Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1)

by Hans Cummings

  "Ahead, to the left! We can get back into the catacombs that way!"

  Delilah was grateful for Kali's shouted instructions. She hoped no ghouls waited for them. That thing is probably herding us toward them. She took the first left, grabbing the corner to help keep her balance as her claws skidded on the ground.

  "Run! Faster! Look for—sloping passage—the right. It should—just ahead!" Kali's instructions were disjointed, shouted in between gulps of breath.

  Delilah saw the passage to which Kali referred. The tunnel narrowed, and she saw piles of rubble ahead. Beyond the rubble, the tunnel widened and was more structured. Burial niches lines the sides of the corridor.

  The catacombs.

  She jumped over the first pile of rubble, but tripped on the second, falling nose first into the ground. Fire erupted in her knees as the rough surface scraped away some of her scales. Two pairs of hands pulled her up, Kale and Paz. She pushed them away and turned to face the specter.

  "Deli, what are you doing?"

  Drawing threads of magic while exhausted was difficult, like pulling a rope through a too-narrow hole. Delilah thought she could manage it once more and pointed her staff at the ceiling junction between the old tunnels and the catacombs.

  "Ophayra!"

  The ball of fire exploded against the ceiling, the backblast of heat knocking the draks to the ground. The ceiling collapsed and filled the corridor with dust and rubble, sealing the catacombs off from the tunnel.

  Coughing, Delilah pulled Kale to his feet. "What good will that do, Deli? It can come through walls."

  "Yeah, but it's slower until it gets free." I hope. "Run!"

  Her supposition was correct as far as she could tell. The apparition screeched and raged, but they increased the distance between it and them. It might be enough to let us evade it.

  Kali took the lead as they sprinted through the catacombs. The hallways looked familiar to Delilah, but with as many twists and turns as they took, she was lost until she spotted a familiar door ahead.

  "Do you think that thing will follow us into the palace?" Kale threw open the door to the undercroft. It appeared undisturbed, just as they left it.

  "It didn't follow us into the mines." Delilah concluded it was either unwilling or incapable of leaving the catacombs. She watched the corridor.

  Paz hesitated by the door. "We should go our own way, Kali. Get back to The Assassin's Dagger."

  "I'm not certain we can evade—" A ghostly spear emerged from the wall, piercing Kali's shoulder. Her strangled wail was cut short as the grim specter pushed through the nearby wall, lifting her from the ground. She clutched at the spear, her hands passing through it, unable to touch the spectral weapon. The skin around the spear lost its shine and blackened.

  Kale and Paz cried out simultaneously. By reflex, Kale threw a dagger. The blade passed through the specter’s head, embedding itself in the wall.

  As soon as Delilah attempted to reach for her power, the world went dark. Her blood rushed in her ears like a river, and she felt her heartbeat in her chest like someone hammering a piece of steel. Still, below that, she felt power.

  Her blood.

  She grabbed at her skinned knees. Blood magic was forbidden by the Arcane University, but Delilah was not a guild mage. She knew its power but never used it. It was widely known to be vile, corruptible, and unpredictable. But, a mind on the verge of unconsciousness often makes decisions the conscious mind would never consider.

  Delilah drew upon the power of her own blood. Her vision cleared, and the world snapped into sharp focus. She saw the tendrils connecting the spirit of the dead knight to Aita's realm. Shouting, she pointed her staff at the specter.

  A swirling lance of crimson energy blasted forth from the end of her staff, power flowing from the skull's eyes and twisting into a single ray. It smashed into the specter and spread over it. The ghostly knight's mouth opened in a scream of pure anguish, and in a flash of green and red, it exploded.

  Ectoplasm sprayed in every direction, coating the draks in gooey mucus. Kali dropped to the floor, holding her hand over her ruined shoulder.

  Delilah fell to her knees. Her hands were shaking, and her whole body felt like electricity coursed through it. She wiped the ectoplasm off her snout, flicking it into the corner.

