Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3)
Page 10
He withdrew a small wooden bust of Vilkan from one of his pockets and placed it on his podium. “This would vibrate whenever he needed me to permit entry to anyone waiting. He possessed a matched one through which I could notify him of someone waiting.”
Delilah examined the bust. “An impressive likeness.”
“An egotistical affectation. With due respect, I hope you have more sense.”
“I won’t be giving you a little carving of myself, that’s for certain. Thank you.” Delilah bowed her head and left the seneschal to his work, making her way to the Enchanter’s Focus for a much-needed drink.
***
Kale tapped his claws against the sides of the metal puzzle box. He grew tired of wasting time, sitting idly by, while his sister healed. Not being able to see her caused him angst. Somehow, knowing she was recovering and seeing her were two different things, and he preferred the latter.
“I’m sure she’ll send for you when she’s able.” Kali placed a bowl of stew before him. It carried with it the aroma of braised meat, spices, and fresh herbs, steam rising from the dish.
“We should just go see her.” Kale stirred his stew to cool it. He did it more out of habit, since having undergone his metamorphosis, no meal Kali cooked would ever be hot enough to burn his mouth.
“Do you think they’ll even let us on the university grounds?”
“I don’t know. We can try.” The first time the two draks successfully entered the compound to see Delilah was when they carried a delivery to one of the masters. Kale suspected it was contraband of some sort, but he didn’t care at the time. The second, he and his mate were escorted by one of the wizards after his sister’s battle with Vilkan. He hoped, as brother to the archmage, access restrictions would be lifted.
“Let’s go tonight, then. If we can’t get in, the Festival of Apellon is still underway. We can at least join in the festivities.”
The two draks rushed through their dinner and left the cleanup for later. In the front of the shop, Ori hunched over a tome he illuminated. The blue drak glanced up from his work as the mated pair passed by.
“Lock up when you leave, Ori. We’re going to try to see my sister and maybe enjoy some of the festivities.”
Ori’s eyes widened. “Oh! Are they having a party for her?”
“No, it’s the Festival of Apellon.” Kali clucked her tongue.
Kale chuckled and pulled the door closed as they left. The draks they passed in the street all acknowledged him in some way. A bow of the head. A wave. A “good evening.” There was no keeping secret his relation to the new archmage, not after the spectacular way in which Delilah confronted Vilkan Icebreaker. For the draks in Muncifer, it was the dawning of a new era. Although most lived in the undercity, every drak knew one of their own was now the undisputed leader of the Mages Guild.
Even the minotaurs in the undercity seemed to give Kale and Kali warmer acknowledgement than before, although one in particular hastened to push his potato cart out of the way when he noticed them approaching.
The streets of the upper city were more congested than usual. Folks dressed in their best finery crowded around street corners and listened to acolytes of Apellon sing his praises. Although the noise of the crowd drowned out the lyrics, Kale found the tunes quite catchy and caught himself humming along by the time they reached the gates of the Arcane University. The ever-present guards stood at attention. Sunburst-yellow ribbons, tied to their weapons, celebrated Apellon’s light in honor of the festival. They crossed their halberds when the draks approached the gates.
“Students and faculty only, Draks. This ain’t for sightseers.”
The other guard snickered and nodded. “Yeah, go on now.”
Kale spread his wings and drew himself up to his full height. The top of his head almost reached the guard’s waist. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m the archmage’s brother. I want to see how she’s doing.”
“The archmage never said nothing to us about no brother.” The first guard scratched his beard and eyed his comrade. “How about it, Nazar?”
The clean-shaven guard rubbed his chin. “No, Wasyl, I don’t think so. Did the archmage actually speak to you?”
“Umm… no… no, no, no”—he shook his head with vigor—“no, I don’t think so. But if she”—he eyed Nazar and shrugged—“if she or he had a brother welcome here, we would have been told, yes?”
“Yes, definitely. Probably.”
Kali kicked Nazar in the shin. Her scaled foot clanked against his mail, eliciting only a raised eyebrow from the man. “You cannot possibly be that stupid.”
