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

by Mitchell Hogan

  Despite the cool nights, the days were still warm, and Caldan was grateful for his spot out of the sun. He positioned himself next to a stack of empty barrels and took the opportunity to sit on one. Back leaning against the wall and legs dangling over the side, he watched the sport. A light steady breeze flowed through the courtyard and he could smell the dusty, earthy scent of the sunbaked earth coupled with the fresh sweat of the apprentices and a faint hint of grass and flowery perfume.

  Caldan estimated there were close to a hundred young apprentices gathered in the courtyard, as well as a dozen older journeymen and three masters, with roughly a third girls. The disparity in the numbers of younger to older apprentices puzzled him. Did they fail and expel so many that in a few years only a fraction remained? Was what they were learning so difficult or arduous that such a winnowing was needed? Or were there apprentices somewhere else, sent for additional training as they got older?

  The staccato clash of wooden practice swords brought Caldan back to the present. He could see the younger apprentices were of vastly differing skill levels. They tried to pair them up with a partner of similar ability, but sometimes the gap in skill was too great and the match ended in short order. Best of three touches, no blows to the head, hands or groin, as far as Caldan could tell.

  One older apprentice, bigger than his fellows, took delight in pulling his blows too late to prevent most of the impact when they landed. From their pained expressions during and after the matches, it was clear his opponents were not happy to be facing him. A couple of the masters frowned at the apprentice whenever he landed a too hard blow and his opponents yelped in pain or swore under their breaths, but they didn’t stop the bouts.

  He caught Caldan staring at him and sneered. Caldan shook his head and looked away. No point in antagonizing anyone; he would be gone from here as soon as Master Garren returned.

  Disappointed expressions and pleased looks ended each practice match, the smaller circle sparring finishing much quicker than the large circle fights. The overall skill of the apprentices was not as high as he thought it would be. Some of the older apprentices approached the practice with a workmanlike attitude, as if practicing a skill they would rarely use, and were going through the motions.

  “What do you think?” asked a voice right beside Caldan. He turned to find Master Simmon leaning against the wall next to him.

  “You startled me. I didn’t see you there.”

  Simmon shrugged. “You weren’t supposed to.” He crossed his arms and looked out at the apprentices. “You’re older than most of them and have studied sword fighting. What do you think of their skill?”

  Caldan struggled to come up with something polite to say, shifting his weight on the barrel, finding a more comfortable position to gain time to think. “Er… they’re fine. What I mean is… there’s a broad range of skills out there. Some are better than others.” He didn’t know why the master was talking to him and hoped it wasn’t another test of some kind.

  “Very diplomatic of you.” Simmon continued to gaze out at the apprentices, eyes shifting from one practice bout to another. “Give me an honest opinion.”

  Caldan decided to tell the truth, after all Simmon had asked for it. “Most are barely adequate. I mean, they are still young, but I don’t see many that move fluidly, that look like they have a talent for the sword. See this one here.” He pointed to a boy with reddish hair. “He might have some talent. I’d have to watch him a bit more to see. The only others that are good are the older journeymen and the masters.”

  Across the courtyard, the bigger apprentice landed a hard blow on a skinny boy who fell to the dirt, clutching both hands to his stomach. Caldan wrinkled his nose disapprovingly at the unnecessary force.

  “No one fails their apprenticeship with the Sorcerers’ Guild based on their sword work, but we do have a high attrition rate. Apprentices with good sword skills are considered for the Protectors once they become journeymen.”

  “What is it the Protectors do?” asked Caldan frankly.

  “You said you studied history?”

  “Yes, but there isn’t a lot of writing on the Protectors. All I know is that you’re the sorcerers’ martial arm, like guards.”

  A snort of amusement from Simmon followed his statement. “Then you don’t know much about us and what we do. Guards…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You’ll learn more later from the masters, if you get to work with them. There are many different roles in the Protectors, as there are within all professions, including the sorcerers. Sword skill is valuable for certain tasks, just as skill in crafting is for others.”

