Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) Read online

  He gathered up his firewood and tucked it under one arm, then made a dash for the next building. Another dwelling, but this one was empty, without even rotting furniture. Caldan hoped the last building had more he could salvage, or it would be a long, cold, miserable night. Even with a fire, it wasn’t looking good.

  A shape moved in the rain, and Caldan frowned. No one should be out there. Metal clinked on metal, and a man’s voice reached his ears, followed by another. By the ancestors! He ducked behind the wall and held his breath. The soldiers had found them, or stumbled upon their location but hadn’t yet realized they were here. He shook his head. That was bad luck.

  As quietly as he could, he took a few steps further into the building. He found a dry spot to put his wood down. The rain pounded the roof above him, drowning out any sound. All his craftings and materials were back at the mill, apart from his almost worthless wristband and Master Simmon’s sword. He had no idea how the trinket worked, so it was virtually useless. Except as a sword.

  Caldan crept to the doorway and peeked outside. There was no sign of the men. A cry came through the rain—Elpidia. A man’s harsh laughter followed. Caldan reached back and drew the trinket sword. It glowed with a soft light.

  Two soldiers exited the mill house doorway. One carried a sorcerous crafted globe for light, and their armor and weapons gleamed through the rain. There might not be a better chance to thin their numbers. Could he do it? He’d have to.

  The Indryallans ran toward the first house he’d entered, hunched over and heads lowered to avoid the rain. They stopped just shy of the doorway and took up positions on either side, swords drawn. One tossed the sorcerous crafted globe inside the building and ducked his head, giving the interior a quick scan. Caldan saw his shoulders relax, and he nodded to his companion. They went inside.

  Caldan took a breath and sprinted toward the soldiers. Away from the mill, and with the heavy downpour dulling any noise, he’d have to take his chances he wouldn’t be heard. He stopped beside the doorway, exactly where one soldier had moments before. Water streamed down his face, and his hands shook. He was hot, but not the heat he’d come to expect with his unusual abilities. He’d have to rely on his ordinary sword skills. But could he justify killing anyone? For Miranda, he could. If they were captured, then it would be the end for him, Bells would see to it after he’d killed Keys. And she wouldn’t care what happened to Miranda.

  Caldan opened his well and stepped through the doorway. One Indryallan soldier had his back to him, while the other was nowhere to be seen. In the bedroom, thought Caldan. And a fleeting glance confirmed there was a light inside the room.

  He took a step toward the soldier and raised his sword. He hesitated. Killing someone while they were unaware felt wrong. The sword’s glow caused shadows to move. The soldier realized something was amiss and, with a wordless cry, threw himself forward, away from Caldan.

  Caldan rushed him just as an answering cry came from the room to his right. The man in front of him turned and raised his sword in defense. He was young, clean-shaven, and barely past his teens. Caldan trod the man’s sword down with his own, driving it to the ground. He smashed his left fist into the man’s face. Blood dribbled out the soldier’s nose as he staggered backward and fell to the floor. His sword dropped from his hand.

  A scrape came from behind Caldan. He hadn’t forgotten the other Indryallan and swiveled—just in time to parry a cut. The second soldier was older, a grizzled veteran with a bushy beard. He shuffled back and circled Caldan to the right. Caldan followed him with the tip of his blade. He lunged, and the soldier leapt back. Caldan ran a few steps toward his prone companion. The young soldier scrabbled for his sword. Caldan kicked it away and stood over him. He reached down and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head to the side and exposing his neck. His trinket sword rested against skin.

  The old soldier stopped his advance. Light shone through the fingers of the hand clutching the sorcerous crafted globe.

  “Don’t take another step,” Caldan gasped.

  “You ain’t killed him yet. Likely you never will.”

  “Do you want to take that chance?”

  The old soldier licked his lips. He muttered a low curse, then turned and ran. His footsteps pounded across the soaked ground. It wasn’t the reaction Caldan was expecting. In moments, the soldier would alert the others, and any advantage he had would be lost.

