“Blasted city folk,” Cade grumbled under his breath. “Always disrespecting their elders.” The fat, hairy man grunted and picked through their coins, holding up a square gold Etrunian talon. “Can’t even bring proper money. What manner of scrip is this?”
“It’s proper money.” Qaliah snatched the coin from his fingers. “It’s Etrunian.”
“Feh, proper money, my eye. Needs to come from Cardoba to be proper.”
Qaliah tapped the bar top with the coin. “Here now, Old Zeb said you’d have beds for us.” Qaliah leaned close to the fat man. “You don’t want to upset Old Zeb, do you? What difference does it make where the gold comes from? Gold is gold, eh?”
More grumbling. Cade slid a key across the bar top and pointed at a door on the far side, just to the right of the central hearth. “You can both use that room. Hope you brought your own food.”
He disappeared into the kitchen area. When it was clear he did not plan to return, Gisella lifted her pack and moved in the direction the barkeep indicated.
“Do you think our horses will be all right? I’d hate to come back in the morning and find Comet all chewed up by dead guys.” Qaliah unlocked the door and pushed it open with her foot.
“The stable seemed secure enough. I tipped the lady well.”
Qaliah sat on the straw mattress atop their lashed rope-and-wood bed. “So, we’re just going to sit here all night while the dead walk around us?”
The Golden Slayer drew her sword and inspected the blade. “Certainly not. I’m going out there, just as soon as the villagers have had time to settle in. We need to figure out what’s going on. It might be tied to what’s happening in Vlorey.”
The fiendling bounced on the mattress, causing the bedframe to creak in protest. “Or, this village could be cursed, and they’re all in on it.”
The thought had occurred to Gisella. She sheathed her sword and shook her head. “Unlikely. In my experience, people willingly involved in a curse tend to try to trap others. No one here wanted us to stay and investigate.”
“Did you bring in the food?”
Gisella opened her pack and withdrew a loaf of crusty bread and stick of cured meat she acquired at the meadery. She tossed them to the fiendling. “Don’t eat it all. I’ll want some later, and we don’t have anything else.”
“Plenty of fish out there; maybe I can grab some while we’re out tonight.” The fiendling tore the loaf of bread in half and tossed one half to Gisella.
“Leave money when you do.”
Qaliah snorted. “Sure, I will.”
After they ate, Gisella risked opening the shutters on their window. With no glass, the wooden slats were all that kept intruders and the elements out of the room. She rubbed her hand on the black hardwood; unlike the timber her people used in construction, it felt sturdier than any lumber she encountered in her travels.
Outside, mist covered the ground. The setting of the sun helped cool the air a bit, but the proximity of the ocean kept the humidity high. The absolute black of the double-dark night devoured what little light spilled from their room. Gisella sensed movement in the mist but failed to achieve visual confirmation in the pitch-black conditions.
She checked the straps on her armor, tucked her hair into her helmet, and gripped her spear. Qaliah cocked and loaded her crossbow. She indicated her readiness with a nod.
The two women crept into the hall. The Black Oyster was still. A low fire still burned in the hearth, but Cade was absent, and there were no other patrons in the hall. They made their way across the great hall to the front door, which they found barred shut.
“Looks like they want to keep someone out.”
“Or something.” Qaliah lifted the bar and set it on the floor. She pulled open the door.
Gisella observed dim light emanating from shuttered windows on buildings across the street. A pall of silence hung heavy over the village, broken only by the shuffling of feet in the darkness. An orange glow from the nearby pyres bathed the streets providing ominous illumination in the absence of the moons.
The two women exited the Black Oyster and shut the door behind them. Gisella stepped carefully, as the mist obscured the uneven and soft village street.
A groan to their right caught Gisella’s attention. A man approached them, his skin rotted and flaking off his bones. His eyes burned with an unholy red light. The Golden Slayer leveled her spear. The dead man’s head jerked back as a crossbow bolt sank deep into his forehead.
