Beside him, Quiss hissed with frustration. Farther back, his two companions began to argue, and the woman knelt and began drawing in the dirt with a stick.
“But they weren’t all functional,” Caldan hastily added. “Most were blocked somehow. I don’t know why. There were only a few open wells, and these were jagged. The others . . .” He recalled the image again. “Someone had tried to open them, to remove the blockages.”
Quiss nodded thoughtfully. “This process is unknown to us,” he admitted. “The how of it. But if wells transferred by this process are blocked, then they need to be reopened. It doesn’t make sense, though . . . How did this Amerdan stumble onto the process? You said he wasn’t a sorcerer. Did Bells do something to him?”
Standing, Caldan brushed dirt from his knees. “She must have. But she’s dead now, so she won’t be providing any answers.”
The sounds of the night hadn’t changed, which meant for some reason, Amerdan hadn’t alerted the jukari to their presence. But he might know it was Caldan, or perhaps suspect a vormag was spying on him. He’d seen Caldan’s dog construct when they’d fled Anasoma, but he hadn’t ever seen the beetle. Though now he had control of it.
Caldan said as much to Quiss.
The sorcerer stared at his hands. “If there’s no ruckus, then we’re safe. For now.”
Safe? From Amerdan? That’s not how Caldan would phrase it.
Selbourne came over to them, a penetrating look on his face. He obviously wanted to know what the situation was. He stood slightly to the side, face turned so he kept one eye on the rise and one on Caldan and Quiss.
“Well,” continued Quiss. “Amerdan thinks he is safe. In the middle of this many jukari and vormag, only someone with no conscience would rest easy.”
“He’s not like anyone I’ve ever known,” Caldan admitted. “I think he’s Touched as well—”
“So you’ve said. But perhaps he isn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Caldan said. “He has to be.”
Quiss raised a hand. “Hear me out. This trinket of his . . . it transfers wells, does it not?”
“Probably,” Caldan said. He knew what Quiss was getting at, but this was all pure speculation. “You’re about to suggest it does more.”
“It makes sense. Perhaps he’d never used it on a sorcerer until recently. Then, all his other abilities were from ordinary people. It still transferred something from them. A piece of them.”
Caldan glanced at Selbourne. “It doesn’t matter. The result is the same. He can move as fast as a Touched. Is as strong as a Touched. And he also has at least fifteen wells. If he manages to unblock them, we’re in trouble.”
As Caldan spoke, Selbourne was nodding. “I agree. We strike now. As fast and as hard as we can. A smash and grab.”
Then Caldan heard something. It intruded faintly against the sounds of the night, but intrude it did. He’d heard it before . . . tiny metallic wings, buzzing with the industry of a bee . . .
He squinted into the darkness, then extended his sorcerous senses. “My beetle,” he said. “It’s here, searching.”
“We go now!” Selbourne said. He turned to Quiss. “Can you hold the vormag off for a time?”
Quiss nodded. “Yes. Of course we can. You take the lead. We’ll deal with the vormag, you the jukari. We’ll hit this tent with everything we have.”
Sour spit filled Caldan’s mouth. Fear, he realized, hands trembling. But they had to do this.
Selbourne and his men moved ahead, crouching low as they scuttled over the rise. Caldan followed, Quiss to his left, and the other two sorcerers close behind. He drew his sword, checked his craftings, and clenched his hands to still the tremors. His heart beat in his chest like a drum. He tasted his own sweat on his lips, breathed in the cool night air.
And needles pierced his finger. His trinket.
Caldan welcomed the pain. Needed to feel it.
On this mad expedition, he wanted all the help he could get. But a thought whispered to him . . . It will damage me. How much, he didn’t know. A small amount, added to the total. But it needed doing.
“Are you all right?” whispered Quiss.
Caldan nodded, sweat dripping from his face.
Ahead of them, there was a gurgling sigh. One of Selbourne’s men stepped from behind a tree as the body of a jukari slumped to the ground. At the bottom of the slope, Caldan could just make out the shape of Amerdan’s tent.
Boots trampled grass, and leather and armor creaked as they rushed forward.
