Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (35 page)

“It did to me the first time, and to others. It’ll become easier, if that’s where your fate leads you.”

The warlock’s words stirred something in Caldan—a wariness. Was Joachim saying he mightn’t use coercive sorcery in the future? But how could you unlearn something once you learnt it? The answer was, of course, you couldn’t. Despite Joachim’s apparent willingness to answer questions and examine Miranda, Caldan couldn’t help being reminded of what he’d said about Miranda downstairs, that she was a complication he could do without.

But had he meant Miranda, the use of coercive sorcery, or Caldan’s knowledge and involvement?

Joachim glanced at him. “If you can stand to watch, then link to your
crafting
again. I can do something for her; a very little, though.”

Without another word, the warlock turned back to Miranda.

Caldan wiped his face and steeled himself for the nausea he knew was coming, then linked to the
crafting
. He recoiled slightly from the sight of Miranda’s damaged mind, but clenching his hands into fists, he pushed himself to face the distressing sight. Moments passed, and nothing happened.

“What are you—?”

“Shh. Don’t interrupt.”

Caldan shifted his weight, hugged his arms across his chest, and waited. And waited. His mouth filled with saliva from his rising nausea, and he swallowed, forcing the feeling back down.

Something moved at the edge of Miranda’s mind: a slender white string, not tangled with the rest. The end of it moved back and forth, almost snakelike. It probed forward gently, sliding under a few colored threads and hooking around one, before it tugged. The string it moved went rigid, and the others surrounding it wavered slightly, then they seemed to settle, as if whatever Joachim had done caused them to become more ordered, though they still remained.

Again, the string probed and tugged. And again.

Caldan watched, fascinated, as slowly, and with a few tugs of great precision, Miranda’s mind settled down. And though he still felt sick, it seemed to lessen. Whether that was the effect Joachim was having on Miranda, or him getting used to coercive sorcery, he couldn’t tell.

The white string finally withdrew, and Caldan closed his well, coming back to the room with disorientating suddenness. His legs wobbled, and he sank to one knee.

A hand touched him on the shoulder.

“Are you well?” asked Joachim.

“Ah, give me a moment.” Caldan swallowed to remove the taste of bile in his mouth. It took a few deep breaths before he felt well enough to stand.

“Miranda,” he said tentatively, “Is she…?”

“Whole again? No, far from it. But I’ve managed to lessen the confusion in her mind. It might take a few days, but she’ll begin to show signs of recovery.”

Of course. He’d seen Joachim at work, and Miranda’s mind was still a mass of tangled threads.

“How much improvement will she make? When can you try again?”

Joachim sighed and began collecting his
crafting
s, folding them into the cloth. “I can’t say for certain. Often it depends on the strength of will of the affected person. And she’ll need a lot more treatment, from sorcerers of far greater skill than I.”

“Where can I find them?”

“A few are on their way here, with the emperor’s retinue. So, in that, you could say you’re lucky. I’ve given Miranda a chance to improve her state; perhaps it’ll lessen the fear she’s feeling inside. Her deterioration’s stalled, but not stopped. She has more time now, and so have you.”

Caldan gave Joachim a sharp look. “So, that’s what this is about. Pushing me in the direction you want.”

“I would have attempted to heal her anyway. That the act coincides with something else I want is fortuitous.”

“Arriving here right now, in my time of need, looks extremely suspicious.”

“The empire is in peril, which is one of the reasons I’m here. I assure you, I couldn’t have known you’d need my help. And”—the warlock stressed his words—“now be in my debt. As I said, fortuitous.”

“What exactly do you want?”

Joachim smiled. “Is that any way to treat someone who’s just helped you? The Protectors couldn’t have done anything, except to send word to us anyway. You’re lucky I’m here already. And I deserve more respect than you’ve shown so far. See to it you modify your behavior.”

Turning to look at Miranda, Caldan remained silent. Was there more color in her face? Did her eyes show more signs of life? He ran a hand over his head, short hair prickling his palm. “You want me to be your apprentice?”

“No. That was just to get the Protectors out of the way. I’ve no time to coddle anyone.”

