Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2)

by Hans Cummings

  “It’s hundreds of miles away. I doubt its roots run this far.” Gisella spurred Moonsilver into a trot and called to them as she pulled away. “Let’s stretch their legs some. We’re losing daylight.” They pressed on, running their mounts and then slowing to a lazy canter. They passed a caravan of tinkers and traders around midday and another as the afternoon hours waned. At night, after dinning on crusty bread and dried meat procured from the traders, Gisella offered to spar with Qaliah. The two women possessed different fighting styles but fell into a rhythm that, to Pancras’s untrained eye, seemed to benefit them both.

  Meanwhile, Pancras communed with Aita and performed the rituals needed to attune himself to his maul. He felt a twinge of guilt, like a rock in the pit of his stomach, for how he acquired the weapon. His inability to help the blacksmith’s mother weighed on him. Pancras realized only through the success of his future acts could he atone for his failure in Curton. For a moment, his thoughts turned to Edric. The dwarf was rude and gruff, but was, after a fashion, a friend.

  Pancras reviewed escape scenarios in his head. Was there anything we could have done? Every permutation he considered ended with the rest of them imprisoned or dead and depended upon the assumption Edric would have left with them willingly; he seemed adamant in his vow to avoid sailing. The minotaur pushed the thoughts aside, cradled his weapon in his lap, and then closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth he felt from it.

  As the power of Aita flowed into him, a suffuse glow surrounded him. He sensed the life all around him: the worms in the earth, the grass and trees, an insect alight on a nearby shrub, the fiendling and the human as they practiced their swordplay. He felt not the strength of their life force but its ebbs. All around him, life was dying, some more quickly than others. The slow turn of time was a universal constant, and each breath a living creature drew brought them closer to death, closer to the realm of Aita.

  Pancras felt the presence of his goddess as she affected all living things. His consciousness expanded as he fell deeper into his trance. The world itself was dying on a timescale beyond his comprehension, but he felt it ebb, nonetheless. Calliome and Gaia were one, still healing from The Sundering.

  In the distance, on the far side of the continent of Andelosia, Pancras’s mind touched another: a dark, dead presence. A hole in the life force of the world. The presence was old, but not ancient, powerful, yet without form or substance. It was cold, yet infused with a hellish heat.

  The presence was aware of him. He knew it perceived him. For an instant, their minds touched, and he learned more than he wanted to know. Pancras feared the knowledge was reciprocal and opened his eyes.

  He saw nothing.

  The minotaur’s mind was still connected to that of the Lich Queen. Deep within her bower at the northern edge of the Celtan Forest, she gathered strength. She sought out willing servants and champions to lead her armies.

  I feel the Princess of the Underworld in your touch. How fortunate for you that she saved you from my shadow. Now she uses you in a feeble, misguided attempt to destroy me. You will fail. My purpose, my nature, is beyond your comprehension. Pledge yourself to me, and I will spare you. I will give you dominion over this world.

  Pancras pulled away and recoiled like a sapling’s branch after one plucks a fruit from it. His mind would not allow him to construct a reply, and after the brief brush with the Lich Queen’s consciousness, a disjointed, kaleidoscopic flash of whirling shapes and colors formed the chaotic image in his mind

  Your path will lead you to me, just as it has since you took my shadow from the chaos. You will serve me, or you will die. In death, you will serve me. It is inevitable. It is your destiny. Your fate and that of this world lie with me.

  Pancras cried out as he fell backward, and he opened his eyes. The glare of dawn blinded him for a moment. Blinking to clear away the tears created by the light of the sun, he rolled over as Gisella grabbed him and helped him to his feet.

  “You were deep in that trance. We were afraid to disturb you.”

  Qaliah brought Pancras a steaming mug of mulled wine. “You glowed all night. I wanted to throw a blanket over you to save our eyes, but Blondie here wouldn’t let me.”

  Pancras accepted the mug with shaking hands. He tried to speak but could only open and close his mouth; no sound issued forth. He fought to control his ragged breath and allowed the warm wine to fill his belly instead. By the time he emptied the mug, his hands were steady once again.

