Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (41 page)

“Keep those thoughts to yourself,” warned Joachim. “If they’ve discovered a way to create order out of their wells in a destructive way… We haven’t seen the like since before the Shattering. And I don’t need to tell you what happened then; the world was almost broken. Luckily, not all knowledge was lost from those times.”

“The Protectors have access to some of the sorcery, though,” Caldan said. “Are they the guardians of the lost knowledge, keeping us safe from people who would use sorcery for their own gain?”

Joachim looked at him, face expressionless. “That’s right.”

Something’s not right here, thought Caldan. Joachim hinted that the Protectors don’t know as much as he does, and Annelie deferred to Joachim without question.
He knows far more than he’s letting on, and he definitely knows more about coercive sorcery than Simmon or Annelie.
It made sense that potent knowledge would be concentrated around the emperor and those in power. It must have started in the early days after the Shattering and was probably how the empire came to be, how it conquered its territory and became such a dominant force in the world. Did the emperor and his warlocks claim the sorcery for themselves, with the Protectors only tools for keeping the knowledge suppressed? It made a sick kind of sense to him, though Joachim claimed he didn’t know how the Indryallans’ destructive sorcery worked.

Could he trust anything this man said? Could he trust anyone?

“There’s one other thing,” said Joachim casually. “It almost slipped my mind. Did your parents have another ring, one carved from bone?”

Caldan resisted the urge to touch the ring around his neck, hidden under his shirt, and pretended to look puzzled. “No.”

“Are you sure? Do you remember seeing a bone ring? Perhaps they kept it hidden?”

“I was only a child when they were… they died. If they had such a ring, it would have burnt in the fire that destroyed our house.”

Joachim shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “No matter. It was another
crafting
the emperor loaned to them. I was tasked with returning it as well.”

Then why not mention it with the other ring? And Caldan knew it was a
trinket
, not a
crafting
.

“I can’t help you,” replied Caldan. “I don’t know anything about a bone ring.”

The door opened, and there was a rustle as Annelie entered, trailed by Morkel and her two guards.

Joachim beckoned Morkel over and held up the black coin. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “This won’t hurt.”

•

“There,” Bells said softly from behind him. “That man.”

Amerdan looked down from his spot on the roof and scanned the front gates of the Protectors’ building. Riding through on a brown horse was a Protector, lean and hard-faced, carrying more weapons than any competent man needed, including a bow. Amerdan sneered and touched one of his knives, the only weapon he’d ever used or required. Close work was far more satisfying.

“He was one of the Protectors that followed our trail. After Caldan spotted me, I knew they’d send someone.”

“Your trail,” corrected Amerdan, and Bells frowned at him. His hand itched to open her up then and there, but no, not yet…
Patience.
The time wasn’t right; nothing was right, and there’d been no sign. He felt Dotty shift inside his shirt, reminding him. Bells confused him, and he didn’t like the change from his usual isolated life. Depending on others made you weak. She was unreliable; the other one, Caldan, would make a much better teacher. And he was an orphan like Pieter and Annie, and Amerdan. He banished the thought before he could remember more.

Bells shut her eyes, and Amerdan watched her closely. He felt a tingle, which Bells had assured him was her accessing her well. Part of his mind began to itch, and he mentally scratched at it. This time, it felt as if his thoughts caught on something, a rough patch. He grinned. There was much to smile about these days.

“Yes,” whispered Bells. “He has one.”

The itching disappeared, and she opened her eyes. They watched as the man rode down the street and out of sight around a corner.

“A
crafting
of some sort, you say?” asked Amerdan.

“Yes. An amulet or medallion, something small. He’ll be carrying it on him, somewhere safe.”

“And this will admit him to the emperor’s inner council?”

“Most likely, into the warlocks, at least.”

“Close enough, then,” murmured Amerdan.

“I can’t go after him myself, or I won’t finish my
crafting
s in time. You’ll have to do it.”

“As I said I would.” Amerdan turned and slid a few paces down the roof. “And you promise you’ll spend more time with me, fixing the problem with my well?”

