Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3)

by Hans Cummings

  ***

  Mist clung to the streets of Vlorey as the early morning sun began its journey across the sky. Merchants pushed their carts into place as other vendors prepared their market stalls for the coming day. Couriers ferried their packages along the city’s waterways.

  Everywhere Pancras went, he found no evidence of people concerned about the walking dead. Folks gossiped about their neighbors, their children, their plans for the day—small, meaningless talk. A team of wizards in green robes prepared to enter the waterways to repair a bit of infrastructure. Pancras learned from one of his chats with Headmaster Lewin that the island delta portion of Vlorey was maintained by teams of wizards who trained for years to learn the powerful, magical rituals.

  He met with Gisella and Qaliah at the inn and broke his fast in their company. When they finished eating, they made their way through the city toward the Palace of Justice. According to Qaliah, the building was located in the oldest part of the city, south of the river delta.

  Wind picked up as they traversed the streets of a tightly packed residential district. Clouds followed, obscuring the morning sun and making the heavy air feel even denser. Pancras loosened the top of his robes.

  “You’re sure this is the way?” They stopped to allow a team of horses pulling a textile cart to cross in front of them.

  “Have a little faith.” Qaliah tapped her chest. “I know my way around a city.”

  She pointed up the street toward a tall stone building constructed of green-veined white marble. Columns surrounded the entrance above which stood statues of Tinian, Hon, and Anetha, authority, law, and victory, respectively.

  As the three neared the building, Pancras noticed a symbol inscribed across the lintel: a cross inside a triangle surrounded by a circle. He’d seen the symbol before but couldn’t remember where he saw it.

  The Palace of Justice towered above the surrounding buildings. Cauldrons atop short pillars burned with high flames and sat on either side of the stairs leading to the building’s entrance. A pair of human guards in gleaming breastplates with embossed sigils stood at the top of the stairs.

  The guards crossed their halberds to block their entrance when the three reached the top.

  “What is your business with the Justicars?” The guard on the right turned his head to regard Pancras.

  “We have business with Lord Fenwick Blackthorne.” Pancras hoped he got the name right.

  “The Lord Justice? He doesn’t see just anyone off the street.” As he spoke, the guard’s attention turned to Qaliah. She flashed him a bright smile from behind dark lips.

  “I am Bonelord Pancras of Drak-Anor and deputy headmaster of the Arcane University of Vlorey.” He leaned closer to the guard. “It’s official business.”

  The guard regarded the minotaur looming over him. Then he pulled back his halberd and nodded to his compatriot. “Very well, then. The Lord Justice’s chambers are at the top of the grand staircase.”

  Once inside, the three oriented themselves. The grand staircase rose directly across the foyer from the entrance. Halfway up to the second level, it split and curved around a fountain depicting three gods: Tinian, Anetha, and Hon. Inlaid in gold, black wood parquet surrounded the same symbol Pancras noticed in the lintel a few minutes earlier. Guards posted at doors in the center of the east and west walls stared straight ahead, and two more guards flanked the base of the stairs.

  A tawny-furred minotaur, a colossus to the short, bespectacled man with whom he conversed, stood in the center of the foyer. Pancras recognized him as the minotaur he met at the Arcane University. He remembered having seen the same symbol previously on the minotaur’s breastplate.

  The minotaur glanced up at the sound of Pancras’s hooves on the floor, and patted the smaller man on the shoulder before approaching the three. He bowed his head to Gisella and Qaliah.

  “Interesting that the three of you should come here together.”

  Gisella crossed her right arm over her chest and bowed. “Orion, was it?”

  Pancras nodded at the Golden Slayer. “You know each other?”

  Orion offered his hand to Pancras. “We’ve met.”

  The minotaurs clasped arms. His grip was firm, and Pancras felt the muscles of Orion’s forearm beneath his fingers. He felt himself flush as he stared into Orion’s dark emerald eyes, and Pancras thanked Aita for bestowing him with fur.

  “What, erm…” Pancras floundered to hide his discomfort. “What is that symbol on your breastplate? It seems familiar, but my memory fails me.”

  Orion brushed the symbol with his free hand. “It represents the Divine Tribunal of Anetha, Hon, and Tinian.”

