“You know the archduke?” Kale couldn’t perceive the ruler of a city like Muncifer allying himself with a criminal like Boss Steelhand.
The minotaur chuckled. “Yes, you could say that. Anyway, the archduke sent me down here to head off any potential trouble on the evening of the duel. Just be calm and let events play out. The archduke will fight for the draks here. He gives his word.”
“We were told to go to Grimstone Keep and watch the fight from there.” Kali sheathed her dagger and placed her hands on her hips.
“Good idea. The battlement affords a good view of the crossroads.” He meandered through the shop and opened the front door, pausing to regard the two draks. “I’ll see you there.”
After he left, Kale turned to his mate. “I don’t think he’s telling us everything.”
“You think?” Kali shook her head. “Let’s finish up. I’m hungry.”
***
On the morning of the duel, fog clung to the lower parts of the city. Delilah broke her fast with a meat pie she purchased from a vendor in the city market and made her way through town. Word spread all over Muncifer that the archmage’s apprentice challenged him to the Rite of Combat in accordance with old traditions. Everywhere the drak sorceress went, people stopped, pointed, and whispered. Some made signs to ward off evil as she crossed their path, while others wished her luck.
As a game and method of keeping her mind off the peril, she kept a mental tally of how many people wished her luck versus treated her like a villain or plague carrier. To her surprise, she counted nearly triple the number of well-wishers than detractors. I guess the archmage isn’t that popular… or they just like an underdog. Just wait until they see what I can do.
She wagered everyone in town underestimated her. They saw her as just an apprentice, a wizard still in school, with the bare minimum of knowledge required to keep from exploding herself. Her status as an apprentice was true in the academic sense, and Delilah counted on her battle experience to give her the upper hand, even if Archmage Vilkan possessed more raw power.
The drak stood before the east gates of the city and offered a prayer to Maris, the goddess of battle. For good measure, she included Selene, the goddess of magic. She stepped through the gates and stopped to add a prayer to Tinian, king of the gods and Gaia, the Earth Mother, and in a way, grandmother of the draks.
I hope you all are watching. Or listening. I don’t believe that pap about Children of Destiny, but if it means anything to you, this human killed a Firstborne, and I’m going to avenge that and make sure the egg hatches. So, you know, a little help would be appreciated.
Delilah left Muncifer behind and followed the road east toward the Iron Crossroads. Bursting with meltwater running down from the mountains, the gully extending toward the city filled Muncifer’s cisterns. Across the field, Delilah saw Archmage Vilkan Icebreaker. In the distance, the Iron Gate Mountains formed a splendid backdrop, stretching across the horizon like a wall. Rolling farmland flanked the road, creating a funnel that led straight to the crossroads. It was as if Calliome herself said, “This goes no further.”
In a way, I suppose Gaia is the world, and the world is Gaia. Maybe it is just I face him like this. The wind whipped her cloak around her legs, threatening to trip her. The drak sorceress unhooked the clasp at her neck, allowing the wind to carry away the garment.
Behind her, Delilah sensed observers lining the walls of Muncifer. She knew in her heart neither her brother nor Katka would stay away, and they likely stood somewhere among the crowds.
Throughout her approach, Vilkan stood, arms crossed, a statue in the crossroads. Were it not for his robes flapping in the wind, one might mistake the archmage for an intricately detailed carving.
His arm twitched.
The drak raised her staff above her head, erecting a shield just in time to intercept the bolt of lightning arcing from Vilkan’s wand. The booming roar of thunder rattled Delilah’s chest, and she wrinkled her nose at the lingering odor of ozone in the air.
She stood fast and plunged her staff in the ground. Concentrating on what she learned from the grimoire of Gil-Li, the drak envisioned tendrils of azure aether ripping into the earth and pulling forth.
