Blood. It always comes down to blood.
His escape from the cell in Anasoma. His abilities. Joachim’s depraved craving. Elpidia’s cure. The trinkets biting into his flesh. And now sorcery.
As quickly as he could, he folded both pieces of paper into birds. His practiced hands made short work of the simple folds, even as he kept an eye on the jukari on either side and the vormag closing in.
There. It was done.
Caldan broke into a run, leaving his jukari watchers behind. He veered around a large boulder twice as tall as he was and sprang over another waist-high stone, all the while making a beeline for the vormag. They had to sense him coming; at least, he had to assume the most powerful one could. They would be shielded and ready.
Booted steps thudded behind him as Kristof and Alasdair came after him, though they were hampered as they struggled with Florian. Sprinting, he launched both birds into the air and linked to his shield crafting, enveloping himself in its protection. Two strings for the paper, and four for the shield. Maintaining so many at once was getting easier for him, and under the effect of his Touched abilities, the complexity of the task seemed to be reduced tenfold. Caldan felt he could split as many strings again as he already had, without much trouble.
No, he decided. There’s no time to experiment.
There was a thunderous concussion, and Caldan was thrown off his feet. He tumbled and rolled, crashing into rocks and bouncing off, gasping with pain. His shield saved his skin from injury, but force still traveled through it. A second reverberation caught him on the hip as he scrabbled upright, spinning him in a circle. He fell again, squeezing his eyes shut at the agony spreading from the blow.
He couldn’t see this sorcery. Whatever the vormag were doing, it was invisible to even his enhanced vision. Ignoring the ache, Caldan struggled to his feet. There. He staggered to a boulder and hid behind the bulk of it. He heard the harsh cries of jukari. They sensed what was happening, in some animal way, and thought he’d be defeated.
Not today, he vowed, spit thick in his mouth.
The vormag must have sensed his well as he sensed theirs, using it as a lodestone for their sorcery. He reached to both his paper birds, directing them toward the vormag. He couldn’t see the creatures, couldn’t determine whether they were shielded. But did it matter? If they could target him, he could target them.
There were no jukari close, and the Touched were nowhere to be seen. Good. They could look after themselves, and he wouldn’t have to worry about defending them from sorcery. His chest heaving, he ran to another nearby boulder. Keep moving, he told himself. Make it hard for them to send anything against you. His birds were closing in on the vormag. They’d spread out, presumably to catch more in their net.
Caldan skirted around the boulder and sprinted in the direction his birds had taken. They’d be distractions, nothing more. If he were to kill the vormag, he’d have to do it himself.
Time to increase the odds in his favor.
Directing his birds toward the closest, weakest vormag, Caldan extended a string from one paper crafting to the other. He formed the thread like a modified shield crafting, stretched from bird to bird. It was a channel, transferring energy from his well between them and nothing else. It had no practical purpose, but like any string, he could push as much power through it as it could handle.
Which was exactly what he did.
A coruscant line split the night, a bedizened streak of dazzling violet. Caldan hissed a breath and sucked more power from his well, pushing it into the bridge between the birds, hoping the paper would weather the erosion.
His birds swooped down to the lone vormag, just as Caldan emerged from behind a boulder. Its back was to him. Its head tilted, gaze up, arms outstretched toward the paper birds as its well pulsed. The vormag screeched. Clawed hands clenched to fists as it prepared to unleash a sorcerous response against what it perceived to be the real threat.
Caldan leaped, uttering a savage cry. He hurtled into the astonished vormag and barreled it over. The vormag tumbled in a blur of shielded sparkles. It scrabbled to its feet, clutching at bruised and broken ribs. Its shield faltered as the pain diverted its attention. Caldan grinned in triumph. He jumped again and bore it to the ground, pounding his shielded fist into its face. In moments, the vormag went limp, and its shield winked out of existence. Caldan fumbled around for a rock, found nothing, then spotted a dagger hilt poking out the top of the creature’s ragged leather belt. He pulled the blade clear and stabbed the vormag in the stomach. And again. Hot sticky wetness gushed over his hand.
