Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2)

by Hans Cummings

  A dwarf approached the table, carrying a platter laden with vegetables and a steaming leg roast. He laughed and slapped Pancras on the back. “Not to worry! There’s some human-sized beds in the cellar. Push as many of them as you need together.”

  After the dwarf left, Pancras leaned over the table. “This is not ideal.”

  Delilah stabbed a hunk of meat with her fork and waved it at Pancras, sending bits of juice flying toward him. “It’s just one night. Besides, this place is close to the road. Did you get different horses?”

  Kali nodded as she chewed. “Three lizards, a horse, and a pony for the dwarf.”

  “Pony?” Edric glanced up from his ale and shrugged. “Better than a mule.”

  “Lizards?” The excitement in Kale’s voice was obvious. “What kind of lizards?”

  “Nailtooth.” Kali pantomimed a snapping maw with her hands.

  Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

  Pancras held his hand at about the height of Delilah’s head. “You know those big lizards you find on Deep Road? The ones you don’t mess with? About that big, but they run around on two legs. Mouths full of teeth.”

  Kale’s wings fluttered, and he scratched the back of his neck. “So why are we messing with these?”

  “These are bred for riding.” Kali placed her hand on his arm. “There’s villages in the Western Wastes that raise them. They’re fast, loyal, and good hunters, too. Um yeah… hey Pancras?”

  Pancras hadn’t thought about food for the lizards, and he was afraid the other hoof would now drop. “We need to buy food for them?”

  “Well, we’ll be passing through a lot of farmland. We’ll probably need to buy some sheep or other livestock from farms along the way for the nailtooths. Otherwise, we might get a mob after us.”

  Edric snorted in his ale. “That’s all we need. Leave a trail of sheep parts from here to Muncifer!” He snorted again, threw back his head, and guffawed.

  That was exactly the kind of attention Pancras wanted to avoid. “Maybe Delilah can conjure enough boggins for them to eat.”

  Kali cocked her head. “Those glowy, blue things? I don’t think they can live on stuff that isn’t real.”

  Delilah waved her fork at Kali. “Oh, they’re real. Not the glowy, blue ones. Those are just messengers. We got real ones aplenty down under the mountains. Nasty, furry, bitey things.” She shrugged and turned her head toward Pancras. “It’s worth a try, I guess. Even the golguthrons won’t eat them, though. Didn’t Gluggon eat a couple of boggins, and they ate their way out of his stomach?”

  Kale smacked the table with his palm. “That’s right! They chewed their way right out. He died moaning and groaning about how we should always chew our food thoroughly.” He shook his head and poked at the meat on his plate. “Poor Gluggon. He was funny.”

  As he dined, Pancras thought back to the old days in Drak-Anor. He hadn’t heard about the particular incident to which Kale and Delilah referred, but he had heard even stranger tales than that one. “We’ll give it a try, but it if doesn’t work out, I can buy sheep or cows for them. Does anyone need to do anything while we’re here in town?”

  Only Kali had anything of import. “I wouldn’t mind taking an hour or so in the morning to see if there’s anyone I know to say farewell to. Do you mind?”

  Pancras shook his head. He didn’t object to that. “Just be careful, and don’t dawdle. I want to arrive in Muncifer as far ahead of Spring’s Dawning as we can.”

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Kale accompanied Kali as she made her way around town. He couldn’t help but marvel at the buildings built by drak hands for draks. In Drak-Anor, drak homes were glorified caves, all tunneled out of the lava tubes running underneath Bloodplume. Doors were scavenged wood if the drak was affluent enough, though a curtain of cloth or strips of leather sufficed for most draks.

  In Honeywater, however, the buildings were made of stone and wood, like small versions of the buildings he’d seen in Almeria, but with drak touches like the arched doorways and round windows. Humans seemed to like angles, and draks curves. Kale wondered why that was, and Kali had no answers.

