“The archmage wanted me to put my name on the rolls for the very next Novice Trials. When are they?”
Master Galina rubbed her forehead. “He sent you to put your own name in?” She sighed and paused for a moment. Delilah noticed her lips moving as she counted in silence to herself. “It is three days hence. I hope you’re not wasting my time.”
Delilah placed her hand on her chest and bowed. “I promise you I am not, Master. We all do the archmage’s bidding, yes?”
“Yes”—Master Galina pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow—“so it seems. You may go now, Novice. I have lessons to teach.”
The drak sorceress bowed again and left Master Galina to her students. She shifted her pack as she left the compound and wondered if it might be better to leave her grimoire at her brother’s. However, the proximity of Grimstone Keep to the Arcane University made a detour to the undercity impractical. Delilah sighed and girded herself for a hike through the midday crowds.
* * *
“So? What happened?” Jairo sat on the edge of his chair, listening with rapt attention to Kale’s story. Over the past few weeks, Kale had related the story of the foundation of Drak-Anor in exchange for his help in calming the draks in the undercity.
Kale was at the part of his tale where Delilah had just been swallowed whole by the warlock-turned-dragon, and he swooped in to save the day on the back of Terrakaptis.
“SPLURCH!”
Jairo recoiled at Kale’s exclamation, tumbling backward in his chair. Kali grabbed his hand just before he fell over and pulled him upright.
“The warlock exploded! Delilah used her whirling blade spell, I don’t know what it’s called, while in his stomach, and carved him up from the inside out!”
Kali and Jairo grimaced.
Kale nodded with a grin. “It was nasty. Blood everywhere. I thought she was dead, she thought I was dead, and we almost killed ourselves racing through the gore to get to each other.”
“Hey, hey! Maybe you two already fulfilled your destinies as Children of Destiny!” Jairo waved his quill at Kale. He reached over to his desk and dipped his quill in the inkwell. Then he scribbled some notes.
“Maybe. Look, Terrakaptis said that prophecies are just stories made up by old men trying to make sense out of the world. Anyway, there isn’t a prophecy that says anything about us.” Kale wished he could snap his fingers and convince all the draks in the world to stop believing in prophecies about Children of Destiny.
“I’ve heard the stories, too, Kale.” Kali stepped behind Kale’s chair and put her arms around his neck. “They’re not specific. They all just say striped draks are special and will have great purpose in their lives.”
Kale looked up at her. “Yeah, those are the same stories that say draks hatched from the same egg have to be exposed and left to die, right?” If he and Delilah hadn’t been hatched with stripes, that would have been their fate. Even with their stripes, their clan exiled them as soon as they were old enough to fend for themselves.
“Well, yes.” Kali squeezed him.
“So, how do you decide which parts of those stories you’re going to accept as truth and which you’re just going to ignore?” Kale held his hand up and looked at Jairo. “You want to say I’m special because of my stripes, but you ignore the same story that says I’m cursed because I was hatched from the same egg as my twin sister. I choose to ignore both parts. My sister and I are muddling through life, doing the best we can. Just like everyone else.”
Jairo jotted down a few more notes. “Okay. What happened after that?”
“That’s enough for today, Jairo.” Kali stepped around Kale and snatched the grey drak’s quill from his hand. She set it on the desk. “I’m hungry. You can hear more stories later.”
Kale stood and stretched. Jairo scrambled to secure the papers lying on his desk as the air from Kale’s wings stirred the room.
“All right. Thank you.” He clasped Kale and Kali’s hands. “I’ve already spread the word, and the next broadsheet is going out tomorrow. Hopefully, they’ll start making a difference.”
“I hope so.” Kale was tired of the stares and whispers as he passed. Not for the first time, he wished he could send a message to Delilah. Her last message to him stated she was scheduled for her Novice Trials, but she didn’t expect she would be released from service to the university any time soon.
