Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (64 page)

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Caldan paused as the last piece clicked to place. Fine work. He’d have to thank the clockmaker again.

With a start, he realized the darkness outside the window had turned to gray as dawn approached. He yawned and rubbed tired eyes. His limbs felt heavy, but he was strangely happy. Or perhaps satisfied. He didn’t think he’d be truly happy until Miranda was herself again.

His newest
crafting
lay there like one of the clockmaker’s wind-up toys. Except this was no toy. It bore a passing similarity to the dog-like automaton, but there its resemblance ended. Smaller, only two handspans in length, it was entirely covered in
crafting
runes. Whereas the dog-like automaton had space left over, he’d crammed as much as he could onto this one’s surface. Not to make it more powerful—in fact, he’d decided not to include a shield as part of this one’s design—but to make its movements smoother, as effortless as any natural animal. Each piece was as integrated into the whole as he could make it. And that’s what he hoped to impress the masters with. Except, the problem was that it wasn’t good for much he could think of. In the end, it was still a toy. Which was fine with him. The masters would likely keep it as they did most of the journeymen pieces, and he had another more powerful crafted automaton in his satchel.

There was a soft knock at the door, and the physiker entered, giving him a nod and a smile. Caldan forgot about his
crafting
s and went to ask her how Miranda was faring.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Caldan handed Master Mold and two other masters he’d never seen before his crafted medallion and automaton. He was sent outside to wait in the corridor. He sat on a hard wooden bench and did his best to pretend he wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t worried his
crafting
s wouldn’t be found suitable, but about what would happen after.

He knew his smith-
crafting
workmanship surpassed journeyman quality, and he’d aimed it at a level where the masters had to be impressed. But his plan hinged on what they’d decide to do with him. Mold couldn’t let him go, not with what he’d seen and knew about coercive sorcery. Maybe Mold would pull him further into the fold of the Protectors, as it looked like Simmon was going to do; make use of him as a valuable asset. Caldan would be free to spend more time experimenting with coercive sorcery without anyone the wiser. Other than that, the master might declare him unsuitable for the Protectors and leave him in the hands of the Sorcerers’ Guild. Unlikely, but a possibility. If Mold felt he couldn’t be trusted after he’d stolen the books, then this was what he’d do, if he didn’t decide to silence Caldan like any rogue sorcerer. But Caldan knew Mold wouldn’t choose this option. He’d consider it but discard it. Caldan had proven his worth to the Protectors, and Mold knew it.

The door across from him opened, and Mold beckoned him inside. The two other masters were from the Sorcerers’ Guild: a kindly looking old woman named Master Laina and a slightly overweight Master Barrend who appeared decidedly nervous. Meeting his eye briefly before glancing away, Laina fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, while Barrend returned to looking out the window as if something interested him.

This was not what Caldan had expected. Something was wrong.

Mold indicated he should sit in a chair, which he did, leaning forward and keeping his gaze on the master. He suspected the other two wouldn’t be doing much talking.

“Excellent work,” said Mold. “You’ve certainly shown us what you’re capable of. I don’t believe I’ve seen better journeyman pieces.”

“Yes. Quite excellent
crafting
s,” said Laina. “Especially the shield medallion.”

“A double layer which constantly swaps position,” added Barrend. “Phasing between inner and outer shields. Ingenious. Though not many sorcerers could use it, which detracts from its utility.”

Detracts from its utility? thought Caldan with puzzlement. From what he could sense of the master’s well, the man would be hard pressed to maintain even a basic shield. His opening was narrow and constricted. Perhaps someone of lesser ability couldn’t see the efficacy of the shield
crafting
, but Master Mold would have to.

However, Mold was murmuring agreement and nodding. “It’s virtually useless to most journeymen and quite a few masters. One of the challenges of
crafting
apprentices should learn early is to create items that are practical. Master Barrend here is correct. The shield
crafting
isn’t something that strikes me as being particularly useful to the Sorcerers’ Guild overall. Although it does have a number of interesting twists on shielding, it’s just too arduous for most sorcerers to maintain for any useful amount of time.”

