A Shattered Empire

by Mitchell Hogan

  Someone had breached her sorcerous defenses and killed her. But if she was like Savine, then . . . was she truly dead? Or had they captured her, like Rebecci had Savine?

  Pignuts . . .

  The diamond-caged crafting. Where was it?

  Averting her eyes from the sight of the blood, Felice felt below the wound in Rebecci’s neck for the chain and crafting.

  Nothing. Whoever killed her had taken the gem with Savine in it. Which meant they almost certainly knew what had happened, and what to look for. Yes, they could have just robbed her for the diamond, but this . . . this was ritualistic. And with Rebecci’s powers, Felice doubted a normal thief could have even gotten close to the sorcerer.

  “Izak, search the desk. See if there’s anything of interest.”

  “I . . . sure.” Izak scurried around the desk and began opening drawers, shuffling through papers, and rummaging at the back.

  It had to have been the two child sorcerers who’d confronted Rebecci on the wharf, or Kelhak himself. There were no other sorcerers or Protectors left in Anasoma who could have done this.

  Felice knew when she was out of her depth. They had to leave.

  Quickly.

  But . . . they should do something. It wouldn’t be right to leave Rebecci here like this.

  “Nothing,” Izak said. “Just accounting records.”

  Felice nodded curtly. “Can you cut her bonds? We can’t do much, but I can’t bear to see her like this.”

  In the end, they placed her arms across her chest, and crossed her legs. Izak cut a piece of cloth from Rebecci’s dress and used it to cover the jagged cut across her throat.

  They left without a word.

  CHAPTER 21

  Caldan blinked against the sun, then peered over the gunwale toward the front lines, where the jukari horde was still skirmishing with the emperor’s army. Columns of Quivers and trains of cavalry proceeded from the main encampment to relieve their comrades. He had been woken during the night by the sound of explosions and the humming of angry wasps, which quickly died away. It seemed the warlocks had been matched by the vormag. Whatever had happened, Caldan couldn’t sense any sorcery now, and the two opposing forces eyed each other over a corridor strewn with dead bodies and discarded and broken weapons. Heavily armored men bearing shields made up the front line, with lighter armored spearmen behind them. A few buzzing arrows were still exchanged, but no more—perhaps the supply was running low. There was a constant drone in his ears, as the tumult of both sides merged into one discordant rumble.

  This is a distraction, he thought once again. The real danger was Kelhak. The jukari and vormag were simply delaying the warlocks from confronting the Indryallans.

  He turned to see Quiss approaching. The sorcerer’s face was grim, but Caldan was pleased to see him. With all they’d done for Miranda, he’d be forever grateful, and yesterday, when Quiss had discussed sorcery with Caldan late into the night, it was one of the first times he actually felt like another sorcerer’s, if not equal, at least colleague.

  “There’s a group of people approaching,” said Quiss. “They are not sorcerers. But they have the same feel as you do. Why?”

  Caldan ignored the question. “They’re coming for Kristof,” he said. “Me, they probably couldn’t care less about. Either Kristof and I have been killed or captured, or I lacked the courage to go through with it. They know something went wrong, and they’re coming to find out what happened.”

  Quiss placed a hand on Caldan’s shoulder. “We’re behind you, Caldan. We’ll stand up for you from here.”

  I should take Kristof to them, as a gesture of respect. It’s not much, and they’ll likely scorn me, but I need to avoid more bloodshed.

  “Can you organize a sled? I’ll go below and retrieve Kristof’s body.”

  “All right,” Quiss said, but it was clear he didn’t think that was the best idea in the world.

  With a nod to Quiss, Caldan wiped damp hands on his pants and went below to retrieve the Touched. Kristof’s skin was pale and clammy, but surprisingly wasn’t as far gone as Caldan thought it would be. He asked a sailor for help, and together they wrestled Kristof through the ship and up on deck. By the time they did, Quiss had procured a sled and was standing near the gangplank. In the distance, a group of figures approached. A dozen men and women, all dressed in nondescript clothes but bristling with weapons and trinkets.

  He was right: the Touched.

