Soon, both Master Simmon and Master Jazintha stood before Caldan, eyeing him critically. He’d only seen Jazintha in passing as she walked the halls. She was the master in charge of all the Protectors who traveled outside of Anasoma. She made sure they left well equipped, kept tabs on where they were and their status, and debriefed them after they arrived back in the city. Slender and wiry, she carried herself with assurance and exuded a presence of stillness similar to Simmon. Buckled to her belt she carried a thin sword with a crafted hilt.
“Leave him,” she said to Simmon. “We can’t afford to babysit someone tonight.”
Simmon grunted, eyes still on Caldan. “We don’t have time to argue. I think he needs to come with us. I’ll take responsibility for him. He needs to see what we do firsthand.”
“Ancestors willing, there won’t be any excitement, but he’s your responsibility. Make sure he knows his place and doesn’t bugger this up for us.” With that, she frowned at Caldan before turning to berate a journeyman who hadn’t polished his leather belt and scabbard to her liking.
“Don’t mind her,” said Simmon. “We’re all edgy tonight. A lot of things could go wrong, and that wouldn’t be good, for us or for you.” He looked around to make sure no one was close. “Show me your ring,” he said firmly.
He knows it’s a trinket, thought Caldan. Nothing much escapes this man.
Caldan raised his hand. Simmon ran a critical eye over the trinket before touching it lightly with a finger. Caldan sensed him access his well, and a faint hum combined with the scent of lemons filled the air around him. After a moment, the vibration faded along with the smell.
Caldan started. Had he sensed Simmon accessing his well and using his talent? Was that what the lemons signified? Casting his thoughts back, he remembered smelling lemons before, when the master teaching them about shielding had disarmed the wards on the box containing the shielding amulets. Curious.
Simmon’s voice brought him back to the present. He sounded puzzled. “I can’t tell what it does. Perhaps you can enlighten me?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. Not that I don’t want to,” he added when Simmon frowned at him. “But I don’t know. It was handed down to me, but I can’t figure it out. I was told it was my family’s, an heirloom.” Caldan swallowed, his throat thick with sudden emotion.
“It’s good I haven’t seen you wearing it. Without proper protection, you might find yourself in some trouble from people who wouldn’t hesitate to stoop to murder to get their hands on a trinket. Wear it tonight. You might find out something about it, if you’re lucky, but don’t wear it any other time until you can protect yourself properly.”
With a nonchalant shrug, Caldan rolled up his left sleeve to reveal his crafted wristband. “I made something that might be helpful.”
Simmon’s eyes widened. “You made this?” Again, Caldan felt the air hum and caught a faint hint of lemons before both faded.
“Yes. I needed one so I could start wearing my… ring.” Caldan was hesitant say trinket with so many people around. In the darkness, no one would notice it on his finger, he hoped.
“It feels sound, but without proper testing I wouldn’t rely on it.”
“Testing?”
Simmon nodded. “All craftings are tested before earning the guild’s approval for sale or for individual use. We can’t sanction faulty goods being sold in our name or allow unsafe craftings to be used by guild members. The quality looks good, better than good in fact, but I still wouldn’t rely on it. Come to me tomorrow and we’ll see about having it certified. If it doesn’t pass, you’ll have to melt it down, you know.”
Caldan scowled. The medallion he had purchased was probably a reject, a crafting that hadn’t passed the tests, and he had paid well over what such a crafting was worth. If his wristband was to be melted down, its only value was in the cost of the metals. He’d been sold a vastly overpriced crafting, and his own would have to go through what sounded like a rigorous process to determine if it passed the guild’s assessment. Though a part of him knew his crafting was good, he couldn’t help but feel trepidation at having his work judged by masters he scarcely knew.
“Listen carefully,” said Simmon. “I think it’s important you come with us tonight, if only to see how we operate. So far, all you have to go on is what I’ve told you.”
And not told me, thought Caldan.
