A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback

by Mitchell Hogan

  Eventually, he approached Caitlyn, who smiled at him lopsidedly. “What is it?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “Chalayan says this is a bad place, and with what happened to the bandits….” He trailed off. “I think we should scout the town longer, see what we are up against.”

  She looked disappointed in him. “My Aidan. Always cautious, always willing to stand back and deliberate while evil lives on.”

  “It’s not that, my lady. We have no idea…”

  “We have always triumphed so far because what we do is right.”

  “But the men don’t care about our cause.”

  She shrugged. “We use what tools we must. I’m sure you can see that.”

  “I don’t like what some of them have become.” He turned his face from her gaze. Long ago he had joined her cause because he believed in her, but lately… her methods had become unsound. He felt himself being torn in different directions and didn’t know what to do.

  Caitlyn shrugged and pulled on a leather glove. “This isn’t the time for discussion. After tonight. Maybe.”

  Aidan shook his head. After tonight. She had said that before.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Caldan trudged down the corridor towards the room he had been allocated almost a seven day ago. He passed a senior apprentice about his own age, who didn’t acknowledge his nod. Some of them had been ignoring him since he arrived. It seemed unless you slogged through the lessons and trials of the apprentices, they didn’t look at you as an equal.

  His clothes and skin felt dry and scratchy after a day spent helping in the furnaces, where young sorcery apprentices practiced casting metals into crafting items. His lips tasted of salt from his own sweat.

  Ducking into his room, he rummaged through his clothes and darted off to the washing area to clean up before the evening meal. With a few ducats, he had purchased some pants and shirts, ones that fit better than his old clothes. As well as the clothing, he bought a number of items required to be able to participate in the lessons and practice sessions he had been assigned: carving tools for both wood and wax, a bundle of candles for reading in his room at night. All the purchases left a sizeable dent in his purse, which weren’t his own coins to start with.

  He headed for the evening meal. As usual, he sat alone, the senior apprentices pointedly ignoring him as they came in and talked in groups. He wolfed down his meal of a thick mutton stew with bread and hot cider, and then left.

  No windows opened into the library as the sunlight damaged the books, so all apprentices used one of the sorcerous crafted globes left on a table inside the door for light to see by. Shelves of books stretched away into the darkness. The air inside felt dry and smelled of parchment, leather and decay. There were desks around the room, at each of which sat two apprentices with their own globes, reading from books.

  Surprisingly, the library here was much smaller than he’d imagined. With more sorcerers and apprentices in residence than he ever thought possible in one place, he had hoped the library would be enormous and overflowing with books on all subjects, but it wasn’t the case. Far from being a repository of knowledge on a multitude of subject matters, the books all dealt with crafting, with sections set aside for Dominion, politics and history. It was a disappointment. The library at the monastery was at least ten times the size and covered a much larger range of subjects. Any idea he had of trying to research his trinket for information on where it and his family had come from had evaporated when he entered the library a few days before.

  He felt sure there must be another library. One that held other texts only the Master Sorcerers and Protectors had access to. The more valuable knowledge wasn’t going to be left around for any apprentice to read and try his hand at something that could very well kill him.

  One startling omission to the books was a lack of any definitive text on trinkets. There were a few that dealt in generalities; sometimes they were mere collections of rumors. On a few occasions, Caldan had read outright falsehoods from what he understood of crafting from these books.

  He doubted there was much to be learned in this library, at least for him. Still, he wanted to be sure and spent some time poring over titles and flicking through.

  After an hour, he gave up. This was his third time here in as many days, and like previous visits, he felt he had wasted his time. He replaced the book he had been looking at, Principals of the Craft and the poorly researched Secrets of Trinkets, with a sigh. It was a basic treatise, probably penned to interest those without talent in crafting. Why it had a place in the sorcerers’ library escaped him. Useless. All these books held nothing for him.

