Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (8 page)

A multicolored haze enveloped him. The hands holding him jerked back in shock. He threw himself across the room and onto the counter, covering the glistening runes Bells had drawn in wine mixed with her saliva.

Chaos erupted. A sharp crack of thunder echoed. Caldan felt a twisting in the air, and his heart skipped a beat. Orange sparks spewed from the counter under him. It felt like a horse had kicked him in the chest as he was flung into the air. His shield spewed violet sparkles, straining to contain the damaging forces.

Around him, two of the soldiers dropped as if poleaxed, and the others crumpled to the floor, twitching. Elpidia, who had seen Bells back away before Caldan shouted, reacted quickly and threw herself at Miranda, hugging her tight. As the shockwave hit, they stumbled but remained upright. The commander grunted, as if punched in the stomach, and tumbled backward. Smoke filled the air.

Caldan slammed into the ceiling, which groaned, dislodging dust, then fell down onto the counter with a thump. He gasped in pain. Turning his head, he saw Bells scrambling across the floor. Sunlight from outside lit the smoke from within.

Bells made a lunge for Caldan’s saddlebags; sliding on her knees, she clutched them greedily, and scrambled for the open door.

He tried to move but his body refused to respond. “Stop her,” he croaked at Elpidia, who looked at him then quickly shook her head.

Bells took a moment to turn and flashed a feral grin at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Amerdan’s fist connected with the back of her head. She jerked forward and her eyes glazed over. Body limp, she sprawled across the floor.

Stepping inside, Amerdan waved smoke away from his face and surveyed the scene with calm eyes. Ignoring the immobile bodies around the room, he used the scraps of rope to bind Bells. He then tore strips from his shirt and used them to tie her fingers securely.

“That should do it, I think.” He raised a questioning eyebrow, and Caldan nodded, struggling to a sitting position with his legs on the side of the counter.

Caldan closed his well, and the haze surrounding him winked out. “She almost got away,” he managed. By the ancestors, he hurt everywhere.

“I could see that. Lucky for us she didn’t.”

Around them, soldiers stirred. The two least injured helped their comrades to sit up. One went for a waterskin, which they passed among themselves. Elpidia examined each of them and pronounced them shaken but otherwise not seriously harmed. Though their commander still lay on his back, he waved away any assistance, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut.

Caldan wiped damp hands on his trousers and lowered himself off the counter, standing unsteadily. Miranda had stood still throughout the entire episode, eyes blank. He fought back a surge of emotion and took a deep breath.

All hadn’t been lost. Amerdan had saved the situation, and Bells looked like she would be unconscious for a while. Her actions should convince the Quivers of the truth of his words.

A few of the soldiers were helping their commander to his feet. Once he was upright, he turned a furious gaze on Bells.

Before the man did something rash, Caldan decided to intervene.

“Sir, I believe what just happened should convince you I told the truth.” He tried to project confidence, but the reality was, he shook inside. They had come close to losing any chance of saving Miranda.

The commander frowned. “Was that sorcery? I’ve never seen the like. What did she do?”

Caldan thought frantically. That the Indryallans were capable of destructive sorcery was knowledge only a few people could know. If the truth got out, there would be widespread panic. “Something went wrong. The…
crafting
she used is meant for much stronger materials. It… er… broke down under the strain. I don’t know why it reacted that way, though.” He coughed into his hand. “But it shows you she is desperate and will try anything to escape. I trust you believe us now?”

The commander’s eyes narrowed in thought for a moment. He looked around the room at the lingering smoke. Then he nodded.

•

Hours later, as they were preparing to leave, Caldan saw Amerdan in the market—not purchasing supplies, as the commander had seen to it they were well supplied, but handing out ducats to some of the scruffy-looking children wandering around barefoot.

The noises and smoke from the garrison, combined with their hasty preparations, had drawn attention, though most of the locals kept their distance. They knew better than to stick their noses in the Quivers’ business.

