Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3)

by Hans Cummings

  The archmage left her apprentice to her task and returned to her chambers. She straightened the outer office, hiding away all the research materials she’d accumulated regarding dragon eggs and runes. She intended to reveal neither Kale’s egg nor the runed circle in his cellar to the Frost Queen. By the time she finished tidying, Katka returned with their meals. The drak wasted no time filling her belly. She had a feeling the Frost Queen would arrive early.

  She was not disappointed.

  Chapter 13

  “So, basically, all you learned was to ask around the same places I went?” Pancras stared into his bowl of stew as he stirred. Bright floral aromas and sharp spices wafted to his nose. He hadn’t thought to ask what sort of meat they served this night and fervently hoped it wasn’t beef.

  “Yeah, it was a really productive day.” Qaliah snorted and drained her mug of ale.

  “Unfortunately, everyone we spoke to seemed reluctant to speak of the strange goings-on.” Gisella sniffed her mead and sipped it.

  “Yes, I experienced that, too.” Pancras lifted a spoonful of the stew and tasted it. Pork. He sighed in relief and ate another spoonful. “The priest of Aita said he’d speak to me at Ravenbrier Meadery about it, but not here in town.”

  The fiendling looked up. “The meadery? I’m coming with you.”

  “I think we should all go together.” The Golden Slayer chuckled. “We spoke to a minotaur who was forthcoming. He suggested we ask at the Red Crypt, in fact. How far away is this meadery?”

  Pancras swallowed his food. “An hour north, toward Verdant Palace. We’re to meet him at dusk.”

  “Dusk?” Gisella examined her mug of mead. “Tomorrow is a double-dark night, you know.”

  “Is it?” Pancras hadn’t paid attention to the lunar cycles. “So?”

  “The minotaur warned us to stay off the streets.”

  “What’s he going to do to us if we don’t?” Qaliah waved her spoon in Gisella’s direction. “Is the big bad Justicar going to come hunt us down at the meadery?”

  “Justicar?” Pancras had heard stories of the Justicars of the Tribunal. He dismissed them as fabrications, of course.

  “The minotaur we met, Orion, I think”—Gisella bit her lip as she recalled his name—“he said he was a Justicar. He was nice enough.”

  “Well, double-dark nights may be infrequent, but they’re nothing to worry about. Most trepidation about them originated in peasant superstitions.” Even when he practiced necromancy full time, Pancras never found a double-dark night better or worse conditions in which to practice that type of magic. “Pack your bedrolls. We’ll stay out by the meadery if necessary. I don’t want to run afoul of the Justicars.”

  As they resumed their meal, more people shuffled into the inn. The quiet buzz of conversation rose to a roar as merchants complained about their customers and each other. Friends and neighbors swapped gossip over pints of ale and traded barbs and pleasantries as only lifelong friends could.

  Through it all, Pancras overheard no mention of disturbances or anxiety over the upcoming double-dark night. He marveled at how they could be so calm. Or perhaps, their rulers have instilled so much fear into them, they’re numb to it.

  “I am going to turn in. I trust the two of you will have everything in order by the time we need to depart tomorrow?”

  “We shall.” Gisella raised her mug. Pancras nodded his confidence she would keep Qaliah on task, and he headed upstairs.

  ***

  The Frost Queen knocked on Delilah’s chamber door before they finished tidying up from their meal. Delilah clutched her staff and motioned for Katka to let her in. Alysha swept past the young woman, her robes billowing around her like white smoke.

  “Archmage, I must speak to you about my sister”—she cast a glance at Katka—“alone.”

  Delilah adjusted the grip on her staff. “I trust my apprentice.”

  “I don’t.” The sorceress turned and shoved Katka into the hall. “No offense.”

  She shut the door just as Katka opened her mouth to protest.

  Archmage Delilah snarled. “That was uncalled for.”

  Alysha beat the bottom of her staff against the door. “Take a walk.” She leaned her staff against the jamb and clasped her hands behind her back as she paced. “What I have to say is for your ears alone. I’m not keen to trust you, either, but you’re the archmage. You have authority that I do not.”

