Caldan blinked in surprise. Of all the masters in the guild only a few had the talent to see others’ wells so clearly.
“Nothing to say?” she said with a smile. “Pity. I don’t have time for niceties.”
Hot needles of pain dug into Caldan’s skull. His knees buckled and he cried out wordlessly. As suddenly as it appeared, the pain receded, leaving behind a dull ache. He rolled onto his side on the floor. He didn’t remember falling. Must have blacked out.
“Caldan,” the lady stated. “An apprentice. There, that wasn’t hard, was it? You weren’t on the list. Curious.”
He pushed himself to his knees, tasting blood. His nose felt hot and sticky. He wiped it, and his hand came away red.
“How…?” he said shakily, and the lady laughed.
“So primitive here, so limited. Allowing such talent to go to waste.” She tutted in disappointment. “We have to leave, so don’t go anywhere. My name is Bells, and I’ll be back for another chat soon.”
Scuffles sounded from the cell her two men had entered. A fist hitting flesh. Then again, followed by a gurgling moan. Caldan strained against the opening.
The woman’s footsteps echoed down the corridor to be joined by the men as they climbed the stairs. The gentle tinkling of bells receded into the distance.
Caldan rubbed his head. He lurched to his feet, weak at the knees, and clutched the bars of the door for support.
“Senira,” he called. “What happened?”
“She asked you your name then you yelled in pain. What did she do to you?”
“I don’t know. Something… painful.”
“After that, you went quiet for a bit, and then she asked you again. You told her your name and that you were an apprentice.”
Caldan shook his head. “No, I didn’t say anything.”
“You did. You said ‘my name is Caldan and I’m an apprentice Protector.” You sounded strange, distant.”
“I don’t remember anything after she first asked. I thought I blacked out.”
“Well, whatever she did, you told her,” Senira said dismissively. “Though I don’t suppose it makes any difference. From the sound of it they’re more interested in the masters.”
Caldan rubbed at the drying blood under his nose and on his hand then knelt by the puddle in the corner, using the water to wash his hands and face.
With a grunt, he sat on the floor, back against the wall. Without the materials to Craft anything, he wasn’t going anywhere. The best he could hope for was to survive long enough to come up with an escape plan. Whatever these people wanted, it wasn’t for the good of the Sorcerers’ Guild or the Protectors. They knew destructive sorcery and… was what she used on him coercive sorcery? It seemed likely. Maybe they were rogue sorcerers who didn’t want the Protectors coming after them to bring them to justice. A few could have banded together. Once the Quivers found out what was happening, he was sure they would come to the rescue. All he had to do was wait.
Caldan rested his aching head on the cold wall and closed his eyes.
Chapter Forty-Five
Sweat covered his skin. Caldan blinked a few times and opened his eyes wide, trying to clear the blurriness in his sight. He shivered as his perspiration evaporated in the cold damp air of the cell. With one hand, he tried to massage the stiffness in his neck. His mouth felt dry. He needed water and hoped they wouldn’t be forgotten about and left to die. Though, from what the lady with the bells in her hair had said, she would be back.
He had no idea how much time had passed. At a guess, he judged a few hours, though with no window in the cell, no way to see the sun or stars, it was impossible to tell. Shifting his weight, he knelt, trying not to put pressure on his leg wound. Not feeling any pain, he rose slowly, hands on the wall to steady himself, then paused to take a few breaths. His leg didn’t feel too bad, considering it had been stabbed — a slight stiffness but that was all. Little by little he put more weight on the injured leg, testing it. The blood-soaked bandage had dried, crusting up and darkening to black in the dim light. He took a step forward, then another. Stiff, which wasn’t surprising, but he managed to hobble to the other side of the cell and back. He frowned. At the very least there should still be some pain.