  “You practice crafting as well?”

  “Indeed. The Protectors know a lot about crafting, we’re sorcerers after all.” Simmon stopped abruptly, as if about to say more but thinking better of it. “The older apprentices whose talents lie in other areas obviously don’t need to come to all of these practice sessions.” He gestured with one hand to the ones that had, two of whom were struggling to land a blow on each other. “But they must at least be able to keep to an acceptable standard.”

  “And that’s acceptable?”

  Master Simmon again pierced him with a hard look. “Think you can do better?”

  “Ah…well… yes. I think I can.”

  “At least you say what you think. Come on, let’s see how you do.” He strode past a group of apprentices watching one of the matches.

  By the ancestors, Caldan had to open his mouth and be honest. He levered himself off the barrel and followed closely in Simmon’s wake.

  Simmon stopped at the edge of the larger circle, waiting for the match in progress to finish. A few apprentices eyed Caldan as he stood behind the master. Some whispered to each other and gestured in his direction.

  A brief spatter of applause and a few cheers signaled the end of the match. Not as much as usual, though. All eyes had turned to Simmon and Caldan, wondering what was happening. Caldan felt himself propelled forward as Simmon turned and gripped his shoulder hard, then forced him into the clear space. Simmon took the two practice swords from the pair, who stood there still panting and sweating in the afternoon sun. He handed one to Caldan, who accepted it reluctantly.

  “Who am I fighting?” he asked.

  Simmon grinned at him and stepped back a few yards, sweeping his sword in front of him in a classic guard position.

  “Me,” he replied, executing a lunge straight for Caldan’s chest.

  A shift in Simmon’s posture had alerted Caldan to the attack, and his own sword whipped up in time to deflect the blade, though it came faster than any he had seen today. He leapt back. Simmon slashed at his neck. Caldan sidestepped and jerked his sword up in defense. Wood came together with a sharp crack. Their blades met again in a tentative probing.

  Caldan started sweating, heart hammering and blood pumping hard. The grip of his sword felt slick in his sweaty palms. Cheers and shouts from the apprentices faded to a faint buzz, barely audible.

  Simmon took three steps to his right in an arc, always keeping the same distance from Caldan, but the way he moved didn’t seem right.

  Simmon’s muscles tensed, he grunted and leapt forward, both feet leaving the ground. His sword swooped down from behind him in a wide curve. To Caldan, he looked like he moved at three quarters speed.

  Blades met again as Caldan parried Simmon’s attacks with an ease he hadn’t known possible. An opening came, but Caldan, puzzled with what was happening, halted his attack.

  Was Simmon trying to trick him? Make him think he had a chance against a master of the Protectors? Or setting him up in front of the apprentices?

  Caldan saw each of the attacks and feints in Simmon’s next combination as if he knew where the sword would be before it moved. Two thrusts he parried, two feints he ignored, and two cuts he moved to avoid. A frown appeared on Simmon’s face.

  Caldan drove his sword towards Simmon’s neck then switched the direction at the last instant to sweep into his side. Sim
mon’s couldn’t adjust in time.

  Caldan’s blade hit Simmon’s side above the hip. A touch.

  They stopped and stared, both as surprised as each other.

  “One to you.” Simmon’s voice rang clearly in the yard. The shouts of the apprentices hushed to silence. All their eyes were on Caldan and the master.

  Caldan moved and reacted faster than ever before. He wasn’t better or more skilled. By the ancestors, what was happening?

  Simmon’s sword darted in as he renewed his attacks. Caldan countered all with ease. He couldn’t believe it. Simmon’s technique was perfect, his attacks focused and faultless, his defense exceptional. But he couldn’t handle Caldan’s newfound speed and the swiftness of his reactions.

  Caldan countered as fast as he could, a simple attacking three slash combination. Taught early on in sword training, the attack and defense against it were mastered early by all and included in the practice forms.

