Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1)

by Hans Cummings

  Having been granted permission to leave the palace but not being able to was worse, in Kale's mind, than not having been given permission in the first place. He felt more trapped now than ever. Try as he might, Kale was unable to convince Delilah to continue their explorations of the castle. His puzzle box provided only a few hours diversion at a time before he became bored.

  "Kale, fetch me a bucket of water, please." Pancras called from his bedchamber. He spent the first couple of days of the snowstorm converting the extra space in his room into a makeshift laboratory. Kale didn't think he would want to sleep in a room with all that equipment, but Pancras seemed accustomed to it. Grabbing a bucket they acquired from the kitchens for such a purpose, Kale descended the stairs and proceeded to the palace entrance. He swung the bucket and hummed as he bounced.

  "Still too much snow out there, drak." The guard smirked when he saw Kale approach. "I don't see your escort, either."

  Kale pointed at the bucket. "Not leaving. Getting snow."

  "Snow? What for?"

  "Water!"

  The guard opened the door for Kale, and the drak plunged the bucket into a snow drift. He scooped up as much snow as the bucket would hold and nodded his thanks to the guard.

  "We have wells for that, you know."

  The wells from which the palace staff drew their water were located in the lower levels, near the kitchens. "This is closer and cleaner. The well water smells funny."

  "So do draks!" The guard called after him. Kale offered the guard an obscene gesture and left, ignoring his laughter. By the time he returned to the suite, he saw Lady Milena ahead of him, knocking on the doors.

  "Looking for us, or for Pancras?" Kale opened the suite, holding the door for the guard captain.

  Delilah was still curled up in the armchair, concentrating on the grimoire. Kale set the bucket of snow on the hearth. Pancras emerged from his bedroom.

  "Kale, do you have that bucket of—oh, Lady Milena. I didn't hear you come in."

  Lady Milena greeted Pancras with a bow of her head. "I have spoken to the guards I know to be sympathetic toward draks and have found two to escort them into the city."

  "Excellent!" Pancras wiped his hands on his robes as he stepped over to the bucket. "This is snow!"

  "It becomes water when it melts, Pancras." Kale looked up at the minotaur and shook his head. "It just hasn't gotten that far yet."

  "I know snow melts into water, Kale."

  Delilah snorted and buried her snout deeper in her tome. Lady Milena crouched in front of the fire and warmed her hands. "We've had reports that snow packing is proceeding well. We should be able to open the palace gates tomorrow." During heavy snowfalls, people in Almeria worked together to pack down the snow in the streets. They worked their way through the city on the main roads first, then up to the palace, and finally to the secondary roads and alleys. When their work was finished, the packed snow was as hard as dirt roads and was just as functional, like a second road laid down on top of the cobbles of the first.

  "Excellent. I need to do some research." Pancras took a seat in the armchair next to Delilah. "You mentioned your brother is a priest of Apellon, yes?"

  "Yes, that's right." Milena rubbed her hands together and looked up at Pancras. "Still having headaches?"

  Pancras rubbed his head. "No, not since that one night. The project I'm working on… I need to speak to a priest of Apellon, since you don't have an Arcane University here with its extensive library. Cybele would probably work, too, maybe even Aurora."

  Pancras's headaches were news to Kale. He looked at his friend. Apart from appearing a bit disheveled, Pancras seemed normal. Why does he need to see priests of those gods? I thought he worshipped Aita?

  "There are temples to all three in Almeria. Are you working on some sort of love potion? Cybele won’t help with that, unless you’re looking to woo the farm animals or crops." Milena's upper lip curled in disgust.

  "Nothing like that. I don't work in magic that can control minds and wrest people's will."

  Milena stood, a hand on her hips. "What is this project you're working on?"

  "I cannot say. Ask your prince."

  She huffed. "Perhaps I will. I will be around to escort you into town as soon as they open the gates." She stalked out of the room, fists clenched.

  Kale tapped Pancras on the knee. "What about us? We're tired of being cooped up in here."

  "You can go when I get back. I shouldn't be long, and then you can take as long as you need."