He slid to the floor and removed the bandage, tearing the layers apart as his dried blood had glued them together. Underneath the cloth, his pants were stuck to his leg. Gingerly, he pried apart the gash in the material the dagger had torn. He couldn’t see much of the wound, but at least it looked closed and hadn’t reopened during his exertions. He stood and walked to the shallow pool of water in the corner. He scooped up a handful and dribbled it onto his wound. It was probably all right to wash with the water, but he wasn’t going to drink it… not yet, at least.
Gently, he rubbed his hand over the wound, washing away a layer of dried blood. Another handful of water, then another. He squinted at his leg, frowning. The wound had started to close. He traced the line with a finger then probed gently. There was no mistaking it, the wound looked days old, or more. He rubbed tired eyes, bewildered. This wasn’t natural. Shaking his head, Caldan scrunched the bandage up and threw it at the wall. This didn’t make sense. How could a deep knife wound heal so fast? Sorcery was out of the question. He didn’t know of any sorcery that could speed healing and had never heard it was likely.
His hand reached up and fingers traced the thin scar on his cheek. That had healed quickly. Nowhere near as quickly as his leg, but he remembered both Miranda and Elpidia commenting on how fast he had mended. Could this and his sudden surges of strength and speed be related? There was no way to tell, and as confusing as it was, he needed to think about escaping this cell. There wasn’t time to worry about anything else.
Between him and freedom was the door with a solid iron lock. It looked far too strong for him to break through. He’d likely injure his foot if he tried to kick it down.
He wracked his brain for a solution. The obvious area to focus on was the lock. Before coming to Anasoma he hadn’t thought breaking a lock was possible. Master Simmon had shown him differently, though he didn’t have a gemstone like the one the master had used. Since that night, Caldan had thought long and hard about how the master had achieved that remarkable piece of sorcery. There were a few explanations, areas of experimentation he had contemplated. All required a crafting strong enough to hold the forces in check until you released them. This, he had surmised, was the gemstone’s purpose. It was not a crafted object with a reusable purpose but a storage device.
Such a crafting was uncomfortably close to destructive sorcery. Then Caldan understood. That was why no one left the Protectors, why Master Simmon had said he was bound to them. In order to prosecute their campaign against destructive sorcery, the Protectors had to be proficient at it themselves. How else could you fight such power and hope to prevail? You had to fight fire with fire. It made a perverse sense. And in using such sorceries, the Protectors damned themselves, became the very thing they were fighting against.
Caldan sighed. Unless he got out of here, he might not have the luxury of confirming his insights. Still, at least he knew where he stood now. He was bound.
The iron lock stared at him silently. If only he had a piece of paper, he might be able to replicate what he had seen Simmon do with the gemstone.
Calculating the forces needed to destroy iron wasn’t easy, but he knew a fair bit about metals from his metallurgical studies. A few moments later he came up with a theoretical crafting and whistled slowly. The power required was large, though why hadn’t Simmon used one containing iron itself? The complementary link between an iron lock and an iron crafting would dramatically increase the efficiency of the sorcery. Of course. The gem wasn’t specifically a lock breaker but could be used for any purpose that required an outpouring of energy. The loss of efficiency between the gem and the lock couldn’t be helped. Simmon had traded efficiency for utility. There wasn’t any reason to carry around craftings for specific purposes, as th
e gems could be adapted for multiple uses.
Where did that leave him? What he needed was iron. Anything made of iron or with iron in it. He clutched his short hair despairingly. There must be something. What has iron in it? The answer, when it came, was obvious and nauseating at the same time. His blood, or so he had been taught. It could act as an ink containing iron.
He sat back, taking a few moments to organize his thoughts and imagine a schematic of what the crafting should look like. Placement of the anchors and runes to shape the forces were crucial. He left out any buffers; they wouldn’t be needed. The crafting only had to work for a second or two, long enough to draw from his well then…break. He couldn’t think of another way of describing it. The crafting was designed to destroy itself, quickly and efficiently. Now he knew it could be done, and how it worked, it was straightforward. And that, he realized, was the danger. Destruction was always easier than creation.
