Of course he knew that, but it dawned on him that he’d never thought about the second half of the equation. The old sorcerer was right: he was bound to them now, any way you looked at it. “If you’re offering it, I’ll take it,” Caldan said. “But I’ll not enter servitude. If we are to do this, we must be open with each other.”
“Fine—”
“And I’d like you to also teach me about destructive and coercive sorcery.”
“Very well,” agreed Gazija, too quickly for Caldan’s liking. “But you’ll find our sorcery almost incomprehensible compared with yours.”
“All sorcery is the same. Anyone with the talent can do what another has done.”
Gazija opened his mouth as if to speak, then paused. He smiled wryly at Caldan. “You’re right.” The old sorcerer reclined in his chair and closed his eyes. “Quiss, please take Caldan back to his cabin. I’m weary. I need to sleep.”
Quiss motioned for Caldan to follow him, and they left Gazija alone, still clutching Caldan’s smith-crafted automaton in one withered hand.
CHAPTER 17
Quiss directed Caldan to the cabin next door to Miranda’s, and they positioned themselves comfortably on bunks, one on either side of the room.
“How did you shape the sorcery that killed Kristof?” asked Quiss.
“It was crude,” Caldan said. “Coercive runes shaped the initial sorcery, twisting and guiding the power of my well.”
“And I’m guessing it was instinctive; you did it in a desperate situation without really knowing how.”
“Yes . . . and no. I’ll start at the beginning.” And he did . . . from the very beginning.
Caldan outlined his thoughts and experiences with destructive sorcery. First, his escape from the cell with Senira—before she’d died while under his protection. Then when he’d tried to lock the Sorcerers’ Guild’s door and his paper disintegrated, but the sorcery held anyway. But yes, that was while he was panicking and fearful. He’d seen Bells while she generated destructive sorcery, and the warlocks’ retaliation. He’d discerned how they focused the raw, damaging force of their wells, and how they used the sorcery without a material crafting to take the strain. A crafting creating an invisible force immune to corrosion, which was then used to control destructive sorcery. It was . . . brilliant.
“And this time?” Quiss said. “You hadn’t tried to replicate your sorcery since?”
“I didn’t quite realize what I’d done at the time, back when I was escaping from Bells. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I ran, and kept running. I was just trying to survive.” Even now, it was hard to reconcile in his mind: coercive, shielding, and focused destructive sorcery, combined as one, with no physical crafting required.
Frowning, Quiss scratched his chin. “So would you say that you’ve only performed this type of sorcery under great duress? When the situation was overwhelming you? And you don’t really know how you did it?”
Why was that point so important to Quiss? Caldan felt like he’d already answered the question, and yet Quiss kept pressing. Did Gazija and Quiss want him convinced this sorcery was dangerous because it really was, or because they thought it was their secret? Or were they unable to do this and wanted to find out how?
But Caldan meant what he had told Gazija: he wasn’t going to operate in the dark anymore. If they wanted something from him, they could ask.
“Not really,” lied Caldan. “Both times, it just happened. I couldn’t think about anything but staying alive. My well was open. I had an idea of what needed doing. And . . . it was all so fast, without me knowing how I did it.” But he did, and it was extremely difficult. It was all he could do to guide the forces before they burned his mind to cinders.
Quiss grunted and looked at Caldan with narrowed eyes.
Caldan uttered a nervous laugh he hoped sounded genuine. “If it happens again, it’ll be because I’m about to die, so . . . it’ll most likely kill me anyway, you said. I’ll just have to make sure I’m never in such bad situations again, where I’m desperate enough to take that gamble.”
“Easier said than done,” Quiss said. “Still, don’t try to replicate what you did. Not even for the purposes of experimentation. You wouldn’t want Miranda to find you here, lying on the floor lifeless, would you? Your head splattered like a dropped watermelon.”
“No,” Caldan replied, and it took no effort to sound sincere. But it could be that, as with the number of strings sorcerers could split from their wells, a natural talent could enhance this knowledge. There could be sorcerers out there who performed this sorcery without straining themselves—everything was a possibility.
“Good. Now, about your automatons. We believe you may have a talent for this type of sorcery, one that neither Gazija nor I possess. We . . .” Quiss hesitated, seeming suddenly reticent. “We want you to augment the figure you gave Gazija.”
That Gazija took as payment, you mean. “Of course.”
“With coercive sorcery.”
Caldan’s mouth dropped open. “Coercive sorcery? What type? I mean, what do you need it to do?”
“Never you mind. We have put together some rune patterns, but they don’t quite mesh. We know there’s something we’re missing, as we’re not used to working with smith-craftings. Our sorcery sometimes fails to interact with the automaton. If you could please take a look.”
Caldan’s eyes narrowed. For them to have experimented already, they had to have seen his craftings. “You went through my belongings?” he said.
“Of course we did,” said Quiss without a trace of guilt. He reached inside his shirt and removed a thick bundle of papers. He began laying them out on the bunk, separating them into different piles. Each page was covered with diagrams and notations in tiny script.
They must have worked nonstop on those for hours, realized Caldan. And more than Gazija and Quiss; a few of them. This must be important to them.
