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

by Hogan, Mitchell

  “Accept your protection and help you or be left for the wolves,” said Vasile.

  “That’s about the sum of it. I promise you won’t be asked to do anything beyond your ability or morals. And your unique gifts would be invaluable to us. There are projects we’re working on that could use good men.”

  “Good men,” scoffed Vasile. “They’re in short supply.”

  “Indeed, but we believe you’re one.”

  Vasile frowned. “Most don’t want to know the truth.”

  “Believe me when I say we’ve examined ourselves and been found wanting. Part of our plan is to correct the ills we’ve done.”

  Despite the heat in the room, Vasile shivered. “Which are?”

  “Some truths are too big, even for you. Suffice it to say no one will work harder to make amends for us than we will. We’ve been working on alternatives to our dilemma, but so far none have proven viable.” He shook his head. “But no matter, that’s not for you to worry about.”

  “What now? Why do you need me? What help could I possibly give you?”

  “The invaders are driven by an evil that destroyed another world. This we know for truth, through our own sorcery. Now, after gathering its strength, it has come here. Sorcery the likes of which the empire has never seen will be unleashed. Perhaps another Shattering.” Quiss dropped his head in dismay. “It cannot be allowed to happen again. The First Deliverer has determined we must show ourselves in order to gather help. We need your help to convince others of our truthfulness. You’re uniquely positioned to do this, are you not?”

  “I… I guess so.”

  “You are.” Quiss said resolutely.

  “The First Deliverer… you mentioned him before. Who is he?”

  “Our leader. He saved us all. It was he who guided our sorcerers and delivered us to salvation. Without him, we would all be dead.”

  Thoughts churned through Vasile’s head. It was almost too much to take in all at once. His legs felt weak, and he lowered himself to the polished stone floor. Quiss stood quietly beside him, waiting expectantly. Vasile chewed on a thumbnail. What should he do? He was free to go, or so Quiss said. In the end, Vasile knew he couldn’t take any other path. He knew he needed a purpose to his life, one that justified all the hardships he’d endured in the past. Redemption was a strong motive. His talent had propelled him to great heights only to cause him to be cast down. He couldn’t dispose of it. It was part of him. It made him who he was. He too craved salvation.

  “I need time to decide. And if I find out you are not telling me the whole story…” He left his words hanging.

  Beside him, Quiss raised his head, eyes moist. “Of course. Come, there is much to show you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The storm had broken early in the morning before dawn. It was the last day of the week, and all apprentices and journeymen had the day off, though basic meals were still served. Apprentices from wealthy families in the city usually went home, while everyone else relaxed.

  Caldan slept well into midmorning. Laughter woke him as a group of apprentices passed his room chatting loudly on their way out of the building. His mouth felt dry as he sat up, retrieved his waterskin and drank deeply.

  Though it was a rest day, he had much to do. If his smith-crafting had failed, he would have the day to attempt another, and with most of the buildings empty he should be undisturbed. Since it hadn’t, he planned to work on another project and to visit Miranda later.

  First of all he needed some breakfast, since as usual he was starving. His stomach grumbled at the thought, and he dressed quickly, the long sleeves of his shirt covering his wristband. Caldan hesitated for a second then slipped his trinket onto his finger, confident that no one would suspect what it was. His bone ring he left around his neck, hidden under his shirt. Considering Felicienne’s interest in it, he had to be careful.

  Down in the meal hall, only a few apprentices and journeymen were around. Breakfast having finished long ago, they were sitting in groups and chatting. Caldan managed to lay his hands on a mug of weak ale, an apple and some bread and cheese, which he set to devouring with a will. The ring on his finger felt unnatural, but he guessed the feeling would diminish with time.

  Approaching midday, he walked out of the Sorcerers’ Guild and headed towards Five Flowers. The overnight storm had left the streets relatively clean, though this meant the rivers would be dirtier until the runoff dispersed.