  "Wow, Deli. I didn't know you could do that!" Kale looked at his sister, eyes wide in wonder as he knelt by Kali, who writhed on the ground, groaning in pain.

  "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done that." The power called to Delilah. She felt it all around her, coursing through her veins, coursing through the veins of those around her, Kale, Kali, Paz. She even felt it, albeit faintly, coursing through the veins of all the humans in the palace above. Pancras, the only other practitioner of the arcane arts in the palace, stood out like a beacon, a beacon with a dark shadow.

  "It is destroyed?" Paz offered Delilah his hand. She shook her head, using her staff to help her rise.

  "I guess? I don't know. I shouldn't have done that."

  "Paz? She's hurt bad."

  Kali screamed when Kale touched her shoulder. Paz picked her up and cradled her. "I know a healer. I can get her there faster."

  Kale touched Kali's face and then looked at Delilah.

  "Go. Find us at The Assassin's Dagger when the streets are open." Paz shifted Kali's weight in his arms. Kale looked from Kali to his sister and back again.

  Delilah nodded. The power faded, leaving her numb. Her legs felt like leaden weights.

  "I'm going with them, Deli."

  Kale's voice penetrated the fog of Delilah's head. She scrunched up her face and looked at him, trying to parse his words.

  "I have to know she's going to be okay. Tell Pancras I'm fine. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can."

  Delilah opened her mouth to respond, but words wouldn't come. She found herself nodding, then turning, and leaving her brother with the other two draks. She shuffled through the undercroft, her tail dragging on the floor, a single thought running through her head over and over.

  I shouldn't have done that.

  * * *

  Pancras slept soundly for the first time in days. When the door to the parlor slammed shut, he awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He ran out into the parlor, leaving his robes behind, only realizing he was nude when his eyes met Delilah's shell-shocked expression.

  "Where's Kale?"

  "Hey, why are you naked?"

  Pancras noticed Delilah's speech was slurred and her glassy eyed expression wasn't focused on him. It appeared as though she was in some form of shock. He knelt before her. In addition to being coated in a thick, gooey substance, dried blood crusted her legs below the knees, and she appeared to be about to faint. A thick rod protruded from one of her belt pouches.

  "Delilah, where's Kale. What happened?"

  She put her hand on his shoulder, swaying from the effort. "I shouldn't have done it. Wait, no. Kale. Told me… something. He's fine. Yeah. That other drak got hurt. He's with her. He's fine. I sleep now."

  Delilah's eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell backward. Pancras lurched forward and caught her before she hit the floor. He lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom. From a cursory examination of her legs, he didn't think she was severely wounded; the blood appeared to be from skinned knees. He peeled back her eyelids with his thumb and saw only the whites of her eyes.

  It wasn't the first time he'd seen a mage collapse from exhaustion after taxing herself. He cleansed the blood off her legs and bandaged her knees with some of the supplies they brought from Drak-Anor and then covered her up and let her sleep.

  Pancras noticed realized how late he slept by the amount of sunlight that streamed into the room. The absence of the draks, the absence of Kale's early-morning activities in particular, explained why he slept so late.

  After eating, he checked on Delilah. The drak sorceress was fast asleep and seemed not to be in distress, so he shut her door and retur
ned to his experiments. The Codex of Passion gave him enough information to get started; however, he wanted to confirm a few suspicions with the priests of Cybele before he began in earnest.

  It was nearly dusk by the time Delilah awoke and emerged from her bed to find nourishment. So engrossed in his experiments he was, Pancras did not notice he worked the day away. In a way, it reminded him of the busy times in Drak-Anor, before helping Sarvesh manage the city became a regular part of his schedule.

  Delilah, wearing that same distant expression he saw when she returned that morning, slumped in her chair at the end of the table as she chewed on a piece of day-old bread.

  Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he waited for her to notice him or become annoyed. When he could wait no longer, he broke the silence. "Would you care to tell me what you got into last night? I cannot believe your injuries came about from just exploring this palace."