Interesting? Caldan felt heat suffuse his face. Noticing his mouth was open, he closed it. They’re making excuses, he realized. Mold’s decided what he wants to do with me and convinced them to go along, denigrating my
crafting
with petty reasons to make themselves feel better about it and give them an excuse. But what has Mold decided?

Mold must have taken his silence for shock, which it partly was, and continued. “I’ve outlined parts of your involvement with the er… commotion the other night.”

So, both Master Laina and Barrend had to know about destructive sorcery, if they knew what had happened at Joachim’s, and quite possibly coercive sorcery. And they would know he knew, a mere apprentice, which could also explain their nervousness.

“And,” continued Mold, “taking your
crafting
ability into consideration, both the shielding medallion and the automaton, there isn’t a place for you with either the Protectors or the Sorcerers’ Guild.”

Blood drained from Caldan’s face. He went to speak but couldn’t find the words. Closing his eyes for a few moments, he took deep breaths to calm himself.

“Could you please hear me out?” he asked between clenched teeth. “My shield
crafting
is far more complex and powerful than anything a journeyman is expected to craft, let alone an apprentice.”

“We know…” said Mold.

Caldan shifted in his chair, shaking with repressed rage. “If you know how I defeated Joachim, then you can see how my shield
crafting
wouldn’t be disrupted by the same trick. If Master Annelie had one of these shields, then she’d still be alive.”

“We know…”

“By the ancestors! It’s far superior to Simmon’s shield, and he was a master in the Protectors! And the automaton… what’s wrong with it? It works perfectly. You can’t have seen its like before.”

Caldan was standing now. They all knew he was only an apprentice and knew about destructive and coercive sorcery. And they’d denied him a place in the Protectors and the Sorcerers’ Guild? What were they going to do, kill him like any other rogue sorcerer? They probably could, and that would leave Miranda on her own and unable to care for herself. The thought sent chills through him, and he clenched his fists.

Mold was standing also. He held his hands out. “Now, Caldan, our decision is final, and—”

Final was it? Well he wasn’t going to lie down and let them do whatever they wanted to him. Before he could stop himself, he opened his well and linked four strings to Bells’ shield
crafting
in his pocket. He felt the familiar tightening of his skin as the multicolored shield surrounded him.

Barrend and Laina looked at him in shock.

Mold frowned at him. “Caldan, this is for your own good.”

My own good? I know too much for them to just cast me aside. Mold will be the one to try and take me down. He’s the master Protector, and the dirty work would fall to him. Sucking in air, Caldan steeled himself and drew as much as he could from his well to reinforce his shield. Such a torrent, he’d never felt before. His hair stood on end, and the room felt as if it were vibrating. A harsh buzzing sound filled the air, and the scent of hot metal and lemons was almost overpowering.

Laina and Barrend scrambled backward away from him. They were inconsequential. The danger lay with Mold. Caldan locked eyes with the master.

Mold reached down to touch the hilt of a sword poking out from under his chair—a plain battered hilt Caldan would recognize anywhere: the
trinket
he’d carried from Anasoma, and the one Annelie had died holding.

Abruptly, his well slammed shut. Caldan’s mind recoiled from the whiplash as the raging torrent ceased in an instant. He felt like he’d been doused in ice cold water and shivered violently, head aching. Knees buckling, he fell to the floor, almost throwing up as his stomach twisted. Kneeling on all fours like a dog, he panted, short of breath.

A firm hand touched his shoulder. Mold.

“The pain will pass,” said the master. “And don’t worry, we won’t hold your actions against you. I should have realized you would think we might try and silence you and you’d overreact.”

Caldan wiped spit from his mouth. “It’s not an overreaction if you think you’re going to be imprisoned… or worse.”

He stood, or tried to. His legs were wobbly, and his head felt heavy. As Mold guided him to sit in a chair, he tentatively tested his well. It was still blocked, but… the barrier felt somehow less dense, as if whatever obstruction the
trinket
had placed was itself eroding.

Master Mold returned to his own chair, as did Masters Laina and Barrend. Rubbing his temples, Caldan flicked them a glance and saw they were staring at him uneasily. Laina’s hands were clutching her skirt, while Barrend looked ill, as if he might throw up.

