CHAPTER 37
Several times Caldan glanced at Felice as they walked back toward Gazija’s ships. The emperor had questioned them all, and let them go. Devenish was nowhere to be seen; presumably he’d scurried back to the warlocks as soon as he could. Same with Quiss. By Felice’s side strode Izak, who seemed to stand straighter than he remembered. If Caldan had to guess, he’d been through harsh trials—worse than an encounter with the emperor—and come out the stronger for it.
“Come,” Felice said, “I’ll find us somewhere to stay. If you—”
“No,” Caldan said. “I need to talk to Quiss. And so do you. There are things you need to know. We can’t face this separately, or lacking information. It’s for the best if I take you to see him.”
Felice raised her eyebrows and gave him a calculating look. “Very well,” she said after a pause. “I have questions for him anyway.”
Caldan directed them down a busy street that led in the direction of the wharves. “And I’m sure he’ll want to hear your story as well. How you came to appear right when Kelhak disappeared, for example.”
“As long as there’s something to drink,” Izak said. “I’ve . . . we’ve been through a lot. I don’t know about Felice, but I need something to settle my nerves. I never thought I’d get to meet the emperor.”
Me neither.
And if Caldan never met the emperor again, he’d be happy. But he felt the chance of that was unlikely. There was too much at stake, and the emperor had to be central to any plan to defeat Kelhak.
Whether he’s too afraid of the God-Emperor or not.
Felice remained silent as they wove their way through the crowded streets, and Caldan was content to think his own thoughts. It was only when they passed through a portcullised opening and onto the wharves outside the city that she spoke.
“The emperor has tasked me with gathering as much information as I can, so we can sift through it and assist with his plan to fight Kelhak.”
Her words were slow and deliberate.
Caldan considered what she’d said for a moment. Despite her intelligence, Felice was just as blind to the emperor’s true nature as others were. “From Quiss, and I assume the warlocks and Quivers. Along with the Touched. I don’t envy you your task, Felice. There are too many secrets they’ll never divulge.”
“Well,” Felice said, “it’s my job to ferret out secrets and information. And I’m pretty good at it, if I do say so myself.”
Ahead of them stood Quiss at the bottom of a gangplank. Felice stopped talking while Izak moved closer, as if he wanted to protect her.
“I felt you coming,” said Quiss as they approached.
“You have some explaining to do,” Felice said without preamble.
Quiss nodded. “As do you. We’ve lost our leader today, and I’ve also lost a friend. He kept his plans from me, for some reason. Perhaps he wasn’t sure if I was a traitor or not. Whatever the reason, you know what happened in Anasoma.”
“Yes.”
“Well?” said Quiss. “What happened? You knew Rebecci, you said; did she tell you Gazija’s plan?”
Felice shook her head. “I don’t know the entirety of it, only that Rebecci arranged for”—she glanced at Izak—“an assassin to make an attempt on Kelhak’s life. I think Gazija’s plan was to have Kelhak weaken himself by using sorcery to travel to Gazija in order to kill him, and then return to Anasoma. Once back, Rebecci and the assassin would try to kill Kelhak.”
“So,” Quiss said, “with Rebecci dead, you took it upon yourself to take over the plan.”
“There was no one else,” Felice said.
“We did what we could,” said Izak. “The assassin gave us trinket daggers. But Kelhak was too strong.”
“Yes,” Felice said. “He wasn’t as weak as Rebecci thought he would be.”
Quiss’s gaunt face grew grim. “He must be far more powerful than we suspected.”
Caldan rubbed the back of his neck. He followed the conversation, but something else needled him. He sniffed the air, drawing a puzzled look from Felice. Underneath the usual smell of rank river water and fish was the scent of hot metal . . . but . . . this was also acrid.
Caldan opened his well, exposing himself to its power to link to his craftings, but not drawing from it. He pushed his heightened senses out, searching for what had caused his unease. He was dimly aware that Quiss also grasped his power in response. Caldan brushed over the sorcerer and stretched his awareness farther, past the ships and around the river. There was a tenseness to the air, a . . . darkness filled with an arcane mist. East. That was where . . .