“Yes, yes. Just bring the
crafting
back to me. It’s useless unless it’s attuned to someone, and there are safeguards in place in case it’s tampered with.”

Amerdan nodded, then slid the way down the roof to the gutter on the other side. He dropped over the edge, hanging on for a few moments, dangling above the alley, then let go, leaving Bells to keep a watch on the Protectors.

•

Amerdan yawned. Sighing, he shifted his weight and scratched his leg. The rough bark of the tree was digging into his calf, making his position uncomfortable. In front of him, his knife jutted from the branch where he’d stuck it, waiting.

He craned his neck and looked back down the trail and across the stream.

The Protector was taking his time watering his horse and filling his waterskins, even stopping to piss in the long grass.

Fool. Wasn’t he on an urgent mission to warn the emperor or some such? That was what Bells had told him they’d do. Shouldn’t he be in a hurry? No matter; it would end the same.

Amerdan scanned the brush around his perch, searching for a convenient location. There was a fallen tree some distance from the road, an old thick one. Behind it, he should be concealed well enough. Not ideal, but the best he could do in the circumstances. He wanted more time to prepare but… he was adaptable. That was one thing that separated him from everyone else.

A horse snorting shook him from his musing. The soft clop of hooves striking the path. The sound became louder, and the vessel approached.

He gripped his knife.
Soon. Wait.

The horse snorted directly under him, and Amerdan pulled his blade from the tree and swung from the branch, dropping like a stone.

He landed just behind the rider, legs astraddle, then used them to wrap around the man’s waist. His arm clamped around the thing’s neck, and with short quick thrusts, he stabbed it five times.

The thing made a gurgling sound as its horse skittered sideways, alarmed at the sudden extra weight on its back. As the thing went limp, Amerdan grabbed the reins, guiding the horse forward. On the other side of the fallen tree, he slipped off the horse, dragging the thing to the ground, where it coughed weakly, hands scrabbling in the dirt.

Perfect. As usual.

He straddled the thing, knife in one hand. With the other, he drew out his spherical
trinket
and clenched it in his fist, a soft glow shining through his hand.

Amerdan shivered. Goosebumps rose on his skin; hairs stood on end.

Inside his shirt, his rag doll wriggled against him, eager to watch.

“Shh,” he said to her. “I know. It has been too long.”

Amerdan began his work, and the scent of blood filled the air, metallic and pungent.

Birds took flight in alarm as the vessel screamed from loss and despair.

•

About twice a day, Bells took out one of her
crafting
s and spent a few minutes with her eyes closed. When Amerdan had questioned her, she said she was merely resting, recovering from the rigors of sorcery. He knew she was tired; he could tell from her drawn face, and from the fact she hadn’t been getting much sleep, preferring to work on her
crafting
s throughout the nights, drinking coffee and tea to keep awake.

He knew she was lying to him; he could smell it on her. Deceit and wickedness were deep in any sorcerer’s bones. He knew this for a fact.

She was resting again when he entered their apartment, which consisted of a few rooms in an unremarkable district in this unremarkable city. It reeked like a brothel, and no matter how many times he wiped the furniture and swept the floor, the stench wouldn’t go away. He needed to mop, or the place would soon be unbearable. He’d paid the landlord for a week, but Bells thought they might have to stay longer. Such uncertainty. He didn’t like to rely on other people at all; they couldn’t be trusted and always let you down.

Waiting for Bells to open her eyes, Amerdan perused their meager store of food: the remains of a loaf of bread, along with some nuts and dried fruits. His stomach rumbled, and he almost left her there to find himself a good meal. After absorbing a vessel, he was always hungry and liked to splurge on a fine meal and wine, a reminder of how far he’d come from when he was an impoverished child on the streets.

No matter. It wouldn’t be long until she stirred, so he’d sate himself after handing over the coin. He took out the
crafting
and examined it.

Such a small thing it was, and if you had one, it admitted you to the inner circles of the empire’s power. Though, as Bells had told him, once the vessel was killed, the
crafting
was no longer attuned, and any sorcerer close to the emperor would know the coin had been stolen.

Clothes rustled as Bells shifted in her chair. Her lips moved, forming words he couldn’t make out. She hadn’t done that before. Was she talking to someone? Was that possible?

