Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2)

by Hans Cummings

  Later that same morning, he and Kali left The Granite Anvil and headed into the undercity. The stairs that led from the streets of the upper city were slick with overnight rain. Humans and minotaurs in the upper city glanced at the winged, striped drak in their midst, but Kale never felt they were more than curious, something to which he had become accustomed. Entering the undercity, however, was like opening the floodgates. Every drak who saw him stopped and stared or followed and cried out for his attention.

  Kale saw a familiar minotaur pushing a cart of potatoes. He nodded as he passed, but the minotaur’s face dropped when his eyes met Kale’s. He swung the cart around and pushed it away at an ever-increasing speed. Kali pointed toward a platform ahead at the edge of the walkway. It was used by town criers to spread news and announcements.

  “That platform gives me an idea!” She ran over to it and pulled Kale up. “Attention, draks of Muncifer!”

  Kale removed his hat, held it in front of him, and tucked in his wings as they waited for a crowd to gather. Kali maneuvered him in front of her and tugged on his wings. Kale spread them.

  “This is Kale Windsinger of Drak-Anor.”

  “He is Chosen!”

  “A gift from Rannos!”

  “Can you cure my scale itch?”

  “He will save us!”

  Kale raised his head and spat a gout of flame into the air. The draks shrank back and became silent.

  “He has stripes, yes. Wings, too.” She patted his arm. “Tell them how you got them.”

  “I wasn’t born with the wings. They weren’t a gift from Rannos or any other dead god either.” Kale didn’t want to tell them the whole truth. Telling an unruly mob about a chaos mutation would require too much explanation. “The wings are… are… uhh… a wizard did it! He was trying to turn me into a bird, but I stabbed him and messed up his magic! He was an evil wiz—warlock, yeah, and me and the minotaurs helped free Drak-Anor from his evil spell so we could be free and—”

  Kali smacked him in the shoulder. “Freeing Drak-Anor was Kale’s destiny. His purpose is already fulfilled. He can do nothing for you, and we ask you to please, just let him live his life.”

  “No, he is blessed!”

  “He can help us, too!”

  Kale stepped up onto the platform, put an arm around Kali, and spread his wings. “I’ve seen oppression. I’ve seen drak slavery. I don’t see it here.”

  A dusty-grey drak pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “I can help you tell your tale!”

  Kale looked at Kali; she nodded. He extended a hand to the other drak and helped him climb onto the platform. The grey drak turned to the crowd.

  “You all know me—”

  “Jairo!”

  “He prints truth!”

  “Bah, it’s a rag!”

  The dissenting voice was shouted into silence. Jairo held up his hands to calm the crowd. “I’ll get this drak’s story. We’ll all hear it. We’ll take it to the upper city. The humans and the minotaurs will hear us.”

  Kale stomach tightened. He did not want to become involved in a revolution, but neither did he want endure undue adoration of an oppressed lower class every time he stepped out of his shop, if indeed, that was what these draks were. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal banging on metal. A squad of guards pushed through the crowds, smacking their cudgels against their shields.

  “Clear out, you lot! You’re clogging the streets! Clear out!” The guards stopped in front of the platform. “Causing trouble again, Jairo?”

  Though the crowd of draks moved away, they still watched Kale. He stepped in front of Jairo. “He was just trying to help convince them to ignore me.”

  The guard grunted. “So you’re the troublemaker, eh? What manner of drak are you anyway?”

  Kali took Kale’s hand. “He’s my mate, and he’s not causing trouble. These draks all seem to think he’s some savior come to free them from oppression.”

  The guards laughed. The one who spoke to Kale gestured to his fellows. “Hear that? He’s come to free them from their oppression!”

  “No! No, I haven’t.” Kale folded in his wings and tried to shrink away from the guards. Even standing on the platform he had to look up at them to meet their eyes. “My sister is at the Arcane University. I just wanted to look at some shops! I don’t want trouble.”

  The guard gestured to one of the other guards. “Go break up that lot. Get them moving.” He turned to Kale, and poked him in the stomach with his cudgel. “You’re packing a lot of blades on that bandoleer for someone who doesn’t want trouble.”