A blast of air hit Delilah in the chest like a giant’s fist. She flew backward, skidding across the ground, trailing a cloud of dust. Coughing, the drak rolled over and pushed herself onto her hands and knees just in time for another bolt of lightning to lance toward her. The bolt splashed against her shield, covering her in a coruscating film of dancing electricity.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Archmage Vilkan advancing on her, multi-colored tendrils of aether swirling around him. She scrambled to reach her staff, diving forward to avoid another blast of lightning, seizing it and rolling into an upright position.
“Synnefotone shifone!” A ray shot toward the archmage, and where he stood, a whirling cloud of blades appeared. Delilah didn’t wait to see their effect as she ran, angling around to flank him. Stabbing pain in her chest kept her pace slow, making every breath feel like fire.
The cloud of blades exploded outward, disappearing in a glittering shower of sparks. She observed a tattered and bloody archmage emerge from the cloud, pointing his wand directly at her.
“Time to end this, Drak.” Archmage Vilkan flicked his wand and swirled it. Dark clouds gathered, and thunder heralded an oncoming storm. The sky darkened, and green flashes illuminated clouds laden with rain.
Tiny droplets fell. It rained, at first, but then turned to sleet and ice. Delilah ignored the stinging icy shards and tightened her grip. She tapped the ground with the butt of her staff as azure wisps formed from the vapor around her.
“Kaléste gi stoicheiaki!”
The archmage halted his advance as the ground rumbled beneath him. The surface broke, showering him with rocks as a fist punched its way free of its earthly confines. A ten-foot tall, human-shaped stone being climbed to the surface.
The wizard gawked. He dove to the side as the creature brought its fists down in an overhead strike intended to smash the puny human for attacking its master.
Delilah allowed herself a smile and then pointed her staff at Vilkan, following his track as he sped and jumped away from the rock creature. “Ophayra!”
A globe of blue fire shot from the eyes of her staff, streaking toward the archmage. Her aim was not true, and it exploded behind him, throwing him forward just as her summoned creature reached to smash him.
“Damn it!”
***
Kale hopped up and down, trying to view the battlefield. The merlons were too tall for him to see over, and too many humans crowded at the lower spots. Most of the spectators appeared to be students from the Arcane University, but many nobles mingled among the robed men and women.
“Shove over, will you? That’s my sister down there!” He threw himself against one of the guards in an attempt to move the man but succeeded only in receiving a sore shoulder and a dirty glare.
“Look!” Kali gripped his bandoleer and hauled him to his feet. She pointed farther down the battlement near where a black-furred minotaur in blue robes stood near a bearded human wearing a fur-trimmed cloak and a gold crown. “Isn’t that Boss Steelhand?”
The two draks made their way through the crowd. The minotaur possessed the same grey-flecked muzzle as Boss Steelhand, although his hands were covered with black leather gloves. His intense stare was fixed on the battlefield. Kale tugged at his robes. “Hey!”
“What…” The minotaur did not seem surprised to see them, but he appeared rather annoyed that they broke his concentration.
“We can’t see. That’s my sister down there.” Kale peered over one of the embrasures in front of the minotaur. He spotted a dot moving in the distance. It moved toward another dot standing at the crossroads.
“Stand here.” The human gestured for Kale and Kali to take the spot in front of him and the minotaur. Kali clung to Kale’s arm as they shared a space and peered throug
h a crenel.
A bolt of lightning crossed the distance between the two figures, dissipating as it hit a magical shield. The rumble of thunder reached Muncifer at the same time the shielded figure flew backward as if punched by an invisible fist.
“I hope that wasn’t your sister.” The bearded human frowned.
“Me too.” Kale feared it was Delilah. As far as he knew, she trekked to meet the archmage on the field of battle, and it was the figure that had traveled from the city that was thrown.
The magical shield protected the prone figure from a second lightning strike. The figure then dodged forward. A flashing cloud glinted in the sunlight, surrounding the other figure before it flew apart.