He and Kali made their way home. They stopped to buy a pair of rabbits from a butcher stall. Though he still heard whispers and felt stares from the other draks, Kale chuckled for a moment. His life was so mundane now compared to how it was in Drak-Anor. While part of him longed for another adventure, part of him was content. He smiled at his mate as they returned home.
“What?”
“A year ago, Deli and I were running around Drak-Anor, fixing defenses and doing other odd jobs for Sarvesh. Now”—he extended his arms—“I have my own home in a city leagues away with a mate. It’s surreal.”
“Well, don’t go wishing for too much. I think we’re just enduring a calm before the storm, you know?”
Kale understood what she meant. Even if the draks treated him like one of their own, rather than a fabled outsider with a special destiny, there was still the undercurrent of conspiracy to which Boss Steelhand alluded. Kale decided he had two goals: keep Kali safe, and keep the library and moon gate safe for his sister. Maris can take all the rest.
* * *
The passages of Grimstone Keep were just as cold as Delilah remembered. She considered the possibility that an enchantment made the keep feel cooler than the outside air. After the third lady garbed in a high collar with her nose pointed upward and eyes narrowed as she passed, Delilah decided it was not just the mountain air keeping things chilly.
Archduke Fyodar did not keep Delilah waiting. The drak sorceress was ushered into the room where the archduke sat in a gilded throne. Unlike other royal seats Delilah had encountered, Fyodar’s was not raised on a dais but was situated behind a large, polished, cherry wood desk. Guards were stationed throughout the room, and the archduke was attended by a minotaur wearing deep-blue robes.
Delilah waited in front of the desk until the archduke acknowledged her. She stood, eyes level with the top of the desk, wondering if he noticed her presence, until she observed him regularly glance in her direction.
“The archmage sent you, did he?” Archduke Fyodar looked up at last and gestured to the minotaur. “This is my advisor, and Court Wizard, Theros.”
The minotaur bowed his head toward Delilah. His black fur was flecked with grey at the tip of his muzzle, and Delilah noticed he wore gloves, unusual for a wizard. He regarded the archduke. “He sends a novice?”
Delilah tossed the scroll she carried onto the archduke’s desk. “He bade me deliver this.”
“This is the same drak that was with me on the battlements during the last incident with the giants.” The archduke unrolled the scroll. “Get her a stool or something.”
One of the guards left the room and returned after a few moments with a stool upon which Delilah could stand. It was only one step higher, but now her entire head appeared above the desktop.
Archduke Fyodar handed the scroll to the minotaur. “What’s his game, Theros?”
The minotaur read the scroll and then dropped it on the desk. “No idea, Your Grace. Perhaps this little drak can tell us.”
Delilah shifted her grip on her staff. She wished people would stop referring to her as “little drak.”
The archduke tapped his chin as he regarded Delilah. “I wonder… do you think this novice is privy to the working of the archmage’s mind?”
“I can tell you, I am not.” Delilah saw no reason to play coy with the archduke.
“He refers to her as his apprentice in the letter.” Theros raised his eyebrows. Delilah gritted her teeth.
“Guards, leave us.” The archduke stood and gestured. The guards left their posts and shuffled out of the throne room, closing the door behind the
m. The archduke nodded to Theros.
“Sphraira tees alistheias.” Azure strands swirled through the air, forming a sphere that started at the wizard’s right hand and expanded to encompass the desk, the throne, and all three of them.
Delilah recoiled as arcane energy washed over her. She recognized an enchantment when she felt it, though she was not sure of exact nature of this particular enchantment. Gripping her staff until her knuckles were white, she chewed her bottom lip to keep from lashing out, an act most people would describe as stupid.
“All right.” The archduke reclined in his chair. “The three of us stand within an enchantment field created by Theros. Anyone in this field must speak the truth. So, tell me, Novice Drak, what are you feeling right now?”
Delilah remembered to be diplomatic and choose her words carefully. However, she blurted out the direct answer to his question instead. “Aita take you both for enchanting me with a truth spell. And my name is Delilah, not ‘Drak’!”
Theros chuckled. “I’d say it’s working.”