He stood, panting, sweat dripping into his eyes.
One down.
Caldan whirled. He quickly sheltered near another boulder. A crack reverberated close by—a stone detonating. Jagged chips scattered across his shield. Sorcery meant for him had hammered down, missing its target and pulverizing the rock.
He bolted from his cover. The next-weakest vormag was farther away than the strong one. He’d have to skirt around in an arc. It would take longer, and give them time to launch more counters, but it couldn’t be helped. He cut the thread between the two birds, and the power they drew diminished to a vanishingly small pulse. Let the vormag worry what had happened to the sorcery. They’d sense their companion had been killed, believe sorcery was the cause, and be focused on defending themselves from it.
Again, Caldan sprinted, still holding the dagger, legs moving in a blur. A jukari appeared in front of him. He dodged and sliced, and was past. It clutched at the gash in its throat, sinking with a gurgling moan.
There: the vormag was close.
Caldan split a string from his well, and for the second time, brilliant light erupted between his craftings. The vormag shrieked and looked up. Caldan barreled into it, battering the vormag with his shoulder, and sending it tumbling. With a horrible crunch, its head struck a stone in the grass. Its shield disappeared. Lucky, he thought, but didn’t begrudge himself the opportunity. Caldan thrust, sending his blade into its chest, punching through tattered cloth and ribs. Cleaving its heart.
Dragging the steel free, he jumped to his feet. He glimpsed a shadow and sensed a well.
Two.
He ducked and rolled across rocky ground when he heard crackling air as filaments, glowing silver, flailed above him. The third vormag.
Without thinking, Caldan dropped his birds from the sky, the threads between them searing the night. He dived behind a rock. More vormag silver strands skittered around the space he’d just left. They brushed across grass and rocks, leaving a trail of scorched squiggles, stone charred and glowing orange from the heat.
By the ancestors!
Once again he was reminded that if he was going to survive long in this world, he was going to have to learn focused destructive sorcery—and how to counter it.
I just need to figure out how to get Devenish to teach it to me without becoming completely beholden to him.
Another blast of sorcery exploded above him, and it was all his shield could do to fend off the force.
Right—first things first.
Caldan crouched and darted around his cover, propelling his birds to where he sensed the vormag’s well. Directing them to circle around the creature, hoping to distract it, he charged . . .
. . . into a massive, looming jukari.
Caldan managed to check his momentum at the last instant. Between the two of them, he would have come off second best. The creature was huge. Its sword swung for him, and Caldan dodged, the jukari’s rancid stench wafting over him as he rushed past.
Vormag first.
Aiming for his bright line, Caldan searched the darkness. A smaller figure huddled by a stunted tree. The telltale shimmer of a shield surrounded it. Silver tendrils burst from its outstretched hands, wrapping around his birds.
Caldan could feel the paper begin to give way.
Ancestors!
It was too soon. But there was nothing he could do. They were lost. Drawing power from his we
ll, he pushed it into the birds and ruptured their anchors. Corrosive forces instantly destroyed them. Two thunderous reverberations cracked, so close together they were almost one. Filaments of lightning burst from their remains, surging outward. Caldan sensed the vormag strengthen its shield. It sparkled a deep blue, then purple. Patches of red appeared, only to be washed away by purple, which then changed to the original blue.
Despite the immense blast of Caldan’s destroyed craftings, the warded vormag shield was unscathed by his crude destructive sorcery.
So he rammed into it at full speed, wrapping his arms around the vormag’s body.
Both of them crashed into the stunted trunk, sending splinters flying. Caldan’s shoulder gave an agonizing twinge in protest, and his chest squeezed tight. The astonished vormag shrieked loudly, either in pain or sounding an alarm call for help.
Either way, it was right in Caldan’s talent-enhanced ear.
Its bloody shield is too strong, thought Caldan. Still, his dagger flashed in furious shining arcs. His assault was enraged; all thought vanished. Warded bodies pressed together, throwing sparks where they touched. The vormag hammered him back, claws raking over his bare arms and clothes, unable to find purchase on his sleek shield.
