Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2)

by Hans Cummings

  “Here now!” Delilah decided to exert her authority as a Child of Destiny again. “What are you all looking at?”

  “Another stripe!”

  “Deliverer!”

  Delilah tapped the butt of her staff on the walkway. “Enough of that! What’s going on here? You’ve seen the striped, winged drak?”

  “He’s inside!”

  “He toils without end!”

  “Go away.” Delilah clenched her jaw and held up her hands. “The blessing of Rannos go with you, but you must give us striped draks time and breathing space.” She turned her eyes upward and shook her head as the draks thanked her and scurried off. She felt Katka and Conner’s disapproving glances on her back as she banged on the door.

  The door cracked open, and an eye studied her.

  “Deli? Deli!” Kale flung the door open and tackled his sister. The two draks fell into a heap. Kale laughed and squeezed her as Delilah gasped for breath.

  “By Maris’s bloody spear, Kale… what are you doing down here?” Delilah pushed her brother off her and stood with Katka’s aid. The girl handed Delilah her staff. “This is Katka and Conner, by the way. They’re friends from the Arcane University. Good folk, for humans.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Conner’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He and Katka crouched to enter the shop, but Katka, at least, was able to stand inside without stooping.

  “This is the shop, Deli! The one I wanted to show you. Kali and I bought it.”

  Delilah was halfway through the door by the time Kale’s words penetrated her brain. “You what?” She blinked and stared at her brother. Surely he didn’t just say—

  “We bought it. I didn’t want to risk anyone else finding what we found. The city let us have it for cheap, as long as we clean it up—”

  “So that’s what we’ve been doing while you’ve been off playing wizard games.” Kali entered from the back room and dusted off her hands.

  Delilah scanned the cobweb-filled, dusty shop. She feared to learn what Kale considered dirty if the front room’s state was what he considered clean. Her knees felt weak, and her brain became numb from Kale’s revelation. She let Kali’s sarcasm go unanswered.

  “Let me show you what I found, Deli.” Kale took her hand and led her through the shop. The back room was cleaner than the front, and a small fire crackled in the hearth. Down a short hallway, she noticed sleeping chambers that were clean by most standards, and she realized that Kale and his mate just hadn’t been around to the storefront yet.

  “Oh, hey, do you trust these humans? Maybe we shouldn’t show them—”

  Delilah dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “They’re fine.” She looked at her friends, “Right? You’re not going to go blabbing about this, are you? I guess, technically, this is all my brother’s private property.”

  Katka glanced at Conner before she shrugged and nodded. Conner nodded and raised his hands. “I’ll keep my mouth shut, as long as I can talk to your brother about those wings. I’ve never seen a drak with wings! Can you fly?”

  “Oh, sure.” Kale’s face lit up. “It’s a long story, but I don’t mind if you don’t. It started about a year ago when—”

  “Kale!” Delilah punched her brother in the shoulder. “Later! What are you going to show me?”

  “Oh, right.” Kale rubbed his shoulder and led them to a locked door at the end of the hallway. Behind the door was a staircase that spiraled down into darkness.

  Delilah lit her staff. Rows of bookcases bordering the stairwell took away her breath. “What are all these books?” Their musty odor suggested they must be centuries old. She reached out to grab the nearest tome.

  Kale grabbed her hand and shook his head. “The books are the bonus. I think they’re magic. At least, most of them are, but they’re really old. What I want to show you is at the bottom.”

  Kali stuck her head in the stairwell. “I’ll make sure no one becomes too curious. Don’t be long. I’m hungry.”

  The stairs descended well below street level. Delilah felt the weight of the earth above her and found it comforting, like being home again in Drak-Anor. She tried to scan the books as she descended the stairs, but if there were any titles written on the spines, they were long since lost to the ravages of time.

  At the bottom of the stairs, a short corridor led to another door with an intricate clockwork mechanism. Conner gasped as he examined it and recoiled when it clicked to life as Kale opened it.

