Miranda smiled. “Yes. Just like before. Rest now. Only a little while longer, and we’ll be safe.”
Caldan loosed his senses, searching for signs of sorcerers close by. After a few moments, he nodded, relieved there were none near. But farther out, he could tell there were wells ranging from the north to the east—and some of them were powerful indeed, sparkling in his senses like glittering stars. And very faintly, the vibration of trinkets. He paused, concentrating on the sorcerers.
At this distance, it was hard to tell, but he was sure of it: they were coming closer.
“Miranda,” he said. “They’re coming for me.” His hand came up to touch the bone rings through his shirt, where they nestled yet again.
As they descended toward the docks of Anasoma, Caldan lay back, too weak to do more.
An animal fear gripped him, a now-familiar feeling. Flight. Escape. Flee.
He knew they’d never be safe. Never again.
“We’re here,” Miranda said.
Caldan half woke from a daze. He’d lost track of time.
The carriage door opened. Vasile and Miranda dragged him out, and into her warehouse.
AIDAN CIRCLED THE building for the second time, nerves fraying. There were a few doors, but it looked like they were all locked. The carriage with heavily lathered horses was close by, but he’d lost sight of cel Rau in the narrow streets, and now the swordsman was nowhere to be seen.
He dropped his hand to his sword hilt and checked that it was still with him for the hundredth time. Moving into the alley behind the warehouse, he noticed a narrow door was ajar. When it hadn’t been before.
Aidan cursed and drew his blade. He ran past piles of garbage and over the muddy trickle in the center of the alley. Through the gap in the doorway, he could see the inside was dark, and musty air wafted out.
A woman screamed.
Aidan shoved the door open and rushed in. He heard Vasile shout a curse. Aidan barreled around a corner, then skidded to a halt.
In front of him, Miranda was on her knees. Cel Rau had one hand twisted in her hair, while the other held a blade at her throat. Bleeding marks scored one of cel Rau’s cheeks, where Miranda had managed to scratch him. To the side, Caldan lay in a tangled heap, unconscious. Vasile was between them, shielding Caldan, clutching a dagger and pointing the trembling blade at cel Rau.
Aidan held up a hand. Cel Rau was a better swordsman than he was. Could Aidan take him? Not without help . . . “Stop,” he said calmly. He edged forward. “Why, Anshul?” Aidan said calmly. “This woman is innocent. We’re all good people here.”
Cel Rau shook his head. “We cannot suffer this man to live. The emperor has commanded it. Caitlyn cannot have died for nothing.”
Vasile took a step toward cel Rau. “The emperor is dead. Whatever he wanted you to do—”
“Still holds,” hissed cel Rau. “Caldan is worse than Chalayan.”
Vasile’s eyes widened, and Aidan knew cel Rau believed what he was saying. Bloody ancestors, how could he persuade him to stop?
“No. Please,” begged Miranda, then yelped as cel Rau twisted her hair. Her hands clutched at his, but cel Rau’s grip remained firm.
Something wild was in cel Rau’s eyes, as if he were fighting inside himself. A pained smile spread across his face.
“We must destroy evil where we can,” cel Rau said. “Caitlyn knew this. And I thought you did, too.”
To Aidan’s surprise, Vasile took another step toward cel Rau. The dagger in his hand shook even more. Vasile’s mouth was drawn in a tight line, his face grim but determined.
“What are you going to do?” cel Rau said.
Vasile took another step. “What would you do, if faced with evil?”
Cel Rau’s face twisted into a snarl, but then he hesitated. He nodded at Vasile with grudging respect.
Aidan took a step to his right, hand still outstretched, the other gripping his sword. “Caitlyn went too far. She was lost. As you are.”
“No! The emperor—”
With a cry, Vasile darted at cel Rau. Cel Rau easily parried the blade aside. He pivoted, slicing a cut on the side of Vasile’s head. The magistrate staggered away, one hand pressed to the wound.
Miranda plunged a knife into cel Rau’s thigh. The swordsman hissed and wrenched her by the hair, swinging her in a half circle. She screamed. Aidan moved forward as Vasile writhed on the floor.
