“The finest brandy in Muncifer.” Archduke Fyodar raised his glass.
Delilah tried a sip. Although it burned as it descended her throat, she found the smoky oak and subtle fruit flavors pleasing. “I doubt you requested to see me just to share your brandy with me.”
“Right to the point.” Theros swirled his snifter. “Fear not, Archmage. These aren’t dire tidings. For once.”
Archduke Fyodar laughed and raised his glass. “Right you are. And we have you to thank.” He nodded to the archmage.
Delilah understood many people were relieved by the passing of Archmage Vilkan, but she didn’t expect to be toasted. “I appreciate the toast, but I really do have a lot to do.”
“No doubt.” Archduke Fyodar called for a refill. “But let us take a time to savor the moment.”
“When I finally sort through all the junk Manless left in my quarters, I will.”
She stood to leave, but Theros placed his hand on her shoulder. “A message came from the giants today. They witnessed your battle with Vilkan, and they are pleased that justice was done. They’re sending emissaries to renew our trade agreements.”
“My father established peaceful relations with the Iron Giants before I was born.” The archduke sipped his brandy. “It was my greatest shame that I allowed Vilkan to jeopardize that legacy. I owe you a debt, Archmage.”
Delilah raised her glass to the archduke. “Glad I could—”
The doors to the sitting room burst open. Guards rushed in, led by their captain. “Your Grace! Dragon sighted coming from the south.”
Theros and Archduke Fyodar rose as one. Delilah drained her glass, coughing as the fiery liquid burned its way to her stomach.
“Show me.” Archduke Fyodar followed the guard captain. Theros and Delilah hurried after him as he ran upstairs to the battlement.
The south wall of Grimstone Keep overlooked a residential district of Muncifer. As the keep was the tallest building in the city, their vantage afforded them a view toward the spur of the Iron Gate Mountains on the southern horizon beyond the wall of the city.
Archduke Fyodar turned to Delilah. “You said the dragon was dead.”
“She is. Her head was split open. She was desiccated and rotting.” Delilah climbed into one of the embrasures for a better view, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. A shape easily mistaken for a large bird glided toward the city. Its wings were twice as wide as its body was long, and when it turned, the long tail adorned with spines left little room for doubt.
A dragon descended upon Muncifer.
Chapter 11
Pancras found the Alchemy Master’s lesson plans and notes a disorganized, jumbled mess. Fortunately, the students, on top of things and eager to continue where they left off, helped him locate the notes he needed. By the end of his first lecture, the minotaur felt certain he could keep up the pace set by the old alchemist.
The minotaur returned to the tower office he shared with Headmaster Lewin. The elderly human, who beat him there, directed a veritable army of novices and initiates as they dusted, carried away boxes, and moved furniture.
“Ah! Deputy Headmaster Pancras. I thought I’d clean up the place. I haven’t shared space in so long, I’m afraid I let things become cluttered.”
Pancras dodged an initiate carrying a bundle of scrolls piled so tall she couldn’t see over them. “That’s quite all right. I’ve been known to let my laboratory in Drak-Anor become somewhat messy.”
The minotaur lied in deference to the headmaster’s feelings. Back home in Drak-Anor, Pancras had been fastidious and fussy, his workshop never cluttered or messy. To the casual observer, in fact, it was difficult to determine his laboratory was used at all.
“Settling in all right?”
Pancras placed his armful of notes on a clean desktop. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“I’ve arranged for a meal this afternoon.” He beckoned Pancras to follow him. “You should meet the other masters and instructors.” The headmaster directed one of the novices to disturb neither his desk nor the one Pancras used, and he led Pancras to the faculty dining hall. A humid breeze wafting through the halls did little to diminish the stifling atmosphere.
The faculty dining hall sat in the center of a walled garden behind the headmaster’s tower, with its kitchen attached to the far side of the building. Tall date palms dotted the garden, and smaller shrubs lined the paths. Collapsible wooden panels, which composed the walls of the dining hall, allowed versatility; for this gathering, they were folded away, opening the hall to the outside air.
