Caldan stood close behind her and pushed his head through the gap above her blonde hair. It looked clear, but he wanted to be certain.
He reached into a pocket and drew out a paper shape covered in runes. Unfolding its wings, he frowned in concentration, linking it to his well, and then gently tossed the crafting into the corridor. Pressure built in his head as he maintained the three strings.
Wings flapped and the bird rose close to the ceiling then glided down the corridor. Adorning its surface, the runes glowed faintly in the dark.
“Oh,” gasped Senira. “That’s… beautiful.”
Caldan grinned. “Still think they’re creepy?”
“The bird isn’t. Those other things were.” She looked up at him. “What’s it doing?”
“Scouting. It’s crafted to tell me if there’s anyone around, like the figures I left in the workroom. Though because it’s made of paper, it won’t last long.” He paused for a moment. “All clear. Let’s go.”
Senira stepped into the corridor followed closely by Caldan. He closed the door behind them and re-fused his crafted lock. Whoever tried to follow them would have a hard time opening it. Though if they got through the other door, maybe they wouldn’t. Well, it would delay them for a while, and that’s all they needed.
Caldan took a hold of Senira’s hand.
“Can you let go, please?” she asked.
“Sorry. It’s because I can shield you, if it comes to that. I need to maintain contact with you.”
“Oh. That’s all right, then.” She gave him curious look. “You can shield two people?”
“I’m fairly sure I can.”
Senira looked doubtful but gripped his hand tighter.
They crept along the dim corridor, feet scuffing on the flagstones. Ahead of them came a pale orange light, where Caldan knew the corridor split to the left and right. Left would lead to the gardens and right to a courtyard frequently used by the apprentices when they tested their smith-crafting.
They stopped short of the intersection, hugging the walls. “It’s clear,” whispered Caldan.
Senira frowned at him.
“The bird,” he reminded her, pointing at the paper crafting sitting in the middle of the intersection. A wisp of smoke drifted up from it.
“You first,” she said, waving him ahead.
From the courtyard to the right, Caldan knew there were two other doorways entering the area. From either of the two, he was confident they could make their way outside the guild buildings.
One of the crafted figures in the workshop alerted him to a presence entering the room, though he couldn’t tell who or how many. A faint tug on his awareness from the other crafting above the door told him they were moving swiftly. If they had broken through his crafting lock on the first door, it wouldn’t be long before they broke through the second.
“We need to move. Come on.” He grabbed Senira’s hand and rushed ahead.
Both his links with the crafted figures in the workshop shattered simultaneously. A crackling sound filled the corridor, and behind them the door to the workshop swung open.
Caldan activated his shield and his skin tightened. With a thought, he extended it around Senira.
Through the doorway strode the tall, pale-skinned woman from the cells followed by two men. The bells in her dark hair tinkled as she stepped forward.
“Hello,” she called. “I see you.” She laughed warmly.
“Run!” yelled Caldan. He sprinted towards the corner, dragging Senira with him.
A violent force hit them from behind, lifting them off their feet. Senira screamed. They tumbled to the ground just shy of the intersection. Caldan strained to hold onto Senira’s hand. His shield held, though it keened with the strain. Sparks flew as globes of yellow light sizzled past them and struck the walls.
A strong scent of lemons reached him.
Another cluster of yellow lights flew at them, spread wide to cover the width of the corridor, striking both of them. The force pushed him back, and he lost his grip on Senira’s hand. With a faint pop the shield around her vanished.
A second cluster followed behind the first. Caldan watched helpless as two slammed into Senira and she staggered, screaming. Her knees buckled and she collapsed in a heap. Smoke billowed from two charred circles on her body.
Her eyes glazed over and were still.
“No,” he sobbed. “I had you.” You should have been safe.
“Take him alive,” he heard Bells yell behind him. “I don’t care about the girl.”
Caldan grabbed his sack and scrabbled around the corner on hands and knees. He glanced back at Senira lying on the cold stone floor. His face burned, and he dripped sweat. He should have kept her safe. She had relied on him. And now she was dead.
Caldan’s body ached from where the lights had hit his shield. It had protected him from the energy they emitted but not from the physical force.
He lurched to his feet and stumbled into the courtyard, straight for the exit ahead. At the opening, he paused and thrust his hands into his pockets, dragging out fistfuls of paper. He crushed the shapes he had painstakingly folded that night, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was escaping alive.
He scattered the paper to the ground and disappeared through the doorway.
With a wrench, his link to the bird shattered, so he knew they had reached the spot where Senira lay. He needed to hurry.
In front of him, the corridor headed straight. Doors spotted the walls on either side, but he knew they only led to classrooms and offices, dead ends. At the end of the corridor stood another door with bound metal edges. This one opened onto a side road next to the guild buildings.
He ran along the corridor, not caring if he made any noise. At the door, he fumbled with the latch, clicked it open. Turning, he glanced behind him. No one. They probably didn’t know which way he’d gone. He drew out another piece of paper.
A shadow moved in the courtyard. He guessed they should be standing among his discarded paper shapes.