  Rubbing sore eyes that strained in the dim light, he abandoned the library for his room. The hard schedule the Protectors had him following the last few days left him tired and irritable, though his muscles weren’t as sore as he expected.

  He gathered up his cloak, yet another purchase he had needed to make, and slipped through the dark corridors on his way to the Yawning Rabbit Inn.

  The Yawning Rabbit lay close to the keep and many of the guilds. Its doors faced out onto the cobbled courtyard, where Caldan had first seen the public offices of the Sorcerers’ Guild. Due to its close proximity, fine food and drinks, it was a favored haunt of the apprentices from rich families and masters from many of the guilds.

  Listening to some of the apprentices, he had heard of a healthy Dominion competition running there, where anyone could play as long as they had a willing opponent, and often coins exchanged hands on the outcome of matches. It was here Caldan decided, after recalling the woman making her living at the Otter, to try his hand and see if he could win enough ducats to repay Master Simmon.

  He also had a fancy to buy Miranda a present, though why he had determined that he wasn’t sure. She had been kind to him since he arrived, and his thoughts had strayed to her numerous times since the evening meal they shared. Caldan shook his head, as he did every time he thought back to the restaurant. A restaurant dedicated only to eel dishes; who would have thought it?

  As he approached, the doorman gave him a nod after eyeing him for a few moments. He stood a foot over Caldan’s height, and his arms looked as if they could crush rocks. Caldan exhaled in relief.

  He entered the establishment and walked over to a long bar that took up most of one wall. Arched doorways opened onto a central courtyard, in which stood a large pond. Several bronze turtles poured water from their mouths into the pool, while Caldan caught glimpses of fish between lilies on the surface. Several staircases led up to a second floor. Oil lamps and two blazing fireplaces lit the room. He could smell ale and smoke, along with aromas wafting from dishes waiters carried as they rushed past. At this time, the crowd was still thin, but owing to the size of the building there was still a surprising amount of people here. Caldan picked out masters from different guilds, including two that looked to be sorcerers, a number of nobles and a few merchants and traders. Tables seating four were situated randomly around the room. These he knew were for card games, of which a number were in progress.

  Stepping up to the bar, Caldan caught the eye of a serving girl in a white apron and ordered a cider, his second of the night, but he expected to make this one last as he would need his wits about him. She returned promptly with a tankard, and he slid a copper ducat across the bar. She frowned then indicated another coin was needed. He dutifully slid a second coin alongside the first. He was going to have to make this cider last a long time. He took a sip and leaned back on the bar to take in the atmosphere.

  Time passed, and the level in Caldan’s tankard dropped to halfway, even with his cautious sipping. Serving men and women came in and out of a swinging door, laden with trays crowded with mouthwateringly fine smelling dishes: lamb chops in a red wine sauce, roast pork with crackling skin, heavily spiced stews eaten with loaves of fresh baked bread. The aromas were so inviting, he marked the place as an option to take Miranda to repay her for the meal they had shared. Not as select as her choic
e, but if he ever had enough coins, this was a definite possibility.

  A loud bark of laughter broke his reverie. The crowd had swelled as people gathered for a drink after their evening meal, or to eat as soon as their daily business was complete.

  Caldan judged the time to be about right. He headed across the room and up a set of stairs leading to the second floor. This level also consisted of archways opening onto the space in the center, though balconies jutted over the courtyard. Dominion boards of varying quality took up half the floor space.

  Caldan made a circuit of the entire second floor, taking note of the various players engaged in Dominion, as well as the onlookers. Smoke drifted into the night air from spiced tobacco pipes. One man held a twig littered with green leaves he occasionally picked off and stuffed into his mouth to chew. Nobles and sons of nobles, merchants and scholars all brushed shoulders as they passed each other.