  Kale fingered the hilts of his daggers as he counted them. “I don’t want trouble. It doesn’t mean I’m just going to let it happen to me.”

  “Stop stirring the pot, Jairo.” The guard poked the grey drak. “We all have to abide by the archduke’s edicts.”

  “Even when they’re unfair? It’s like he doesn’t want us in town. We were here first!”

  “Enough!” The guard slammed his cudgel on the platform next to Jairo. “I don’t make laws, I just enforce them. Make your case in that broadsheet of yours.” He leaned in. “I know for a fact several councilors read it. You’ll have better luck with your silent voice in that than stirring up mobs in the undercity.”

  The rest of the guards ushered people away, uncluttering the streets enough that Kale considered dashing to a nearby shop to move away from the crowd. The sign was carved with an angular design that gave no clues as to what it sold. With my luck, it’ll be a dress shop.

  “Let’s go, Kale.” Kali stepped down off the platform. “Maybe they’ll let us go about our business for a bit.”

  The guard grabbed Kale’s arm and leaned down, his breath stinking of beef and cheese. “Don’t encourage the mob. They’re angry and bored. They don’t need more instigators. You’re not inconspicuous, so don’t think you can hide in the shadows and stir up trouble.”

  Kale tilted his head upward toward the guard and shook his head. “I don’t want trouble. I just want to mind my own business.”

  He released Kale and nodded. “Fine then. Go on your way.”

  The crowds kept their distance the remainder of the morning, though he still overheard their whispers of awe and adulation. It was only a matter of time before the guard’s admonishment was forgotten and they mobbed him again.

  He pulled Kali aside as they ate some spit-roasted squab from a stand in the undercity market. “I don’t know what’s going on in this town between the minotaurs, humans, and draks, but I really don’t want anything to do with it. Maybe we can go visit some of the nearby villages after Deli passes her trials.”

  Kali nodded in agreement. “As much as I don’t want to be bored, I don’t want to deal with Almeria all over again.”

  * * *

  Once the weather broke, Pancras anxiously wanted to return to the road and continue their journey. Part of it was his compulsion to arrive in Vlorey as soon as possible, but a more immediate incentive was his desire to leave Toma’s house. The bed was too small, Edric too noisy, and having the fiendling share with them because of some unspoken disagreement with Gisella was awkward.

  Fortunately, one of the farmers had a gelding, Comet, she was willing to sell Qaliah. Pancras felt it was more out of a desire for the fiendling to leave than to make money. Nevertheless, they acquired a young piebald of gentle disposition and left Rock Ridge behind.

  As they rode under a clear blue sky, Pancras’s thoughts wandered to the draks he left behind in Muncifer. He felt responsible for their welfare, even though Kale and Delilah were both adults and capable of caring for themselves. In addition, Kale seemed well on his way to settling down.

  The peace of his thoughts was shattered by a whoop from Qaliah as she raced past him, Edric hot on her heels. The dwarf swore continuously and called down the wrath of the gods on her head, but her spirited young horse outpaced his pony.

  Gisella nudged Moonsilver next to Stormheart. “Those two are going
to kill each other, I think.”

  “If Edric would just ignore her jibes and baiting, she’d grow bored quickly enough.” Pancras knew Qaliah’s type. In every place he had visited or lived, there was always someone who enjoyed provoking others. Qaliah knew exactly which of Edric’s buttons to push, as if by instinct.

  “She’s quite the instigator.”

  “What happened between you? What sent her to our room?”

  Gisella coughed and looked away. After a moment, she sighed. “She propositioned me. When I told her I was not interested, things became awkward between us.”

  “Ah. Yes, I understand.” Pancras acknowledged that both Gisella and Qaliah were attractive by most standards, but he was not interested in either of them. Several minotaur females propositioned him in Drak-Anor over the years, and revealing to them why he wasn’t interested always yielded an uncomfortable moment.

