“We’re in Muncifer. We’re trying to activate the Runes of Selene. The grimoire, your grimoire, showed me a picture of the orb. There are books here, but they don’t make much sense.”
“Ah, so they are still intact. How long ago was The Sundering, by your reckoning?”
Delilah eyed the ceiling as she made some mental calculations. “It is the year seven hundred sixty-three, as measured after The Sundering.”
“So much knowledge must have been lost.” Gil-Li shook her head and stepped toward the runed circle. Delilah moved to follow but discovered she stood fixed in place now. She could only turn to watch.
The elder drak approached the circle, and the tattoos on her body flared with azure light. “An influx of arcane energy will activate the portal.”
Azure tendrils swirled around the runed circle, pouring into smooth stone at the center. The obsidian rippled. From it sprang an image of the moons. Gil-Li spun the King it until it displayed a waning crescent phase. She did the same for the Queen.
“The moon gates created by the Runes of Selene are keyed to the phases of the King and Queen.”
Delilah watched as the elder drak then circled the moon gate, tapping runes on the stone with her foot. “Each moon gate is keyed to a particular sequence of runes. Most of them correspond to constellations in the sky. As long as there are stars, you can find the correct sequence.” She turned and winked at Delilah. “Maybe someone wrote them down, though I doubt all the place names endured for nearly a millennium.”
A coruscating, shimmering rectangle burst from the obsidian circle. From Delilah’s angle, she assessed it to be as thin as a sheet of parchment at the edge, yet as wide as a door from side to side.
“If you look through the moon gate, you will see your destination.” She turned and held a finger up. “It is a two-way gate however. Any enemies at the other side will be transported through, even as you attempt to pass through yourself.”
“I understand.” Delilah chewed her lip. “Tell me about the Eye of Oblivion?”
“Artifacts from another age. Pretty to look at.” Gil-Li held out her hand, and a shimmering image of a multifaceted black stone appeared. “Some say they fall from the sky; others say they’re found deep in the ground, far from heartstones, of course. Where a heartstone brings life, Eyes of Oblivion bring only death. Brought together, their energies cancel each other out in a spectacular fashion.”
Gil-Li smiled. “Or so I’ve heard.” She waved her hand. The stone and the gate vanished, as did the room around them.
Delilah found herself standing in inky blackness with only the vision of Gil-Li before her. “That’s it?”
“The gates are meant to be easy to use, at least, for us wizards.” Gil-Li smiled and stroked Delilah’s cheek. “We draks reigned supreme once. Even the elves were second to us. Calliome was our world, first. You carry that legacy in your blood. Honor it.”
“Wait… what about the Eyes—”
Darkness overtook Delilah, and she felt herself being flung backward. She hit the floor with a grunt. Her brother rushed over to her.
“Deli! Are you all right?”
“… of Oblivion?”
***
Pancras took advantage of his light schedule the next morning to again break his fast with Gisella and Qaliah. He did not wish to miss the confrontation with Lord Tyron. A feeling in his gut told him he needed to hear anything the man said to them first hand.
The three did not have to wait long before the Justicar arrived at the Screeching Griffon. Orion entered, his gleaming silver breastplate reflecting the morning sun that shone through the windows. The sight of his bare, muscular legs underneath the leather kilt he wore made Pancras’s heart beat a little faster. He looked away and studied the crumbs on his plate.
“Are you all right?” Gisella leaned close to whisper to him.
He held up his hand and nodded. “Fine”
No one had stirred him like that since he and Thanos parted ways. He jumped when the minotaur placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I see you’ve finished eating.” He regarded Pancras. “Ready to depart? I have word that our quarry will be at his estate all morning.”
“Yes, I’m ready!” Pancras stood, albeit a bit too fast, and scrambled to keep from spilling his tankard of warm cider.
Qaliah snickered. “We’re all going.”
“I am curious—what is your stake in all this, Fiendling?” Orion held the door open as Gisella and Pancras exited. The minotaur wizard felt the Justicar’s eyes follow him as he passed.
