A Shattered Empire

by Mitchell Hogan

  Caldan opened bloodied arms and welcomed the warlocks. “Come against me!” he shouted, “and I’ll destroy you all!”

  “Caldan, stop!”

  He sensed another well to his right. The warlock’s wards crumbled beneath his hammering. Death came for that sorcerer, too, pulping his head to bloody ruin.

  Hiding behind ruined walls, the remaining wells backed away. Slowly at first, then swifter. The warlocks were fleeing. Thenna knew they were no match for him. He would go after them and deliver their punishment.

  “You look worse for wear.”

  Caldan turned sharply, eyes wide.

  Lady Felicienne stood on a block of stone, thirty paces away. Her penetrating gaze roamed the ruins he’d created.

  “This doesn’t concern you, Lady Felicienne.” Caldan’s voice came out hoarse, raw.

  “Destroying a city doesn’t concern me? Watching someone I thought to be a good person kill warlocks doesn’t concern me?”

  “You have no idea what they did to me. They deserve this.” And yet, even as he said it, emotional pain warred with physical pain, each as excruciating as the other. It was almost too much to bear, and he wanted to collapse into himself.

  Rock clattered behind Caldan, and arms encircled him. He thrust them off, raised his sword to strike—

  Miranda.

  Tears streaked her face, leaving trails in the dust.

  “Please stop,” she begged him. She reached a hand toward Caldan.

  He looked at it. Saw beyond it to the devastation he’d caused. It was Miranda’s voice that had implored him to stop before, and he’d been too far gone in his fury to recognize it. “The warlocks took me prisoner. Tortured me.”

  Miranda nodded solemnly. “That wasn’t right. But you have to stop.”

  “I . . . why?”

  Miranda sobbed, drew a shuddering breath. “This is what you’ve warned against. Sorcery gone mad.” She took a step toward him, hand still outstretched. “Please, Caldan. If you don’t stop, you’re no better than they are. And I know you. I’ve seen you help people when you could have just helped yourself. I know how much you did to help me. You don’t have to be them. You don’t have to turn into them. Just . . . come back to the man you are. Not what they tried to make you.”

  Behind Felicienne, Quiss and Selbourne appeared. The mercenary was scowling fiercely, hands gripping his greatsword, while the sorcerer was fairly glowing with power to Caldan’s senses. And behind them stood . . . Captain Charlotte?

  Caldan’s hand holding the sword twitched, and he realized it was still raised to strike Miranda. He lowered the blade.

  “That’s better,” Miranda said. She took a step toward him.

  “They deserved it,” he said numbly.

  “I’m sure they did. But it’s over now. You’re safe. We’ll get you back to the ship.”

  “And Thenna?” He turned to Felice. “What about Thenna? She did this to me.”

  “She will be dealt with, I promise.”

  Could he believe Felice? Maybe. He looked at Miranda before turning his gaze from her. She was at once distressed and worried for him, and he couldn’t face her disappointment at what he’d done.

  “Let’s leave here,” he said, looking at the ground in front of him.

  Miranda’s arms were around him again, her head resting against his chest. “It’ll be all right,” she kept saying.

  Caldan winced as she unwittingly rubbed tortured flesh. Fresh blood leaked through his clothes. He gently disentangled himself from Miranda, who gasped when she saw the red patches all over his shirt and pants.

  Felice, Quiss, and Selbourne approached as he staggered out of the rubble with Miranda.

  “Selbourne saw you’d been captured,” Felice said. “Miranda and I found out you’d been spirited to this place, through the emperor’s sources and a liberal use of ducats. Though it looks like we were too late to free you.”

  Her narrowed eyes regarded him like he was a rabid dog that needed putting down. And perhaps he was.

  “I’m walking away from here,” said Caldan. “It would be best if you didn’t try to stop me.”

  Quiss gave him a disappointed look, and Selbourne shook his head. He ignored both of them.

  “You’ve changed,” Felice said.

  Caldan nodded. More than you know. “When we first met, I was a different man. I’m stronger now.”

  Uttering a snort, Felice clasped her hands. “Or perhaps you’re brittle and easily broken?”

