“What’s to understand?” The fiendling plucked one of the young green leaves. “I was born a bastard child with demon blood. Obviously, I’m one of the most vile, wicked, and evil people there can be.” She stared at the back of her hand. “I was hoping I’d fit in better here.”
Gisella took Qaliah’s hand. People recognized, intellectually, Qaliah’s appearance was superficial, but the stigma of fiendish blood ran through her veins; her horns and tail made that unmistakable.
“I won’t abandon you.”
“I know.” The fiendling turned toward Gisella and hugged her tightly, laying her head against her chest. Gisella fought the urge to wrinkle her nose at the acrid scent of brimstone that lingered on her friend. “I just wish…”
“What?” Gisella looked down and stroked the fiendling’s hair.
Qaliah stared into Gisella’s icy blue eyes. “I wish you liked women.”
The Golden Slayer laughed. “Sorry.”
The fiendling released the slayer from her embrace. “Nah, it’s all right. I find comfort where I can. Some people can afford to be picky.” She put the leaf in her mouth and chewed. Spitting it out, she frowned. “Ugh.”
“We should go.” Gisella wiped her brow. It was cooler in the shade but no less humid.
“Hey, maybe someone in the temple of Pacha can help. I’ll bet there’s a bunch of drunks there who no one believes who have tons of weird stories that might fit what…”
Gisella smiled and led Qaliah away from the plaza. The fiendling prattled on about the tales of drunken people. Gisella admitted her companion made a good point. The people who turned to Pacha’s temple for help were the exact same people who often saw what others missed and no one believed.
It did not take the women long to discover that the god of mirth, madness, and wine had no temple in Vlorey. The nearest shrine sat at the crossroads near the vineyards outside of town. Gisella returned to the main street that ran through the temple district. She considered each building in turn, thinking about where they should go next, and noticed a minotaur holding a spear and watching them. He covered his mottled tawny and dark brown fur with a kilt and breastplate inscribed with the same symbol she noticed above the gates of the Hearth of the Sacred Family.
As he approached, he adjusted the grip on his spear, a subtle change, but one only those experienced with spears would notice. She touched Qaliah to gain her attention, making sure to keep her free hand away from her weapon.
“I heard of a fiendling and her southern lover causing trouble at the temple of Hon.”
Gisella chuckled. “Well, this fiendling is not my lover, so I’d say you have the wrong people. Are you a guard?”
“I am a Justicar. Orion Ironhorn of the Divine Tribunal.”
The slayer pulled Qaliah close. She knew of the Justicars by reputation only. Similar to the Arcane University’s slayers, instead of hunting down renegade wizards, Justicars hunted down anyone they felt was wicked or a lawbreaker.
“You’ve heard of us.” The minotaur lifted his hoof and tapped it with the butt of his spear. He grunted and stomped the dirt. “I’m certain what you have heard is an exaggeration, just as I am certain Hearth Master Nolan embellished his account.”
“It’s like she said,” Qaliah jerked her head toward Gisella. “We’re not lovers.”
The minotaur rubbed the end of his snout. “Nolan makes assumptions and jumps to conclusions based on those assumptions.” He eyed Gisella, scanning her from head to toe, fixing on the golden seashell around her neck.
“Yes, I see the problem.” He pointed to the symbol of Aurora. “Nolan is not the most tolerant priest. In particular, he… dislikes… Aurora. Aurora”—he pointed at Qaliah—“Fiendling, I’m sure you can see where I’m going.”
Gisella lowered the minotaur’s hand. “And I’m sure stories you’ve heard about both worshippers of Aurora and fiendlings are likewise exaggerated.”
The minotaur chuckled and leaned on his spear. “No doubt. I must ask, however, why did you go to the Hearth of the Sacred Family?”
Qaliah pulled away from Gisella and sat on the grass beneath a willow near the side of the road, stretching out and placing her hands beneath her head. The slayer lifted her hair off her neck, allowing a cool breeze to bring relief.
“You should bind your hair up off your neck.”
