“Leg stabbed to the bone, no materials to assist him,” said Keys. “And yet he manages a crafting strong enough to melt the lock. A handsome young man and talented, as I recall you describing. I don’t like him already.”
Bells laughed. He needn’t fear she would fall for someone after one meeting, despite the man’s obvious talents.
“You don’t need to,” she said. “It must have been him who left the sword for the Protector, and he wasn’t alone.”
“Do you think they know what happened?”
Bells nodded. Based on the evidence, it was likely. If he’d spoken to Simmon and left him there, then she surmised he had urgent business elsewhere. More important than freeing the master.
“Yes. Simmon would have told him what happened.”
“We must find him.”
“Agreed.”
“Can you trace them?”
Poor Keys, she thought. Too much time spent wasting his youth instead of studying like she had. Still, they had been through much hardship together along with their siblings, and that formed a strong bond which was seldom broken.
Bells grinned. “Of course.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Under the cover of night, Quiss and two other employees of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern, a young man and woman, ushered Vasile down to the docks and into a rowboat.
Vasile sat at the bow, while Quiss took up a position at the stern. The young man and woman seated themselves at the oars to row out into the harbor.
Despite his nervousness in their company, Vasile’s apprehension regarding being caught at night on open water in such a small boat overrode his reluctance to speak. When he queried whether it was wise to row out at night, the young woman giggled, though kept rowing. Quiss replied he needn’t worry as their passage would be veiled. Vasile sat back, none the wiser, and placed his survival wholly in their hands.
The docks receded swiftly into the distance as the young man and woman kept up their strokes on the oars with remarkable adeptness and strength.
Anasoma burned in the distance. Not literally, but from Vasile’s vantage point the blue flames erupting atop the city walls lent an eerie glow to the scene, as if the city had caught fire. Behind them the flames extended across the harbor, a daunting and perhaps deadly barrier to anyone thinking of trying to escape by sea. As they approached the obstruction his jaw dropped in astonishment as a hole opened up to the outside sea, just wide enough for them to fit through. The others in the boat laughed quietly at his puzzlement.
He shook his head and watched the lights of Anasoma fade as the boat rounded the southern breakwater and continued south, ultimately tying up to a large merchant ship anchored in a secluded bay.
Quiss directed Vasile to wait on deck as arrangements were made for his accommodation, and assigned a short swarthy man to watch over him before disappearing below deck.
The ship looked as unassuming as any Vasile had come across in his work, and there had been many a time he’d had to board a ship where a murder or theft had occurred. Crew busied themselves with various tasks, despite the late hour, their labor lit by crafted sorcerous globes, which each carried on their person. An expensive luxury, Vasile noted.
He sat on a cold bench at the aft of the ship, close to the steering wheel, left to his own devices, nibbling on an apple, which the man standing next to him had offered. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the remains of the core over the side, where it landed with a faint splash.
“Fish,” his guard said abruptly.
Vasile frowned. “What?” he said.
“Fish. I heard a fish,” replied the man.
“No, it was my apple.”
The guard tilted his head, eyes fixed on Vasile. “No, the fish ate your apple.”
“What? Oh, never mind.” Vasile rubbed tired eyes and yawned. “Tell me, why are you guarding me? Who is the First Deliverer?”
“That would be me.”
Vasile turned to see a frail old man stepping gingerly towards him. His stubble and hair were gray, and the clothes he wore, pants and shirt, were plain.
The First Deliverer stopped to hunch over and let out a hacking cough, waving away Vasile’s guard who stepped forward to assist. Using two canes to support his weight, the man lurched unsteadily towards Vasile.
He could see the effort moving cost the old man, the sheen of sweat on his face, the grimaces of pain at each step. He couldn’t help but stand and move to assist him, taking hold of an elbow and lending himself as support. They made it to the bench and the old man sat delicately with a sigh of relief. Vasile stood above him awkwardly. With a glance, the old man gestured for him to take a seat beside him.
The First Deliverer breathed heavily for a while. He cleared his throat then turned piercing eyes on Vasile.
“Quiss has told you about us?” he asked, obviously knowing the answer already.
Vasile nodded warily in reply. If this was Quiss’s master then he must be the one who’d ordered the murders. All was not as it seemed.
“And has he answered any questions you may have had?” continued the First Deliverer.
“I… yes. It was much to take in, in such a short time.””I can imagine.”
“I do have questions, but I am sure some answers will become clear in the next few days.”
“I’d prefer if you asked them of me, or Quiss, and not bother anyone else.”
Vasile said nothing. He shifted his weight on the bench and gazed out at the moonlit sea.
“But I’m remiss in my manners,” said the man, holding out his hand to be clasped. “I’m Gazija. First Deliverer, they call me now, though what I have delivered my people to is a question I ponder daily.”
Despite his reservations, Vasile took the offered hand, releasing it after a moment. “How did you know about me?”
“We have many friends. Word of your skills came to me a while ago, though I must confess it wasn’t me who thought of how you could benefit us. In truth, we were not expecting events to unravel this far. It was Quiss who saw your true potential when he observed you acting as a magistrate. We knew at the time drastic measures were needed and… well, there you were.”