“I want you to remember,” continued Simmon, “that what we do is for the good of all. There are reasons for keeping secrets, and there won’t be parades in the street for us. What we do is best done with as few people knowing as possible. Again, stay back and keep your head down. If all goes well, there won’t be any drama; if it doesn’t, well… we might be glad you’re along.” He gave Caldan a pat on the shoulder and moved on, leaving him to his thoughts.
They’re preparing as if for battle but what could they be fighting in Anasoma? Unless… there’s a rogue sorcerer?
It wasn’t long before the group formed up and moved out of the guild headquarters and into the city proper. Simmon headed the group, leaving Caldan at the rear with Master Jazintha. Caldan could feel her eyes on his back.
They followed Simmon without a word, booted feet against the pavement and the creak of leather the only sounds of their passage. Deep into Deadhorse they went, a district Caldan hadn’t yet had occasion to visit. They avoided larger groups when they could. When they passed squads of Quivers, Simmon paused to make his presence known and they continued without fuss.
Simmon gave a signal to halt as they approached a well-lit intersection from a dark alley. Glowing a muted yellow, two sorcerous crafted globes bathed the junction with light. Across the street was a large three-story stone building with double doors, above which was the sign of a bank, three golden ducats arranged in a triangle.
Without a word spoken, one of the two shield-bearers quickly crossed through the light and positioned themselves to the side of the door. Two journeymen moved behind him. The other shield-bearer disappeared into the shadows at the side of the building and headed towards the back, with another two journeymen also following.
Simmon motioned Jazintha and the last journeyman forward. Caldan moved up behind them.
“What’s the plan?” Jazintha asked.
“You know the drill,” he heard Simmon say. “Shield-bearers lead the way with support. They’ll flush him out. If he heads for the front door, you take him out. Same for us if he moves towards the back. If he goes up, we’ll have him cornered and he shouldn’t be any trouble. My guess is he’ll try to move past one of the shield-bearers and head for the nearest door out to the street. That’s what I’d do, and that’s where we’ll be waiting for him.”
Jazintha glanced at Caldan. “Sure he won’t hamper you any?”
Simmon shrugged. “I wanted him here, so I’ll handle it. Nothing flashy, if you can avoid it. We need to find out how much he knows and whether he’s acting alone. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake here.”
Jazintha nodded curtly, and they moved across the intersection to the other side of the door.
“Caldan,” said Simmon. “Stay behind me. Our role is to stop anyone coming our way and to provide assistance to the others if they need it. Understood?”
Caldan nodded, chewing on a fingernail. What could put up enough of a fight to get past seven journeymen sorcerers and two master sorcerers with crafted shields and weapons? His throat tightened. He didn’t want to think about it, but soon he would see what the Protectors feared. No, they didn’t look fearful but wary. He wiped damp hands on his pants.
“Let’s move,” whispered Simmon, and he took off across the intersection and down the side of the building. Caldan followed in his wake.
As they passed the double doors he saw Jazintha press a flat stone crafting against the lock. A flash of light and a sizzling sound filled the street. Door hinges creaked, and Jazintha shouted, “Go, go.”
Moments later, he and Simmon arrived at the rear of the buil
ding. Another, smaller, access door stood open. The smell of burnt wood and hot iron filled the air.
“Inside,” Simmon said to the Protectors. The shield-bearer disappeared through the dark opening followed by two others then Simmon. Caldan stood alone in the street.
“By the ancestors,” he said, plunging inside after them.
A muffled explosion came from the front of the building. A blinding flash erupted, and sparkles filled Caldan’s sight. He raised an arm to cover his eyes as the shield-bearer stumbled forward, closely followed by the two journeymen. Thunder rippled through the air and prickled his skin.
With watering eyes, he followed close behind Simmon, who shimmered as a shield engulfed him. Following the master’s lead, Caldan opened his well and linked to his wristband. His skin tightened and his vision blurred.
Ahead of them, the shield-bearer and journeymen were on their knees. Smoke drifted up from their torn and bloody clothes. One clasped a hand to his side. Blood spattered the floor and flowed through his fingers.