  "Suits me." Delilah slammed her book shut. "If you two are going to keep talking, I'm going into the bedroom to study this."

  "Fine, Grumpy-butt!" Kale stuck his tongue out at his sister. She picked up her grimoire and turned her back on him, muttering under her breath as she slammed the bedroom door behind her. Kale knew he shouldn't antagonize her, but he found it far too easy some days.

  "See what I mean?"

  * * *

  After warming himself sufficiently in front of the fire, Pancras took the bucket back to his bedroom. Most of the snow melted and yielded more than enough water for his purposes. He was not prepared for complex necromancy, such as that which would be required to make Princess Valene barren, so in the meantime, he set up a rudimentary alchemy lab. From what he remembered, a curse to make someone barren required some sort of material object, a fetish or a potion, in order to function. He scrounged sufficient ingredients around the palace to make a few simple restorative potions.

  He didn't regret leaving most of his necromancy notes and books behind in Drak-Anor.

  The extra weight was hardly an incentive to bring them on the off chance he might need them. Besides, the prince's request was something he intended to drag out for as long as possible, so not having them in his possession worked more to his advantage than not. The priests of Apellon, Cybele, and Aurora all had cures for infertility. At least, Pancras hoped they did. He hoped to utilize them to reverse-engineer a solution. He grimaced as he picked up his mortar and pestle. Even in the days when regularly he created zombies and skeletons to help him in his lab or to send off to battle, he would have found the idea of making someone barren distasteful. He felt that sort of curse crossed the line.

  Still, what choice do I have? Jail? Execution? I have a responsibility to Kale and Delilah. Maybe I can find something that will work temporarily and give us enough time get away from Almeria. Pancras did not think Prince Gavril would have them hunted down, and he intended to leave no trace of the curse he was about to create, so there would be no evidence. Hunting them down would make Prince Gavril appear petty and vengeful. Given the growing dissatisfaction in Almeria among draks and minotaurs with the manner in which humans treated them, he thought Prince Gavril could ill afford to further antagonize them.

  Pancras was confident he could find a solution by spring. Being permitted to go into town was the first step. He, too, wanted to stretch his legs and explore Almeria. He sympathized with Kale and Delilah's frustration with being cooped up in the palace. Strange, back home I was content to stay in my laboratory for days, even weeks. But here, I'd rather be out in the city than in this lab.

  He scraped the mash out of his mortar and into the small cauldron in which he intended to brew the potion. Using a ladle Kale acquired from the kitchen, Pancras poured water into the cauldron and stirred it with a spoon. Hopefully no one in the kitchen will come looking for these implements. He rubbed some dried lavender leaves between his hands, crumbling them into the cauldron. He didn't have a means of boiling the mixture yet, apart from setting the cauldron on the hearth, and that sort of uneven and irregular heat was not suitable for the delicate art of alchemical brewing. Potions required steady, even heating or they became unstable. Sometimes instability resulted in a gooey, unusable sludge or volatile, explosive mixtures. I don’t think Gavril would want to drink one of those, much as I might like him to.

  As he let the mixture steep, he changed into his black and silver robes. Each set of his r
obes was worn out from months of neglect and abuse on the road. He had long since used up all the mending supplies he brought with him. If I ever travel with an entourage, a seamstress will be the first person I hire. Buying new robes was a priority once the palace gates opened. He heard rapping, tapping at the doors of their suite. Hopefully that will be Lady Milena with the news I desire to hear.

  By the time he finished dressing and entered the parlor, Kale had already invited the knight in. The corners of her mouth turned downward in a frown, yet Kale was almost hopping in glee.

  Lady Milena looked up as Pancras crossed the room. "I have been informed the gates are open. I suppose you'll want to leave immediately?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes. I am ready now." Pancras checked to make sure he had sufficient coin in his money pouch.

  "I will meet you by the entrance, then. I need a heavier cloak. It's colder than Aita's Purgatory out there. There's talk of dogs stuck to signposts."

  Kale scratched his head. "Why do dogs stick to signposts when it's cold?"

