A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (71 page)


No. You don’t understand. Leave me here. And leave me a blade.

Caldan swallowed and looked at Miranda. Her face screwed up in anguish.

I… can’t do that. Don’t ask me to.

Simmon grasped Caldan’s arm. His eyes shone with determination.

Leave me a blade and run. Get away from here. Someone must survive.

He released his grip and sunk back to the floor.

Get to the capital. The other Protectors must know.

For a long time Caldan stared at Simmon lying there, chained to the wall. He hastened to Miranda.

Give me your knife,

he said flatly.

Miranda stared at him then shook her head.

No.


Please. He isn’t in any condition to go anywhere, and he wants this. He’s… broken.


I can’t. I won’t.

Miranda took a step back then edged towards the cell door.


If we leave him, he’ll die anyway. We have to do this. It’s what he wants.


I don’t care!

screamed Miranda, and Caldan raised his hands to quiet her.


All right,

he conceded.

Go outside. I’ll join you in a few minutes.

With a final glance at Simmon, she turned and fled the cell.


Master Simmon, I don’t have a knife, but I have this.

He unbuckled his sword belt and laid the blade at the master’s feet.

Simmon opened his eyes for a second then closed them.

Thank you,

he murmured.

Caldan took a step back. For a few moments he stood there, silent.


I…

He broke off shaking his head.

Goodbye,

he said.


Caldan, you’ve given me your only weapon. I can’t let you go without a replacement.

The master struggled to his knees, hands groping for the sword Caldan had left.

It was mine, passed to me from a long line of Protectors. I used it to… to betray them. I know it wasn’t me… Still… it was. I didn’t deserve it anymore. Unworthy. In the training yard. The well. After I… Jazintha… I hid it there. They took everything else. I couldn’t let them have it.


A sword?


Take it. Return it to the Protectors. Warn them about what happened here. You must get word to them, and the empire.

Simmon’s eyes grew distant. He drew the blade and stared blankly at the bare steel. The belt and scabbard he tossed towards Caldan.

Go,

he said.

With a final nod, Caldan picked up the belt and scabbard and left the master in the cell. Chained. Alone. Shattered.

 

They leaned over the stone well in the training courtyard, looking into the depths of the hole. A wooden bucket tied to a length of rope sat beside a half-full barrel next to the well. Behind them was Jazintha’s corpse, and Caldan’s automaton stood near a door, waiting and watching.

Caldan grimaced at the smooth stones in the wall of the well. They looked to offer no purchase whatsoever for climbing down.


Oh, wait,

he exclaimed.

Here, under us. We couldn’t see them because they were directly below us. Some of the stones have slots carved into them. Whoever built it must have realized one day someone might want an easy way down, for repairs, I would guess.


The reservoir at the bottom is probably fed from the aqueducts, so it makes sense.

She looked around the courtyard, avoiding the master’s corpse which kept drawing her focus.

Can you hurry up please,

she pleaded.

I don’t like being here with that… body.

She shivered and rubbed her arms.


Hopefully, this won’t take long.

Caldan removed his boots, decided to leave his wristband and
trinket
on, then tugged off his shirt. He sat on the lip of the well and swung his legs over the side.


Wait here, and if you see anyone, yell. I will come up as fast as I can.


Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.

She crouched behind the well, making herself as inconspicuous as possible.

Caldan descended into the darkness. Close to the top of the well the stones and air were dry, but the further he descended the colder and damper they became. The slots in the stone made the going quick and painless, and soon he saw a glimmer of water below him. Perched above the surface, he peered into the depths.

Under the water, one side of the wall opened up into a tunnel, which had to lead to an aqueduct, but directly below him he spotted what he was looking for. Metal gleamed in the pale light, and he made out the shape of a bare sword.

He drew a breath, let go and plunged into the cold water. A few strokes and he had the sword hilt in his grasp, then he turned and pushed off the bottom. With the blade in one hand, the ascent was harder, but before long his head poked over the top of the well and into the sunlight.

Caldan wiped his face with his spare hand and levered himself over the well and onto the hard-packed dirt.

Miranda stood and stared.

