Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2)

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Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) Page 12

by Hans Cummings


  So, she brushed up on her language skills. The seneschal clucked his tongue. “That’s not a book of magic, is it?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid? I know if I read that one, I’ll be interrupted.” Delilah held up the lexicon. “It’s a language book. We speak Drak and Minotaur in Drak-Anor, not your language.”

  “Apologies, Initiate.” The seneschal bowed his head. “I just didn’t want to see you reprimanded. Initiates are not permitted to peruse tomes of arcana.”

  “That’s stupid. How are they supposed to learn?” Delilah closed her book and put it away in her pack. “I’m only an initiate because Man… the archmage said so. I’ve been practicing magic for most of my life.” She wagged a finger at the seneschal. “And I’m older than I look!”

  “I wouldn’t presume to make assumptions about your age, Initiate. Your scales still carry the shine of youth, or they do to my old eyes.”

  “Oh, well, thank you.” The edges of Delilah’s mouth curled up in a smile at the unexpected compliment. She scratched her belly where the robes chafed. “Are novice robes better? These itch.”

  The seneschal stepped around his podium and knelt down in front of Delilah. He rubbed the hems of her robes between his fingers. “Hm. The cheapest of the initiates’ robes. If you want something more comfortable, you’ll have to buy it yourself. If you rely on what the university provides, you’ll always get the cheapest.”

  “I’d rather just wear my cloak. Robes are for humans.” The robe the Golden Slayer dropped off for her was made for a tall human and even if she stood on Kale’s shoulders, it would have dragged on the ground. She’d been forced to make alterations with a knife. As a result, it looked less like a robe and more like a sack with sleeves.

  “You’ll have to talk to the archmage about a cultural exception of some sort.” The seneschal stood and returned to his podium. He glanced down at his book and nodded. “He’s ready for you now. Go on in.”

  She wondered how he could possibly determine that; she did not hear the archmage beckon from the court chamber. The seneschal held open the door for Delilah. She strained to see the top of his podium as she passed, but she was too short.

  The archmage was not alone on the dais. The dozen wizards flanking him were each garbed in a uniquely colored robe. All the colors in a rainbow and beyond, including black and white, were represented. Their faces were expressionless masks, but then Delilah realized their faces were covered by actual masks.

  And they all eyed her.

  How did I not notice their masks the last time? She chalked it up to nerves.

  She walked toward the archmage, using her staff as one would a walking stick. When she was a few paces from the bottom step, she inclined her head in a bow. “Well, I’m here. I guess it’s time to teach me.”

  “Such disrespect.”

  “Foolish drak.”

  “A striped drak. Interesting.”

  “Or foolhardy.”

  The archmage slashed through the air with his hand, silencing the chorus of comments from the assembled high wizards. “You should show deference to your superiors, Initiate Drak. Disrespect is punishable. However”—Archmage Vilkan sniffed and looked at his fellow wizards—“I will allow you to try that again.”

  Delilah’s lip curled. She bit back several choice comments of which she knew Pancras would not approve and bowed deeply, using her staff to keep herself from falling forward. “O Great Archmage, I present myself, a lowly drak, to your mighty tutelage.”

  Among the gasps of the high wizards, Delilah heard a lone chuckle. When she raised her head as she awaited his response, she noticed Archmage Vilkan’s face flush first light pink, deepening until it became the blood red color of aged wine, and she thought she saw pulsing in his temple. He drew a shaky breath before speaking. “You will learn respect, Drak.”

  He snapped his fingers and gestured toward Delilah. Guards rushed forward and grabbed her arms. One took her staff, and the other took her pack. “Take this initiate to Master Agata. Tell her this initiate is hers to punish. You will show us respect, Initiate Drak, in the end. Our resolve will prove superior.”

  Delilah spat on the floor as the guards dragged her away. She dug in her heels as they hauled her through the courtyard. She couldn’t overpower them, but she would be damned if she would make things easy for them. The guards took her into a nearby building and down a set of stairs. They opened a door and tossed her in.

  “Hey! You can’t take my staff and my pack!”