  “I’ve never built a house”—she laughed as she took his hand—“or anything, for that matter.” They walked along a worn trail on the outskirts of the village, encircling Honeywater Lake. She pointed toward an overgrown island in the center of the lake. “The biggest apiary was over there. Run by a funny old man called Matvei. He was long dead by the time I was hatched, of course. My grandsires told me stories about him. I wonder if someone will clear all that brush away and start raising bees again, now that our draks are free.”

  Kale’s eyes followed her hand. A fringe of frost surrounded the island like a crown of ice. The cold grip of winter seemed reluctant to loose its grasp on the world, and again, he was glad the transformation he underwent kept him warm. Kali seemed to appreciate his warmth, too, wrapping her arms around him as they gazed across the lake.

  “Come on. We should get going. There are people I want to see before we leave.” Kali freed herself from Kale’s embrace and led him toward the village. Some of the draks to whom she introduced him were familiar faces from the salt mine. Others were strangers, yet they all fawned over him as if he were a hero.

  Kale tried to deflect the compliments. “Delilah did most of the work. She’s the one with all the magic. I just tried to keep the bad guys from squishing her long enough for her to blast them.”

  A hunched drak, his orange scales dull and thickened with age, shook a crooked, clawed finger in Kale’s face. “Your stripes burden you with glorious purpose. Your wings tell of a draconic heritage unseen in generations. You should be proud. You should embrace your heroism and not be ashamed of it.”

  Kale doubted his wings were connected to a draconic heritage, especially since they developed because of an accident with a chaos rift. He saw them as a useful aberration and nothing more. Kale kept quiet and let Kali do most of the talking as they made their way to the stables. The anticipation of seeing his nailtooth lizard mount was more than enough to push the old drak’s admonishment to the back of his mind.

  Pancras assisted Edric with his pony while Delilah directed her lizard in tentative, looping circles around them. The nailtooths’ green scales glistened in the morning sun, and their hissing and snapping rose above the din of the busy city market. A smile spread across Kale’s face. The nailtooths were unlike any of the cave lizards his sister and he encountered on Deep Road or in any of the other caves and caverns near Drak-Anor.

  “They’re so small!” Compared to Pancras’s horse, they seemed pint-sized, though they were still larger than any of the draks. Leather saddles and saddle bags were strapped to their backs, and a petite drak cooed at them as she held them in check.

  Kali took the reins of her lizard, placed a foot in the stirrup, and hoisted herself into the saddle. The lizard hissed and stomped its feet, but it made no move to throw her. She tugged on the reins and spun it in a circle before stopping in front of Kale.

  “The trick is to not hesitate and be confident. Show them who’s boss. They’re less skittish than horses, and despite all their hissing and snapping, they won’t eat draks.”

  Kale took her word for it.

  * * *

  As trepidatious as she was earlier to ride a hissing, toothy lizard, Delilah found her backside hurt much less than being at the mercy of the wagon. After a few hours of riding, she became confident it was a superior form of travel to walking.

  When Chana first told Delilah the nailtooth was named Fang, she bit her tongue to prevent sarcasm from spilling forth. The lizard had two teeth that had grown together as one, making it appear as if it had one giant fang when the others did not, but Delilah thought it was a mundane name, like a too-obvious one invented by her brother. At least his lizard has an intimidating name: Blackclaw.

  Although she was loath to admit it, Kali’s instruction in the finer points of lizard riding prove
d helpful. By the third day, she and Kale appeared as comfortable in the saddle as they did walking. The rolling plains of Etrunia took them through barren farmlands. Patches of hard dirt peeked through the dusting of snow that would soon melt and be replaced by splashes of green as the weather warmed and life returned. As they rode, the isolation of being surrounded by austere fields almost convinced Delilah they were the only people in the world. She distracted herself by conjuring boggins for their lizards to enjoy chasing down and devouring.

  An advantage to crossing Etrunia over the open plains instead of following the trade roads meant they encountered no patrols and no brigands. Frankly, Delilah worried more about the patrols than thieves. She could fight a marauder, but Pancras frowned upon blasting random patrols of guards and soldiers, like the ones they encountered at Bramblevale Keep last year.

