Vasile was resting in the bed beside Aidan’s. Both of them were to receive the expert ministrations of Gerhard, who by all accounts could speed the healing process, but whose main strength was setting broken and shattered bones in the right place. A badly set bone could restrict movement in an arm or leave a patient with a permanent limp. Through whatever arcane means he employed, Gerhard was supposed to be able to fix even the worst of splintered bones. A guard told Aidan he’d healed the daughter of one of the emperor’s councillors, whose legs had been run over by a loaded wagon, and saved them from amputation.
As with most things, the wealthy and powerful were able to afford solutions those below them couldn’t.
Gerhard thrust the cup into Aidan’s hand. “Drink half; the rest is for your friend.” The physiker then opened a flat leather folder and began removing small metal discs. He unwound the bandage on Aidan’s arm to reveal the skin underneath, and Aidan had to clamp his jaw shut to prevent himself screaming with pain. Black and purple and swollen, the arm didn’t look good to him.
And Vasile’s was worse.
Aidan gulped down half the cup in one swallow. It was bitter and earthy, but not the worst he’d ever tasted.
Gerhard passed the cup to Vasile, who looked at the contents suspiciously before sipping at it like it was a fine wine. The magistrate sighed, then swallowed the rest as fast as he could with a grimace of distaste.
Gerhard nodded. He placed a dollop of a white paste on one side of a disc, then pressed it gently onto Aidan’s arm, just below his elbow, where it stuck fast. As far as Aidan could tell, the disc was made from silver, with runes scribed into its surface. Three tiny rubies dotted it, seemingly at random.
The physiker repeated the process with four more discs, then did the same to Vasile. By the time he was finished, Aidan was feeling the effects of the medicine. The room was moving slightly, and his vision was blurry. Clinks and scrapings as Gerhard moved around became muted, as if the sound traveled through water.
“There,” Gerhard said, seemingly from a long way away. “We’ll wait a few moments, then begin.”
Aidan tried to speak, but his lips and tongue were numb. He couldn’t even move his fingers.
“The process is quite painful,” continued Gerhard. “But thankfully, I’ve come up with a solution that dulls the senses enough that it shouldn’t bother you. You might not even remember what happens. You’ll be in much better shape to get around without as much pain after this. Perhaps you’ll be able to resume limited duties.”
Next to Aidan, Vasile sniggered. “Truths followed by a lie.”
Aidan felt a twinge of alarm at Vasile’s words.
Gerhard raised an eyebrow, floating across Aidan’s field of view from left to right. The physiker lifted Aidan’s uninjured arm a few inches, then let it go. It dropped back to the bed without resistance.
“Good. I’m sorry about this, but . . . I’m here to do my job. Whatever happens after is not my affair.”
Gerhard went to the door and knocked. It opened, and in came four Quivers. Two stood next to Aidan, and the other pair beside Vasile.
“Once I’m finished, they’ll take you to a secure cell. I’m afraid someone’s brought some very serious charges against you. The Quivers thought you’d be easier to manage after I’ve finished my ministrations.”
Aidan’s thoughts were muddled, and he struggled to make sense of what was happening. A cell? What charges?
Gerhard sat next to him and began his sorcery.
Aidan lost track of time. Gerhard dissolved into a blur or colors and shapes, along with the Quivers. There was a faint memory of his arm being pulled, and agony. Some bumping and jostling.
Another bed, this one hard.
“Sleep,” someone said.
And he did.
CHAPTER 11
Back at the army’s encampment, Kristof jammed a key into the lock on the chest and twisted. It was a heavy iron box in the back of his wagon, and if Caldan had to guess, he’d say no two men could have lifted it. And that was probably the point. The lip opened slowly with a great shriek of grinding metal. Kristof rummaged around inside and came up with a sheathed dagger as long as his forearm. He ran a hand lovingly along the weapon before turning and presenting it to Caldan.
“Take this. It was given to me when I first joined. Now it’s yours. Wear it with pride.”
Kristof’s voice was thick with suppressed emotion.
