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

by Mitchell Hogan

  “Well. I’m well, thank you.”

  He saw Renen pause for a moment before continuing to bustle around the room, opening drapes and one window to let the sunlight and air in. Kesmon realized he hadn’t thanked Renen often enough for his services. When was the last time? He couldn’t remember.

  He blinked in the light then reached for a piece of toasted bread. Dipping it into the honey, he took a bite and chewed. Renen poured a mug of coffee then stood in front of the desk, ready to receive this morning’s orders. Kesmon slurped a few times from the mug and relaxed, shoulders lowering slightly.

  “We have much to do today,” he said through a mouthful.

  “We, sir?”

  “Indeed, we. You have been with me for what, five years?”

  “Thirteen, sir.”

  “Ah, and never a complaint or show of frustration in doing your job.”

  “It is not my place, sir.”

  Lord Kesmon nodded wryly. “Indeed it is not.”

  Renen was a good man, a dedicated employee. Was there something he could do for him? Ah, a reward, perhaps? The pain in his head lifted, and his thoughts coalesced. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Still, you have been an excellent employee, and such diligence and proficiency should be rewarded, should it not?” He drew a blank paper from a pile and dipped his pen in the inkwell, then furiously scribbled on the page, signing at the end with a flourish. Lifting the page to blow on the still wet ink, he reread what he had written. The page trembled in his hands, and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. His breath came in short gasps… then a calm came over him. He blinked furiously, as if a bright light shone into his eyes.

  “Sir, if I may be so bold, are you well?” asked Renen.

  Kesmon handed the paper to Renen. “Never better,” he said with a smile. “There, that should be sufficient. I’m going to need good people around me for the coming months.”

  “Sir?”

  Kesmon waved a hand. “Never mind. Read it.”

  Renen moved his gaze to the paper. His mouth dropped open.

  “I… sir…I don’t know what to say. This is…”

  “Uncharacteristic? Unexpected? Un… something?!” Kesmon snorted and took a mouthful from his mug. “It’s time to make a few changes around here, and to the way House Kesmon does business.” He coughed and cleared his throat, running a hand over his sweating brow.

  He waved his empty mug for a refill. Renen’s hands shook as he poured the steaming drink from the pitcher.

  On board the strange ship docked in the harbor, Bells and Keys sat in the captain’s cabin. They had commandeered it for the next few days whilst vital plans were carried out. Dressed in functional clothes, both could have passed through any district in Anasoma without raising an eyebrow from the populace, their clothes plain enough not to warrant much attention in Dockside, yet of sufficient quality for them to have walked through Parkside without drawing undue notice.

  Keys yawned and rubbed bleary eyes. They’d worked hard since arriving and had slept little, and would soon have to leave to meet the other ships.

  Smiling, Bells handed him a mug of tea from a table next to her. He’s drained himself with all we’ve had to do. He was not as strong as she was. Since they were children he’s been the weaker one.

  Keys gulped the brew, cursing as it scalded his mouth, but drained the mug.

  “Bells, it has started.”

  She nodded, dark hair tinkling. “Yes, Keys, my love. It has.” Praise the God-Emperor, may he live forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Timing was crucial. Timing and preparation were everything. This, Amerdan Lephar understood. He knew it in his bones, a knowledge that came to him as easily as breathing.

  Night had fallen. Heart racing, he locked and barred the shop door. His hands trembled, and he clenched his fists hard a few times to calm down.

  Running his eyes over the shop, he nodded, satisfied the place was uncontaminated. But he knew the dirt would come inside to spoil his peace. It always did.

  Outside in his yard, he stripped off his dirty clothes and scrubbed himself clean using a rough brush and water from the well. He stood in the cold night air until his skin dried then put on clean, fresh clothes, fine woven pants and shirt, dyed a deep stain of not quite black. He lingered over the process, each item of clothing he donned akin to revealing himself, rather than covering.

  His pigs grunted and nuzzled the pen. They were hungry since he hadn’t fed them in a few days. They needed to be prepared for later, as everything did.