Caldan held the sword up and let out a low whistle of appreciation. The blade was a ribbon of silver in the moonlight. It was double-edged and perfectly straight, a handspan shorter than the standard swords he was used to practicing with. The hilt looked plain, scratched in places with a few spots of rust, leather grip worn, but the blade… smooth and even, as if forged and polished yesterday. Engraved along the first half of the blade were
crafting
runes. Some were filled with a reddish metal Caldan didn’t recognize. He traced a finger over one of the patterns, having no idea of their function. The end of the blade, which was without
crafting
runes, was covered in random minute patterns of banding and mottling reminiscent of flowing water.

Miranda’s eyes traveled along the blade.

It’s crafted, isn’t it? Someone spent a long time working on that sword.

Caldan nodded. He wiped a drop of water from his nose and opened his well, attempting to link to the blade. He frowned. He couldn’t link to anything. There was nothing to attach to.


I can’t link to it. And the metal of the blade… I couldn’t begin to understand how it’s been forged. It isn’t smith-crafted, at least not in any way I know. It’s a
trinket
.

Miranda’s mouth opened in surprise, and she covered it with her hand.

That’s incredible,

she gasped.

I’ve never even heard of a sword as a
trinket
before.


I can’t imagine anyone willingly letting this go. It must be important to the Protectors. Simmon must have been able to break free of the sorcery controlling him… enough to enable him to hide it.

Miranda met Caldan’s eyes.

And now we have it.

He held the sword out for her to hold so he could put his clothes back on. She grabbed it, and the instant he let go, the blade dropped from her hands, hitting the dirt with a thud. Miranda cursed, struggling with the sword’s hilt.


It’s heavy. Why didn’t you warn me?

She lifted the blade a hand’s breadth above the ground then dropped it back down, cursing again.

You must be stronger than you look,

she muttered.

Caldan drew on his shirt and boots and picked up the leather scabbard and belt.

Here,

he said, and grasped the sword hilt. With relief, she let go and he slid the blade into the scabbard.

Not a good fit, but it works.

With the blade concealed by the scabbard, the hilt looked unremarkable, battered and plain. Perhaps that was the point. Hands working swiftly, he buckled the belt around his waist and gathered up his sack.


Wearing a sword in the city is prohibited, remember?

said Miranda.


I don’t think there are many Quivers or harbor watchmen around anymore. And the Indryallans… we’ll be trying to avoid anyway. It should be safe.

They retraced their steps back to the garden. Sending his crafted automaton ahead, they safely crossed the space and found themselves back at the door to the outside.

Moments later, they were heading straight for Dockside.

 

In the center of the garden inside the Sorcerers’ Guild, Bells crouched on the grass. She turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes. Listening. Sensing. Feeling.

Keys remained quiet next to her. They waited, perfectly still, the only movement stray strands of Bells’ hair tugged gently by the wind. To her right, a mouse crept across dry leaves under a tree, nose twitching as it hunted for insects and seeds.


There,

she said, pointing to the ground in front of another tree. The mouse froze at the movement then disappeared into some leaves in the blink of an eye.

Bells strode over to the tree, stopping at a pile of ash mixed with fragments of charred paper. She knelt and rubbed ash between two fingers, bringing the residue to her nose and sniffing. She poked with a finger at the ragged scraps of paper.

Keys stepped over and waited silently for her response.

She glanced up at him.

Crude but effective.

He grunted sourly.

As with most of the sorcery here.

She nodded, tiny bells tinkling.

I recognize the flavor of the sorcery. I only had a brief taste but… The same as the young man who broke out of his cell the other day. A remarkable feat, considering.

She wiped her soiled fingers on her pants.


Leg stabbed to the bone, no materials to assist him,

said Keys.

And yet he manages a
crafting
strong enough to melt the lock. A handsome young man and talented, as I recall you describing. I don’t like him already.

Bells laughed. He needn’t fear she would fall for someone after one meeting, despite the man’s obvious talents.


You don’t need to,

she said.

It must have been him who left the sword for the Protector, and he wasn’t alone.


Do you think they know what happened?

Bells nodded. Based on the evidence, it was likely. If he’d spoken to Simmon and left him there, then she surmised he had urgent business elsewhere. More important than freeing the master.


Yes. Simmon would have told him what happened.


We must find him.


Agreed.


Can you trace them?

Poor Keys, she thought. Too much time spent wasting his youth instead of studying like she had. Still, they had been through much hardship together along with their siblings, and that formed a strong bond which was seldom broken.

Bells grinned.

Of course.