Caldan took the dagger and drew the blade. It was plain but well forged. It wasn’t crafted, nor of any particularly valuable alloy he could determine. Both edges were razor sharp, though, and that’s what mattered. It was what it was: a dagger for killing. Uneasily, he sheathed the weapon, feeling sick to his stomach.
“Now we have another mission,” Kristof said.
Caldan looked to the Touched, whose face was grim, eyes hard.
“Devenish wants us to kill this Gazija,” continued Kristof. “On orders from the emperor. Just you and me, and I’ll judge how you perform.”
Caldan swallowed. “I don’t think—”
“You have no choice. We kill Gazija and anyone else who gets in our way. Quietly and discreetly. No one is to be able to trace it back to us, or the emperor. You’ll prove you’re truly part of our cause. He’s a powerful sorcerer, though, so we’ll have to be careful. Give him no chance to raise a shield.”
Caldan had trouble forming words. A chill had traveled up his spine, as much at the man’s blind acceptance of the order as at the order itself. It was all he could do to nod.
Kristof smiled, a baring of teeth. “An ensorcelled knife will be all we need for this mission. We’ve dealt with rogue sorcerers like Gazija before. I’ll take whatever I need from the warlocks’ stores.”
Caldan wasn’t going to stand back and let Kristof kill Gazija. Whatever the old man’s motives, he’d shown he wanted to help defeat the jukari. And more than that, Caldan had witnessed the emperor’s fear. If there was to be any chance of defeating Kelhak, he had a sense that Gazija would be vital . . .
But what were his options? Kristof wasn’t going to be swayed by anything he said, and how could he possibly prove this order was a mistake? It would be one thing if he could convince Kristof of the emperor’s duplicity when it came to the Touched—then the lie of this order would be apparent . . .
By the ancestors, think!
Kristof spoke again. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
He drew a gold chain from around his neck and undid the clasp. From it he took a silver ring, which vibrated at the edge of Caldan’s awareness. A trinket. Kristof held it out in his palm. The ring was startlingly similar to his own. It had a knotwork pattern, but instead of lions, there were ravens with tiny emerald eyes.
“I’m to give you this once tonight’s mission is complete. A sign of how much we value you, and a show of trust. Over the next few days, I’ll teach you about your abilities, and how to better control them, and how these trinkets affect you. For now, we have a job to do. Not a pleasant one, either, but one essential to the emperor’s cause.”
Killing an old man is essential? scoffed Caldan inwardly, but he couldn’t contain himself. “Is it really for the good of the empire?”
“If Devenish says it is, then I believe him.”
And that’s part of the problem.
“Then let’s get this over with” was all he said, though.
Kristof relocked the chest and shoved it back, covering it with canvas. He stood, jerked his head toward the docks outside Riversedge, then strode off.
Caldan was about to follow when he noticed four people, who could only be Touched, lined up in the camp. They must have congregated behind them, and Caldan had been too preoccupied to notice.
As Kristof passed each of them, they clasped his hand and spoke. Both of the women gave him a hug. It was a parting ritual of some kind.
Caldan took a step toward the first in line, a lean man with a hard face. They all had hard f
aces, with eyes that gave nothing away.
“I’m Rogget. Return to the Touched from whence you came. Keep the empire safe,” said the man seriously, holding out a calloused hand.
Caldan clasped it in his. “What am I supposed to say in response?” he asked.
“Whatever you like. Most just keep their replies informal and friendly. Some don’t like to speak. Especially on dangerous missions, from which they might not return.”
Caldan smiled weakly. “Are there many of those?”
Rogget shook his head. “No. We’re too valuable to waste. But sometimes . . . well, we can talk about that later. The others are waiting.” He stepped back.
Caldan moved to the next Touched, a short-haired woman with an infectious smile. Caldan held out his hand, but she brushed it away and hugged him warmly.
“Welcome,” she whispered kindly in his ear. “I’m Cherise, but most call me Cherry. Return to the Touched from whence you came. Keep the empire safe.”