Caldan nodded as Quiss looked expectantly at him. “I’ll take a look. It may be I can see what the problem is.”
CHAPTER 18
Felice kept her eyes on Izak as he waved his drink in her direction. It sloshed up to the lip of the glass, and a trickle dribbled over the side.
“A shambling mound that disappears into thin air?” he said. “Or, rather, over the side of a sheer cliff? My dear Felice, what have you been drinking, and where can I get some?”
“First off, I think you’ve had more than enough. But I saw what I saw. It wasn’t human. If I didn’t know better, I would say it was a creature from the Shattering.”
Izak shuddered. “At least they’re confined to the Desolate Lands. But who knows what else is hidden there? Treasure hunters have come back with some wild tales. I could tell you about the time one of them—”
“Please don’t. And stop drinking. This is serious business, and you need to play your part.”
Izak gazed into his glass, apparently contemplating the golden liquid flecked with green particles. With a sigh, he set it down on a marble tabletop and settled back into his armchair.
Tonight, they were staying at an upmarket inn close to the center of Five Flowers. Just for the night, then they’d move. Since her capture by Savine, Felice hadn’t spent more than two nights in the same place.
“You’re right. I drink when I’m nervous. Or unhappy. Or happy.”
“You’ll need all your faculties over the next few days, so ease off. We have to see Rebecci. She has to know what this thing is; she put me onto it, after all. She’s been withholding information, and I need to know everything, if I’m to get us through this.”
“I still don’t understand how they did that to Savine. Just sucked his mind out, like draining a bottle.”
“We don’t need to understand it. We just need it to work, which it has.”
“I was curious.” He sounded hurt.
“Then be curious about something that matters: Kelhak. He drove the Indryallans here, and they followed blindly. Most did, anyway. Those that didn�
�t, well . . . they’ve been executed.”
Izak looked grim. “I’ve heard the rumors as well. Apparently, it also took the Indryallans by surprise. Some of them are having second thoughts.”
“And so they should. I don’t know what’s been happening outside of Anasoma, but capturing the city has to be a trap. If we can disrupt Kelhak’s plans from this side, then we’ll have done all we can.”
“There are also rumors of Indryallan soldiers searching underneath the city. You know Anasoma was built over the ruins of a city from the Shattering?”
“I’d heard that,” she said, remembering the strange assassin’s words about Slag Hill. “But it’s always been thought that city was long buried. And there are maps of disused tunnels, centuries old. Do you have any idea what they are looking for?”
“I don’t. But maybe it’s part of why they invaded Anasoma. You said yourself, it’s a crazy plan to take over the city and just wait. Even as a trap.”
Felice drew a sharp breath and stood from her chair. “That’s . . . maybe.” Of course! It had never made sense to her that this was solely a trap, because what about it was the trap? They had to be looking for something—searching through the old tunnels. What had the assassin said, exactly? Before this city was another city. Ancient sorcerers created jukari here . . . among others. “Izak, I could kiss you.”
Izak grinned rakishly and stroked his goatee. “There’s no need. But if you must, then—”
“They have to be looking for something specific,” Felice declared. She began pacing back and forth across the thick carpet. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.” She snapped her fingers at Izak.
“What?”
“I want you to find out more about these rumors. Put your informants on it. I want to know how many Indryallans are searching, and where.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Felice nodded. “I sense we’re close to something: a breakthrough. I can feel it in my gut. So are you ready?”
Izak looked longingly at the remains of his drink, then turned his gaze away and sighed. He stood and brushed down his coat. “Yes. Let’s see what Rebecci has to say, now you’ve met with your . . . assassin.”
CHAPTER 19
What about the body?”
Caldan shrugged, grimacing at the thought of Kristof’s corpse. “I don’t know,” he said to Miranda. “But . . . I can’t go back to the warlocks now. They’ll kill me for what I’ve done, to say nothing of what the Touched would do to me.”
“You can’t run from both them and the warlocks for the rest of your life. They’ll find you, sooner or later.”
Caldan spread his hands helplessly. “I could take Kristof’s body back to them—”
“And tell them Gazija killed him with destructive sorcery?”
“No. That sets them against Gazija more than they already are. I would have to tell them I did it. It was self-defense. He was trying to kill me.”
Miranda grabbed his ear and tugged his head down.
“Ow!” Caldan said.
“You idiot!” she exclaimed. “You can’t go back to the warlocks or the Touched. We’ve thrown our lot in with Gazija and his people, for better or for worse.”
Caldan reached up and pried her fingers off. His ear throbbed, and he rubbed it gently. She was rapidly returning to her usual self. “Then what should we do?”
Miranda smiled briefly. “‘We.’ I like the sound of that. You thought the warlocks could help me, but that’s no longer an issue. I’m fine now, thanks to Quiss. The Touched can be ignored. The warlocks have total control of them. You need to focus on the warlocks.”
Caldan nodded. Miranda was right. The warlocks, and the emperor, were the real issues. Caldan moved to sit closer to her, and she rested her cheek against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, and he started to stroke her hair.