“I’m not used to the heat here.”
The minotaur reached into his pouch and withdrew a red ribbon. He turned to show her his own plaited mane. “Take this. It will help.”
“Thank you. I keep losing hair ties.” Gisella took the ribbon and braided her hair with it. “My companion and I seek information. We came north following rumors of the Lich Queen.”
Orion chuckled and scratched the back of his leg with his hoof. “There are always rumors regarding the Lich Queen. The ignorant invoke her name to explain any ill tidings, particularly as a double-dark night approaches.”
“Double-dark, eh?” Qaliah perked up. “Bad things that happen when both moons are dark always get blamed on fiendlings, too, especially when the moons are dark for three consecutive nights.”
“It is quicker to make assumptions about the phases of the King and Queen and fix blame based on ignorance and superstitions than it is to seek the truth.” Orion snorted.
Gisella rubbed her arms and observed an old woman and what must have been her grandchild stroll across a nearby bridge, stopping to watch ducks swim in the water. “So, there is nothing to the rumors, then?”
“There are strange goings-on.” Orion glanced around them, as if searching for eavesdroppers. He leaned in close to Gisella. “I am forbidden to speak of them. In this instance, my duty trumps justice.” He spat on the ground and scowled.
“But if I seek the truth…” Gisella touched the minotaur’s muscular arm. She noted how soft his fur felt.
“One might learn something at the Red Crypt, but more than that, I cannot say.”
Orion picked up his spear and cradled it in his arms. He eyed Qaliah. “Stay out of trouble. Tomorrow night, stay indoors, Fiendling. Find a man or woman, have some wine, do things of which Hearth Master Nolan would disapprove, but stay off the streets.” He left the two women to contemplate his words as he joined a crowd of pedestrians moving toward the Temple of the Sky to worship at the altar of Tinian, King of the Gods.
“Well, I hope Pancras can sweet-talk the priests of Aita into revealing something helpful.” Qaliah picked herself off the grass and took Gisella’s arm. “I think we should follow his suggestion and find some men for tomorrow night.”
Gisella resolved not to spend the night in the arms of a strange man, so she strolled with the fiendling out of the temple district, and they headed toward the Screeching Griffon. She hoped Pancras’s luck had served him better.
***
His schedule mandating no official duties at the university until the afternoon, Pancras seized the opportunity that morning to visit the Red Crypt. Like the other houses of worship in Vlorey, it was located on the temple district island. Despite that, the Red Crypt seemed isolated from the others.
Yew and pomegranate trees surrounded a tall, narrow building constructed of red-veined marble, onto which carved, bas-relief scenes depicted Aita’s marriage to Nethuns, Prince of the Sea, and her subsequent descent into the underworld. The building featured neither windows nor doors. Steps led up into a dark mausoleum, lit only by candles. A long, single chamber composed the interior. A few people sat in pews on either side of the center aisle, at the end of which stood an obsidian statue of the Princess of the Underworld. An ebony wood catafalque rested before her. Ravens surrounded Aita’s feet. Held aloft in her left hand were the scales with which she weighed one’s deeds when they stood before her in the afterlife.
Priests wearing crimson-dyed linen robes tended the candles. As Pancras crossed the threshold into the temple proper, he felt Shatterskull thrum at his side. A bell tolled at the rear of the mausoleum. The priests turned to fa
ce him and dropped to their knees.
“Hail, Bonelord! Aita graces this temple with her Chosen.”
The adulation stopped Pancras in his tracks. He glanced at his maul and noticed the gleaming, red skull of Aita on its face. He had not expected the temple itself to acknowledge his presence. The people seated in the pews turned and stared at him.
The minotaur cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
One of the priests stood and approached Pancras. The others returned to their duties. The priest crossed his arms over his chest, resting his palms on his shoulders, and bowed.
“We are honored, lord.”
Pancras waited until the man stood. He was unsure how to respond to the bowing and scraping, so he decided to ignore it. “I’m hoping you can help—”
“Oh yes, of course.” The man rubbed his hands together. “We are all at your disposal, lord.”