  “Time will tell,” Caldan said. “I’m leaving now.”

  “I’ll accompany you, then,” Felice said. “I also need to speak with Quiss.”

  Caldan sighed, then regarded Felice thoughtfully, troubled for a reason he couldn’t determine.

  “It’s all right, Caldan,” Miranda said. “She helped me find you.”

  “Follow me or not,” he said to Felice. “I don’t care. But try anything, and you’ll regret doing so.”

  “Tsk, tsk, young man. I’ve been nothing but forthright with you.”

  “So you say.”

  “You have changed.”

  “As I’m guessing you have.” Suddenly restless, Caldan took a few steps east down the street. “I fear our chance of survival may already be lost.” By the widening of her eyes, he knew she understood. But then again, how could she not? She could see the pieces on the board as well as he could.

  The Indryallans. Kelhak. A second Shattering.

  “Come with me, then,” Caldan said. “We’re going to try to save the world, with or without the warlocks and the Quivers.”

  Felice closed the gap between them, nodding with approval. “Then you’ll need my help. I have some ideas. After all, this sort of thing is my specialty.”

  Caldan snorted and continued walking, leaning on Miranda.

  Thenna and the warlocks had sharpened his soul with their torments until he hardly knew himself. But he would be among the first of many to be forged anew by events unfolding. For Kelhak the lich heralded a second Shattering . . .

  CHAPTER 46

  Caldan took the cup Felice offered him without a word. He clamped his good hand around it to stop it shaking. Fumes rose from the liquid inside: raw spirits, pungent and biting. He drained the contents and drew in a sharp breath. Miranda sat quietly on the bunk next to him, one hand on his thigh.

  “Another?” Felice asked.

  He nodded numbly and held out the empty cup, perversely enjoying the burning sensation in his throat and stomach.

  Felice poured more of the pale green spirit from the bottle, evidently an expensive concoction, though he wouldn’t know the difference between this and the cheapest rotgut.

  This time, Caldan merely sipped at it, savoring the fiery taste in his mouth. Whenever he moved, his wounds pained him, still raw and fresh, though they were probably healing rapidly. Felice’s nose had flared when she’d stepped close to fill his cup. No doubt he smelled of festering sweat and blood, along with smoke and the acrid stench of the destruction his sorcery had caused.

  The one thing she didn’t smell was effort—it had been so easy. In the end, destructive sorcery was simple. It was far easier to destroy than it was to create.

  The trinket sword rested against his leg; he glanced down at the leather grip above the scratched and rust-spotted hilt. The plain exterior concealed a potency that was revealed only when the sword was unsheathed.

  Felice thought she understood when she told Caldan he’d changed, but she didn’t know what he’d become. As powerful as a warlock. More so. Yes, she could see that . . . but Felice would know there was more. There always was.

  “What do you want, Felice?” Caldan asked. He wished she would leave. A physiker was supposedly on the way, to look at his hand and his other wounds. Then perhaps he could rest, alone with Miranda.

  Felice leaned nonchalantly against the cabin wall, the bottle dangling from one hand. “I know you’ve been through a harrowing experience, but this is important. I w
ant to marshal our forces. Strategize. Someone needs to take control and organize our defense.”

  “Our offense, you mean. If we fall back to defend, we’re doomed to fail.”

  “I think so as well. The emperor—”

  “Is scared to death of Kelhak. I saw it during the first sorcerous assault.”

  Felice paused. “Nevertheless, everyone will be needed.” She indicated a pile of clothes on the bunk, along with a half-filled bucket, a rag, and a jar of ointment. “Quiss left these so you could clean up. But he didn’t ask any questions. So, I thought to myself, why? What does he know?”

  Caldan snorted. He removed his tattered and stained shirt, aware of Felice’s gaze taking in the wounds across his chest and arms. Thenna’s ministrations. Miranda moved to the bucket, wet the rag, and began wiping dirt from his skin as best she could.

  “If it hurts,” Miranda said, “I’m sorry.” She shot a glare at Felice. “You should go. We won’t be part of your plan. The warlocks have shown they can’t be trusted.”