  Delilah entered the chamber beyond the clockwork door. Lights in sconces sprang to life, illuminating the room with glowing gems. Noticing the walls were carved from the rock that surrounded the room, she felt drawn to a stone circle in the center of the chamber.

  “Wow, the lights didn’t come on when I found this place!” Kale nudged his sister and pointed at the circle. “That’s what I wanted to show you. The runes are some form of Ancient Drak, I think. I can’t read most of it. I found the sigil of Selene and one for Rannos.”

  Delilah noted the sigils of which Kale spoke. The runes on the stones were Ancient Drak writings in the language of magic. She could read the words, but she didn’t understand their meanings. The center of the circle was an odd black surface, and she found it difficult to focus her eyes on it. When she stared directly at it, it seemed solid, flat, almost like obsidian. From her peripheral vision, though, it appeared to be a roiling liquid, like a lampblack ocean during a storm.

  “What is this place?” Katka’s voice was filled with wonder, and she spun as she gawked at the room.

  Conner’s expression was much the same. “I can feel the magic in here. Can’t you? It’s old. So old.”

  Delilah nodded. She turned on her brother and gathered him up in a hug. “This is great! I’m sorry I doubted you!”

  “Initiate Drak!” A booming voice filled the room and filled Delilah with a combination of fear and dread. She pushed her brother away and spun, pointing her staff in the direction of the voice.

  Where Delilah expected to see the archmage, a shimmering image of him hovered before her. “Why are you not at the Arcane University, Initiate Drak? I want you!” The image vanished in a puff of red smoke.

  The drak sorceress threw her staff through the mist as the image vanished. It clattered against the floor as she stomped her foot. “I’m a novice now, damn it!”

  * * *

  The familiar anxieties about dark, disturbing dreams raced through Pancras’s thoughts as he drifted off to sleep. The shadow spoke mostly in his dreams, and even if he was unable to remember details, lingering effects made themselves felt throughout the next day. This night, however, Pancras dreamed of a raven-haired woman, shepherding the souls of the recently departed.

  He dreamed of Aita.

  When Pancras awoke the next morning, he realized the shadow was well and truly gone. He awoke feeling cleansed, refreshed, and energized. The sun peeked over the eastern horizon, brilliant rays piercing the clouds, a phenomenon people called “Apellon’s Harp.”

  Gisella was next to rise. She called to Pancras as he walked toward the fort’s main gate. “I’m not sure it’s safe to go alone.”

  “If anything remains, it’s just vermin and scavengers. Anything undead was destroyed.” Pancras entered the fort. The pyres were reduced to smoldering ash with bits of bone visible where the bonfire collapsed. Pancras hoped to find a weapon in the fort. While he could defend himself with magic alone, especially now that the shadow demon was gone, a Bonelord of Aita was expected to carry some sort of weapon. The bonelord whom Pancras encountered several years prior carried a flanged mace that throbbed with the power of the Princess of the Underworld. When he utilized his power, the mace’s head changed into that of a gleaming skull.

  Pancras needed such a symbol if he were to carry out Aita’s will in this world. His brief communion with the goddess imparted much. It didn’t have to be a mace, per se, but his rod or the gilded horn tips he wore were unsuitable.

  “What are you doing?” Gisella
leaned on one of the smithy’s vertical supports. Pancras hadn’t realized she followed him. He chuckled; his mind was in the clouds.

  “Looking for a weapon.” He held up his rod. “I can’t bash skeletons apart with this.”

  Gisella nudged a half-forged sword with her foot. “You might have better luck in the armory. Everything up here appears broken or unfinished.”

  Together, they entered the keep and stepped down into the armory. For Gisella’s benefit, Pancras illuminated his rod. Racks of swords lined the armory walls, and a couple of racks of spears leaned against the back wall. Gisella replaced her spear with one that had a long, flanged tip. Pancras found a rack of maces and flails tucked into one corner, but none of the weapons particularly appealed to him. A weapon hiding in the shadows alongside one of the spear racks caught his eye.

  The spiked head sat on the floor; the handle leaned against the spear rack. Pancras lifted the morning star, and a spider at work building its web skittered away. Heavy, brutal, it was forged from steel, and the spikes were as long as Pancras’s smallest finger.

