Hopefully. Delilah didn’t trust the navigation skills of someone who professed he hated travel to give them an exact estimate, but she figured he was probably accurate to within a few days.
“We have to cross that?” Edric pointed at the river. “Don’t you surfacers believe in bridges?”
“Who are you calling a surfacer?” Delilah scowled at the dwarf. “Kali’s the only one that doesn’t live in Drak-Anor, under a mountain, you hairy—”
Pancras silenced Delilah with a glare. “There is a bridge. Probably a week’s travel to the west where the trade road crosses the river.” He looked up into the sky. The clear blue gave way to dusky rose in the west where the sun was setting. “Tinian’s Eye has been gone a week at least. The Plow will be rising soon. I don’t doubt the stars of the handle are already visible. We don’t have time to backtrack that far.”
“But fording means we have to go into the water!”
Delilah snorted. “Afraid of getting wet? You could use a bath, Edric.”
“Wadin’ through a river ain’t like takin’ a bath. Dwarves don’t swim.”
Kali rode her lizard, which she’d taken to calling Taavi, up alongside Edric and his mount. “Yaffa can swim. You just need to not fall off her.”
“Bugger that. If I fall, I’ll sink like a stone! When we cross, I’m riding with the minotaur. Yaffa can swim herself.”
“Fine. You’ll ride with me.” Pancras turned in his saddle to instruct Kali. “You lead Yaffa across when we arrive there.”
Despite Edric’s grumblings, the crossing was painless. Kali scouted ahead and found a rocky area through which the river flowed. The water, though crisp, was shallow, barely reaching Stormheart’s abdomen. Pancras’s steed snorted and tossed his head as he crossed, and even the old girl Yaffa seemed to enjoy the chilly water, stopping to drink in the middle of the crossing.
When they reached the other side, Pancras waited for Edric to return to Yaffa. “All right, no one died; no one drowned. Let’s push on. We’re almost there.”
Delilah longed to sleep in a bed again and have time to read her grimoire. There was still much to learn.
* * *
Pancras’s estimate was correct. Shortly after breaking camp the next morning, they rode out of the hills and onto the trade road from Almeria. The group let their mounts run on the relatively flat road, stretching their muscles and working out the frustration of picking their way through the rocky foothills of the Iron Gate Mountains.
The minotaur stopped as the road crested a hill. Mountains loomed like impassible walls behind an expanse of cinereous blocks, an abstract field of stone dwellings and towers dotted with tiny blotches of sparse green vegetation. “Finally. Muncifer.”
The towers flanking the granite gates of the city reminded Kale of home, of Drak-Anor. From the towers, walls built along the hill surrounded the inner city. Clusters of buildings lined the road leading to the gates, as trails of ashy smoke wafted up from their chimneys to join with the clouds above the city. Where the towers of Drak-Anor felt organic, as if they were grown to be part of the city, the towers, walls, and buildings of Muncifer were cold, precise, and clashed with the mountainous geography. Blocks placed with singular purpose indicated dwarven influences within sharp angles of the natural-colored architecture. A vast, yawning chasm lined with budding trees cleaved the city in twain. Buildings carved into the face of the rock lined the chasm, and bridges crisscrossed the span like threads of a web. Beyond the walls of the city, Kale viewed buildings, all similar shades of grey, though some had colorful burgundy, dull sapphire, and auburn roofs, splashes of light in the twilight shades of Muncifer.
Kale fluttered his wings for balance when Delilah bumped into him as she joined him on the ridge to gaze at the city. “It’s ugly.” Fang hissed and snapped at Kale’s mount. He tightened his grip on the reins to keep Gazi steady.
“It certainly looks like dwarven architecture.” Pancras regarded the draks.
“Aye.” Edric nodded in agreement. “That means it’s strong. I hope they have good ale.” He spurred his pony into a trot and headed down the embankment toward the road that led to Muncifer’s gates.
No, it’s not like home; it’s the opposite. To Kale, the city appeared uninviting. It was as if a child plunked down blocks in the shape of a city. Just slabs with purpose, but no design. Only the roofs of the buildings provided any relief from the monotony of the monolithic architecture.
