The blond-bearded human did not back down. "Which is why he is being given the option to present himself before a tribunal. If he were considered a true renegade, we would be authorized to kill him."
"Fine." Pancras spread his arms and bowed. "I present myself before you for judgment. I apologize for my neglect and will be happy to pay any penalties and fees, as well as my dues forward for at least a decade." I have no idea where I’ll obtain that amount of money, but hopefully Sarvesh will back me.
Brown Beard chuckled. "That's very nice, but we are not your tribunal. You are to present yourself to the Tribunal of the One at the Arcane University in Muncifer on the first day of Spring's Dawning."
"Muncifer? Spring's Dawning?" Pancras's mouth dropped open. "That will require me to leave in the middle of winter to have even a prayer of reaching Muncifer in time."
Blond Beard nodded. "Hm, yes. I imagine the snows can close down these mountain passes. I expect you should leave quite a bit sooner than mid-winter. If you do not appear at your tribunal, you will be branded a renegade and hunted down. Understand?"
Pancras nodded, his ears flattening. He, of course, knew of the Slayers, the wizard hunters, the university employed. He was sure he could deal with one or two, but he understood how the Arcane University handled renegades and knew that one or two would be followed by others, endlessly, and he would not be able to show his face in the civilized world again. Not that he had any intention of leaving Drak-Anor, though it appeared he would not have a choice in the matter.
"Very good, then." Brown Beard nodded and clasped his hands together. "Be well, and have a safe journey!" The two humans exited the council chamber, leaving Pancras alone with Sarvesh.
"If it was that important, you'd think they'd clap you in irons and lead you to Muncifer themselves." Sarvesh stared after the two humans.
"That's too crude for them. They assume every user of the arcane arts will be mindful of their oaths and do the honorable thing." Pancras scuffed the tip of his hoof on the floor. "They were quite serious about sending Slayers."
Sarvesh put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "They'd have to get through our gates to get to you."
"Yes." Pancras nodded. "I can't endanger anyone here over thirteen hundred crowns. I'll just go, pay the fine, and return here as quickly as possible."
"And the punishment?"
The minotaur shrugged. "How bad can it be? If they kill me or somehow render me unable to use magic, they're not going to get any more money from me. What's the expression? One cannot squeeze blood from a stone?"
"Famous last words."
* * *
To Kale, entering The Bloody Spike was like coming home, more so than was stepping through the gates of Drak-Anor. He and his sister spent most of their free time in the pub; it was his happy place, and after what he experienced in the chaos rift, he needed his happy place.
He didn't want to admit it to Pancras, but he still felt as if his blood were on fire, and his vision had not yet returned to normal either: he saw auras around everyone. He didn't understand their significance but decided to ignore them until after he had an ale with his sister. Besides, Deli might be able to tell me something. She's smart about this magic stuff.
Delilah sat at their regular table, her staff leaning against the table next to hers. Where Kale was striped black and red, Delilah was striped red and black, although she was quick to correct anyone that her coloring was actually crimson and ebony. It appeared as if the skull topping her staff stared at the mug of ale in front of her and the steaming plate of sausages in the center of the table.
A black drak sat next to her, smiling, resting his head on a hand as he stared at her, and his lips parted in a wide grin. They were each surrounded by a golden glow. Kale rubbed his eyes, and the glow faded. The aroma of the sausages wafted past Kale's nose, and his stomach grumbled. He felt as if he hadn't eaten in days. Since Sarvesh engaged in trade agreements with Celtangate and Ironkrag, the quality of food available in Drak-Anor improved immeasurably. Kale wasn't sure he wanted the other drak sitting so close to his sister. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the stranger as he approached, realizing only as he seated himself that he knew the dark-scaled drak.
He raised his mug. "Welcome home! How did helping the dwarves work out for you?"
"You remember Zarach, don't you Kale?" Delilah smiled at her brother and took his hand. With his free hand, Kale reached over to the plate of sausages and grabbed one.
