The jukari came on.
Heavy thumps sounded from Riversedge, and at first Caldan couldn’t work out what was happening. Then he saw specks arcing into the sky: missiles thrown from counterweighted trebuchets. He squinted as they reached their zenith and began plummeting to the earth. A low rumbling sounded. Clouds of dust and clods of dirt erupted where the stones landed—but nowhere near the jukari. All the missiles fell short by hundreds of yards, with more following in the air.
Hoots and barking came from the jukari, who stood their ground, attention on the falling rocks.
Overeager? wondered Caldan. They had to know their shots would fall short.
Then he saw that while the jukari’s attention was on the siege engine missiles, groups of Quivers had run to the front of their ranks, using the gaps between cohorts. They dropped baskets of arrows, raised their bows, and began firing. Missiles streaked into the sky, a dark rain ascending to the heavens, only to fall. Their shafts plunged into the jukari—failing, as far as Caldan could see, to do much damage. But some jukari did fall: tiny figures in their front lines stumbled. The holes opened up by wounded or dead jukari were quickly filled.
Thunder rumbled, and Caldan frowned. He glanced to the sky, fearing sorcery, of which there was no sign—but there was movement on the hills. He squinted . . .
And let out a gasp.
Hundreds of Quiver cavalry crested the hills and poured toward the jukari—steel-tipped lances gleaming, iron-rimmed shields hanging by their sides, hooves trampling the grass.
Both the trebuchet missiles and the flights of arrows had been a distraction.
The distance between the cavalry and the jukari closed with frightening swiftness. Then the horses were among the creatures. Caldan could hear lances snapping from where he was—although it could also have been bones—along with the squealing of horses and barks from the jukari. Splintered wood filled the air. Shouts and screams erupted. Lances now abandoned, swords were dragged from sheaths and flashed down. Injured horses toppled and flailed.
Riderless mounts bounded away in a lather.
The archers positioned themselves in the corridors between the armies, which were now advancing steadily on each other. Arrows still peppered the enemy, though now they were aimed farther behind and to the other side of the cavalry charge.
Foot soldiers broke into a trot, urged on by their commanders, and then they were in the melee. Shields rose to meet jukari weapons, and more often than not were broken by the force of the blows. Short spears and swords darted out in response. Yells and screams went up. Everywhere, Quivers hacked and slashed, weapons covered with black jukari blood.
More arrows rained down like angry insects. The cavalry withdrew and gathered themselves for another charge, while the jukari milled in confusion. They turned their attention to the foot soldiers, only to once again get hammered with a howling rush of horsemen. They crashed through scattered lines with barely a pause until they found themselves slowed as an organized mass of jukari came to the fore.
Blood pitched into the sky and to the ground, both red and black. It sprayed and spattered. Wooden shields cracked, arms broke. Quiver and jukari scalps split, skulls smashed. Those unfortunate enough to lose their footing or fall injured to the ground were finished off in short order, either by enemy weapons or the trampling feet of those around them.
The soldiers from the ships joined the fray, coming at a rush into the unprotected side of the jukari host, and for a few breathless minutes, all was chaos.
Across the battlefield, injured men dragged themselves back behind the front lines, allowing eager—and some not-so-eager—soldiers to replace them. They hauled shattered weapons and hacked armor, notched swords and shields sporting broken shafts of arrows and javelins.
Thousands sprawled dead and dying—men and jukari and horses, some so mangled they were indistinguishable from one another.
Then the jukari retreated, horns of their own sounding above the tumult.
Quivers dragged wounded comrades to safety, while the cavalry urged their mounts out of the throng and to the side. Men-at-arms surrounding nobles and their sons backed away as quickly as they could. Fallen standards were raised again, dirt-stained and bloody.
And the Quivers kept shooting flights of arrows, with a greater intensity than Caldan had seen before. Shafts made a thatch of the sky, chasing the jukari like an advancing storm cloud, peppering them with injury and death.
