Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2)

by Hans Cummings

  “Proceed,” they intoned as one.

  “Initiate Delilah.” Master Galina gestured toward the Blood Oak. “There is one box remaining in the tree. Use your magic to retrieve it, please.”

  Yeah, sure. I’ll just wish it over here. Delilah lacked experience in both levitation and telekinesis. She tapped the butt of her staff on the grass and gathered the threads of magic to her as she thought. She had an idea, but she didn’t know if it would be accepted. Better to fail trying then to not try at all, I suppose.

  “Ageliofedros.” A glowing blue bogging popped into existence at Delilah’s feet. As she knelt before it, she heard the crowd murmur and giggle. “Tell Conner I need his help. Ask if he’ll come to me, please.”

  The boggin yipped and ran into the crowd, stopping in front of the dark-skinned boy. Master Galina cleared her throat and turned to the reviewing stand. “I do not see how this is relevant to the test.”

  Black eyed White and then addressed Master Galina. “Let it play out.”

  “She has not failed yet.” White nodded in agreement.

  Conner stepped over to Delilah, his brow furrowed with concern. His eyes darted from Delilah to Master Galina, to the reviewing stand, and back. “I’m here. Master Galina?”

  “Well? Proceed, Initiate Delilah.”

  Delilah chuckled and looked up at Conner. “I can’t quite reach it. Can you retrieve that box for me? Please? I’ll owe you an ale or something.”

  The novice stammered and looked at the tree.

  “Get on with it, Novice.”

  Conner pulled a wand out of his robes. Emerald energy swirled around him. “Dynami antikeimeno kalesei.” The wooden box in the tree shuddered and then flew through the air toward him in a lazy arc. He put his wand in his pocket and caught the box. Then, he passed it to Delilah. He bowed to the reviewing stand and returned to his place in the crowd.

  Delilah placed the box at Master Galina’s feet. The wizard drew her lips tight and shook her head. “I do not believe that is the correct solution to this part of the trial.”

  Tapping from the reviewing stand drew their attention. Black and White again stood, and, in succession, addressed Master Galina.

  “An improper solution. Unintended.”

  “A clever use of resources.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  Delilah licked her lips. Master Galina nudged her. “Well? The high wizards have addressed you.”

  “I was not taught levitation or telekinesis. I don’t know how to work that kind of magic.”

  White looked at Black. “Did not learn?”

  “Who taught you what you know and not that?”

  “I taught myself. The archmage sure hasn’t cared to teach me anything.”

  The crowd gasped and murmured until they were silenced by Black’s upraised hand. “Proceed with the final test.”

  Master Galina sighed and shook her head. She pointed at the training dummies. “You’ve seen what the other students did. Can you do that, at least?”

  I’ll show her. Delilah snorted and stepped toward the targets. She reached deep within her and concentrated. Normally, she didn’t focus the type of magic she prepared to perform too tightly, but she desired both precision and effect. The azure tendrils near the top of her staff swirled and coiled around her head. “Synnefotone shifone!”

  A cloud of whirling blades appeared around the training dummy. Wood splintered as they tore into it, sending great clumps of hay into the air and shredding the stand to which the dummy was attached. When Delilah dismissed the effect, nothing remained where the dummy stood, save a ragged stump.

  The crowd stood in stunned silence. In the distance, a lone bird chirped. Then, applause and cheers erupted from the assembled students. Delilah turned to the crowd and bowed. When she faced Master Galina once more, the older woman regarded Delilah with a sour expression.

  “Not exactly what we were looking for, but I cannot argue with the results.”

  “Impressive conjuration.”

  “Not in our curriculum for initiates. Well done.”

  Master Galina quieted the crowd. She reviewed her checklist. “You are lacking several key skills, yet seem to excel in other, more advanced areas. You will remain an initiate until you can pass the trials in the intended fashion.”

  “What? Pacha’s blue balls, you smooth-skinned—” Delilah bit her tongue to avoid issuing curses some of the younger initiate probably shouldn’t hear until they were older. Master Galina’s sour face tightened. Delilah wasn’t sure if it was possible for a human to frown hard enough to split the skin and slough it off their skulls, but she had a feeling she was about to find out.

  “The drak’s knowledge is incomplete.”

  “Her time studying this week has been wasted.”