  “Ah, yes, of course.” Pancras knew of the Tribunal, of course, but their agents rarely strayed from the north. The sculpture of all three along the stairway should have been a clue. I’ve been out of touch too long, or I’m getting old and forgetful.

  Qaliah peeked over their arms. “If we’d known we were coming here, we would have just asked you the last time we saw you.”

  “Asked me what?”

  Pancras cleared his throat. “Actually, we’re here to see the Lord Justice today.”

  “Ah, Fenwick is up in his office debriefing one of his scouts. I’ll escort you.”

  Orion led them up the grand staircase, pausing at eye level with the top of the fountain to bow his head in deference to the depiction of the Tribunal.

  “Getting settled in at the Arcane University…” Orion eyed Pancras expectantly. The minotaur realized they’d never been properly introduced.

  “Pancras. Deputy headmaster.”

  “Don’t forget bonelord,” Qaliah chimed in from below. Pancras pursed his lips. He had not intended to lead with that.

  “Indeed? A bonelord and deputy headmaster of our illustrious Arcane University?” He cocked his head as he regarded Pancras. “Most interesting.”

  They continued up the stairs until they reached the landing on the second floor. Orion led them behind the top of the fountain to a set of double doors. He pulled them open. “The Lord Justice is right inside.”

  “Thank you.” Pancras bowed his head in thanks. From inside the chambers, he heard a metallic clatter, as if someone in armor had fallen, followed by cursing.

  Cloud cover diminished the light which usually streamed in through open windows across from the door in the Lord Justice’s chambers. Glowing sconces mounted on the twin rows of columns running the length of the room provided supplemental illumination.

  At the far end of the room, a bald, bearded man leaned with both hands atop a desk constructed of striped, ebony-colored wood. His deep russet skin was flushed. A flame-haired dwarf picked herself up from the floor, cursing in Dwarvish as she smoothed her skirt. Her ruddy cheeks were dusted with freckles, and her hair hung in twin braids over her shoulders.

  “Apologies.” Pancras bowed as the three entered. “I am Bonelord Pancras of Drak-Anor, deputy headmaster of the Arcane University of Vlorey. I assume you’re the Lord Justice, and if we’re interrupting something”—the minotaur waved his hand toward them—“we can return later.”

  The Lord Justice laughed as he pushed himself away from the desk. “No need. Come, come!” He waved them in and straightened his blue-and-white checkered tabard, emblazoned with the symbol of the Divine Tribunal. “I was in the middle of debriefing Scout Stonehammer here, but it’s merely routine.”

  “Usually routine.” The dwarf retrieved her helmet from the floor. “We’ll finish later, Fen… my lord?”

  “Yes, later. As always, thank you for your tireless efforts, Scout Stonehammer. Let your captain know the Justicars value your people’s commitment.”

  “Sure. They’ll be thrilled.” Scout Stonehammer’s tone belied her sincerity. She nodded to the three newcomers and exited, adjusting her armor and pulling the doors shut behind her.

  The Lord Justice gestured to the chairs near his desk. “Pull up a seat. I assume you and your”—he regarded the two women for the first tim
e since they entered the room—“companions? This is not a social call, I assume.”

  Qaliah was the first to sit. “Do you get a lot of those?”

  Gisella pulled over a chair for herself and Pancras. “We were told that you might be able to assist us.”

  “With what could I assist a minotaur, a human—a southerner by the look of you—and a fiendling?” He leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Such an unusual company. Normally, a group such as yourselves means trouble.”

  Pancras spread his hands, palms up. “I assure you, Lord Justice—”

  “Fenwick will do.”

  “Fenwick, we’re not looking to cause trouble; rather, we wish to put a stop to it.”

  Gisella and Pancras outlined their mandate from Aita and Aurora. They told him of their suspicions regarding the Lich Queen and that they believed she was involved in the exoduses of the dead from the city’s necropolis. Qaliah interjected with the report from Ebonwick, and Gisella clarified the undead from the peninsula likely traveled under the bay, emerging somewhere west of the city. All signs pointed to the undead converging on Zamora.