The retreat turned to outright flight as the creatures turned tail and fled.
The Quivers’ drums ceased pounding. Horns blasted multiple notes, and the rain of arrows ceased.
There was a movement beside Caldan, and one of the warlocks assigned to watch over him came closer. Despite Caldan’s insistence on staying with cel Rau, they had left the swordsman in the care of the army’s physikers and told him in no uncertain terms that Caldan would be coming with them.
His keepers were middle-aged men with hard eyes, and he could sense both of them had accessed their wells and were linked to various craftings they wore. One sported a bushy beard streaked with gray. Gorton was his name. His companion, called Melker, was a thinner man with pale skin and freckles. Both were clothed in black, with silver flower-shaped buttons, as Joachim had been. A warlock’s signature apparel, Caldan supposed.
Caldan’s skin itched from the vibrations caused by so many craftings and trinkets in close proximity. So overwhelming was the feeling, his hair stood on end, and he found himself rubbing his arms. The air was filled with alternating scent-bursts of lemon and hot metal, as the warlocks had been using sorcery almost constantly. This close to Gorton and Melker, he could sense them drawing from their wells in spurts, but there was no visible sign of what they were doing. Outwardly, they looked like any normal persons.
Then again, I suppose I do, too.
“Devenish wants to see you,” Melker said. “Now, if you please, while there’s a lull in the fighting.”
“What does he want?”
“Who cares?” Gorton said harshly. “Just hurry up.”
“Gently, Gorton.”
“Forget that,” Gorton snapped. “We shouldn’t be here babysitting, and you know it. We should be striking now with the others.”
“All in good time,” Melker replied smoothly. “You’ll get your chance, don’t you worry.” He turned back to Caldan. “Coming?”
Caldan nodded.
In the distance, the jukari horde regrouped, bloodied but far from defeated. The superior tactics, armor, and weapons of the emperor’s army had slaughtered many of them, but today was only one day, and there were many more to come. And the losses had been great on both sides.
Caldan turned from the torn-up field and followed the warlocks.
CHAPTER 2
Caldan didn’t expect Devenish and the warlocks to trust him, but his show of sorcery in breaking through Bells’s shield—and his part in stopping the slaughter her crafting had wreaked among the emperor’s forces—had gone some way to proving to them where his allegiance lay.
Or so he hoped.
He knew the warlocks weren’t stupid. Like him, they would know fealty and obedience were sometimes only a surface detail. Underneath, though . . . that’s where someone’s true nature lay.
As Joachim and Amerdan had shown him.
Caldan and his escort approached Devenish’s tent, but the warlock leader barely spared them a glance. The young man swept his mousy hair out of his eyes and shook his head at a question another warlock put to him. Then, with a few sharp commands, they all began walking toward the docks by the river.
Melker and Gorton pushed Caldan to the back of the group, and they trailed after Devenish and five other warlocks. One of them was Thenna, an older, sun-touched woman whom Devenish had seemingly pulled rank on a couple of times when they’d first met. She’d had it out for Caldan from the get-go, and now kept glancing back at him with a frown on her face. He did his best to keep his expression neutral.
&nb
sp; “Do you know what’s going on in Anasoma?” Caldan asked Melker. “I left there a while ago and—”
“Shut it!” barked Gorton.
“What my colleague means,” Melker said, “is that your questions will be answered in good time. There’s much to do first before we’ll be able to give you all the answers you want. Devenish wants to speak to you himself. And Thenna seems to have taken a disliking to you.”
As had the emperor. What have I gotten myself into?
Gorton snorted. “She’ll find something to dislike in most everything.”
“Not Devenish, though.”
“Oh no, not him.”
Caldan kept silent.
So Thenna was infatuated with Devenish, and Gorton and Melker didn’t much like her. He didn’t know if this insight would be useful later, but when you’re completely in the dark, any illumination might come in handy. Especially if there were factions he could exploit.