A howl sounded to their right as a jukari loomed out of the darkness. It was short and wielded a crude club, no more than a tree branch stripped of bark. Responding howls echoed from all directions. The jukari were alert to their presence.
Selbourne peeled off to confront it. “To me, men!” he shouted, dodging to the side as the club hammered down. Steel flashed, and Selbourne’s blade thudded into the creature’s neck. Dark blood spurted, and it stumbled, coughing. Selbourne’s companion drove his sword into its chest.
Caldan’s blood coursed through his veins, searing inside him.
When Selbourne ran toward the tent, he followed.
Around him, the mercenaries fended off more jukari. These were hardened men. Tall and physically powerful. But the jukari loomed over them, slavering creatures of nightmare. Caldan sensed Quiss open his well, and light erupted around one of the mercenaries. A jukari axe smashed into him. His shield lay to one side, split in two. Sparks erupted as the edge turned. But ribs cracked, and the man flew backward.
The jukari moved forward and lifted its axe. Caldan stepped into the breach, one foot on either side of the mercenary as he scrambled on the ground.
The axe hacked at him. He stepped calmly to one side and batted it away with a ringing clang. It thudded into the dirt. The jukari stumbled, pulled off balance. Caldan’s sword flashed as he cut it down. It gurgled and then went limp.
He whirled, looking for Selbourne and Quiss. The sorcerer was facing him, but backing toward Selbourne. Mercenaries brushed past Caldan as they looked to their fallen comrade. Caldan ran to Quiss.
“Vormag are coming,” Quiss said.
Caldan turned, opened his well, and sensed a number of wells racing toward them, irregular and unnatural, as if gashed into being. Quiss could handle these.
Beyond them, jukari grouped into threes and fours, reluctant to come at them alone. Some rushed around their flank and made darting feints. Animal grunts and yowls filled the air, until there was nothing except their clamor.
“Quiss!” Selbourne yelled.
Caldan felt power gathering.
Glittering lights pierced the blackness. The air hummed. Dazzling threads curved like sabers, danced across the ether.
Jukari and vormag alike raised their arms in defense, howls ringing. Flashes of incandescence. Screams abruptly cut off. Flesh sizzled. Dust blew and ground smoldered. Fire erupted from sorcerous-made flesh.
Vormag shields, wards raised against steel and fire and sorcery, parted like cotton under a knife. They thrashed and shrieked as death came for them.
And Caldan saw. He knew how Quiss was doing this. Shieldlike conduits contained the well’s fury. Constrained it. Cajoled it. Shaped it.
Frantic sorcery from the vormag responded in turn. All to no avail.
Shields disappeared under hammering lights, as the vormag’s furious bolts were devoured by Quiss’s sorcery.
Vormag were left dead or screaming. Jukari lay shredded and burning like coals.
Caldan turned to Quiss with wonder and stopped. The man was weeping. Tears rolled down his cheeks, carving lines in ash.
And again, Caldan saw. Such power was horrifying to behold—and terrible to wield. It stained a sorcerer’s soul. To take life so easily, no matter if it was jukari and vormag, was an atrocity. Such a use of power was grotesque, monstrous.
But there was something else . . . Around the charred remains of jukari and vormag, the ground steamed and cracked
. The air seemed to split, and a fine layer of dust swirled on the breeze. The destructive sorcery wasn’t just destroying their foes, it was destroying everything in its path. Reducing flesh and bone, grass and soil, the very air itself to ash and soot.
As had the Shattering been—sorcery gone mad, unleashed without restraint.
Whole cities reduced to dust. Populations slaughtered. Once fertile lands destroyed. The Desolate Lands: Had they once been lush and green?
This was what Gazija, and now Quiss, said they were trying to prevent, but the power they were unleashing was causing just the opposite.
“Stop!” Caldan shouted at Quiss. The vormag and jukari around them were dead; there was no need to continue.
Abruptly, the lights disappeared. Quiss wiped his cheeks. The mercenaries stared at Quiss, expressions fearful. Selbourne’s face was grim.
A movement to their left—Amerdan stepping out of the tent.
The shopkeeper looked around him at the destruction and smiled.
He smiled.
Caldan stepped toward him.
And Amerdan ran. A streak through the darkness.
At first toward them. Blood sprayed, and one of the mercenaries crumpled. And then Amerdan sped away.