  “Zamora.” Fenwick frowned and rubbed the back of his head. “If what you say is true, it is troubling indeed.”

  “This whole city seems complacent.” Pancras sat forward. “It seems that certain decrees by the Council of Lords, particularly Lord Tyron, are not”—the minotaur chose his words carefully since he was about to implicate one of nobility in a plot—“well, they’re not helping the situation.”

  Fenwick slammed a fist on his desk. “I knew Tyron was up to something. The man is a menace.”

  “We have no evidence.” Gisella laid her hand on the desk and regarded Pancras.

  “No, you wouldn’t have.” Fenwick bit his thumb. “Tyron would be too careful to leave evidence of anything like that. Conspiring with the Lich Queen…” He clenched his jaw and shook his head as embers of rage ignited in his eyes.

  “This is all just speculation, my lord. Granted, we both”—Pancras gestured to himself and Gisella—“have received visions from our patrons corroborating the Lich Queen’s involvement.”

  The human waved his hand and stood. “No, I know you believe everything you’re telling me. No lie can be uttered in the Palace of Justice.”

  Pancras blinked and stared at the Lord Justice as he paced, for he had not sensed any such compulsion enchantments when he entered the palace. The enchantment must be powerful, indeed, and subtle.

  “What, really?” Qaliah tapped her fingers against the arms of the chair. “Then what were you and the dwarf doing just before we entered the room?”

  Fenwick stopped in his tracks and chuckled as he raised a finger. “No lie can be uttered. That doesn’t mean one is compelled to answer any question. Valora, that is, Scout Stonehammer, and some of her people have been assisting the Justicars with reconnoitering the surrounding countryside. They’re part of a larger dwarf contingent from Korbaddan who have settled west of the city on the coast.”

  Hearing about the dwarves gave Pancras an idea. “Perhaps the scouts could verify our suspicions that the undead travel toward Zamora.”

  “Yes, I’ll have Scout Stonehammer investigate that.” Fenwick returned to his seat and clasped his hands together before him. “I’ll send a Justicar to see Lord Tyron, as well. The man has refused the last two summons I’ve sent him about unrelated matters. I have no grounds on which to arrest him, but perhaps he’ll be careless.”

  “Perhaps one or all of us could accompany your Justicar?” Gisella crossed her legs. “We could ask him certain questions under false pretenses and see if he slips up?”

  “Provoking someone into incriminating themselves isn’t really how we operate.”

  The Golden Slayer raised her eyebrows. “We’re not Justicars.”

  “Good point.” Fenwick smiled and bowed his head.

  They agreed on a plan. After first sending Justicar Orion to verify the noble’s schedule, the Lord Justice would send the minotaur to meet them at their inn in the morning, and together they would confront Lord Tyron. In the meantime, Fenwick would speak to Scout Stonehammer about changing her patrol to check the shore between Zamora and Ebonwick to determine if evidence of an undead migration in the area existed.

  Pancras left the two women and returned to the Arcane University. He was surprised the Lord Justice was amiable; yet, he had no sense that the man had been deceitful. It ran contrary to his prior experiences with humans in positions of authority. He caught up to Headmaster Lewin outside one of the lecture halls.

  “Headmaster.” Pancras bowed to the old man.

  “Deputy Headmaster!” Lewin returned Pancras’s greeting. “I’m off to listen Vanathiel’s lecture on the resurgence of fey in the world.”

  “I won’t keep you, I just had a question about the Palace of Justice.” The minotaur shortened his stride, keeping pace with the human as they walked. “The Lord Justice said no one can tell a lie within the palace, yet I sensed no magical auras at work.”

  “Ah, yes, you saw him, did you? I hope he gave you a warm welcome. Fenwick is a good sort.”

  “Yes, he was very helpful.”

  “Good, good.” He held up his hands in a shrug. “It is protected by a divine blessing from the gods of the Tribunal; an ancient magic we with Selene’s arcane gifts cannot feel or touch. It’s still effective, though.”

  Although he found the man’s explanation unsatisfactory, Pancras did not wish to further delay the headmaster. As well, Pancras wished not to be late to his own class. “Thank you. Perhaps I’ll look into it further. Maybe in the library?”

