Jukari and vormag, realized Caldan. He’s talking about their creation.
“Kelhak doesn’t want to destroy us,” continued the emperor. “He wants to enslave us. With knowledge of these sorcerous workings, he’ll be able to create not only more jukari and vormag, but other beasts. Foul and abominable. He must be stopped. And I fear if we wait here until we think we are ready, we’ll be too late. Too late . . . Our survival swings in the balance.”
The emperor’s voice was hypnotic, and Caldan and those around him hung on every word.
“If we do not strike now, all will be lost.”
Caldan calculated the import of the emperor’s words. But he also saw the emperor himself: a desperate sorcerer, afraid for his life. He wouldn’t put himself, and them, in danger unless he thought there was no other choice.
Which is why we’ve been sitting in Riversedge all this time. The emperor is strong when it comes to the rhetoric, but much weaker when it comes to the execution.
No one spoke, as if the emperor had woven sorcery over them all.
“Tomorrow, we set out,” the emperor said abruptly. “We will use the mercenary ships to approach Anasoma. Lady Felicienne will arrange to breach the walls”—Caldan thought he heard Felice curse under her breath—“and we will fight off the Indryallans while searching for Kelhak. There can be no more delays. He must be stopped. There is a . . . the lich is making something. It has begun its task. We have to act now, before it’s too late.”
The emperor sat back in his thronelike chair, as if exhausted from speaking.
Felice stepped forward, her gaze moving from face to face, making sure she met all their eyes before moving on.
“Where is the leader of the Touched?” Caldan asked before she could speak.
“They’ll do as they’re told,” the emperor said, confirming Caldan’s fears.
The Touched were nothing more than expendable tools.
“They are under my direct control now,” the emperor continued. “As are the warlocks. They have been apprised of the situation and stand ready to defend the empire, as all good citizens would.”
Caldan grunted, not caring if his displeasure showed.
The emperor took no notice. “You are all here,” he said, “so we can work together. We have lacked focus, and now I will remedy that error. Make no mistake: our lives, and the lives of those we love, are threatened. I will not lie to you. But at the same time, I will not tolerate dissent. If you pursue other agendas instead of focusing on the task at hand, you will be replaced. And most likely executed. We cannot afford any weakness. We must all work together under my command to defeat the lich. Are we in agreement? I must hear it from each of you.” He looked to Vasile and beckoned him forward. “Magistrate Vasile, you will confirm who is speaking the truth, and who is lying.”
Vasile took a few steps forward. He licked his lips, then nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
The emperor turned his gaze to the veteran soldier. “Knight-Marshal Rakim?”
Rakim nodded to the emperor. “This has already taken too long,” he said, words clipped and precise. “You have my word.”
Everyone’s eyes flicked to Vasile, who nodded. Caldan had no idea what was going on. Somehow, the emperor trusted Vasile to determine if someone was lying.
Porhilde spoke next. “I agree as well,” she said with a hint of exasperation.
Another nod from Vasile.
“And you, mercenary?” the emperor said. “Selbourne.”
The big man stroked a braid of his beard. “Our contract doesn’t cover sorcery on such a scale,” he said. “We cannot counter sorcerers, unless we have support. The jukari are still a menace, along with the vormag. I thought we’d be mopping them up, searching for any stragglers.”
“And you will be,” the emperor said. “But I need a group of you, around forty. Hard men. Men who won’t fold when the situation becomes dire.”
“A strike group?” Selbourne said, and the emperor nodded. “I think I know where this is going. What do you propose as payment?”
Ducats, Caldan guessed. Selbourne wanted to be paid more.
“Crafted armor and weapons for you and your men, and a trinket each, as well. Whoever survives gets to keep them.”
Selbourne snorted, though he continued to stroke his beard. “I’ll see who’s interested,” he said eventually.
“And you, sorcerer? Quiss,” the emperor said.