“Please, my name is Pancras.” He took the man by the shoulder and walked with him through the pews to the side of the room. “I have been granted visions—”
“By our lady? How marvelous! No one here has been so touched in years—”
The minotaur raised a finger in the man’s face. “Stop interrupting, I don’t have all day.” Pancras hated being rude, but the man’s enthusiasm grated on his nerves.
“My apologies.” The priest bowed again.
“What is your name?”
“I am Brother Maynard.”
“Who is the high priest here?” Pancras decided the best way to obtain what he needed was to ascend the hierarchy.
“I am eldest.” Maynard smiled and spread his arms. “But now that you’re here—”
“No, no, no.” Pancras frowned and held up his hands. “I’m committed to the Arcane University. My duties to our lady are more focused. I’m not here to lead this temple. I seek information.”
“I see.” Brother Maynard’s smile vanished, and he tilted his head downward, while simultaneously glancing up at Pancras like a child unjustly chastised. “What would you like to know, lord?”
Pancras licked his lips and rested his hand on the haft of his maul. Aita’s power still flowed through it, unbidden by him. “I’ve come investigating the Lich Queen.”
Brother Maynard’s eyes widened, but then he tightened his lips and shook his head. “No. I know nothing.”
The minotaur laid his hand on the human’s shoulder, his fingers reaching halfway to the man’s shoulder blade. “Brother…”
Brother Maynard grasped Pancras’s arm. He pulled down, but could not budge it. He ended up lifting himself closer to the minotaur’s head and whispered, “Not here. Meet me at Ravenbrier Meadery at dusk tomorrow.”
“Where is that, exactly?” Pancras shook the human off his arm.
Brother Maynard fell to the floor, straightening his robes as he regained his footing. He glared daggers at the other priests who turned to regard the commotion. Once they returned to their duties, he motioned for Pancras to accompany him to the entrance.
“Ravenbrier makes the best mead in Vlorey, nay all of Cardoba, but you won’t find their sweet nectar in the taverns around town. Oh no, you must leave the city for that.” Brother Maynard kept his voice low. “An hour north along the King’s Road. It’s the only place of import between here and Verdant Palace.”
From conversations he overheard during the past few days, Pancras surmised the priest referred to the castle north of the city from which the king of Vlorey ruled what little territory the city-state had carved from Cardoba for its own.
“Very well.” Pancras turned to leave and glanced over his shoulder at Brother Maynard. “I hope you’re not wasting my time.”
“I would not dream of it, lord.” Brother Maynard crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. Pancras left the man to his duties and exited the temple. As he crossed the threshold again, he felt Aita’s power dissipate from Shatterskull. He glanced down and noticed its unadorned face returned to normal. The minotaur could not determine what exactly bothered him about the human priest. He made his way to the Screeching Griffon, hoping Gisella and Qaliah had discovered something useful.
***
Delilah took her seat in the council chambers and waited for the other members of the Court of Wizardry to arrive. Sentinels flanked the doors and the dais upon which all the chairs of the high wizards sat. She didn’t know any of the guards’ names and wondered if it would be proper to ask. The chamber lay quiet, a welcome contrast to the bickering among assembled wizards when the court was in session. The drak swung her legs back and forth as she waited. They didn’t hit the floor, and she contemplated whether it would be worth the trouble of having a footrest added or her chair shortened.
She toyed with the idea of making the Frost Queen wait until the following day, but while Delilah felt the need to assert her authority, she didn’t think any good could come of deliberately antagonizing the sorceress from the south.
After a few minutes, The Green and Brown Wizards arrived.
“There will be no others for this session.” The Green Wizard took the seat to Delilah’s left.
The Brown Wizard took the seat on her right. “They deem this a local matter.”
Delilah gestured to the guards by the door. “You can let her in now.”
One of the guards opened the door and spoke with Seneschal Lyov. The Frost Queen pushed her way past the old man and the guard.
