Someone moved a few dozen paces away, and Amerdan’s heart hammered. How . . . how had he sensed them move? He closed his eyes and concentrated. There was a mark of some kind he could feel, though there were walls between him and it, whatever it was. It seemed to call to him, as if it were a gash in the sorcerous senses he was only just learning how to use.
No, not a gash. A well.
A sorcerer.
Amerdan stumbled backward a step, then recovered, and understood something else in that moment.
Someone’s hunting me.
He took a deep breath and crept to the door. There was only one way out of this room, and he wouldn’t let himself be trapped like an animal. His abilities as a sorcerer were still mostly unknown to him, and if he came up against one of the warlocks or Protectors, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to defeat them.
That fact galled and intrigued him at the same time. Amerdan shook his head. He could learn more about crafting later; now he needed to make sure he was safe. They were after him, and as weak as he was, he should flee.
Run, Dotty said, squirming against his chest. Coward.
Amerdan winced at her harsh tone. She was right, but she was also wrong. How could she be both? He carefully lifted the latch on the door, and seeing there was no light in the corridor, he slipped outside and felt his way through the pitch-blackness away from the sorcerer.
Illumination erupted behind him, throwing his shadow against a wall directly in front of him. He was almost at a corner. He quickly ducked around it and hid as voices drifted down the corridor.
“I thought I felt something,” a woman said.
“Where?” said a man. “This is the fifth building we’ve searched, and there’s been no sign. Whoever you’re after, he’s long gone.”
“No,” the woman said. “There was . . . bah! Perhaps you’re right. But Gazija said we should check this area, and we will.”
“It’s your ducats, and this is better than fighting the jukari.”
There were laughs following the man’s statement. A sorcerer and at least four men, probably all warriors of some kind. Mercenaries, from what they’d said about ducats.
Dotty wouldn’t like it, but he had to run. One day, though, they’d be the ones to flee from him.
Amerdan moved stealthily down the corridor until the light they carried faded. He felt his way along the wall. In this section, he knew where he was going—some narrow servants’ stairs at the back of the building. Then he’d be out a side door and on the streets.
Dotty’s words followed him all the way.
Coward.
That he might be, but he wasn’t worried about himself at the moment. Who was Gazija, and why had he or she sent sorcerers and mercenaries after him? Whoever it was knew he was in this part of Riversedge, and that was not good at all. As much as he hated to, Amerdan had no option but to leave the city until he knew more.
CHAPTER 6
Footsteps approached Caldan from behind. He turned to see Thenna striding toward him, gingerly lifting the hem of her skirt above the blood and gore.
What does she want?
He brushed at his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself.
She stopped a few steps away and looked down at him. After a moment, her wrinkled, suntanned face screwed up in contempt.
“Where are Melker and Gorton?” she demanded.
Caldan pointed to a squad of Quivers some distance away. The two warlocks were among their number, all of them taking swigs from a bottle. “They’re still keeping an eye on me. I needed some time to myself. To think.”
“Devenish wants to talk to you, though I don’t know what he expects to get out of you. Waste of time, if you ask me. He should be dealing with the jukari.”
This not being his first time around her, Caldan felt pretty confident in his assessment that Thenna often spoke without considering her thoughts. It made him wonder how high the warlocks placed wisdom on their list of priorities for membership. Not that he doubted her intelligence—only her shrewdness.
But that’s her problem . . . and maybe my advantage.
So Caldan just nodded, then stood. His legs wobbled for a moment, and he feared he might lose his balance. When he felt a bit sturdier, he asked, “Where is he now?”
Thenna jerked her head back the way she’d come. “In the command tent, talking with that swordsman of yours.”
“He’s not mine,” replied Caldan. “I just met him myself.” Anshul cel Rau was his own man, as far as Caldan could tell. But the fact he was meeting with the leader of the warlocks surprised him.
“Bloody savage, too. From the Steppes,” she added, not even hearing Caldan.