  “Thanks for watching over me.” He poured himself some more wine from the pot sitting at the edge of the fire.

  “Didn’t have a choice. It was like sleeping with twin full moons shining in our eyes.” Qaliah tossed him a hunk of dried meat.

  “It wasn’t as bad as all that.” Gisella pulled the pots away from the fire and scattered the embers. “I am curious what was happening with you, though. Are you all right?”

  “It began as… I was just attuning myself and the maul to Aita’s power.” Pancras lifted the weapon. It felt more connected to him and the goddess of death’s power than ever before. At least that part worked. “I’m not certain I understand all that transpired. I felt the life force of the world, all that which Aita touches and affects as goddess of death, and then something intruded. It was like a hole in the world. Intelligent, malevolent. I believe it was the Lich Queen.”

  Gisella stopped scattering ashes and turned toward him. “Are you sure?”

  “No. The entity did not identify herself.” Pancras held his head. “Perhaps I fell asleep. Perhaps it was just a dream.”

  Qaliah poured herself more mulled wine. “I wonder if your devotion to your gods is worth the risk. It seems like they take perverse delight in messing with you and your friends.” After draining her mug, she grabbed the pot. She shook out as much of the residue as possible before shoving it in her saddlebag.

  Pancras kept silent. Many people felt as Qaliah did, that the gods were little better than meddlesome nuisances. Pancras hoped with his newfound faith and his more intimate connection with Aita, he would be able to answer such challenges.

  Thus far, however, each encounter provided more questions than answers.

  * * *

  The Citadel of Fire and Stone loomed over them, the carvings on its face unfamiliar to Delilah. She noticed the windows on the watchtowers flanking the approach resembled eyes. Attached to a pulley mechanism on the inside of the citadel, the rope guided the ferry, and she felt as if the cliff swallowed them as the ferry slid through the entrance and bumped into the interior dock.

  She gave Kale a hand as her brother climbed out of the ferry. He helped her disembark, then Kali, and finally Katka.

  The air within the citadel smelled of mold and decay. Darkness shrouded the interior dock, save for a bit of sunlight reflecting off the water and shining through the entryway. Apart from their breathing, water lapping at the stones and wood planks of the pier was the only audible sound.

  “Fos.” Katka held aloft her wand as the tip glowed.

  Delilah angled her staff forward. “Fos.”

  Their arcane foci provided more than sufficient illumination to guide them. The dock led to a stone ramp. At the top of the ramp, a doorway opened deeper into the citadel. Delilah took the lead, checking her footing, careful to avoid slick spots on the damp stone.

  “It’s warmer in here than I expected.” Katka wiped her brow. Now that the human girl mentioned it, Delilah noticed the heat, as well.

  “Stone and fire, just like the giant said, I suppose.” The drak sorceress came to a door. The handle was above her head, out of her reach. Katka jumped up, but failed to grab the handle. She pointed her wand at the door.

  “Dynami antikeimeno kalesei.” The light at the tip of her wand winked out, but the handle jerked down. Katka guided the door open with her wand.

  “Good work.” Delilah stepped through the doorway into a vast room, its vaulted ceiling supported by columns thick enough for draks to build homes within th
em. The light from her staff illuminated only a fraction of the cavernous space.

  The air in the room felt thick and heavy. It stank of sulfur and soot, yet Delilah observed no source for the odor. The floor was covered in dark grey dust, though she noticed a well-worn path through the columns. She gestured to the others and followed the path across the room. The draks’ claws clicked on the stone floor. The sound echoed in Delilah’s ears, and for the first time in her life, she envied the coverings humans wore on their feet.

  “Ba lor, kon… forgive me. It has been too long since I have had such small visitors.”

  Delilah stopped and searched for the source of the voice. It came from within the darkness ahead.

  “Please, continue. I dwell in darkness but do not mind the light.” The voice was raspy and breathless, as though its owner was unused to speaking.

  Delilah led her friends forward. At the far end of the room, she noticed a throne. Upon it sat a wizened giant. His snowy white beard spilled over his knees and covered his feet like a blanket. A crown of disheveled white hair covered his head, hanging down over his drooping face. Even though he was seated, Delilah stood only as high as his mid-calf.