  “Oh, possibly.” Lewin waved his hand. “Fenwick would be happy to wax poetic on the subject, I’m sure.”

  He thanked the headmaster again and turned toward the building where his alchemy class gathered. While he prepared his lesson, Pancras contemplated the magical mysteries of the Justicars. He resolved to learn more about them in the coming days.

  Chapter 17

  The orb engulfed Delilah’s claw and flowed up and around her hand. She gasped at its icy embrace as a bright light blinded her. When it faded, she found herself still in the cavern underneath Kale’s home.

  Subtle differences were her first clues that she no longer stood in Kale’s decrepit cellar. The scattered rubble and dust were gone. The sconces still glowed with enchanted light, but the fixtures were shiny and straight.

  The sound of footsteps preceded the appearance of a drak descending the stairs. The drak was covered in tattoos.

  Gil-Li eyed the spot where Delilah stood. “I recognize you.”

  Delilah’s spine stiffened. She was under the impression what she saw was merely a vision. Kale had been unable to interact with his.

  “Relax, I would not harm the inheritor of my legacy. It is through you that I live on. It’s about time you showed up.”

  The drak sorceress flexed her hand in a reflexive attempt to adjust her grip on her staff, but it was not with her. “You can see me?”

  “Describe how you… by what mechanism you traveled here.” Gil-Li circled Delilah, examining her. “Hm. Stripes. Interesting. A Child of the Gods we would call you.”

  “There was an orb. Shimmery, like quicksilver…”

  “Ah, the Orb of Forgotten Memories. You found that as well as my grimoire? Impressive.”

  “They were gifts.” Delilah shifted her weight as the other drak continued to examine her.

  “What sort of fool would gift such prizes?” Gil-Li leaned in close, snout to snout, with Delilah.

  “Terrakaptis, the Earth Dragon.” Delilah recoiled from the other drak. Gil-Li reeked of moldy herbs. “He thought they might be useful for our journey.”

  “The Earth Dragon? Interesting. Pity I won’t survive to see this world from which you come.”

  Delilah glanced around the room and cocked her head. “Have I traveled through time?”

  “Certainly not!” Gil-Li’s tone was that of one who found the very ide
a preposterous. “The Orb of Forgotten Memories can show many things. What, exactly, depends on who touches it. I bequeathed my legacy to the future, to you, obviously. Tell me, what are you?”

  Delilah stepped backward. “A… a drak?”

  Gil-Li shut her eyes and took a single, deep breath and then opened them again. “You don’t say? I can see you, you know. Title, accolades. What have you accomplished with my knowledge?”

  “Oh.” Delilah felt herself flush. That was the kind of dumb mistake Kale would make. “I am Archmage of the Arcane University, the first drak archmage since, well, you. There is discussion in naming me an Elemental Master, as well. Earth magic was lost until I showed them what I learned from your grimoire. Most water magic, too.”

  Gil-Li smiled. “That’s more like it. There was a time when we draks were the supreme magisters of Calliome. The humans stole our knowledge from us and used it to kill our father.”

  “Rannos. My brother, that’s what the orb showed him—a human killing Rannos by touching a heartstone and some sort of black, faceted stone together. Then The Sundering happened.”

  Gil-Li hissed, “I died in The Sundering!” She shook her head and spat on the floor. “To think, they hated Rannos so much to bring a heartstone and an Eye of Oblivion together. Humans! Never content with what they’re given, always coveting that which others have. Tell me of your brother.”

  “Kale?” Delilah chuckled. “He’s foolish. Brave, but foolish.”

  “Older? Younger?”

  “We hatched from the same egg.”

  Gil-Li raised her eyebrows. “Brother and sister. Blessed and cursed.” She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t mated with him, have you?”

  “Ugh. No!” Delilah curled her lip, sneering in disgust at the very thought.

  “Good.” She glanced down and then shook her head. “Never mind that. Idle curiosity is a waste of this opportunity. You seek answers? What is your question?”

  “There are so many…”

  Gil-Li patted Delilah on the cheek, her clawed hand carried the same chill as the silvery metal orb. “Why did you use the orb?”