  "I used… blood magic, Pancras." Delilah's voice quivered, and even from across the table, he noticed tears welling in her eyes. She flung her piece of bread across the room. "Blood magic!"

  Pancras rubbed his horn as he stared at her. Of all the things she could have said to him, that was one he had not expected. We fought a bunch of nasty spiders in the undercroft. Or we found more zombies in the catacombs. Or we snuck out and got into a bar fight. Anything but 'I used blood magic, Pancras.' In all his years practicing necromancy, he never succumbed to the temptation to use blood magic. He did not want to judge her too harshly, however. He never knew Delilah to be wantonly cruel or destructive. Something terrible must have happened.

  "What happened that made that seem like a good idea?"

  "We went through the catacombs with Kali to free the slaves—"

  Pancras held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa. Slaves? What slaves?"

  "The drak slaves in the salt mine. They had almost the entire Firescale clan enslaved. It was terrible. There was a fiendling in charge and these crystal golems…"

  Pancras covered his face with his hands and rested his elbows on the table. Delilah continued rambling, and he caught snippets of ghouls, Kali's father, slaughtered humans. The story flowed from her like water from a burst dam. He rapped his knuckles on the table to get her attention. Nothing made sense, at least, not the way she told the story.

  "Look, I'm going to try to not worry about any of what you just told me as long as the prince or anyone else here in the Palace doesn't come looking for your heads, okay? Just tell me about the blood magic." Whatever that other drak got them into sounded like it was a lot of trouble. If they helped her with her problem and no one came to complain to the prince about it, Pancras figured he would be happier and safer not knowing about it himself.

  "There was a ghost or something in the catacombs." Delilah put both her hands on the table and looked down her snout at him, as if she were explaining to a child. "We killed all the ghouls, but nothing we did hurt this thing. It chased us through walls and everything. When it stabbed Kali, I was already so tired from all the fighting in the mines, I didn't know what to do." She sat back in her chair, slumping down so far only her head remained above the table. "It just happened. I was desperate. So tired. I just wanted it to go away.

  "So I exploded it."

  Chapter 17

  Delilah wanted to crawl in a hole and die. To the lay person, in the story she related to Pancras she saved their lives. She knew, however, tapping into blood magic was the first step down a dark path from which there was no redemption, only madness and death.

  She leaned forward on the table and buried her face in her arms. "I don't want to go crazy and die in a rampage!" She felt stupid for wailing and crying. And I let my brother go off with two strange draks, and now I'll never see him again, and I'll be dead after you have to kill me because I'm going to go crazy—

  Delilah felt Pancras put his arm around her. He held her while she cried. When there were no more tears, she sat up and wiped her nose. She nodded her thanks and reached for another piece of bread to calm her turbulent stomach.

  "I'm not an expert on the matter, Delilah." He reached over her for a pitcher, poured wine into a glass, and handed it to her. "If it was in the heat of the moment, a reflex to save those you cared about, and something you did not choose to do consciously in an effort increase your own power or destroy innocent lives, I don't think you've crossed the point of no return yet."

  "You're just saying that." Delilah was convinced megalomania was the next step. She contemplated it as she chewed the tough crust of bread. Despite being leftover from the morning, she found it tasted delicious. I wonder if megalomaniacal overlords employ skilled bakers?

  "No, I'm not. You're not cruel. You're not ambitious. I've never know you to be so." He squeezed her shoulder. "It was an act of desperation, right?"

  "You got that right."

  Pancras lifted her head so she looked directly at him. He smiled at her. "I don't think you have anything to worry about as long as you don't use it ever again."

  "It was so easy. I felt so much power. It was like… it was like it wanted me to use it." She knew how that sounded. Magic was an elemental force of the world. It didn't have wants and desires.

  "I've heard that is how it is."

  She finished her piece of bread and drained the goblet of wine. It burned as it descended her throat but warmed her belly. "I was unprepared for what we encountered down there. At home, fire solved almost everything. I didn't have anything useful against ghosts or the crystal golems they used in the mines."