“Got nothing better to do.”
“Is that right?” He guided them to the main street and south toward the residential section of Vlorey.
“She’s had nothing better to do since we left Muncifer.” Gisella adjusted the knot of hair at the top of her head. While she left her helmet at the inn, she nonetheless had tied up her hair to keep it out of the way. She used her spear like a walking stick as they passed through one of the city’s markets.
“She won’t admit it”—Pancras initially held back but then put his arm around the fiendling—“but I think she’s grown fond of us.”
Qaliah hugged him. “Stupid, huh? I could be some fat noble’s mistress by now, sipping wine and flirting with the stable boys.”
“Ha!” Orion clapped the fiendling on the back. “There’s still time for that.”
“I’m committed now. I told them I wanted to help do something important for once.” Qaliah ducked out from behind Pancras and turned to face them as she stepped backward and extended her arms. “And now look at us, walking around Vlorey with a Justicar.”
The Justicar clucked his tongue. “Well, if what I was told is true, there may be nothing you can do in your life more important than helping your friends here. I’m too young to have fought against the Lich Queen, but I have no desire to see her return.”
“Are you from here?” Pancras dodged Qaliah as she spun and skipped toward Gisella’s side. “I’ve seen other minotaurs, but just here and there. Is there a clan living in Vlorey?”
“Most minotaurs live in the outlying villages, but I was born and raised here in the city. My parents were Justicars. Our family has served the Divine Tribunal for generations.”
“Family business, huh?” Qaliah snickered.
“So to speak.”
“We don’t hear much of the Justicars in Drak-Anor. Nothing, in fact. When I was a lad in Muncifer, my parents told all sorts of stories”—Pancras glanced at Orion and raised an eyebrow—“exaggerated, I’m sure.”
Orion touched Pancras’s arm. “Share those stories over a tankard of ale later, and I’ll tell you if they’re exaggerations or not.”
The quickening of Pancras’s heart was cut mercifully short by a change of subject. The Justicar pointed to a set of wrought-iron gates ahead and to the left. “Lord Tyron’s Estate.”
When they arrived at the gate, a scruffy guard peered at them from behind the iron bars. His armor was ragged and poorly maintained, and he scratched his unkempt beard before hawking a glob of phlegm to the dirt.
“No visitors!”
Orion rapped on the gates with his spear. “I am Justicar Orion Ironhorn. Open your gates in the name of the Divine Tribunal.”
The guard pressed his face against the bars. “And what if I don’t, eh? You can’t bully me.”
He snickered at his pun but hastily jumped backward as Orion slammed his spear against the gate. “Or else, we will break in and use lethal force to defend ourselves.”
I guess some of the stories I heard were true—justice at any cost. Pancras lifted Shatterskull and cradled it in his arms. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Gisella shift her stance.
The guard pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked the gates. He pulled them open and stood aside. “I don’t get paid enough to fight Justicars.”
“Too right.” Qaliah tickled him under the chin as she passed.
Lord Tyron’s manor house re
sembled a collection of boxes clad in dusty-rose stucco. The second floor’s ornate, curved walls sitting atop the stark, straight-walled first floor caused one to wonder why the architects changed direction partway through construction. The grounds showed signs of once having been covered with meticulously sculptured gardens, but most appeared ill-tended and overgrown, save for the immediate area surrounding the path that led to the manor’s doors.
Pancras spotted a few guards patrolling the area, but since no alarm had been raised, they paid the visitors no mind. The path led to an archway, through which sat a small courtyard, featuring a mosaic tile floor. The front door, made from white-washed, iron-banded wood, featured a knocker whose handle had broken off some time ago. Pancras heard music coming from within the manor.
“This man heads the Council of Lords?” Her brows furrowed in confusion, Gisella surveyed their surroundings.
The minotaur wizard agreed with her assessment. He did not expect someone with so much influence to live in such conditions.
“Lord Tyron is notoriously tight-fisted with his money.” Orion beat on the door. “Open in the name of the Divine Tribunal!”