He continued to walk forward, ignoring the two women as he turned toward the sea. Qaliah reloaded her crossbow and aimed again. Gisella pushed it down, shaking her head at the fiendling.
More people appeared from within the mist—men, women, and children, all in various stages of bloat and decay. Like the first man they encountered, the rest of the walking dead, intent on stalking to the beach, passed them.
Gisella motioned for Qaliah to follow her. They dashed across the street and hugged the side of a building, creeping around it toward the beach. Waves lapped at the sand, the only sound, apart from echoing steps from the procession of corpses.
“It’d be nice if the bugs stayed away, huh?” Qaliah glanced around the corner at the beach. In the darkness, the sea was as black as the sky. The two women stared as the zombies shuffled toward and into the water, pressing ever forward against the crash of waves until the sea swallowed them.
More followed—five here, ten there—a steady stream of corpses shuffling inexorably toward the water and then into the drink. After observing for an hour, Gisella pulled Qaliah away, and they returned to their room at the Black Oyster.
“Aita’s bloody bones!” Qaliah stripped out of her clothes and tossed them in a pile at the base of the bed. “I knew she was wedded to Nethuns, but I didn’t think the way to Aita’s Realm lay in the bottom of the bay.”
“It doesn’t.” Gisella removed her armor and placed it on the armchair. “I don’t think Aita has anything to do with this.”
Before crawling into bed, the fiendling checked the window shutters. In the still of the night, they heard a seemingly endless parade of the dead moving past outside. Neither slept soundly.
***
More dreams of metal and turning gears came to Kale in the night. More images of coiled springs, winding and tightening.
Whirr, buzz, clack, clack, clack.
He saw himself hunched over a workbench, constructing some sort of mechanism. He felt desire, a need to create, to build, to use his hands. Kale noticed his dream hands were metal, composed of gears and pulleys. His fingertips were probes and screwdrivers. He felt a sharp pain in his ribs, and Kale’s eyes snapped open. He found Ori’s clawed foot planted in his side as the blue drak tumbled over him, scattering books and scrolls all over the front room.
“Oh. Kale, I didn’t see you there.”
The striped drak rolled over, wincing as his wing folded underneath him. He pulled himself up while grasping the leg of a stool and spread his wings to work out the kinks.
“Keep it down in there, you two.” Kali’s voice sounded less angry than it did the night before. After first helping Ori pick up his belongings, Kale entered the living quarters. He peaked around corners, searching for his mate.
“I’m here.” She stood in the bedchamber doorway.
“About yesterday—”
Kali held up her hand. “Not now.” She pointed to the front of the shop. “Go to the market and get food. Good food, not a bunch of sweets. Get some ale or mead, too. Maybe wine. I’m not ready to talk to you. I won’t be when you return, either.”
His mate’s words cut deep, and Kale’s stomach twisted in knots. He deserved her ire, but not being permitted to apologize felt like she draped a sack of bricks over his shoulders. He nodded and left without uttering another word, stepping past Ori and ignoring the blue drak’s inquiries as he exited.
After browsing the market until the deepest shadows of the undercity gave way to the mid-morning sun, Kale returned home
with an armful of cured meats, breads, and cheeses. He banged on the door with a pot of curds and whey dangling from his hand. After Ori let him in, he deposited the supplies in the kitchen.
Boss Steelhand was seated at the table across from Kali. The two halted mid-conversation when Kale entered. He set down the goods and then stood alongside his mate.
“This is fine.” She gestured to one of the seats by the table. Kale sat.
“I was just talking with Boss Steelhand about opportunities for us to do something good for the drak community here.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Kale couldn’t help but wonder what else they discussed while he was away, but the jingling of the bell at the front of the shop distracted him.
“Kale!”
His sister’s voice filled him with dread. The winged drak closed his eyes and shrank into his chair.
The click-clack of Delilah’s clawed feet on the wooden floor and another set of footsteps, the thud of boots, indicated she had not arrived alone. He opened his eyes when he sensed his sister at the kitchen doorway.
Delilah stood in the archway, staff in hand with that look on her face. Behind her, stooped over so as not to smack her head, stood a human with platinum hair, dressed in white, fur-lined robes.