  His third cut of the combination hit home on Simmon’s shoulder, Caldan struggling to pull the blow he thought would never land.

  Both the master and Caldan stepped back, swords lowered.

  “Two to you,” growled Simmon. A curious look had replaced his surprised expression. “We have a victor.”

  Best of three touches, of course. The bout was over.

  Simmon gave him a thoughtful look. He turned to address the crowd of apprentices.

  “Let this be a lesson to you all,” he said, deep voice rising to drown the excited buzz. “Never underestimate an opponent, as there’s always someone stronger, faster and more skilled than yourself. Expect the unexpected, then you’ll never be surprised.” His gaze passed over them all as he turned in a circle.

  “Enough for today. Everyone practice forms for an hour then study until the evening meal.” He strode to stand in front of Caldan. “Any reason you kept your skill a secret?” he asked quietly.

  “I didn’t. I mean, sorcerers don’t need sword skill, right? It’s only for exercise and to have fun.”

  “Fun,” Simmon repeated. He looked Caldan in the eye. “Most of the apprentices probably couldn’t follow the fight, it was so fast. I struggled from the beginning. I couldn’t believe I didn’t get a touch on you at the start.” He paused to think, brushing sweat off his nose and running a hand through his black hair.

  “How long did Master Garren see you for, when you came here to ask about work?”

  “Not that long. He asked some questions, and I gave him a crafting demonstration, which didn’t work out well.”

  “How old were you when the monastery took you in?”

  Caldan didn’t want to talk about that time, or how long it took the monks to get him to speak again. “Seven,” he said. “What’s this have to do with anything?”

  Simmon held a hand up. “Easy. They took you in and you studied with them until now, or you worked for your keep?”

  Caldan shook his head. He didn’t understand. Wooden swords whooshed through the air around them as the apprentices practiced forms. He could feel their curious gazes on him.

  “A bit of both. They were kind to me, after…” his throat choked up. “After they took me in.” After my parents were murdered, he thought.

  Simmon nodded in understanding. “You were working and learning from them for the last ten years?”

  Caldan nodded. “They didn’t mind what I studied. I joined in lessons with the students when I wanted, except I didn’t have to pass exams. Sometimes it was just me and one of the monks discussing theory or practicing.”

  “The Way of the Sword, crafting, alchemy. And Dominion as well?”

  “Yes.”

  Simmon rubbed his beard. “You have spent ten years living and training at one of the institutions with a great reputation for teaching, so much so that nobles pay for their children to study under the monks. And Garren, I mean Master Garren, didn’t question you on this?”

  “Um…no, Master. I… I hadn’t thought it was worth going into.”

  Simmon sighed. “All right.” He looked around at the apprentices, frowning in thought. “I want to talk to you more about this later. I think Master Garren wasn’t thorough enough when he interviewed you. Anyway, you had better get back to what tasks you have this afternoon. This has taken up enough of your time, and mine.”

  Still out of sorts from the practice match, Caldan nodded and slipped through the groups of apprentices, leaving his sword in a pile with the other spares.

  Most apprentices he passed looked at him, some staring and some with furtive glances. Many whispered to their colleagues as he passed.

  The apprentices didn’t know why he was there, and now he had defeated one of the masters in sword practice. He couldn’t guess what the rumors were about him now, especially with his bruises and scarred cheek. He needed some time to think, to get away from the crowded courtyard. He hurried through one of the corridors and into the large garden he had crossed with Garren when he first came here. Finding a shady spot under a leafy tree, he lay down.

  Grass poked into his back and arms through his clothes, but the smell of the lawn and plants around him, and the relative silence away from the Protectors’ quarters, served to put him at ease. Slowly, he relaxed, eyes closed, breathing in the warm afternoon air.

  “You’re a hard man to find!” A chirpy female voice woke him. He opened his eyes to see Miranda above him, looking down with a frown on her face. “Asleep during the day. Captain Charlotte would have you whipped!”