  The fiendling let the dwarf chase her for most of the morning. When they finally settled down, the sun was high in the sky and their steeds ready for a break. They all dismounted and walked their horses.

  Were it not for the road they followed, Pancras understood how one could ride in circles for days, traveling nowhere. The rolling terrain dotted with groves and fields was largely the same from hill to hill. Subtle variations were lost on city-dwellers like Pancras. He wished there was a quicker way to travel to Vlorey and cursed the archmage for sending him so far away.

  “I’m bored.” Qaliah broke the silence Pancras enjoyed. “Hey Wizard, don’t you have some magic that can make this trip go faster? Or be less boring?”

  “Not really, no.” Pancras was unaware of any conjurations or spells that would speed their journey, although he remembered hearing stories of a time from before The Sundering in which magic enabled wizards to cross vast distances quickly. If that type of magic ever actually existed, it was long ago lost to the world.

  “So much for all-powerful wizardry.”

  “Wizards only want you to think magic is all-powerful.” Gisella looked back at Pancras. “Isn’t that right, Pancras?”

  “I never tried to convince anyone of any such thing. I just wanted to be left alone with my books and alchemy equipment.”

  Qaliah leaned in close to Edric, but she made no effort to lower her voice. “It’s always the quiet loners you have to watch out for, eh?”

  Edric chuckled. “Especially the ones that make your bones jump up and dance out of your body.”

  “Ohh, he’s one of those wizards.” Qaliah regarded Pancras with a sly grin and winked.

  He sighed and stared into the sun, shielding his eyes as he tilted his head upward. Maybe if I wish hard enough, time will speed up.

  Chapter 11

  Archduke Fyodar was a more imposing man than Archmage Vilkan, a feat Delilah thought impossible. His velvet cloak hung from broad shoulders, and though his belly protruded like a round pot at his waist, she sensed he was one capable of holding his own in a fight. Piercing grey eyes sat above prominent cheekbones covered by a salt-and-pepper beard.

  He paced the width of the table upon which a map of the area laid. Archmage Vilkan stood at the end of the table and stabbed the map with a crooked finger. “Fallow Gulch and Oakcreek will be the first to fall if the giants attack.”

  Delilah stifled a yawn and leaned on her staff. For the past three hours, the two men argued about the giants. Without the context of their prior conversations, she found it difficult to follow their conversation at first, but after three hours of them retreading the same ground, each convinced of the other’s fault and incompetence, her understanding grew.

  “The giants have kept the peace for decades.” The archduke stopped and slammed his fist on the table. “Why now?”

  “Why not? It was a harsh winter. Even the giants need food, and I’ll wager they burned through their stockpiles faster than they planned. Now, what we trade is insufficient, and they want more.”

  The archduke shook his head. “No. No, I cannot ascribe to that interpretation. We’ve had bad winters before. This wasn’t even the worst of the last decade.”

  Archmage Vilkan spread his hands. “Something has them riled up. Perhaps your emissaries insulted them. We don’t know what occurred during their last meeting.”

  “It was your plan! I sent them with your instructions!” Archduke Fyodar spoke through clenched teeth.

  “They obviously failed. Let me send my own emissaries. They fear magic. My people can calm them down.”

  “I don’t want them to fear us!” The archduke resumed his pacing. The floorboards under his feet creaked as he strode back and forth. “I want the peace to continue. They’ve been good allies and a great deterrent for whatever is in the Western Wastes.”

  “Cathar, fiendlings, and savage elves who’ve turned their backs on the trees and survive on the flesh of men.”

  Delilah encountered the cathar, a race of ill-tempered, vulture-like creatures, but it was the first she’d heard of feral elves. The way the archmage’s eyes followed the archduke’s every move, she guessed he embellished a bit.

  “Everything was fine until after your visit this spring, Vilkan. Perhaps they blame you for those tremors.” The archduke pursed his lips as he stared at the archmage.

  “Preposterous.” Archmage Vilkan crossed his hands over his chest as he glared at the archduke. “I know nothing of earth magic.”