“Won’t he make a run for it now?” Qaliah positioned herself to keep watch over the manor’s grounds.
“He’s too arrogant to think anything’s amiss, and if he does run, we’ll hunt him down.”
After a moment, the door opened. A man wearing a formal black-and-red uniform greeted them.
“The Divine Tribunal?” The man sniffed and leaned back his head as he spoke. “Lord Tyron did not tell me he was expecting guests of such import.”
Orion pushed the door out of the way and strode past the man. “I’m sure there are a great many things about which your lord does not tell you.”
“Indeed.” After closing the door quickly, the man rushed to catch up with Orion. “Lord Tyron is in the conservatory at the moment. Shall I announce you?”
“That’s not necessary. Just show us the way.”
Gisella, Qaliah, and Pancras followed the steward as he directed Orion to the conservatory in the center of the manor. The music the minotaur wizard heard from outside sounded louder now. The steward pushed open the double doors.
A domed glass roof topped the round chamber that composed the conservatory. In the center of the room, sunlight reflected off the pool of crystal blue water surrounded by shrubs and colorful flowers. At the far end, a trio of minstrels played the lyre, horn, and drum. Attired in a tight-fitting emerald jacket, a human male stood, his back facing the door and hands clasped behind him, while he listened to the performance.
“Lord Tyron!” Orion adopted a wide stance, allowing his spear to lean forward. Pancras’s concerns as to whether or not the minotaur could make himself heard over the music were laid to rest as the minstrels faltered and stopped playing. The man in green slumped his shoulders and turned, shaking his head.
“Really? Interrupting my sojourn into the wonders of lyrical expression?” His eyes glowed red beneath his heavy brow, like burning embers in a pile of ash.
Darkness flowed from the man, tendrils of shadowy ice extending and engulfing Orion. Pancras felt Shatterskull shift in his hands as the power of Aita flowed through it and into him. Lifting it, he drew the streams of shadow emanating from the noble away from Orion and into the weapon.
“Enough of this.” Qaliah fired her crossbow. The bolt caught Lord Tyron in the center of his chest. He grunted and stumbled forward. The darkness retreated, and the fiendling followed her attack with a thrown dagger, her blade catching him across the throat. He fell to his knees, clutching his neck and gagging on the pulsing spray of blood.
“Damn it! We needed him alive.” Orion brushed off the lingering remnants of shadowy residue as he scowled at the fiendling.
Pancras raced toward Lord Tyron. He fell to his knees at the man’s side, planting the head of Shatterskull in the dirt of a flowerbed next to the dying human. Keeping one hand on his weapon, he grasped Lord Tyron’s hand and closed his eyes, allowing the power of Aita to flow through him.
***
“Deli?” Grabbing hold under her arms, Kale lifted his sister from the floor. “Are you all right?”
“Get off me!” Delilah flailed her arms and stumbled away from her brother.
“Did you see The Sundering? It was awful, wasn’t it?”
The drak sorceress brushed herself off and shook her head. “I saw a vision of Gil-Li using this very moon gate. She spoke to me.”
Why did I have to see The Sundering and she got to talk to someone? Kale frowned and scratched his head. He glanced down at the orb just in time to see the puzzle box fold itself up over it.
“Impressive artifact. Maybe you’ll let me have a look at it when this is all over.” Alysha moved with Delilah to the runed circle. Kale picked up his puzzle box and returned it to the shelf before turning to regard his sister.
“Gil-Li suggested someone may have written down the various combinations of runes that led to specific destinations.” Delilah knelt at the circle and traced one of the runes with a claw.
She glanced at her brother. “I asked her about that black stone. It was an Eye of Oblivion. Apparently, bad things happen when they touch heartstones.”
“Hm. I’ve not heard of those.” Alysha pursed her lips and eyed Katka. The young woman shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” Delilah tapped a claw against the stone. “Kale, did you see anything that looked like a list of these runes in any of the books you searched?”
“No, I didn’t see anything like that, but I didn’t have a chance to go through all of them yet.”