Caldan’s breath caught in his throat. He’d almost missed it.
“Something’s coming,” he whispered to himself, almost before he realized what he’d sensed.
A gust of wind ruffled the water’s surface, then swirled around their legs.
Kelhak was striking again. But so soon? After an unleashing of such magnitude, he couldn’t have recovered yet.
Caldan turned to Quiss, Felice, and Izak. “Another storm is coming.” He reached for his well, keeping it open and ready to use.
Quiss faced east and squinted into the wind. Caldan could sense the sorcerer’s awareness becoming distant as he searched.
“I think he’s right,” Quiss said.
A clap of thunder rolled across the city. Another gust of wind, this one stronger than the first, blew dirt with enough force, they shielded their eyes with hands and arms.
“What’s going on?” Felice said. “What can you sense?”
“There aren’t many clouds,” Caldan said. “The thunder was caused by a sorcerous buildup.”
Felice went very still, her face grim. “I need more information. What’s going on?”
“It’s coming this way,” Quiss said. “But its focus is constantly shifting.”
In the short time their exchange had taken, the wind had picked up substantially. There was still enough light in the sky that Caldan could see the beginnings of clouds forming to the east. And the sorcery was growing. Already, he could sense its immense power. The previous storm had been a trial, a test of their strength, what they could accomplish. Gathering on the horizon now was a mass of swirling sorcery like nothing he had ever witnessed. Was this how it had started thousands of years ago? Was this what it was like at the Shattering? Sorcerers vying for power, blind to the consequences of their actions. Sorcerers defending themselves against vicious attacks and lashing out in retaliation.
Across the horizon, as far as the eye could see, stretched a wall of black, silver-streaked clouds. It hung there with an immense weight of foreboding and . . . hunger. Caldan’s skin tingled with a murmur of power. A surge washed over him, then retreated.
But something lingered: An emanation stuck to his skin like glue. A cold, tingling sensation covered him.
“What is this?” Caldan wondered aloud. “Quiss, can you feel this?”
Quiss shook his head. “There’s nothing strange I can sense. What are—”
A sharp pain jabbed into Caldan’s head as barbs latched onto his well. He clutched his head, reeling.
Hands steadied him from behind.
“Caldan!” said Izak.
“Something has his well,” Quiss said. “I’ll try to dislodge it.”
The agony in Caldan’s mind subsided somewhat, though it still felt like barbs were deep in his head. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
“I’ve lessened its effects,” said Quiss. “But it’s latched firmly onto Caldan. And I don’t have a well, which is why I wasn’t affected.”
“Then that’s it,” Felice said. “Whatever it is, it’s targeting wells.”
“Of course,” Quiss said. “Caldan, close it. Now!”
Caldan groaned with effort and closed his well. Immediately, the barbs slipped free, and the remaining pain vanished. Whatever had targeted him had gone.
“Then the focus isn’t on the emperor’s army,” he said with difficulty. “I
t’s on sorcerers. The warlocks are being targeted.”
“That makes sense,” Izak said. “The Quivers are already on the back foot. If the warlocks are taken out, the vormag will be hard to stop.”
Felice grabbed Caldan by the arm. “We have to warn them.”
She was right. They’d need all the sorcerers they could find in the coming days. But . . .
“Miranda will need my protection,” Caldan said. “She could be hurt if anyone close to her is targeted.”
“She won’t be,” Quiss said, shaking his head. “Whatever Kelhak’s conjured, it won’t find my people. She’ll be safe with them.”
Felice tugged on Caldan’s arm, pulling him toward the warlocks’ encampment. “Come on!” she said.
BY THE TIME the four of them reached the edges of the army, the sorcery had strengthened. They passed a few scattered campfires and tents, mostly empty of Quivers, since they were out battling the jukari. The warlocks’ encampment was a fair distance away, but already the clouds loomed above them all like an overhanging cliff. Silver lines crackled and sparked across their surface, blooming from flashes of light, spreading a fine tracery of spiderweb.
“We need to move faster!” Caldan had to half shout to be heard over the wind and the thrum of sorcery.