  Pancras helped himself to some wine. He swished it around in his mouth before he swallowed. "You're sure it was a ghost you exploded?"

  "It was some dead human knight. He was greenish, and we could see through him. If that wasn't a ghost, I don't know what was."

  "There are several different types of incorporeal undead. Ghosts, specters, wraiths. All terrible in their own ways, but what they do and how they do it varies." He sat back and covered his mouth with his hand. "You say it was in the catacombs and was accompanied by ghouls?"

  It sparked a memory in her. She nodded and jumped up from the table. "Wait here!" She ran into the bedroom and retrieved the rod she took from Volos. She returned to the table and placed it in front of Pancras.

  "I just remembered: you need to figure out how to attune yourself to a new focus, one you don’t wear while sleeping."

  "What?" Pancras poked at the rod and then looked at Delilah, his brows furrowed in confusion.

  "Every time you've fallen asleep with those gold tips on your horns"—she pointed at his focus—"you have had bad dreams, and undead showed up. Three bad dreams with them on; three times undead have attacked."

  Pancras reached up and touched the gold on the tips of his horns. "I've gotten used to being hands-free—"

  "The fiendling in the mines used this rod to control his golems. I used it to shut them down. Maybe you can attune yourself to it and use it as a focus, or maybe I can help you make something new. We have time. I need to make Kale one of those light gems anyway."

  Pancras picked up the rod and examined it. "Perhaps you're right. We need to dawdle away the winter. I can't do what this prince wants me to do. It isn't right."

  Delilah still didn't know exactly what kind of deal Pancras made to get them out of jail. He wasn't one to go back on his promises, so if he didn't want to go through with it now, it must be pretty bad. "Is there something I can do to help?"

  He put the rod back on the table. Scratching his chin, Pancras shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Not at the moment. I can't do anything until we can go out into the city. There are many reagents I need to locate and purchase. Perhaps you can help with that." He reached up and removed the gilded tips from his horns. "In the meantime, I'm going to work on attuning myself to a new focus."

  For a moment Delilah thought Pancras intended to work through dinner. The bell on the food lift rang, and he perked up. "Oh, food!" He laughed. "I almost forgot."

  Delilah helped h
im bring out the trays and set them on the table. The aromas and sights of fresh, hot stew that smelled of herbs and pepper, and fresh, crusty bread set her stomach rumbling again. When their bellies were full, Delilah and Pancras retired to the armchairs in front of the fire.

  "It's been a long time since I've done this." Pancras sipped from a goblet of wine as he examined the rod.

  "You and me both." Delilah attuned herself to her staff almost as soon as she learned she was a sorceress. It wasn't the staff, per se, but rather the lizard skull on top of it. For years after she and Kale were cast out of their clan, that skull was her constant companion, a source of comfort for a young drakling scared of the world and everything in it. Now, it helped her fight back against that world and all the things in it that wanted to kill her and her companions.

  Pancras set the wine goblet on the floor and held the rod in the palms of his hands. "Let's get to work!"

  * * *

  Kale's arms trembled and burned as he stood holding Kali while Paz worked to open the door. The basement of the safe house to which they took her opened directly to the catacombs. It was a once-influential family's old house, according to Paz. Even though they no longer participated in affairs of court, their property still accessed the catacombs, and they were sympathetic to the plights of non-humans in the city.

  Paz jumped back as the door opened. A bent old human with one eye held a lantern and peered out. "I thought I heard someone scratching at this door! What's all this fuss, little draks?"

  "She's wounded. She needs a healer."

  "Oh bugger." The old man stepped aside and held the door as Kale and Paz brought Kali in. "Put her there on that cot." The stone walls and floor of the cellar were not unlike those in the catacombs, except that they were cleaner and well maintained. The two draks laid Kali on the cot in the corner as she groaned and writhed in pain.

  "Tinian's ever-watchful eye, boy! You've got wings!"

  Kale chuckled and looked over his shoulder and flapped his wings. "I sure do."