Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1)

by Hans Cummings

  "Wings and stripes. Truly he is a Child of Destiny, touched by the gods." Paz fell to his knees and prostrated himself before Kale. "We would never have escaped the mines without his aid."

  Kale took a step back. He rubbed his arms and coughed, turning his head to look at Kali. "Yeah, please don't do that."

  The old man held his lantern over Kali and examined the wound. "Hm. This is an odd wound, what caused this?"

  Kale reached down and pulled Paz to his feet and then joined the old man by Kali. "It was a ghost or something. It stabbed her with its spear."

  "Hm. Undead. A ghost? Are you certain?" He touched the flesh around the wound, eliciting a new round of whimpers from Kali. "Ghosts usually don't harm people like this."

  "Well, he was translucent, floated, and was in a very bad mood."

  The old man lowered his lantern. He took Kale by the arm and led him over to the stairs that went up. "I guess some ghosts could be angry enough to hurt folk." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. My wife will know how to treat it. Come upstairs, I'll get you some mulled wine. We have warm beds for you and your friend."

  Paz followed the old man up the stairs. Kale looked back again at Kali. He was reluctant to leave her behind, even though they were in the same building. He waved to the two on the stairs. "I'll be along shortly."

  The old man shrugged and disappeared with Paz. "Dalenka! Up, woman, we have guests!"

  Kale sat on the edge of Kali's cot and took her hand. He stroked the back of it and noted how supple her scales were. She turned her head and moaned, shifting in discomfort. Her eyes opened, and although they were glassy, she looked at him and smiled.

  "Hey, you stuck around."

  "Yeah. I told Delilah to let Pancras know what was going on. He's probably going to be mad, but I just…" Kale looked down and gave her hand a squeeze. He shrugged and shook his head. "I just couldn't leave you. I had to know you were going to be okay."

  "Aw, you do care." Her smile turned into a grimace, and she cried out, clutching her shoulder. Kale heard someone stomping down the stairs. A portly, silver-haired woman dressed a sleeping gown, holding an oil lamp, and muttering to herself entered the cellar.

  "Oh by Apellon's lyre… Ludo wasn't making things up." She placed her lamp on a shelf near the head of the bed and knelt at Kali's side. She placed her hand on the drak's forehead. "How are you feeling, dear. Sir? I'm sorry, it's hard to tell in the dim light."

  Kali raised her arm, gesturing at Kale. "He's a he. I'm a she. My shoulder feels like something is eating it from the inside out. My whole arm is numb." She looked over at Kale. "Sorry, I know you're holding my hand, but I can't feel it."

  Dalenka pushed Kale away. "Go upstairs. You'll be in the way down here, drak. I'll take care of her."

  Kale hesitated, glancing at Kali. She nodded her assent. He shuffled toward the stairs, intent on overhearing as much as possible, but the old woman hummed to herself and muttered as she worked. Kale resigned himself to remaining ignorant.

  Kale found Ludo and Paz seated at a table. The light from the lantern flickered, causing dancing shadows to play across their faces. Kale felt the cold from the wall of white covering the windows, blocking all light. A small fire crackled in the hearth.

  "How deep is the snow?" Kale looked up at the top of the window, but didn't see a gap that might indicate the top of the snow.

  Ludo sipped from his mug. "Oh, you can't go by that. It's been crusted over with ice and snow for weeks now. It's only about as high as you out there. I'll have a path carved out to the street by mid-day. I worked on it all day yesterday."

  Paz drained his mug and licked his lips. "Oh, so good. I haven't had anything stronger than dirty water since I was sent to that damn mine."

  Ludo slammed his mug on the table. "I've been trying to tell the prince about that accursed place for years. He doesn't care. Just because you're short and have scales, everyone thinks they can push you around. Well, my family still remembers the draks have been part of this world longer than we have. It just isn't right!"

  "We have?" Kale heard stories about how the world was created, but the stories included little about how the various races all came to be. He pulled out a chair and climbed up to sit with Ludo and Paz. Ludo poured steaming wine into a mug and handed it to Kale.