Beside Felice, Izak flicked him a fear-filled glance. Caldan could sense Quiss was holding fast to his power, wherever it came from, and it looked like he was drawing as much as he could. His shield stuck to his skin and clothes, but his shoulders were hunched, mouth open and hands trembling.
Caldan was afraid he and Quiss wouldn’t be able to withstand what was thrown against them. If he faced the might of Kelhak, if he was directly assaulted, his defenses would crumble like eggshell. As would the warlocks’. They’d all be killed.
Caldan broke into a sprint, urging the others on. He outpaced them all, glancing back to see if he was followed, then bent his head and surged to greater speed. He skirted around some tents, booted feet thudding across the heavily trafficked grass.
There was a shout behind him—Izak or Quiss, he couldn’t be certain.
He slowed as he came across a particularly uneven stretch of ground churned by the constant coming and going of iron-shod hooves. Caldan paused for a few moments to catch his breath. The others were far behind him now, but he couldn’t wait for them to catch up. He risked a quick look toward the warlock camp. He sensed the open well of a strong warlock, and the fainter well of another, a few hundred yards from his destination. Above his head, the sky swirled with a mass of clouds, and the wall had moved much closer. Its arrival was imminent.
Lightning crackled, and a second later, thunder ripped the sky apart. Sheets of rain pummeled him, lashing him with a force hard enough to sting. He blinked constantly to clear his eyes and sheltered them with his arm. Blue and violet filaments protruded from the roiling mass. They lengthened, stretching toward the warlocks, as if possessed of an intelligence driven by the desire to destroy.
Clouds churned, twisting to form a circle, a blemish amid the flat expanse. Caldan glanced away, stomach churning with nausea, feeling the earth spin around him. But his gaze was drawn to the cyclone again. Its rotation accelerated quickly, the mass growing in size as it gathered force. Abruptly, it protruded from the clouds, like a bone breaking through skin. It was a gaping maw, searching eagerly for blood. It curled lazily, slowly lengthening. Then it halted, like a wolf sensing prey. The funnel descended from the blanket of darkness. It corkscrewed as it fell, plunging straight for the two wells Caldan had sensed.
The funnel struck. Caldan lurched as the ground shifted under his feet, rippling. A wave of pressure broke over him, followed by the clap of a thousand lightning strikes. He flinched and almost fell to his knees as an immense weight pressed down on him. It grew greater, and he did buckle then. He whimpered in the hissing rain, hands clutching wet earth and grass. He smelled pungent lemons and scorched metal, so strong the scents seemed to assail him.
A detonation. For a moment, time stopped. All went silent. Then sound returned at full force. Sheeting rain pounded at Caldan, now so hot it scalded his skin. His chest ached and burned. The thrum of sorcery was so powerful, it rattled his bones. Screams reached his ears, even over the tumult. He added his to them.
Something horrible had just happened. A rending of the very fabric of reality.
The weight eased. He staggered to his feet and gaped at the sight of what the sorcery had wrought.
Where there had been grass and tents and wagons was now a black circle. Steam rose from the polished midnight surface, smooth enough it resembled a still lake. A hundred yards across, it sucked the light from the surrounding countryside. Caldan searched for signs of the two warlocks’ wells but came up empty. They’d simply ceased to exist. Wiped from the face of the earth.
Purified land.
The ultimate sorcerous weapon, destructive sorcery, used during the final throes of the Shattering. Sorcerers with nothing to lose except their lives had imagined something undreamed of and unleashed it on their foes.
What had before been a fight between nations with sorcerers at their heads was now a fight for survival. Caldan’s, the empire’s, the sorcerers’, the land’s. Kelhak must be insane. A hand grasped Caldan’s shoulder: Quiss.
“This is how a Shattering begins,” the sorcerer shouted over the tumult. His face held a look of horror and awe. “I’ve seen it. Sorcery unleashed without thought of the consequences. This must be stopped!”
Caldan couldn’t help it—the power discharged was phenomenal—he couldn’t remain defenseless. He opened his well and shielded himself.
Felice and Izak reached them. Felice’s hair was plastered to her face and they struggled with the wind, but both looked defiant.