  "They don't, Kale." Rubbing his hands together, Pancras kneeled before the fire. The cold air permeated the parlor, following Lady Milena when she arrived. "It's a joke."

  Lady Milena bowed her head and left. Another blast of arctic air howled into the parlor. Pancras shivered and rubbed his arms. He crouched in front of the fire as Kale joined him. The drak seemed redder than usual.

  "Are you sure you don't want Deli and I to go first? She has a fur-lined cloak now, and I don't think it's that cold."

  Pancras reached over and touched the drak's arm. He felt warmth radiate off him. "How are those lumps on your back?"

  Kale shrugged and craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "I've gotten used to the ache, but they feel tight and are very sensitive. You know, like giant blisters."

  "I hope whatever emerges isn't hostile."

  Kale's eyes widened, and he looked from one shoulder to the other. "You think something is going to come out of them? Like a giant bug or something? A worm?" He gasped. "Draklings?"

  Pancras laughed. "No, no! Nothing like that. It was a joke. A joke! If I were to wager, I would say it might be something nasty, like pus or blood. Maybe you should carry a towel with you."

  "You know"—Kale rubbed his chin and nodded—"that drak fortune teller, Oren? He says one should always carry a towel. Everywhere."

  Pancras knew Oren but always thought he was more than a little unstable. He made wild predictions about everyone's future, and to Pancras's knowledge, none ever proved correct. He also had a weird obsession with the number forty-two. He cut all his food into forty-two bites exactly. He purchased items only if he could reasonably obtain them in lots of forty-two or manage the price to be forty-two talons or pennies.

  "I'll be fine, Kale. Lady Milena says there's a clothier near the palace gates. The prince doesn't like to go far for a fitting."

  "He's not very nice, is he? Sarvesh cares about all the draks and minotaurs in Drak-Anor. Prince Gavril seems to think the people are a hassle."

  Pancras nodded. Gavril did indeed strike him as someone who would leave his people to die if a catastrophe befell Almeria or if the city were under siege. He tried to keep busy so he wouldn't focus on exactly what kind of deal he made to free them from jail and away from the executioner's block.

  * * *

  With Pancras gone and Kale working on his puzzle box, Delilah relished the quiet. She caressed the cover of the grimoire before opening it. Over the last several days, it seemed to attune itself to her, if such a thing were possible. The letters and images did not dance around as much as they did when she first began studying the tome, and they settled into recognizable patterns, even if she was still unable to quite discern their meaning.

  According to Terrakaptis, the book was once the property of a powerful drak sorceress. She found it odd that the language in the grimoire was not written in any form of Drak she recognized. The grimoire was said to have come down from the Age of Legends, so perhaps draks did not speak the same language then as they did now.

  The symbols on the page whirled around as Delilah concentrated on them. They formed the image of a drak female. Delilah assumed it was the sorceress to whom the grimoire once belonged, Gil-Li the Graven. The image was detailed enough that Delilah noticed the tattoos covering her body. She appeared to speak but then wagged her finger at Delilah and closed her mouth. She raised her arms, and tendrils of magical energy swirled around them, arcing between her outstretched hands. The tattoos on her body glowed as swirls of green, blue, red, and gold surrounded her. Spikes of rock erupted from the earth, impaling her enemies. Boulders tore themselves free from the ground and pelted men, their swords drawn, who charged her.

  What am I watching? A vision from the past? Or something she's trying to teach me? Earth magic? Wizards who attended the Arcane University and who wanted to learn elemental conjuration and control could specialize in a single element or learn a modicum of each of the elements, but as Delilah was self-taught, pyromancy was the only magic that came easily to her. What she knew of other types of wizardry she learned from other practitioners in Drak-Anor or from books and scrolls they seized from the invaders who used to attack them before Lord Sarvesh established Drak-Anor.

  Delilah guessed the glowing tattoos were Gil-Li's focus. She remembered hearing somewhere of sorcerers who inked themselves with arcane pigments and derived their power from the designs they emblazoned into their skin. The process was painful and time consuming, and Delilah could not imagine covering up her beautiful ebony and crimson stripes. Wearing a cloak for warmth was bad enough.