“Indeed.” The archduke steepled his fingers in front of him. “Tell me, Novice Delilah: why does the archmage call you his apprentice in this letter, and what is his plan?”
Delilah desired to tell them both where they to go with their questions, but she was compelled to answer. “He thinks he’s going to claim me as his apprentice after my Novice Trial. That’s all I know of his plans.”
“What makes you so special that the archmage has you all picked out already?” Theros leaned on the desk, bringing his head closer to Delilah. “Besides your stripes.”
A flicker of confusion crossed the archduke’s face, but it was gone before Delilah answered, “I don’t know.”
The archduke opened his mouth to comment, but Theros held up his hand to stop him. “Why did you come to Muncifer?”
Delilah twisted her mouth in an effort to keep silent, but the enchantment was too strong. “To pay my guild dues.”
It was not a secret Delilah felt she needed to hide. She was simply determined to fight the enchantment as much as she could, no matter how banal were the questions they asked.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Theros looked at the archduke and then Delilah. “If you’re still a student, you don’t have guild dues.”
The archduke cleared his throat. “If you’re a student, why did you come here to pay dues? Where are you student at?”
“I’m not a student; there aren’t any Arcane Universities anywhere near Drak-Anor. I was told that I was a renegade, and if I didn’t pay my dues, they’d send slayers after me.” Delilah scratched the back of her leg with her foot. She wished to be anywhere but here at the moment, but she reflected that this encounter was less painful than the last time the ruler of a city questioned her.
“Indulge me a moment, Your Grace.” Theros mouth twitched into a smirk. “How do you rate your skills compared to your fellow novices?”
Delilah tried to comprehend the reason behind the minotaur’s question. Still, instead of laughing at him, as she wanted to, she was compelled to answer, “I have over twenty years of practical and battlefield experience; I could be teaching them.”
Theros straightened up. “Yet the archmage wants to claim her as an apprentice and puts her with the rest of the students?”
“This makes no sense.” The archduke gestured at Delilah. “What makes this drak special to him? And why in the name of Maris’s bloody spear does he want her leading the expedition to the giant’s village?”
Delilah failed to conceal her surprise. “He what?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace.” Theros turned to Delilah as he wrung his hands. “What do you know about the giants in the mountains?”
“Nothing. They live there?”
“What are you thinking, Theros?” The archduke eyed his advisor as he stroked his beard.
To Delilah it was obvious as she observed the minotaur clenching his teeth together that he wasn’t prepared to answer that question under a truth spell. He fought against the compulsion for a moment before replying, “The archmage has always been interested in what’s under the mountains. Perhaps, he thinks these draks are his key to controlling it.”
Draks? What draks? Me and who else? Delilah decided to use the truth spell to her advantage. “What other draks are you talking about?”
The minotaur’s reaction told Delilah the truth spell again worked against his wishes. She heard him stomp a hoof on the floor. “The other striped drak living in the undercity. Your brother, I believe.”
Kale. He knows about Kale.
“So, this drak has a brother?” The archduke held up his hand. “Before we go further, let’s make sure we’re not being too foolish. Novice Delilah, with whom do your loyalties lie?”
“My brother, as well as Pancras, first Wizard of Drak-Anor, and Sarvesh, Lord of Drak-Anor.”
“Admirable.” The archduke nodded. “What is your opinion of Archmage Vilkan?”
For once, Delilah chose not to resist the spell. “He’s a pompous, arrogant, smooth-skinned waste of flesh.”
Theros laughed. “Good enough for me.”
“Me as well. Theros, what do you think the archmage is up to, and how does this drak fit into it?”
“I think, he believes Pyraclannaseous slumbers beneath the mountains, and the giants with whom we recently had a treaty are her guardians. He knows draks are dragon kin and will use her and her brother to broker an agreement with the dragon for his own gain.”
Delilah stared at Theros. She was certain this was not the conversation the archmage thought would occur after she delivered that note. “Who is Pyraclannaseous?”