Wasyl laughed. “All right, all right. You have stripes. She has stripes. You’re probably kin. Still can’t let you in. Our last orders were to only admit students and faculty, and no one has countermanded that.”
Kale spat a ball of fire at the men’s feet. They scooted backward and brandished their halberds.
“Aita take you both!” He took his mate’s hand and turned to leave. He felt a heavy, mailed hand on his shoulder.
The bearded human looked down at him. “Someday, little drak. But not today. We know better than to disobey a wizard. When we see one of the masters, we will tell them you came looking for your sister.”
Kali huffed. “Come on, Kale. Let’s see if we can at least enjoy the festival.”
“Hey, Draks!” Nazar called after them. Kale and Kali glanced over their shoulders at him.
“The best festivities are by the east gate, where the farmers set up.”
Kali and Kale left the guards behind and meandered through the winding city streets. Acolytes of Apellon, resplendent in their golden-yellow tunics, led a procession of revelers down the main street, singing and dancing in praise of their god. The two draks became swept up by the undulating crowd, unable to extricate themselves until the east gate came into view.
As they exited the city through the east gate, they noticed a large tent erected just off the road. Pipe music drew them toward a cluster of market stalls near the tent. From the stalls, vendors sold fruit brandy and all kinds of sun-dried fruits.
The two draks purchased a bottle of mountain berry brandy distilled by one of the local farmers. As Kale paid the vendor, he spied the grey-flecked muzzle of a familiar-looking minotaur enjoying a puppet show.
Kale and Kali stood with the crowd and watched the show for a while. The puppets portrayed the story of how a kind duke was beaten and abused by a cruel wizard and how a crude and hastily constructed miniature puppet resembling a drak came and killed the evil wizard.
“It sure didn’t take them long, did it?” Kali took her mate’s arm.
“When Sarvesh killed the longshanks who killed the Twilight Overlord, the fiendlings in Drak-Anor began singing songs about it practically the next day.” Kale leaned close to Kali’s head to make himself heard over the cheers and jeers of the crowd. “Of course, they all gave him credit for freeing the city. He was pretty quick to set them straight.”
“Enjoying the show?”
Kale glanced up to see Boss Steelhand looming over them. Smiling, the minotaur seemed to sway from side to side a bit.
“That was fast. She’s still healing from the fight.”
“Indeed.” The minotaur nodded and glanced at the puppet stage. “The minstrels are quick to latch onto thrilling heroics like a wizard fight outside the city gates.”
He put his arms around the two draks and led them toward one of the many tables set up near the food pits. “Vilkan was not a popular archmage, and there were many who questioned how he gained so much influence over the archduke.”
Kali sat next to Kale as Boss Steelhand slid onto the bench on the opposite side of the table and faced them. “So, I’m sure you’re wondering how he came to be such a big influence.”
The minotaur waved over one of the men serving ale and took a mug. He offered some to the two draks, but they decided to open their brandy instead. Boss Steelhand sent the young man to retrieve empty cups.
“He just took more and more, a little bit at a time.” Kali squeezed Kale’s hand as she searched Boss Steelhand’s eyes for confirmation. “By the time anyone noticed how much he took, he was already entrenched. Like wood ants in an oak.”
“Exactly.” The minotaur eyed at the bottle of brandy as they waited for the mugs. “Galperin Estate, vintage 750AS. Nice. Northern, family, I think. North of here, I mean. South-central Etrunia.”
“What’s going to happen now that Deli is archmage?” Kale, not as interested in the history behind the brandy as the minotaur, wanted to know how soon he and his sister could return home to Drak-Anor.
Boss Steelhand watched the crowd over his shoulder. “That depends on her. I’m sure it will take a while for her to get a handle on her new responsibilities. Maybe she has a plan to institute sweeping changes across the Mages Guild.”
The minotaur regarded Kale as though he expected an answer. When Kale remained silent, he continued, “Some changes she might suggest will likely be debated by the Council of Wizardry. There’s nothing some of those wizards like better than an argument.”
