“When things go down, I want you to lay low, all right?” Delilah kept her voice hushed. She wanted to protect her friend from being caught in the crossfire. If she failed, she didn’t want any suspicion of collusion to fall on Katka.
“I want to help.”
Delilah shook her head as she drained her goblet. “It has to be one on one. In fact, it would be best if you went to visit your family as soon as you hear about it.”
Katka sipped from her goblet and shuffled her feet as she stared at the floor. “I guess I could go home for the Festival of Apellon.” The entire city bustled with preparations for the sun god’s most holy celebration, held on the summer solstice.
“You should be an apprentice by now.” The drak sorceress couldn’t understand why Katka had not yet been allowed to take the Novice Trials and advance to apprentice.
“I’m… how did you put it? Dragging my feet.” Katka smiled into her goblet.
“For what?” Delilah paced the floor, mentally cataloguing the spells she planned to use to fight Manless.
“Well, when you defeat the archmage, you’ll be the archmage. Then you can take me as your apprentice.”
Delilah stopped in her tracks. The logical part of her brain comprehended what the consequences of her actions would be, but hearing Katka voice them made them real. Her bed creaked in protest as she sat on its edge.
“Archmage…”
“You knew, right?” Katka joined her friend on the bed and put her arm around her. “If you win, you’re going to be archmage. And headmistress, too, I suppose.”
The drak bit her bottom lip until the pain was too great to bear. The brief hope she was dreaming proved false when she didn’t awaken. “I know, but I never thought about what that meant. I just want to get done with this stupid guild crap and join up with Pancras again so we can all go home.”
“The archmage should be able to go wherever she wants, right?”
The revelation changed nothing, but it helped to strengthen her resolve to see her course through to its end. If she defeated Archmage Vilkan, Delilah would become the Mages Guild’s first drak archmage since before The Sundering. I could rescind these penalties, pardon all the renegades, do anything, and go anywhere I want!
The drak smiled at her human friend. “Well, I guess I have to win, huh?”
Chapter 4
Through fair weather and foul, calm winds and storms, the Maiden of the High Seas sailed north along the Andelosian coast. Gisella, Qaliah, and Pancras worked, sang, ate, and laughed alongside the crew for months. The Golden Slayer stood on the fo’c’sle as the ship tacked against the wind and changed course to sail around Verdant Point, the last leg of their voyage.
Gisella traded her southern furs for lighter garb, but found the sun at these latitudes hotter than she preferred. Even with her armor stowed below, her light linen chemise did not provide relief from the heat, yet, without it, her skin would burn under the unrelenting onslaught of the sun. Most of the sailors worked shirtless now, used to the conditions, and even Pancras wore naught but a leather kilt and harness. His withered arm caused some concern for the crew at first, but he explained it away as an old injury caused in a tangle with another wizard and as merely cosmetic.
She observed as he held a railing in place until the ship’s surgeon/carpenter lashed it with a rope. Although he had never been fat or flabby prior to her training that honed the minotaur’s body, his muscles still lacked chiseled definition—a telltale sign of a sedentary life.
Qaliah scampered through the ship’s rigging like a spider at home in its web and struck with her blades faster and deadlier than a spider’s venomous fangs. Her skills with her crossbow branded her an expert marksman as well.
I’ve done well. If we are to meet our end fighting the armies of the Lich Queen, she’ll be hard pressed to claim our bodies.
The Lich Queen. The Witch Queen. Bekkhildr the Iron Witch. Her kin. Her grandmother, once. Gisella never knew her, of course. She was defeated before Gisella’s mother, Vibeke, ever thought about children or marriage. Nevertheless, the same blood flowed within her veins. Upon her sister, the gods bestowed Alysha the same arcane talent as their grandmother. Gisella understood arcana from an academic standpoint, but she lacked the innate talent to utilize it. Thus, her sister learned wizardry, and Gisella became a slayer.