“Pyraclannaseous, the Fire Dragon, Firstborne of Rannos Dragonsire and Gaia.”
“Pyraclannaseous”—Delilah’s heart skipped a beat—“Terrakaptis’s sister?”
Theros raised his eyebrows. “You know the lore of the Firstborne? Your progenitors?”
Delilah was compelled to answer, despite her reluctance to reveal the breadth of her knowledge to Theros and Archduke Fyodar. “Some of it, yes.”
Terrakaptis mentioned many times how he intended to seek out and awaken his siblings, but thus far, the Earth Dragon had done nothing but tell stories and sleep.
The archduke leaned forward. “You think the archmage intends to use this drak and her brother to broker a deal with the dragon?”
My brother… Kale has that brand. Delilah decided to keep quiet about her brother’s relationship with Terrakaptis. “The archmage does not know about my brother. I think. One of the other masters does, but he doesn’t seem to like Manless much.”
Theros eyed the archduke. “This could be to our advantage. Novice Delilah’s brother is keeping a low-profile deep in the undercity. If the novice here”—Theros nodded at Delilah—“keeps her head down and plays dumb about dragons, we could deal with this situation once and for all.”
Delilah fought to keep her expression neutral as she regarded Theros. How does he know what Kale is doing?
The archduke cocked his head as he eyed Delilah. “We need to ensure her loyalty. Very well. No threats, Novice Delilah, no bribes, no honeyed words.” He nodded to Theros. “Tell her everything.”
* * *
Curton sat nestled in the hills, bisected by a river. Numerous watchtowers dotted the stone wall that surrounded the city. Guards paced the battlements between two cylindrical towers on either side of the road at the city gate. The gate itself was little more than a pair of large, iron-banded wooden doors protected from above by a pair of ballistae on the towers.
The decay of the city was apparent from Pancras’s vantage on top of a nearby hill. Parts of the outer wall crumbled, though the wall’s base seemed sturdy enough. The rain that dogged their steps much of the time since leaving the fort behind them took its toll on Curton. Wagons and carts traveled the only avenue available to them: a muddy path with ruts deep enough to turn the ankle of the heartiest horse.
“This place is a gar
den spot, huh?” Qaliah snorted and shook her head.
“It was once a thriving mining hub. Since the mines dried up, all they have left is mud. Pottery from Curton is very good, though.” Gisella spurred her horse and rode through the grass that grew alongside the road.
Pancras followed on Stormheart and heard Qaliah and Edric descend the hill behind him. He agreed with Qaliah’s assessment, but any bed they had would be better than yet another night on a bedroll under the stars.
He caught up to Gisella at the bottom of the hill. “What do you know of this city?”
“Just what I’ve already told you. It is past its glory days.”
From where they stood, Pancras noticed the rusted, iron banding on the city gates, and the gates themselves were splintered and peeling. In stark contrast, the guards standing watch wore crisp tabards over their mail. They snapped to attention when a senior guard stepped out of the gatehouse to inspect the wagon of a merchant seeking entrance to the city.
Compared to a merchant’s wagon bogged down in the quagmire that served as a road, four travelers on horseback were of little concern to the guards. After cursory questioning, particularly of Qaliah, the four travelers were waved through the gate. One of the guards directed them to The Drunken Horse, the inn and tavern nearest the gates.
To their delight, The Drunken Horse also featured a stable. Once their horses were unsaddled and secured, they made their way into the tavern proper. The great room of The Drunken Horse reminded Pancras of The Bloody Spike back in Drak-Anor. A massive bar of warm, polished wood ran the length of the room, and dozens of round tables covered the floor between it and the stage that ran the length of the other side. A grand double staircase dominated the rear of the room, and at its center stood a pass-through hearth.
Behind the bar, doorways led to the kitchens. Two humans, a man and a woman, waited tables, while two older women worked behind the bar. Half the tables were occupied, and Edric and Qaliah claimed one near the door while Gisella arranged for rooms and a delivery of ale and mead to their table.
Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) Page 26