  “The way you swagger around, who would know?” Delilah scowled as the woman paced before her door. She thought about recalling Katka but remembered she promised herself earlier not to needlessly antagonize a human who traveled on the back of a dragon.

  “My sister no doubt realizes this, but she is traveling into grave danger. I need a decree from you to put the resources of the Vlorey Arcane University at my disposal.”

  “What?” Delilah blinked. She wanted to confirm what Alysha just requested.

  “You’ve heard of the Lich Queen? The Witch Queen? Yes?”

  Familiar with the stories, Delilah recalled Lady Milena of Almeria showing them a tapestry depicting the Battle of Badon Hill. Even as isolated as Drak-Anor had been most of her life, word reached them of a rampaging sorceress seeking to dominate the land, being killed, and then rising up even more powerful than before to try again.

  “Of course.”

  “My sister and I have always believed that while her physical body was destroyed at the Battle of Badon Hill nearly thirty years ago, her spirit endured. Weakened, of course, but since then, growing more powerful.”

  The archmage waved her hand and leaned on her staff. “Yes, there’s always stories like that. She died, cursed the land, cursed the victors—”

  “They’re not just stories. If she’s out there still, as a disembodied spirit, she can return.”

  “How?” Resurrection magic was not a topic Delilah studied, although considering what happened to Pancras in Almeria, she considered devoting some time to it.

  “The easiest way would be for her to possess a suitable receptacle. One that would offer little resistance, say her kin.”

  Delilah narrowed her eyes. “She has kin?”

  “Granddaughters, two of them.” Alysha tapped her chest with two fingers. “Someone not connected by blood could resist if their will was strong enough, but the bonds of blood are a weakness if the spirit of your kin wishes to possess you.”

  Realization dawned, and Delilah’s eyes widened. “You’re the granddaughter of the Lich Queen?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to go get to my sister before my grandmother does. I’d like to do it with the Arcane University’s help. She is a slayer, after all.”

  Delilah blew out a breath. “I’ll speak to the Council of Wizards.”

  “No!” Alysha slashed her hand through the air. “They cannot know of this. I was trained only because they didn’t know of our connection. Gisella was accepted as a slayer only because of their ignorance. They cannot know.”

  The drak closed her eyes and tilted back her head. Great, more secrets. She inhaled deeply. The aroma of the remnants of their dinner wafted into her nose. Dinner was good. I could use some more ale, though.

  “Archmage!”

  Delilah’s attention returned to the Frost Queen. “How do I know this isn’t some plot by you to claim the Lich Queen’s power as your own?”

  Alysha stopped pacing and knelt to bring herself to the drak’s eye level. “You don’t. I doubt there’s any proof I can offer you that my intentions are true.”

  A smile spread across Delilah’s face as an idea blossomed in her head. “Then I’m coming with you. I’ve never been to Vlorey, but I’ve fought many difficult battles, and I know where we can recruit another dragon, a Firstborne, to verify your story and blast that Lich Queen back to the Age of Legend.”

  ***

  Following the road out of Vlorey toward the meadery proved a simple journey. Gisella noted that the hard-packed dirt road was both well traveled and well patrolled. Be
tween the city and Ravenbrier Meadery, they encountered two squads of soldiers clad in the livery of the City Watch of the Free City of Vlorey. As they passed, the guards stepped off the road to allow the travelers room but eyed them, as if searching for signs of malfeasance.

  Gisella looked forward to this visit to the meadery. Not only might they learn something to further their investigation, but she was curious about this mead from the north. What she had sampled thus far was not bad, a bit more floral than that to which she was accustomed and lacking in the spice that meaderies in the Four Watches added.

  A veritable sea of green extended before them. North of Vlorey lay Verdant Point, so named for its coast-to-coast woodland. The road wound through the forest, past the estates of several nobles, and toward Verdant Palace, official residence of the King of Vlorey.

  Trees had been cleared from the immediate area on each side of the road, creating a well-defined lane for travelers to follow. This meant, of course, that the sun beat upon them for most of the day, and the surrounding trees offered no shade.