  “Tonight,” he whispered to them in the dark. “Don’t worry.”

  Returning to the shop, he took a long drink from a jug of water. His mouth and throat were dry from all the cleaning; both the shop and his workroom had to be perfect. With a final look around the room, he nodded, satisfied all was in order. He reached up and removed the rag doll from its shelf, cradling it in both hands, where its bead eyes stared deeply into his.

  “Are you ready?” he whispered to the rag doll.

  It nodded at him and he smiled, stroking its head.

  “Good,” he said, pleased. “It’s time.”

  He walked to the back room, where behind a wall hanging stood a sturdy oak door, locked and barred. Amerdan lifted the bar and opened the lock with an iron key from his pocket. It had been made by one of the best locksmiths in the city, and Amerdan kept it oiled and in good condition, as he did all his tools.

  By the door were a flat leather satchel and a metal lamp. He picked both up then closed the lamp’s hood, leaving the room in darkness. He opened the door, which swung towards him, making no sound on its heavily oiled hinges.

  Amerdan and his rag doll descended into his cellar in silence. Exactly seventeen steps down, they turned right and continued. Three steps further was another door. He slipped the latch with one finger and pulled. Again, the door slid open silently.

  Amerdan stood still for a few minutes, breathing in the atmosphere of the room. Warm and humid. Fragrant with sweat and urine, and fear. The air was… bliss. He remained unmoving, letting it surround and cover him, soaking up the flavors, savoring their essence. The air was alive with promise. He would be transformed again, like so many other times. Goose bumps rose on his arms.

  A groan came from ahead of him. Metal rattled on metal, disturbing his serenity.

  Another few steps into the room, his shoes scraped on stone. At the sound, there was movement, invisible in the blackness but indicated by the clinking of chains accompanied by muffled whimpering.

  Amerdan placed the lamp on the floor and opened the hood, allowing a glimmer of light to peel away a layer of darkness.

  Limbs strained against the iron manacles surrounding ankles and wrists. Short chains attached the manacles to a thick wooden table, slick with perspiration. It writhed there in the dim light, straining against the iron which held it captive. Wide, white, scared eyes stared at him. A strangled groan escaped lips and throat desert dry after two days without water. Teeth gleamed from bared gums.

  Amerdan watched, absorbed, ignoring the moans, clinks and slap of flesh on wood. So futile, the thing’s struggles.

  White hairless body, thin sticklike limbs. Dark patches at groin and armpits. It resembled a man, but Amerdan knew it wasn’t.

  The thing’s tongue thrust out, a swollen purple chunk of meat, running across its lips in a vain attempt to moisten them.

  “Hnnnnn,” the thing moaned.

  Amerdan frowned. This wouldn’t do at all. A few squirts from a waterskin into its mouth elicited more squirming as it gulped greedily, tongue moving around its mouth.

  It breathed heavily, gasping in relief.

  “Puh… please,” it managed and swallowed. “Why… are… you… doing… this?”

  Amerdan stayed quiet. Watching. Savoring its fear.

  The thing started weeping, useless as it was. They always did after he caught them. It spat at him with whatever it could dredge up. Spittle f
lew wide of the mark and hit the floor with a splat.

  Amerdan didn’t like messes. “Not nice,” he whispered.

  “Please,” the thing repeated. “My master… will come looking for me… He’ll find you.” It stopped for a moment to regain strength. “He’ll kill you… for this outrage. And I’ll see… you burn.”

  “Hush. You don’t know the truth of things. Lesser creatures seldom realize their limitations. It’s what makes them… insignificant.”

  Its mouth closed, and nostrils flared as its lungs sucked in air, still breathing heavily. Amerdan moved to a side table where he lay his flat leather satchel. Beside it he placed his rag doll, leaning it against the wall where it could survey the room. He ran a hand in a caress over the leather satchel then flipped it open. Bright metal flashed in the lamp’s soft light. The thing tensed, whimpered.

