Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2)

by Hans Cummings

  “They should be on the road between here and Ironkrag. They’re from that city in the mountains, Drak-Anor. One is a minotaur. He’s delinquent on his dues and is a necromancer. The other is a drak sorceress who never sought us out. Bring them to me.”

  Gisella narrowed her eyes and unrolled the scroll. “How do you know they’re on the road?” She scanned it. According to the scroll, they had a deadline of Spring’s Dawning to appear: three days from today. “They’re not late yet.”

  “I doubt they’ll even show. You’ll probably have to go to Drak-Anor to get them. You’re always interested in events up north. Here’s your chance.”

  “Up north in Vlorey. I have no interest in the mountain cities.” Gisella rolled up the scroll and tucked it under her arm. “Under the provisions of the Covenant of the Slain, they are not renegades until their deadline has passed. I do not have the authorization to hunt them while they are under a travel forbearance.”

  Archmage Vilkan waved his hand. “You won’t make it there in three days, and they’ll never know you left early to intercept them.”

  “Nevertheless, I will wait until Spring’s Dawning to depart. They still have three days to arrive.”

  The archmage heaved his bulk off his chair. He held a finger to Gisella’s face and then huffed and turned away, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Do as you will, then.”

  “There’s one more matter.”

  Archmage Vilkan stopped in his tracks. She noticed him tense up before he turned. “What is it?”

  “The jester girl, Qaliah. The fiendling? She says her servitude is up and wants the severance stipend you agreed upon.” It was a standard clause in most indenture contracts. Gisella assumed Qaliah was guilty of some minor, annoying crimes, and working for the Arcane University was a way to do penance without being thrown in jail.

  “Tomorrow. Maybe the next day.” Archmage Vilkan sneered. Shaking his head, he resumed his departure. “She’s a liar and a thief. You should not concern yourself with such people.”

  Gisella waited for him to leave and then unrolled the scroll again. The minotaur’s dues were almost two decades overdue. The charge of necromancy, however, was new. It had only been outlawed when Archmage Vilkan took office. When the minotaur chose to study necromancy, it was perfectly legal, if discouraged.

  She sniffed and then chuckled as the realization of Vilkan’s intent dawned on her. He’s cleaning house. Making sure there is no one out there who can challenge him. It fit with his ego and his paranoia.

  A page ran into the hall. “I must see the archmage. The court, where are they?”

  Gisella took the page by the shoulder and marched him out of the court. “They’ve gone for the evening. You’ll have to find Archmage Vilkan in his quarters.”

  The color drained from the page’s face. “The archmage said he is to never be disturbed in his quarters.”

  “Then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow”—Gisella cocked an eyebrow at the page—“or give me the message. I will be reporting to them first thing in the morning.”

  The page hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, fine. The archduke’s emissaries who went to visit the giants, the ones taking the tribute? They’ve been returned.”

  News that they returned didn’t seem worthy of his haste to inform the archmage. Gisella opened her mouth to reply and then paused. “Wait, you said ‘they’ve been returned,’ not ‘they have returned’.”

  “Yes, milady. In pieces.”

  * * *

  “Do you think your sister will mind having a room to herself?” Kali stretched on the bed as Kale examined his puzzle box. A fire crackling in their room’s hearth, the only light at the moment, cast an orange glow across the table. The inner workings of the puzzle box were obscured in shadow.

  “She’s probably happy for the peace and quiet. Can you believe there aren’t any lamps in here?”

  “Most of the patrons are wizards. They make their own light.” Kali rolled over and rested her head on her hands. “Your sister seems jealous of us.”

  Kale set the puzzle box on the table and looked at Kali. “She is. She’s used to it being just us. Me and her against all the tall folk of the world.”

  “There were other draks in Drak-Anor, though.” Kali laughed. “There must have been; the name wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”

  “Yeah, but we were cast out. They didn’t include us in any clan events. They tolerated us because we had important jobs.” Kale and Delilah started out building traps to keep invaders out of the caves, but years of loyal service earned them the ear of Sarvesh, Drak-Anor’s eventual ruler.