  Felice looked at her long and hard, then took a swig from the bottle. “Working together is the only way we’ll make it through this alive. We found Caldan, didn’t we, by working together?”

  “Almost too late,” muttered Miranda.

  A cold knot began to form in Caldan’s stomach. “I learned the truth from Quiss. He’s desperate. If I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t think Kelhak can be stopped.”

  “We have to try—”

  “I didn’t say we wouldn’t,” Caldan growled at Felice. “But we don’t even know how yet. We’re working on something, but it’s as if we only have a few pieces left, and Kelhak controls the whole Dominion board. One wrong move could mean disaster.”

  Miranda rinsed the rag again. Murky water joined the rest in the bucket. She was biting her bottom lip, and Caldan could tell the sight of his wounds was distressing her.

  “We want assurances,” Miranda said to Felice. “If Caldan is to be a part of this, then we need certainty that once it’s over, he’ll be left alone. Free to live his own life. Our own life.”

  Caldan smiled at her and gripped her hand.

  “I promise,” Felice said.

  “Except you’re lying,” said Miranda bitterly. “The warlocks want Caldan’s blood, literally. And the emperor sees another tool he can use to bolster his power. We’re not stupid.”

  “I know you’re not,” Felice said, sighing. “All I can do is promise to do my best.”

  “Not good enough,” Miranda replied.

  “We won’t win if we’re divided,” Felice said. “The warlocks, the Protectors, the Touched, the Quivers, even the mercenaries: all will have a part to play. Once it’s over, then I can help you. The empire must survive. It will survive.”

  No mention of the emperor . . . perhaps we can use that. Caldan shifted his weight, then grimaced. “The warlocks are corrupt; the Protectors are blind; the Touched are puppets; the Quivers have already been decimated. They have the jukari and vormag to worry about, but they’re a distraction.”

  “I know all this. And the trinkets? The Wasters of Life, does Thenna have them?”

  “She has them both, that’s my guess.”

  Felice cursed.

  Caldan ran a hand across his face, feeling rough stubble, and exhaled, suddenly exhausted. He picked up the clean shirt Quiss had provided, pinched the fabric between his fingers. If this indeed were a game of Dominion, he had the sense he’d already used all his extra moves. “Miranda, do you know where my wolf is?”

  She nodded. “Quiss has it. The warlocks either didn’t see it or weren’t bothered about it. They must have focused on capturing you and getting away as quickly as they could. Quiss said he wanted to study it.”

  “I’ll get it back from him then,” Caldan said. At least that was something.

  Miranda wrung out the rag and stood. She hugged her arms across her chest. “Felicienne, it’s clear you value the empire. It has your loyalty. But we can’t be a part of saving it if you’re likely to betray us. What are you going to do if Caldan refuses? Lock him up again? You saw how that worked out for Thenna. We want guarantees. Promise to aid us, to do whatever you can.”

  Caldan nodded. “We want out of this mess. And we need your help. Will you help us, Felice?”

  “If I say yes, you’ll think I’m lying. But . . . I think there’s a way to reassure you. A certain magistrate I know.”

  Caldan thought she’d forgotten the bottle of spirits in her hand until she lifted it for another sip.

  “There’s another thing,” he said. “Someone else needs to know, and I guess I can trust you with this. I made a promise to Amerdan before he died. He had a sister in Anasoma he wanted me to take care of, and two others. There should be someone else who can help them, if I don’t make it. There’s a physiker in Anasoma named Zakarius. I was told he’s bald. When this is over, can you find him? And take care of them?”

  Felice nodded. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen and you can be the one to honor your promise.”

  The door opened, and a balding middle-aged man was ushered in by a mercenary. He carried a leather kit similar to the one Elpidia had.

  “Who is . . .” The physiker saw Caldan standing there shirtless, torso dripping blood from wounds that had reopened when Miranda had cleaned his skin. “Ah, you, then.”

  Miranda took the bottle from Felice and drank a swig herself, eyes never leaving Caldan’s damaged chest.

  Caldan stood and held out his left hand. In the light of the lone sorcerous globe, it had a blue cast to it, and his fingers were swollen like sausages. Miranda pushed him toward the bunk and urged him to sit down. She joined him when he did.