  Caldan stifled a curse and set to transferring Kristof to the sled. He wrapped the body with a blanket, high enough to cover the charred hole in the chest. The second hole, in Kristof’s neck, was still plainly visible. After a moment’s thought, Caldan paused, then tugged the blanket up over the wound. He dragged the sled down the gangplank and onto the wharf, where he waited nervously for the Touched to arrive.

  In the morning light, Kristof’s features appeared peaceful, and the brightness and clear air seemed to make something of his return. Caldan felt it went some way to treating Kristof with respect. He couldn’t do much more.

  His thoughts touched on Miranda, and what had happened between them. He’d never experienced anything like it. Not just physically, but there was a strange feeling he’d never had before. Excitement and contentment combined, with a dash of longing. It was more than attraction and a deep affection. But not only did it make him question the danger he put Miranda in, it gave him a newfound determination to succeed. Only if he pushed himself and made hard decisions would they ever be free.

  Which is why he’d wanted to go to the Touched first, to show them the body. To tell them his version of events. To make them see that the warlocks and what they did was evil. He knew that without evidence, many wouldn’t believe him. And even with proof, some would deny what was before their eyes. But even if only one of them believed him, wouldn’t it be worth it?

  As they got closer, he realized with surprise that Devenish wasn’t with them. Perhaps his presence would be an admission the warlocks were behind the assassination attempt? And the last thing Devenish needed was another confrontation at this stage. The warlock was no fool.

  And yet, it also showed weakness. As if the chief warlock knew what had happened, but also knew he could do nothing about it.

  The machinations were swirling, and enough to make his head hurt.

  With a weary sigh, Caldan lowered his gaze from the approaching procession. He was under no illusions the path he and Miranda had chosen wasn’t risky. The Touched approached, and Caldan could feel their eyes on him. With a grunt, he lifted the two arms of the sled and brought it before them.

  Among the Touched were Lisanette and Edelgard, along with Tamara the physiker. All three stepped forward.

  “And so we all come to this,” Lisanette said sorrowfully.

  To the side, Caldan saw Tamara’s eyes widen as she recognized Kristof. He turned his gaze away, not able to bear the sight as horror and grief flooded her face.

  Lisanette fixed her now tear-streaked face on Kristof’s body, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

  Caldan began unstrapping Kristof, removing the blanket and dropping it on the ground.

  “You’d better have a good explanation,” Lisanette growled, voice breaking.

  He spared her a quick glance and flinched at the animosity in her eyes. And he understood that all his thoughts about exposing the truth were simply wishes, now blowing away in the wind. There was no chance he would ever be able to overcome the doubt and distrust they now had for him.

  And that made him angry. Caldan clenched his fists until his knuckles ached. I could show them the light—show them everything, but they’ve already closed themselves off from me. It was obvious in their expressions that none were in the mood for his explanations, let alone the information he could give them that would shatter their world.

  No, the Touched would have to take care of themselves. Perhaps, so many years ago, his parents had had the exact same thought. Caldan felt he was right. Felt the certainty
of his thoughts in his heart. Some things were too strong to fight against. The Touched could have their doomed life. With Miranda back, he now had a spark of hope.

  So, knowing they could only trust in their hatred toward him, Caldan was more than a bit surprised when someone cleared his throat. He realized he’d stopped moving, crouched next to Kristof’s corpse with his hands holding the straps. Dropping the leather, he stepped away from the sled, a silent offering of it to them, and turned to face the Touched and Tamara.

  All three of them were facing him, expressions a mixture of anger and grief, hostility and disbelief.

  Exactly as Devenish would want, ancestors curse him.

  A dozen thoughts, excuses really, sprang to Caldan’s mind. But none of them was worth speaking. He was walking a fine line already, and his best option was to try not to antagonize the Touched further.

  But he felt that wasn’t enough. He had to stop lying and make the hard decisions.

  Caldan glanced behind him at Quiss and the other sorcerers lining the gunwale of the ship. If he slipped up, and the Touched attacked him, they’d all be slaughtered. And Caldan would be further bound to Gazija and Quiss.