  “Do you think they’ll shun me?”

  Kale joined Kali in bed. “Nah, you’re not a twin. It might take them a while to warm up to you, but they’ll come around. I mean, if we ever get back there.”

  Kali stroked Kale’s arm. “You don’t think we’re going back?”

  “I don’t know.” Kale shrugged and leaned back, interlacing his hands behind his head. “To come all this way to pay a fine… then go back? I just can’t believe it’s going to be that easy.”

  “Did you hear those humans talking when we were eating?”

  “About the giants? Yeah. I think something bad is going to go down around here soon. I hope we leave before that.” Kale thought about Kazi and Meriz. He was a two-headed giant and not too bright. He was killed the last time invaders attacked Drak-Anor. Of course, in those days, it wasn’t called that. A smile spread across Kale’s face. There was a lot more opportunity for mischief in those days. Sarvesh didn’t care if Kale and his sister played pranks on the oroqs. He would grumble and complain, but Sarvesh didn’t like the oroqs any better than he did.

  “Giants aren’t all bad. Honeywater used to trade with them. I think they help the draks in the Western Wastes capture nailtooths and other lizards, too.” Kali scooted closer to Kale and nuzzled his neck.

  He shivered, even though he wasn’t cold. “Well, the way these humans were talking, I don’t think we want to be anywhere near these giants if they come marching down from the mountains.”

  As sleep overtook him, Kale fought to keep images of rampaging giants out of his thoughts. He hoped their business with the Arcane University would be resolved sooner rather than later. They would then spend a few days enjoying what the city had to offer and head home.

  With luck, they’d be back in Drak-Anor before winter.

  Chapter 6

  The Arcane University was exactly the way Pancras remembered it. Though the buildings were made from the same stone as the rest of Muncifer, the embellishments made them appear warmer and more inviting. The Blood Oak still stood in the center of the courtyard before the unassuming building that contained the Court of Wizardry. It was a quarter-century taller, but it was the same tree under which he whiled away many hours.

  Younger students, in their mousy-brown robes, scurried to and fro, running whatever errands they were assigned by their masters. Older students, wearing robes of various shades of grey accented with the occasional colored sash, stood chatting or walking with their noses buried in books. Only masters and visiting mages wore robes in colors brighter than the surrounding dirt.

  Pancras spotted a few people in heavy armor carrying weapons and marching the campus. Those with tabards bearing the insignia of the Arcane University—an eye, from which six hands radiated, surrounded by a twelve-point star—were obviously guards. Those stepping with purpose, their hawk eyes observing unfamiliar wizards, those Pancras knew to be the slayers.

  His eyes lingered on a square-jawed minotaur guard cradling a broad-bladed axe. The minotaur’s arms were tight cords of muscle straining against the weight of the blackened steel blade. He felt his pulse quicken at the sight of the guard’s powerful legs when he turned to speak to one his fellow guards. Pancras’s eyes lingered as he pointed toward a pair of armored men walking past the guards.

  ”Slayers.”

  “So they’re the ones who will hunt us down if
we don’t pay their… fees?” Delilah sneered as she passed a female slayer wearing scale armor. The slayer cradled a spear in her arms like it was a precious treasure. Pancras saw wisps of golden hair peeking out from beneath her helm, wisps of gold thread seeking escape from their metallic prison. For a brief moment, his vision darkened, the haze that lingered at the edge taking over and then retreating once again. He pressed his knuckles into his eyes and shook his head.

  “Is everything all right?” Delilah looked at him, her brow furrowed in concern.

  “Fine, just a trick of the light.” He returned to the subject at hand. “There was a time when slayers would not be wasted on such trivial matters as collecting delinquent dues.” Pancras held open the door to the Court of Wizardry building for Delilah. Benches lined the hall, though no one was currently seated on them. At the far end was a pair of double doors. Next to them stood a podium tended by an old man.

  “And yet, here we are. It took us months to get here, Pancras. If all we do is pay some money and turn around to go home, I’m going to be upset.”