  “As long as we keep the mountains to our right and head toward Greyhawk Point, we won’t have to worry about becoming lost.” Pancras wheeled his horse about as he addressed the group. They rode abreast for now, though most of the time they proceeded single file. The sun hung past its zenith and slipped behind a bank of wispy clouds high in the sky. Each day was longer than the previous. Even to Delilah, each felt a little warmer than its predecessor.

  “What kind of gambling do they have in Muncifer?” Edric shifted in his saddle. For all his earlier protests about how he disliked horses, the dwarf seemed fond of his pony, Yaffa. An “old girl,” according to the dwarf, she seemed to doze most of the time if their mounts loped along. Delilah didn’t think that was actually possible, but she would be the first to admit she knew nothing about horses.

  “The last time I was there, there were no public gambling houses.” Pancras shrugged. “Maybe times have changed. Let’s all try to stay out of trouble this time, eh?” He spurred his horse and trotted away from the group.

  Delilah cast a glance over to her brother. “I think he was talking about you.”

  “Me?” Kale stuck his tongue out at his sister. “Tell that to any minotaurs who try to kill me.”

  “No one better try to kill us in Muncifer. It’d be nice for a change.”

  * * *

  The farther they traveled, the more dread nagged and gnawed at Pancras’s stomach. Their long days traveling gave him plenty of time to think about life, death, and not being dead. His memories of the event were still fuzzy, but he was grateful dark dreams did not disrupt his sleep. For that matter, he didn’t recall any dreams, however fleeting, since waking up on that slab, and it disturbed him on a different level. It felt unnatural to not dream.

  The new archmage in Muncifer was a stranger to Pancras, and he considered the possibility the man might be cleaning house, a regular occurrence after a change in power. Pancras hoped by hiding away in a place like Drak-Anor, he might go unnoticed. As it seemed to have been a successful strategy for nearly a quarter century, he speculated there was more to this summons than simply paying his delinquent dues.

  Greyhawk Point appeared on the horizon and became the dominant feature of the landscape as they traveled south. Pancras adjusted their course to avoid traveling too far into the foothills where they would be more and more likely to encounter giants who made the mountains their homes. In times of harsh weather and scarce hunting, they were known to leave their mountain dwellings to forage and hunt in the foothills. Sometimes, the various tribes of giants were peaceful, if suspicious. Sometimes, they were not.

  The afternoon they passed Greyhawk Point, Pancras spotted a band of travelers in the distance. Haze obscured details of what appeared to be a caravan, though he distinguished wafts of smoke drifting into the sky from the center of its formation. Cautious curiosity got the better of him, and he maneuvered the group to intercept them. As they approached, he noticed a variety of wagons covered in bright colored cloth.

  “A tinker caravan!” Pancras motioned for everyone to slow down and stop with him. “What are they doing way out here?”

  “Are there roads?” Kali stood in her saddle and scanned the horizon. “They’re not taking those wagons overland, are they? I don’t see any roads.”

  “There weren’t any the last time I came this way, but that was a long time ago. Maybe there’s a trail.”

  Delilah stood up in her saddle for a better view “We should go around, don’t you think?”

  “When I was a lad, the tinker caravans had a reputation for being open-minded and welcoming of fellow travelers. They’d gladly share their food and fires in exchange for a tale or two. Besides, they might know a little more about the current state of our destination.”

  Pancras held up his hand to indicate his friends should hold their position before spurring his horse into a trot and closing the distance. He slowed his pace again as he drew closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the travelers. The cavalcade was stopped, the wagons set up like makeshift buildings or a mobile village.

  One of the caravaners waved to him as he approached. Pancras returned the wave and dropped his hand to the rod kept in a loop on his belt, his arcane focus. The human continued to wave as he approached and was soon joined by several others, but they scattered when Pancras drew close enough to see their faces, leaving the lone man standing.

  “Hail travelers! Come to trade?”