A wagon was readied inside the stables attached to the garrison—the commander’s idea once they’d told him they were being followed. It was unlikely whoever was following them would know they were in the wagon, and the covering further served to hide them from prying eyes. Two soldiers rode with them at the front, while another two rode behind. The commander, Jarmund, quickly ran through introductions to his soldiers. Corporal Lavas was in charge, a stocky man with a graying beard. The three soldiers were Breyton, Boyas, and Ettmo. To Caldan’s eyes, they all looked young and green. Only Ettmo seemed interested in Caldan and his companions; the others looked like this trip was a rare treat for them, away from their regular monotony. According to Jarmund, the city, Riversedge, was a week away by wagon.

Caldan and Elpidia helped Miranda inside. Amerdan prodded Bells, who’d come to, until she scrabbled awkwardly up, hampered by her chains.

The wagon lurched forward, and Caldan grabbed a hold of his rough wooden seat to steady himself. He fussed over Miranda, making sure she was comfortable, worried that she had deteriorated.

The others spread out inside the wagon after securing Bells to an iron ring bolted to a sturdy support. Elpidia sat with Miranda, while Amerdan perched at the back, peeking through a narrow gap in the canvas flaps toward the crossroads receding into the distance.

Caldan fished around in his gear, making sure the sword was safely hidden behind their pile, and drew out the crafted bells. He held them for a few moments, pondering whether he had any choice in this since Miranda had been hurt. Underneath the bells, he could feel his ring on his finger. He was still uncomfortable with wearing the
trinket
, but now he had Bells’ shield
crafting
, he was determined to wear it as much as possible in the hope he found some clue as to its function. Shaking his head, he shuffled over to Bells; the lurching wagon made for unsteady footing.

She regarded him with cold eyes as he approached. A swollen red mark stained her forehead, the result of it hitting the floor after Amerdan had knocked her out. As she shifted her weight, her chains clinked, and she grimaced then stared at the canvas ceiling, ignoring Caldan.

He knelt in front of her for a time, the bells warming in his hands. Then, one by one, he laid them in front of her on the rough wooden floorboards. The tinkling sound they made drew both Bells’ and Elpidia’s gaze.

To heal Miranda, he needed to know more about coercive sorcery, which he had never seen any of the Protectors use. Was it something, as a Protector, he was forbidden to do? Was he really a Protector, without having taken any oaths or being elevated to journeyman status? Would learning about coercive sorcery condemn him in the Protectors’ eyes? There was just so much he didn’t know.

All he knew was that in front of him was a sorcerer who had answers, and a number of her
crafting
s might be devices for coercive sorcery. And he had at most two days to draw the information out of her before she would be handed over and he might never see her again.

“Tell me,” he whispered to Bells. “Tell me everything you know about coercive sorcery.”

She peered at him intently. “Poor apprentice Protector. There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Teach me.”

Bells shook her head. “Why would I? I’m going to kill you when I get the chance.”

Caldan clenched his hands into fists until his fingers hurt. He knelt there, trembling. Raising a hand, he slapped Bells across the face, rocking her head to the side.

“Caldan!” Elpidia cried. “What are you doing? Get away from her!”

“She needs to learn I’m serious,” Caldan said, keeping his eyes on Bells.

She stared back at him, a red handprint on her cheek.

Elpidia grabbed his arm and tugged it from Bells. Caldan resisted for a moment, then let her draw him away.

Bells licked blood from the corner of her mouth and began to laugh.

Caldan turned from her and sat next to Elpidia. The physiker was looking at him disapprovingly. He covered his face with his hands.

•

From his perch on the roof of one of the inns, Mahsonn surveyed the buildings and the market. His position was a good one, and he had been watching for some time.

The empire’s soldiers—Quivers they called them—were scurrying around, moving in and out of their garrison like ants disturbed from their nest. Despite the sun streaming down and warming his back, none of them would see him with his sorcerous shroud in place.

Shielding his eyes from the light, he watched as a few groups of people gathered in the market, some gesturing toward the garrison and shrugging or shaking their heads.

He knew how they felt, the not knowing, and didn’t like the feeling.