“Are you evaluating me? Pushing and prodding to see which way I’ll jump?”

“I’m not some kindly old mentor who’ll guide you every step of the way. Understand that now.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“Remember it. The emperor has given me total discretion when dealing with the likes of you.”

“The likes of me? What exactly does that mean?”

“Apart from what you might be, how about
trinket
thief?”

Caldan sputtered. “What? You know I didn’t steal it.”

“Do I? Because you told me? You should know that’s not a very good argument.”

“What do you want?” Caldan asked again.

“Answers. Then I can decide what to do with you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Aidan returned from pissing against a bush to find Vasile arguing with cel Rau and Chalayan. He rubbed his eyes and cursed under his breath, before looking up into the night sky. Thousands of stars winked back at him, and he was sure they were mocking his fate.

Vasile and Chalayan had been at each other for days, ever since leaving Gazija and his company of weird companions. There was something odd in the way they moved and spoke. He couldn’t put his finger on what niggled at him about them, but it would take a good while before he trusted anything they said.

He stepped out of the shadows toward their meager fire. “Leave it,” he said firmly.

“The magistrate here knows something,” said Chalayan, for the tenth time in a few days.

Vasile shook his head in weary denial. “I know no more than you. They’re a strange lot and hard to work out. And very careful with their words around me.”

“That should tell you something, then. They’re hiding information from us. Sorcerous secrets.” Chalayan almost hissed the words.

Aidan turned to cel Rau. “You should know better.”

The swordsman only shrugged and busied himself laying out his bedding and arranging his pack as a pillow. For a tribesman of the Steppes, he liked his little luxuries. Aidan was sure if cel Rau was back in his homeland among his people, he would be sleeping rough, and likely waking with a sore neck.

Leaving the swordsman be, Aidan stared at Chalayan, who was still eyeing Vasile, with hunger, he realized, and not for the first time. Sorcerous secrets that Chalayan wanted, no matter if they were immoral or malevolent. He’d seen Mazoet’s sorcery at work and found his own wanting—limited and pale in comparison. Aidan would have hated to lose Chalayan, but sometimes life didn’t work out as you’d hoped. The sorcerer was worth saving, though, if he could.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Aidan said. “And stop arguing.”

“Chalayan still owes Vasile fifty gold ducats,” remarked cel Rau, unhelpfully.

“By the ancestors,” growled Aidan. “Enough. If we turn up in front of the emperor and his retinue like this, they won’t take us seriously.”

Vasile frowned at Aidan. “I thought you said they know who you are and what you do? That you’ve a writ from the emperor himself for your… activities.”

“That we do,” replied Aidan. “But Lady Caitlyn was the only one who dealt with the emperor and whoever’s around him. I wouldn’t know how to go about approaching him. I have confidence we’ll be all right. We’ve the writ, plus news from Anasoma and our mysterious benefactors.”

The magistrate didn’t look convinced, but Aidan couldn’t care less. With what he’d seen and been through, approaching the emperor with important information he needed wouldn’t be a problem. Would it?

“Sleep,” he growled at them, and rolled himself in his blanket.

With any luck, these two would have argued themselves hoarse long before they reached the emperor.

•

A cold wind cut through Vasile’s clothes like a sharp-edged knife out of the gray sky. Grasslands populated by sparse bushes and spindly trees gradually gave way to the occasional farmland and small village.

Cel Rau guided them off the tracks and through a stony expanse of undulating land not fit for farming, claiming it would save them some time. Rocky outcrops thrust from the ground at irregular intervals, and dark openings punctured their bases. Cel Rau warned them to be on the lookout for wolves and other predators, but so far they’d seen none, though when they’d sheltered in one of the caves last night, it had reeked of an animal.

Vasile tightened his cloak around himself, wrapping his hands with it before clutching the reins. His horse had been docile enough so far, following behind the others, but he didn’t trust the beasts. Born and raised in the city, he was more at home on cobbled streets. Still, he’d been saved from Anasoma by Quiss, and he owed the man for that, which was why he found himself plodding along a dirt trail behind three disreputable mercenaries. Not strictly true, though, that tag, as he knew from the writ they carried from the emperor and the truth of their own words. They did what they wanted: killed, injured, plundered, but it was sanctioned. As if that made a difference.