  The guard smiled and raised Delilah’s staff up over his head beyond her reach. “Yeah? Watch us. You’ll get it back when your punishment is done.” He kicked the door closed.

  Cauldrons of all sizes and in great piles filled the room, some rusty, others covered with solidified gunk. A short human woman sat on the floor, scraping at one of the cauldrons with what resembled a chisel. She blew a lock of raven hair out of her eyes and continued working.

  Delilah picked herself up and brushed off her robes. “I suppose you’re Agata?”

  The woman snorted. “Not hardly. Got yourself cauldron cleaning duty, huh? I didn’t know we had any draks enrolled.”

  The woman’s robes were beige and rough-spun, like Delilah’s, but were covered with a network of patches that didn’t quite match the original color. She grunted as her chisel became stuck, swearing when it flew out of her hand and the cauldron clattered to the floor.

  “Damn it!” She brought her hand up to her mouth and sucked on it.

  Delilah sat back against the wall and brought her knees up to her chest. “So what? I have to clean these now? Where’s Agata?”

  “If they sent you down here for her, she’ll be along in a minute. The masters are always busy, but they always seem to find the time to punish us. Who are you anyway?”

  “Delilah.”

  “Katka. What did you do?”

  The drak sorceress knitted her hands together as she considered where to start. “I was born, lived a life away from all these humans, and learned magic on my own. Stupid archmage.”

  “Wow.” Katka grunted as she chipped away at the gunk coating the interior of the cauldron.

  “How about you?”

  “Master Bruncvik had a cat, right?”

  Delilah didn’t recognize the name, but she nodded for Katka to continue her story.

  “Well, I might have accidentally exploded it.”

  Despite herself, Delilah chuckled. She never managed to explode something by accident. Scanning the room, she picked up a nearby cauldron. It was similar to the one she purchased, but the inside was filled with a solid mass of red and green swirls. She scratched at it with a claw, and it rippled as if a stone had been skipped across it. The mass remained at the bottom of the cauldron, however, even when Delilah tipped it to the point it should have spilled out.

  “What is this gunk?”

  Katka swore and jammed her chisel into the bottom of the cauldron she was working on. “Whenever a student messes up in Alchemy, their cauldron needs to be cleaned. Most of the time, you can just dump it out, give it a rinse, and start over.” She gestured to the pile of cauldrons. “These are what happen when you really mess up.”

  “Why don’t they just melt them down and buy new ones?” Delilah turned the cauldron upside down and shook it. Not so much as a drip or a drizzle exited the pot, so she dared to look up into it. The mass wobbled, but it remained affixed to the bottom.

  “Most students can’t afford to buy a new cauldron every time they mess up a potion. The good news is, once you mess up this badly three times, they kick you out of Alchemy. Some people just aren’t cut out for it, you know?”

  “I guess.” Delilah never dabbled in alchemy. She and her brother used to work together to create enchanted siege weapons for the defense of Drak-Anor, but since the establishment of a treaty with Ironkrag, they hadn’t needed to use them.

  The door opened again. An older woman wearing mossy robes entered. Her silver hair hung in braids, f
raming a face lined with age. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, tapping a slender finger against her chin.

  “So, you’re the drak initiate. I am Master Agata. I teach Alchemy here. What is your real name? The archmage insists your name is ‘Drak,’ but I’m not foolish enough to believe that.”

  “Delilah.”

  “A pretty name and unusual for a drak.” Master Agata cocked her head and peered at Delilah. “Hm. Stripes, also unusual.”

  Delilah stood, balling her hands into fists as she stood before the alchemist. Master Agata knelt, lowering herself to eye level. “You’re mouthy but not unskilled from what I’ve been told. I can’t really blame you if you’re resentful toward all these rules that have never meant a pint of rat’s piss to you before. But, you’re here now, so make the best of things, eh?”

  Master Agata handed Delilah a scraper. “Clean these cauldrons as best you can. Somewhere in that pile is a tub you can dump the worst of the gunk into, if you find anything that’s still squishy.”