Behind her, she heard the clopping of hooves on wood. As there was only one minotaur aboard the Maiden, she did not need to turn and face him to know it was Pancras. He leaned against the rail beside her as they gazed across the cerulean water at the tree-covered land of Verdant Point.
“A few more days before landfall.” The muscles in the minotaur’s good arm knotted as he gripped the railing. Though the seas were smooth, dark clouds moved overland in the distance.
“If feels like the calm before the storm.” Gisella looked forward to being on land again and riding Moonsilver across the rolling plains of Cardoba toward Vlorey.
“I don’t think it’s moving this way.”
“Not the weather.” She looked up at Pancras. The bonelord’s fur regained its healthy sheen, and for all the trouble he had endured acclimating to shipboard life, he seemed to be none the worse for the wear, although Gisella noticed some graying of the fur around his muzzle.
“No… who knows what we’ll find in Vlorey. Maybe these signs we’re chasing will add up to nothing.” He rubbed his right horn.
“Any more dreams? Visions? Visitations?”
Pancras shook his head. “Nothing. When I speak to Aita, she remains silent, but I do feel that she’s listening. It’s calming.”
“Aurora, too, has been silent.” Not that she ever answers anyway. The goddess of love was not known for being talkative; she preferred to let actions speak. They were an odd pair, Aurora and Aita. One devoted to beauty and love, the other to death, yet both working toward a common end to prevent the return of the Lich Queen.
Their love for the world outweighs their ambivalence toward each other. A priest of Aurora might say that “love conquers all,” but Gisella understood that to be just a pleasant sentiment.
“We will need a plan once we’re settled in Vlorey.” Pancras grunted and tapped his hoof against the saxboard.
“We’ll have to spend a few days getting the lay of the city. Qaliah and I can do that while you report to the Arcane University.”
“Perhaps someone there will be able to give us more information.”
“We can hope.” Gisella knew little about Vlorey. The only people she’d met from there currently lived in Etrunia and had been uninvolved in Vloreyan politics for decades. She tickled the underside of his chin. “New gray?”
Pancras chuckled and rubbed his muzzle. “I haven’t seen a mirror lately. I’m not as young as I used to be. When this is all over”—he sighed—“I hope I can return to a life of quiet contemplation and never be anywhere near the word ‘adventure’ again.”
The Golden Slayer smiled. “If we make it through alive, I think we all deserve some peace and quiet.”
***
“Apprentice,” Archmage Vilkan roared from his office. In disgust, Delilah dropped the scrolls she was carrying and trotted in.
Barely back a day and he’s already running me ragged.
The human wizard was hunched over a writing desk, scrawling on a long piece of paper. He rolled it up sealed it, and then offered it to Delilah.
“Take this to the archduke. Have you finished sorting those scrolls I brought back?”
Delilah replied through clenched teeth. “I had to stop to come see what you wanted.”
“Then continue with that once you’ve returned with his reply, understood? I want those scrolls sorted before my meeting with the council this afternoon.” The archmage bothered to neither glance up nor acknowledge Delilah’s response. She stuck out her tongue at him, took the scroll, and left.
As she passed through the outer chamber, she kicked the scrolls on the floor out of her way. When she fir
st starting sorting them, she unrolled a few only to discover they were written in elvish script. She understood a bit of the spoken language, but she never learned to read or write it.
“Apprentice, do this. Do that. Come here. Go there,” she grumbled to herself as she left the headmaster’s tower and strolled through the halls of the Arcane University’s main keep. She observed Katka practicing her charms on a dog as she passed through the university grounds and waved to the human girl.
The city streets were packed with work crews preparing for the Festival of Apellon. Street-spanning banners were being hung, monuments were being restored with fresh coats of paint, and façades were being repaired. As she made her way to Grimstone Keep, Delilah fantasized about summoning a creature of earth and stone, as she’d seen Gil-Li do, and ordering it to crush the archmage like a grape.
All in good time, Deli-girl. All in good time.
The drak sorceress entered the keep and raced through the corridors. The guards, accustomed to her comings and goings, nodded as she passed. When she reached the archduke’s chambers, two guards barred her way.