He’d expected to be sick of these men by now but had found most of the journey so far almost pleasant, apart from the constant niggling from Chalayan. They lied less than most folks, and their leader, Aidan, hadn’t spoken a lie yet. Oh, he’d hedged around certain subjects, but Vasile suspected it was more because they were painful.

Ahead of him, Chalayan pulled his mount to the side and stopped, and as Vasile approached, the sorcerer nudged his horse to ride alongside him. Aidan glanced back and, seeing the sorcerer’s actions, slowed his own mount to join them.

“Magistrate,” Chalayan said. “What do you know of the sorcery these people use?”

There was only one group the man could be referring to. Vasile shook his head. “Not much. I’ve already told you what I know.”

“Go over it again.”

Aidan remained silent, obviously interested in what Vasile had to say.

Vasile sighed and shifted in his saddle. “The first sorcery I saw them use—though as I said before, I didn’t really see anyone do anything—was when we passed through the barrier the Indryallans had erected around Anasoma.”

“So, you passed through it? Like—” Chalayan tilted his head forward. “—passing through a waterfall?”

“No, they made a hole in it, pushed it aside, like opening a curtain.”

Chalayan looked thoughtful, and his hand strayed to touch an amulet around his neck. “They didn’t want to disrupt the barrier, then, and have some way of controlling the flames. Did they place a
crafting
against it first?”

“I told you, I didn’t see anyone do anything of note. The boat we were in approached the barrier, a hole opened, and we passed through.”

“How did they create the hole without using a
crafting
in contact with the flames?” mused Chalayan. “It’s impossible, unless they know a way of controlling destructive sorcery.”

“If that’s what it looks like, then that must be it,” said Vasile, eager to end this conversation and be rid of the sorcerer.

Chalayan straightened and gave him a piercing look. “Indeed. There is no other possibility, is there? When Mazoet fought the two sorcerers and saved us, I thought they were using
trinket
s, ones I’d never heard of before. But the most plausible explanation is that they have found a way around the limitations of
crafting
, and applied it to destructive sorcery.”

“You’ll have to enlighten me. What limitations?”

“That a hard material object is required to control and weather the forces from your well. They can’t be directed through you without causing severe injury or death—well, the minutest amount can.” Chalayan became quiet, scratching at his head. “Think,” he spat under his breath, the word coming out like a curse. “How can it be done?”

Vasile frowned. “Have you heard of lodestones? Sometimes called course-stones.”

Aidan spoke. “Sailors use them for navigation or some such. They attract iron.”

“But that’s not all they do. Try to push two together, and they repel each other. There’s a force they generate that does this. I remember a colleague talking about them.”

“But no one has the slightest idea why they act this way. We can use the property for navigation and such but nothing else.”

“My point isn’t how or why they behave the way they do; it’s the simple fact that they do. An invisible force is generated that is strong enough to attract, or push away, a physical object. Couldn’t a sorcerer make a
crafting
to create a similar force and use it to guide the forces rather than the physical
crafting
? And not only guide, but contain.”

Aidan grunted, not convinced, but Chalayan regarded him with a gleam in his eye.

“I must think on this,” said the sorcerer, pulling on his reins to halt his horse, leaving Vasile and Aidan plodding along ahead of him.

Aidan turned to Vasile. “I don’t want you discussing sorcery with Chalayan.”

“What? Why? He’s just asking questions.”

“He’s going through a difficult time, seeing the sorcery he’s endeavored to master his whole life eclipsed.”

A half-truth,
thought Vasile. Aidan was clearly worried about Chalayan. It didn’t take much thought to figure out why. “He’s the type who has to know everything, isn’t he? He won’t rest until he learns how it’s done, and can do it himself.”

“The power of knowing can be addictive.”

“As can power itself.”

Aidan nodded but remained silent.

“You’re concerned he wants the power rather than the knowledge,” stated Vasile.

“What I’m concerned about is not for you to wonder. Once we reach the emperor, you’re on your own, and we can get on with our job.”