  The mulled wine warmed Kale's throat as he drank. The spiced tingled in his nose and mouth. "Well, I think we shut the mine down. That fiendling guy is dead and so are all the guards."

  Paz bowed his head. "We lost many, but all the Firescales are free now."

  "Volos? You killed Volos?" Ludo chuckled and raised his mug. "Burn at the end of Maris's bloody spear, you son-of-a-bitch!"

  Paz raised his mug. "I'll drink to that!"

  "He'll roast on a spit in hell. That one will." Ludo filled everyone's mugs and raised his own again, nodding at Kale. "To the slayer of Volos! May he ride Tinian's steed to everlasting glory!"

  Kale felt his face become hot. "I think my sister killed him, or maybe all the miners that hacked him to bits with their picks. I didn't fight him at all."

  "To your sister then!" Ludo and Paz drained their mugs. Ludo laughed and refilled them.

  The warmed wine made Kale's head swim. Unaware of the time, he figured it must be nearing morning. His eyelids became heavy, and his belly felt warm with the wine he poured into it.

  After finishing off the jug of wine, Ludo showed Kale and Paz to their beds. They were made for humans, and without his sister to share his, Kale felt as if the huge expanse of mattress would swallow him up. His trepidation evaporated when his head hit the pillow, and he drifted off to sleep, the image of Kali smiling at him as she held his hand and guided him to his dreams.

  * * *

  Attuning to the rod was not as difficult as Pancras expected, although the rod itself was rather plain for his tastes. It was made from a single piece of hard wood, perhaps oak or ironwood, with a simple brass cap affixed on one end. From what Pancras deciphered, the arcane runes scratched into the wood appeared to be related to the control of arcane constructs.

  Pancras preferred more flashy implements: an ivory scepter or polished bone with a cap depicting a mouth or a geometric design. He decided the runes would have to go. Attunement took most of the evening, but when he went to bed, he felt confident it would work as well as the gilded horn tips he had used for decades.

  In the morning, he planned to let Delilah sleep while he took his morning constitutional in the cold and tracked down Lady Milena. The sorceress, however, had other plans. She was already awake and studying her grimoire in the armchair by the time Pancras dressed and emerged from his room.

  "Feeling better today, Delilah?" Pancras opened the food lift and removed the tray the servants sent up while he was still in bed. He poured himself a goblet of mulled wine.

  "I'm no longer exhausted." Without looking up, she turned the page.

  The answer wasn't exactly the response Pancras sought, but he decided to let it lie. "I will be just outside if you need me."

  Delilah closed her grimoire. "I'll come with you, if that's okay."

  Although it surprised Pancras, he didn't have a problem with Delilah tagging along; however, he didn't think she would find it particularly invigorating. Together, they entered the corridor. Scattered clouds covered the skies over Almeria. A light breeze was enough to scatter wisps of snow off the tops of the buildings but didn't add to the chill of the morning air. Pancras leaned on the ledge and looked out over the city. Delilah climbed up and sat on the ledge next to him.

  "So what do you do out here every morning?" She brushed some snow off the ledge, watching it drift down and become caught up in the wind.

  "Contemplate the upcoming day, admire the city, try not to drive myself insane wondering what you and your brother are up to."

  Delilah laughed and punched Pancras in the shoulder. "We don't go out looking for trouble."

  "Nevertheless, it seems to find you." In truth, Pancras tried not
to be sick with worry for Kale. Almeria was a far different city than Drak-Anor, and it wouldn't be hard for one lone, unfamiliar drak to disappear or find himself on the wrong end of a cutpurse's blade.

  Pancras's ears twitched as he heard the tell-tale sounds of Princess Valene approaching. She rounded the corner with her customary goblet of heated, mulled wine. A slight hesitation and hitch in her step revealed her surprise at seeing Delilah sitting with Pancras, but her face was a mask of boredom. From outward appearances, it was as if Princess Valene always encountered a minotaur and drak during her morning strolls.

  "I see we are not alone this morning, Pancras."

  Pancras crossed one arm over his chest and bowed. "Good morning, Princess. May I present one of my companions, Delilah?"

  Delilah waved hello. The Princess pursed her lips and groaned deep in the back of her throat. It was clear she expected Delilah to hop off and bow. "An unusual name for a drak."