Kali opened and poured the brandy after the server returned with three mugs. She shrugged and poured some for Boss Steelhand as well. Kale sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the floral overtones and tingling alcohol scent. The brandy was sweet and glided down his throat like honey.
“How’s that drak working out in your shop?” The minotaur sipped the brandy and smacked his lips. “The limner?”
“Ori?” Kali tossed her brandy down like a shot of whiskey, and her eyes bulged. She coughed, laughed, and then poured herself more. “He’s fine. Clean and quiet.”
“Good, good.” Boss Steelhand took the bottle from Kali and topped off his mug. “Now that Vilkan is gone, I’m going to push for the archduke to relax the restrictions on draks and minotaurs in the upper city. The minotaurs don’t get hassled much, but I’m sure you’ve noticed how few draks intermingle openly up here.”
Kale had noticed. He sipped his brandy. “A lot of the draks in the undercity treat my sister and I like we’re something special, because of our stripes”—he opened his wings by reflex—“and my wings.”
“Are you?” The minotaur leaned forward.
“Not really. We’re just draks, like them. Draks help run Drak-Anor, though, so maybe we act different.”
“They’ll need community leaders. Maybe you and your mate can help.”
“Maybe.” Kale watched a fire-eating dancer spin past them. Her multicolored, diaphanous gown twirled and swirled around her as she spun and jumped, and great gouts of flame burst from her mouth into the night sky.
Kale observed the dancers while Kali conversed with the minotaur, their conversation fading into the background of the revelry that surrounded them. The three made short work of the bottle of brandy, and when it was gone, Kali dragged her mate away from the table and they bade good night to Boss Steelhand. As they fell into bed, Kali reminded Kale of the work that waited for them in the morning. He dreamed of home repairs as an alcohol-fueled slumber overtook him.
Chapter 8
As Pancras and his companions traveled from Port-of-Dogs farther inland toward Vlorey, neither the heat nor the humidity abated. A cool breeze blowing inward from the coast brought with it the scent of blooming flowers from nearby orchards, making the air less oppressive.
The rolling hills of Cardoba limited visibility ahead of them, but Pancras enjoyed the changing scenery each time they crested a hill. After several days of travel, the terrain flattened, and they descended toward the Bay of Vlorey. Not long afterward, the city appeared before them. At last. Perhaps I can sleep in a proper bed tonight. Vlorey sat situated at the mouth of a river, constructed on the many islands that formed its delta, referred to as both the Jewel of the North and Andelosia’s Cesspool.
From his vantage as he gazed at the city, Pancras liked what he saw. The city featured a variety of architectures, owing its origins to the ornate designs of Cardoban artisans, incorporating Etrunian influences from settlers moving to the coast, as well as influences from the nations across the Sea of Lost Hope. He was still far enough away from Vlorey, high enough in elevation, that he noticed a castle beyond the city to the north, near the forest of Verdant Point. The city itself covered the delta and sprawled onto the rolling plains to the south
Gisella and Qaliah rode up to him. The fiendling whistled. “Big city. Looks bigger than Muncifer. Nice to see it’s not as blocky.”
The fiendling referred to the dwarven legacy of Muncifer’s architecture, as many of the buildings there pre-dated The Sundering. Pancras spurred Stormheart onward. The road from Port-of-Dogs wound through several outlying orchards and past a few livestock farms scattered along the way.
From above, the sun beat down on them. Pancras, unaccustomed to the sweltering heat, wiped sweat away from his eyes and glanced at Gisella. The slayer adapted her dress for the warmer weather onboard the Maiden of the High Seas, yet despite her lighter garb, he noticed her discomfort. Her fair skin flushed, and perspiration matted her golden locks to her head.
Qaliah rode, garbed in only that required for modesty, and Pancras suspected she did that only to avoid a lecture about appropriate garb from Gisella. Smiling and producing not a drop of sweat, the fiendling enjoyed the heat.