Headmaster Lewin introduced additional staff members as each entered. Save for the elves Vanathiel Falaelwa, master of enchantments, and her sister, Beriwen Falaelwa, adjunct master of enchantments, they all hailed from Cardoba and Vlorey. Pancras noted the former group rolled their Rs more thoroughly.
The other wizards more than happily swapped rumors about the exact nature of Tybalt Sandalwood’s affliction. The popular theory was that the master of alchemy tasted one too many of his experiments.
“I heard he mixed his reagents incorrectly while making a tonic, and it petrified his guts.” Master of illusions, Elwyn Grubb, spoke with a slight lisp and gesticulated wildly. More than once, the wizards seated alongside her were forced to dodge her flailing hands.
“Nonsense.” Master of abjurations and wards, Albion Bracegirdle, held up his hand to protect his face from errant gestures. “He would have died days ago. I just saw him up and about yesterday.”
“It’s entirely possible he’s just old and feeble and dying of it, as you humans are wont to do.” Beriwen poured herself more wine from the silver ewer before her. She and her sister possessed deep green skin and black hair, a stark contrast to the ivory robes worn by both.
“Enough talk of dying humans.” Vanathiel turned to Pancras, catching him mid-chew. “Headmaster Lewin tells us you came all the way from Muncifer via ship. He also tells us you practiced the forbidden arts.”
He swallowed his mouthful with some dry, tannic wine before answering. “I actually journeyed from Drak-Anor by way of Muncifer, and yes, I was once a necromancer. I have not practiced that in years, however, and I do, in fact, serve Aita.”
“Drak-Anor?” Master of evocations, Graeme Longriver, tapped his finger against his chin. “That’s in the Dragon Spine Mountains, is it not? Near Celtangate?”
“Closer to Ironkrag, but yes.”
“Going through Muncifer is the opposite direction.” Master Bracegirdle raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Remember Archmage Man”—Headmaster Lewin coughed to cover his flub—“Vilkan’s decree about delinquent dues?”
“You mean to tell us Manless made you travel all the way to Muncifer, just to send you here because you were behind on your dues?” Master of conjurations, Gilda Brandywood, slammed her goblet on the table hard enough to slosh wine onto the white tablecloth.
“Yes.” Pancras chuckled. “I was rather annoyed. He kept one of my drak companions behind, as well. He felt since she was self-taught, she couldn’t possibly know anything, and, therefore, he required her to start at the bottom, as an initiate.”
Headmaster Lewin winked. “She showed him.”
“You’re talking about our new archmage?” Master Longriver passed a plate of crispy squid.
“Delilah is a skilled battlemage, but I never expected her to become archmage.” Pancras scooped a generous helping of squid onto his plate and shook his head. “I leave her alone for a little while—”
“There has not been a drak archmage since the Age of Legend.” Master Vanathiel Falaelwa took the ewer from her sister and refilled her goblet.
The conversation continued until the sun sank low in the sky. Surprised none of the wizards inquired about his arm, Pancras considered the possibility that Lewin had already apprised them. He made a mental note to ask the old man about it the next day. The minotaur bade a good night to the masters as he gathered his things and headed toward the Screeching
Griffon. His personal quarters at the university would not be ready for few more days. Walking the streets of an unfamiliar city after a long, exhausting day did not provide Pancras the relaxation he sought before going to bed.
Qaliah and Gisella were dining together when he arrived at the inn. The taproom, full of patrons enjoying the house-specialty mead with their meals, buzzed with the cacophony of dozens of conversations. The fiendling looked none the worse for her overindulgence the night prior and cheered when she saw Pancras.
“Pull up a chair and join us.”
Pancras sat between the women. “Please tell me one of you accomplished something today.”
“More of the same.” Gisella cut through a hunk of roasted pork the size of her forearm. “Chasing down rumors is slow work, particularly when I don’t know anyone or where anything is.”
“I heard plenty of rumors in the taverns today.” Qaliah leaned in close to Pancras. “You’ll notice I didn’t drink myself into oblivion again.”
“I did notice.”