Kale felt the wind shift. The two draks glanced up to see the sky, clear and blue just a moment earlier, darken and fill with menacing grey-green clouds. Rain fell, plinking off the armor of the assembled guards before turning to ice. Observers shrieked and ran for cover. Kale spread his wings and huddled with his mate under them. The ice melted as soon as it touched his body; a mere annoyance when faced with the sight of his sister’s deadly duel as it unfolded. The bearded man took a shield from a nearby guard to protect his head and face from the stinging ice.
Despite the vast distance that separated them from the combatants, they felt the earth rumble as a stone creature tore itself free and chased after the larger combatant. The minotaur standing behind Kale sucked in his breath.
“Earth magic…”
“Quite impressive.” The bearded man, whom Kale suspected was the Archduke of Muncifer, crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s just an apprentice?”
Boss Steelhand grunted. “Vilkan never had respect for draks, nor minotaurs. You know he views us as lesser races.”
Kale felt eyes on him. He noticed the archduke scrutinizing him and his mate. “I was too lenient with him, Theros. I let him push me too far.”
“This drak may be the solution to our problems, Your Grace.” Boss Steelhand rested his hand on the archduke’s shoulder.
Kale turned just as the remaining crowd gasped. He saw a ball of blue fire narrowly miss the running figure. It was one of his sister’s signature attacks, capable of reducing several opponents to ash at once.
And she missed.
***
A blast wave hit Delilah in the chest, throwing her to the ground. She rolled and covered her head as bits of dirt and rocks rained upon her. Two stubs that once were legs were all that remained of her summoned creature of earth and stone. The drak felt sharp fragments of rock draw blood as they peppered her legs and back.
Damn, I wish I’d kept my cloak.
She crawled forward toward a depression she found that appeared to give some shelter. Think, Deli-girl, think! This human is no different than those smelly oroqs you used to fight. Delilah pulled herself over into the dip, crying out as she felt the impact of a heavy boot on her spine.
“I’m going to break your back and grind you into the dirt.” The archmage twisted his foot and pressed down. The drak bit her lip to keep from screaming in pain. “When I’m finished with you, I’m going to scour the rest of your filth from Muncifer.”
A bit of rock beneath his boot dug into her spine, slicing through scales. She swung her staff up toward him, hoping she was close enough to knock him off balance. She felt resistance but then almost lost hold of her staff as the archmage yanked upward on it.
Delilah muttered under her breath as she squirmed and fought to extract herself from beneath his boot. “Kalee’steen enoch leetiké goyna.”
Followed by growls and yips, a succession of pops filled the air. The archmage cursed, and Delilah felt relief as the pressure on her back diminished. She pulled herself forward and rolled into a sitting position. The swarm of boggins she summoned leaped and bit the archmage. She wanted to laugh at the sight of the human running, swearing, and kicking balls of fur and teeth. The pain in her spine radiated around her ribs and made even breathing difficult.
You can still move everything. He doesn’t have you beat yet, Deli-girl.
The wind picked up, howling in her ears. She felt the pressure drop before she heard the terrible roar. The clouds above swirled, and a funnel descended, tearing up the ground and sucking up clouds of dirt. Hail the size of Delilah’s fist fell from the sky, battering the drak until she erected another shimmering shield.
Debris pelted her as she stumble-crawled toward a nearby boulder. It provided no protection against the hail, but it gave her some cover from the debris. Across a rocky stretch of field, Delilah saw a water-filled depression. The roaring vortex was deafening, closing in on her, and making it difficult to see or even think.
She dashed out from behind the boulder, pointing her staff over her shoulder. “Ophayra!”
The sorceress recognized the fireball would likely have no effect, but hoped it might serve as a distraction. A wave of heat washed over her. Whatever it hit was close. As she ran toward the depression, Delilah couldn’t tell if it was a water-filled sinkhole, a small pond, or a puddle. In desperation, she dove into it.
Delilah received a mouth and nose-full of watery mud for her effort. The depression housed a puddle that contained so little water, she splashed out most of it on impact. She dared to glance over her shoulder at the advancing funnel of roaring, howling wind. Her fireball set alight some of the drier debris, and flames swirled around the vortex.