  The two men continued their debate, addressing the same issues as they had during the previous three hours of their meeting. Delilah didn’t see what the archmage hoped to accomplish by bringing her along with him. She sighed and wished once again that she could have snuck in her grimoire.

  A page bolted into the room and interrupted their discussion. As he fought to catch his breath, the archduke poured him a glass of wine. He gulped it down. “A band of giants have come down from the mountains. They’re in the gulley leading to the old watergate!”

  “What? How did they avoid our scouts?”

  The archmage slapped the map near where the page indicated the giants were. “Now their scouts are probing us! I will handle them, Archduke. Come, Initiate!”

  Archmage Vilkan spun, whipping his cloak behind him, and stalked out of the room. Delilah scrambled after him as he ignored the protests of the archduke. She followed him through the dimly lit corridors of Grimstone Keep and up onto the battlements.

  Located at the edge of the city, Grimstone Keep overlooked the western gate. A dry riverbed south of the gate handled overflow water, which cascaded from the mountains. Much of the water was still locked in snow, but from what Delilah had heard, the riverbed would be close to spilling over within the next month.

  A band of five giants marched into the gully. They carried clubs on their shoulders that appeared to have once been trees. The two giants at the rear dragged a cart covered in furs of some sort. All five resembled humans, albeit three times the height of the archmage, with wider noses and more muscular bodies and skin the color of wet stone. They were clad in patchwork animal skins and furs, and even at this distance, Delilah noticed short tusks protruding from their lips.

  “Vilkan! Wait just a damn minute!” The archduke sprinted up the steps onto the battlements. Delilah clicked her teeth and nodded, impressed that a man with a belly that vast could move so quickly.

  The archduke was too late. Already, smoky swirls of red aether writhed around the archmage. He held aloft his focus, a bejeweled vial, in his right hand as he chanted, “Astrapes kataigida!”

  Dark clouds swirled overhead, roiling in the sky and flashing with energy. Forks of lightning sought ground, the booming thunder that accompanied them seeming to rattle the very stones of the keep. Archduke Fyodar moved to grab the archmage, but Delilah raised her staff, laying it across her chest as she stepped between them.

  “Bad idea, Your Grace. It’s too dangerous.” She had to shout to make herself heard over the crashing thunder and howling wind. To his credit, the archduke decided to glare at the archmage instead of i
nterrupting his spell. The giants raised their clubs and ducked their heads. They turned and ran but found no cover in the open fields and gullies.

  Delilah realized from the glowing wisps of red smoke surrounding Archmage Vilkan he was far from finished. “Elenchomeni anemostrovilos!”

  The dark clouds covering the western sky swirled. Dirt and debris flew through the air. The howling wind became a roaring animal in Delilah’s ears. It buffeted her, and she clutched her staff as she fought to stay upright. She lowered her head and stumbled toward the crenellations as her staff flew from her trembling fingers and clattered across the battlements. Daring to raise her head, she peeked over the wall.

  A whirling funnel of wind descended from the clouds above the giants. It scoured the land clean where it touched down, carving a line of destruction toward the giants. They split up, fleeing in different directions, as did the tornado. One by one, the funnels of death found them, pulled them into the air, and flung them away as bolts of lightning stabbed them from the heavens. Delilah observed one of their smoldering corpses bounce as it hit the earth near a farm, breaking through a fence before coming to rest.

  The drak sorceress ducked behind the crenellation as the magical storm raged at the whim of the archmage. Archduke Fyodar crouched next to her, his face a mix of fury and fear.

  When the storm abated, the archmage kicked Delilah’s staff to her and stood in front of the drak and the archduke. “That is how we will handle the giants, Your Grace.”

  * * *

  Kale’s hat flew off his head as he struggled against the sudden wind. He held fast to Kali’s hand as they sought shelter in the undercity corridors. He observed draks and minotaurs on the walkways doing the same, all running toward the nearest shops or covered side streets. The sky above was angry; dark, swirling clouds barreled in like an avalanche from the heavens, turning the clear blue sky into a roiling mass of inky blackness within minutes.