  "Yeah, well, when half your clan wants to hide you away out of sight and the other half wishes they'd smashed your egg before you hatched, you have to forge your own identity."

  Pancras closed his eyes and coughed, hoping Delilah was a figment of his imagination, but when he reopened them, she was still there.

  "Indeed." Princess Valene sniffed and raised her head as she looked at the drak and then sipped her mulled wine. She switched her gaze to Pancras. "Apart from introducing me to this rude creature, have you any interesting thoughts for me today?"

  "I would never presume to know what you would find interesting, Your Highness." Pancras felt the tension in the air.

  Princess Valene sniffed and looked back at Delilah. "So you, Delilah. Why did half your clan wish to commit infanticide? Surely that is more interesting than Pancras's new found desire to walk on eggshells."

  Pancras caught himself before he sighed in resignation and turned to look out over the city again. He prayed silently to Aita that Delilah find enough tact not to insult the princess.

  "Draks with stripes are revered. Twins are feared. My brother and I are both." She scratched at a blemish in the ledge. "You might say our clan was conflicted. They didn't kill us at birth but cast us out as soon as we were old enough to fend for ourselves. They didn't even allow our parents to name us."

  Pancras knew the bare bones of Kale and Delilah's story, but not many details. They didn't talk about it unless they were asked, and he never wanted to pry.

  "So you chose your names yourselves?" Princess Valene took a drink of wine and nodded. "Hm, I do not know much about draks, apart from how poorly they've been treated in Almeria. They seem to be held in ill regard here, for reasons I cannot fathom. Back home, in Vlorey, we find draks to be skilled craftsmen and tinkerers."

  "Yeah, around here some people treat draks like slaves. Or worse."

  Pancras nudged Delilah. She shot him the glare of a thousand knives as he shook his head.

  "Yes, well. Obviously hyperbole is a trait draks share with humans. Have a good day." Princess Valene left them without giving them a second look.

  Delilah smacked Pancras on the arm. "Why'd you push me? I could've fallen!"

  "I don't know what you and Kale got up to the other night, but comparing the people of Almeria to slavers in front of one of its rulers is…" He couldn't find the word. Rude seemed an understatement.

  "That's what they are, Pancras!" Delilah hopped off the ledge, poking him in the belly with a clawed finger. "The big salt mine under the city? They were using drak slaves to mine the salt. Slaves!"

  Pancras first became aware of the hidden salt mine when Delilah told him of her brush with blood magic, and Almeria wasn't the first city in which exploitative industry was concealed from visitors. He stood there while Delilah lectured him about the events of their expedition with Kali, and he tried to maintain a neutral expression. Some parts of the story seemed unbelievable, but he knew Delilah well enough to know that although she might lie for a prank, she never lied if she was passionate or angry about a subject.

  He knelt down and held her by the shoulders. "I believe you. Freeing slaves is always a good thing. Just try to interact with the Princess with a bit more tact next time. We may need her as an ally very soon."

  Delilah smacked his hands away. "Why? What's this all about anyway?" She waved her finger in his face. "And don't tell me you can't tell me."

  That was exactly what Pancras intended to tell her. "I… am unable to discuss the terms of my agreement with Prince Gavril."

  Delilah screeched, threw up her hands, and stormed away. Shaking his head, Pancras stood up and dusted off his robes. "This day is certainly starting off well."

  * * *

  Delilah grumbled and scuffed her feet on the floor as she hastened away from Pancras. She wasn't sure why she was angry. It's the blood magic. It's affecting my brain! She scuffed faster, as if she could outrun her own thoughts.

  When she left Pancras, she went in the opposite direction from that of the princess. She desired not to encounter more drak-hating people today. The corridor led to familiar halls. She and Kale had truly explored the entire palace, except for the wing containing the royal living quarters. Almeria's palace contained no less than four banquet halls, along with various sitting rooms furnished with plush chairs, roaring hearths, and colorful rugs and tapestries.