While he sat on the top of the roof, three covered wagons entered the garrison stables then exited a short time later, traveling in three different directions. For a moment, he debated rushing down and trying to get a peek inside the wagons but discarded the idea immediately. Foolish and stupid. They would know it was him following Bells, and though he believed he could take the soldiers out, you never knew where your luck would fall in combat. One mistake, or a fluke for the other side, and you would be finished. No, that way was for idiots who valued the thrill more than the chase, or kill.

He sat still for a while, thinking. There was nothing for it but to go down and question the people in the market, and maybe get one of the soldiers alone. The three different wagons was such an obvious ploy it was laughable, but effective in this situation. He could lose days finding which wagon held Bells, or get lucky and lose no time at all. But games of chance were not in his nature. He liked to be certain.

To the south, oppressive clouds moved closer, and as the wind picked up, it brought the smell of rain. He cursed under his breath. Rain. He hated rain. It made his job that much harder, even with his consummate skill.

A pebble hit the roof next to him. He froze. Below him in the street, a small child looked up at the roof. She bent over and picked up another pebble from the ground. It bounced a good distance below him then fell back into the street. The girl ran to pick it up and threw it again. This time, it went to the left. The girl waited then shrugged and skipped away toward the market.

Mahsonn clambered over the ridge of the roof and slid down the other side, launching himself off as the edge approached and landing lightly on his feet. Glancing to either side, he checked he was alone and, satisfied, closed his well. Unlike the normal popping sound when a shield was cut off, his shroud disappeared silently, and he reappeared.

Striding briskly around the side of the building, he headed toward the market as fast as he could without drawing undue attention. He stopped briefly to pick up the pebble the girl had thrown. He spat in his hands and slicked back his hair, attempting to make himself more presentable. He nodded to a woman walking past with a basket of mushrooms.

There. The girl had joined a group of other grubby-looking children, and they were wandering aimlessly through the market. He shook his head disapprovingly. Where were their parents?

Catching up to the group, he pushed through them from behind and stood in front of the girl. She frowned up at him as he handed her the pebble.

“I believe this is yours?” he said.

She stared at the pebble then back at him, and her mouth opened. “A real spirit!” she exclaimed.

Mahsonn tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

“The man. He said a spirit was watching. From the roof. Gave me a ducat and told me to throw pebbles at it.”

“Ah. Well…” He bent over and leaned in close. “Don’t tell anyone, will you, my dear?”

Trembling, she shook her head and backed away a step. Around her, the other children watched with terrified awe on their faces.

She hesitated then held out a hand, palm up.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“The man. He said, if I found you, you had to give me gold.”

With a smile, Mahsonn dug into a pocket and drew out a gold ducat. He held it up between two fingers. Six pairs of eyes were drawn to it like glue.

“This man, did he tell you anything else?”

The girl nodded, eyes on the gold coin.

“And what was that?”

Her palm bobbed up and down. “Gold first,” she demanded.

Mahsonn wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the children and the market. Too busy. Too many eyes. He placed the coin in the girl’s palm.

“The man said, ‘Stay with your friends until the spirit comes. It can’t hurt you then.’” She nodded, and her friends nodded along with her.

“Anything else?”

“West. The man said west.”

With a grunt, Mahsonn turned and strode away quickly, leaving them to squabble over the coin.

Chapter Five

Through the wooden hulls of the ships, someone screamed. Raised voices followed the wailing, and boots thumped along decks, some toward the sound, while others away.

Lady Felicienne wriggled in her hammock then twisted to scratch her back. Screams in the night didn’t bother her anymore. Neither did the roaches in her room, nor the rats she caught glimpses of through half-lidded eyes when falling asleep.

The hold was packed with crates and barrels, some old, and some more recent, though most of their contents were new. The small number of ships her men had managed to clear in the Cemetery served as her base these days. Having fled her rooms in the keep at the first sign of trouble, she had gathered the few soldiers and functionaries she felt she could trust, and organized a tactical retreat. Far from being scared, she had recognized the patterns around her and knew the invasion would succeed early on. She’d sent her man Avigdor to rifle through desks and closets for whatever they could carry to help her once they escaped, mostly purses filled with ducats and lists of informants and important contacts.