 

Chapter Fifty-Three

 

Under the cover of night, Quiss and two other employees of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern, a young man and woman, ushered Vasile down to the docks and into a rowboat.

Vasile sat at the bow, while Quiss took up a position at the stern. The young man and woman seated themselves at the oars to row out into the harbor.

Despite his nervousness in their company, Vasile’s apprehension regarding being caught at night on open water in such a small boat overrode his reluctance to speak. When he queried whether it was wise to row out at night, the young woman giggled, though kept rowing. Quiss replied he needn’t worry as their passage would be veiled. Vasile sat back, none the wiser, and placed his survival wholly in their hands.

The docks receded swiftly into the distance as the young man and woman kept up their strokes on the oars with remarkable adeptness and strength.

Anasoma burned in the distance. Not literally, but from Vasile’s vantage point the blue flames erupting atop the city walls lent an eerie glow to the scene, as if the city had caught fire. Behind them the flames extended across the harbor, a daunting and perhaps deadly barrier to anyone thinking of trying to escape by sea. As they approached the obstruction his jaw dropped in astonishment as a hole opened up to the outside sea, just wide enough for them to fit through. The others in the boat laughed quietly at his puzzlement.

He shook his head and watched the lights of Anasoma fade as the boat rounded the southern breakwater and continued south, ultimately tying up to a large merchant ship anchored in a secluded bay.

Quiss directed Vasile to wait on deck as arrangements were made for his accommodation, and assigned a short swarthy man to watch over him before disappearing below deck.

The ship looked as unassuming as any Vasile had come across in his work, and there had been many a time he’d had to board a ship where a murder or theft had occurred. Crew busied themselves with various tasks, despite the late hour, their labor lit by crafted sorcerous globes, which each carried on their person. An expensive luxury, Vasile noted.

He sat on a cold bench at the aft of the ship, close to the steering wheel, left to his own devices, nibbling on an apple, which the man standing next to him had offered. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the remains of the core over the side, where it landed with a faint splash.


Fish,

his guard said abruptly.

Vasile frowned.

What?

he said.


Fish. I heard a fish,

replied the man.


No, it was my apple.

The guard tilted his head, eyes fixed on Vasile.

No, the fish ate your apple.


What? Oh, never mind.

Vasile rubbed tired eyes and yawned.

Tell me, why are you guarding me? Who is the First Deliverer?


That would be me.

Vasile turned to see a frail old man stepping gingerly towards him. His stubble and hair were gray, and the clothes he wore, pants and shirt, were plain.

The First Deliverer stopped to hunch over and let out a hacking cough, waving away Vasile’s guard who stepped forward to assist. Using two canes to support his weight, the man lurched unsteadily towards Vasile.

He could see the effort moving cost the old man, the sheen of sweat on his face, the grimaces of pain at each step. He couldn’t help but stand and move to assist him, taking hold of an elbow and lending himself as support. They made it to the bench and the old man sat delicately with a sigh of relief. Vasile stood above him awkwardly. With a glance, the old man gestured for him to take a seat beside him.

The First Deliverer breathed heavily for a while. He cleared his throat then turned piercing eyes on Vasile.


Quiss has told you about us?

he asked, obviously knowing the answer already.

Vasile nodded warily in reply. If this was Quiss’s master then he must be the one who’d ordered the murders. All was not as it seemed.


And has he answered any questions you may have had?

continued the First Deliverer.


I… yes. It was much to take in, in such a short time.
””
I can imagine.


I do have questions, but I am sure some answers will become clear in the next few days.


I’d prefer if you asked them of me, or Quiss, and not bother anyone else.

Vasile said nothing. He shifted his weight on the bench and gazed out at the moonlit sea.


But I’m remiss in my manners,

said the man, holding out his hand to be clasped.

I’m Gazija. First Deliverer, they call me now, though what I have delivered my people to is a question I ponder daily.

Despite his reservations, Vasile took the offered hand, releasing it after a moment.

How did you know about me?


We have many friends. Word of your skills came to me a while ago, though I must confess it wasn’t me who thought of how you could benefit us. In truth, we were not expecting events to unravel this far. It was Quiss who saw your true potential when he observed you acting as a magistrate. We knew at the time drastic measures were needed and… well, there you were.

They sat in silence. Waves lapped against the ship.


We need you,

said Gazija.