  Lisanette was the first to break their silence. “You keep away from him, Caldan. We’ll take him from here. At least you didn’t dump him in the river; he deserves better than that.” Her voice was raw with emotion.

  Caldan nodded and backed away another step.

  Edelgard drew a cloth sheet and a scarf from a satchel. He covered Kristof up to his shoulders with the sheet and placed the scarf around his neck, covering the blackened wounds. When he finished, he came and stood in front of Caldan.

  “How?” was all Edelgard said, as tonelessly as if asking a question about the weather.

  Caldan steeled himself. “Devenish gave us a mission,” he said softly. “But before we left, Kristof and Devenish had a disagreement. Kristof felt Devenish thought he was . . . past it and needed to be replaced. Kristof disagreed. Devenish reassured Kristof that everything was fine. They left it at that.”

  “That bastard Devenish,” Lisanette cursed quietly, and Tamara looked at her in shock. “He never knows when to—”

  “Enough, Lisanette!” Edelgard commanded. “Let Caldan speak.”

  “Why? So we can hear lies from his traitorous mouth?”

  “So we can hear what he has to say, and then lay guilt where it belongs.”

  Lisanette subsided, but she was still seething.

  “Thank you, Edelgard,” Caldan said.

  “Don’t thank me,” Edelgard snapped. “Just tell us what happened.”

  Caldan jerked his head in a nod, keeping his gaze averted. Maybe they’d see it as a sign of guilt, but he hoped they saw it for what it really was: contrition.

  “We were in a rowboat that Kristof had arranged earlier. He was agitated. He accused me of wanting to replace him, or at least, he suspected that Devenish would want it, seeing as I’m Touched and a sorcerer.”

  Tamara cleared her throat. “Kristof didn’t want any of you to know, but now . . . well, there’s no harm. He needed strong painkillers just to get moving in the morning. I concocted an elixir for him, which he took a measure of in his tent before coming out. I . . . you should know the truth.”

  Thank you, Tamara. “When we entered the cabin, we found a woman I . . . love. Kristof wanted to kill her so there weren’t any witnesses. I couldn’t let him do that. So we fought.”

  Edelgard narrowed his eyes.

  Lisanette flashed him a look of pure hatred. “You killed him!” she hissed with venom.

  Caldan spread his hands slowly. “I had no choice. He was stronger than me. Faster. He was choking the life from me. I didn’t want to die.”

  “Liar!”

  “No. He had me on the ground. I was about to pass out. I had no choice.”

  “We all have choices,” Edelgard said.

  I used to believe that. It was an illusion. “I don’t know what I was caught up in, but I chose not to be killed.”

  Lisanette looked at him like he was a spider she’d found in her bed. “You’re a sorcerer. No wonder Devenish likes you.”

  “Far from it. He likes me about as much as you do.” And he likes me not because I’m a sorcerer, but for the same reason he likes you.

  My blood.

  “You’re in trouble then,” Edelgard remarked.

  It was all Caldan could do to nod his agreement.

  “What was the mission?” Lisanette demanded.

  “Ask Devenish, if you want to know.”

  “Oh, I will. You can be sure of that. Only, I can’t be sure he’d tell the truth.”

  Tamara gasped again, and Edelgard came to stand next to Lisanette, placing one hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrug him off, but his grip remained firm.

  “Now, now, Lisanette. That’s no way to talk about Devenish.”

  She glared at Edelgard but held her tongue. Shoving his hand off, she stomped up to Caldan. “This isn’t over,” she snarled. “Devenish can join the ancestors, for all I care. I’ll get to the bottom of what really happened.”

  “I told you the truth. It happened just like I said.”

  Lisanette scoffed and turned her back on Caldan. “Tamara,” she said. “Go and notify as many of the other Touched as you can find. They’ll want to pay their respects before the warlocks come to collect him. They always want to rush things.”

  And I know why. They’d want to take Kristof’s body for their nefarious purposes.

  Tamara rushed off, skirt flapping. Lisanette flashed Caldan another glare before moving to kneel beside Kristof’s body. Edelgard watched her for a few moments.