“Their graces are occupied and not to be disturbed.”
Delilah presented the scroll from the archmage. “This is from Archmage Vilkan. I’m to await a response.”
One of the guards pointed toward a chair. Delilah frowned and climbed into it to wait. It was over an hour before the doors opened and a short, round woman, the archduchess, wearing a yellow-and-green gown, emerged. Her long, brown hair hung in twin braids down her chest.
The drak slid off the chair and bowed to the archduchess as she passed. She was rewarded for her deference with a smile and a head nod. Sweeping past Delilah, she was a woman on a mission. Two small children ran after her, giggling and screeching.
The guard held the door open for Delilah. “The archduke can see you now.”
Archduke Fyodar’s jovial expression fell when he saw Delilah. She waited for him to be seated behind his rough-hewn oaken desk before handing him the scroll from the archmage. He broke the seal and unrolled it. His sour expression turned hostile before he finished reading it.
“Do you know what this says?” His voice quivered with restrained fury.
“No, Your Grace.”
Since returning from the valley of the Iron Giants, the drak met with the archduke on several occasions and found him to be reasonable and honorable. In short, he was not a bad sort, for a human. He regarded her with steel-grey eyes and then tossed the scroll at Delilah.
She caught and unfurled it.
Fyodar,
It has come to my attention that trouble is brewing in the undercity. I thought we had agreed that you would deal with unrest in the city. Now it seems there is some sort of drak messiah down there. One the draks claim will deliver them from their oppressors.
This cannot stand.
If you are unable to do what it takes to keep our city safe, I will eliminate the filth from our fine city myself. I understand how the years can dull one’s abilities, particularly for those unaccustomed to the rejuvenating effects of arcane powers.
Draks are little more than vermin, cast-offs from whatever process the gods used to create magnificent creatures such as dragons. Do not trouble yourself with them. After the Festival of Apellon, I will be more than happy to scour the city.
I realize the irony in using one of the little vermin to deliver this message. I had hoped she would be able to assist me in my dealings with the wyrm the giants seem to worship, but as she returned empty-handed, her usefulness is at an end. Deal with her as you will. I suggest sending her to your chef. Lizard is excellent braised in red wine with roots and onions.
Vilkan Icebreaker
Archmage of Muncifer
Headmaster of the Arcane University - Muncifer
By the time Delilah reached the end, her hands trembled, so she tore the parchment. It drifted to the floor, landing against a clawed foot.
It must be a joke. These are the words of a madman. It must be a joke!
“He takes me for a fool.” The archduke stood, his chair falling against the wall. He stomped around his desk, patting his round belly. “The years may have softened my body, but not my mind. I know from whence draks come.”
The archduke poured himself a goblet of spirits from a crystal decanter, draining it in one gulp before making another. He poured one for Delilah and handed the drink to her. “In my youth, I undertook the Pilgrimage of Tinian. Do you know what that is?”
Delilah sniffed the smoky brown liquid in the glass. The fumes caused her nose to burn. She shook her head, disguising her distaste in her reply before taking a sip. Fiery liquid burned its way down her throat.
“Would-be priests of Tinian are required to visit the temple of the patron of every major city on Andelosia. Traveling from Muncifer to Celtangate, to Maritropa, Ironkrag, Velzuna, and Vlorey takes years, as you might imagine.” He drained his second glass, poured himself a third, and returned to his seat behind his desk.
“The idea is to gain an understanding of each god subordinate to Tinian, while knowing that each is just as important in their own way. It’s as much about learning the relationship between the gods as it is a journey to pay homage to all of them. One learns about the various creation myths and other stories.”
He held up a finger. “In not one of them are draks called vermin or cast-offs. They are very clearly stated to be descendants of the Firstborne, the six dragon children of Gaia, and”—he clicked his fingers—“a dead god whose name escapes me at the moment.”
“Rannos Dragonsire.” Delilah heard that part of the story from Terrakaptis. “Wait… six Firstborne? There are six?” The drak scratched her head.