  Caldan threw out a string from his well and reached for the sorcerous crafted globe. It was halfway toward the mill. He felt for the linking rune, found it, then he pushed power into the globe from his well and ruptured the anchor.

  The globe detonated with a sharp crack, illuminating the clearing for a brief instant. The footsteps ceased, and there was a splash as the old soldier’s body fell.

  “It shouldn’t be this easy,” Caldan said to himself. But it was, and nothing he could say would change what he knew.

  The young Indryallan looked up at him with fear. Crimson leaked down his upper lip. Caldan hit him as hard as he dared. The soldier groaned and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. Caldan hit him again, this time harder. The man lost consciousness. With any luck, he’d be out for a while, and all this would be over before he came to.

  Caldan’s hands shook, and his skin burned. The water dripping down felt like ice on his skin. A calm came over him. He’d just killed again with sorcery. And he didn’t regret doing so, just the method. What was he becoming?

  He crossed the clearing. This time, the rain fell slowly, as if reluctant to land. Everything moved slowly… so slowly.

  He passed the corpse of the soldier he’d killed. It was a charred mess. Splinters of white bone stuck out in places.

  Caldan swallowed. For Miranda, he told himself. He could feel himself sweating, even in the cold air. His blood burned in his veins like molten metal. It thrummed, reminding him of beating wings. His trinket ring pricked his finger, as if it had grown thorns. He had no idea how many other soldiers there were, but it didn’t matter. He had to kill them, or all was lost.

  Inside the mill, Elpidia, Bees, and Amerdan were close to one wall. Behind them stood Miranda and Bells. Bells was grinning like a mad woman. She knew she’d soon be free. Both Amerdan and Bees held knives pointed at five Indryallan soldiers. Two faced Caldan, watching for either their companions or whoever had caused the detonation.

  Caldan didn’t want to look at their faces.

  He adopted an upper guard position, sword in both hands, raised above his right shoulder. His senses were sharp. He could smell the earth and the rain, the soldiers’ grime and sweat; he could hear their hearts beating.

  One of the soldiers sneered at him and stepped forward. “Put that down, boy, or you’ll hurt yourself. If we have to take it off you, you’ll regret it.”

  His words came to Caldan slowly, and he moved lethargically, as if hampered.

  Caldan ignored him. There wasn’t anything to say. Either they died, or he did. A shiver ran through him. His trinket ring grew heavy. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  His sword flashed, a line of glowing sorcery in the night. He leapt forward, blade moving in a blur of shining violence. Cut, from shoulder to hip. Step. Slice upward. Pivot. He attacked with blinding speed, the sword featherlight in his hands. The soldiers barely reacted, as if they moved through honey. Lunge. Spin and cut. A final stroke.

  Caldan stood still, scarlet sword raised above his head. Around him lay five bodies, blood soaking into the dirt. A bead of sweat ran from his right temple down his cheek.

  Across the room, Amerdan sniggered. “Five,” he said softly.

  “Shit,” exclaimed Bees.

  Caldan turned to find them all looking at him. Bells was watching him thoughtfully, while Elpidia stared in horror at the blood. His strength left in a rush, and the sword became heavy again. He lowered the blade, chest heaving. Bile rose in his throat, and his vision swam alarmingly. He sunk to his knees and breathed deeply.

  After a few moments,
the nausea passed. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at Amerdan.

  “You had no choice,” the shopkeeper said. “This is for the best.”

  Caldan lowered his eyes and stared at the blood splattered around the room. The soldiers hadn’t had a chance when the fever was upon him, and again he’d used raw destructive sorcery to kill. His hands shook, and he choked back sobs, overcome by the horror of what he’d done… the guilt and disgust that he’d enjoyed the feeling of power.

  Amerdan patted him on the head. “We’ll drag them outside and leave at first light. In the morning, we should be far away from here.”

  Caldan levered himself to his feet, shrugging off Amerdan’s hand. He wiped his sword clean on one of the soldiers’ cloaks, avoiding looking at the others. Sheathing the trinket blade, he stepped toward the door then paused.