Caldan opened his well and linked to one of them, then another, then another. Gritting his teeth he linked to a fourth. His head felt ready to explode. He linked to a fifth. Panting, he filled all five with power but didn’t activate them. He reached into his well and pushed as much as he could, and then ruptured their anchors.
All five shapes were consumed in an instant as he unleashed the power flowing through them. It had no shape, no purpose. He simply set it loose.
A painful light erupted in the courtyard. Air shook around him. A hot wind rushed down the corridor into his face.
Caldan held his breath and waited. One moment. Two.
A figure appeared from the courtyard. Bells tinkled.
The lady stood there, clothes steaming. Spots of blood spattered her face. There was no sign of the two men with her.
“Naughty,” she said, and stepped forward.
Caldan dragged himself through the door and slammed it shut behind him. The narrow alleyway was empty. As fast as he could, he folded a paper into a square and wedged it between the door and the frame.
He reached for his well, but in his panicked state it slipped from his mind’s grasp. He dragged in a deep breath and reached again, fumbling like it was his first time. There. He linked to two different craftings on the paper, filled them with force from his well and ruptured one of the anchors.
Around the paper, the metal glowed orange, then red, then white. Caldan struggled to hold onto his shaping. Metal liquefied and dripped between the door and the frame. Caldan closed his well. In the cold air the metal solidified, welding the door shut.
He grabbed his sack and ran, never looking back.
What felt like hours later, he stopped running. He bent over, hands on knees and sucked in huge breaths. People he had passed looked at him like he was a madman, and he thought for a while he might be. He hadn’t stopped taking random turns, ducking into the narrowest back lanes and alleys he could see
.
He looked around, having no idea where he was. Somewhere between Barrows and Dockside, he guessed. He remembered crossing a bridge over the River Modder some time ago, though with the twists and turns he had taken, he probably hadn’t covered that much distance.
He’d made it out with his trinket, bone ring, ducats, wristband and crafted metal, but he had lost Senira. He would have sacrificed all of his possessions, including his trinket, to have kept her safe. Everything else was replaceable. Senira wasn’t.
He wiped his eyes. Think. He needed to think. He had to find somewhere secure. Somewhere to hide. The store where he bought his ore crystals was close, the one with the odd shopkeeper. What was his name… Amerdan? Yes, that was it. He could ask him for shelter until he worked out what to do.
He remembered the first time he’d met the man. The fleeting reddish glow of his skin and the strange smell had stuck in his mind. He didn’t know what it meant, but he desperately needed somewhere to clean up and change, rather than walk the streets in the state he was in, so had to take a chance.
He should also find Miranda and see if she was safe, and he still didn’t know what had happened to the masters and the Protectors.
He wiped sweaty palms on his pants and ran a hand across his head. First things first. Find this shop and see if he could rest up for a while.
Caldan trudged towards a main road. Once there he could find his bearings.
He thought back to the door he had welded shut. He bet she was surprised it wasn’t crafted shut. The fused metal would be hard to break through without destroying the entire door. He chuckled grimly. It wasn’t enough to pay her back for what she’d done to Senira, but he would work on that.
Caldan stopped. He’d held onto his well and shaped the forces when his paper crafting must have burned to nothing. If he didn’t have a crafting with its links, shaping runes and anchors to shape the forces from his well, then… how had he kept crafting the molten metal? Sorcery needed physical links and shapes to mold the forces, didn’t it?
“No. That’s not possible,” he muttered. But he had done it. He thought the destructive sorcery he’d seen used the same principles as well, except you unleashed the pent-up forces all at once. But the lights the lady had sent at them were focused, not chaotic at all. They had to have been shaped.
Caldan shook his head then winced at the pain. It hurt from his intensive use of sorcery. He could think later. He trudged off towards the main street.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Lord Kesmon muttered into his soup bowl. His thoughts were fuzzy, and he was sure it was morning. Why would they serve him soup for breakfast? The thought skittered away and was lost.
“The empire will shatter,” he mumbled. “The old rule will be replaced, the people cleansed and the tyrant isolated.”
“Your pardon, my lord?” queried one of the two servants waiting on him in the dining room.
Lord Kesmon turned to him with a blank stare. “Eh?” he sputtered. “Did I speak to you? Speak only when you are spoken to.”
Both servants exchanged nervous glances, and the one who had spoken gave a curt nod and stepped back to his position by the wall.
Lord Kesmon returned to spooning in his soup without any signs of enjoyment. In front of him, the dining table, long enough to seat thirty guests comfortably, lay empty, apart from the silverware and china the lord ate with.
“I can’t… I must get it out,” he grated. A tear trickled down his cheek.
Abruptly, he stood, still clutching the spoon in one hand. His chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it back. Soup dripped from the spoon onto the table.
He stood still for a few moments, breath coming in heaving gasps.
“My lord?” queried the attendant. “Is there anything you require? Are you not going to have the rest of the courses?”
No response came. Lord Kesmon’s hand clenched until his knuckles turned white. His shoulders slumped. He lowered the spoon and gingerly placed it on the table beside the bowl. With jerky movements, he left the room, heading up the main stairs towards his study.