  “That would certainly bash skeletons to pieces.”

  Pancras hefted the weapon. It was balanced for someone shorter than he, but he decided it would be adequate for now. “I’ll put it to good use until I can have a weapon more suitable for me made. It’s a human’s weapon.”

  “What’s wrong with human weapons?” Gisella preceded him up the stairs to the keep’s main level.

  “Nothing, it’s just not weighted right for me. I have a longer reach.” He swung it through the air. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt I’ll have to use it. I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of weaponry.”

  “Maces and morning stars are easier. You just bash until your adversary stops moving.” Gisella patted her scabbard. “They don’t require as much finesse as a sword.”

  Until he saw her after his resurrection, Pancras never even noticed Gisella’s sword. It was a handsome blade, with a wire-wrapped ivory handle. “You seem to prefer the spear.”

  “I prefer to keep my opponents far enough away that they cannot stick their swords into me.”

  Pancras agreed. They returned to their camp to find Qaliah prodding the fire, trying to coax more life out of the burning embers.

  The fiendling glanced up. “Did everything stay dead that was supposed to?”

  Pancras slid the handle of his new weapon through the loop on his saddle. “Quite. Wake the dwarf. We’ll break our fast and then break camp. We have a long ride ahead of us still.” Pancras rummaged through his saddlebag for food.

  “Aren’t you chipper? Maybe I should try being dead.” The fiendling kicked the dwarf’s legs. “Get up, Edric!”

  The dwarf cursed and groaned. His desire to leave the keep behind outweighed his desire to remain asleep, so without much more prodding, he arose. They ate a quick meal and scattered the remaining embers before saddling their horses and mounting up.

  A day of fair weather and good spirits helped Pancras sort through the past day’s events. Never before had he felt he followed a greater purpose. When he first left Muncifer after becoming a wizard, Pancras escaped sad memories and prejudice against those who didn’t conform to expectations. Some of that was his necromancy, the rest was his love of Thanos. A love of which neither his nor Thanos’s parents approved. Most of the community frowned upon it as well.

  Drak-Anor was better. Serving the Twilight Overlord was a job that allowed him to practice necromancy and alchemy, and most of the Overlords left him alone. When he became involved with Sarvesh and the Twilight Defenders, his life changed again, and he found true friends. Sarvesh’s sweeping changes, including the founding of the city of Drak-Anor proper, gave him time to think again. He questioned the purpose of a necromancer in a city, but Sarvesh convinced him to stay as a friend and advisor, and Pancras happily served in that capacity. The more insight and guidance he provided, the less need he found for necromancy.

  When he left Drak-Anor to travel to Muncifer, Pancras thought he would travel for months, pay the fine, turn around, and return home. He was prepared to do so, though he was not thrilled about the journey. He found it painful to leave Muncifer a second time. Teaching was not something that was ever on Pancras’s list of ambitions, but now, since pledging himself to Aita, he felt renewed vigor. The fact that he would teach students to defend themselves in a city that would likely be the first target of any offensive by the Lich Queen would enable him to serve the Princess of the Underworld much more effectively.

  I need a new nickname now, though. Pancras the Putrid just doesn’t seem right for a Bonelord of Aita.

  Chapter 15

  Delilah found Archmage Vilkan in the Court of Wizardry. The Black, Red, and Yellow Wizards sat in the gallery, along with Master Valyrian. The archmage stopped his tirade when he saw the drak.

  “Initiate Drak! Where have you been?”

  “Novice.” Delilah crossed the room. “Novice Delilah.”

  “That is not your call, Initiate.” The archmage glared at her.

  Delilah felt her face grow hot. “Are you stu—”

  “It is indeed not her call, Archmage.” Master Valyrian stepped in front of Delilah. “However, she passed her Initiate Trials yesterday. The grey robes are well earned.”

  “I did not authorize a trial!” The archmage slammed his fist on the arm of his chair.