  “Trade? We were just passing through and saw you. What is this?” Pancras surveyed the area for signs of a road. “We saw no roads; we didn’t expect to run into anyone out here.”

  “No roads, no.” The man stepped up to Pancras’s horse and offered the minotaur his hand. “We farm the land for miles around here. We meet every spring thaw to swap tools, trade, repair, things like that. We’re preparing a feast. Travelers are welcome. Join us?” The man’s visage was weathered from years of constant exposure to the elements, and the wind blew his sandy hair into his face with each gust. Pancras saw no deception in his ice-blue eyes, however, and waved for the draks and Edric to approach.

  The man crossed his hand over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Nailtooths! And draks! Goodness, we haven’t seen those in a while. The children will be thrilled.”

  Kali rode up next to Pancras. “Got any livestock with you? Our mounts could do with some variety.”

  “We might could do a trade.” The farmer regarded the three atop the lizards. “What have you been feeding them? Are you fresh out of meat?”

  “I’ve been conjuring boggins for them.” Delilah smiled and twirled her staff. It flew out of her hands and landed near the farmer’s feet. He skipped back and stared at it like it was a deadly viper, poised to strike.

  “Magic?”

  Pancras reached down and touched the man’s shoulder. “We can pay with Etrunian talons for any food we eat. We’re just passing through to Muncifer, but a night amongst good folk would be welcome.”

  The farmer nodded at the minotaur. “Put on a show for the kiddies, and we’ll feed you for free.”

  * * *

  “A show for the children? No, no, no, no, no. I’m not a wandering trickster.” Delilah shook her head, and she would have stomped her feet in protest were she not sitting on her lizard. Kale dismounted and retrieved her staff as the farmer rushed off to tell the others about their guests.

  “It’s no big deal, Deli. Make a few glowy boggins, maybe shoot some fire into the air, and they’ll be satisfied, right?” Kale handed Delilah her staff. She snatched it from his claws.

  “Yeah, putting myself on display like some sideshow.”

  Edric laughed. “Maybe Pancras can conjure up some bones to chase the kiddies around.”

  Kale’s eyes widened. He spread his wings and bounced on his heels. “Oh yeah! That’d be great.”

  Pancras nudged Kale with his foot. “I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea. Animating the dead when you have an intact skeleton prepared is one thing, but doing it to some random dead person who’s buried in a forgotten grave in the middle of a field? You never know what you’re going to get.” He dismounted. “I will not
animate a bunch of chickens for mere entertainment.”

  Kale stared at the dirt and shuffled his feet. “Do you really think there are a bunch of dead people buried under us?” He tried to imagine what kind of war would be fought over a nondescript field in the middle of nowhere.

  “Probably not. But I’ll bet there’s an unmarked grave somewhere around here, or a starving, lost traveler interred within the earth by the passing of time.” Pancras led the group into the center of the caravan village.

  Kale bowed his head and grieved the lost traveler Pancras described. What a lonely end.

  In the center of the makeshift village the farmers and tinkers formed with their wagons, stood a roaring bonfire. Each of the half-dozen wagons had a retractable awning with a small cooking fire burning in front of it. The farmer who greeted them showed them where to secure their horses, and a few people helped rope off a separate area to prevent the lizards from eating the livestock. Kale followed Pancras and the farmer as he showed them around the makeshift village.

  “I am Vasily.” The farmer placed his arm around a stout woman wearing brown leathers. “This is my wife Magda, and over there in that mass of chaos are my children, Alla and Yegor.”

  Pancras regarded the crowd of children who observed the draks secure their lizards in the makeshift pen. “I’m curious. You don’t seem to be alarmed to suddenly have a minotaur and a bunch of draks in your midst. I also haven’t seen any farms nearby.”

  Vasily spread his arms and smiled. “Our farms are small compared to the land that surrounds them. This place is almost in the middle of all of them. We are used to minotaur and drak traders from Muncifer. They’re fair to trade with and leave us alone when they’re not interested in trading.” A scowl overtook his smile. “Not like the soldiers who come through. They take what they want without compensation.”