The fiendling grinned. “Unfortunately, none of the rumors I heard seemed to have anything to do with the Lich Queen. Mostly rumors about who’s sleeping with who and which lady’s baby doesn’t belong to her husband.”
Pancras scratched his chest and waved off a servant carrying plates of food. “Perhaps your time would be better spent getting to know the lay of the city. You’re quick and observant. I’ll wager you can learn the streets faster than either of us.”
They agreed that for the next few days, Qaliah would scout the businesses and neighborhoods while Gisella continued visiting the temples and city watch stations. Pancras, meanwhile, would keep his ears open around the wizards and seek out the Red Crypt. He hoped, now that he was in Vlorey, his goddess would offer more guidance.
***
Kale gasped and snapped open his eyes. He sat in his kitchen, in exactly the same spot he occupied before he first touched the silvery sphere. The candle, little more than a flickering nub, cast dancing light on the orb as it hovered over its base. The puzzle box clicked, whirred, and closed. He put his hand on his chest as the pounding of his heart threatened to burst from within it. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he clenched his fists in a futile attempt to stem the tide of tears that threated to flow from his eyes.
He collapsed as his body wracked with sobs. Sweeping his arm across the table, he knocked the puzzle box away, sending it clattering to the floor. Although he recognized that what he just witnessed could not possibly have been real, he felt battered and exhausted from the experience.
Clawed hands held his shoulders, pulling him close. “Kale? Kale, what’s wrong?”
The drak sniffled and wiped his eyes as he regarded at his mate. “I saw him die. I saw it all.”
“Who? What happened?” Kali pulled a chair near to sit alongside her mate. She glanced around the room. “Kale, your puzzle box.”
“Keep that thing away from me!” Kale pulled his mate downward as she stood to retrieve it. “I got it open. It showed me things. I saw him die.”
“You opened it?” Kali glanced at the box. It rested against the bricks of their hearth, closed and still. “Who died? Kale!”
He swallowed and took her hand, holding it against his chest. He closed his eyes and slowed the cadence of his breathing before he faced her and explained how he solved the puzzle box and found the silvery orb inside. “Then I touched it, and it transported me to a different place, except no one could see me. I watched as they killed Rannos, and the world broke. I saw The Sundering.”
“The Sundering?” His mate regarded the puzzle box again and scooted away from it. She hugged her mate tightly.
He told her about the two brothers and how they conspired to kill Rannos out of some twisted sense of justice for another dragon’s attack. “They were mad, not angry, I mean. Insane or something. A woman tried to stop them, but she was killed. Then they used a heartstone and some other rock, and it blew up Rannos. Then the world cracked.”
Kali hugged him and nodded. “It was just a dream, Kale. That’s all.”
“No, no, it was more than that. It was real. I was there; at least, my mind was.”
“I don’t understand. How could you have seen that? It was almost a thousand years ago.”
Kale didn’t understand it himself. Mechanical things he could decipher. The puzzle part of the box he had solved, even if it had occupied him the better part of a year to unlock its secrets. The magic within, however, was beyond his understanding or experience.
“Maybe Deli will know something.”
His mate cocked her head. “Do you really think so? She’s good in a fight, but magical visions seem to be different than what I’ve seen her do.”
“Well, maybe, but I’ll bet she knows someone who can help.” Kale stood and stepped over to the puzzle box. As far as he could tell, it was inert, just an intricate clockwork puzzle offering no hints as to what was stored within. He picked up it.
“I’m putting this down in the cavern with the egg. Deli can look at it the next time she’s here.” He hoped she wouldn’t have him open it. The last thing Kale wanted was to experience that vision again.
***
The dragon roared as it swooped past the city walls. The guards who didn’t flee in terror loosed arrows, most of which arced harmlessly past the wyrm. Its roar froze the blood in Delilah’s veins, and it was only through sheer force of will that she remained on the battlement.
“Get below, Your Grace.” Theros guided Archduke Fyodar to stairs leading inside, but the archduke pushed him away.
“No. No, I won’t.” The archduke drew his sword and climbed onto the parapet. “The people of Muncifer will not see me flee like a craven beggar.”