  Gisella offered silent thanks to Orion for her new hair tie. Keeping her golden locks off her neck helped keep her cool, but she still felt as if the sun would bake her.

  “How do people here stand this heat? And the sun? It’s so intense.” She fanned herself with the edge of her cloak.

  Qaliah closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun. “Nice, yeah? None of that bitter cold that flows down from the mountains in Muncifer.” Her ebony skin glistened with sweat, but she didn’t seem at all bothered by the heat.

  “It gets this warm in Drak-Anor, but the air is so heavy here.” Pancras wiped sweat from his brow and muzzle. “I feel damp all the time.”

  “It’s oppressive.” Gisella shielded her eyes as she searched the sky for clouds. Even with the sun about to set, it promised to be an uncomfortable night.

  “Whiners.” Qaliah rode ahead before turning Comet around to face them and gesturing to the forest. “Everything is covered with things growing. No bare rocks. No snow. It’s beautifully hot. I may never leave.”

  Pancras snorted. “You almost sound like an elf. Rocks are part of the world, too. They’re solid, stable, the foundations of our homes.”

  The fiendling tucked her hair behind one of her ears. “Fiendling… elf… we all have pointed ears.”

  Gisella cringed and blinked away a drop of perspiration that ran into her eyes. “They don’t have horns. Or hooves. Or a tail. I doubt an elf would appreciate the comparison.”

  “You’re right.” Pancras maneuvered Stormheart next to Gisella and her mount, Moonsilver. “I just meant most elves are enamored of trees and the like. The fiendlings in Drak-Anor don’t pine for them.”

  “They’re missing out.” Qaliah held back Comet and waited for Gisella and Pancras to catch up. “I’d much rather be out here with the sky above than living under a mountain.”

  The Golden Slayer agreed with that sentiment, although she preferred the wide open tundra of her home to these woodlands. She liked being able to see to the ends of the world and not have to worry about hidden dangers behind the shrubs and bushes. In the Four Watches, forests were home to many dangers

  As they approached Ravenbrier Meadery, they exited the road and traveled down a lane lined with trees bearing curious fan-shaped leaves. Apiaries dotted the clearing, set far enough away from the main road that travelers did not encounter many wandering bees. The meadery itself, a flat, white stone building with a gently sloped roof covered in reddish-brown tiles, sat at the center of a group of fluted columns with unadorned capitals. To one side, a fenced in area with covered stalls and stables waited for visitors.

  They left their horses in the care of stable hands and entered the meadery. The air smelled of flowers and sweet honey. A woman stood behind the counter, hammering a tap into a barrel of mead. Her dark hair hung in a long, tight braid down her back. In the corner, while seated on a stool, a man tuned a lute. He glanced up as the three entered.

  “Welcome to… Raven… briar… minotaur, fiendling…”

  The woman stood and tossed a checkered rag over her shoulder. “Shut your mouth, Alfie. You’ll catch bees. We’ve trouble enough keeping them alive.”

  She moved around the counter and patted his cheek. He blushed and stared at his lute. “You’ll have to excuse my son, here. He’s not used to such diverse visitors.”

  The woman bowed. “I am Tamera Ravenbrier. Welcome to my meadery. I’m surprised to see you all this late. I was considering closing up early.”

  Pancras led Qaliah to the counter and pulled out a stool for her. Gisella bowed her head to Tamera. “You don’t get a lot of visitors at night?” She took a seat alongside Pancras.

  Tamera shrugged and smiled. She stepped around the counter and brushed off crumbs from in front of the three. “On a normal summer night, sure. But it’s a double-dark night tonight, and the city folk stop coming out when the King and Queen slumber.”

  “We’re supposed to be meeting someone here.” Pancras cleared his throat. “Brother Maynard from… a priest from the city.”

  “Sure, we know Maynard. Don’t we, Mum?” Alfie turned his attention away from his lute. “Haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”

  The dark-skinned woman placed mugs of mead before Gisella, Pancras, and Qaliah. “Well, have a mead while you wait. If you’re meeting him, I’m sure he’ll be along.”