Another funnel burst from the clouds. It hung there, moving back and forth like a snake. It rippled and turned, until Caldan was staring down the center hole into a violet churning mass of . . .
By the ancestors! Caldan snapped his well shut. His shield evaporated. He stood there, in the burning rain. He was scared to breathe. Had he closed his well in time before it fixed on him?
The maw seemed to look directly into his soul. He could feel the force of it—raging pain and glittering blades of hunger.
It swung away. Caldan sank to his haunches, relieved yet terrified. He watched as it moved away toward the warlock encampment. They had to be warned they were in danger if they fought back or used their shields. Anyone holding on to their well could be targeted. And if they were, then those within a hundred yards of them would also perish.
He took a few steps, then hesitated. Should he let the warlocks fend for themselves? They wouldn’t think twice about tossing him into a fire, if it suited their purpose. If their numbers were reduced, it could be easier to break free from them. But that didn’t mean he should do nothing to help them—they would be needed to defeat Kelhak, and at the end of the day, they were people, too. Caldan could see no way this task would be accomplished without the combined might of the warlocks, Quivers, Protectors, and Gazija’s people. Kelhak’s sorcery was too great for any one of those groups to face alone, unaided, unsupported.
Chaos ruled the emperor’s encampment as Caldan and the others staggered among tents. Equipment lay abandoned; campfires extinguished by the downpour leaked black sludge from the coals. Rivers of rushing water flooded bedrolls and blankets. Everywhere, panicked faces were painted with garish violet-and-green-hued flashes of sorcery. Above them all, black clouds whipped and churned. And now there were three sinuous funnels descending from them. Quivers shouldered and jostled one another in terrified flight. Except, they ran aimlessly, not knowing what to do or where to go. Horns sounded from somewhere. Curses and shouts of alarm and warning filled the air, which vibrated, as if resounding with pounding drums.
A Quiver snagged Caldan’s sleeve—a woman with bedraggled brown hair, eyes wide and fearful.
“You’re a sorcerer!” she shouted over the tumult.
“Do something!”
“I can’t! They’re targeting sorcerers. Run! Find shelter.”
Caldan left her there, forlorn, staring at his back. He couldn’t do anything against sorcery such as this. Could anyone? Was this beyond even Gazija’s people?
Trailed by Felicienne, Izak, and Quiss, Caldan pushed his way through the hammering downpour, keeping his head lowered, else the rain made it almost impossible to see. Dismayed shouts brought his attention to his right. Wheeling clouds plummeted down—toward a lone figure dressed in black, shimmering with a multicolored shield, arms and face raised to the sky in defiance.
There was a flash and a thrum, and even though he wasn’t in touch with his well, Caldan felt it ripple and twist. The ground lurched under him, and he staggered. A crushing weight pressed against him. There was a smack of detonation. Air cracked. Silence. Caldan hissed through clenched teeth. His well—he could feel his power sucked out of it, then it snapped back like a released bowstring. Coruscating fire burned within him. He shored up the barrier between his mind and his well, lest the surge break through and scour his brain with vitriol. Again, his chest burned, and he winced, as if his flesh sizzled.
It passed. Caldan groaned and rose to his feet, unaware that he’d fallen to the ground. He dragged himself up and helped Felicienne. Izak and Quiss struggled against the force of the storm, getting to their feet, clothes muddied and wet.
Another circle of purified land lay where the defiant warlock had stood. A black stain on the landscape. Sorcery abused. The very life of the earth destroyed. There was a corruption to the black glass circle, a vileness that clawed at his sorcerous awareness.
Hoarse voices howled—Quivers writhing on the ground, clutching at their heads, tearing at their hair. Scarlet trails leaked from noses and ears.
Caldan’s blood coursed through his body. A heat like molten metal surged in his veins. His trinket ring penetrated the flesh of his finger with white hot needles. He scarcely felt the pain. Everything around him and inside him clamored for him to flee. But he couldn’t. Some things were greater than a single person, and though the warlocks’ purpose wasn’t his own, they would be needed.
A Shattered Empire Page 30