“It’s about time. I did not travel from the Southern Watch to while away my day listening to some old fool prattle on about inconsequential gossip.”
The Green Wizard regarded Archmage Delilah. “This seems familiar.”
“Alysha has always been rude and impatient.” The Brown Wizard nodded.
Delilah held up her hand to silence the high wizards. “What do you want? I already told you the penalties for delinquency have been rescinded.”
“I want to see my sister. Where is she?”
The archmage glanced at the two high wizards seated on either side of her and again at the Frost Queen. “Sister? Who is your sister?”
“She refers to The Golden Slayer, Archmage.” The Green Wizard leaned against the back of her seat and steepled her fingers in front of her mask.
“The Golden… oh. The one who left with Pancras?” Delilah almost forgot that a slayer had left with her friend. A pang of grief flashed in her heart as she realized she might not see him again. She pushed away the thought and returned her attention to the wizard before her.
“She accompanied another wizard to Vlorey.”
The Brown Wizard nodded. “To ensure his arrival.”
“Vlorey?” Alysha’s jaw fell open. She snapped it shut and clenched her teeth as her knuckles turned white on the shaft of her staff. Blue tendrils swirled around the staff’s crown and then dissipated into wispy azure smoke. “Of all the fool-headed…”
Delilah noticed the guards’ hands drop to their weapons, and she leaned forward. In the distance, she heard the chime of the university’s mealtime bells. “Is there a problem with Vlorey?”
“Not as such, no.” Alysha pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s a family matter, one Gisella should not be addressing by herself.”
“She’s not alone. Pancras is with her.” Delilah knew if there were trouble, Pancras would lend a hand, regardless of his personal feelings about the slayer.
“That is not a comfort.” Alysha’s shoulders slumped. “Archmage, might I request a private audience?”
Delilah glanced at the Green Wizard, her eyebrow raised. The high wizard inclined her head ever so slightly and lowered her voice to a barely perceptible whisper. “That is your choice.”
“Very well.” Archmage Delilah stood. “I have a task I must assign my apprentice. Meet me in my chambers in an hour.”
Alysha bowed. “Thank you, Archmage.”
Delilah waited until she exited before clutching her staff and following her.
“Archmage?”
She stopped at the sound of the Bro
wn Wizard’s voice. She turned to face the two high wizards. They descended from the dais and stood before Delilah. “We appreciate that you are still uncertain. However, you are archmage. You may do as you wish. Rest assured, if you overstep your bounds, we will warn you.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” In truth, Delilah recognized she was ignorant of how far was too far. In Drak-Anor, she had been responsible for only her brother. The thought that she now possessed authority over all the wizards of Andelosia, possibly Calliome, intimidated her. That the Frost Queen accepted her request to wait an hour encouraged her. Delilah didn’t have a momentous task for Katka; she merely wanted her apprentice to fetch sustenance.
She found her pupil in the practice area, setting the training dummies on fire. Delilah watched Katka practice until the young woman noticed her.
“Del… Archmage!” Katka curtsied. “I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s quite all right.” Delilah held up a hand to cut off further apologies. “I just have quick favor to ask.”
Katka secured her wand in its holster at her waist and smoothed her robes. “Sure. Oh! Did you see that dragon? I think it was attacking Grimstone Keep. Some of the older students—”
The archmage took her apprentice by the arm and led her away from the practice area. “The older students know nothing of what’s going on. The dragon is with the Frost Queen. I’m meeting with her in an hour.”
“The Frost Queen?” Katka covered her mouth with her hand. “She’s here?”
“Yes.” Delilah pointed the young woman toward the Enchanter’s Focus. “Fetch me something to eat, will you? I won’t have time to go and sit; I must prepare for this meeting. Bring it to our chambers?”
“Okay. Anything in particular?”
Delilah shook her head. “No.” She caught Katka’s arm as her apprentice turned to leave. “No, wait. None of that fish stew. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.” Katka stuck out her tongue. “I think he makes that to try to cover up the fact that the fish are rotten. I’ll be back soon.”
Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3) Page 17