"Watch out! They're hot!" Delilah tried to smack Kale's hand away, but he snatched up a sausage before she could.
"They're not so hot." Kale barely felt any heat coming from the sausage and bit into it. Grease spurted out of the end of the sausage and ran down his chin, dripping onto the table.
He felt Delilah's eyes on him. Zarach waved one of the servers over and pushed a mug of ale toward Kale. "Are you all right?"
Kale shrugged, chewing on the savory meat. "Watched Pancras kill hundreds of ghouls, ran from a demon, got tossed through a chaos rift, you know, just regular, boring day."
His sister stared at him. "You… were tossed through a chaos rift? What happened?"
Kale regaled them with the story of finding the rift and fighting off the aberrations as Pancras closed the rift and killed the bloodmaw. "We never did find out what happened to the shadow demon. Maybe it got sucked back through the rift."
Delilah nodded. "That's possible. Maybe it's out there still, pestering the dwarves."
"Maybe." Kale hoped it didn't follow them home. He grimaced and arched his back. He felt sore and stiff, probably from hitting the wall. At least the food is good. He examined the mug of ale Zarach gave him. He sniffed it and then took a sip. To his surprise, it was not dwarven ale; rather, it tasted like ale humans brewed. Years of drinking that fermented mushroom juice, reminiscent of soggy, moldy paper which the dwarves called ale, pained his palate so that indulging in something that tasted crisp, bready, and refreshing was like seeing rays of sunshine after a week-long storm.
Stabbing pain shot through Kale's head. He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, stifling his reaction in front of Zarach. He felt his sister grab his hand again.
"Kale, are you sure you're okay? What's wrong?"
He shook his head. "It's nothing. Nothing. Just sore from getting tossed around." When he opened his eyes, the auras were gone, but his throat and lungs burned as he inhaled.
"Nothing, my butt. You're ashen and panting." Delilah grabbed her staff. Wisps of blue aether swirled around her. "Ageliofedros." A fuzzy blue boggin, little more than an orb of teeth with legs, popped into existence on the table. Delilah snapped her fingers in front of it. "Fetch Jared. Tell him my brother is sick."
The boggin yipped, hopped off the table, and ran out of the pub. Kale shook his head. "I don't need a healer. I just need to rest. And food. More food." He grabbed another sausage.
Kale decided to change the subject. His sister's favorite topic was often herself. "So, what's with you two?"
"We're just enjoying a drink together." Delilah set down her staff.
"And sausages, huh?" Kale ate another one. "Was this your idea, Zarach?"
Zarach's eyes flicked from Kale to Delilah. His mouth opened and closed and then opened and closed again wordlessly. He seemed unsure what to say. Delilah reached over and grabbed Kale's arm. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Why? Why?" Kale felt a flash of anger toward his sister. "I… you—" Another pain lanced through his head. He dropped the sausage and clutched at his face. It felt as if someone drove a sword into his skull. Then, as quickly as it was upon him, the pain disappeared. Kale found himself panting and stared up from the floor at his sister, who crouched over him.
"Hey."
"Kale!" Delilah picked up his head and cradled it.
"Get off me! Help me up!" Kale struggled to his feet. Zarach and Delilah helped him into the chair. The Bloody Spike was quieter than he remembered, and he looked around, noticing for the first
time he was the center of attention.
"I'm okay. The pain's gone. Sorry about that. I don't know what's happening."
"That's why I called Jared." Delilah pulled her chair next to Kale's, keeping a firm hold on his arm. Kale nodded. Was I mad at her? Why was I mad at her?
"You don't look well." Zarach stood next to Delilah. "Maybe I should go see what's keeping Jared."
Kale shook his head. "No, it's only been a few minutes. Sit down. I'm sorry if I said anything that—"
"No, it's fine. I know you and your sister are close."
"What's all this then?" Speaking Drak, a human voice, cut through the silence of The Bloody Spike. Kale was relieved everyone's attention turned toward the entrance. Two robed, bearded humans approached them, one's beard grey-streaked blond, the other shaggy and brown.