The wind shifted, bringing a breeze that carried the smells of the city past them. The air seemed sulfurous, and he wondered what burned in the fireplaces of Muncifer to warm its citizens. Kale hoped for more of the exotic spices and herbs he smelled when approaching Almeria. Instead, he inhaled aromas that reminded him not of wonder and a good time, but of work and boredom.
He looked at his sister. “It kind of seems like Drak-Anor’s opposite, but not in a good way, you know?”
Delilah took a deep breath. “Let’s just get this over with, and then we can go home.” She spurred Fang to trot down the road after Pancras and Edric. Kali and Kale brought up the rear.
“I’m sure we’ll find something interesting here, Kale. Together, right?”
“Right.” Kale and Kali descended and rode toward the gates of Muncifer.
* * *
Grímar slammed the door to the Court of Wizardry, rousing Gisella from her reading. She looked up as he stomped across the courtyard toward the bench on which she sat under the Blood Oak. Folding up the collated reports she had been reading, she greeted him.
“Bad news?”
He sat on the bench, nearly upsetting it. Gisella grabbed his arm for balance.
“I’m being sent after a renegade.”
“So?” Gisella guessed that was not likely the cause of his ire. Tracking down renegades was what slayers did.
“In the Southern Watch!” Grímar punched his palm with a mailed fist. “It’ll take months to journey there. It never thaws even in the summer. Winters are worse. By the time I find her, I’ll probably have to guard her for the entire season before I can bring her back. It’s madness!”
Her? Could it be…? “Who is this renegade? Watchfolk don’t often become wizards.”
“I was told her name is Alysha, though she may be using an alias.”
“Alysha?” Gisella laughed. What have you done this time, sister? “Alysha is my sister.”
Grímar’s mouth moved silently. He furrowed his brow. “Sister? There could not be another renegade wizard in the Southern Watch called Alysha?”
Gisella admitted it was possible but unlikely. Her sister often spoke of going to one of the far reaches of the world and carving out her own kingdom. “I’ll wager you five crowns that it’s my sister.”
“Well, why isn’t Manless sending you after her then?” Grímar grabbed the moon amulet around his neck.
“Perhaps he feels my judgement would be compromised by my relationship with her.” Gisella waved one of the court’s pages over to her.
The girl curtsied. “I’m honored, mi’lady. What do you require of me?”
“Fetch me parchment, a quill, and ink, please.” If Grímar indeed pursued her sister, he might as well deliver some correspondence as well.
The page curtsied again. “Straight away!” She sprinted toward one of the buildings where the scribes worked.
“What do you need that for?”
“I’m sending a letter with you, in case it is my sister you seek.” Gisella patted Grímar’s knee. “It should make her more cooperative. She can be headstrong and volatile.”
“I have other concerns.” Grímar stared at his amulet, tracing the shape of the moon with his thumb. “I hear it is often overcast. One could go months without seeing the moons.”
Gisella understood why that would be a problem for a man like Grímar. He shared his secret with precious few, and he included Gisella in that number because of their occasional trysts. “There is help. The Circle of the Moon has a counterpart in
each of the Watches, you know.”
“Yes, I know, but I hear the others are bands of murderers and thugs.” Grímar spoke often of his contempt for those lycanthropes who allowed their beast to run wild. He prided himself, as did all members of the Circle, on his control.
Lycanthropes were more accepted in the Four Watches than in the northern lands. The unforgiving living conditions and harsh environment forced folk to be more tolerant of others as long as they contributed to keeping the community fed and warm. Folk able to hunt in near-whiteout conditions unencumbered by heavy furs were a rare breed the communities of the Four Watches could ill afford to turn away.
“I don’t think they’re as bad as all that. A few bad apples and such.”
“Perhaps…”
The page returned with the materials Gisella requested. After handing the girl a silver talon for her troubles, she scrawled a message. She handed the folded paper to Grímar. “Now, before you force a confrontation, see to it she reads this.”