“What did you do, Kale?” She noticed the minotaur sitting in their kitchen, and her eyes narrowed. “Theros?”
“Yes, what did you…” The human squinted, her eyes widening as they focused on Kale’s wings. She regained her composure and again scowled.
“What do you mean?”
Boss Steelhand cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should leave.”
“There’s no room. Stay there.” Delilah pushed past Kali and leaned on the table, facing Kale. “Tell me about the dragon.”
“Oh.” Kale chuckled, though he felt no mirth. He tapped the sigil on his chest. “Since Terrakaptis gave me this, I thought I’d go and talk to him.”
“The Earth Dragon gave you that?” The human moved into the kitchen and stood next to Delilah, looming over Kale like a hungry giant.
“It’s a long story.” Delilah held up her hand. “Go on, Kale.”
“With the story about Terrakaptis?” Kale scratched his head.
“No!” Delilah slammed her hands on the table. “The dragon two draks went to see after it attacked the city. The one that flew away when you were done.”
Kali growled and launched into the tale of how Kale insisted they go investigate this dragon. She told the two wizards everything, including Kale’s thought to take the egg to it and how it almost ate her before absconding with the egg, flying off to gods-know-where.
“So, in short”—the human rubbed her forehead—“your brother made my dragon abandon me here.”
Kale glanced up at the human. “Your dragon?” He gripped the edge of the table to keep his hands from trembling. “What do you mean?”
“What’s Yaamkyrsku going to do with the egg, Kale?”
He dug his claws into the table. “He’s taking it to Terrakaptis.”
Delilah inhaled, uttering a litany of curses in Drak as she exhaled. “Well, can’t blame him for choosing his kin over you, right?”
“I suppose not.” The human crossed her arms and glared at Kale. “I still need to get to Vlorey, and I don’t have months to travel overland.”
“Maybe there’s…” Unsure if anyone would listen, Kale wanted to help fix what he messed up.
“There’s what? What, Kale? We’re doing wizard business now.” Delilah turned away from her brother and regarded the human sorceress.
“All the books? Maybe there’s a spell or something?” He’d read something about magical transportation when he perused the bookcases in the stairwell.
“What are you on about, Kale?” Kali wormed her way through the crowded kitchen to stand by her mate.
“I saw something about magical transportation, I think, in the books in our stairwell.”
Kali covered her eyes with a hand. “In front of the minotaur and the human? We were keeping that to ourselves, remember?”
“Keeping what?” A smile spread across Boss Steelhand’s muzzle.
“Show me.” Delilah pulled Kale out of his chair. He shook himself free and led the group to the concealed door that hid the downward staircase.
“Clever.” Boss Steelhand stroked his chin. “This explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?” Kali put a hand on her hip and held the door as Delilah, the human sorceress, and Kale entered the stairwell.
“I remember when the drak who cared for this place died. He was rumored to have quite a treasure trove, but I wasn’t able to find it.”
“These books were his treasure.” Kale pulled out a tome with a cracked yellow cover and handed it to his sister.
Delilah leafed through it until Kale pointed to a page. Her eyes scanned the text and widened at an illustration of a runed circle. She regarded her brother. “When did you find this?”
“Just before the dragon showed up.”
“This is it! The Runes of Selene. This is what’s in the cellar!” She spun the book around and showed it to the human.
“Runes of Selene? You’re joking…” Her jaw dropped. “I found one of these near my castle. I figured it was a calendar of some sort.”
Delilah flipped forward a few pages. “It’s a portal network. With the right combination of runes, one can travel to any other portal in an instant; you just need to know the right combination. They’re all right here.”
“So, you’re telling me Old Gerah had ancient magic here in the city? And never used it?” The minotaur laughed. “I doubt it very much.”
Delilah reached into her pouch and withdrew an angular, dark red stone. “He didn’t have this.”
***
Pancras leaned back in his chair as Gisella finished her tale. “Why would they walk into the sea like that? It makes no sense.”