They sat in silence. Waves lapped against the ship.
“We need you,” said Gazija. “The invasion has forced our hand. Their leaders are well versed in sorcery your empire cannot hope to match.”
“But you can.”
“Yes. I see Quiss was right about you. You see deeply. We might have to put you to work quicker than we’d like. There are people in power who have to be convinced of the truth.”
“The chancellors don’t see me anymore. Well, one does. I can convince him of your sincerity, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do you.”
“Forget about Anasoma. No one will be entering or leaving for some time. No, we need you to contact someone else. The emperor.”
“What? That’s your plan? I barely know him… I met him a few times, but that’s all.”
Gazija waved away his complaints. “But you do know him. And he knows both you and of your talent. That will suffice for introductions and for proof, will it not?”
Frowning, Vasile scratched his head. “Possibly. More than likely.”
“Then we are agreed,” Gazija said with finality. “I’m afraid Anasoma is lost, though there is hope yet for your empire if the emperor sides with us. If he doesn’t… well… there are other options. I don’t think there’ll be another Shattering, though it’s a possibility. The evil that followed us would have learnt from its mistakes. A dead world is of no use.”
They were followed by an evil? An evil what? From where? Vasile let out a deep breath. He turned his gaze to the frail old man. “It’s not an easy task you have set me.”
“It’s not an easy course we’ve plotted. Our hand has been forced.” Gazija coughed.
Vasile looked at the old man next to him. Weak, sick, emaciated. He wouldn’t be long for this world.
“We must
try to settle this peacefully,” continued Gazija. “My people… what there are of us, are the last.”
The last of what? wondered Vasile. Who are these people, really?
Quiss stepped across the deck to join them at the bench, looking gaunter than usual in the dim light. He bowed respectfully before Gazija.
“Mazoet is on his way. He picked up a few stragglers,” Quiss informed Gazija with a disapproving look. He drew out a brass timepiece from a pocket. “He should be here soon.”
Gazija hissed. “He should know better. The fewer we have to deal with the better.”
“He’ll have his reasons, as he usually does.”
With a groan, Gazija rose to his feet. “Come. Let us greet him.”
The First Deliverer gestured for Vasile to follow then made his way unsteadily to the main deck, stopping to rest once on the way. They took up positions near the side of the ship facing towards the shore. A light glimmered in the distance, slowly closing on their ship. They waited in silence as it approached, Gazija with an ill-concealed impatience, Quiss stolidly and still, Vasile fidgeting with nervous energy.
The light came from another rowboat. Wood bumped against wood with a thud.
Vasile identified a lean looking woman as probably one of Gazija’s people, though she was chatting amiably with a tall middle-aged gentleman with an obvious weakness for food. The man stood proudly at the head of the craft, shirt closed tight over his large stomach with silver buttons.
A rope ladder was lowered for the boat’s occupants, and soon the lean woman and pudgy man came aboard followed by a few others: a young man with an air of command, a sorcerer wearing a number of crafted items, and a swarthy rough-looking man wearing two swords, who examined each of them in turn then relaxed, as if weighing their measure and finding them wanting.
Self-consciously, Vasile drew himself up straighter.
With a bow from the waist, the man with the silver buttons addressed Gazija.
“First Deliverer, I had not expected to find you here.” He took a step back and gestured at the people accompanying him. “I have some news. Perhaps…” He broke off with a sidelong glance at Vasile.
“He’s with us, Mazoet,” said Gazija. “What news do you bring?”
“Your will,” replied Mazoet, bowing again, this time more perfunctorily, though still respectful. “These men have been chasing a group of… renegade sorcerers, who had set themselves up in a town some weeks travel from here. I was fortunate to contact them and their men before the sorcerers they were following turned on them.” His eyes kept flicking from Gazija to Quiss and back. Vasile could sense he was telling the truth, though holding something back. “With my assistance,” continued Mazoet, “we were able to see off the sorcerers, but I felt it was my duty to bring the men here to tell their story, firsthand, as it were.”
With a solemn expression, Mazoet clasped the young man by the shoulder and pushed him forward a step.
With an encouraging smile from Mazoet, he began to speak. “First Deliverer,” he said in a calm, even voice, bowing as Mazoet had done from the waist. Vasile thought he saw Gazija’s mouth flicker with the ghost of a smile.
“Though I have never heard that particular title before, and I am quite learned in all the titles of the empire and surrounding kingdoms.”
“Obviously you are not as learned as you think. Go on. I’m not getting any younger standing here.”
The young man raised his eyebrows and smiled. “As you wish. My name is Aidan. I’m the leader of a band of men and women oath-bound to seek out evil and wrongdoings in the empire and bring the perpetrators to justice. We have a commission from the emperor himself, though it is under our previous leader’s name.”
“By the sword, unless I miss my guess,” said Gazija.
“If necessary,” replied Aidan smoothly.
Vasile had the impression he’d had to justify their actions before.
“Though evil takes many forms and seldom submits itself without a struggle. By its very nature, it resists righteousness.”