  As he crossed a wide canal that fed into the River Stock, the stench assaulted his nostrils, and he covered his nose and mouth with a hand. Both the Stock and Modder were rivers in name only, having been turned from sources of fresh water hundreds of years ago, when Anasoma was sparsely populated, into brown murky sludge filled with all the detritus of a city so large. By themselves, the rivers weren’t bad; it was the canals around the city that fed into them that were disgusting. Some flowed swiftly, while in some the water lay motionless and viscid. Poor scavengers from the slums regularly poled makeshift rafts over their surface, trolling for anything of value floating in the garbage. Human remains were not uncommon, and Caldan had heard certain individuals paid a handsome amount for corpses, fresh or otherwise. Only to the west of the city, where the wealthy made their homes, were the rivers and canals a semblance of their original selves. Luckily, a past emperor had decreed that aqueducts were built to draw water from dams to the far west of the city. Without them, the city would have decayed long ago, from disease of the body and of the spirit.

  Passing over a bridge into Five Flowers, the wooden walkover crowded with people about their business, including the odd beggar ever alert for Quivers, Caldan paused to find his bearings.

  Days ago, having failed in his attempts at crafting a working simulacrum that lasted more than a day, he had made inquiries at the Yawning Rabbit as to where he could locate a decent clockmaker. There were many in the city, located in all areas, though the best had set up shop in the wealthier districts.

  Spending long hours mulling over his problem, he’d decided he needed help, however much that galled him to admit. Crafting his wristband had been hard enough, but it was one solid piece of metal. Since his time at the monastery and the classes with the other students, he had been fascinated with moving simulacrums, such as his paper animals. The idea had come to him of visiting a clockmaker to see how their creations functioned — gears, wheels, arms, ratchets, springs and whatever else they needed to work. Somewhere in there he might have an idea as to how he could make a moving simulacrum.

  Shielding his eyes from the sun, he took in this side of the river. The change was evident. Buildings were well kept, and some even had gardens behind walls, others flower beds outside their doors. On the other side of the river he had left, the buildings looked rotten in comparison, ill-kept and decaying.

  Caldan shook his head and turned back to Five Flowers. People on the other side had better things to worry about than how their houses looked, he supposed, like providing enough food for their families. He continued south, past more buildings, whose function he could only guess at. After polite questions to a few of the passersby, who were always polite in return and glad to assist, he found himself outside the clockmaker’s shop in question. Pausing to straighten his shirt and run a hand over his short hair, he turned the knob on the freshly painted door and entered.

  Inside, he stopped and stared, mouth open. Three bright crafted sorcerous globes illuminated the shop. All four walls were covered in gleaming clocks of different shapes and sizes, as well as boxes and strangely shaped objects he couldn’t begin to guess the function of. Polished wood and burnished metal, all gleamed under the light of the globes, the atmosphere inside redolent with wood and wax, and an alchemical polishing solution.

  A workman-like man approached dressed in sturdy clothes protected by a leather apron. A graying beard covered his face, and he wore a pair of spectacles on the end of his nose. Both the spectacles and the crafted globes revealed to anyone the owner was ex
ceedingly prosperous.

  “Ah, young sir, a fine day it is now, is it not? Please,” he waved a hand, “look around and see what you fancy. A timepiece as a present? We have many large ones, as well as pocket watches for those whose time is valuable…” He trailed off. “Though you don’t look like my regular customers. Are you here to pick something up for your master?”

  “Pardon? No, I’m here on my own behalf.”

  “Well, I daresay you have wandered into the wrong shop.” The man looked Caldan up and down. “Yes, what were you looking for? Perhaps I can help you on your way.”

  Undeterred, Caldan smiled at the man. “If I may look around… and what’s in the boxes?”

  Rubbing his hands, the clockmaker stepped to a shelf and opened a dark wooden box. Immediately, tinkling notes of music drifted into the air, although the box was empty.

  “One of my designs for ladies’ jewelry, a box that plays music. One of my best sellers,” he said modestly, grinning with satisfaction. “A mechanical music device is hidden under a false bottom.”