Delilah reached for her staff, but it was out of reach. Zarach grabbed it and passed it to her. "What are humans doing here?"
"We're from the Arcane University. We saw your messenger, a clever, if unorthodox conjuration." The brown-bearded human scratched his chin and narrowed his eyes. "Where did you learn it?"
"Not from the Arcane University, hmm?" The other human learned forward and stared at Delilah.
"No, I've lived here all my life." The eye sockets of Delilah's staff glowed blue, and Kale noticed thin tendrils of aether forming around it. "I learned from books, scrolls, and relics left behind by people like you who used to invade our homes and slaughter our people."
"Natural talent?" Brown Beard cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Blond Beard. "Impressive but not unheard of among draks."
"It falls under the third statute of the Rose Concordat as enacted by Gerold the Craven. You know, The Manless will want his code enforced."
Kale looked from human to human. He had neither heard of the Rose Concordat nor the Craven Mage. He glanced over at his sister. She watched the men through narrowed eyes, her teeth bared.
"We're not beholden to your laws, no matter where you're from."
Blond Beard shook his head. "All practitioners of the arcane arts are beholden to the Rose Concordat. It is what enables us to coexist with the Slayers. To be a renegade, is to always be hunted."
Brown Beard nodded in agreement. "The archmage will show lenience toward you, of course, since your ability is natural and he has a soft spot for dragon kin." He ran his fingers through his beard. "Why, I bet he would allow this drak to simply begin paying dues from this point forward and take the oath."
Delilah tapped the butt of her staff on the ground. "I'm not taking any oath."
"Indeed?" Brown Beard cocked his eyebrow. "Do you know the minotaur Pancras?"
Kale regarded his sister. She nodded. What does Pancras have to do with all this?
"Speak to him. He will be traveling to Muncifer very soon to face his tribunal for negligence of his oath. I suggest you accompany him."
Blond Beard stood up straight and nodded. "It would be most unfortunate if we had to enter you into the rolls of the renegades. Once the Slayers hunt you, there are no second chances."
Kale heard the sound of leathery scales sliding across the floor behind him. Suri, the medusa who ran The Bloody Spike and snake-haired consort of Sarvesh, slithered up to the two men.
"How dare you come into my establishment and threaten one of my customers!" She reached up and toyed with the chain holding her veil in place, a subtle threat Kale knew from experience she carried out on unruly patrons.
The two men bowed to Suri. Brown Beard spread his hands. "We offer no threat. We suspected this drak was unaware of the Slayers and the Arcane University's renewed position on renegades. We sought to educate and encourage, not threaten."
Blond Beard nodded at his companion and then at Delilah. "As we said, if you present yourself at Pancras's tribunal, we can resolve this with a minimum of fuss. We are all comrades, we who weave the mystical fabric of the arcane. There is no reason for hostility between us."
Brown Beard bowed again. "We shall take our leave. We must be on our way to Celtangate in the morning."
They turned in unison and left. Suri shook her head. "What was that all about, anyway?"
Kale slumped in his chair as Jared jogged into The Bloody Spike, carrying his satchel of herbs and medicines. This relaxing evening is anything but.
* * *
The next morning, Delilah visited Pancras to tell of her encounter with the two wizards. She berated him for not letting Kale and her know about his predicament. "When were you going to tell us? Or were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?"
The necromancer puttered about his laboratory, organizing the things he wanted to take with him on his journey and figuring out what to do with the things he must leave behind. He always dabbled in alchemy, but since he stopped creating undead all those years ago, his collection of instruments and reagents more than doubled. Most of it was not suitable for travel, and he wasn't sure if bringing any of it at all would even be worthwhile.
Sighing, Pancras leafed through his scrolls. "It was late. I was tired, tapped out. After telling Sarvesh about what happened under Ironkrag and dealing with those humans, I came straight back here and went to sleep." He smiled at Delilah. "Believe me. It never crossed my mind to leave without saying goodbye. Anything I can do to delay my departure is welcome."