  He met Caldan’s gaze and uttered a disgusted sigh. “How do you expect any of us to trust you after this?”

  Caldan closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t. You can’t. But maybe this will help: because I’m not one of you. I never wanted to be, and never will be. I could have killed Kristof to try to take his place, but I don’t want it. So what other reason would I have, other than self-defense?”

  “Who knows? Like you said, you’re not one of us, so I wouldn’t even try to delve into the mind of someone who could kill our friend. It doesn’t matter what I think, anyway: Devenish will decide your fate. But right now we need to take care of Kristof. We’ll leave now, before Lisanette does something stupid. And, Caldan, I agree with Lisanette on one thing: we never want to see you again. Is that understood?”

  Caldan lowered his gaze and looked at the wooden planks between them. “Yes, I understand.”

  He watched as they knelt and paid their respects to Kristof before taking up the sled and dragging it away.

  He had been convinced the Touched were disinclined to believe him, but perhaps a seed had been sown. Perhaps this was the first step to winning their trust and revealing to them what the warlocks were really up to.

  Before Caldan could turn and head back to the ship, Devenish and Thenna stepped from the trees. Both of Devenish’s blond-haired guards were flanking him as well.

  “By the ancestors,” cursed Caldan. They had obviously been waiting until the Touched left.

  Or, he realized, killed him.

  Caldan raised his eyes to meet theirs and straightened as they came toward him. Devenish glanced at the retreating Touched, as if to make sure they were out of earshot.

  With a thought, Caldan opened his well and linked to his shield crafting. His skin tingled as the force slid over it. Devenish’s guards stepped back, determined looks coming over their faces. In an instant, both of them were surrounded by similar multicolored shields.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” Caldan grated. And he opened his well farther, as wide as he could. Power flowed from it into his shield. His teeth vibrated with the potential he drew forth, and he clenched his jaw against the sensation. An overpowering scent of lemons and hot metal filled the air.

  “You can all see what I can do,” he said firmly, and closed his well, shield winki
ng out.

  I am both Touched and a sorcerer. It’s time I started acting the part.

  Caldan held his well open, though he’d severed the link to his shield. In his mind, he went over the construction of a pattern Quiss had taught him, one of many. Like, and yet unlike, the same shield he’d just dropped. This one was pure coercive sorcery, a shield for his consciousness. It settled around his thoughts. He could feel it constricting them, pushing inside his head. A feeling he’d get used to in time, Quiss had told him.

  “So,” Devenish said. “Kristof is . . . dead.”

  The warlock’s words hung in the air. To Caldan, they seemed to signify a step down an unalterable path. The warlock’s expression remained blank. He stared at Caldan for long moments, then glanced up at Quiss and his people watching from the ship.

  Eventually Thenna hissed, “I told you he was trouble. We should kill him—”

  “Enough!” barked Devenish.

  “But—”

  “Another word, and you can leave. Be silent, and let your betters think.”

  Thenna subsided in a sullen sulk, shooting a murderous stare at Caldan.

  Devenish moved to stand in front of him, and to Caldan’s surprise he untucked his shirt and drew it over his head, so he stood there half-naked. His chest was crisscrossed with hair-thin scars, pale against his brown skin. He held Caldan’s eye, then turned in a full circle on the spot. His back was worse. There were more scars than unblemished skin. Each looked not serious, barely enough to draw blood, but taken together, they were horrifying. What had happened to him?

  “I was once like you,” began the warlock. He smiled wryly, and one hand touched his trinket rings on the other. “Stubborn. Proud. A fool. I didn’t know what was good for me. I had talent . . . considerable talent. But I was selfish. It took me a great deal of time, and punishment, to learn that what I wanted . . . well, that came a distant eighth or ninth on other people’s lists. If they cared at all.” Devenish paused. His eyes had taken on a faraway look. “For some people, learning their needs come after others’ is a difficult lesson. But learn we all must. I don’t want to put others though the ordeals I went through. So I’ll ask you this only once. How did Kristof die?”