Simmon cursed. He dragged the shield-bearer out of the line of sight through the doorway. All three journeymen wore dazed expressions and red faces, as if exposed too long to the sun. Small pieces of shattered stone littered the floor.
“Stay here,” Simmon ordered the men. “Stop the bleeding and wait for us. If you feel well enough to assist, follow us when you can.”
Despite their shocked state, all three nodded. One fingered a hole in his pants. His finger came out red.
Another reverberation shook the air, this one from the front of the building. Simmon turned to Caldan and nodded, obviously sensing he was also holding onto his well and had his shield up.
“They won’t be able to move for a while. Come, it looks like our man left a surprise to stun us and enable him to escape.”
“Shouldn’t we take the crafted shield?” asked Caldan. It lay next to the injured journeyman.
Simmon shook his head. “You have your own shield. We need speed now. Leave it.”
Caldan was aware Simmon’s trinkets had been linked to his open well. Two rings in addition to the one he had sensed when he first met the master, as well as the thin wristband.
Simmon looked around the room, searching for something. He frowned and motioned for Caldan to follow, moving carefully into the next room.
Caldan wiped sweaty palms on his pants, took a breath and followed into a large sitting room with open doorways on the left and right sides, and a door ahead.
Simmon quickly poked his head into the two side openings. Caldan nervously eyed the room for anything that looked like it could cause an explosion. Not that he knew what that would look like. It seemed the more he learnt the more there was to know. His hand gripped his sword hilt so tight it ached. With a conscious effort, he released his hold.
“Hallways,” said Simmon, disappointed. “I thought there would be a back stairway somewhere, for servants and the like. We’ll have to join up with the other team. Let’s hope there are no more surprises on the way.”
Simmon stood near the door in front of them, hand on the knob. With a twist of his wrist he jerked the door open, rushing into the room ahead.
Another spacious room, this one with a marble floor and a wide staircase leading up. Lying amid scattered stone fragments were the three journeymen and Master Jazintha, their clothing in tatters, covered in blood. A twisted metal shield lay on the floor, bent and rent. Jagged holes pierced the crafted metal.
Between Simmon and the bodies, the floor was empty save fragments of stone. With a growl, Simmon rushed forward and skidded to a stop over Jazintha. He felt her neck for a pulse and motioned for Caldan to check the journeymen.
With a sigh of relief, Simmon pulled his hand away. “Alive. If only barely. Looks like they ran into the same thing we did, only stronger.”
“The others are alive, too, but they need aid. Should I get help?”
“There isn’t time. They’ll have to wait. We can’t let this man escape. This sorcery, destructive, so strong, I have not seen its like since….” He broke off. “We have to stop him.”
Simmon looked Caldan in the eye. “You are bound to us now. No one except a select few know what some people are capable of perverting sorcery into.” A steely look came into his eyes. He stood and looked up the staircase. “Come.”
Simmon set off at a run, bounding up the stairs three at a time with Caldan racing after him. At the top of the stairs, a large landing opened onto a hallway, with more stairs continuing up.
Simmon stopped abruptly at the landing, eyes closed. Caldan sensed he drew from his well, focusing his talent to search for something. On his hand, one of his rings pulsed with power.
For a full minute both stood there, Simmon with eyes closed, Caldan too nervous to close his own. Blocking external stimuli always helped, but he was too scared. He sensed nothing on this level, though below them he felt pulses of power from Jazintha and the journeymen and an… absence, the size of which led him to believe it had to be the shield. Still functioning, whatever its use was, despite the damage it had sustained.
Nothing. “I can’t sense anything,” said Caldan.
“Me either. The two of us can’t search the entire building. He’s bound to escape.” He took a step across the landing towards the hallway.
A faint draft of air brought the scent of lemons from above them.
“Wait,” Caldan hissed.
Simmon stopped.
“Upstairs. I… I can smell it. It’s like lemons.”
Simmon looked at him disbelievingly. “You smell it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Like lemons?”