  On one wall was a chalkboard with the names of different people and numbers. A polite inquiry and he was told it was the odds board for wagering on who would win the upcoming Dominion competition at the Autumn Festival. Under the board, at a table, sat a sweating, rotund man surrounded by pieces of paper, ink and a pen, and a dark colored candle. The bookmaker. Caldan watched open-mouthed as a short man approached the man and placed a stack of gold ducats on the table. In return, the sweaty man scribbled on a piece of parchment and finished it off by affixing his seal to the chit with the purple wax. The seal was attached to his belt by a sturdy chain.

  Laughter and shouts punctuated the steady din of conversation. One man, a wealthy noble by the look of him, stood and cursed loudly at a number of moves made by his opponent, a pretty woman with red hair. His face was red, and he clenched his fists for a few moments, then two hefty bouncers appeared behind him. He fished a purse from his waist, threw it onto the Dominion board and pushed his way through the crowd gathered around his table.

  “It’s the same every night for him,” a quiet voice said by Caldan’s side.

  He turned and took in the speaker, a slim, thin man with a graying goatee. One hand rested on his belt, while the other held a glass of clear liquid with a cherry at the bottom. His shirt was an expensive weave with silver buttons. A man of some means.

  The man gave a stiff bow from the waist. “Some people don’t know their limitations, eh? Allow me to introduce myself. Izak Fourie, at your service. You’re new here, no?”

  “I am,” he replied warily. “I’m Caldan. Do you come here to watch, or do you play matches as well?”

  Izak Fourie waved his drink in the direction of the closest game. “A little of both, though mostly I wager on matches. I’m afraid I don’t have the talent of some of the regular players, and most know it.” He shrugged. “But we all have to make do with what we have, am I correct?”

  “Yes,” agreed Caldan, as he thought this was expected from him. “Ah… so how do you bet on the matches? Is there someone else that takes bets, like that gentleman over there?” He pointed to the man under the chalkboard.

  Izak frowned for a moment then smirked. “Gentleman? I guess you might call him that. You can bet with him if you have enough coin. More often wagers are made between two people and witnessed by the house. You see the attendants?”

  Having them pointed out now, Caldan saw standing at each table someone dressed in the same livery as the waiters downstairs, only of a finer cut.

  “And since the house witnesses wagers, it takes a cut?”

  “Exactly,” Izak smiled. “Ten percent of the winnings. You didn’t think this place existed solely because of their love of the game, did you?” He laughed softly.

  “No, but I’m always open to being pleasantly surprised.”

  Izak laughed again. He sipped his drink. “By my beard, this stuff is good!” The tip of his tongue came out and licked his lips. “I take it you are new to our fine city as well?”

  A strange man but friendly enough, thought Caldan. But it’s best not to trust anyone so soon after meeting them. “Somewhat new,” replied Caldan cautiously. “I have a role with the Sorcerers’ Guild.” He wasn’t sure why this man had taken an interest in him.

  “Really? A role?” Izak drawled. “How interesting.” He coughed onto the back of his hand then nodded to a game starting a few tables away. “Come, shall we observe this match and provide commentary?”

  Caldan nodded his agreement, and they found a position standing behind one of the players.

  As play started, Izak nudged Caldan with his elbow and leaned in close. “I happen to know both players. Both are regulars here and at a number of other establishments. They are quite skillful.”

  Caldan studied the board as each player handed a scrap of parchment to the attendant, on which they had written their first seven moves so these couldn’t be changed. Like any battle, the first moves were planned in advance without knowledge of your enemy’s strategy. Only after that could each player adjust their own tactics to account for their opponent’s.

  After the opening moves, the man in front of them fell behind in the scoring, and as the match progressed his position became more and more untenable and he fell further behind.

  By this stage a number of other observers had joined them, and after a short whispered conversation between two of them, one shouted, “Two silvers on Lord Schalk, at two to one.”

  The bet lingered in the smoky air until a woman opposite them piped up. “Done. Witnessed?” All turned to the attendant, who nodded at both the woman and the man that had announced the original wager.

  Caldan frowned. “Doesn’t that distract the players?”

