Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) by Mitchell Hogan Page A
Authors: Mitchell Hogan
Ads: Link
whimpers as it struggled. Soon, it lay still. Curiously, there was a red ribbon tied around its leather collar.
Amerdan lay on top of the dog for a minute, motionless and quiet. When he was sure the animal’s sounds hadn’t been heard over the wind, he stood and brushed off his pants and shirt. It would be rude to come into someone’s home dirty and looking disreputable.
To his right, the door of a barn swung open then slammed against its jamb. The weather must have caught the farmer unaware, and he hadn’t made sure everything was locked up tight. Leaving the dog lying in the dirt, he went up to the barn door and kicked it, slamming it with a crash. It shuddered on its hinges.
Come on, loving farmer. That should bring you running.
One window briefly went dark as someone passed in front of the light source. Amerdan gave the barn door another kick, and again it smashed into the jamb. Taking a few steps to the side, he crouched behind a water barrel.
A vertical line of light split the night as the door to the house cracked open. A head poked out, and Amerdan heard a man curse in a deep voice.
The door swung open, and a tall brawny man stepped onto the porch, shielding his eyes against the wind. He gave a low whistle and waited. With his enhanced vision, Amerdan saw the man frown when the dog didn’t appear. The stupid animal wasn’t far away, but he doubted the farmer could see its body, having come from a bright room into the darkness only moments ago.
He rolled his eyes as the farmer gave another whistle. Another curse, then another whistle. Then the farmer shook his head and walked toward the barn. As he was about to latch the door, Amerdan stood and slipped behind him.
Moments later, the farmer was on his back inside the barn, spread-eagled on the floor with Amerdan’s hand clamped to his throat. Even in the darkness, the farmer’s eyes widened as they took in the knife blade floating in front of his face.
He struggled; they all did. But in the end they knew their time had come. Their usefulness was at an end.
When the man started begging, Amerdan smiled. It was good he hadn’t pleaded for his own life but the lives of his wife and children.
He closed his eyes and listened to the thing’s mewlings.
•
Miranda squeezed Caldan’s hand tightly for a moment, then again. She sat where they had placed her hours ago, close enough to their fire for warmth, yet far enough away she wouldn’t stumble into it before someone could stop her. He had been talking to her since their evening meal, small inconsequential things about his life at the monastery, the trip by sea to Anasoma when they had met, his trials at the Sorcerers’ Guild. All the while he had held her hand, comforting her, making sure she relaxed after their long day’s travel in the wagon.
They’d come a short way from the road down a dirt track to a flat grassy area the soldiers knew from other trips.
Standing, he stretched his back and glanced around their makeshift campsite. Bells was still chained inside the wagon, fingers tied with strips of cloth and hands restricted so she couldn’t craft, having been led out earlier by Elpidia to stretch her legs before being bundled back inside.
Elpidia now had her gear spread out on the ground in front of her—small vials and bottles, along with paper packets and thin wooden boxes. Since they had stopped, she’d fussed over them, preoccupied. At one stage, Caldan saw her pour a few drops from the vial containing his blood onto a scrap of cloth. She then cut the material into four sections and placed each inside a vial of clear liquid, which rapidly turned a pinkish hue.
Amerdan had been gone from the camp for some time, saying he needed to stretch his legs. During the day, he had looked ill at ease and was no doubt taking his time, relaxing after being cooped up in the wagon.
The Quivers were talking quietly among themselves while cleaning their gear and examining their weapons. Each carried a
Amerdan lay on top of the dog for a minute, motionless and quiet. When he was sure the animal’s sounds hadn’t been heard over the wind, he stood and brushed off his pants and shirt. It would be rude to come into someone’s home dirty and looking disreputable.
To his right, the door of a barn swung open then slammed against its jamb. The weather must have caught the farmer unaware, and he hadn’t made sure everything was locked up tight. Leaving the dog lying in the dirt, he went up to the barn door and kicked it, slamming it with a crash. It shuddered on its hinges.
Come on, loving farmer. That should bring you running.
One window briefly went dark as someone passed in front of the light source. Amerdan gave the barn door another kick, and again it smashed into the jamb. Taking a few steps to the side, he crouched behind a water barrel.
A vertical line of light split the night as the door to the house cracked open. A head poked out, and Amerdan heard a man curse in a deep voice.
The door swung open, and a tall brawny man stepped onto the porch, shielding his eyes against the wind. He gave a low whistle and waited. With his enhanced vision, Amerdan saw the man frown when the dog didn’t appear. The stupid animal wasn’t far away, but he doubted the farmer could see its body, having come from a bright room into the darkness only moments ago.
He rolled his eyes as the farmer gave another whistle. Another curse, then another whistle. Then the farmer shook his head and walked toward the barn. As he was about to latch the door, Amerdan stood and slipped behind him.
Moments later, the farmer was on his back inside the barn, spread-eagled on the floor with Amerdan’s hand clamped to his throat. Even in the darkness, the farmer’s eyes widened as they took in the knife blade floating in front of his face.
He struggled; they all did. But in the end they knew their time had come. Their usefulness was at an end.
When the man started begging, Amerdan smiled. It was good he hadn’t pleaded for his own life but the lives of his wife and children.
He closed his eyes and listened to the thing’s mewlings.
•
Miranda squeezed Caldan’s hand tightly for a moment, then again. She sat where they had placed her hours ago, close enough to their fire for warmth, yet far enough away she wouldn’t stumble into it before someone could stop her. He had been talking to her since their evening meal, small inconsequential things about his life at the monastery, the trip by sea to Anasoma when they had met, his trials at the Sorcerers’ Guild. All the while he had held her hand, comforting her, making sure she relaxed after their long day’s travel in the wagon.
They’d come a short way from the road down a dirt track to a flat grassy area the soldiers knew from other trips.
Standing, he stretched his back and glanced around their makeshift campsite. Bells was still chained inside the wagon, fingers tied with strips of cloth and hands restricted so she couldn’t craft, having been led out earlier by Elpidia to stretch her legs before being bundled back inside.
Elpidia now had her gear spread out on the ground in front of her—small vials and bottles, along with paper packets and thin wooden boxes. Since they had stopped, she’d fussed over them, preoccupied. At one stage, Caldan saw her pour a few drops from the vial containing his blood onto a scrap of cloth. She then cut the material into four sections and placed each inside a vial of clear liquid, which rapidly turned a pinkish hue.
Amerdan had been gone from the camp for some time, saying he needed to stretch his legs. During the day, he had looked ill at ease and was no doubt taking his time, relaxing after being cooped up in the wagon.
The Quivers were talking quietly among themselves while cleaning their gear and examining their weapons. Each carried a
Similar Books