Grímar narrowed his eyes and grinned. “A secret note.”
“Oh, go ahead and read it.” Gisella grimaced and waved her hand toward the letter. “It’s not secret. I figured you would, anyway.”
He unfolded the parchment. “‘Dearest Alysha, I fear Grandmother may be needing you soon. Remember who you are and why you’re there. Be kind to Grímar; he is an honorable man. Love, Gisella.”
Grímar’s face blossomed red. “You’re too kind.”
Gisella kissed Grímar on the cheek. “Be safe, my friend. Try not to eat anyone related to me.” She stood and stretched.
Grímar reached for her hand. “Where are you off to?”
“I have to meet with the court.” She waved the reports in her hand. “My messengers bring dire tidings.”
Grímar laughed. “All tidings are dire. Chasing down those rumors from the north? The Witch Queen or Lich Queen, whichever you prefer.”
“Such news is worth investigating. If she has returned, it is no small matter.”
“Before you go, tell me, how will I recognize your sister?”
“She’s prettier than I, but we both have our mother’s eyes.” Gisella ran a hand through her hair. “Her hair is as white as pale alabaster.” Gisella smiled. “She has voracious appetites. I can only hope her tastes have improved.”
“Yes, well… farewell, Gisella.”
Gisella kissed his cheek again and left her friend to his preparations. When she entered the court building, she found the seneschal, Lyov, gripping his podium and scowling at a young woman who pranced in front of him. The woman was garbed in tight-fitting, multicolored leather leggings and a garish suede vest. Bells on her tri-pointed hat jingled with each movement of her head. The elderly man was thin, and white wisps of hair crowned his head. His bushy eyebrows appeared to be embattled in a sea of tanned wrinkles.
“Lyov! You’ve got to let me in! It’s my job!” The fiendling, a girl who had the misfortune of demonic parentage, had skin the color of lampblack that was almost perfectly matched to the black patches on her clothes. Gisella didn’t know her story, but she understood that fiendlings usually resulted from wizards miscalculating the amount of control they had when summoning dark entities best left undisturbed. They were rare in the world, but they were most common in cities where Arcane Universities were located.
“Be gone, Qaliah. The court is not interested in entertainment today.” He looked up as Gisella approached. “Slayer, do something about this scamp.”
Qaliah spun and skipped around Gisella. “Ooh, the Golden Slayer. Hi ho, dilly doe dump!” She pecked Gisella on the cheek and skipped away.
“She’s bound to the court, Lyov.” Gisella smiled as her eyes followed Qaliah dancing about the room. “It is not my place to relieve her of duty.”
“Bound, bound, bound no more!” Qaliah jumped in the air, landing in front of Lyov. She bent forward and kissed the tip of his nose. “My servitude is finished!”
“Then why are you pestering me, girl?” The old seneschal swatted at Qaliah, but the fiendling proved too quick, skipping away and hiding behind Gisella as she giggled.
“Manless must pay my stipend so I can pay for expenses.” She stopped prancing and put her hands on her hips. “Being indentured doesn’t pay well, you know.”
Gisella placed her hands on Qaliah’s shoulders. “I have business with the archmage. I will discuss your situation with him.”
Qaliah fell to her knees. “The Golden Slayer is the best. Praise to all the gods what control such things. Dolios maybe? Praise Aurora, too, ‘cause she’s so pretty!”
Gisella laughed and pulled the fiendling to her feet. “Off you go. We have serious business to discuss today. I’ll find you when I have Man—the archmage’s answer.”
As Qaliah skipped away, Gisella cursed herself in silence for her slip. She understood very well why Archmage Vilkan was called Manless, but she tried to minimize the disrespect she showed toward him. It was true she considered him to be contemptuous, but she was the Golden Slayer, and to her, that meant always being dutiful and proper.
Unlike Manless. Gisella grimaced and steeled herself to answer the archmage’s summons.