“I checked a map when we returned to the city.” Gisella retrieved a rolled sheet of parchment from her pack and spread it on the minotaur’s table. She pointed to a spot on Verdant Point and then drew a line with her finger through the bay, past the plains west of Vlorey to a location north of the Celtan Forest. “Zamora.”
“Zamora? That’s not on the map.” Pancras examined the drawing on the parchment. Even with his limited knowledge of northern geography, he recognized the map omitted many noteworthy locations. Not even Verdant Palace was labeled.
“No, but it is there, south of Badon Hill. It’s the tower of the Lich Queen. The dead were headed straight for it.”
The minotaur rubbed his right horn as he considered Gisella’s words. “If they were compelled to travel to a specific location, they would take the most direct route. With no need to breathe, they could travel across the bottom of the bay.”
“Exactly. Did you find out what’s going on here?”
Pancras threw up his hands. “People are tight-lipped about it. I determined the dead are leaving the necropolis and the city. They keep the university grounds sealed at night, so I couldn’t get out. Unlike our fiendling friend, I don’t sneak around very well.”
Gisella rolled up the map. “The Lich Queen is calling the dead to her. What could an undead sorceress do with so many dead? I can think of only one thing.”
The conclusion seemed obvious to Pancras, too. “She’s building an army.”
Qaliah entered the room carrying a tray of food. “Am I done fetching things for you?”
“We appreciate it.” Pancras picked up a turkey leg.
“Making plans without me?” The fiendling opened a bottle of ale.
“We wouldn’t dream of it.” Gisella stowed her map and transferred slices of meat to her plate. Pancras’s quarters at the Arcane University were much nicer than the inn they’d been occupying.
“I did learn of a potential ally: The Lord Justice, Fenwick Blackthorne, head of the Justicars. He’s no friend to this Tyron who has been making decrees to keep people away from the undead.�
�� Pancras, aware they must put a stop to the Lich Queen’s plans, had yet to formulate a strategy for how one minotaur, a fiendling, and a human might accomplish that. Fighting an army of undead seemed like an insurmountable challenge.
“I think we should go see him tomorrow morning.” He pointed his turkey leg at Qaliah. “Can you find out where the Palace of Justice is? I don’t want to wander around the city aimlessly.”
Qaliah laughed as she took a swig of her ale. “That’s a switch, me looking for the law.”
“What about the wizards here?” Gisella picked at some roasted vegetables on her plate.
“Maybe.” Pancras shrugged and shook his head. “They’re all academics; I don’t think they’d be much use in a fight.”
“Want me to ‘persuade’ this Tyron fellow to let the city watch help us?” Qaliah drew one of her daggers and twirled it by its point on the table.
The minotaur frowned. “I suspect we’ll have to deal with him sooner or later, but I want to speak to the Lord Justice first.”
“Suit yourself.” The fiendling took a second turkey leg and pushed herself away from the table after sheathing her dagger. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll go find that palace.”
“Be careful!” Pancras called after her as she left. “Once night falls, they’ll want everyone off the streets.”
After Qaliah exited, the Golden Slayer chuckled. “Do you think we should have warned her that getting arrested would be a less-than-ideal method for finding the Palace of Justice?”
“Ha! No, I think she knows that.” Pancras picked at a notch on the tabletop. “Do you think you might be able to do some digging on Lord Tyron? Perhaps after we see this Lord Fenwick? I’ll ask around the university, but my duties keep me from getting out most days.”
“Certainly.” Gisella tucked a stray golden hair behind her ear. “I’m curious, though, if we do need to travel to Zamora, do you plan to stay here and offer moral support from afar, or will you take the fight to the Lich Queen with us?”
It was a fair question. Feeling guilty he used his duties at the Arcane University a great deal to explain why he couldn’t wander about gathering information all day, Pancras shuffled in his chair. He had decided if he kept his nose to the grindstone, as it were, when it came time for him to leave to serve his goddess, the headmaster might be more forgiving. He told Gisella as much.
Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3) Page 21