  The older woman stood, bracing her back with her hands. “I’ll tell you both what I tell everyone who has this duty: it’s hard work, even horrible at times, but there are far worse masters under whom you could be punished. Be thankful, and tell everyone”—she pointed alternately at Katka and Delilah—“how I’m a horrible old witch and you’d rather gnaw your own fingers off than work for me again.”

  Delilah looked over at Katka, who, wide-eyed, regarded Master Agata.

  “Now, what are you two going to tell the other initiates?”

  “That you’re horrible?”

  Delilah understood. “You’re a horrible, old, wrinkled, withered witch. I’ll chew my and my brother’s fingers off before I do a damned thing for you again.”

  Master Agata tipped her head and winked. “Just so. I’ll be back when it’s time for your midday meal.” The older woman left Delilah and the young woman alone.

  Katka grabbed her chisel and jabbed at her cauldron. Delilah dug into the multi-colored goo as well. So, not everyone here bows and scrapes before the archmage. I can work with this.

  * * *

  As he shifted in his saddle and attempted to find a comfortable position, Pancras reflected that one night in a warm, soft bed was insufficient. Even his worst guesses about what awaited him at the Arcane University didn’t include being sent away as soon as he arrived. As if it weren’t exhausting enough having to travel several months to Muncifer for only a few minutes with the archmage, he was now required to travel back all that way and then some.

  At least winter is over.

  The setting sun warmed his back as they rode away from Muncifer, the clip-clop of Stormheart’s hooves muffled by the damp earth of the trade road. Edric rode ahead of him, and by the way the dwarf’s head bobbed, it appeared as though he was asleep in the saddle. The rattle of Gisella’s armor and gear behind him was a constant reminder of the penalty should he not fulfill his obligation, although the enchantment cast upon him by the archmage made it difficult for him to desire anything but arriving in Vlorey as soon as possible.

  They rode until dusk and then moved off the road to set up camp. As Pancras tied up Stormheart for the night, he caught a flash on the horizon, a glint of light at the point at which the setting sun touched the earth. It winked and jounced and then disappeared as the last bit of sun dipped below the horizon. He’d heard of perfect situations over water where the setting sun caused a green flash at the horizon, but not over land.

  “See something?” Gisella walked her horse over next to Pancras and Stormheart, secured her, and unbuckled her saddle.

  “A burst of light. A glimmer, really. It’s probably nothing, just a trick.”

  Gisella strained to focus on the horizon. “Light reflecting off armor perhaps? By the road?”

  “Possibly. Do you think someone is following us?”

  Gisella stared at the horizon for a moment. The King waned in the sky while the Queen had not yet risen. The Plow ascended, and all the stars which composed the constellation were fully visible.

  “I doubt it. I can’t imagine who, unless your draks have decided to follow. That would be very unwise on your sorcerer friend’s part.”

  Pancras felt confident Delilah would do the right thing, despite her grumbling. Still, he kept silent on the subject. “Soldiers on patrol, perhaps?”

  Gisella rubbed her horse’s nose and fed him an apple. “That seems likely. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  Pancras agreed. He wouldn’t have brought it up if she hadn’t broached the subject first. Stormheart nickered and nuzzled Gisella, looking for a treat. Pancras hadn’t thought to buy anything of that nature. Fortunately for Stormheart, Gisella had another apple she fed to him.

  Pancras joined Edric in building a fire. Scattered clouds blowing overhead blocked some of the stars, but the fine spring evening was otherwise unmarred by poor weather. The next morning, clouds rolled in, chasing them from the mountains in the west. Rumbling thunder threatened a downpour. The three travelers rode on, aware that outrunning the rain was a futile task, but making the effort nonetheless.

  * * *

  Between being chased out of the undercity by a mob of crazed draks and worrying about his sister, Kale didn’t have much of an appetite. It was a fact not lost on his mate. Kali eyed him over their plates of food, her brow furrowed in worry.

  “What am I going to do? I can’t just stay inside the rest of my life. You should have seen them. They thought I was some god or something.” Kale pushed the meat around on his plate with his fork.

