at a much faster pace.

As they approached the gate, he felt Bells clutch his arm. He flinched at the touch and frowned at her, barely stopping himself from gutting her on the spot. He chuckled when he imagined the sight. The genteel-looking woman behind them would positively squeal if Bells leaked onto the road at her feet. Then he’d have to silence her, too. Then someone else who saw… Where would it end? A fine amusement, but not in keeping with his plan.

“What’s so funny?”

Amerdan shrugged but didn’t speak.

“If they ask, we’re husband and wife.”

He nodded. She was up to something again. He’d known that from the moment she’d regained consciousness after they’d captured her. She didn’t squirm nearly so much as she should have when she’d found herself trussed up like a pig and in Caldan’s hands. When she’d found out they were fleeing Anasoma to the west, she’d become remarkably calm.

Everyone thought she’d resigned herself to her fate, but Amerdan knew her type. You didn’t become a powerful sorcerer and a leader of men by quietly giving up. No, Bells was confident she could turn any situation to her advantage. In this, they were similar.

She wouldn’t reveal her plans to him, but he’d eventually find out. A small slip-up, something she did; clues would gather, and then he would know.

They passed through the gate after barely a glance from the Quivers guarding the city. The soldiers were haggard, with tired eyes and lethargic movements. A sorry excuse for guards, they were; they’d been up all night. A quick inspection of all the Quivers revealed a similar tale. They must have known about the invasion and had been busy preparing.

The weight and warmth of Bells’ arm through his was disturbing. Despite his initial reaction, he found he almost enjoyed it. The sorcerer was beautiful in both a physical and a dangerous way, and he found he was reluctant to let her go once they were inside Riversedge.

Nestled in his shirt, Dotty moved, brushing his chest, as if to remind him she was still there. I know, he said silently to himself. Attachments were hazardous. People were treacherous, as he knew only too well. But… she was exquisite.

Much to Bells’ chagrin, he discarded the first four apartments they inspected, deciding on the fifth, even though it didn’t seem to suit her purposes as much as a couple of the others. He couldn’t let her decide. She didn’t realize the import of his patterns. Everything hinged on precedent.

After paying a toothless crone a few ducats, he took possession of the key. Unlocking the door, he let them in and ran an eye over the place. It would need a good cleaning before it was habitable. The apartment building had a courtyard in the center, and he’d noted a few buckets at a well.

“I’ll get some water and a broom, if I can find one,” he told Bells.

She shrugged and kicked off her boots.

Amerdan sniffed, catching the stench of himself after so long on the road without a proper bath. “Once we clean the room, we’ll find a bathhouse and have our clothes laundered.”

At that, Bells finally smiled.

Yes. Exquisite.

Chapter Nineteen

At least it isn’t raining anymore
, thought Felice. Though a brief shower had washed away most of the disgusting river muck from her skin, she was shivering and tired. She’d stopped briefly at a fountain to wash out her mouth and drink, but that seemed like hours ago, and she was parched again.

The narrow street she was on sloped steeply up to the north, and she trudged along the cobbles with weary shuffling steps.

Why isn’t this ancestors-cursed city smaller?

This part of Anasoma wasn’t too bad, she knew. Barrows, they called it, on account of the burial mounds that had littered the place back in the early days of the city, now looted and long gone, covered with layers of buildings.

Sweat dripped down her nose, and she shivered violently. By the ancestors, she was cold, but her head felt hot, about to explode. Time to rest when she arrived at her destination, which should be up ahead. Going back to the Cemetery was too risky, and she’d likely be caught tonight. She’d thought for a few moments and come up with another place, somewhere she could hole up until she regained her strength; a place where she could possibly find answers to some questions about Kelhak that had arisen during their game of Dominion.

Ah, there it is.
Ahead, the street stopped at a squat building with a heavy iron door: the Records Archives, one of the places Avigdor had searched for clues about Caldan’s ring.

Felice stopped and leaned on the wall next to the door, breath coming harshly through clenched teeth.

They’ll pay for what they did to him,
she vowed. Kelhak, Savine, all of them.

Her fist slammed into the brick wall, and she almost howled out loud in sorrow, barely able to stop herself.

Pull yourself together, Felice, you’re needed. Wiping her eyes, then sweat from her brow, she clanked the iron door knocker a few times, then a few more for good measure. Inside, she could hear the sound echoing throughout the building.

About to try again, she lifted the knocker, when a peephole opened to her right. A wrinkled face with rheumy eyes peered at her.

“What is it?” the bald old man shouted. “It’s not even dawn yet.”

Felice drew herself up and brushed her damp hair from her face as best she could. “I’m well aware of that. My name is Felicienne Shyrise, Third Adjudicator to the emperor, and I demand that you open the door.”

“Get out of here! Go home and sleep it off.”

Felice swallowed the curses that rose to her lips and took a deep breath. “Listen carefully. The fate of the city may very well rest on your decision to let me in. It’s of the utmost urgency you do. I need to look through your records for the Autumn Festivals.”