  “What studying?” Delilah stepped past Master Galina and addressed the Black and White Wizards directly. “Archmage Ma—the archmage has done nothing but lecture me about the history of the university and arcane focus creation for the past week. The only time I’ve spent with any of the masters was the first day when I scrubbed cauldrons for Master Agata. No one has even tried to teach me—”

  The Black Wizard stood and raised his hand. “That will be remedied.”

  The White Wizard nodded his assent. “You will be remanded to a master for private instruction to bring your basic skills up to the level they need to be to pass the Initiate Trials.”

  “I volunteer!” A melodious voice rose above the murmurs of the crowd. A slender, nut-brown-skinned man stepped forward. His pointed ears swept upward, poking through his dark, mossy hair.

  An elf? Oh, fantastic. Delilah rubbed her snout and sighed. This gets better and better. Despite warming relations with Celtangate, Delilah never cared much for the elven traders who came to Drak-Anor. They all seemed very aloof and self-important to her.

  “Master Valyrian.” Master Galina bowed. “Good to see you back safely.”

  “Indeed! I will teach this drak what she needs to learn. Her skills are quite advanced from what I’ve seen here today, but she is lacking in some appalling ways.” He stepped around Delilah as he spoke, ogling her in a way that made her feel like a piece of meat in a shop window.

  “Very well.” Master Galina faced the crowd. “Congratulations to our new novices. Those of you who failed, study hard and do not be discouraged. The arcane arts require practice and skill. We will hold more trials one week from today. Be ready!”

  Master Valyrian patted Delilah on the shoulder and gestured for her to follow him. She rolled her eyes at the elf and caught Katka’s reassuring gaze as she passed. The elf’s tone was too cheerful for Delilah’s taste as he walked alongside her. “Come, Initiate Delilah! You have a week left as an initiate, so let’s make the most of it.”

  * * *

  The fire crackled and popped as stars appeared in the moonless sky. Gisella squatted by a pot hanging over the fire and stirred the stew within. Pancras removed the gilded tips of his horns and polished them with a rag while Edric wrangled their horses. Smiling, Qaliah leaned against the tree, observing the dwarf’s struggles.

  Gisella’s hair was unbound now, and Pancras understood why she was called the Golden Slayer. Her blonde locks fell past her shoulders and glowed like molten gold in the reflected firelight. The same reflected light danced across the scales of her armor. It was mesmerizing in a way. She caught Pancras staring at her and flashed a lopsided grin.

  “Admiring the view?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and banged the spoon on the edge of the pot. Gisella stepped over to Pancras and sat down, leaning against her saddle.

  “I was contemplating the Golden Slayer, yes.” Pancras held the gold tip up to the light. Satisfied it was as clean as it could be, he fitted it over the tip of his horn. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “Thank you.” Gisella tilted her head in gratitude. “I pride myself on defying expectations. I do my job well, make no mistake. I’m a Watchmaiden. I know how to fight
, but that doesn’t mean I cannot enjoy life as well. There’s no need to be dour all the time, especially if one has a reputation as a fierce warrior.”

  Dwarvish cursing filled the air as Edric struggled with the horses. Pancras glanced his way to make sure the dwarf wasn’t in over his head. As Edric secured them for the night, he seemed to be frustrated rather than actually in trouble. Qaliah offered suggestions that seemed to compound Edric’s difficulties.

  Deciding he would be a hindrance if he offered to help Edric, Pancras returned his attention to Gisella. “One could mistake you for two different people.”

  “One face I wear when dealing with The Manless and the other slayers”—Gisella’s eyes narrowed—“or when I’m hunting renegades.” Her smile returned. “The other is for everyone else. Only my enemies need fear me, and thus far, I do not count you among them. You’ve been pleasantly cooperative. For that, I thank you.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Pancras fitted the second tip over his horn.

  “So”—Gisella wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned forward—“what gods do you pray to?”

  The question took Pancras by surprise. The last thing he expected from this feminine warrior was a discussion on theology. “Aita.” He shook his head. “But I seldom pray to her. She doesn’t listen.” The goddess of death and the underworld had little time for the concerns of the living.

  Edric stepped over to the stew pot and stirred the contents before sitting down. “Damned horses, and damn that fiendling.”