  “Maybe if they see you doing mundane things enough, they’ll start to leave you alone.” Kali gestured for the barkeep to bring another bottle of wine. “Today is the Spring’s Dawning Festival. Maybe it’ll be busy enough people won’t pay attention to you.”

  “I guess I could get a really big cloak. Maybe wear… clothes.” The thought churned in his stomach. He was warm enough without draping rags on himself like humans did. He would be miserable bundled up like that.

  Kali rubbed the top of his snout. “Won’t cover up the stripes on your head.”

  “I’ll only go out at night. If anyone asks, I’ll just say it’s a trick of the light.” Kale didn’t like the idea of slinking in the shadows. If anything, it might draw more attention to him.

  She rubbed his hand as he played with his food. “I don’t think you’re going to be happy with that.”

  “Maybe I’ll just stay up here for now.”

  Kali nodded and smiled. “There’s plenty we can explore up here. Maybe we can spy on your sister a bit while she practices her magic.”

  Kale perked up, slapping his hand on the table as a grin appeared on his face. “Yeah, maybe. We can snoop around there tomorrow and see what we can find out.”

  Kale’s appetite returned swiftly at the thought of sneaking to spy on his sister. Humans and minotaurs weren’t impressed by his stripes, and though they regarded his wings with curiosity, none of them ever mobbed him the way the draks in Honeywater or in the undercity did. The night passed more slowly than Kale imagined it could, and when it was time to break their fasts, he wolfed down his meal and dragged Kali away from the table even as she grabbed the final scraps.

  Finding the Arcane University proved to be the easiest part of the day. Everyone knew where it was located. While most of Muncifer was built on, down, and around cliffs and crags, the Arcane University was located in a newer part of the city that encompassed relatively flat land near the south side of the city. Taller than some of the nearby buildings, a smooth, grey stone wall surrounded it. The wrought iron and ornately decorated gates were guarded by frowning men wearing tabards emblazoned with the Arcane University’s sigil. With furrowed brows and perpetual scowls, the guards watched pedestrians pass by, occasionally commenting to each other and shooing away those dressed in tattered rags who jingled coin-filled cups at anyone making eye contact.

  “Do you think they’ll let us in the front
gate to watch them practice?” Kali leaned against a wall as she eyed the guards.

  “Probably not. I guess we can ask, though.” Kale had observed his sister perform sorcery most of his life, but he was curious as to how the Arcane University would teach a drak who believed she already knew everything.

  As soon as he approached the gate, the guards snapped to attention. “What’s your business here?”

  Kale peered around them, searching for any sign of Delilah. “My sister is a student here. I wanted to watch her practice.”

  The guard dismissed him with a wave. “Get out of here, Drak. No visitors and no spectators. Find your entertainment elsewhere.”

  Kali pulled him away from the gate. “That figures. Let’s go this way.”

  She led him around the side of the compound. The crowds were sparser than at the front of the university, but no one paid any mind to the two draks. None of the nearby buildings were as tall as the surrounding wall, and all the trees were carefully trimmed to keep branches away from the top of the fortification. Kale ran his hand along the stones as they walked. They were as smooth as glass, yet opaque.

  “It’s almost like they don’t want anyone seeing what goes on in there.”

  “Secretive lot, wizards.” Kali gazed up toward the top of the barrier. She tried to gain a foothold, but her claws slid down the façade. They continued to circle the campus, seeking some flaw in construction to exploit. At the rear of the compound, many buildings were built right up against the barrier, but they were too short to reach the top of it, even if Kale and Kali climbed onto their roofs.

  When they reached the front of the compound, they reversed and retraced their path. Kale thought he heard a scraping sound behind him. When he scanned the area, he saw only citizens of Muncifer going about their business. He smacked the wall with his palm.

  “Hey!” The voice was a whisper. For a moment, Kale wasn’t sure he even heard it over the din of the crowd. Then he spotted a cloaked and hooded man waving from the shadows of an alley. He gestured again when Kale brought the man to Kali’s attention.

 

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