The drak felt herself being pulled by her legs, being dragged out of the mud and across the ground. Her claws left deep gouges in the earth as she tried to find some purchase.
It was no use. The whirlwind picked up the drak and flung her through the air. It was all Delilah could do to hold onto her staff as she twisted and flew higher and higher. Swirling dirt blinded her while stinging ice slashed her scales.
Below her, Muncifer receded until it was a child’s toy on the tabletop of the world. She tumbled, passing through a small cloud, as though she floated in a dream. Then, as the cloud passed, she viewed the world below her, rushing closer at impossible speed.
She screamed.
Chapter 6
The Maiden of the High Seas lurched under a massive wave. Pancras gulped and seized a handful of rigging as his stomach knotted. In celebration of the end of their voyage, he indulged in a larger-than-usual meal with which to break his fast, unaware that Nethuns, god of the sea, planned, as a going-away present, to pummel their ship with a storm.
Thunder crashed, and a resurgence of rain rolled across the deck. He strained to find the land through the sheets of rain, but viewed only an expanse of grey. While the deluge soaked him through, the bonelord solaced himself with the fact that, this far north, the precipitation felt pleasantly warm.
Pancras pulled himself along the rigging until he reached the steps leading to the poop deck. He clung to the bannister as he climbed, reaching the top as a wave crashed over the bow.
“Damned summer squalls!” Captain Eingvar lashed himself to the ship’s wheel. The watchman shouted to make himself heard over the gale. “I thought we’d get to port before one of these damned things caught us.”
“Are they always this bad?” Pancras stumbled across the deck as the ship listed to one side and then the other.
“Ha! This is nothing. The worst will be behind us soon.”
To Pancras’s surprise, the captain’s words proved true. The storm soon passed, leaving behind upended crates, snapped lines, a torn sail, and many wet sailors. The minotaur wrung his clothes over the side as the captain approached him.
“Storms like that creep up on you here. Damned warm, coastal waters are rough.” He pointed across the deck. “See those lights in the distance?”
Pancras noticed flickering points bobbing on the horizon. Or rather, the ship bobbed as he peered at the skyline.
“Port-of-Dogs. I reckon they got a soaking, too, but those landlubbers like it. Helps the crops, they always say.”
“Oh? What do they grow?” The minotaur had not heard much about
this part of Andelosia. The rain brought with it humidity. The air felt thick, and it required effort for Pancras to breathe. He felt as if he walked in a soup of it.
“Around these parts? Peaberries. A lot of fruit orchards further in. Around Vlorey, you’ll find the usual food crops, too, but peaberries are big around the port. They roast the seeds and make a drink out of them.” He slapped Pancras on the back. “If you need some quick cash, buy a few bushels to sell in the city. Cybele’s tits, you can probably get paid to haul them if they’re having a bumper crop.”
The first mate ran across the deck, summoning Captain Eingvar to handle another crisis. Pancras remained behind to finish drying his fur and clothes. Afterward, he sought out his companions. Gisella, already below deck, packed their gear. The Golden Slayer’s luxurious locks hung stringy and dripping, victims of the summer storm.
“We’re nearly there.” Pancras stripped off his kilt and pulled on a new one before rolling into his hammock. Months of shipboard necessity erased whatever sense of modesty any of them possessed.
“I don’t mind the adventure of a sea voyage, but I’ll kiss Gaia herself when we make landfall.”
Pancras raised an eyebrow. “Gaia won’t notice, but I’ll bet Qaliah wouldn’t mind a kiss.”
Gisella laughed. “She wouldn’t at that. She’s been particularly forward lately. I think forced celibacy and the closeness of all the men is getting to her.”
Pancras nodded. While he usually didn’t give humans a second glance, their close proximity, general fitness, and the number of bawdy songs and half-naked bodies provided good fodder for his dreams, the kind of which he had not enjoyed in many years.
“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity for that in Vlorey.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “I suggest we hasten our departure from Port-of-Dogs and get on the road sooner, rather than tarrying in the port.”
Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3) Page 7