“I think he’s much more than he seems.” Cel Rau had risked his life to save people he didn’t know from the jukari and vormag. Then he’d joined Caldan as he’d tried to defeat Bells. Not the actions of your average barbarian.
The warlock’s eyes narrowed, and she sniffed. “Swords are no match for crafting.”
The sight of Caldan’s sword sliding through the sorcerer’s shield and into his chest flooded his vision. It seemed so long ago, in Anasoma. He twisted his trinket ring on his finger but kept his disagreement to himself. “No match for your sorcery,” he said. “It seems that you and the Indryallans have something in common.”
“That’s none of your business. I don’t like you, Caldan. You look dishonest. And despite your story, I think you’re hiding something. I’ll find out what it is, and then we’ll see how useful Devenish thinks you are.”
Caldan shrugged, and without waiting for Thenna, he trudged across the devastated ground.
Thenna followed him all the way to Devenish’s tent. Caldan could feel her eyes boring into his back, and it gave him an itch between his shoulder blades—one he resisted scratching while she watched him.
Let her think what she thinks. I’m sure she’s dangerous, but she’s not who I need to convince.
Now, if Devenish turns on me, then I’ll need to worry . . .
Two young women were still on guard outside the tent, one on either side of the opening. Their long blond hair hung loose, and their dark eyes seemed to miss nothing. By their clothes—black, with silver flower buttons—Caldan was sure they were warlocks. Obviously, he could confirm that if he sensed their wells, but he didn’t want to expose himself. Still, it was a reminder that he swam in unknown waters now. The appearance the warlocks put on was just that, a veneer hiding their true purpose. And until he could determine what that was, observation was his best weapon.
As he approached, the women looked him up and down before opening the tent flaps and gesturing him inside. They then looked over his shoulder at Thenna, and Caldan was surprised to see one of them sneer.
Professional or personal contempt? wondered Caldan. He pretended not to notice, but filed the exchange away. Small actions like this—little remarks, or the way people reacted around others—were helping him piece together a picture of this strange new world he found himself in. And the first image that was coming into focus was the fact that the warlocks were not some singular, unified entity. There were factions and schisms. And while he couldn’t be sure why that was important right now, he was certainly going to keep his eyes out for who was aligned with whom.
As the monks had taught him all those years, No knowledge is useless knowledge.
“The Protector only,” said one of the women. “You can wait outside, Thenna.”
“Devenish sent me to collect him,” spluttered Thenna. “And I’ll deliver him myself.”
“You have. We don’t have orders to admit you as well.”
Caldan glanced behind him to see a red-faced Thenna glaring at the other warlocks. He thought for a moment, then spoke.
“Devenish assigned Thenna to watch over me. If you send her away, you’ll just have to chase after her when he realizes you didn’t let her in.”
Both of the young warlocks turned hard eyes on him. “Is that so?”
Caldan n
odded. “Come on, Thenna, let’s go inside. I’m sure Devenish doesn’t want to be kept waiting.” He stepped into the tent opening, one foot inside and one out, and beckoned to Thenna. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then strode through the opening. As she passed him, she gave him a frown, but she also narrowed her eyes and nodded minutely.
Now, it didn’t matter to him whether Thenna was present when he talked to Devenish, but it mattered to her.
Small steps.
Inside, rugs lay on the ground, and the space was dominated by a map-covered table, the corners of paper held down with river stones. The uppermost map looked to be of Riversedge, with groupings of small black and white stones denoting what he assumed to be positions of the jukari forces and the emperor’s own.
Devenish stood on the other side of the table, conversing with cel Rau in terse, hushed tones. When they saw Caldan enter, they broke their conversation off abruptly.
“We’ll take this up again later,” Devenish said.
Cel Rau nodded, hands resting on his sword pommels. He smiled at Caldan, tight-lipped, then looked at the maps, as if they were of interest to him.