He looked at the ball of his thumb then at the lock.
With something like this it was best you didn’t think too much about it. He rose and walked to the door, kneeling in front of it, eyes level with the lock. Taking a breath, he bit down hard on his thumb, deep into the flesh. He tasted blood, spat, and then clamped his index finger over the wound to stem the flow. His thumb felt like it had once years ago when he accidentally hit it with a hammer during a forging lesson.
Working quickly, he released the gash and used a finger as a crude quill to trace his design on the lock.
Clamping his finger over his thumb, he stood back and surveyed his work. Crude, with lines too thick and inelegant. It should be sufficient.
Caldan closed his eyes and opened his well, joining it to the links he had crafted onto the lock. A few moments was all he needed. He cut the flow of power and ruptured his makeshift crafting.
Light flashed through his closed eyelids, and the stench of hot metal filled the room, overlaid with lemons.
Caldan opened his eyes. The lock had been transformed into a molten mess. Red-hot iron dribbled like wax from a candle.
He let out a relieved laugh.
Drops splattered to the floor and hissed, rapidly cooling to solidity. Oh no. He ran to the door and shoved it open so the cooling molten metal didn’t weld the door shut.
He crouched in the opening, still, listening. His breath echoed in his ears. He counted to twenty. There was no outcry, no rushing of footsteps, no guards coming to investigate the noise. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Senira? Which cell are you in?” He heard movement, though couldn’t pinpoint which cell it came from.
“Here,” her muffled voice came from down the corridor. Hands clutched the bars of a cell door; a face framed by long blonde hair pressed between them. He scurried to her.
“How did you get out? Never mind. Get me out, please.”
“Just a moment,” Caldan replied. He passed her cell and started towards the stairs.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Senira shouted.
“Shhh, be quiet,” he hissed.
“Don’t leave me here!”
“I won’t. I’m looking for the keys.” There, on a hook in the wall. Caldan grabbed the key ring, which only held one key. He presumed it opened all the cells. He backtracked to Senira’s cell and opened her lock with a twist.
“Thank you!” she gushed and hugged him tightly. She was slim, almost too thin, and looked younger than her journeyman status indicated. “Now what do we do?”
“We check the other cells and let everyone else out.”
“Oh… of course.”
Senira ran spritely from cell to cell, peeking into each as Caldan looked into a few on the other side. They found all were unoccupied save one, which held the person who had been dragged in after they had been locked up. A forlorn figure lay on cell’s stone floor, curled up and hunched against a wall. Dried blood caked his hair and pooled under his body.
Senira moaned. “Is he… dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Caldan opened the door. Inside, he crouched over the body and felt at the neck for a pulse. Nothing. He grabbed a shoulder and turned the man onto his back. He didn’t know the man. It looked like the blood had leaked from two puncture wounds in his chest.
“Do you recognize him?” he asked Senira.
She edged into the cell. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” he replied gently. “Do you know who he is?”
She nodded. “A journeyman. I’ve seen him around, carrying messages. I think he was assigned to assist one of the masters. I don’t know why they would have killed him.”
Caldan stood and moved to comfort Senira. Tears streaked her face. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.
“We’re alive and unhurt. All we have to do is get out of here and find where the sorcerers and Protectors are. Then we’ll be safe.”
Senira nodded numbly, staring at the dead journeyman. Caldan placed a hand on her cheek and turned her head away from the sight. “Come on. We have to get out of here before someone comes back.”
They exited the cell, leaving the dead body behind.
“We have to be quiet,” said Caldan. “In case they have men patrolling the corridors or we run into trouble. Can you do that?”
Senira licked her lips then nodded once. “I’ll stay behind you, if that’s all right.” Her voice quivered.
“Of course it is. If we run into trouble, do as I say.”