He approached the shelves at the bottom of the stairs. “I pulled out the ones that looked like they might be useful to you, but I only really skimmed them. I couldn’t read most of them, so maybe there’s something I missed.”
Delilah rubbed her hands together. “Okay, we’ve have a lot of work to do. Katka, Alysha, and I will start looking through books. Kale, you and Kali are responsible for getting us all food, and then you two can help, too. We’ll start down here and break when it’s time to eat.”
Kale wanted to point out that this was his house. He raised a finger and spread his wings. Delilah approached him and clamped his snout with her hand. He grunted and tried to pull away, but she held him fast.
“I’m being bossy, I know. Please, Kale. This is how I need you to help us right now. Please?”
She released him. He stared into his sister’s eyes. Gone was the anger he perceived when she asked about the dragon. Still, her expression was that of someone who expected to be obeyed.
He shrugged and nodded. “Okay, Archmage Delilah.”
***
Gisella barely had time to react before Qaliah shot Lord Tyron and then slashed his throat with a thrown dagger. By the time she grabbed hold of the fiendling, the damage was done, and their quarry lay, bleeding out, on the floor of the conservatory. The minstrels shrieked and fled, leaving their instruments behind.
Gisella watched as the bonelord joined with Lord Tyron.
“What’s he doing? Can he heal him?” Orion glared at Qaliah. The fiendling ignored him as she reloaded her crossbow.
“No, but he is a bonelord.” Gisella shook her head. “He can help him cross over.”
“I don’t think Lord Tyron will need that sort of help. His eyes, though… he was not a wizard.”
“That darkness, those tendrils”—Gisella brushed a bit of residue from Orion’s shoulder—“were unlike any magic I’ve ever dealt with.”
The Justicar raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware you had an arcane background.”
“I am a slayer of the Arcane University.” Gisella leaned on her spear and observed Pancras, a statue as he knelt alongside Lord Tyron. Scarlet blood pulsed through the man’s fingers, still clutching his throat as his mouth moved wordlessly.
“A slayer, a minotaur wizard, and a fiendling.” Orion chuckled. “Sounds like the start of a bad j
oke.” He eyed Qaliah as she inspected a nearby shrub. “That was very rash, Fiendling.”
Qaliah turned and jabbed a thumb into her chest. “Hey! I know demonic energies when I see them.” Her voice trembled, and Gisella noticed her shaking. “He wasn’t going to talk.” She turned away and shivered.
The Golden Slayer approached Qaliah and turned the fiendling to face her. “Demonic? You’re sure?”
The fiendling batted her hand away. “Of course, I’m sure.” She pointed at her horns. “Where do you think I got these?”
“Hey.” Gisella touched Qaliah’s arm. The fiendling’s skin was burning hot.
“You can’t help me; go away.” Qaliah pushed past Gisella, moving to the other side of the pool. She squatted and examined the abandoned instruments.
Gisella returned to Orion’s side. He raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Pancras. “So we just…”
“We wait.”
***
Pancras found himself lying on the floor with the shadow’s icy hands wrapped around his throat. His own good hand passed through the insubstantial claw. Only his withered hand could touch it.
“You were foolish to enter this man, Bonelord.” The shadowy claw squeezed.
The minotaur closed his eyes and concentrated on the reality he knew—that he kneeled on the floor next to Lord Tyron with a hand on Shatterskull. He felt the warmth flowing through it, Aita’s power. The demon’s grip on his throat weakened.
“Who is your master?” Pancras forced the words past his constricted throat and through clenched teeth.
“Our purpose is beyond your ken.” The demon laughed, its voice like a sack of gravel being dragged over cobblestones.
“Whom do you serve?” The bonelord steeled his will and gathered Aita’s power, releasing a blast of pure, radiant energy, and blowing the demon backward.
He stood to face his foe. Drawing itself up, the demon towered over him; yet, it was whisper thin, a breath of shadow in Aita’s glow. Pancras lifted Shatterskull. The maul’s face became the gleaming red skull of his goddess.
Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3) Page 24