  Pancras placed his hand on Delilah’s shoulder to reassure her. “You aren’t the only one.” Part of Pancras hoped it was as minor as that, but another part of him hoped they didn’t make this journey just to pay a fine.

  The elderly man at the podium served as the seneschal of the court. He glanced up from his ledger as Pancras and Delilah approached. “Ah, an interesting pair. You have business with the Court of Wizardry?”

  “I am Pancras, First Nec—Wizard of Drak-Anor, progeny of the Black Mountain. I was ordered to report by Spring’s Dawning to answer charges.” The formality of his full introduction felt stiff on the minotaur’s lips. His parents were born in Muncifer. Indeed, one would have to trace back several generations before they found any minotaur ancestors of Pancras residing in the villages at the base of Black Mountain. It was the name under which he was enrolled in the Arcane University, though, and if they had records of him, under that name was where they would find them.

  “Ah yes.” The seneschal flipped through his ledger. He peered over the top of his register at Pancras. “Two days early. That is good for you. Who are you?” He pointed a bony finger at Delilah.

  “Delilah.” The drak straightened her back and stood on tiptoe. “Of Drak-Anor. Those old guys that showed up in Drak-Anor said I had to come because I never went to the Arcane University, and, for some reason, learning magic is illegal without your say so.”

  Pancras pulled Delilah toward him. She shook him off and snapped at his hand.

  “Ah, you wish to be a student.”

  “I could blast half of these students before they’d put down their books!” Delilah tapped the podium with her staff. The eyes of her lizard skull glowed blue.

  “Oh. I see.” The seneschal closed his ledger and pointed at a nearby bench. “Have a seat. A slayer has already been assigned to you, so the court will want to wait until she arrives before hearing your case.”

  Before Pancras and Delilah took the seat offered them, the outer doors opened, and a woman entered. It was the slayer they had passed earlier in the courtyard. She adjusted her helm, tucking the stray wisps of golden hair back underneath its rim.

  “Ah, there she is now.” The seneschal gestured toward Pancras and Delilah. “Your quarry showed up early. You may take them into the court at your leisure.”

  “Thank you, Lyov.” The woman approached Pancras and Delilah. She cocked her head as she regarded them. “I’m called the Golden Slayer. The archmage wanted me to hunt you down as renegades. How fortunate that you came to us. Are you prepared to answer for your crimes?”

  Delilah huffed and poked the Golden Slayer in the thigh. “I haven’t committed any crime. We lived for years without you people sticking your noses in our business, and we’re only here to deal with this extortion.”

  Pancras cleared his throat. “We are prepared to clear up any misunderstandings.” He pulled Delilah away from the slayer.

  The Golden Slayer rubbed a mark Delilah’s claw made on her polished armor. The hint of a smirk appeared on her lips, and she gestured toward the doors. “Very well, then. Let us proceed.”

  For the first time in his life, Pancras stepped hoof into the Court of Wizardry. Most students, if they behaved, had no need to enter these halls. He was disappointed that it was little more than a rectangular room. Opposite the entry doors was a wide dais, upon which stood the high-backed chairs of the Court of Wizardry. There were thirteen total, and apart from the center chair upon which sat the archmage, only two others were occupied. The wizards flanking the archmage kept their faces covered, according to tradition. Students were always on their best behavior, partially, by never knowing if their instructors sat upon the Court of Wizardry.

  “A minotaur.” The archmage stood. “This must be Pancras, lately of Drak-Anor.”

  The wizard to the archmage’s right, presumably a man, wore head-to-toe orange robes and looked at his counterpart, who wore violet robes not unlike those Pancras often wore. “And the drak we were told about.”

  The violet-robed wizard nodded. “You are expected. You are early. Good.”

  The archmage slashed the air with his hand. “Silence. I am Vilkan Icebreaker, Archmage of the Arcane University, highest of the high wizards.” He returned to his seat, tossing back his head before clutching the arms of his chair. “I am surprised you answered the summons.”

  Pancras placed his hand on his chest and bowed. He warned Delilah with a glance to remain silent. “It was never my intention to dishonor the university.”