Oxlee and Nimb eyed each other warily. “Come on,” said Nimb. “Let’s get this cleared up, then we can relax with an ale.”
“I don’t like what’s happened to the lord. He’s changed for the better but now he’s strange.”
“He didn’t look too good, did he?” Nimb glanced towards the main stairs. “I’ll let the chamberlain know. He can check on him later.”
They cleared the dishes and, after informing the kitchen the lord would not be requiring the remaining food, performed their usual tasks after a dinner service. They polished the table and silverware, dusted the flat surfaces in the room and swept the rugs. With only the lord for dinner, they were finished in short order. Congratulating themselves on an easy night, they turned to make their way to their quarters, where they had one of the lord’s ale jugs stashed under a bed.
It was then the screams started.
Howling, throat-tearing cries of anguish came from Lord Kesmon’s study. Oxlee and Nimb rushed to the upper level joining other servants and maids who’d come running.
The door was locked.
“Get the chamberlain,” Nimb yelled, panicked. “He has a spare key. Go!”
The screams stopped.
Outside the door, the servants went quiet, the only sound their rapid breathing. Nimb looked around at the fearful expressions.
Grim of face, Renen arrived, pushing his way through the throng, fumbling with a set of keys on a chain attached to his belt. “Move!” he growled.
The servants stepped back fearfully — not of Renen but of what they would find when the door opened.
Hands shaking, Renen opened the door.
Blood covered carpet. Deep red and still wet. Covering Lord Kesmon’s face and hair as he lay on his back in the center of the room. Clutched in both hands, he held two thin, bloody knives. Letter openers. Rivulets of crimson flowed from his mangled eye sockets and ears. A faint breeze blew in the open window, bringing a metallic odor to the servants.
Clutching his chest, Renen sank to his knees. One of the maids took a few unsteady steps to the hallway and bent over. She was noisily sick on the expensive runner.
Summoned to serve his master late in the evening, Derkane gathered up the necessary documents and accounts he knew would be required. One didn’t rise to be a preeminent merchant without keeping a close eye on all aspects of the business.
Arms filled with papers and ledgers, he waddled down the dimly lit hall to his master’s bedroom. For years, the master merchant had taken to performing his final daily review while preparing for bed.
Derkane found his master sprawled on the bed, eyes open and glazed. Drool poured out one side of his mouth. A sickly sweet smell filled the room. Beside the body lay a crystal vial with traces of a pale yellow liquid.
In Five Flowers, Merwe, the wife of a prominent banker entered her bedroom and found a rope tied to her bed. Squinting, she traced the rope across the room and out the second floor window.
She screamed in anguish.
On the end of the rope, hanging ten yards above the street, dangled her husband.
Chapter Fifty
“He’s not at the Sorcerers’ Guild anymore. He’s somewhere close by to the south,” said Elpidia.
Miranda stared at her. “How do you know that?” She finished pulling on her boots, stood, and then buckled her belt. They were still in their cramped rented room, having woken at first light.
“Ah… well… I had this thing made.” Elpidia held out a flat metal circle the size of her palm. “Actually, sorcerers make them to help with finding lost children and the like. All you need is a drop of a person’s blood or hair.”
Miranda felt her face burn with anger. “And I trust you’ll explain why you have some of Caldan’s blood or hair and why you had this… thing made?”
“I told you, I need to see him… for my research.” Elpidia swallowed. “I ha
d some of his blood on a cloth from when he came to see me. It’s easier than trudging all over the place trying to find someone.”
“You kept the cloth with his blood then had this device crafted so you could find him, wherever he was?”
“Er, yes. It seemed like the easiest thing to do.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this last night?”
“We were going to the right place, from what I could determine. It’s just that this morning he’s moved, so I thought I’d better mention it. Otherwise we would have gone in the wrong direction.”
“Well, at least he’s not where the heavy fighting has been. That’s something, I suppose.” She didn’t trust Elpidia after hearing her story last night. And this sorcerous device filled her with unease. She didn’t know why Elpidia was fixated on finding Caldan, but she didn’t like it. She certainly couldn’t mean him any harm, but her story didn’t add up. No one leaves their home in the middle of an invasion to wander the streets looking for someone they barely knew. Something strange was going on, and she vowed to keep her senses sharp to find out what.
“How does it work?”
“Oh, like a compass, essentially.”
“It points in a direction and we go that way?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.” Miranda’s firm tone brooked no argument.
“What? No. I paid for it. I’m not handing it over.”
“Listen here, lady, I don’t know what game you’re playing. All I want to do is find Caldan and make sure we get somewhere safe to ride out this invasion. It looks like I need your help to find him, but give me one reason to and I’ll leave you on your own. Am I making myself clear?”
Elpidia swallowed and nodded. “I understand,” she said simply. “I promise you, I don’t want to hurt him.”
Miranda met her eyes for a few moments before looking away. “Come on, we should get out of here.”
What’s she up to? Miranda thought. She certainly didn’t trust the physiker after her suspicious behavior, but at the moment she was her only way of finding Caldan.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 49
