Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) (17 page)

Pancras cleared his throat. He
respected the goddess of magic, but truth be told, he gave little more than lip
service to any of the gods and goddesses watching over Calliome. “No reason in
particular. My studies drew me to Aita.”

“What exactly drew you to follow
the dark path of necromancy?” Gisella drew her legs closer to her. “Is that a
tale you’re willing to share?”

The minotaur chuckled. “It is not
much of a tale. I was angry at first. My ostracism at my choice of lovers and
his subsequent death… I suppose I wanted revenge on the world. When I realized
what was actually required of me, I adjusted my goals.”

“How so?”

“A friend once told me I had too
much heart to be a proper necromancer, so I dedicated my studies instead to
learning how best to thwart them. It was necessary to learn their ways. Plus,
our ruler at the time demanded expendable soldiers. Animated skeletons filled
that demand perfectly. Eventually, I chose to limit my animations only to those
who gave their consent prior to death. Many minotaurs in Drak-Anor were all too
eager to continue to serve beyond their demise.

“Drak-Anor’s current ruler finds
undead distasteful, so once again I shifted my focus, now to alchemy. And what
about you, Slayer?” Pancras decided to determine how much of Gisella’s pleasant
act was a mask hiding her true self. “To whom do you dedicate your kills?”

That radiant smile fell, and
Gisella eyed her feet. “I don’t dedicate my kills. I don’t revel in the
victory. I pray to Adranus for the strength to see my tasks through and to
Anetha for the wisdom to know when I must let my spear speak instead of my mouth.
But… I seem to be in good company. Aurora is my patron.” She looked up at
Pancras, a glint in her eye. “I know many archmages used the slayers for
vendettas, their own personal murder squads. I believe The Manless thinks of us
as assassins, but there is good to be had in the hunting of renegades. Most of
them are malevolent; yet, I have still given every one I have hunted a second
chance.”

Pancras swallowed and fought to
keep from revealing his guilt on his face. “My apologies. My previous
encounters with slayers were all with men of dubious ethics and more than a
little bloodlust.” He crossed his hand over his chest and bowed as deeply as he
could from a seated position.

“There are many such men in our
ranks. Women, too. They probably outnumber slayers like me, who kill only to
save the lives the renegades would otherwise take.” Gisella sighed. “It can be
a harsh world.”

“The strong are always preying on
the weak and unfortunate.” Qaliah spat into the fire. “Pick the wrong pocket,
and you end up dancing for a wizard’s amusement.”

“I, for one, am relieved you can
speak in more than just rhymes.” Pancras smiled at Qaliah.

The fiendling stuck out her
tongue at Pancras. “Do you know how difficult that was? I slipped a few times
in front of the archmage, and he tried to have me turned into a frog.”

“He is a petty, vindictive man.”
Gisella stood and checked on the stew again before returning to her seat.

Pancras decided to satisfy his
curiosity. “Why is he called ‘Manless’?”

“I can guess.” Edric snorted.

“There are several stories about
that.” Gisella stretched and yawned. “The most popular one is that he tried to
have his way with me and I un-manned him.” She made a flicking motion with her
hand. “A flick of my wrist and away went his ability to sire children or enjoy
the company of a woman.”

From the corner of his eye,
Pancras noticed Edric cringe and cross his legs. Qaliah sneered and then
giggled. “A king’s rod isn’t the only thing making a man a man, though. I hear
one of the other masters was born a woman and lives as a man, searching for the
transmutation spell that will make his transformation complete.”

“True enough.” Gisella placed her
hand on her chest. “I cannot say which, of course, he entrusted me in
confidence.”

The fiendling shrugged. “Doesn’t
matter to me. I heard the same story about Manless. I have to applaud you for
that.”

Pancras eyed Gisella. She shook
her head to Qaliah’s response. “That’s not the truth, though. It’s only partly
true. He did proposition me a few times, but he never tried to force himself on
me. The girl he forced himself on caught him off guard. Then he throttled her.
By the time we responded to her screams, she was dead, and it was his word
against that of a corpse. He claimed she mutilated him out of hate, spite,
and/or jealousy. Pick one.”