  “Yet you practice a forbidden art.”

  Pancras blinked. “Forbidden?”

  “Necromancy was declared a forbidden art five years ago. Had you maintained a proper relationship with the Arcane University, you would know this.”

  Pancras felt a bead of sweat drip down his back. Practicing forbidden arts was usually punished by death, and the Court of Wizardry laughed at those claiming ignorance as a defense.

  “Ignorance is no excuse.” The orange-robed wizard intoned, as if he’d read Pancras’s mind.

  “He was trained under the law.” The Violet Wizard raised his hand in reply.

  “Yes, yes.” The archmage glanced aside to the Violet Wizard, irritation etched on his furrowed brow. “That is why I am not ordering his death.”

  Pancras let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. He heard the armor of the Golden Slayer rattle as she shifted her weight behind him. Delilah tugged at his sleeve. Pancras shook her hand away and gave her a short, crisp shake of his head in reply.

  “I am thankful for that, Masters. May I speak?”

  The archmage rubbed his nose and sniffed. “I suppose.”

  “I am prepared to make payment for all my lapsed guild dues, as well as any future dues I will accrue for the remaining years of my life… to your best estimates, of course.” Pancras hoped the lure of gold would be enough to put an end to this archmage’s machinations.

  “He seeks to make restitution.”

  “As an honorable wizard should.”

  The archmage cut them off with the wave of his hand. “Yes, fine. That is what you owe, but there is a matter of punishment for the forbidden arts.”

  “In my defense, I have not actively practiced necromancy in at least five years”—he gestured at Delilah—“as my friend here will attest.”

  The archmage laughed. “I will not accept the testimony of a renegade in this matter. It’s never even been trained in the arts.”

  Pancras sensed Delilah bristle and placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in check. “She is a skilled sorcerer. She has acquitted herself well in battle in the defense of others.”

  “Whatever.” Archmage Vilkan rubbed his knees and leaned forward. “Defense against wizards like you is a skill so many of our kind neglect to learn. Indeed, reports from the north indicate even teachers who know how to defend against your type are in short supply.”

  The
fur at the back of Pancras’s neck stood on end, and his stomach knotted up. He dreaded where the archmage was headed with his tirade, and he suspected it would end with a conclusion he would find unpleasant.

  “You”—the archmage drew his wand and pointed it at Pancras—“will go to Vlorey and assume the mantle of defenses master there. Yepakououn katanankasmo sas mechri thanto.” The blast of azure energy smashed into Pancras before he parsed the words spoken by Archmage Vilkan. He’d never heard a spell recited so quickly.

  Pancras wanted nothing more than to go home. No, that’s not it. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. I want to go to Vlorey. They need a teacher. The icy fingers of the shadow crept through his mind, and his head filled with hollow laughter.

  Yes, Necromancer. You will go to Vlorey. You will join us.

  “Pancras? Pancras, are you all right?”

  He was on his knees now. Delilah shook him. Pancras opened his eyes to see the Golden Slayer looming over him, her hand outreached.

  He brushed them off. “I’m all right. I’m fine. It was just… it’s nothing. Fine. I’m fine.” Pancras stood, unsure if he worked to convince them or himself that he was fine.

  “You will serve in that capacity for no fewer than five years, Pancras. Beginning from the time you take office, of course. Gisella”—the archmage stowed his wand—“take the minotaur away. Assign a slayer to accompany him to Vlorey to ensure he meets his obligation.”

  “Sure the geas you placed upon him—”

  “Do as I say, Slayer.”

  The Golden Slayer bowed and then took Pancras by the arm. The minotaur allowed her to lead him out, all thoughts of standing by Delilah replaced by a desire to journey to Vlorey as soon as possible.

  * * *

  As the Golden Slayer took Pancras’s arm to lead him away, Delilah moved to follow.

  “Hold, Drak. I’m not through with you, yet.”

  Damn it. Delilah bit her bottom lip and turned to face the archmage. She took a deep breath and walked toward him, chin held high.