  “Welcome, draks. You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand. I am so very old, you see.” He coughed. “I’m told one of you bears the mark of a draevyehfehdin. Your purpose here confuses me.”

  “We come on behalf of the Archduke of Muncifer.” Delilah stepped forward. The giant’s eyes were hidden behind his snowy mane.

  “Yet, there is a human of the archmage with you. He has proven himself to be no friend of my people.”

  Delilah glanced back at Katka and then bowed to the giant. “She is here as my friend and assistant. The archduke and the archmage are at odds with regard to your people.”

  “I would speak with the draevyehfehdin.”

  Kale gulped audibly and stepped forward. “That would be me. Kale of Clan Windsinger.”

  “Who marked you thus?”

  “Terrakaptis, the Earth Dragon—”

  “Firstborne of Rannos Dragonsire and Gaia the Earth Mother.” The giant nodded. “Yes, I knew him once.” Reclining in his throne, he tilted back his head. He held that position for a moment before extending his arms. The elbow joints cracked. He grunted and then sighed before folding his hands in his lap.

  “It was so very long ago. An age has passed, and what we were has long since been forgotten. I am Ragnok the Younger, King Under the Mountain, ruler of the Iron Giants.”

  Delilah’s mind reeled. She had heard of the Iron Giants, but everything she had read, everything anyone ever told her about them, suggested they all died during The Sundering.

  She cleared her throat. “Am I to understand that you were born before The Sundering?”

  “Yes.” Ragnok chuckled, a slanted grin on his face. “As I said, a long time ago. Why has Terrakaptis sent a draevyehfehdin to me?”

  Delilah nudged her brother. Kale frowned at her and slapped at her hand. “I heard his sister is here. Nearby? Pyraclannaseous?”

  “The Fire Dragon.” Ragnok gripped the arms of his throne. “The Iron Giants guard her slumber.”

  Kale licked his lips. “Terrakaptis thinks it’s time for his siblings to wake up.”

  Delilah shone her staff around the room. The King Under the Mountain was not attended. No guards, no servants, just him, alone. It struck her as odd. “Kale should see her. In the meantime, you and I can speak of Muncifer and your agreement with the Archduke.”

  “There is nothing for you here, draks.” Ragnok coughed and wheezed. “I know what the archduke desires. I know what the archmage desires.”

  Kale grabbed his sister’s arm. Delilah shook him off. “What they want are complete opposites, it seems.”

  “Delilah!” Katka tapped her arm. Delilah shook her head, keeping her eyes on the giant king.

  “Kale, grab her!”

  Delilah willed Kali and all the rest to shut up while she tried to be diplomatic. Her brother grabbed her and spun her around. Her profanity-filled tirade caught in her throat as her eyes focused on the skeletal giants advancing from the darkness.

  The wheezes of Ragnok faded as he chuckled. “Like those who have come before you, you will find only death here.”

  * * *

  “Do you think he’s gone mad?” Qaliah glanced over her shoulder at Pancras as they rode. Gisella guided Moonsilver around a soft patch of earth. Encounters with deities often drove folks mad, but she hoped that was not the case with Pancras. The minotaur remained quiet most of the morning, responding to questions directed to him but offering nothing without first being prompted.

  “Much has happened to him since we left Muncifer. Perhaps he is reflecting.” Gisella considered if she had died, met her goddess in a near-death experience, and then encountered her grandmother’s disembodied spirit while trying to commune with Aurora, she would have many things to think over.

  “I think he’s cracked and he’s having vivid dreams he thinks are real.” Qaliah reached into her pack and produced a stick of dried meat.

  “You killing him was no dream. Clearly, something greater is at work here.” There was a time when Gisella indulged in skepticism as the fiendling did. Since her own encounter with Aurora, however, she learned the gods of Calliome interfered in the world, albeit rarely. She couldn’t blame Qaliah for her doubts, though. To anyone who had not experienced the touch of a god themselves, it might seem like madness.