A horse drove into Caldan’s back, sending him flying. He rolled and staggered to his feet. Not a horse. The giant jukari. Caldan’s side pained him as if a horse had kicked him, but it had been the enormous blade. Only his shield had saved him from being cleaved in two. He sucked a deep breath in, wincing at the sharp pain. The jukari came toward him. The vormag skittered to the side, and tendrils of silver slithered across Caldan’s shield. He gasped. As he saw them coming, he strengthened his shield to repel an assault. But as the vormag sorcery contacted his, instead of retracting, the tendrils did the opposite: they pulled at his shield, draining it.
Like the arrows used on Joachim.
The creature was trying to exhaust his shield, while the jukari kept him busy. He could feel the tendrils latching on and leaching his power. Already he had to draw further from his well.
Caldan ducked, and the jukari’s blade swooped over his head. He couldn’t fight the two of them together. His rings pulsed on his fingers, still shining brightly. Blood coursed through his veins, scorching him inside.
Delay the vormag. Kill the jukari.
Cursing, he snarled and ran at the sword-wielding beast. At the same instant, Caldan immersed himself in his well, drawing as much power as he could. When he could hold no more, he flooded it down the tendrils draining his shield.
The vormag cried out, unprepared to cope with the surge. It fell to the ground, hands clutching at its head.
Caldan kicked the jukari in the knee, shattering the joint. His dagger, though tiny compared to the sword, slashed at the jukari with ferocity. On the first strike, it fractured against the hastily raised sword. The second strike, he shoved the jagged end into its belly. And again.
And again.
A yowl deafened Caldan, and a giant fist crashed into his shoulder. His weakened shield did little to soften the blow, and his left arm went numb. He thrust the dagger in again, as the jukari’s good leg buckled. Hard yellow eyes stared into his. Putrid breath hissed through its mouth.
Stabbing the knife in one more time, Caldan left it there so that he could seize the jukari’s matted hair. With sheer might, he wrenched its head to his left, slamming it into the ground. Its eyes rolled back, senseless.
He rubbed at his shoulder, trying to massage some feeling into his limb. A few moments was all he could spare. He glanced toward the vormag, which was slowly dragging itself to its feet.
Howls and snarls in the night indicated other jukari were coming. Caldan wrung more from his well, his mind beginning to dissolve with the power he was drawing. He bent over and grabbed the discarded jukari sword—a blade as tall as he was. Despite its apparent weight, he lifted it easily, holding the hilt and the blade a third of the way up with his shielded left hand. He almost laughed then. With sorcery, he wouldn’t need a thick leather glove like Kristof did.
What the jukari did to Caldan, he could do to the vormag. So once more he rushed the creature, weaving between the silver filaments. It launched a fizzing sphere at him, which he easily avoided. Panic filled the vormag’s features.
Caldan drew back his arm and launched the sword. It sailed in a perfect line, as if drawn by a string. Steel chopped into the vormag—halted by the shield with a ringing clang. But the bruising force cracked its ribs, doubling it over.
Then Caldan was upon it.
He screamed with agony as he sucked more power from his well—he was at the end, but somehow found just a bit more—shoving it down the vormag’s conduits, overloading its craftings. Flesh sizzled and scorched as an amulet around its neck glowed orange. Flames burst through its tattered clothes.
It uttered a despairing cry, and its shield winked out. The drain on Caldan’s shield eased, and he almost collapsed with relief.
Instead, he pummeled the vormag in the face.
Bones cracked, and blood oozed from splits opened up in the creature’s gray skin. Sharp-nailed hands clawed weakly at Caldan. He pushed it away, searching for the sword and finding it to his right. He picked it up. The vormag gave him a hate-filled look. Caldan removed that look when he split its head in two.
His body dripping sweat, chest heaving, Caldan looked around. Jukari who’d come upon the scene too late to help were fleeing into the night.
Steel dropped from his fingers, clanging to the ground. Caldan grimaced as he tried to roll his shoulder. His arm tingled, a sign he was regaining feeling . . . and that feeling was pain.