Caldan waited until she released her grip, then took half a step back. His eyes burned, and he blinked back tears. These were good people. They just didn’t understand that their mission was terrible . . . and their fate even worse.
Clearing his throat, he took a few more steps back and turned to address the remaining Touched. Along with Rogget and Cherry, there was a tall, dark-skinned, muscular youth, sporting a light beard and a hawklike nose, and a middle-aged woman who would look more at home in a kitchen baking bread than here in the middle of an army.
“By the ancestors,” he said firmly. “I promise to do what I can to protect the empire. From enemies without, and within.”
Kristof frowned at his words, but only nodded.
Caldan made his way to the two remaining Touched and completed the ritual. They introduced themselves as Kra-bast from the western Desolate Lands, and Yiquin from Shikur in the Sotharle Union of Cities. The arm of the emperor and the Touched reached far indeed. If they were finding Touched outside of the empire and bringing them under their control, then their efforts reached much farther than he had suspected.
Caldan turned his back on Rogget, Cherry, Kra-bast, and Yiquin, and without waiting for Kristof, he strode off toward the docks. For a long time, he didn’t speak, and after catching up, Kristof walked quietly beside him, sensing his need for silence.
After a while, Kristof touched him lightly on the shoulder. “This way,” he said. “We can’t go through the front door.” He gave a short laugh. “A few of the old ones could, I have no doubt. But we need to be stealthier to get close.”
“The old ones? Who are they?”
Caldan thought he saw a wistfulness come into Kristof’s expression. It was gone in an instant, replaced by indifference.
“The Touched who were alive centuries ago, and those before them. That’s how long we’ve been in service to the emperor. But from the records we keep, their skill far surpassed our own. Something’s causing our talents to lessen with each generation, as if we’re fading away. Nothing we have to worry about. That’s a problem for the future. Can’t waste time thinking about what we can’t change.”
It’s the blood again, marveled Caldan. Something so simple, and yet Kristof and the others didn’t see it. With each generation, the children of the Touched would inherit only part of their parents’ abilities. Unless both were Touched.
Realization hit Caldan like a lightning bolt. “The warlocks encourage you to marry among yourselves, don’t they?”
“Yes. That’s a good guess. Our secrets must be maintained, and finding partners among ourselves entails less risk. Many don’t, though. We lead a hard life, and most like to find solace outside our ranks.”
It was interesting—it was the first time Caldan had heard Kristof even hint at the Touched remotely disagreeing with something the warlocks told them.
Although, in a few more generations, whether there were cracks in their alliance might become moot. The warlocks couldn’t tell the Touched the truth of their blood’s potency, because they would almost certainly figure out how precious it was. But that put the warlocks in a bind. The Touched were slowly but surely becoming less effective, both individually and as a force. It might take centuries, but they were doomed, as was the power the warlocks controlled through their blood. Unless the warlocks forced the Touched to inbreed . . .
Caldan sighed and rubbed his eyes. Wherever he turned, everything became more complicated.
They made their way parallel to the river and east of the docks. The vegetation became denser the farther away from Riversedge they went, but it never turned wild. They were too close to a major city for that. Houses and small towns dotted the countryside, though by now most were deserted because of the jukari.
Kristof led Caldan along a narrow, muddy path. Tall grasses on both sides soon had their pants soaked with dew. They followed the track a fair distance, with Kristof stopping occasionally to peer back at Riversedge, as if to gauge how far they’d come. When the river kicked back in the direction of the city, then sharply turned toward the coast in an S, he gestured for Caldan to follow him off the path.
They found a copse of willow trees growing close by the river. Tied to one was a rowboat with a pair of stowed oars. As they approached, a disreputable-looking man stepped from the shadow of one of the trees. He wore brown and greens—an obvious attempt to blend in with his surroundings—and a brimmed hat pulled low. As far as Caldan could tell, he wasn’t a Touched, as he wore no trinkets.
“Wasn’t expecting two of you,” the man said, tone thick with distrust.