“Back!” cel Rau shouted. “Or I kill her, too.” Blood seeped from around the blade embedded in his muscle.
A groan came from Caldan. Cel Rau’s eyes flicked to him. Caldan groaned again and rolled onto his side.
“The threat is over,” Vasile said quietly, one hand pressed to his head. Blood seeped from underneath it.
“Yes!” Miranda said. “Kelhak is dead. Caldan killed him! Leave him be. He’s no threat to you.”
“Lies!” cel Rau said.
“Truth,” said Vasile.
Cel Rau’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
Miranda jerked cel Rau’s arm down, and the swordsman overbalanced. Aidan rushed forward.
“No!” shouted Vasile.
Sparks sprayed from clashing swords. Aidan slashed at cel Rau, was parried. Miranda clutched at cel Rau’s leg, hampering him. Blades weaved and danced, opening gashes across Aidan’s arm and cel Rau’s side. Cel Rau jumped back, as best he could with Miranda clinging to him, opening a gap. He stomped on Miranda’s ankle and shoved her away, raising his sword in time to deflect a thrust from Aidan, countering with a slash that cut deep into Aidan’s thigh. It burned like fire.
Cel Rau came at him again. Aidan backed away, blade weaving in desperate defense. His blood splashed the floor.
Then Miranda lunged at cel Rau, shrieking and clawing. She hooked her legs around his, pulled him to his knees . . .
And Aidan thrust his sword through cel Rau’s leather hauberk. He drove it down, with all his strength behind it. The blade penetrated deep, into the back of his shoulder and through to his chest. Cel Rau jerked. Aidan yanked his blade out. Cel Rau spasmed once, let out a gurgling moan, and collapsed on top of Miranda. She wriggled free, pushing and shoving.
Miranda stood, wild haired, and looked at them with fear.
“It’s all right,” Vasile said. “Aidan won’t hurt you.”
“They’re coming for us. For him,” she said. Her eyes strayed to cel Rau. “There will be more. They won’t rest until Caldan’s dead. He’s saved us all. Saved everyone, and they’ll kill him. It’s not right.”
Aidan glanced around him. The space was practically empty, with only a few barrels and crates against one wall.
“Aidan,” Vasile said. “We have to help. We can’t let them kill Caldan.”
Aidan ran a hand through his hair. “I know. But there’s nowhere to hide. Maybe . . . if we could get to the docks? Hide him on a ship?”
Miranda shook her head. “Quiss and his people can sense him. I have an idea.” She looked at Aidan and Vasile. “But . . . you’ll have to lie to Quiss and the warlocks. Can you do that?”
Vasile and Aidan exchanged glances. Aidan nodded.
“Yes,” Vasile said. “We can do that.”
“We need to see to your head,” Aidan said.
“I’m fine,” Vasile replied. “It’s shallow. Probably looks worse than it is.”
Miranda bent over Caldan. She took a ring from his finger, and a sword from his belt. “I can find somewhere to hide Caldan,” she said. “But they’ll keep looking for him. So we have to make them think he’s dead.”
They helped her drag cel Rau’s body to a corner of the warehouse. Breaking open crates, they piled as much wood and straw around him as they could.
“The warehouse is old,” Miranda said. “These places are a fire hazard. We’ll burn it down. Then they’ll find the body, and think it’s Caldan.”
She jammed the ring onto one of cel Rau’s fingers and placed the sword by his side. “The ring is his last link to his family. It was the
reason he ended up here. But . . .” Miranda hesitated. “It’s the source of all his troubles. I hope he forgives me.”
“I’m sure he will,” Vasile said.
Miranda picked up cel Rau’s swords and handed them to Aidan.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting them solemnly. They were good blades, with much history. He would keep them as a reminder of cel Rau, the man he’d once considered his friend.
“This is the only way,” Miranda said. “They won’t suspect, if they find it here. Not only because it’s his connection to his family, but because it helps with his Touched abilities, and with mitigating the damage they cause.”
She straightened. “That barrel there, it’s full of oil. Smash it open. There’s a bucket in one of the rooms. Spread it around.”
“And then leave us,” said Caldan.
Miranda gasped and rushed to his side. “Can you stand?” she said. “We have to get out of here.”