The Golden Slayer sighed. “We all
suspected the truth, but we couldn’t prove it. So, one girl died, and her
killer went on to become archmage, albeit one with a nickname he loathes.”

“Sad though it is, not everyone
gets justice.” Pancras sympathized with the girl. Gisella’s story and candid
contempt for the archmage redoubled his fears about leaving Delilah under
Archmage Vilkan’s tutelage.
I hope she’s all right.

Chapter 10

Kale missed his sister. He’d been
separated from her before but never in such close proximity without a means of
contacting her. He tried to pass a note to the guards for her, but they refused
him. Thus far, he’d been unable to convince the owners of the taller buildings
to let him onto their roofs. He propped up his head with one hand as he stirred
his bowl of porridge with the other.

The tavern down the street from
The Granite Anvil was now like a second home to him and Kali, and as he sat in
front of the crackling hearth, he flapped his wings to cool his back. The din
of the other patrons in the tavern provided a pleasant background noise, and he
didn’t notice when it was replaced by insistent yipping.

He glanced up. Standing in the
center of the table was a glowing, blue sphere of fuzz with feet. It yipped
once more. “Mistress Delilah would like to inform you that she expects to be
stuck with the stuffy human wizardlings for at least another week before she’ll
be permitted to leave the compound. She hopes you’re doing well.”

It disappeared in a puff of azure
smoke. Kale slumped in his chair. He shoved the porridge around in his bowl
while he contemplated Delilah’s message. The din of conversation in the tavern
resumed as the other patrons realized the show was over.

“Look at this!” Kali slapped a
large piece of paper onto the table in front of him. He recognized the words
were printed in the common trade language. He pushed it toward her.

“I never learned to read that
language. Everything we have in Drak-Anor is written in Drak or Minotaur.” He
brought the spoon to his mouth. Stirring the porridge for half an hour did not
improve its flavor, and now it was cold, as well.

Kali pulled a chair close to
Kale. “It’s a broadsheet. I got it in the undercity. It talks about the miracle
of the winged, striped drak, and, get this: it mentions another striped drak, a
sorceress. The drak who wrote it says she’s going to give him the scoop on
Drak-Anor.”

“When did he talk to Deli?” Kale
examined the paper in Kali’s hands and wished he’d taken the time to learn the
written trade language.

“Probably when she was down there
with Pancras, shopping. Look, I had an idea.” Kali set aside the broadsheet.
“The undercity runs under the whole city, right?”

“I guess.” Kale just assumed it
did.

“I’ll bet we can enter the Arcane
University from below. Like we snuck around in Almeria.”

“Oh, speaking of that, Deli sent
me a message.” Kale told her about the message from the boggin. “She sent it
right before you got back.”

“So, do you still want to try to
sneak into their compound to visit?” Kali took Kale’s hand.

“It’s only another week, right?”
Kale pushed away the bowl of cold, goopy porridge. “It’s probably better to
wait a week than risking making the wizards angry. Delilah used to threaten to
turn people into toads or cave lizards, but I bet there are wizards there who
could actually do it.”

“Fine. Speaking of lizards, we
should go check on ours. They probably need to be ridden, if they haven’t eaten
all the other animals in the stable.”

Kali had a point. Kale was so
wrapped up in wanting to see his sister, he’d forgotten about their mounts.
“I’m glad you’re around to remember things like that for me.”

His mate enwrapped him in a hug.
“Someone has to keep you in line.”

* * *

As Gisella tightened the straps
on her saddle, Qaliah approached her. “I have a question, and a request.”

She did not meet the fiendling’s
eyes. Gisella had nothing against Qaliah, but she found herself annoyed the
fiendling followed them and insisted on tagging along. Unexpected changes in
her plans exasperated Gisella almost more than any other type of interruption.

Gisella’s lack of acknowledgement
did not deter Qaliah. “You know the route we’re taking pretty well, right? Is
there a town or village we’re going to pass so I can get a mighty steed of my
own?” She held out her hand for Moonsilver. The mare shied away from it.