Quiss looked at him with hollow eyes. To Caldan, he looked weary and almost broken. The sorcerer, Gazija’s second-in-command, sat unmoving, hands clasped tightly in his lap.
Caldan remained silent, his gaze taking in the others in turn.
You must speak before he does, Gazija said suddenly. He must join with the emperor. Tell him you don’t want them all to just survive. There must be more beyond that.
Without thinking, Caldan spoke. “A wise old man once said to me, ‘When facing death, you must not focus on just surviving.’”
Quiss’s head jerked up at that, and his eyes bored into Caldan’s.
“You must do more than that,” Caldan continued.
Quiss’s face was drawn, and he stepped forward, almost stumbling. He gave Caldan a blank look. “We’re with you. I want to do more than survive.”
I knew he’d come through in the end, Gazija said.
But Caldan wasn’t worried about Quiss or the others, only about the emperor.
CHAPTER 50
Felice stood on the veranda outside her lavish ground-floor room. Only those at the top knew her real role, and they made sure she was housed in luxury. The rooms chafed her like an ill-fitting dress, and she hadn’t worn one of those for years. Squads of Quivers patrolled the manicured grounds around the mansion, which was owned by a wealthy noble. No doubt he thought to curry favor by housing her here. Beyond granite walls, the city spread out, and beyond the walls of the city were the jukari and vormag.
Then there were the Indryallans. She clasped her hands behind her back and walked to the edge of the tessellated veranda.
She glanced to the side, where a Quiver in full armor stood at attention. There were other nobles and officials of the empire here, and they valued their own skin. More than the empire’s, Felice supposed. But she didn’t. She felt distant; and the longer she stayed here, the worse she felt.
She stretched her back and made her way through curtained doors into her suite.
“You’re making me nervous,” Izak said from an armchair next to the fire.
“We all should be,” Felice replied. “This plan of the emperor’s . . . it’s hasty. Not at all what I envisioned.”
“You sound like you doubt him. I’m glad I’m not going along. Not that I couldn’t handle myself.”
Felice smirked at him. “But you are coming. I’ll need you for protection.”
“Eh?” exclaimed Izak. “What do . . . oh, very funny.” He sank back down into his chair from which he’d half risen.
“You’ve done enough, Izak. This mission . . . it’s far more dangerous—”
“I can come.” Izak stared at her intently. “I can protect you . . . if you want me to.”
Felice’s chest grew tight. She shook her head and sighed. “You’ve done all you can. Now you’re free to go. Perhaps when this is over . . . If the emperor believes this is our best hope, then I trust him.”
But questions needed answering. Like the talon . . . She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since it had disappeared. There was a bowl on a side table filled with fruit, along with a short knife. She slipped the knife up her sleeve—she couldn’t be too careful these days—and resolved to find a blade easier to carry.
A soft breeze blew over her from the open window, bringing with it a scent of the flowers outside and a . . . mustiness.
It couldn’t be . . .
Felice whirled.
The talon stood just inside the doorway. There was no outcry from the exterior guards.
“It’s about time you show
ed up,” Izak said. He stood and poured a yellow spirit into a glass. Sipping, he regarded the talon. “What’s your poison?”
The creature moved to a position against a wall, deep in shadow. The black oval of its hood moved back and forth, as if examining the room.
“Heriotza-derrota,” the talon said. “If you have any.”
“Ah . . . no. Sorry.” Izak shrugged and downed his drink, then returned to his armchair.
Felice’s heart was racing, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “I won’t ask where you’ve been, or what you’ve been up to—”
“You’ve been looking for me. That’s not a clever thing to do. I assume you want to pay for another attempt on Kelhak?”
“No,” Felice said. “Well, maybe. But I also need to know about the old passages under Anasoma.”
There was a long pause. “This is what I feared.”
Izak leaped to his feet. “So you know! And you didn’t tell us.”
Felice was about to tell Izak to shush, but he had a point. “Well,” she said to the talon, “do you want to tell us now?”