  “Well, hopefully, he’ll keep those mad dreams to himself while we’re on the ship. How long will the journey to Vlorey take?”

  “A few months, I expect.” Gisella wasn’t sure herself but had heard stories.

  “Joy.” Qaliah spurred Comet and ran ahead of Gisella, who slowed Moonsilver to allow Pancras to catch up. His eyes stared off into the distance, so she let him ride in peace. He appeared to her to be lost in thought as opposed to having gone mad.

  They rode without conversation the rest of the afternoon. Qaliah eventually circled back to them. When they were all three together, walking alongside their horses on the banks of the river, Pancras broke his silence.

  “If what I encountered was the Lich Queen’s consciousness, then what she told me was troubling.” A pair of thrushes chirped and fled a nearby bush as they strode, their horses’ hooves crunching through the pebbles of the riverbank. A light breeze brought the aroma of honeysuckle.

  “Care to elaborate, big guy?” Qaliah kicked a rock into the river.

  “She said we could not comprehend her nature, her purpose. She offered me dominion over this world if I pledged myself to her.” He stopped for a moment to pluck a stone from the bottom of his hoof.

  “Power-hungry maniacs often attempt to tempt others with promises of power.” Gisella heard enough stories from her mother to recognize such strategies were one of her grandmother’s favorite tactics.

  “It didn’t sound like her goal was to return to this world in a physical form.” Pancras rubbed his right horn as he shook his head. “And what’s so special about me that I’m a prize for her?”

  Gisella had an answer for that. “You have been touched by Aita. People make an effort not to think of her. Contemplating death is unpleasant, but, in the end, none of us are out of her reach. Beggar and king, warrior and scribe, weak, powerful, it doesn’t matter. Each of our final destinies lies with the goddess of death. We cannot escape it.”

  “I’m glad we can have such cheerful conversations.” Qaliah snorted and patted Comet on the neck.

  “She’s right. It is part of life.” Pancras sighed and leaned on Stormheart as he gazed across the river. “The end of the circle is also a beginning. What lies beyond the veil is the last great mystery any of us will ever confront.”

  Gisella ran her fingers through Moonsilver’s mane. “A bonelord would be a valuable resource for one hoping to defeat death itself. The Lich Queen’s quest for immortality is part of our history. Why would the destruction of her physical body hinder
that quest?”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Qaliah held up her hands. “Are you saying that this moldy, old dead bitch is still trying to figure out a way to not be dead? And she’s willing to destroy the world to do it?”

  The minotaur scratched his chin. “I am not certain she wishes to destroy the world, but yes, I think she is so obsessed with her quest for immortality that the last two times she was defeated merely delayed her.”

  Gisella yearned to discuss the situation with her sister. Alysha was more learned in Lich Queen lore than anyone else Gisella knew. The blood ties she and her sister shared with the Lich Queen undoubtedly played into her plan, though Gisella was at a loss to explain why. Her sister was so sure of it, she warded herself against magical scrying and communication; hence the letter she sent with Grímar. For now, all she could do was join with the minotaur’s speculations and hope the Lich Queen’s plan became clear, before it was too late to act.

  * * *

  Kale pulled his sister out of the way as one of the skeletons swung its bony arm at her. With its attempt to scoop up the drak thwarted, it gripped its club with both hands and swung it in a powerful overhead swing. Kale jumped backward as it smashed the floor where he stood previously. Bits of broken stone peppered Kale, stinging where they pierced his scales. He grabbed the end of the club, riding its ascent as the giant prepared to swing again until he was high enough to jump onto the giant’s shoulders.

  Delilah scrambled to avoid another bony giant’s attack, her claws slipping on the smooth stone floor. Katka blasted another, sending chips of bone flying through the air, but causing no real damage. Kale watched his sister conjure a protective shield to protect the human from a blow from the giant and then drew his dagger. He plunged it into the giant’s head, but its skull was too thick, and he succeeded only in chipping bone. As the undead creature ignored the drak on its back and turned its attention to Kali, Kale found himself wishing he’d purchased a heavier weapon when he had the opportunity.