With an audible moan, Caldan levered himself to a sitting position. His face was pale, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for days.
“I’ll manage,” Caldan said. “But Aidan and Vasile have to leave. Now. Please.”
He obviously had a plan and didn’t want them to know it. Aidan clasped his hand and gave him a nod of thanks. After Vasile did the same, they left.
A short time later, they were outside. Smoke billowed from the warehouse.
When the building was well ablaze, and a crowd had gathered around, Quiss and a few of his sorcerers arrived. Vasile and Aidan watched them pointing and gesturing to the warehouse. Trailing after them came Lady Felicienne, and the mercenary captain Sel-bourne with some of his men. All of them sported stained bandages, their clothes and skin and armor spattered with dirt and blood.
Felicienne grabbed Quiss’s arm. “Don’t do this,” she shouted. “He saved us all. You know he did.”
The sorcerer shook his head and pushed her away. “I can feel his power building! Wells have been opened. He’s about to strike out at us. We have to stop him!”
Then Quiss and his people added their arcane power to the conflagration.
CALDAN REACHED FOR his ring, to find it missing. He sighed. He knew Miranda had been right to take it, but it still hurt. One of only two links to his heritage, to his family, gone.
His body and head ached, but he had no choice. Around them the heat from the fire was growing fast, and outside he sensed Quiss and his people approaching.
“Miranda, gather your belongings. It’s time. We need to leave all of this behind.”
Reaching into his pocket, Caldan took out a stick of chalk. It was broken, a small nub. The rest was powder. It would have to do.
His basic understanding of how the sorcery worked would be enough. But it was power he needed, and a lot of it.
“I’m going to draw a circle,” he told Miranda. “Please don’t scuff it. If there’s any flaw, we’ll likely not survive.”
“Hurry,” Miranda said. She coughed at the smoke and pulled her shirt up to cover her mouth.
Runic patterns took shape as Caldan marked the floor. Complex designs he’d only glimpsed when Mazoet had taken them to where Amerdan was and back again. Sorcery of a kind he’d never dreamed of.
Soon it was done.
Caldan had Miranda step gingerly over the chalk circle and sat her in the center. Flames crackled all around them. His skin was hot and smoke stung his eyes.
He squatted down next to her and opened his well. His mind recoiled from its stinging slap, and he hissed through clenched teeth. Caldan felt heat suffuse him: his Touched abilities again. Blood coursed like lava through his veins, filling him with unnatural vigor. It set hooks into his soul, drawing him away from despair. And the shadows of the world fell aside.
He was already exhausted and damaged from his abilities, and any more might do permanent damage.
Caldan clenched his jaw and sank deeper into his sorcery anyway.
Well after well he opened, splitting off strings and linking to his chalk crafting. His design was so frail, worse than paper. But it had to suffice; he had to make it last.
Ignoring his splitting headache, Caldan pulled Miranda close, hugging her to his chest. He gagged as the stench of hot metal and lemons assailed his nostrils.
A tremendous surge of sorcery grew around him, and he flooded his crafting with the corrosive power of all his wells.
Reality twisted.
A WAVE OF pressure drove Vasile into the ground, and Aidan alongside him. All around them, the streets were lit by a hellish glow. Thunder rumbled, a cacophony of fractures. Sorcerous fire lashed the building. Stone cracked, and the air rippled under the intense heat. Shimmering lights flickered against gray walls.
“He’s dying!” Quiss crowed. “His wells are fading. Strike! Strike!”
Shadows were banished by boiling light. Violence shook the warehouse. Whips of sorcery pummeled from above. Virulent balls falling from the sky splashed waterlike across the roof, erupting in violet chaos.
Power of a kind never before seen in Anasoma scourged the warehouse clean.
“Enough!” commanded Quiss.
His sorcerers ceased their devastating conflagration. Tendrils of focused energy withered and died. Stone heated past melting ran in orange trickles, while black smoke billowed from blazing wood.
There was a groan, then a crack. Blocks of stone tumbled down the side, falling to the street below with shattering crashes, sending shards of splintered rock flying in all directions. Another moan came from the building, then a shriek of tortured wood. Sparks whooshed into the sky as the uppermost level collapsed, the burning timbers unable to support their own weight.