Caldan surged after him, blood pounding in his ears.
Selbourne bellowed something Caldan couldn’t decipher. Booted feet thudded after him. But they were all too slow to keep up with him.
Caldan ran past smoking bodies, charred ruins of mutilated vormag and jukari. Crunched through blackened debris and barely knew what his feet were touching.
Cool air caressed his skin as he raced after Amerdan. He left blackened grass behind. Caldan opened his well, casting his senses about . . . There. Amerdan was weaving among the trees, which made tracking him hard, and using any sorcery against him even harder.
Caldan stumbled into a dry riverbed and slowed. Amerdan was still ahead, but the round stones made for uncertain footing. They clattered and clacked together as he sprinted over them. The riverbed wound like a snake, and he caught momentary glimpses of Amerdan before he was lost to sight around a bend. As it turned again, Caldan raced up the bank, hoping he’d judged it right and he’d carve away some of the distance between them.
As he leaped down the bank and back onto the stony bed, he saw he’d been correct—Amerdan wasn’t far ahead now.
A glittering light split the night. Caldan ducked, and it passed over his head. Heat assaulted him, then it winked out. But it hadn’t been as stable as Quiss’s sorcery. It had felt chaotic.
Which made sense, because other than from Bells, Amerdan wouldn’t have had time to learn much sorcery.
He goes by instinct. The thought was a scary one, because it was rather similar to how Caldan was coming into his own powers.
Caldan scrambled across stones.
Amerdan glanced back at him. A whine sounded in Caldan’s ears. He threw himself down, shield covering his vulnerable flesh.
Another line flashed above him, then another. The scent of lemons and hot metal. Caldan rolled to the side; his hand grabbed a stone. His heart hammered as he scrambled to his feet—and launched the stone at Amerdan with all his might.
It shattered against Amerdan’s shield. One as black as midnight, covering him like a second skin.
The manlike dark void that was Amerdan stopped. For a moment, it didn’t move.
Then it came back toward him.
Fear gripped Caldan, but he in turn gripped his sword hilt hard and drew as much power from his well as he could. His own shield roiled and churned as his sorcery flooded it.
Amerdan stopped ten paces from him. The darkness moved, much as Caldan’s shield did, though lazily. Razor-sharp knives appeared at the ends of Amerdan’s black arms.
Caldan’s skin burned. His head ached.
The tips of Amerdan’s knives came up, pointed at Caldan’s eyes.
Without thinking, he raised his sword and linked to Bells’s coercive crafting. Alive, he thought. I need to take him alive, if I can. We need to know how he does it, to prepare for fighting Kelhak.
“Your friends are far from here,” Amerdan said flatly. “They’re no help to you now.”
Caldan lunged at him, blade thrusting. Amerdan swayed aside, batting the sword away. Caldan’s left hand hammered into Amerdan’s face, rocking his head back. It was like striking an anvil, though, hard and unyielding. There was a twinge in Caldan’s wrist as something gave way. He cursed.
Amerdan’s knives flashed at Caldan. He avoided them easily, then less so as they moved faster. One glanced off his shield, sending motes sparkling.
Amerdan was strong—very strong. He had unnatural reflexes, just as Caldan did now. But how strong and fast was he? How did he compare to Caldan?
Caldan revised his approach. Pitting raw strength against each other would put the conflict in fate’s hands. He had no desire to do that. He needed a plan, one that didn’t rely on strength alone.
He danced backward, out of reach. Amerdan didn’t follow, but his knives continued to weave in a pattern in front of him.
This won’t be won physically. At least, not by me alone . . .
Caldan commanded his wolf simulacrum, and it careened out of the darkness. Jaws closed on Amerdan’s arm. Black limbs flailed, and sharp steel scraped against smith-crafted alloy. Amerdan stumbled, then one hand found purchase on the construct. He wrenched it, twisted—but its design was too rigid; it withstood his assault.
And Caldan split three more strings from his well and linked to his simulacrum—to the runes he’d copied from the arrows Joachim’s men had used.
Amerdan’s shield wavered. Caldan was almost through. He clenched his teeth and drew more from his well. Power flowed from him, pulsed along his strings and into his construct. He felt Amerdan draw deeply, but although he had more wells, his were jagged and narrow.
