Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) (32 page)

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 garden 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.

Pancras did not usually spend
much time in taverns, but he found the drone of conversation and aroma of
roasting meat wafting from the kitchens comforting after enduring so many
uncomfortable weeks on the road. Edric and Qaliah seemed in better spirits once
the ale and mead arrived and were soon trading jibes and tall tales again.

Gisella quaffed a mug of mead.
“We’ll spend a few days here. Wash off the grime of the road, see if there’s
any news from Cliffport, and relax a bit before striking out again.”

“How far is Cliffport?” Pancras
sipped from his mug. The mead had a floral nose with a hint of spice on the
finish.

“Three days, northeast. We’ll cut
across the hills until the river doubles back. Then we’ll follow it to the
end.”

“Three more days on the road and
then the high seas!” Qaliah raised her mug and laughed. Edric blanched and
drained his mug before motioning to a server for a refill.

Pancras felt a flutter of anxiety
about boarding a ship to sail up the coast. Edric’s pale face betrayed his
apprehension about the matter. Pancras wasn’t afraid of water, per se, but his
knowledge of ships and being on the water was limited to what he heard from
stories.
I hope I do not spend the entire voyage ill.

“Harvest will be upon us by the
time we arrive in Vlorey. Perhaps even the start of winter.” Gisella leaned
back to allow the server to place the roast she ordered on the table. Its skin
was golden brown and cracked, and it was surrounded by a variety of roasted
vegetables. The aroma of juicy, smoked meat and savory spices made Pancras’s
stomach grumble in anticipation.

“I’ve heard the high seas are
fraught with dangers: sea serpents, sea devils, whirlpools, and pirates.”
Qaliah’s eyes sparkled, and the upturned corners of her mouth caused the
corners of her eyes to wrinkle.

Pancras’s stomach fluttered again.
“Then we shall implore the gods for an uneventful voyage.”

“Where’s your sense of
adventure?”

“I’m with the minotaur on this
one.” Edric stabbed a potato with his fork and bit into it. “Maybe I’ll just
stay here. I’ve already seen more dwarves around here than I have the last
several months combined.”

Not for the first time, Pancras
found himself defending his desire for boredom. “Adventure? Desperation,
discomfort, and danger? I never look forward to that. The trip here from
Muncifer was adventure enough for me, thank you.”

Gisella pointed at Qaliah with
her knife. “And no fraternizing with the sailors. If any of them feel slighted
or wronged, we’re going to be trapped with them for better or for worse.”

The fiendling sneered and
wrinkled her nose. “Fine.” She furrowed her brow and looked over at the dwarf.
“You have to come with us. How are we to pass the time?”

“You’re smart. Figure it out. You
ain’t getting me on the ocean.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something
out.” Gisella sliced a hunk of roast for herself.