  “Part of the game, my friend. Playing under added pressure. Of course, when the betting gets frantic towards the end of some of the better matches, the players can be put off.” He shrugged. “That’s the way it is.”

  This was all new to Caldan, so he withheld comment. Friendly banter between players and people looking on he was used to, but knowing people were betting on you, and how much, would be unnerving.

  Play continued, and Lord Schalk, the man they stood behind, did slightly better, winning back a few points. He would go into the third phase behind by a fair margin, and it would take a canny player to claw his way ahead.

  Izak leaned close to Caldan. “I can tell you, though, Schalk here is a fine player, and although he’s behind, it is knowledge of the board that separates out the great players.”

  “I agree. We’ll see what happens next.”

  For Lord Schalk, the third phase went well at first, considering the disadvantage he started with. His opponent played cautiously, too cautiously in Caldan’s opinion, and allowed Schalk some leeway to consolidate his positions. Then, as if realizing his mistake, he made a series of moves that pushed at Schalk’s pieces, feigning an attack on multiple fronts, which drew a response, then broke through at a weakness created. Schalk scrambled to defend.

  “Ah… I think Lord Schalk’s game has been lost,” said Izak softly to Caldan.

  By now the crowd around the board had swelled considerably. A number of people made wagers, shouting over the heads of the players and confirming with the attendant.

  But to Caldan, the board didn’t look right. Something niggled at the back of his mind — a few of Schalk’s pieces left behind, seemingly neglected when his others were forced backwards to defend. After a few moments, Caldan nodded to himself. He recognized the scrambling defense and subsequent attack coming. Detailed in the Morals of Dominion, in a chapter on whether someone at such a disadvantage in the game was entitled to a victory, and how victory could be achieved.

  “Five silver ducats for Powell to win against Lord Schalk,” announced Izak loudly from Caldan’s side, holding up a hand.

  Caldan hissed between his teeth and grimaced.

  “What?” said Izak. “I know Schalk, and he couldn’t come back from this. It’s a safe bet.”

  Caldan pulled Izak’s arm down. “No, it’s not,” he said hastily. “Don’t bet against him. Eith
er he is a better player than you think, or he’s been studying.”

  Izak eyed the board and pieces dubiously then stroked his goatee. “You think Schalk will win? Why do you say that?”

  “It depends on what he knows, but I’ve read about this strategy before.”

  “You read about it? Are you sure?” asked Izak with a penetrating stare.

  “I am. Here.” He reached into his purse, drew out a silver ducat of his own and passed it to Izak. “Wager this for me, on Schalk to win.”

  Izak frowned then nodded. He cleared his throat and raised his arm.

  “Ten silvers on Lord Schalk to win!” he boomed, and a few laughs greeted his announcement.

  Lord Schalk paused to look behind him at Izak then returned to the game.

  “Keep your coins, Izak. We know you lost big the other night, and chasing down losses will only make things worse!” shouted a young nobleman.

  Izak smiled and laughed. “Too scared, eh?” he returned. “How about twenty silvers? Is that enough to interest anyone?”

  Caldan winced. Twenty silver ducats was a large sum, and Izak, who he had only barely met, was trusting Caldan’s instincts against what looked like a certain loss. He felt his head start to ache. What if he was wrong, if Schalk lost to Powell? Izak would be out a considerable amount.

  “I’ll take that wager!” replied the young noble. “Witness please!”

  The attendant nodded at both men, mentally recording the wager. Izak raised his glass in a silent toast to the young noble, who grinned back. Heated conversations rose from around the table in the wake of the wager.

  All of a sudden the air in the room felt thick and stifling. Caldan was sure he was right, but if he wasn’t he would lose a silver he could ill afford to, and probably make an enemy. He swallowed and his throat stuck together. He gulped the dregs of his cider, barely tasting the liquid.

  “You’d better be right,” Izak said over the din.

  Caldan caught sight of Powell frowning at them.