They trudged toward eastern Riversedge, where the dozens of mysterious ships were docked. Clouds of smoke filled the gray sky, twisting in the breeze. Surrounding Caldan, the ground looked as if a giant plow had furrowed the earth. Splashes of carmine stained the grass and dirt, and a multitude of corpses lay with limbs locked in rigor, clutching despairingly at themselves, their weapons, the grass. All had looks of horror frozen on their faces—mouths open, stretched and grimacing, as if they couldn’t believe what was happening.
Caldan could barely believe it himself.
“Why don’t they bury them?”
“I’ll get you a shovel,” Gorton said.
The stench of death and blood filled his nostrils, overlaid with the lingering scent of lemons. Weapons and armor forged by the empire’s greatest smiths had been no match for the sorcery Bells had wrought. Black smoke from spot fires rose from the carnage, whether caused by the sorcery or something else, he couldn’t tell.
Teams of Quivers were stripping the dead soldiers of their valuables, then dragging the despoiled bodies into carts to be taken care of later. Crows cawed and fought among themselves atop the piles, as if worried there would be a shortage of food for them soon.
So like most men. Squabbling over tidbits while there was more than enough for all. Shortsighted, and foolish in the extreme.
The birds at least had an excuse.
And he’d been the biggest fool of them all, the one who’d brought Bells to Riversedge. She’d played him, and he had let her, because there was a promise in there he’d wanted to believe.
It had been just another lie.
But that was what she did, lie, including to herself. He still wasn’t sure she’d known what she was doing, but the results of her actions couldn’t be denied. Caldan’s stomach twisted at the thought, and he swallowed bile rising in his throat. The world spun, and he knelt to steady himself, fearing he might fall. He turned his burning eyes from the corpses and covered his face with his hands.
By the ancestors, he was glad Bells was dead.
“Unpleasant, isn’t it?” remarked Melker.
Caldan realized the distaste on his face had been misinterpreted by the warlock. “It’s more than unpleasant,” he said. “It’s repulsive. To use sorcery like this. To kill so many . . .” He shook his head in disgust.
“You had a hand in stopping it, which we’re grateful for. As is the emperor.”
“I didn’t do it for any reward or recognition.”
Gorton chuckled at his words. “Of course not.”
“I didn’t,” repeated Caldan firmly.
Melker slapped Caldan on the back. “Whatever your reason, you’ve caused quite a stir. Just don’t be too keen to draw attention to yourself. Some people don’t take too well to that.”
“That they don’t,” Gorton said.
“And it brings a person under scrutiny. If someone had things they’d rather keep to themselves, well, they’d have a way of becoming known.” Melker gave Caldan a sidelong glance before looking away.
Caldan tensed. What do they know? He resolved to keep his eyes and ears open and remain vigilant.
A short time later, they left the fields of dead behind and passed ramshackle dwellings outside the walls of Riversedge. This area close to the wall was a shantytown, buildings shoddily made from whatever leftover pieces of lumber and discards their owners could lay their hands on. And despite the arrival of the Quivers, and the jukari horde close by, the residents were still here, going about their business.
There was nowhere for them to go.
Dirty faces with hollow eyes peered at them as they passed. Naked children ran between buildings, screeching and laughing. A grandmother bent over a large frayed basket, permanently hunched. She squinted at them and went back to her task of sorting rags into piles, knowing what was more important to her.
The Mahruse Empire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and I suspect most of its citizens know it. Only naive outsiders don’t know better.
Like me, for far too long.
As they approached the river, two of the warlocks with Devenish split off and made their way east along the bank. Here, the ground sloped down sharply and disappeared into a swath of reeds growing along the water. Wooden wharves stretched out into the river, fifteen or so. Berths normally used for traders and fishermen were taken up with oceangoing ships. Sails were furled, and all of the ships had oar holes along the sides, out of which stuck the ends of paddles. A strange combination, for oceangoing vessels rarely required oars, or so he’d seen. Only some warships had them, so they could maneuver against the wind.
Clearly ideal for taking the ships upriver, though.