“Yes.” Gisella saw no reason to
lie. “I doubt you’ll be able to afford it, though. The farmers around here hold
their horses in high regard.”

“I’ve scrimped and saved my
pennies. I have more than that parting stipend.”

“Was that your request or your
question?”

“That was the request. My
question is for you: what’s a Watchmaiden got love for Aurora for? I thought
you people were all swords and bearskins, mead halls, and singing bawdy songs
about your conquests.”

It was unusual for a person from
the Four Watches to hold the goddess of beauty and love in higher regard than
all the other gods and goddesses. “Just like all fiendlings are seducers and
murderers, bathing in the blood of virgins at the altar of Maris, right?”
Gisella didn’t believe it, of course, but she was acquainted with many people
who did. The sight of horns, black or red skin, and a tail was enough to send
many villages into total panic, even if the fiendling was an innocent traveler
passing through. She understood their trepidation; one born from the union of
something evil, must, itself, be evil. Experience taught her the truth often did
not match common folk’s expectations.

“I’ve never done that. Sure, I’ve
stolen to survive, but I’ve never murdered. I don’t even like Maris. War gods
are so grim and have no sense of humor or fun.”

Gisella mounted Moonsilver. She
held a hand out to Qaliah. “You can ride with me today. We might reach Rock
Ridge by nightfall. You can buy a horse there, I think.”

She pulled Qaliah up to sit
behind her. “Hold tight. I don’t want you to fall off.” Gisella pulled Qaliah’s
arms around her waist, and the fiendling rested her head on the slayer’s back.

“You sure? You don’t seem
thrilled I’m here at all.”

Gisella patted the fiendling’s
hands around her waist. “Another woman’s company is most welcome. I was
disconcerted at the change in plans, that’s all.” She looked toward the
minotaur and dwarf. Pancras and Edric were already mounted and ready to go.

“Truth be told, I’m glad you were
able to get away from Muncifer. It pained me to see you play the fool. I always
suspected you could be more than that.”

The fiendling squeezed her. “I
appreciate that.”

They spurred their horses and
rode toward the road. Clouds rolled in overnight, casting a grey pallor over
the day, and with the warmth of the sun hidden, Gisella was reminded of how
early into spring it was. The damp morning air made the chill even more
pronounced.

Midmorning, the heavens opened.
Wind blew torrential rain across the hills and road. Gisella contemplated
stopping but decided huddling together under a blanket on the soggy ground was
no better than traveling forward on a wet horse. She figured if they continued
moving, there was a chance of outrunning the storm.

The day grew dark, and the
downpour continued unabated until, at last, through the haze of rain, Gisella
noticed the lights of a village ahead. The deluge threated to quench the
torches at the village gate, and Gisella strained to read the sign above the
entrance: Rock Ridge.

She dismounted and approached the
gate. It was shut tight, with no guards in sight. That, in itself, was not
unusual for small villages and towns along the trade road at night and in
periods of bad weather. She pounded on the wicket in the gate.

“Hopefully, the guards are
nearby.”

Pancras hopped off Stormheart.
The horse tossed his head, spraying them with water. “If they’ve any sense,
they’re inside.”

The wicket opened. Holding his
torch aloft, a frowning guard appeared. Rain dripped down his face, causing his
ample moustache to droop like a drowned rat. “Ain’t you got sense to get in out
of the rain?”

“If you’ll notice”—Gisella
gestured toward the rest of her group—“that’s precisely what we’re trying to
do.”

The guard grunted. Closing the
wicket, he opened the main gate. “All right then, come ahead. Toma’s place has
stables and beds. It’s just up the road on the right, across from the Lord’s
Tower. There’s a shrine of Dolios next to Toma’s, if you want to leave an
offering.”

He waited until they trekked past
him and then shut and latched the gate. He grumbled and complained as he
shuffled back to the guard house. Gisella led the group down the main street in
search of the place the guard described. Streams of water ran down the street,
creating rivulets of mud and muck that coated their horses’ feet.

She found the building described
by the guard. It appeared to be a private home with an attached stable. No one
attended the stable, so Gisella tied up her horse and had the others wait while
she investigated the building.