  Most of the sitting rooms remained empty. The snow kept visitors and guests away from the palace, and the solitude Delilah found in one of the empty sitting rooms suited her. She pulled a chair closer to the hearth and climbed into it. By reflex, she reached for her grimoire and then smacked herself on the head. She then realized she left her staff behind, as well. A chill born not of cold came over her body.

  Oh well, who's going to come after me here? She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and sighed. I probably should go back. I could be doing something. Anything. Instead of leaving, however, Delilah pulled her legs up in the chair and let the crackling warmth of the fire lull her into sleep.

  While she slept, Delilah's dreams took her back to a desperate battle between the denizens of what later became Drak-Anor and the dwarves. She and Kale crouched behind a boulder. A dwarven battering ram slammed into the Deep Road Gate while oroq defenders rained arrows down upon the invaders. The thunderous roar of the lightning cannons Delilah and Kale constructed for their home's defense cut vast swaths of dwarves down, but the stout warriors attacked in a never-ending tide.

  Delilah was nearly spent and clutched at a wound in her side. Kale ripped a strip of fabric from the tunic of a dead oroq lying near them and pressed the cloth against the wound.

  "The Boss is coming. We just need to hang on a little while longer." Her brother winced as an oroq backed into him. The grey-skinned warrior looked down at the draks and sneered at them. He spat and growled and then turned and head-butted the dwarf he battled, sending the hairy invader stumbling.

  Delilah didn't like oroqs. They were brutish bullies. If they didn't have dwarves to fight, they often focused their attention on the draks and goblins who lived in the area. The Overlord felt they were too useful in fights to get rid of.

  "Little draks too weak to fight?" The oroq laughed at them and swung his sword in a backhand, beheading the dwarf in front of him. The head separated from the helmet as it spun through the air, landing at Kale's feet with a splat. The coppery scent of blood mixed with smoke and ozone from the lightning cannons hung thick in the air.

  Kale kicked the dwarf's head away. Delilah grimaced and picked up her staff. She tapped the butt against the ground and fought to still her trembling muscles as she summoned more magic.

  "Synnefotone shifone!" Tendrils of blue aether gathered around Delilah, her eyes sparkling and glowing bright turquoise. The wound in her side threatened to overwhelm her, and she felt her focus fade. In the periphery of her vision, a dwarven axe descended toward her brother's head.

  Delilah was exhausted, her magic failing, yet one source called to her. She drew upon the magic in her blood,
digging her fingers into her side to encourage the wound to seep and flow. She gritted her teeth against the pain and pointed her staff at the dwarf about to cleave her brother. The turquoise tendrils swirling around her staff darkened, turning purple, then red as a bolt of power shot forth and blasted the dwarf away.

  She jumped up on the boulder, spinning her staff and slamming the butt end into the rock. With her free hand, she gestured. The swirling, vaporous tendrils of magic flowed away and into the ground. She brought her hand up.

  Spikes of rock erupted from the ground, impaling dwarf and oroq alike. The tang of blood filled the air, and it ran down the spikes of rock, forming streams. Delilah drew upon the power of their deaths. Magic flowed into her, as if the floodgates of the aether were opened after a torrential storm. The spikes continued to grow until they formed the arms of great stone constructs ripping themselves from the earth, smashing obstacles in their way.

  Delilah turned her attention to the dwarves manning the battering ram. She drew more power from the bleeding dwarves and oroqs around her. The remaining color drained from their flesh, and their skin sagged and sunk as she drained the life force of each one. The air around the battering ram shimmered and then burst into flame. The screams of the dwarves mingled with the groans of the dying, and Delilah reveled in the power she drew from their deaths.

  She felt the air grow thin as the expanding inferno consumed everything in the cavern. A claw scratched at her leg. She kicked it away as all her enemies were consumed. It returned, a clawed hand wrapping around her ankle. Delilah looked down. Her brother stared up at her, his face gaunt, eyes cloudy white.

  "Deli—stop—you're killing—" Kale choked and gasped as his body burst into flames, his scales blackening and peeling away from his bloody muscles. Then they, too, burned away, revealing his blackened, charred skeleton.

  Delilah awoke with a gasp. She fell out of the chair, slapping at her legs, trying to free them from Kale's skeletal grasp before she realized she was in Almeria.