  “I’ll leave you now,” Felice said. “We can talk again once you’ve rested.” She left the cabin.

  The physiker gently took Caldan’s ruined hand in both of his, muttering to himself under his breath. “A crush wound?” he said.

  Caldan nodded. “Yes. I think most of the bones are broken.”

  The physiker scratched his chin. “I’d say you’re right. This is going to hurt.”

  Caldan’s jaw clenched against fresh agony as the physiker probed his hand, feeling for the bones. After a few moments, he shook his head.

  “I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

  “What is it?” Miranda said.

  “I won’t have to amputate, but he’ll never regain use of the hand. Too many bones are broken. I’m sorry. I can bind it up so there’s some cushioning until the pain goes away.”

  Miranda looked up at Caldan, who kept his face blank. He’d expected something like this. His Touched healing abilities wouldn’t likely help here. If it couldn’t be healed normally, then speeding up the process was useless. His chest grew tight, and for a few moments he couldn’t breathe. His hand! It was as useless as a chunk of meat. Better if it had been cut off. Tears blurred his vision, and he blinked, wiping them away with his sleeve.

  “Thank you,” Caldan said, voice quivering. “Now, about my other wounds. Cuts and burns mostly. Nothing too deep.”

  FELICE WAS ABOUT to pour herself another drink when there was a pounding on her cabin door. It opened immediately, and a sailor poked her head inside.

  “Quiss says to come on deck now. You’re needed.”

  She emerged up top to see Caldan ahead of her, leaning on Miranda’s shoulder. His fresh shirt now bore a bloodstain from where Miranda had touched him.

  Felice felt sick to her stomach, but there was nothing she could do for him. What the warlocks had done to Caldan disgusted her. And they hadn’t subjected him to torture for any reason other than revenge. Thenna, he’d said it was. She filed the name away on one of her special lists. She knew a little about that particular warlock, about her past, and none of it was good.

  The humor had been wrenched from Caldan’s face. All that was left was wariness and distrust. And hatred. He had been through a fire few escaped from with their sanity intact. And she wasn’t even su
re he had done that. Was he merely hiding a subtle madness? Had Thenna unleashed something dreadful?

  The thing was, Felice didn’t think the world was in a position to care about Caldan’s pain. If he was mad and violent, then so be it—she would steer him to suit her needs. The man was no longer young after what he’d experienced, but he could still be guided.

  Her eyes dropped to the sword he clutched in one hand, naked blade shimmering like water. Runes covered part of it, some filled with a reddish metal.

  She quickened her pace and sidled up to Caldan. “Remember what I told you,” she muttered to him. “Keep our secrets to yourself. We need to devise a plan and get everyone on board. You with Quiss. Me with the warlocks, Protectors, and the Quivers. Be careful, and speak as little as possible.”

  They followed the sailor up a short ladder to where the ship’s wheel was located on a raised portion of the deck. Quiss was there, along with an immensely fat man with graying hair and a lined appearance. Facing them were three men, and a woman, who stared at Felice and Caldan like she was examining a suspicious-looking bug.

  Felice almost stumbled. She recognized three of them. She’d seen all three together before. But where? She racked her memory. Some time ago in the capital. A fleeting glimpse only . . .

  The woman had such cold eyes. She should remember seeing them before.

  Ah! Now she recalled: Lady Caitlyn . . . the zealot who’d received her writ from the emperor himself. A foolish idea Felice had argued against. Sending out bands who were above the law. Two of the men had been with Caitlyn at the time. One of them was in his twenties, but with the hard-eyed look only veterans had. Aidan. And the swordsman, Anshul cel Rau, who looked to have originated from the Steppes.

  The last man, however, was an enigma, but of all of them, it was he who arrested her breath. The eyes, her master had drummed into her: You can tell much about a man from his eyes. And this man’s eyes were extraordinary. When he glanced at her as she approached, she felt penetrated to her soul. They were knowing.

  Quiss spoke in hushed tones, mainly to Caitlyn. As Felice and Caldan approached, Quiss turned to give her a wan smile.