“It’ll be all right,” he said, scarcely believing the words himself. “I’ve come a long way since Anasoma. My sorcery is more powerful, and I’m more adept. I’m no longer that naive young man aboard your ship,” he said, and looking down he could see a small smile on her face. “I can learn from Quiss and Gazija, if they’re willing to teach me. It may be that the warlocks won’t be able to touch me.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“I have to. I can’t just give up. There’s a way out of all this. We just have to find it.” Caldan squeezed Miranda tighter in his embrace.
“Careful,” she exclaimed. “You’re squashing me.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry at all. “Kristof and Devenish didn’t part on the best of terms. There was tension in the air. I gather they’d had words about Kristof retiring for some time. I wonder if I could use that somehow . . .”
Miranda dug a knuckle into his ribs. “The warlocks, remember? They’re who we need to focus on.”
“Devenish . . . I have to assume all the warlocks . . . are immoral. What they are doing is a perversion. They have to be stopped.”
Against his chest, Miranda stirred. She lifted a hand and then thumped him with it, hard.
“That’s not what I mean. I’m not saying you need to go after the warlocks. Just figure out a way to keep them from coming after you. You can’t take on every wrong you see.”
“Someone has to do something.”
“And the Indryallans?” Miranda said tightly. “Aren’t you forgetting them? They’re the greatest threat. What Kelhak is capable of . . . and what you told me about the emperor, leaves my blood cold.” She shook her head. “Someone should do something . . . but not us. This is far bigger than what we can handle. Please, Caldan. There will be a time, but that time isn’t now. Leave it. Concentrate on finding us a way out of this mess. We’re in no position to do anything about it. The warlocks will come after you. Tell me you’ll ask Quiss and Gazija for help. No, don’t tell me. Promise me.”
Caldan stared straight ahead. “We must make sure we survive. Of course I’ll ask them for help. There’s no other option open to me now.”
“Another false step, and it will be all over. I . . . don’t want to lose you. We can find our way out of this.”
But he couldn’t shake the thoughts from his head. Why not us? If I stand back and do nothing, then what have I become? What would Simmon think of me, were he still alive?
And yet . . . he knew she was right. It was too big for him to take on alone, and possibly at all. And it wasn’t just him caught up in this; others were as well. Miranda was lucky to have survived.
But . . .
“I’m just glad you’re all right,” he said, throat thick. It sounded weak to him. His words didn’t encompass what he felt for her. Perhaps no words could. Caldan gently cleared his throat. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”
He felt Miranda relax against him as she sighed. She tugged at a button of his shirt, picking at it with forefinger and thumb.
“Just . . . tell me we’ll find a way out of this. And hold me closer.”
Caldan reached up and stroked her hair. He meant it as a reassuring gesture, but the feel of her across his fingers and palm heightened his awareness. Now his blood hammered in his ears, drowning out almost every other sound. He could scarcely breathe. Gently, he brushed his thumb across her cheek and was surprised to find wetness. Tears. Whether of relief, fear, or something else, he couldn’t say.
“We’ll get through this,” he reassured her. He had no right to be that confident. Warlocks, Indryallans, jukari and vormag, the Protectors—let alone Gazija and whatever he wanted . . . they would be lucky to escape unscathed.
And yet, holding her in his arms, he felt like he could take on the world.
“I know,” Miranda replied, voice wavering. She wiped her face and looked up at him.
Her green eyes drew him in, and Caldan held his breath, not wanting this moment to end.
“Well, aren’t you going to kiss me?” Miranda said slyly.
Caldan slid his fingers t
hrough her dark hair and cupped the back of her head. Then he drew her lips close to his.
CHAPTER 20
They entered the offices of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern through an inconspicuous side door. Felice led the way, with Izak following. They passed storerooms and small out-of-the-way counting rooms, obvious by the wooden coin holders and beaded counters on desks. Felice ascended a staircase and passed through a door onto the first floor.
She paused.
Something isn’t right.
The air felt dead. There were none of the familiar background sounds. No faint footfalls of people walking along corridors or rooms, conducting their usual business. Almost all the oil lamps burning in the hallway had gone out. Most of the illumination was provided by a sorcerous crafted globe suspended over the door to Rebecci’s office.
From this angle, Felice could see the door was open a handspan. Unusual for Rebecci. And suspicious.
She turned to Izak and held a finger to her lips. He nodded his understanding, one hand going to the knife at his belt he always carried now. It didn’t suit him, but then, they couldn’t be too careful.
Holding her breath, she waited as patiently as she could, peering into the shadows and straining her ears for any sound someone was in the room. Finally, she was satisfied it was empty.
Felice bade Izak follow her, and she crept toward Rebecci’s office, keeping to the side of the hallway to avoid their weight causing the floorboards to creak.
Heart pounding in her chest, she stepped gingerly to the door, pushed it open, and entered the room. She gagged as a putrefying stench assaulted her nostrils. She pinched her nose closed and covered her mouth with her palm.
Lying on the desk, arms and legs spread-eagled, was the source of the odor:
Rebecci.
A gash ran across her throat. Trails of scarlet splashed her neck, her dress, and the desk. Coarse ropes bound her wrists and ankles to the legs of the desk.
Felice swallowed. Behind her, Izak uttered a low moan.
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