Delilah placed a hand on her hip and pointed her staff at Pancras. "Ever thought of not going?"
Yes. For a moment. "Not really, no. It's not worth the trouble the Slayers would bring here were I branded a renegade."
"The city would band together for you." Delilah tapped the butt of her staff against the floor. "For us. We wouldn't stand alone."
"And they would die for us because we didn't pay a fine." Pancras shook his head and pulled three scrolls out of the pile. He carried them over to a small chest and placed them inside. "No, no, I will not ask anyone to do that for me. Nor should you. It is unfortunate they discovered you. I hoped you would be spared the petty tribulations of the Arcane University and the Mage’s Guild, but what is done is done. We must deal with it."
"Do you really think they would send these Slayers after us? Just for a bit of coin?"
"There was a time when I would have said no. That's why I haven't paid in so long. I don't know anything about this Manless chap, the new archmage. I am not willing to call his bluff."
Delilah sighed. "I guess I need to go with you, then. How far away is Muncifer?"
Digging around in a trunk, Pancras located an object that would help him on his journey: a teardrop-shaped lodestone suspended from a string. "A long way. A couple of months over land if we can secure some horses or mules. If we have to walk the entire way?" He shook his head. "We'll never get there on time."
"When are we leaving then? Today?"
Pancras shook his head. "No, I need to get my affairs in order. Probably tomorrow." He sighed. He did not want to set a departure date. It seemed too final.
"I'll be ready." Delilah left her friend to his packing. He took stock of his beakers and decanters, his jars of reagents, boxes of scrolls, and his wardrobe. He would have to leave behind all of it. He shuffled through his robes. They were heavy enough that he wouldn't be able to bring more than one or two extra sets. Fingering the gold trim on his purple robes, he decided to take the dark malachite robes with silver trim for daily wear. The black and silver and purple and gold ones would do for more formal occasions. Will I ever see my possessions again? It's a long way to go.
* * *
Delilah stomped past the guards at the entrance of the minotaur labyrinth where Pancras lived. Stupid humans and their stupid rules. Who are they to dictate rules to us? She understood his point of view, though. He was right; the guards and warriors of Drak-Anor would fight Slayers who came for the two of them, and neither one of them had the right to ask them to risk death for them. She thought they could evade these Slayers indefinitely but decided to defer to Pancras's judgment.
Her brother was her more i
mmediate concern. His erratic behavior and pallid scales were the obvious result of being tossed through a chaos rift, but she wanted to make sure he would be all right before she left him.
Delilah and Kale did not spend much time apart, and the thought of leaving her brother for months twisted her stomach into knots. She moved toward the city market, past The Bloody Spike, and past the series of caverns where the draks made their homes, although the twins had not lived with the other draks for most of their lives. They were cast out of their own clan for superstitious nonsense regarding their status as twins hatched from the same egg.
The small home she shared with Kale was located at the far end of the market near the council tower. What was once little more than a hole in the ground, another antechamber in the vast system of caverns, tunnels, and lava tubes that made up Drak-Anor, was now a homey hole, filled with Kale's tools and half-completed machines and the scrolls and books from which she taught herself sorcery. Her eyes lingered on a beat-up codex she acquired from a trader a few years ago, a lexicon for the common trade language used by surfacers. She picked it up. I guess I need to buckle down and study this.
Kale lay in his bed. Their beds were in the back room, one on each side of the hearth. She stuck her head through the door. He looked up at her, shoving off his blankets.
"Hey. What's going on?"
Delilah sat down on the edge of her bed and flipped through the lexicon. "I'm leaving with Pancras tomorrow."
Kale sat up, his jaw agape and his brow furrowed. "I thought you weren't going?"
"Stupid Pancras made me feel guilty." She shut the book and tossed it on her pillow. "He made a good point: if they send Slayers after us, a lot of people will die in the fight."
"Oh, well, then I'm going with you!" Kale rolled out of bed and bounced to Delilah.
Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1) Page 3