Pancras tossed his reins to
Qaliah and joined Gisella. “It’s dangerous to go alone.”

“In Rock Ridge?” Gisella laughed.
“Maybe if I slip in the mud and crack my head on a rock.” She stepped around
the building, holding the hood of her cloak to keep the wind from blowing it
off her head. Her helmet provided some relief from the rain, but wearing metal
armor in an early spring rain emphasized how cold water falling from the sky
became before it froze.

A stoop led to the building’s
door. She used the attached knocker and waited. Through the windows, Gisella
noticed a dim light moving within the dwelling. The clanking of turning locks
preceded the whoosh of whoever stood behind it yanking open the door. A
one-eyed, bearded man squinted at them through the rain. “Yes? Travelers? Come
in! Come in! This weather is not fit for fine folk to be out in it.”

Gisella let Pancras pass her and
enter the building. She placed two fingers to her lips, whistled, and hoped
Qaliah and Edric would hear her. Her concern was unfounded, and they appeared,
dashing from behind the building. When they were all inside, the older man
helped them remove their cloaks.

“Aren’t you a motley bunch?
Minotaur, dwarf, human”—he eyed Qaliah—“well, that’s something. Reminds me of a
joke. You’ll be needing lodging for the night?”

“Yes, please.” Gisella bowed her
head to the man.

Pancras fished in his pouch. She
heard the jingling of coins. “Beds, baths if possible, food if you have any.”

“Only two rooms left.” The man
counted on his fingers. “Plenty of food, as always. Four talons?”

“It would be best if Qaliah and I
shared a room. You and Edric can make do, yes?” Gisella passed a couple of
talons to Pancras.”

The minotaur nodded and handed
coins to the man. “No baths?”

“There’s a tub. Not big enough
for a minotaur. We don’t have any more hot water tonight though.” He led them
through the foyer into a dining room. A long table was set with plates and
food. Several people, humans all, were already seated and eating.

“I’m Egor. I’ll bring up some
more wine for everyone. Sit, eat. We’ll work out the rooms when you’ve food in
your bellies.”

Gisella helped herself to bread
and meat. She noticed the other guests staring at Qaliah and then coughing and
looking away when the fiend noticed and winked at them. The attention seemed to
please rather than bother her, even though they regarded her, not with lust or
curiosity, but with fear.

During dinner, they discussed
their plans for the next day. By the time they retired to their beds, they all
agreed to stay in town until the rain let up, giving their horses a rest and
themselves a chance to clean and dry their mud-soaked clothes.

The Golden Slayer retired to the
room she shared with Qaliah. The fiendling slipped out of her clothes and into
bed, patting the mattress next to her with a smile. “Let’s keep each other warm
and celebrate Aurora together, eh?”

Gisella felt her face flush.
Turning away, she cursed in silence that the fiendling managed to embarrass
her. She sat on the opposite side of the bed from Qaliah. The fiendling scooted
over, grabbed Gisella’s shoulders, and tried to pull her into the bed.

“Stop it.”

Qaliah ran a hand through
Gisella’s hair. “You’re very beautiful, and it’s been a long time since I
didn’t have to settle.”

Gisella grabbed the fiendling’s
hand. Her flesh was warm, almost hot to the touch. “I will not deny that you
have an allure I’m sure men find irresistible, however”—she placed Qaliah’s
hand on the bed and patted it—“I am not interested.” Gisella decided upon
leaving Muncifer she’d enjoyed her last night of carnal pleasure until this
task was done.

“What?” Qaliah scooted over
farther, so her head hung off Gisella’s side of the bed, looking up at her.

“I like men, and only men. I’m
sorry.” Gisella hoped Qaliah wasn’t too upset. Fiendlings could be volatile,
and she had not expected the young woman to proposition her. They shared a room
out of necessity. Gisella assumed Pancras and the dwarf would be more
comfortable together.

“Men are fine, but the dwarf is
too stout and hairy for my taste and the minotaur is, well, a minotaur.” Qaliah
stared up at Gisella with doe eyes, clear and blue, like ice from a deep lake
in the heart of the Southern Watch.