She followed closely behind as he moved to the stairs. The short flight ended at another door, this one not locked, though held shut with a simple latch which could be opened from both sides. He supposed there was no need for this one to the locked if the cells were. He placed an ear to its surface, listening for noises on the other side.
All was silent. Taking a breath, he lifted the latch and opened the door a crack, enough to see into the corridor beyond. It was clear.
Gesturing for Senira to follow, Caldan slid along the wall and headed to where he knew there were stairs. They were on the level below ground, and he wanted to try and recover his belongings he’d dropped out the window. A shield would be extremely useful and might make the difference between them being captured again or reaching safety. And he couldn’t abandon his trinket.
“Where are we going?” whispered Senira, tugging at his arm. “Where do you think the masters will be? We should find them, if they’re alive.”
“Of course they are. There’s something I need to retrieve. We’ll be safer with it.”
Senira looked unimpressed. “How can you worry about getting your own things back at a time like this?”
“Trust me. I don’t have time to explain. I hid something— a crafting. It will help us.”
“You’re only an apprentice. What could you possibly hope to do that would help? We need to get to where the masters are. They’ll know what to do.”
“Please, we shouldn’t argue. I need… we need to get to where I hid it.”
“Did you steal it?”
“What? No. I made it.”
Senira scoffed disbelievingly. “Sure you did. Listen, if we don’t get to where the masters are as soon as possible we are in big trouble. I don’t intend to spend more time in a cell.”
Voices echoed along the corridor from behind them, accompanied by heavy footfalls. A wall lit up as the steady glow from a sorcerous crafted globe approached.
“Quick,” Caldan said. “This way.” He grabbed Senira and dragged her along. They rushed down the corridor and around a corner.
“What if they were on our side?” whispered Senira.
“We can’t take that chance, and I’m guessing the only people down here with a sorcerous light wouldn’t be. At least I know Master Simmon wouldn’t be so stupid.”
Senira swallowed and glanced fleetingly over her shoulder, then looked at Caldan and nodded. Taking her hand, he edged along the hall until they came to another set of stairs. Here, they crept upwards one step at a time, pausing now and again to listen. No
stray noises reached their ears, no coughing, no tread of boots.
They reached one end of a wide corridor paved with dark stone. Caldan recognized it as a main thoroughfare in one of the wings of the building taken up by the Sorcerers’ Guild. The gardens were only a short distance away, and he was confident once there the bushes and shrubs around the perimeter would hide them until he retrieved his belongings.
They headed off to the left and peeked around the corner in case someone was there. Again, their luck held as the hallway was empty. Ahead, a wide open doorway led out into the gardens. It was dark, which explained why there wasn’t anyone around. Probably hunkering down for the night to continue in the morning when light was better.
Next to him, Senira breathed heavily. She clutched his arm in a tight grip.
They passed into the garden and pressed against the wall, kneeling behind a bush. Caldan looked up at the night sky. Moonlight bathed the garden. He half-stood and looked around.
“What are you looking for? We need to find somewhere safe.”
“I know. I need to retrieve my crafting. I threw it out my window.”
Senira wrung her hands, eyes darting around the garden. “They could be anywhere.”
“It’ll be all right,” Caldan reassured her. “Follow me.”
Senira sat there, eyes downcast, teeth worrying her bottom lip. She looked scared, anxious and sad at the same time. Caldan knew this was a traumatic experience for her. It wasn’t easy for him either.
Crouching low they traversed the wall surrounding the garden. The edge was darker than the middle, so they had good cover among the bushes and shrubs. His boots made hardly a sound as they trod on sodden leaves, which gave off a musty scent.
A cloud passed over the moon and the garden went dark. Lights shone from a few windows but far fewer than would normally be occupied at this time of the evening.
They scurried behind the bushes and he half-expected to hear the shout of a sentry spotting them and raising the alarm. His breath came in short gasps, and his hands were clammy with sweat. Remaining still for a few moments, he listened. Still nothing.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 45