  The sequence repeated. Delilah concluded the images conveyed a technique rather instructed how to manipulate the earth element. Learning new types of magic required much study and practice, starting with simple concepts. Techniques required only knowledge of the sequence of steps, demonstrations, and then practice.

  Delilah concentrated on Gil-Li's movements, rather than on the specific effects she created. The image shifted, focusing on the drak and clearing away the details of her attackers. Her gestures, while conjuring each effect, were more elaborate than Delilah tended to use, but she had learned that sort of thing was usually a matter of personal style and preference. She shook her head. She realized through the entirety of Gil-Li's gesticulations and stances, but one detail remained static: Gil-Li never moved her lips.

  She's not talking… she's not saying the words!

  Delilah heard tales of wizards who worked magic without ever uttering a single word, but the technique was thought to be lost. Practitioners of blood magic often evoked without speaking the incantations, but the magic they drew from spilling blood was extremely powerful and corrupting. Where arcanists like Delilah and Pancras carefully wove and crafted the effects they desired, practitioners of blood magic erupted in power, barely able to control its effects. It suited them since they usually didn't care if allies were injured or killed; indeed, they usually expended their allies to harness their power in the first place.

  The grimoire drew her in, and Delilah understood. The elaborate gesticulations were not just an affectation of Gil-Li's. They were the words.

  "Deli? Deli?"

  Delilah's head snapped up. "What?"

  Kale kneeled alongside her chair. "Are you all right? You were face down in your book. I thought you fell asleep."

  "Don't be ridiculous!" Delilah snapped the book shut and then winced as pain shot through her neck and upper back.

  "Pancras just got back." Kale helped her out of the chair as she rubbed her neck. "We can leave now, if you want."

  "What? Already? He's only been gone—"

  "It's been hours, Deli. It's mid-afternoon."

  Delilah stared the grimoire slack-jawed. She remembered every moment. It seemed like only a few minutes had passed, but if it was mid-afternoon, she had been engrossed for hours. The images she saw seared into her mind. She still saw them if she closed her eyes. Delilah placed the book on the
chair, stepping away from it as if it might come alive.

  "Yes, let's go. I'm ready to get out of here for a while."

  * * *

  The guards who volunteered to escort Kale and Delilah waited for them in the main hall. They were a pair of young humans. At least, Kale assumed they were young because they were fit and unwrinkled. Fur-lined cloaks covered their mail armor, and they leaned on their spears as they chatted with each other. They perked up when they saw the drak twins approach.

  "You must be the draks we're to take into town." The guard with a patchy black beard bowed. "I'm Dusan. This is Mirek." He pointed at the other guard, a gaunt man with sad, grey eyes. Wisps of blond hair peeked from beneath his helmet.

  Delilah pointed at her brother. "He's Kale."

  Kale pointed at his sister. "She's Delilah."

  "All right, then." Mirek opened the door and led them out into the snowscape. A field of solid white was interrupted only by a row of trees. A steep-sided path led through the snow to the palace gates. The howling wind that cut across the snow reminded Kale of the mountain wind that blew snow against the gates of Drak-Anor and sealed shut the city for months at a time. Although Delilah drew her fur-lined cloak around her, he saw her shivering in the cold. His woolen cloak provided plenty of warmth for him, and as he followed behind the humans and his sister, he noticed his feet melted distinct footprints in the snow wherever he stepped.

  Kale wanted to show his sister how the snow melted around him but decided the humans might react poorly, so he continued to walk behind everyone and kept quiet. He stayed close enough to be able to hear what his sister said over the wind.

  "I want to get more winter clothes. Are there shops that have those for draks?"

  Mirek nodded. "There must be. Most of the draks are in the Foundry District."

  "There are shops there, just on the other side of the main gate to the Commerce District." Dusan saluted the guards at the palace gate as they passed. The avenue that led into the city from the palace was sparkling white. The trees were crusted with snow and frost, and children darted between them, throwing snowballs at each other.