* * *
After stabling their mounts, Pancras led the group into the city proper. Muncifer was a walled city, like Almeria, and tall guard houses loomed over the road. Between them an archway stood, constructed of the ubiquitous grey stone, prolific throughout the city. Pancras remembered not liking Muncifer when he lived here, but he forgot the city appeared as if someone leached all the color from it.
Muncifer’s populace, however, contrasted its buildings. People scurried about the streets in garments of bright blue, green, orange, and red. Black and brown tones were used as trim or accents, or not at all. Minotaurs towered over the humans. Darting in between the taller folk, as always, was a handful of draks.
It was all so familiar, yet it felt unfamiliar. The streets were the same, but the occupants of the buildings were different. They passed a worn-down building Pancras swore was a bakery, yet now was a tailor. Another shop the minotaur remembered belonging to one of the magistrates appeared to be a raucous tavern, judging from the laughter and whoops emanating from within. As they came to one of the bridges that crossed the great chasm, Pancras paused to look down. Much of the undercity was cloaked in shadow. Flickering lights on the walls were the only evidence of activity. By Pancras’s recollection, it bustled with trade, much of it illicit. Many people made the undercity their home, as well, mostly draks and humans too poor to live on the surface.
“If there are any gambling dens here, Edric”—Pancras pointed toward the undercity—“that’s where you’ll find them.”
Edric strained to look over the edge of the bridge. “Wish I’d kept old Yaffa with me.”
Pancras took them to an inn he knew by reputation, the Granite Anvil. To his relief, it stood exactly as he remembered. Other than the chiseled sign above the door, the Granite Anvil was indistinguishable from the rest of the buildings on the street. It was a favored hangout for transient visitors to the Arcane University, as it was one block away from the university’s campus.
“I think we should relax for the evening. First thing in the morning, Delilah and I will head over to the Arcane University and clear up these charges. The rest of you will be free to do whatever you want. Just, try to stay out of trouble, all right?”
Despite their assurances, Pancras had the impression the last thing on Edric and Kali’s minds was avoiding trouble. He just hoped they didn’t drag Kale down with them.
A hot bath and a warm meal completed his evening and began the process of melting away the grime and stress of the long journey. Pancras feared it wouldn’t be enough, however. If the new archmage was stickler enough to collect decades’-old debts, there was no telling what other petty tribulations were in store. Pancras tried to put them out of his mind.
Delilah came to his room as he prepared for bed. “What do you think they’re goi
ng to do to me, Pancras?”
“Probably just make you pay dues and officially join the Mage’s Guild. I can’t imagine them requiring more than that.” Pancras sat on the edge of his bed and removed his belt, looping it around one of the bedposts near his head for safekeeping.
Delilah paced the floor in front of him. “They think I’m a renegade, though, right?”
“Yes, but they’ve always been lenient on renegades whose only crime is learning magic on their own because they have never been near an Arcane University. If there were teachers in every town, they might come down hard on you, but Maritropa is the closest Arcane University to Drak-Anor, and it’s farther away than Almeria. You would hardly be expected to know about such things.”
“What about you?” She stopped in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re just going to make you pay up?”
“I hope that’s all they require. Then we can go home.”
The drak sorceress shook her head and snorted. “All this way for ten minutes of talk. What a waste of our time.”
Pancras didn’t disagree with that assessment. “Often, those in power take great delight in wasting the time of their so-called lessers.”
* * *
Gisella strode into the Court of Wizardry. Apart from the archmage and his guards, the chamber was empty. Either the business Vilkan wanted to discuss with her was private or was deemed not important enough for the whole court to hear. She hoped it was the latter. Vilkan’s private discussions always involved a measure of clumsy seduction and machismo. After all the years they’d known each other, he still persisted. Normally, Gisella appreciated persistence, but coming from Vilkan, it was exhausting.
“You wanted to see me, Archmage?”
Vilkan held up a scroll. “Renegades for you to hunt. Two of them, traveling together.”
Gisella bit back a sarcastic retort and took the scroll from him. “You have a great deal of confidence in my abilities if you’re sending me after two at once.”
Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) Page 7