  “There’s one still alive in another building. I’ll bring him here. Maybe we can learn if there are others coming after us.”

  When Caldan returned to the house where he’d left the young soldier, there was no sign of him. He’d come to and ran. Obviously he’d seen what remained of his companions when they’d dumped the other soldiers’ bodies outside. Caldan sighed and decided not to give chase. There’d been enough killing for one day. And all the blood was on his hands. Maybe he’d regret it later, but for now, he’d had his fill of killing.

  Chapter Two

  Caldan tore a loaf of bread into chunks and dipped them into the pot of watery stew simmering over a low fire, careful to keep his distance from the flames. Fire always brought back disturbing memories of his family’s death.

  That the bread was stale and the stew virtually tasteless didn’t bother him as he crouched over the pot, hastily shoveling in a late evening meal. He was bone tired. They all were. They’d spent the last few days making as much distance from Anasoma as they could, only stopping at night for short rests. Caldan only managed an hour or two of sleep each time. His thoughts kept returning to the soldiers he’d killed, and guilt gnawed at him.

  A stray gust of wind blew smoke into his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. He spooned stew into a wooden bowl and carried it to the hunched figure of Miranda sitting against a tree. He began feeding spoonfuls of stew to her, taking care to blow on each one to make sure it wouldn’t burn her mouth. He gently scraped away any dribbles as she chewed and swallowed methodically, her eyes never leaving the fire. When the bowl was half-empty, she closed her mouth and refused to let him feed her another spoonful. Caldan sighed, wiped her lips with a cloth, and walked over to the pot, returning the uneaten stew.

  Bells sat on the other side of the fire from Miranda. Her hands and feet were bound with rope, which was also looped around the trunk of the tree behind her. Caldan glanced briefly in her direction before leaving both bowl and spoon on the ground.

  “Don’t I get any?” asked Bells with a tinge of amusement. “I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning.”

  Caldan clenched his jaw. “Someone else will feed you later.”

  Bells chuckled. “But you do it so well, so… gently.”

  Caldan closed his eyes for a few seconds and drew in a deep breath. He still wanted to beat a cure for Miranda out of her. But information obtained by force couldn’t be trusted. He realized he hated Bells with an intensity that startled him. She was also responsible for Simmon’s death, and all the others he’d lost in Anasoma. With deliberate steps, he walked to their belongings—barely a few small packs and a couple of sacks.

  “They’ll send more after me,” Bells called to his back. “And you won’t deal with them so easily this time.”

  Caldan took the trinket sword from the pile and strode from the camp, looking for Elpidia.

  The physiker sat atop a small rise, watching the sun descend toward the horizon. She didn’t stir as he approached. The rash on the side of her neck had worsened, and inflamed red lines ran through it where she had scratched.

  He sat beside her, sword across his thighs.

  Elpidia shifted her weight, then spoke. “She isn’t getting any better, is she? I mean…” She waved a hand in the air. “After a few days, I expected some improvement but…”

  Caldan shook his head. “I thought the tremors would subside, but they haven’t. She still can’t feed herself, and her speech hasn’t improved since yesterday, so… I guess she needs more time.”

  “With the medicines I gave her not working,” Elpidia said, “I don’t know what else to do. If we were in Anasoma or one of the cities, I’d recommend we take her to someone more knowledgeable than me.” She eyed Caldan. “Is there a chance we’ll make it to somewhere large enough to have a physiker soon?”

  “Maybe. If we have to. I don’t know the layout of the empire west of Anasoma, but both Amerdan and Bees say they know where most of the towns and cities are. Though, the further west we travel, the less sure they will be.” Caldan watched as Elpidia scratched her neck then her shoulder before he went on. “It’s not a physical sickness; it’s her mind. I think they… damaged something when they tried to control her. No physiker can fix that. I don’t know if anyone can. The best I can think of is waiting to see if she recovers on her own.”