“I have . . . guarded the old ruins for centuries. I have failed.”
Felice’s thoughts swirled. “Can you get us there? Can you find Kelhak?”
The talon’s hood dipped forward in a nod. “There is only one place for him to go, if he is to gain what he wants.”
CALDAN WAITED FOR some time. The gloom pervading the workshop thickened, daylight fading to be replaced by the steady orange glow of the forge. By the door, two Protectors stood silently, as if waiting for him to steal something or do something they could take action against him for. He knew they hated him for the Protectors he’d killed, but the emperor’s word was sacrosanct, and as little as they liked it, they obeyed. Mold had been livid when Caldan had appeared at the Protectors’, refusing to speak or even listen to him. But he obeyed as well.
The emperor’s word forced acquiescence.
The latch lifted and the door opened, admitting a master. She was short and stocky, with forge-scarred hands and arms. Caldan didn’t remember seeing her before.
“Master Mold has asked me to deal with you,” she said without emotion.
Caldan stirred from his spot by one of the walls. “Good,” he said, ignoring that she said “deal with” instead of “help.” “I know you have armor and weapons for your Protectors, and I need a piece.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “I can’t hand over any crafted pieces. They’re the property of the Protectors and owned by whoever made them or paid for them. And I think you’ll find the Protectors’ asking price far more than you can afford.”
He knew they’d try to work around the emperor’s command, but he wouldn’t have expected less from them. That was fine, though, as he didn’t want an actual crafting.
“I think you’d be surprised, but that’s neither here nor there. I just need a gauntlet,” Caldan said. “An uncrafted piece. No runes, no markings. Blank. I’m sure you have one of those.”
The master sniffed. “Maybe. I’ll check.”
“I’ll come with you. I’m looking for something particular.” He didn’t want her to sift through what they had and bring him only the poor-quality items.
Caldan followed the reluctant master to a storage room and was in turn followed by the two Protectors guarding the door. The space was small, so the guards remained in the corridor outside.
The master moved a few crates and began rummaging through sacks on the floor. She drew out a few items, all rusted and poorly made.
“These are all we have. I can—”
“I’ll see what’s in these boxes,” Caldan said, ignoring her wilting stare. He knew the best items wouldn’t be left to molder in sacks on the floor.
A short time later, he found what he wanted in a wooden box: an articulated left-hand gauntlet. He held it up, examining the metal used and the workmanship. He’d struggle to get his useless fingers into the glove, but it would suffice.
“You can’t have that one,” the master said. “It’s a commission for a noble.”
“A more important noble, the emperor, says I can have it. Tell Mold . . . tell him I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”
Caldan strode out of the room and returned to the forge area. The two guards scurried after him. He didn’t appreciate their looming presence, but it didn’t really bother him either. Caldan simply focused on crafting the piece—there was no time to consider doing it elsewhere. And while he would have preferred to craft this in private, they wouldn’t understand the complexity of it anyway, so he felt safe altering the gauntlet in front of them.
It was a nice piece of armor, Caldan admitted, and must have cost a fair few ducats. Jointed plates and fine mail mesh covered the hand and midway up the forearm. The dark alloy was one the Protectors used only rarely, despite its resistance to corrosion—it was also difficult to craft with. Still, it was light and flexible, and that made it perfect for Caldan’s needs.
Caldan placed the armor piece on a bench top. He drew out the brass crafting he’d created to inscribe his wolf construct, which was back in his cabin with Miranda. With this, he should be able to craft the runes in no time. The tricky part would be to bind the gemstones to the metal, but he had an idea for how to do that as well.
Thoughts of Amerdan’s trinket and how it worked swirled in his head, along with questions about Mold’s trinket sword. Quiss and his sorcerers, and the warlocks, were churning out variations as fast as they could—craftings aimed at stripping wells and containing them, along with blocking them. But peeling layers from Kelhak like an onion would be a long process, and the lich would know what was happening. And if it decided to abandon the body of Kelhak and take another, it would live on. Quiss was confident they’d be able to follow it, but Caldan wasn’t so sure.