Mold noticed him looking at them and spoke. “It affects all sorcerers like that.”

Barrend hissed at Mold, who frowned in return and waved away the master’s objection.

“He’ll guess anyway,” explained Mold. “The
trinket
is able to cut sorcerers off from their wells. For a limited amount of time, at least. Any sorcerer in close proximity feels similar effects but not so concentrated as the one the
trinket
is directed at. It’s one of the Protectors’ greatest
trinket
s, but it is extremely difficult to use. If Simmon had it in his possession before the Indryallan’s used coercive sorcery on him, he might have been able to resist. But I can only assume he didn’t.”

That explains Laina and Barrend’s reaction, thought Caldan. But… he sensed Mold wasn’t telling the whole truth. Why were the masters so nervous? Feeling a shadow of the effects he had experienced wouldn’t make them react that way.

Ah, of course. “You can control the intensity of the barrier. If you choose, you could cut me off from my well forever. That’s what has Laina and Barrend here so unsettled.”

“That’s Master Laina and Master Barrend to you,” growled Barrend.

Caldan smiled sadly and shook his head. “You’ve made it clear that, despite my talent for sorcery and smith-
crafting
, I’m not wanted in the Protectors or the Sorcerers’ Guild, even though my
crafting
s would probably warrant senior journeyman or master—”

“It takes more than
crafting
skill to make a master,” murmured Laina.

“Be that as it may, I’ve also saved you a great deal of trouble by uncovering Joachim and his scheme and bringing his activities to light. Saved lives. Returned wealth,
crafting
s, and
trinket
s to the Protectors. I carried that sword from Anasoma so the Indryallans didn’t get their hands on it. And you say there is no place for me?”

As he spoke, Mold’s expression became hard. One hand still held the hilt of the sword, as if he thought Caldan might react angrily again.

“If you’d given me time to explain… It’s out of our hands. Quite simply, you know too much. There are rules we have to follow in certain circumstances. Even the Protectors have to answer to someone. We aren’t free to do whatever we want.”

Caldan thought he had a fairly good idea who the Protectors were beholden to: the emperor. And before him, his councilors and… the warlocks? It made sense. By killing Joachim, and saving his own life, had he put his fate in the hands of the warlocks? They’d be certain to discover what he was quickly. Joachim’s actions would raise questions and point them toward the answers.

“Who do the Protectors answer to?” asked Caldan, knowing and dreading the answer.

“The emperor’s warlocks, of course. You’ll have to give evidence to them of Joachim’s crimes. But I’m sure they’ll realize you were only acting in self-defense. And they’ll see your talent.” Mold gave him a reassuring look. “I’ll put a good word in for you. As you said, you’ve shown what you’re capable of, both with sorcery and in situations that require a cool head and steady hands. I’m sure they’ll find a use for you.”

I’m sure they will, too. Caldan smiled weakly, all that he was capable of under the circumstances. The master actually thought he was doing Caldan a favor. Little did he know he might be handing him over to be killed.

“Ah… thank you,” Caldan managed to spit out. “So, what now? I’m to be watched over until the emperor arrives and you can hand me to the warlocks? Spare me any sweetening of my fate. Tell me the truth.”

Mold looked at him with pity. He thinks I think they’re going to kill me for what I know, thought Caldan. And they very well might. But they’ll kill me for a different reason: for who I am. His bone
trinket
pressed against his chest; he felt as if it were burning and resisted the urge to touch it. A great many people had died for this secret, including his family. He couldn’t let the warlocks take him.

Mold’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “… and you’ll be kept a close watch on. Joachim might not have been acting alone, and if the only witness was eliminated, there’d be no proof of his wrongdoing.”

He means they want no more trouble from me until I can be safely handed over to the warlocks.

Heavy of heart, Caldan could only nod, indicating to Mold he’d heard and understood.

All three masters stood and urged him toward the door. He acquiesced, letting them guide him down the corridor and back to the room he shared with Miranda. Outside the door, two Protectors had been stationed.

“For your protection,” murmured Mold.