The three Touched appeared.
Kristof took in the carnage. Three vormag and the jukari.
“Bloody work, Caldan, bloody work.”
Caldan looked at the hacked corpses of the vormag and staggered away to a nearby bush, vomiting whatever was left in his stomach. He spat to clear his mouth and strode to Kristof.
Then his trinkets winked out.
His knees trembled, and his strength left him. He sank to the ground on all fours, chest heaving. This was what they wanted from him: Killing. Death. Using his sorcery. To turn him into a monster.
He tugged the two borrowed rings from his fingers. He held them out to Kristof and Florian, black blood-crusted circles of not-quite silver.
“Take them back,” he croaked. “I killed them for you. That’s what you wanted.”
Kristof shook his head. “Not I, Caldan. The emperor. We all serve him.”
Some more willingly than others.
CHAPTER 9
Leaving the vormag corpses behind, Caldan wandered among the boulders. He trailed after Kristof and Alasdair as they streaked through the receding darkness, finishing off the jukari too slow to flee. Florian hobbled beside him, and he offered her his arm, weak and pained though he was.
Together, they followed a wide spiral of jukari corpses littered across the ground. Most had died with their backs to their foes. One or two had been killed putting up a fight. Slashes and punctures oozed black blood on their torsos, arms, and thighs.
Gray light stained the horizon to the east. He’d lost track of time. A crow cawed. Larger birds began circling high above them—vultures and other scavengers. A pale-eyed crow alighted on a jukari corpse, skipping from leg to leg to stomach. It hopped to the jukari’s head and pecked at its eyes.
“You did well,” Florian said quietly.
She seemed a pale imitation of her previous savage self: calm and withdrawn.
“It is . . .” Florian began, but hesitated. She cleared her throat. “It is my hope you’ll find a place among us, the Touched.”
Scenes flashed through Caldan’s mind, broken images: the sorcerer he’d killed in Anasoma, Keys’s charred body, the soldiers he’d slaughtered at the abandoned mill, jukari and vormag hacked and slashed to death. His Touched abilities weren’t a gift; they were a noose around his neck.
; Caldan stiffened against Florian’s firm softness leaning on him. Was this another of their lures, or merely Florian baring her thoughts? He almost shook his head. He couldn’t know. And that, he realized, meant there was no trust between them. There could never be. He’d been pushed by Kristof into the jukari and vormag to show him, again, what he was capable of—and when he was vulnerable, comforted by a woman’s welcoming words and touch. By design or by accident?
Did it matter?
His thoughts came with a clarity they hadn’t in weeks. It felt like whatever had coursed through his veins this night had cleared away cobwebs he didn’t know he’d had. Molten heat had scoured his body and mind clear.
“I am a sorcerer.” There. He’d said it. I will never be considered one of you.
“There are many sorcerers.”
“And not many Touched.”
She nodded. “We are encouraged to have as many partners as we want. Our bloodlines are . . . valued. We are valued.” She shrugged. “It’s a good life. We don’t want for anything, and we serve an important purpose.”
Death. Killing. Slaughter. “Blood seeks blood,” he whispered.
“We’re a gift, handed down from ancient times. Remnants—”
“We’re used by the empire. Told to kill until the damaging side effects of our own abilities render us useless to them.”
Florian uttered no response to his baiting. She paused for a while, as if to give him time to consider his words. “Yes,” she eventually said. “You’re right.”
He didn’t betray his surprise at her admission. At least, he didn’t think so.
She smiled slightly. “I know—there’s nothing we’ve told you to make you believe anything I say now, even when I agree with you.”
“Of course not. Trust is earned.”
“Trust can be . . . hope.”
“I hope for nothing.”
“That’s not true. All of us hope.”
And this was why she was here with Kristof. A two-pronged attack. Words could accomplish what demonstration couldn’t. She was to sway him. Her words were levers. But she didn’t know the whole truth. She could admit that the Touched were used and discarded. But what she clearly didn’t know was that before they were thrown away, they were bled dry, and that blood was used to fuel the power of the emperor and his warlocks.
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