“Ah, yes, Rannos Dragonsire, whose death caused The Sundering.”
“Who are the other Firstborne?” In all her time talking with Terrakaptis or listening to Kale talk about him, Delilah heard of only four Firstborne, the Earth Dragon, the Fire Dragon, the Water Dragon, and the Air Dragon.
Archduke Fyodar waved his hand. “I don’t recall their names. In addition to the four most people know, there’s the Void Dragon and a magic… err… Aether Dragon. Neither dwell on this world, which is why their lores are not widely known. I found dragonlore fascinating as a youth. Still do, but I have little time for such pursuits these days.”
“And now one of the Firstborne is dead.” Delilah’s shoulders slumped. “Killed by a wizard. Probably Manless.”
The drak’s inquiries over the last several weeks indicated no other wizard accompanied Archmage Vilkan to the giants’ village earlier in the year. The archduke insisted they not make any direct accusations until they gathered more proof, however. News of the dragon’s death distressed Fyodar, but learning the giants were willing to focus their quest for vengeance softened the blow.
“Yes, and now he turns his sights on your people.” Archduke Fyodar ran his fingers through his beard. “For what purpose, I wonder.”
Delilah tapped the butt of her staff on the floor and set her jaw. “I don’t care. I’m not going to let him kill draks.” She considered telling the archduke of her plan to challenge Archmage Vilkan. No, better to tell him I’m archmage after I’ve succeeded. That way, he can’t try to talk me out of it. If I die, none of it will matter anyway.
He regarded her with raised eyebrows. Delilah bowed to the archduke. “I await your response.”
“I must consult with Theros. Tell the archmage his intervention will not be necessary. I will do what I must.”
***
Kali flipped through one of the illuminated tomes Ori had completed while he and Kale installed new shelving under the counter. Kale swore as the blue drak smashed his hand with a hammer.
“Aim better.”
“Oh! Sorry.”
Kale stood, sucking on his knuckles. His mate’s eyes were wide as she flipped through the book. “I didn’t know humans were this flexible.”
The striped drak examined the illustration to which Ka
li pointed and flipped forward several pages. “Wow, Ori. There are a lot of naked humans in this book.”
“Oh, I didn’t write it. I just illuminated it. A noble wanted to give it to his wife as a gift. He was very explicit in how he and his wife have been unable to conceive and thought this book might help. Don’t tell anyone about that, please? I was paid extra for discretion.”
Kale couldn’t think of anyone with whom he would discuss Ori’s work, except maybe his sister. He didn’t consider it a breach of trust to tell her. After all, she was family.
The blue drak yelped and scrambled backward as a glowing boggin passed through the closed shop door and hopped on the counter.
It faced Kale. “Mistress Delilah is on her way for a conference with you and your mate. She expects complete privacy, so if you could send the limner on a pointless errand, she would be most appreciative.” The boggin yipped and vanished in a puff of azure aether.
“Oh! I… well… do you…” Ori wrung his hands and paced about the room.
Kali snickered as Kale gripped Ori by the shoulders. “I’m sure she didn’t say exactly that. Those messengers she sends never get the message exactly right.”
He lied, of course. The messengers Delilah summoned always transmitted the intent of the message, even if they didn’t use the exact wording of the conjurer. He steered Ori toward the door.
“Look, she’s probably in a bad mood, so it might be best if you did make yourself scarce. You like her, right? You don’t want to make her mad?”
“Oh, yes, very much. I mean, no, I don’t want to make her mad.” He stopped and tapped his chin with a clawed finger. “Should I buy her a gift to cheer her up?”
Kali and Kale answered in unison, “Yes!”
The striped drak fluttered his wings and ushered Ori out of the shop. “Take your time. Kali and I can finish these shelves. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Oh, yes. In the morning. See you—”
Kale shut the door and turned to his mate. “I have the feeling some nasty business is about to go down.” The drak couldn’t explain why he felt that way, but he felt a heavy sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3) Page 5