Amerdan’s shield dissolved.
Hard, pointed, metal teeth penetrated flesh, grinding against bone.
Amerdan’s fist battered against alloy plates, breath hissing between teeth.
Caldan dove at him, chest heaving, blade slicing. Amerdan swerved, then pivoted. He swung Caldan’s construct. It came crashing around and hammered into Caldan. He flew backward, landing on unyielding river stones, back slamming into them. Sparks flashed in Caldan’s vision. He lost his link to his shield.
And Amerdan was upon him, one arm dragging the wolf. His weight settled on Caldan, knees squeezing his sides. Steel flashed.
Caldan threw his arms up in desperate defense. A burning sensation sliced along his forearm as flesh parted beneath the blade.
He thrust both palms upward with all his might. Amerdan grunted as he jerked back. Caldan clawed at Amerdan’s shirt, desperate for purchase. Buttons popped. He held on with his left hand, punched out with his right.
Somehow, Amerdan was unmoved. Inhuman strength held Caldan tight. Amerdan grinned, teeth stained red with his own blood.
Caldan saw the knife descend just in time. He hooked his right arm in front of him, blocking Amerdan’s. The point of the blade stopped an inch from his eye. Caldan tried to force the weapon away, pushing for all he was worth. It moved a fraction, then slid from side to side as they strained against each other, muscle against muscle, sweat mingling with sweat.
His metal wolf loomed large above him, blocking out the stars. It was still attached to Amerdan’s arm and swung up, about to crash down on Caldan’s skull. He made its jaws open and it dropped free. Suddenly relieved of weight, Amerdan’s fist hammered into Caldan’s face.
And again.
Caldan felt a crack. Hot wetness poured from his throbbing nose. He twisted and writhed, desperate for any advantage. From his position, though, his struggles barely had any force behind them.
Amerdan’s fist struck again.
Caldan’s vision blurred, edges closing in, darkness banishing light.
He spread his legs wide, bracing himself. He wriggled his free hand and
grabbed Amerdan’s shirt. His fingers closed about a hard ball. His sorcerous senses tingled, coming alive with a familiar vibration.
A trinket.
The trinket.
Amerdan’s hand closed around his, squeezing. “It is mine!” he growled.
It was the leverage Caldan needed.
He wrenched Amerdan to the side, and they wheeled across the stones. He managed to grip the hand holding the knife in his and force Amerdan’s arm straight out. They came to rest as before, with Amerdan on top of Caldan. And for a moment, they lay there, breath coming in gasps, sweat dripping, eyes locked, teeth bared, faces distorted with snarling desperation.
Amerdan grunted, hands shaking with strain. And with every heartbeat, Caldan was able to force him away, ever so minutely. He was stronger, or . . . Amerdan was tiring.
The shopkeeper seemed to sense this at the same time. He jerked and pushed, flailing mightily.
And Caldan held on. He tightened his grip, feeling his trinket ring barbs dig deeper into his flesh. Whatever was happening, Amerdan’s Touched-like abilities clearly had a limit. Amerdan was slowing, becoming weaker.
Caldan yanked, heaved Amerdan over. Now he was the one on top. Legs entwined in deadlock.
Blood dripped from his lip onto Amerdan’s face, the knife poised above him.
Amerdan laughed, but his eyes kept glancing to his trinket.
That is the key, realized Caldan. He doesn’t just want to kill me. He wants to take my well, and whatever else the trinket does.
“Don’t do this,” grated Amerdan. “We’re the same. Together, we can be more. Much more.”
“You’ll kill me.”
“No! We’ll be joined. Greater than what we were.”
Amerdan continued to struggle, but his movements were weaker.
A deception. Don’t trust anything he does.
With a groan of effort, Caldan pushed his bloodied hand closer to Amerdan, forcing Amerdan’s knife toward his own face. Amerdan trembled underneath Caldan, then pushed, stopping the blade. But it was a momentary respite. Caldan leaned his weight forward, so his chest touched the handle of the knife.
The needle-sharp point pressed into Amerdan’s collarbone and bit his skin. A bead of blood swelled around the tip.
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