  “My master… the Sorcerers’ Guild… they’ll find you. You can’t hide from them.”

  Amerdan drew out a long, thin blade and held it to the light, checking for imperfections. A habit. He knew there would be none; he took great care with his implements.

  The thing, apprentice to High Magus Rhithik and vessel for Amerdan, threw itself against its bonds, straining to find some weakness, some leverage to break them. Amerdan didn’t move while the struggle persisted. Eventually, it stopped, and hoarse panting echoed in the room.

  “Why?” it rasped.

  Amerdan turned, blade held in one hand. “Why?” he replied, toneless and uninterested. Always, the vessels had the same questions, unimaginative and unintelligent. And this thing was supposedly a great mind, an apprenticed sorcerer, no less. He shook his head. Talents and abilities wasted on useless constructs of flesh and bone. They were undeserving, and ultimately their weakness held them back from greatness. They could not rise above their base desires and transform themselves, as he had.

  He removed his shirt and dropped it on the floor, then ran his hands over his chiseled torso, crisscrossed with scars. A reminder of his awakening.

  His trinket hung around his neck, where it glowed brighter than the light from the lamp.

  So unintelligent, these things were, so ordinary. Unaware around them walked wolves, and they were sheep. Moving as if their actions had meaning, as if they were the ones in control, could influence the course of their own unimaginative drudgery of an existence.

  “I was born much like you. Ignorant and unaware. Oblivious to my flaws and to the flaws of those around me. My upbringing was… harsh.” He looked the thing in the eye. “I was tested, scourged, until I was made anew. Forged into something else. Something stronger. Greater.”

  The thing trembled. Sweat dripped from its pores. It mewled through clenched lips.

  “And by chance.” Amerdan paused for a moment. “Or was it? Was it shown to me?” He blinked in confusion. “I discovered myself through my first ordeal.”

  In the blink of an eye, he leapt astride the thing on the table. It gasped at his speed and strength. Knees gripped its sides tight, and its eyes followed the trail of the shining knife, which swam in front of its face. A firm quick slice and the knife withdrew. The vessel screamed. Hot red blood dripped from the wound on its forehead.

  Amerdan wiped his hand on the cut, smearing sticky crimson wetness on his palm. He gripped the spherical trinket around his throat tight with the blood-smeared hand.

  Only the sound of the vessel’s harsh breath pierced the silence.

  It knew what was coming. In the end they all did.

  His hand around the trinket glowed red, then orange, then yellow, as a bright light emanated from the pendant and shone through his flesh.

  “Please,” the thing sniveled. “What’s happ…”

  Its breath was cut off as Amerdan dropped the knife and clamped its throat shut. Brutal strength squeezed and cartilage cracked.

  “Hush. You are a vessel, and I shall partake of you. You will become part of someone greater than you can imagine.”

  The need filled Amerdan, sending a shiver down his spine. Goosebumps rose on his skin; hairs stood on end.

  Shining through the confines of flesh and bone, the light became brighter.

  The vessel groaned wordlessly, an internal howl colored by pain and loss. A faint radiance rose from its skin, growing stronger each passing moment. A thread of glittering white light reached from Amerdan’s glowing hand to the vessel. It grew slowly to a cord the thickness of a thumb. Pulses traveled up the cord from the vessel to the trinket, where they were absorbed. Amerdan’s eyes squeezed tight, leaking tears.

  The skin covering the vessel turned gray then shrunk and cracked as if leeched of vitality. With a convulsive shudder, Amerdan shrieked as the cord vanished, leaving the room dim, shadows flickering from the lamp.

  He collapsed on top of the desiccated thing, panting. He lay still, regaining strength.

  He levered himself to a kneeling position, the gray shrunken corpse between his knees.

  Amerdan laughed, the full throaty relieved laugh of someone who was alive after a trial they hadn’t expected to survive.

  He looked towards the rag doll, wiping tears from his eyes and cheeks. “We endure, again.”