“He came quietly,” blurted Thenna, moving to stand beside Caldan. “Found him staring at the mess the Indryallan sorcery caused.”
“Of course he did,” replied Devenish, stepping toward them. “What else could he do? Thenna, would you be kind enough to find Kristof and bring him here? Oh, and that new physiker—what’s her name?”
“Tamara.”
“Yes, that’s it. Bring her as well.”
“But why?” protested Thenna. “Are you ill? I can—”
“It’s not for me.” Devenish placed a hand on her shoulder and kept his eyes on hers. “Please, Thenna.”
She looked down and away. “Of course. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She turned and left the tent.
Devenish went to a side table and poured wine into two bronze goblets. He handed one to Caldan before taking a sip. Caldan followed suit and forced himself to swallow. The wine was excellent, with a hint of black cherries and pepper.
“So, Caldan,” Devenish said, “cel Rau here tells me you also had a hand in fighting some of the jukari away from people fleeing the horde. Your actions allowed a good many more to reach the safety of Riversedge.”
Caldan inclined his head in affirmation, not trusting himself to speak. How much had cel Rau told Devenish? Caldan himself had revealed to the warlock that he was both Touched and a sorcerer. But the thought of Devenish knowing exactly what he was capable of filled him with unease.
Devenish studied Caldan’s face. “I understand your reticence. It’s a valuable gift you have, and rare. Very rare. The emperor likes to keep those we know are Touched close to him and in his service. You can understand why.”
“Yes. They . . . we would be useful.”
“Yes, useful. But not just for the emperor, Caldan—for you, too. What you don’t know is that the more you use your unique abilities, the harder it will go for you. It’s the strain, you see. On your muscles. Your bones. Your mind. If left uncontrolled, you’ll use your abilities whenever they’re triggered by stress or a threat. Who wouldn’t? That’s when they’re most useful. But go down that path, and you’ll be unable to hold off the side effects. Only a few trinkets can help you with this. And only the emperor’s warlocks can provide them, if you want to survive more than a few years longer.”
“So you say. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Devenish shook his head. “You don’t. But you’ll soon come to realize I am. And the only way you can avoid, ah . . . unpleasantness . . . is to swear to serve your emperor. And what could be a finer, more important calling than that?”
“And what about crafting? That’s all I really want to do.”
“I’ve a few ideas about how your talents can greatly benefit the empire. But first, I have a task for you.”
He evaded the question, Caldan thought. And what is this about a task? He glanced at the swordsman to find cel Rau staring at him, maps forgotten. “What do you want me to do?” he asked Devenish.
“Kill jukari and vormag, of course. What else is there to do at the moment?”
“Why me, though? I’m sure you have enough warlocks and Quivers. And now you also have the mercenary bands.”
Devenish’s mouth twisted with distaste. “Sellswords won’t help us much.”
That’s not what you thought before, when the mercenaries rescued the Quivers.
And you want me to trust you? Well, I can play that game, too.
“If you say so, but I don’t see what good I’d be: I’m a sorcerer, and the finer points of battle elude me.”
Devenish’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Caldan for a moment. You’re more than just a sorcerer, the look seemed to say, and we both know that.
“The mercenaries can’t be trusted, though they’ll be useful for softening up the jukari. The warlocks have their own tasks, and you can be sure they’ll be fighting the vormag. But many are needed to defend Riversedge, and, of course, the emperor.”
Caldan suppressed a sigh. He had no idea what Devenish’s intentions toward him were, but if the warlock wanted him to kill jukari, then he’d have his wish. If anything, it would give him time to learn a bit more about the warlocks and come to a decision about serving the emperor . . . or not.
He nodded his agreement. “I’ll do it.”
“Of course you will,” said Devenish. “Oh, and Thenna will go along with you. She’ll be able to judge the strength of your sorcery and see your craftings at work. I assume you have some you’ve made?”