And neither was Gazija.
Caldan drew out a few pages scrawled with patterns and runes: his schematics for a gauntlet. Ideally, he’d have smith-crafted the metal himself, but he had only a few hours until they’d leave Riversedge. The emperor wanted haste, and that meant cutting some corners.
But it didn’t mean Caldan couldn’t try a new theory . . . of buffers and cushions and shields. If he was ever completely blocked from his wells, then storing a surge of power might just save him one day.
Smoothing the paper on the bench top, Caldan took a breath and prepared himself. Once more, he opened his well and linked to the brass plate. He pulsed his power through its pathways and patterns. Metal screeched and sparks spattered across wood. The sour scent of lemons filled his nostrils. This time, he was more confident and worked faster, not stopping to check the results with his sorcerous sense.
Some time later, it was done. As with his construct, a fingernail-deep engraving was embedded in the metal of the gauntlet. Every finger, every metal plate, was covered with crafting runes and intricate patterns, swirling and flowing. Nodding with satisfaction, Caldan drew out a pouch and poured pea-sized gemstones—a “gift” from the emperor—across one of his sheets of paper. His brass engraving crafting could cut, but if he was careful, it could also bind. As with Felice’s and Izak’s daggers, something was required to house the wells. Caldan didn’t know yet how trinkets managed it, but at the moment, gemstones would have to do.
Carefully, he held a sapphire against the back of the gauntlet, in the center of a circular rune. A flash of power, and it was done. He attached six more to the gauntlet, until it looked as if it were a costume piece, or something a too-wealthy noble would wear to a martial ceremony.
But it was far from a useless, gaudy thing.
Caldan linked to the gauntlet and coursed his power along the lines of his crafting, scouring the metal, testing, evaluating. Confining, catching, imprisoning—all virtues imbued in the metal and gemstones. On top of those, he’d included a catchment of power—a design based on the buffers of sorcerous shields that had to store sorcery for a limited time. If his wells were ever blocked again, he’d have
a card up his sleeve. One more extra move.
It would do.
He sent a command to the gauntlet, and the fingers twitched. Frowning, he fine-tuned his control until one by one the fingers curled and uncurled. Then he sent it scuttling along the bench and back again.
Aware of the Protectors’ eyes on him, Caldan donned the gauntlet. He grunted, fiddling with its fingers until his own were inside. Plate metal and silvery mesh encased his ruined hand.
Caldan held it up, gazing upon his latest, hastily crafted creation. Then he curled the fingers of the gauntlet into a fist.
He smiled then, with genuine pleasure, for the first time in days. If he controlled the gauntlet as he did his constructs, his left hand wasn’t so useless now. It would take time to master, and would mean he’d constantly be using two strings, but it was worth it.
He was almost whole again.
Almost.
CHAPTER 51
The moon was obscured by clouds, but fire pits of glowing coals and a plethora of lanterns made navigating the tents and equipment easy. Many parts of the encampment were hives of activity, even this late at night. There had been a time, not long ago, when Caldan would have been uneasy walking through an army this large. Especially knowing that warlocks were close by, with their secrets and workings he wouldn’t have been able to fathom. But no more.
To the south of Caldan and Miranda lay Riversedge. In front of them was the main military camp of the emperor’s forces, spread out, with innumerable campsites missing Quivers, mostly because they were dead.
Miranda stumbled over a tent rope, and Caldan steadied her, his hand catching her elbow. Beside them padded Caldan’s wolf construct, and Caldan tapped its side.
“Are you all right in there?” he whispered to Gazija, who was hiding inside the automaton.
I’m rattling around like a die in a cup, snapped Gazija. The sooner I’m out of here the better. Felice better have made sure Aidan and Vasile will be here. We’ll need their help, if you’re to escape once this is all over.
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