The invasion has forced our hand. Their leaders are well versed in sorcery your empire cannot hope to match.


But you can.


Yes. I see Quiss was right about you. You see deeply. We might have to put you to work quicker than we’d like. There are people in power who have to be convinced of the truth.


The chancellors don’t see me anymore. Well, one does. I can convince him of your sincerity, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do you.


Forget about Anasoma. No one will be entering or leaving for some time. No, we need you to contact someone else. The emperor.


What? That’s your plan? I barely know him… I met him a few times, but that’s all.

Gazija waved away his complaints.

But you do know him. And he knows both you and of your talent. That will suffice for introductions and for proof, will it not?

Frowning, Vasile scratched his head.

Possibly. More than likely.


Then we are agreed,

Gazija said with finality.

I’m afraid Anasoma is lost, though there is hope yet for your empire if the emperor sides with us. If he doesn’t… well… there are other options. I don’t think there’ll be another Shattering, though it’s a possibility. The evil that followed us would have learnt from its mistakes. A dead world is of no use.

They were followed by an evil? An evil what? From where?
Vasile let out a deep breath. He turned his gaze to the frail old man.

It’s not an easy task you have set me.


It’s not an easy course we’ve plotted. Our hand has been forced.

Gazija coughed.

Vasile looked at the old man next to him. Weak, sick, emaciated. He wouldn’t be long for this world.


We must try to settle this peacefully,

continued Gazija.

My people… what there are of us, are the last.

The last of what?
wondered Vasile.
Who are these people, really?

Quiss stepped across the deck to join them at the bench, looking gaunter than usual in the dim light. He bowed respectfully before Gazija.


Mazoet is on his way. He picked up a few stragglers,

Quiss informed Gazija with a disapproving look. He drew out a brass timepiece from a pocket.

He should be here soon.

Gazija hissed.

He should know better. The fewer we have to deal with the better.


He’ll have his reasons, as he usually does.

With a groan, Gazija rose to his feet.

Come. Let us greet him.

The First Deliverer gestured for Vasile to follow then made his way unsteadily to the main deck, stopping to rest once on the way. They took up positions near the side of the ship facing towards the shore. A light glimmered in the distance, slowly closing on their ship. They waited in silence as it approached, Gazija with an ill-concealed impatience, Quiss stolidly and still, Vasile fidgeting with nervous energy.

The light came from another rowboat. Wood bumped against wood with a thud.

Vasile identified a lean looking woman as probably one of Gazija’s people, though she was chatting amiably with a tall middle-aged gentleman with an obvious weakness for food. The man stood proudly at the head of the craft, shirt closed tight over his large stomach with silver buttons.

A rope ladder was lowered for the boat’s occupants, and soon the lean woman and pudgy man came aboard followed by a few others: a young man with an air of command, a sorcerer wearing a number of crafted items, and a swarthy rough-looking man wearing two swords, who examined each of them in turn then relaxed, as if weighing their measure and finding them wanting.

Self-consciously, Vasile drew himself up straighter.

With a bow from the waist, the man with the silver buttons addressed Gazija.


First Deliverer, I had not expected to find you here.

He took a step back and gestured at the people accompanying him.

I have some news. Perhaps…

He broke off with a sidelong glance at Vasile.


He’s with us, Mazoet,

said Gazija.

What news do you bring?


Your will,

replied Mazoet, bowing again, this time more perfunctorily, though still respectful.

These men have been chasing a group of… renegade sorcerers, who had set themselves up in a town some weeks travel from here. I was fortunate to contact them and their men before the sorcerers they were following turned on them.

His eyes kept flicking from Gazija to Quiss and back. Vasile could sense he was telling the truth, though holding something back.

With my assistance,

continued Mazoet,

we were able to see off the sorcerers, but I felt it was my duty to bring the men here to tell their story, firsthand, as it were.

With a solemn expression, Mazoet clasped the young man by the shoulder and pushed him forward a step.

With an encouraging smile from Mazoet, he began to speak.

First Deliverer,

he said in a calm, even voice, bowing as Mazoet had done from the waist. Vasile thought he saw Gazija’s mouth flicker with the ghost of a smile.


Though I have never heard that particular title before, and I am quite learned in all the titles of the empire and surrounding kingdoms.


Obviously you are not as learned as you think. Go on. I’m not getting any younger standing here.

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