Even stranger was that none of them flew the same flags. Caldan squinted and shaded his eyes. Five different designs: a black circle on a white background, a white sword broken into three on a blue flag, a white diamond on yellow, a red shield, and an ominous silver skull on black.
“What do the flags mean?” Caldan asked the warlocks. “Do you know?”
Gorton grunted. “Mercenaries, I’d say. I wouldn’t have thought the emperor needed them.”
“He wouldn’t,” Melker said. “Though he does now. Devenish was as surprised as us to hear of the ships, and if anyone knew what the emperor had planned, it would be him. Looks like the mercenaries arrived just in time. Convenient, that.”
Too convenient, thought Caldan, and he could see Melker had the same thought. The warlock’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the ships.
Contingents of mercenaries arriving soon after a large part of the emperor’s forces were decimated? He knew something about percentages and possibilities from his study of Dominion, and the odds of this being an accident were low to nil. But with the jukari horde still at large, and supported by vormag sorcery, it seemed the emperor and his warlocks wouldn’t have much choice but to pay whatever the mercenaries demanded. Unless they wanted Riversedge to be overrun and its inhabitants slaughtered.
He looked back at the destruction Bells and the warlocks had wrought, and he wondered if such concerns crossed the emperor’s mind.
Melker pushed Caldan in the back. “Come on,” the warlock said. “We’re to stay close to Devenish until he decides what to do with you. And no sorcery, if you know what’s good for you. I’ll boil your brain in your skull before you can blink.”
Caldan swallowed and nodded. He’d better tread carefully, or he’d find himself in deep water.
Melker and Gorton kept to either side of Caldan as they took up positions behind Devenish and the remaining three warlocks.
Thenna looked back and fixed Caldan with a cold stare. He held her gaze for a few moments before thinking better of it and lowering his eyes. He couldn’t stop her thinking whatever she wanted, but it wouldn’t do him any good to antagonize her further.
“There,” Caldan heard Devenish say, and the warlock pointed to a group of people coming along the wharves toward the riverbank.
One of them was an elderly gentleman, tottering along. Withered, liver-spotted hands clutched
two canes for balance. He was flanked by two men, one of considerable bulk and another who was stork thin . . .
Caldan squinted. It was the strange banker from Anasoma. What was his name? Sir Quiss.
What is he doing here?
A humming filled the air and penetrated deep into Caldan’s bones. Shields sprang up around Devenish and the other warlocks close to him. Melker and Gorton followed suit an instant later. Interestingly, only Devenish, Thenna, Melker, and one other warlock’s shields were multicolored and had an extra denseness to them. The remainder were the standard sorcerer blue. Which meant their wells couldn’t handle the added strain. It followed that becoming a warlock wasn’t all about strength.
Caldan filed that thought away.
“If you’re expecting trouble, may I . . . ?” Caldan looked askance at Melker, who deliberated for a moment, then nodded.
Caldan accessed his well, touched his shield crafting, and linked to it. His skin tightened as multicolored energy covered him. Gorton whistled in surprise, while Melker merely gave Caldan an approving smile before turning his attention back to Devenish, who’d started toward the wharves.
With the warlocks’ eyes away from him, Caldan slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out his beetle automaton. As gently as he could, he teased a few more strings from his well, drawing as little power from it as possible, and linked to his creation. He didn’t know if it would be any use, but he wanted to be ready.
As they neared the group, Caldan’s attention was drawn back to Quiss. As it had the first time he’d met him, in Anasoma, Quiss’s form blurred, and Caldan couldn’t help but think the banker looked denser than ordinary men, harder somehow. And so did the big man. And the old man with the canes. Caldan looked at Melker, then at Gorton. Did they see it? Should he tell them? Would they think he was crazy?
Caldan blinked rapidly, but they remained the same. And he remained quiet . . . for now.
The warlocks’ boots scuffed across hard timber, and they came to a stop about ten paces from the three denser-men.
A Shattered Empire Page 2