Whip cracks split the air.
“Back!” someone shouted.
Quiss and his sorcerers recognized the danger and retreated to a safe distance. Felicienne and Selbourne stood for a few moments longer, staring into the burning building, before they too ran.
After burning bright for a long time, the warehouse collapsed.
Vasile felt Aidan’s hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Vasile nodded.
A SHORT TIME later, Vasile waited in the street with Aidan. Quiss paced back and forth in front of them. Wooden staves poked among the charcoal mess. Heat still radiated from stone, but Quiss had his people shield themselves and work in short shifts.
Curiously, one of his sorcerers clutched a blackened metal figurine. Selbourne crossed his arms over his chest and waited with Felicienne, a short distance from Quiss, as if they didn’t want to stand near him. Tears streaked Felice’s face, which was twisted with grief.
She’s lost her emperor, Vasile thought, and now the man who saved us all.
“Here!” a woman said, and Quiss looked up. She strode from the cinders, carrying a sword covered with a film of gray ash.
Quiss took a staff from someone and jabbed it down on the sword. Metal clanged; the layer of ash dispersed. Reddish runes were revealed on the blade. Fragments of charred bone crumbled among the ash.
“He looks pleased,” Aidan said.
Vasile grunted and scratched at the crude bandage wrapped around his head. “What they did . . . It is as Miranda said. It isn’t right.”
“Is there more?” Quiss said. “We need to be certain.”
The ends of more staves rifled through black and gray detritus.
Metal clinked. Something rolled across the cracked ground. Stopped.
A ring. Quiss shielded himself and entered the ruin. He bent over and picked it up, then strode from the hazy air in the ruins. Taking a breath, he blew ash from it.
Vasile and Aidan leaned forward.
A silver ring; the outside surface was covered in a knotwork pattern into which two stylized lions with onyx eyes had been worked. Detailed enough that Vasile could see tiny claws and fangs. Inside the band, unfamiliar symbols were etched into the metal.
“It’s his,” Quiss said. “Good. I felt his wel
ls disappear, but we need to be certain. Are you sure he was inside?”
“Yes,” Aidan said.
Vasile nodded.
Quiss stared at him, but Vasile met his eyes and kept his gaze steady.
The sorcerer weighed the ring in his palm. He glanced toward the blackened bone in the ruins, and for a moment he seemed to wonder. Then his shoulders slumped. “So it’s over, then,” he murmured. “It’s all over.”
Felicienne spoke up from behind him. “No. It’s not over, Quiss. You have much to answer for.”
AFTERMATH
Quivers poured through the streets of Anasoma, clearing out the Indryallan soldiers and fighting running battles with their sorcerers. Thoroughfares were awash with clashes of steel, scourging detonations, and some cheering. Residents barricaded themselves inside their homes, leaving the streets to be violently contested.
Felice left Aidan and Vasile and strode over to a fountain in the center of the square. Around the edges of the space, squads of Quivers stood guard, while Knight-Marshal Rakim and the warlock leader Bernhard directed the cleanup operation.
A short distance away, Quiss rested with his people. Their heads were bowed as they held discussions in low tones. Quiss looked even more emaciated than normal, as if the final fight with Kelhak had drained him of vitality. Sunken cheeks and blood clotting his face and clothes made him look maniacal.
Felice washed her face and hands, then scrubbed her arms. The cool water felt good but did little to banish her bone weariness.
From behind her, someone cleared his throat. She turned.
“Knight-Marshall Rakim,” Felice said. “I take it the operation is going well?”
Bernhard stood to the side, just behind Rakim. His beard was charred and patchy. It looked like he’d suffered a close call.
“First Adjudicator Shyrise . . .” Rakim began.
“It’s Third, actually.”
Rakim raised an eyebrow. “Then where are the Firsts? Or Seconds, for that matter? You were the only one to stay with . . . the emperor . . . and see this through.” Pain etched his face. The only ruler he and generations of his family had known had died today.
“They stayed behind,” Felice said plainly. “It was too dangerous for them.” She shrugged. “The plan was partially mine, and I had to see it through.”
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