Delilah did not intend to let the people see the new archmage flee, either. Blue tendrils gathered near the top of her staff as she swung it in the direction of the dragon, aiming ahead of it, anticipating where it would fly next. The sun reflected off its shimmering, opalescent scales.
“Ophayra!”
A bolt of azure fire streaked toward the dragon. It banked, and on its back Delilah saw a rider. The fireball exploded prematurely as the rider countered the spell, leaving a sooty, black cloud in its wake.
The dragon dove toward the city gate, opening its maw and breathing a blizzard of frost and snow. It struck the wall below where the archduke and Delilah stood, covering it in a sheet of ice.
“Definitely not Pyraclannaseous.” Delilah and the archduke jumped down and took cover behind the merlons. Theros dove for cover as well, covering his head as the icy blast shot over the wall.
“Could it be seeking revenge for the dragon’s death?” The archduke dared peek over the wall. With a cry of alarm, he scrambled backward.
The wall shook as the dragon landed on the battlement and stared at Delilah, its slavering jaws inches from her face. Its hard-edged features were as if chiseled from ice. Blue-tinged white scales covered its neck like armored plates. It snarled and licked its lips.
“Yaamkyrsku, hold!”
The dragon pulled back its head, and Delilah used the opportunity to shimmy from beneath it. She stood and faced the dragon rider.
The woman, clad in white, fur-lined robes, wore a runed breastplate that appeared to have been carved from cloudy ice. Her platinum hair hung in a long, complex braid down her back. She bore a golden, shafted spear whose dark head sparkled as it caught the light of the afternoon sun.
“Where is that mewling cur, Vilkan Icebreaker?”
Theros helped Archduke Fyodar to his feet. Delilah stood before them, her only hope of being seen. She motioned for them to stay back as she addressed the dragon and rider.
“What is the meaning of this attack?”
The woman regarded Delilah and chuckled, as if noticing the drak for the first time. “You attacked us. Answer my question, Drak.” She pointed her spear first at Theros and then at the archduke. “Or you, Minotaur. Human? Do you lead these poxy milk-dr
inkers?”
Archduke Fyodar stepped forward. He held his sword ready but kept it lowered. “I am Archduke Fyodar, ruler of Muncifer.”
“Then I am not interested in treating with you.” The woman turned her attention to Theros. “Where is the archmage?”
Delilah tapped the butt of her staff against the stones. “I am archmage. Vilkan is dead.”
“You? A drak?” The woman laughed and slid off the dragon. She patted its cheek and whispered in its ear. The dragon snapped its jaws and launched itself off the city wall. It roared as it took to the sky and circled the city.
The archmage kept her staff pointed at the woman. “Who are you?”
“I have many names, many titles.” She waved her hand dismissing the archduke and Theros as she watched her dragon soar. “My own people call me the Frost Queen.” She turned and bowed her head to Delilah, her hand on her chest. “I am Alysha Vibekedottir, and I greet you, Archmage.”
Archduke Fyodar cleared his throat. “I have heard stories about you. I am curious why you have chosen now to visit Muncifer.”
Alysha laid her hand on Delilah’s shoulder and guided the drak around the archduke. “I am here on guild business. Yaamkyrsku may circle a while before landing in the countryside. I recommend that your sheep-brained dung farmers not disturb him and just ignore him.”
Delilah and Alysha moved away, leaving Archduke Fyodar calling after them. The drak heard Theros calm his liege, advising him to let the slight go.
Alysha opened the door for Delilah as the two descended into Grimstone Keep. “Now, I came here to give that swag-bellied, canker-blossom Vilkan Icebreaker a piece of my mind, but since he’s dead, I suppose I should be more civil with you.”
“Hold it.” Delilah stopped. “I want to stay on the archduke’s good side, so why don’t you cut to the chase? Why are you here? What do you want?”
“Vilkan sent one of his slayers to retrieve me for being negligent in paying my guild dues. I was feeling charitable so I gave the poor man a warm room in my castle and came to see Vilkan myself.” Alysha cradled her spear and leaned with one foot on the wall.
Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3) Page 15