  Gisella sniffed at the mug and took a long draught. The floral nose hid a cloying sweetness, and she detected a hint of pepper. It reminded her of the mead from home, although it was just different enough to be memorable. “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “Thank you.” Tamera bowed and smiled. “Best mead in the whole of the north, if I do say so myself. Hungry?” She looked past them toward her son. “Alfie, go find your sister.”

  The young man hopped off his stool and carried his lute to the door. He opened it far enough to stick out his head. “Varina! Varina, get over here!”

  “Alfie!” Tamera slapped her rag on the counter. “Go. Get her. Not yell for her. I could’ve done that myself.”

  Alfie snorted and shut the door behind him. Tamera clenched her jaw as she shook her head. “My dolt of a son…”

  “Do you know anything about the double-dark nights in Vlorey?” Gisella sipped her mead, eyeing the woman over the rim of her mug.

  “Everyone seems very secretive about them”—the minotaur drained his mug and wiped his mouth on his sleeve—“fearful, even. I would have thought people in a city like Vlorey would know the phases of the moons are nothing to be feared.”

  Tamera refilled their mugs. “We get to the city markets a few times a month, but the bees and our sheep keep us pretty busy around here. I don’t remember the last time I was in the city at night. We’re close, but we don’t hear much about goings-on.”

  “This stuff doesn’t get tongues wagging?” Qaliah held up her mug. “It’s strong.”

  “City gossip isn’t what brings folks out this way.” The woman jerked her thumb behind her. “Most of our regulars come from Verdant Palace or from the fishing villages along the coast.”

  “The coast? Along Verdant Point?” Pancras loosened his robes and wiped sweat beaded on the fur of his brow with his sleeve.”

  “Yes. Now they talk of strange things, but you know how fishermen are.”

  Gisella glanced at her companions. Their blank expressions matched her own ignorance. She shook her head. “We’re not from around here. Of what strange things do they speak?”

  “Yeah.” Qaliah grinned. “What are the men like?”

  “They sit around in their little boats all day, or stand in waist-deep water with their nets, hauling in fish, making up stories to pass the time.” Tamera rubbed down the countertop. The door opened and a woman who was an image of her mother entered. It was as though they looked back in time at a much younger Tamera.

  “You needed me, Mother?”

  “Ah, Varina. Put on your apron.” Tamer
a tossed a smock from behind the bar to her daughter. “Bread and cheese for our guests.”

  “Wow, a minotaur and a… a…” Varina squinted as she looked at Qaliah. Her grey eyes lingered as she eyed the fiendling up and down. “I… perhaps some jam and honey, as well?”

  “Of course, girl!” Tamera snapped her rag at her daughter. “Go on.”

  Varina smiled at Qaliah as she passed, and the fiendling rewarded her with a wink and a grin.

  The minotaur cleared his throat. “Now then, you were saying about the fishermen’s tales?”

  “Oh.” Tamera waved her hand in the air. “They’re nonsense, of course. Folks walking beneath the waves, strange moans from the forest at night. I don’t pay them any mind. When they’re here, I’m working. I don’t have time for nonsense gossip.”

  “Hmm…” Pancras lowered his head and rubbed his right horn.

  The door opened again. A red-robed, dark-skinned man entered. His face shone with sweat, and what little hair remained atop his head was matted and laid flat against it. Varina nodded at him. “Maynard.”

  “Bonelord.” Maynard took a knee and bowed before Pancras. The minotaur’s eyes widened, and he pulled up the man by his robes.

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “Bonelord?” Tamera cocked an eyebrow and regarded Pancras with narrowed eyes. “There’s nobody dying around here today.”

  “Perhaps we, you and I”—Maynard gestured to himself and Pancras—“could step outside to speak?”

  The minotaur shook his head and gestured to Gisella and Qaliah. “These are my companions, my friends. Gisella the Golden Slayer, and Qaliah.”

  “I really need a fancier name around you two.” The fiendling frowned.

  Pancras continued, “Anything you say to me they can hear.”

  Tamera’s eyes darted from Pancras to Maynard and back. She threw up her hands and approached the door. “I’ll just go check on my daughter. Maybe you want some meat with that bread and honey?”