  She brushed a strand of her long hair from her face. No longer dressed in her usual rough sailor’s clothes, she wore a long, dark red dress with a wide brown leather belt cinched around her narrow waist.

  Caldan struggled to a sitting position. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “You.” He wasn’t awake yet, his thoughts muddled.

  Miranda’s expression changed to a warm smile, slightly embarrassed. “If I wasn’t the forgiving type, I’d think you forgot my name.”

  Caldan quailed inside. “Miranda. Sorry. I was… resting my eyes.” He managed to stand but wobbled, the grass uneven under his feet. “What are you… I thought the Loretta had left. I saw its berth empty.”

  “Pleased to see you again, too. And may I say your appearance has improved,” she commented. Her hand came up to touch his injured cheek, and her tone softened. “What happened?”

  Caldan’s face felt hot as he blushed. He turned away from her hand, skin tingling where she had touched him.

  “I wandered where I shouldn’t have and was robbed. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “It looks like it happened weeks ago, not recently.” Miranda looked puzzled. “Those stitches need to come out or the skin will grow over them.”

  “The physiker said to come back in ten days. It’s hardly been three.”

  “I’ve seen some wounds on the ship, and helped stitch up cuts after fights, and I think they need to come out. Come on, do you have some spare time? There are a few hours of daylight left. I can have the stitches out quicker than you can say… ouch.” She grinned.

  “Ah, I’d rather the physiker took them out.”

  Miranda gave an amused, lilting laugh. “A professional hand is needed, is it? I know when I’m not wanted.”

  “No, it’s just that… It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

  She looked different to Caldan. Out of her rough cotton pants and shirt, and clothed in what must be her good dress — he thought she was pretty before, but now she looked… striking. Caldan stood there for a moment. His heart hammered in his chest.

  “It’s that you would rather a professional did it?”

  “I’ll get some ointment from her as well, to help the scar heal.”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you find me? And who let you into the building?”

  “Captain Charlotte told me she’d suggested the Otter to you, so I checked there, and the innkeeper told me the last he spoke to you the Sorcerers’ Guild was your destination. He sounded quite concerned
that you hadn’t returned. Told me I should check down by the docks among the unskilled laborers.”

  Caldan shook his head, face grim. “They’re a sorry lot. It must be hard for them here. So, I’m glad things turned out for the best for me. How did you get in here?”

  Miranda laughed, cheeks dimpling. “By asking young boys eager to impress an older woman, and a ducat or two in the right palms.”

  She seemed amused by her ability to wander into the Sorcerers’ Guild unescorted. Caldan gathered himself then held out his arm for her. “Shall we go?”

  She nodded and took his arm, and they made their way off the grass and onto the paved path.

  Miranda wrinkled her nose. “You smell. Been doing some exercise?”

  Caldan became aware of his ruffled state. Wrinkled, sweaty clothes that hadn’t had a proper wash for some time.

  “It’s been a strange day,” he said. Miranda raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t answer my question. What happened to the Loretta? Why didn’t you sail with her?”

  Shadow overlaid the path as the sun had dipped below the top of the tall walls. They passed through patches of sunlight that shone through gaps between buildings.

  Miranda took a while to reply. Caldan thought she discarded several answers before speaking.

  “That life, at sea, it wasn’t for me. The Loretta was a fine place for a while. It let me get myself together. Captain Charlotte… I couldn’t have asked for a more understanding person.” She broke off and swallowed. “But I grew up in the city, and that’s where I’m more comfortable.” Miranda stopped and went quiet. Caldan let her be.

  They strolled through an opening at the end of the garden and down a wide corridor. As they exited through a large doorway onto a crowded street, she continued.

  “I have some ducats saved, and I want to settle down, maybe open my own business, if I can.” She let out a throaty laugh. “But you probably think that’s silly.”