  “The archmage’s permission is not necessary for the trials.” The Yellow Wizard glanced at his fellow high wizards, though Delilah thought, perhaps, his voice belonged to a female. All the high wizards’ voices sounded altered, though, emanating from behind the masks they wore.

  “Trials are held once a week.”

  “The drak passed.”

  “Thanks to my instruction.” Master Valyrian bowed.

  Archmage Vilkan’s face matched the Red Wizard’s robes. “She is my apprentice. It was not your place to instruct her.”

  “She is not. According to the Rose Concordat, initiates and novices are not bound to any one wizard. Only once they pass their Novice Trials may they be assigned primarily to one wizard for the balance of their instruction.” Master Valyrian stepped toward Delilah. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

  Delilah wondered why he defended her to Archmage Vilkan. She opened her mouth to ask, but closed it when the high wizards continued their inquiries.

  “Do you intend to advance her past novice?”

  “Justify your actions before the court, Archmage.”

  “Silence!” The archmage cut the air with his hand. “Now that the drak shows some measure of skill, it seems our university has a mascot. Everyone is quick to its defense.”

  Delilah bit her lip, but she realized Master Valyrian felt her bristle because he squeezed her shoulder.

  The archmage gritted his teeth. “Fine. The drak will continue her instruction here as any other student. However, since she came to us as a renegade, I reserve the right to give her special assignments as I see fit.”

  Delilah slammed the butt of her staff on the floor with a resounding crack. The assembled wizards all turned their heads toward her. “Is that why you called me here? You pulled me away from my brother and his mate in their new home. I hope you didn’t call me just to have me listen to you bicker over me.”

  The drak sorceress, surprised she hadn’t been interrupted, regretted having implied she had things more important than the Court of Wizardry while standing before the archmage and three high wizards.

  “Yes, why did you summon the drak?” Master Valyrian squeezed Delilah’s shoulder again and then clasped his hands behind his back.

  The archmage waved his hand and refused to meet the elf’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter now. Resume your duties, Init… Novice Drak. I may have something for you in a few days after I speak to the archduke again. You are dismissed.”

  You don’t have to tell me twice. Delilah spun and exited the court. She nodded farewell to Seneschal Lyov as she passed the old man and con
sidered sauntering out of the university compound and back to Kale and Kali’s house. Instead, she sought out Katka. The young woman rehearsed her combat spells against the practice dummies.

  “Dynami velos!” A green bolt of energy shot from Katka’s wand, blasting the dummy’s head into splinters.

  “Hey, you’re improving!” Delilah clapped the woman on the back as a show of approval.

  “I think I actually am. It’s about time. I don’t think I’m going to master alchemy, though.”

  Alchemy was one subject Delilah wanted to practice more, but the petty antics of the archmage had thus far stymied those studies. Katka holstered her wand and stepped over to a bench near the Blood Oak.

  “What do you think that runed circle in your brother’s cellar is?”

  The circle intrigued Delilah and was at the top of her list of mysteries to solve. She feared it would be a while before she was able to dedicate any significant time to it, though.

  “He called it a ‘moon gate.’ I have no idea what that means, though. If he hadn’t seen those runes, he’d be calling it a ‘floor circle thing.’” Delilah laughed. Her brother’s terrible names for his devices were legendary in Drak-Anor. “Rannos was killed before The Sundering, though, so that thing has to be extremely old.”

  “I’d forgotten about Rannos.” Katka blew an errant strand of hair out of her face. “If it’s pre-Sundering, whatever your brother paid for that house was a bargain… and I’ll bet no one in the city even knows about it.”

  Delilah agreed. It was below a part of town that not even the draks consigned to the undercity lived in. “Just keep it to yourself, all right? I don’t want the archmage finding out. He’s been a pain in my tail.”

  “What’s his deal with you anyway?” Katka’s head turned to gaze at a group of young men as they walked by. One of them winked at her as he passed.

  “I wish I knew.” Delilah figured it was some sort of deeply-rooted bigotry, or worse. “He says he’s going to have some sort of special project for me after he talks to the archduke again. I can’t wait.”