Caldan was about to reply when a wave of nausea flowed through him. His stomach churned, and he felt blood rush to his face. “Excuse me,” he managed to mumble weakly. “Do you mind if I . . .” Without waiting for a response, he staggered over to the map table and rested his weight on it. His hands felt slick, as if he was sweating profusely, which he then realized he was. He breathed deeply, trying to banish his queasiness, which eased a little. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s . . .” What had Devenish asked him about? Oh, yes, my craftings.
Caldan turned to see Devenish regarding him calmly. “Yes,” he replied belatedly. “I have three craftings I’ve made: a shield crafting and two automatons. I’m sure you’ll see how advanced they are.”
He could feel sweat snaking down his scalp, and he still felt weak. Taking a breath, he straightened and tried to pretend he’d recovered.
“Good,” said Devenish. “But automatons are mostly useless. You’ll need to craft more usable pieces soon, if you’re to be any help. Then—”
Devenish paused as the tent flap opened and Thenna entered, followed by one of the biggest men Caldan had ever seen and a slender, dark-haired woman.
The man limped, and he looked like a grizzled veteran, but he wore a sword with a crafted hilt, along with many silver rings. Caldan could feel them vibrating at the edge of his awareness. Trinkets. The woman had none, but instead carried a leather kit similar to Elpidia’s. At the thought of her, Caldan’s throat tightened, and he swallowed with difficulty.
“Ah, Kristof!” exclaimed Devenish, as if greeting an old friend. “And Tamara.”
“Oh, you remembered!” the physiker remarked with a simper. She glanced at Devenish, then looked down and away.
Beside her, Thenna crossed her arms, and her mouth drew into a thin line. “I brought them, as you wanted. Though fetching isn’t my strongest skill.”
“I know, Thenna. My thanks.”
Thenna scowled at Devenish, then glanced at Tamara. Her scowl deepened.
Devenish approached Kristof, and they clasped hands.
“Wine?” asked the warlock.
“No,” replied Kristof in a deep voice. “It interferes with the effectiveness of the herbs I’m taking. Or so they tell me.”
“Ah. Well, later, perhaps. Tamara?”
“Oh, no. Thank you for asking. Not while I’m working. Is there someone I’m h
ere to treat? I don’t see anyone who looks injured.”
“There will be.” Devenish cleared his throat. “Caldan here is a . . . special one.”
At his words, Kristof’s eyes bored into Caldan’s.
“He used his talents to help save some refugees from the jukari earlier. For an extended period. Or so I was told.”
Devenish and Kristof exchanged a meaningful look, then Kristof grunted. Tamara nodded knowingly.
“Kristof, you’ll need to assess him. I know there’s plenty of work here with the jukari to keep you occupied, but obviously this is important—and he might be able to help. And Tamara, you know what to do. He’ll need something to keep him going and get him through a few rough days.”
Caldan didn’t like the fact that they were talking about him as if he weren’t there. And why would he need a physiker to get him through the next few days? “What do you mean?” he asked warily.
Devenish waved at Kristof. “He’ll explain on the way. Kristof, be so good as to escort Caldan to your encampment. Find him any equipment he needs, and a bedroll or some such out of the way of the others. You’ll both need your rest before tomorrow.”
Tamara was nodding, while Kristof gave Caldan a penetrating look.
“Come with me,” the big man said. “I’m sure you’ve a lot of questions.”
“Wait,” Caldan said. “Devenish, I need to talk to you about Joachim and what happened to me in Riversedge.”
“Tomorrow,” replied the warlock.
“Maybe,” said Kristof, and Devenish nodded.
“Maybe, then,” the warlock said. “We’ll be busy with the jukari for a while, so whatever you need to speak about, it can wait. The vormag are proving troublesome. They’ve learned some things I wouldn’t have expected, as if someone’s been teaching them sorcery . . .” He shook his head. “No matter. Be off with you. Oh, and Kristof, Caldan is also a sorcerer.” It sounded like a warning. “Thenna will question him when he’s recovered. But for the moment, I need to talk to her.”
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