The three arrived at the eastern gates of the city as the sun set. A line of empty wagons and carts waited to pass as guards inspected them. One of the guards waved the three on horseback around to the front of the line. He took hold of Stormheart’s reins as he leaned on his halberd. Sweat beaded on his dark skin as he took stock of the three companions.
“What’s your business in Vlorey?”
Pancras dismounted in order to speak eye to eye; looking down at the guard from horseback made him feel like a giant. Even though he stood well over a head taller than the man while dismounted, he favored it over feeling as though he would tumble if he leaned over to converse with him while in the saddle.
“Arcane University business. I have been appointed the new defenses master.”
The guard’s expression remained a stony glare. His gaze dropped to Pancras’s withered arm. “What manner of affliction is that? Plague?”
At the mention of plague, nearby guards interrupted their inspections and turned. They brought their weapons to bear on the minotaur.
“Be calm.” As he raised his blackened hand and flexed his fingers, Pancras wished he hadn’t removed the leather gauntlet. “It’s an old battle injury. Like a burn, but less painful, thank Apellon.” Confident the lie was preferable to disclosing the story of how he had been demon-possessed during a mysterious resurrection, Pancras nodded to punctuate his statement.
The guard gestured to his compatriots. They lowered their weapons and returned to their business. He shifted his eyes to Gisella and Qaliah. “Entourage? Harem?” His eyes narrowed as his gaze returned Pancras. “Slavery is illegal in Vlorey.”
Gisella snorted. “I am a slayer of the Arcane University. My business here is my own.”
“I’m not a slave! I’m not his whore, either.” Qaliah jumped off Comet and strode up to the guard, digging a nail into his chin and forcing him to meet her stare.
He cocked an eyebrow and released Stormheart to move her hand away from his face. “Apologies. Most fiendlings here are employed on the streets, if you take my meaning, and what few minotaurs we have don’t seem to associate with them. Humans neither.”
“If I wanted people to assume the worst of me, I’d have stayed in Muncifer.” Qaliah huffed and returned to her steed.
“Do you have a trade permit?” The guard returned his blank-eyed stare to Pancras.
“No, why would I need that?” Pancr
as took Stormheart’s reins as his mount wandered to introduce himself to a passing merchant’s mare. The stallion snorted and whickered in protest.
“There’s an entry tax if you don’t have a permit.” The guard gestured at the line of people standing alongside empty carts and wagons.
“They’re traders?” Qaliah motioned toward the waiting folk and pulled herself up on Comet. “In what? Air?
“They get a permit to keep from paying the tax every time they make a delivery to one of the farms. One talon each.” The guard held out his hand.
Uncertain of the guard’s veracity, Pancras concluded from the man’s nonchalance this was not a new con for him. The minotaur fished in his pouch for three silver coins and dropped them in the man’s palm. The guard slipped them into his money purse and waved them on.
“Let these three pass.”
Pancras, Gisella, and Qaliah rode into Vlorey. The guards defending the city gates gave them only cursory glances as they rode past. The hard-packed dirt of the road gave way to worn cobblestones just as the clean, fresh air of the countryside gave way to the unmistakable odors of a city packed with people. Not for the first time, Pancras cursed a nose more sensitive than those of humans.
Pedestrians clad in lightweight, loose-fitting clothing hurried from shop to shop, avoiding the cart laden with horse dung parked just inside the city gates. A cloud of flies swarmed around it like a maelstrom. Pancras spurred Stormheart on with hope that it was not representative of the odors he would have to live with. A sign up the street caught his eye: Trader Gate Livery.
As he dismounted, Qaliah rode up to him. “You’re not thinking we should walk this entire city?”
The minotaur regarded the darkening sky. “It’s getting late. We need to get our bearings and find a place to stay for the night. There’s sure to be an inn nearby. We can take our horses to the Arcane University, wherever that is, in the morning.”
Assuming the university was known to most of the city dwellers, Pancras asked the stableboy about it as they collected their belongings from their mounts.