Kristof flicked a ducat toward him. Gold glinted in the fading light as the coin went tumbling.
The man snatched it from the air, and it disappeared into a pocket. “Nice night for a row,” he said, and then backed away. Soon he was lost in the gloom under the willows.
“Get in,” Kristof said. “I assume you can row?”
Caldan shook his head as he made for the boat. “No. But I’ve seen and read about it. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.”
The boat wobbled as he got in, but Caldan easily found his balance. He settled on a bench and unshipped the oars.
“You’ve read about it? This should be interesting.”
“You’re welcome to row.”
Kristof shook his head and joined Caldan in the boat. It wobbled again, but like Caldan, Kristof settled himself easily.
We’re not that different, Kristof and I, realized Caldan. It was hard not to feel some sort of kinship with the man, even though Caldan knew before the night was over he’d have to fight Kristof to protect Gazija—and there was a chance one of them would be dead.
“We’re a fair way from the Riversedge docks,” Kristof murmured. “By the time we get there, it’ll be fully dark.”
There was a sack at the bottom of the boat, its lower half wet from sitting in an inch of water. Kristof opened it and drew out a rope, along with a padded grappling hook.
“We make our way to the back of Gazija’s ship, use the rope to climb up to his cabin, do the deed, and then we’re out of there. Quick and easy.”
Caldan bit his lip and twisted the ring on his finger. Murder may be quick, but it’s never easy.
CHAPTER 12
Aidan threw his shoulder against the cell door. His jarred broken arm screamed in protest, and he groaned. The door rattled, but other than that, he had no effect.
“Leave it,” Vasile said. “We’re not getting out of here, and you might undo Gerhard’s work.”
“Traitor,” spat Aidan. “Drugging us so they could take us prisoner. And for what?” He kicked the door. “Hey!” he shouted. “Why are we here? I have a writ from the emperor himself!”
Silence answered him.
Vasile was sitting on one of the two rickety cots in the cell, each with a ratty, stained blanket. The smell of mold and urine was strong enough to make breathing through their noses unpleasant. There were two buckets in a corner, one filled with stale water and the other empty. A t
iny barred window let in some light, enough to see the cockroaches by.
“How long were we out?” Aidan asked.
Vasile shrugged. “How should I know? A few hours? A day?”
“How can you be so calm?”
“We haven’t done anything wrong. This must be a mistake.”
Aidan snorted. “No. Something’s afoot. A power play . . . something. But what would anyone have to gain? It makes no sense.”
The cell door shook as a boot slammed into it from the other side.
“Move to the back of the cell, or I’ll be forced to make you comply.” The guard’s tone made it sound like their not complying was his preferred option.
Aidan shuffled backward, glancing around vainly for something to use as a weapon before thinking better of that idea. They wouldn’t get out of this with violence.
A key turned in the lock. The door swung open, and a fat, bald guard came in. He wore a leather apron over filthy gray clothes and sported sweat-stained armpits. He smiled, revealing brown teeth.
“Back a bit farther, prisoners.” He lifted an iron-shod wooden club and waved it at them. “Quickly like.”
Vasile groaned as he lurched to his feet and backed against the far wall. Aidan joined him, clenching his fists as he seethed inside. After all he’d gone through, after all he’d endured for the Mahruse Empire, they had imprisoned him! There was no justice, but then again, he’d known this long ago.
Still keeping his eyes on them and the club pointed in their direction, the guard shuffled to the side, and a cloaked woman stepped gingerly through the doorway, face obscured by a hood. She carried a wooden staff, which she leaned on heavily, relying on it for support. She walked slowly, as if every move was excruciating. A soft wheezing sound came from her, along with a floral scent of perfume.
Aidan racked his brain to see if he could figure out who would want him imprisoned and came up empty. This was a new game, and one he didn’t want to be embroiled in. Not with the emperor’s forces in disarray and a jukari horde on their doorstep. His place, along with Vasile’s and cel Rau’s, was out doing what they could to help.
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