  The clockmaker closed the lid and the music cut off. He moved to another shelf, on which perched a brass bird sitting on a branch on top of a block of wood. “The same design led me to more ornamental objects for a lady of means.” Taking what looked like a key from his pocket, he inserted it into a hole in the wood and gave a few turns. “Watch,” he said cryptically and stood back.

  Once again, music flowed from the object, though this time the bird’s beak opened and closed while its wings flapped up and down. Caldan thought he recognized the tune, a song sung between lovers, a romantic melody. Unlike the other music box, this tune was more complex, the chiming notes overlaid with deeper tones. The music sounded as if it were played by a skilled harpist. With a satisfied smile, the clockmaker watched Caldan’s admiration for the piece.

  “Such an object wouldn’t be possible without the assistance of the Sorcerers’ Guild, of course. But the mechanism is my own devising, and I have sold many, even one as a present for the emperor’s sixth wife.”

  Caldan hadn’t known such complexity was possible for a mechanical device. The workmanship opened his eyes to possibilities he hadn’t dreamed before, for his own smith-crafting and for his desire to craft a simulacrum.

  These were exactly what he was looking for, though he hadn’t known it. He turned his gaze from the mechanical bird to the clockmaker and bowed. He could learn much from this man.

  “I must admit to being impressed. I’d thought clocks to be simple things.” At the clockmaker’s frown he continued quickly. “But I see I was very much mistaken, and your work has made me reassess my own desires.”

  “I have to say you aren’t like any of the nobles’ sons I see in here. They have a certain… manner about them. Not altogether agreeable. To them, my work is only a means to get them into a lady’s bedroom, and they hand their ducats over without taking much time to peruse my wares. You’re different.”

  “Actually, I’m interested in clocks and their movements. Well, the internal workings, that is.” Caldan pointed to the musical bird, whose song had trailed off while he spoke.

  “Lad, I am sorry to say I can’t help you, unless you are a member of the Clockmakers’ Guild? No? I didn’t think so. I would know.”

  Caldan walked a slow circle around the room, fascinated by the craftsmanship on display. But that was the purpose of such an extravagant display, wasn’t it? To impress potential customers. He could learn much from a clockmaker, he decided, but guilds held their secrets close. As ducats were scarce, something else would have to be traded.

  “Good sir,” he began. “You misunderstand, though that is probably my fault. Let me introduce myself first. I’m an apprentice in the Sorcerers’ Guild, and…”

  The clockmaker coughed disbelievingly. “Young sir, that statement would be more convincing from someone of a few less years than yourself.”

  “It is true,” protested Caldan. “I have only been in Anasoma a few months now, having been raised elsewhere. I was lucky enough for the sorcerers to accept me based on my talent, and I can say your reaction to this isn’t the first I have encountered, including from my fellow apprentices.”

  The clockmaker frowned. “It’s possible, I suppose, though what does this have to do with your presence here? Are you interested in purchasing a clock or one of my mechanical marvels?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I find myself short of ducats at this time.”

  “And I find myself short of patience. If you have nothing more to say then be gone and stop wasting my time. I have work to do.”

  Not put off, Caldan continued. “I’m interested in mechanical workings, not so I can make a clock or any other device, but for an idea I have. I may not have ducats to pay for a device to study or for some of your time, though I fear I will need both. What I have to trade is my own skill, my own talent in crafting, which is not inconsiderable.”

  With a sigh, the clockmaker said nothing for a few moments, giving Caldan another inspection over his spectacles. “Perhaps I believe your story and you’re an apprentice sorcerer, but what could you possibly offer? Some work I have done by sorcerers, craftings so complex and expensive an apprentice couldn’t possibly help. They charge a pretty ducat, too, for such work, though I don’t begrudge them that. They can do things I can only…” He shook his head. “I don’t see how you can help me.”

  Caldan smiled at him. He’d gleaned some knowledge of the clockmaker’s wants now.

  “What I have is talent and access to resources where I can devise craftings and no one asks questions as to what I am doing. I can smith-craft better than most journeymen. I may be an apprentice, but I’m recently joined to the Sorcerers’ Guild and have not properly been tested yet.”