Gazija coughed into his hand. “Indeed. Please continue.”
“I was leading my band on the trail of a few sorcerers…” He broke off as Vasile cleared his throat loudly. Gazija gave Vasile a sharp look, eyes narrowed, then turned back to Aidan.
“Excuse me, but did you say you were leading them?”
“Ah. Well… at that stage I wasn’t.” Aidan stared at Vasile. “Circumstances later led me to take over the leadership.”
“I see,” said Gazija without inflection, face expressionless. “Continue.”
Aidan hesitated, frowning at them both before restarting his story. “We followed them to a town, where we found they had imprisoned some women…” His voice grew colder, and his face turned grim. “They were not just prisoners. They… were being forced to breed, to have babies.” His voice broke on the last word, and he looked away, distressed. Both the sorcerer and the swordsman with him shifted their weight and looked down at the deck.
“We don’t know their purpose and don’t care to. We rescued the women, but the sorcerers escaped. We were still tracking them when Mazoet here appeared and they turned on us. A young boy and girl. We’re in his debt. Without his sorcery to counter theirs we would surely have perished and wouldn’t be able to bring you this news.”
“Ah. A bleak tale indeed,” said Gazija.
Quiss’s jaw worked silently, clenching and unclenching. Mazoet stood still and unblinking, staring at Gazija.
The elderly man rubbed both hands together, warming them against the chill night air. “Vasile, is what they say true?”
All eyes turned to him. Under their stares, he nodded confirmation to Gazija. “Yes,” was all he said.
“That settles it then. We have much to discuss and plans to make.” Gazija turned to Mazoet. “Please get these gentlemen comfortable and assign them quarters. We should have enough to spare. Let’s meet again early in the morning, once we have a good night’s sleep. It’s late. Oh and Mazoet… you did well.”
The three men followed Mazoet and left the deck reluctantly, inundating him with questions, casting frequent glances back towards Vasile, Gazija and Quiss. Once they were out of sight and their voices had receded, Gazija coughed yet again and shook his head.
“It’s worse than I feared,” he said. His face creased in pain.
Quiss gripped the rail with both hands until his knuckles went white.
Vasile shivered, not from the cold. “These men, Aidan and his companions, what are you going to do with them?”
“Aidan and the others are with us now, whether they know it or not. They’ll eventually be drawn into this conflict, with or without our help. And I for one don’t spurn gifts when they appear before me.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Caldan’s automaton was failing. It wobbled as it walked and couldn’t maintain a walk for more than a few moments without falling over. One leg moved a half beat behind the others. On the surface the rods were covered in different colors — yellows, blues and purples, as if returned to a furnace and heated to different temperatures.
From her chair near the stove, Miranda looked at the poor thing as it stood close to the door of her warehouse. “Caldan,” she called. “I think you should do something about it. It’s no good to us anymore and… I hate to see it like this.”
Since finding Simmon imprisoned, Caldan’s mood had been dark, and he didn’t feel like talking, only speaking when Miranda asked a direct question. She looked similarly despondent, though she hadn’t known any of the guild members.
He looked up from a book he was studying, a thin volume with pages covered in tiny writing. He grimaced and closed the book, taking care to place a piece of paper to mark his page.
“I know. But I can’t bring myself to…” He waved a hand towards the construct. “Destroy it.”
“The way it looks now is depressing. There isn’t any reason for us to use it… is there?”
�
��No,” said Caldan with a sigh. “I guess you’re right.”
He accessed his well and linked to the automaton for the final time. He could sense the damage the forces flowing through it had caused — fractured metal inside the rods, varying temperatures as different sections wore out faster than others. Once the slide into degradation started, it increased in pace swiftly. With a thought, he closed the smith-crafted links and it clattered to the floor in a jumble of rods and wire.
“Oh,” Miranda exclaimed with a sad smile. “It’s almost as if it died.”
“It was never alive, at least not in any real sense. It was imbued with a rudimentary intelligence, but what it could do was limited. With what I learned from crafting that one, I can greatly improve the next.”
Over the last few hours he’d been toying with more metal rods. Longer and thicker, they were connected with actual joints rather than wire fastenings. On the whole, the new construct appeared larger and heavier to her, thicker of limb and body.
“Do you need the metal for anything?” She pointed at the pile on the floor.
“Yes. I can always sell the parts or melt the metal down and reuse it.” He picked up the now limp automaton and tossed it into his open sack. Miranda winced as it landed with a clatter.
She approached him from behind as he returned to studying the parts for his new construct and placed both hands on his shoulders. He trembled at her touch then went still.
She squeezed lightly. “It’s not your fault, you know. There wasn’t anything you could have done to save them. The Indryallans planned this well.”
Caldan’s head dropped. He wanted revenge on them for Simmon, for the Protectors, but… there’s nothing he could do here with their tight grip on the city. And Simmon had set him a task. “I know… but I keep thinking there was something I could have done… If I had done something differently, this could have been avoided. I don’t know what.” He clenched his fists, frustrated. “If the masters didn’t see this coming, then I know there was nothing I could do.” He tilted his head back to look at Miranda. “Thank you.”
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 54