  In the flickering light, the rag doll winked at him. He laughed again, pleased.

  With a roar, he threw his head back and shouted to the heavens through the stone above him, muscles on his arms and torso veined and bulging, strained to their limit, shiny with sweat.

  “Again I suffer and survive!” he yelled. “Again I drink and receive what I require.” His arms stretched to the ceiling, one dripping a scarlet ribbon of blood.

  “I am bound.” His heart pumped wildly in his chest.

  “I am shriven.”

  “I am unrivalled.” He dropped his arms and gaze to the gray corpse.

  “I am many…I am transformed,” he gasped, exhausted.

  From the table, sitting in shadows, the rag doll stared at him.

  Later in the night, Amerdan emerged from his dark cellar, the body of the apprentice flopped lifelessly over one shoulder. Whistling tunelessly, he locked the door that led to his hidden room and replaced the wall hanging.

  He stood in the yard and looked up into the night sky. Moonlight shone upon his face, and he imagined he could feel its luminous power infuse him. A fancy, he knew, nothing more. There was only one way to take in power that he knew. And only the talented were worthy to make a sacrifice of themselves for his purpose.

  There were not many he felt were worthy enough to transfer to him.

  He stopped at the pig sty. Snuffles and grunts greeted him.

  He shouldered the lifeless corpse into the pen then turned and walked back inside. Excited squeals and tearing sounds followed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Master of Supplies, Caldan had been informed, was not the easiest of men to deal with. All apprentices went to see his department at one time or another, either at their own master’s request or for materials for their own use. The way the master was so sparing, you would have thought they were his own. Which was probably why he had been appointed to the role. Despite this, Caldan had been able to draw from the store and had only had to deal with an apprentice helping the master, signing his name to indicate he had received the items.

  Sitting on his bed with a single candle for light, Caldan laid out the materials he had gathered from the guild’s supply store. Two yards of thin copper wire and slender rods of hardwood.

  He used his knife to cut four short sections from a rod and one longer section, then carved shallow grooves into each end. Using the knife, he bore down on the soft copper wire and cut strips as long as his little finger. He wrapped the end of one wire strip into the groove around the end of a wooden section and attached it to the longer piece. In no time at all he had attached all four short parts to the longer one and stood it on his palm. It looked roughly like a four-legged animal with no head or tail, but they would come soon. The copper wire allowed the legs to move and bend
into any position.

  Caldan made short work of attaching a copper wire tail and a flat head, also made from bent wire. The more metal he used, the longer the crafting would last. Laying the construct on his knee, he began the painstaking process of penning runes on the surface of the parts. He wished there was a way he could have etched runes into the copper wire, but it was too thin.

  “Should have done this before attaching everything,” he muttered to himself, leaning over the crafting of a dog in an awkward hunch. He thought of it as a dog, but it could have been any four-legged animal; it didn’t look much like anything.

  Two fingers of the candle had burned by the time he finished. He had used three separate types of ink, with many pauses to rest his cramped fingers and consider the type and function of the rune before penning each.

  Closing his eyes, he accessed his well and linked it to his construct. The runes flashed brightly then dimmed to a steady glow, barely discernible in the candlelight. The dog shivered then, at his urging, took a tentative step forward, and another. At the edge of the windowsill, it stopped. Caldan released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  He eyed his construct critically. As a first attempt it was mediocre, he decided. Round wood was hard to draw runes on. Perhaps if both the wire strips and wood were flat. They would still be thin, though, and hard to draw or etch on, but that seemed like the best option going forward.

  He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. He blew out the candle, took off his boots then slipped under the covers.

  Holding out his hand to almost, but not quite, touch the wooden construct, Caldan opened his well and used his senses to examine it. The wire and jumbled shape stirred and straightened itself out, slowly unfolding until it stood on its four legs.

  His crafting had lasted for five days but had started to deteriorate. Where the wire attached to the wooden legs and body, black scorch marks had appeared, and the metal itself showed multi-colored lines, like steel after being exposed to a great heat.