Moments later, she opened her eyes and looked straight at him. She scrubbed her face with her hands and stifled a yawn. “Do you have it?” she asked.

“Here.”

Amerdan flipped her the black coin, and it sailed across the room. Bells caught it easily, and Amerdan’s mind itched as she accessed her well.

She frowned, rubbing the coin between her thumb and fingers.

“A coin. That’s interesting. It’s…” She broke off and peered at him, puzzled. “You did kill him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s still attuned. You mustn’t have.”

“I did,” he said flatly. He wasn’t used to being doubted like this, and from a sorcerer.

“Let me check. Something’s not right here.”

Bells continued frowning at the coin, then her eyes flicked to Amerdan. “What did you do?” she demanded. “How did you kill the Protector?”

He patted the knife at his hip. “With this. He didn’t see me in time.”

“That’s…” She broke off, biting her lip. “It’s still attuned, only now it’s linked to you. How is this possible?”

It must have been my
trinket
, realized Amerdan. When he’d absorbed the vessel, whatever crafted link there was between it and the coin had transferred to him. Did that mean the coin was useless to Bells? Could he use this turn of events to his advantage?

Amerdan only shrugged. “I don’t know. Lucky, I guess. Can you still use it?”

With a shake of her head, Bells cursed. “To get some way into the emperor’s forces, it’ll serve its purpose, but his sorcerers would be on to me as soon as I approached.”

She cursed again, and her foul language made him flinch. He imagined his knife cutting out her tongue.

“But you got what you asked for, and now it’s your turn to repay me.”

“I’ll need to adjust my plans now, but once I’ve finished my
crafting
s, I’ll have more time to help you. Believe me, I want to find out what’s wrong with you as much as you do, and why you’ve more than one well.”

Annoyance at his impatience tinged her words, and Amerdan clenched his fists. It was all he could do to stop himself squeezing the bitch by the throat. Instead, he smiled.

“I understand, but you can also appreciate why I’m eager to see what you can do to help me. I’d never thought I’d be a sorcerer.”

Bells snorted. “You’d be a long way from being a sorcerer even if I could unblock one of your wells. It takes a great deal of training and discipline.”

“Which you can provide.”
Or any other sorcerer.

“Yes. We’ll have plenty of time once this is over and we’re on the way back to Anasoma. And once there, other sorcerers more suited to teaching can take over your training. That’s if I can unblock one of your wells.”

“Thank you,” said Amerdan. “Now, are you hungry? It’s been a busy day, and I’m famished.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Vasile staggered to the side of the road and threw up the remains of his breakfast. Weak-kneed, his legs wobbled like jelly, and he sank to the ground, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

“Come on, Magistrate,” sneered Chalayan. “Keep moving, or get eaten. That’s all you need to think about.”

Vasile cast him a glance with as much venom as he could muster. Which wasn’t nearly enough. His horse started to wander away, and he scrambled in the dirt for the reins dragging on the ground. If it got away, he doubted he’d have the strength to chase it after days of fleeing ahead of the jukari and vormag. Run, ride, walk, ride… The hours blurred into one jumble of day and night.

Clutching the reins as tightly as he could, he lay on the ground, eyes watering.

“Get up,” said Aidan, standing over him.

“Just a few moments, that’s all I need,” Vasile croaked.

“The moments add up, and before you know it, you’ve lost half a day.”

“A short rest… please.” Vasile squeezed his eyes shut, and tears leaked from the sides. Cursed dust on this trail… He blinked repeatedly to clear them.

Aidan didn’t look pleased but whistled ahead at Chalayan and cel Rau, who hadn’t stopped to see what the hold-up was. Vasile breathed a sigh of relief as their footsteps approached. He’d heard tales of jukari and what they did to the people they caught, and the thought terrified him. Among these hardened veterans, he felt emasculated, sure they’d leave him in their dust, given half a chance.

No, that was unkind of him. So far, they’d shown themselves to be humane, though hard. Probably a needed trait in a band of mercenaries.

Strong hands gripped his arms, and he was hauled upright, sitting in the dirt.