Caldan nodded. “Yes. I smell lemons whenever someone close by opens their well or is linked to it. Someone is linked to their well. A sorcerer. I couldn’t sense anything else. No craftings, no trinkets.”
Master Simmon looked intently at Caldan. “I knew someone once who could do something similar, though it wasn’t lemons. And he wasn’t a sorcerer. His talent lay in other areas.” He glanced back at Jazintha and the injured journeymen. “I guess we’ll find out.” He turned and, with a brief nod to Caldan, rushed up the staircase.
At the top the stairs narrowed further until they were barely shoulder-width before ending at a thick door, secured with a solid iron lock.
“Stand back,” ordered Simmon. He removed a fingernail-sized piece of crystal from a belt pouch. Etched into its faceted surfaces were tiny glyphs. Simmon wedged it into the keyhole then stepped back.
Caldan sensed Simmon draw from his well and link to the gem. Simmon looked at him. “Too late now,” he muttered. “Doubly bound.”
Caldan looked questioningly at the master, but he only shook his head.
As each moment passed, Caldan could sense the power building in the gem. There must be powerful buffers built into the crafting to handle that much, and still it absorbed more. What was it for, he puzzled? Could it unlock the door?
A sharp retort emanated from the lock. Caldan ducked his head.
Simmon raced back up the stairs and pushed the door open. Heat radiated from the broken, twisted mess of the lock.
Through the doorway, they entered a rooftop garden. A low wall surrounded the edge of the building. A lily pond stood in one corner, the water’s surface reflecting the moonlight. All around the garden stone and metal sculptures were placed, some knee-high, while a few were man-sized. Shadows stretched across the roof and the plants were composed of shades of gray in the washed out light.
The garden was empty.
“By the ancestors,” cursed Simmon.
A strong smell of lemons hung in the night air. A gentle breeze blew the scent away, but moments later it returned. Caldan grasped Simmon’s arm and squeezed, sniffing pointedly. His gaze roamed around the garden. Simmon stiffened in his grasp.
In the shadows, one of the statues moved. Moonlight shone on a short man in a fine coat and shirt.
“Ah well,” he said, voice filled with m
ock sorrow. “I guess it was too much to hope you wouldn’t get this far. A pity. I do hate to kill unnecessarily. Such a waste.”
Simmon stood straight, hands by his sides. “By the power invested in me as a Protector, I am arresting you for the use of destructive and coercive sorcery. You will be given a fair trial, and you had best come quietly.”
“Tsk, tsk. As a Protector? A fair trial? A quick death is what I’ll have in your hands. No, I think not.”
Caldan fingered his wristband nervously. Both he and Simmon had their shields up, but what had happened below had him worried his crafting wouldn’t be able to withstand such forces. He wished Simmon hadn’t dragged him along tonight.
“Whatever your crimes,” continued Simmon, “you’ll receive a fair trial. We aren’t monsters.”
“Again, I think not. There is more at stake here than you realize.” He tossed something in front of them which spun in the moonlight.
There was a crackling sound and a solid wall slammed into Caldan and Simmon, knocking them backwards. Caldan’s entire shield turned purple, totally obscuring his vision. His wristband whined under the strain, becoming hot on his skin. Lying on his back, he groaned. Simmon lay motionless beside him, without a shield protecting him. Cracked and broken, the master’s thin wristband lay next to him. Blood trickled from his ear.
Caldan rolled over and levered himself to his knees. His shield had held and was still linked to his well. He felt the strain decreasing as it strove to reach equilibrium. Grunting, he dragged himself to his feet. His body felt bruised all over. Pieces of shredded leaves and branches covered the ground. He stumbled a step forward, fumbling with his sword hilt, and managed to draw his blade. The tip hit the ground. Its weight seemed to have doubled.
A voice reached him through the ringing in his ears. “My, my, your shield held.”
Sweat dripped from his every pore. His skin burned hot. Ancestors, he felt like he was burning up. Caldan raised his eyes and saw the man surrounded by his own shield, this one shimmering with multicolored tones. He stood twenty paces away. Too far.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 41