  He rolled his left sleeve up to reveal his wristband. Light from the three sorcerous globes reflected off the burnished gold, complex patterns and glyphs visible on its surface. The clockmaker leaned forward, curiosity evident on his face.

  “This is my work. Recently smith-crafted by me alone according to my own design and resources, from start to finish. The metallurgy, the design, the crafting, all my own work.”

  “It looks pretty, but any goldsmith could make something similar.” He looked again at the wristband. “Almost any,” he added. “I’ll admit you may have a talent for making pretty jewelry.”

  Caldan opened his well and linked to the wristband. His skin tightened and vision blurred as the shield flowed around him.

  With a gasp of surprise, the clockmaker took a step back, hands raised.

  “What?” he exclaimed. “I’ve heard of such craftings but never seen one before.” He reached a hand out then looked at Caldan for permission. “May I?”

  Caldan nodded, and the clockmaker extended his arm to touch two fingertips to the shield. Where they touched it, tiny motes of purple light spread from the contact, fading to nothing a few inches from their origin.

  “I’m impressed,” the clockmaker said, nodding. “I think we can do business.”

  After a long discussion, Caldan and the clockmaker shook hands on an agreement. In exchange for limited knowledge on the internal workings of his devices, answers to any questions Caldan could think of and assistance with a simulacrum design, the clockmaker would receive from Caldan pieces of smith-crafting he usually paid a high price for from the Sorcerers’ Guild, as well as knowledge of how the basics of crafting worked.

  Both were pleased with the final bargain, and Caldan left the shop in good spirits, promising to return in three days with the craftings the clockmaker required, relatively easy pieces for him once he located designs in the library.

  Chapter Forty

  Sunset bled through the streets and alleyways of Anasoma. Through the thin clouds on the horizon and the dust and pollution of the city itself, red light filled rivers and canals. Exhausted, dirty groups of workers left workshops and factories, clerks trudged wearily from offices rubbing tired eyes, dock workers and labore
rs headed for nearby inns and taverns. Above the city, smoke from countless fires across the districts obscured the sky, and the smell of burning wood and coke pervaded the evening air, mixing with the usual rank stench overpopulation.

  Caldan stood in a secluded courtyard among a group of ten fully-armed Protectors, journeymen and two masters, including Master Simmon.

  The master had roused him from his room as he rushed past, explaining hurriedly that he should join him as the experience would show him what the Protectors were really about.

  Puzzled, Caldan scrambled after the master down a few corridors and out into the courtyard, where they joined a group of gathering Protectors, all of whom were bristling with crafted amulets and rings, the masters also sporting trinkets. Two journeymen carried large shields, the outside surfaces covered in a thin sheet of crafted steel.

  All eyes turned to Caldan as he entered the courtyard.

  Master Simmon spoke, raising his voice to address them all. “He’s coming with us. He needs to see what we have to deal with.”

  “A bit early, isn’t it?” protested an older journeyman, one of the two carrying the strange shields.

  “Maybe, but he’s old enough, and from what I’ve seen he can handle himself well.”

  The older journeyman shrugged, and they all returned to their tasks. With a nod, one of them handed Caldan a sword with a worn leather scabbard and belt. He checked it quickly before buckling the belt around his waist. Serviceable, but hardly a quality blade.

  Gear was inspected, blades eyed for rust and given a quick wipe with oil. Both masters inspected each journeyman before nodding and moving to the next. To some, they commented on equipment they carried or the purpose of various craftings.

  Soon, both Master Simmon and Master Jazintha stood before Caldan, eyeing him critically. He’d only seen Jazintha in passing as she walked the halls. She was the master in charge of all the Protectors who traveled outside of Anasoma. She made sure they left well equipped, kept tabs on where they were and their status, and debriefed them after they arrived back in the city. Slender and wiry, she carried herself with assurance and exuded a presence of stillness similar to Simmon. Buckled to her belt she carried a thin sword with a crafted hilt.