  Elpidia looked at him. “Some physikers study illnesses of the mind; they’d have a better idea of what to do. I’m not used to waiting to see if someone gets better. I find the more I do for a patient, the better off they usually are. Usually. Not everything is curable. If I was trying to heal someone whose mind had been damaged by sorcery, then it stands to reason that someone versed in such sorcery would be a logical place to start.”

  “No,” Caldan said. “I’m not letting her near Miranda to work sorcery on her again.”

  At his tone, Elpidia held up her hands to placate him. “That’s not what I was suggesting. She has the knowledge, and you have no small skill with sorcery. Perhaps if you questioned her…”

  “No,” Caldan repeated, shaking his head. “We can’t trust her, and I wouldn’t be able to spot a trap if she tried to set one for me. I just don’t know enough, and it would be too easy for her to hurt us.”

  “You couldn’t try anything yourself?”

  “I have no idea at the moment how coercive sorcery works, though certainly it differs a lot from any crafting I know. From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t need a physical object for it to work, which I would have thought impossible.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I mean, how do you know it isn’t exactly the same as crafting? Both Bells and her partner had many crafted objects on them; maybe one allowed them to use coercive sorcery.”

  “I… I guess. I don’t know.” Caldan cursed under his breath, drawing a sharp look from Elpidia. “Um… sorry.”

  Elpidia tilted her head, acknowledging his apology.

  He continued. “There’s too much I don’t know.”

  “Well, you have a source of information, if you’re willing to risk it.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.”

  “Is there anything you need?” Caldan asked, eyeing her rash. “For your… sickness?”

  Elpidia turned her face away from him. “You know what I need. But without a place to experiment and a suitable laboratory, it’s useless to me anyway. What I also need most of all is time. Sitting around in the middle of nowhere chafes at me. I can feel time slipping away.”

  Caldan shifted his shoulders at her words and ran a hand along the sword’s scabbard. It was serviceable, unadorned leather, completely unlike the blade it hid.

  Choices and priorities ran around his mind; he couldn’t settle on one, and over the last few nights, in the brief times he’d had to sleep, he hadn’t been able to rest because of it. Elpidia was desperate, and desperate people did desperate things. He could only trust the physiker to do what was best for herself.

  He needed to get word to the Protectors outside Anasoma. Did they even know about the invasion and the use of forbidden sorce
ry by the Indryallans? And more than that, he had to return Simmon’s sword to them. But both destructive and coercive sorcery were prohibited. Though, the Protectors used destructive sorcery themselves when they needed to; he had seen it. Both Simmon and Jazintha had done so. He felt a stab of grief and closed his eyes at the thought of the two masters, both dead now, Jazintha by Simmon’s hand, and Simmon presumably by his own. Caldan clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

  If the Protectors used destructive sorcery to combat rogue sorcerers, did they also use coercive sorcery? Or was that a line they dared not cross? Would he damn himself in their eyes if he tried to learn it, even to save someone else?

  He shook his head. There was too much he didn’t know. But he couldn’t give up on Miranda. He wanted… no, needed to do whatever he could to restore her sanity. No matter the cost.

  He glanced at Elpidia waiting patiently at his side then back to their meager camp. Bees and the shopkeeper Amerdan were returning from scavenging firewood. Smoke drifted up from the fire as they placed a few branches on the coals and the rest in a pile.

  Too many troubles, when only a short time ago all he had to worry about was learning as much crafting as he could and where to take Miranda out for dinner. His hand moved to touch the ring on his finger, his trinket, then to the bone ring around his neck. How things had changed in a few short months.

  The sun dipped over the horizon, another day of running and fear over. That’s all they had been doing since escaping Anasoma: running, looking over their shoulders, pushing themselves to a punishing pace in order to get as much distance between them and the city as possible. Caldan reasoned, with Bells missing and Keys dead, along with the six soldiers he’d killed, someone wouldn’t be far behind. Disgust at what he’d had to do, and what he was becoming, filled him.