  As if on cue, Qaliah joined them at the fire. She laughed and slapped Edric’s shoulder. “Most people think I’m damned already, Edric.”

  Gisella glanced over at Edric. “How about you, Dwarf? What gods’ ears do you bend?”

  Edric looked up. “Eh? Oh, I sometimes visit shrines to Aurora and Pacha. When I’m tense.” Pancras guessed exactly what Edric meant.

  “Indeed.” Gisella raised an eyebrow as she regarded the dwarf. “I’ll bet you’re the life of the party.”

  “Oh, aye. I’ve been ejected from me clan and banished from me home.”

  “Aurora and Pacha, eh? Sex and spirits! Good choices.” Qaliah laughed and nudged Edric. He scowled and moved away from her. “I like them when I need to unwind, too. Nothing like grabbing a bottle of Pacha’s finest and seeking ‘enlightenment’ from a comely lad or lass of Aurora.”

  “There’s more to the worship of Aurora than carnal pleasures, Qaliah. I would gladly expound on that later for you.” Gisella returned her gaze to the minotaur. “I would have expected you to revere Selene, Pancras. Any particular reason you do not?”

  Pancras cleared his throat. He respected the goddess of magic, but truth be told, he gave little more than lip service to any of the gods and goddesses watching over Calliome. “No reason in particular. My studies drew me to Aita.”

  “What exactly drew you to follow the dark path of necromancy?” Gisella drew her legs closer to her. “Is that a tale you’re willing to share?”

  The minotaur chuckled. “It is not much of a tale. I was angry at first. My ostracism at my choice of lovers and his subsequent death… I suppose I wanted revenge on the world. When I realized what was actually required of me, I adjusted my goals.”

  “How so?”

  “A friend once told me I had too much heart to be a proper necromancer, so I dedicated my studies instead to learning how best to thwart them. It was necessary to learn their ways. Plus, our ruler at the time demanded expendable soldiers. Animated skeletons filled that demand perfectly. Eventually, I chose to limit my animations only to those who gave their consent prior to death. Many minotaurs in Drak-Anor were all too eager to continue to serve beyond their demise.

  “Drak-Anor’s current ruler finds undead distasteful, so once again I shifted my focus, now to alchemy. And what about you, Slayer?” Pancras decided to determine how much of Gisella’s pleasant act was a mask hiding her true self. “To whom do you dedicate your kills?”

  That radiant smile fell, and Gisella eyed her feet. “I don’t dedicate my kills. I don’t revel in the victory. I pray to Adranus for the strength to see my tasks through and to Anetha for the wisdom to know when I must let my spear speak instead of my mouth. But… I seem to be in good company. Aurora is my patron.” She looked up at Pancras, a glint in her eye. “I know many archmages used the slayers for vendettas, their own personal murder squads. I believe The Manless thinks of us as assassins, but there is good to be had in the hunting of renegades. Most of them are malevolent; yet, I have still given every one I have hunted a second chance.”

  Pancras swallowed and fought to keep from revealing his guilt on his face. “My apologies. My previous encounters with slayers were all with men of dubious ethics and more than a little bloodlust.” He crossed his hand over his chest and bowed as deeply as he could from a seated position.

  “There are many such men in our ranks. Women, too. They probably outnumber slayers like me, who kill only to save the lives the renegades would otherwise take.” Gisella sighed. “It can be a harsh world.”

  “The strong are always preying on the weak and unfortunate.” Qaliah spat into the fire. “Pick the wrong pocket, and you end up dancing for a wizard’s amusement.”

  “I, for one, am relieved you can speak in more than just rhymes.” Pancras smiled at Qaliah.

  The fiendling stuck out her tongue at Pancras. “Do you know how difficult that was? I slipped a few times in front of the archmage, and he tried to have me turned into a frog.”

  “He is a petty, vindictive man.” Gisella stood and checked on the stew again before returning to her seat.

  Pancras decided to satisfy his curiosity. “Why is he called ‘Manless’?”

  “I can guess.” Edric snorted.

  “There are several stories about that.” Gisella stretched and yawned. “The most popular one is that he tried to have his way with me and I un-manned him.” She made a flicking motion with her hand. “A flick of my wrist and away went his ability to sire children or enjoy the company of a woman.”

  From the corner of his eye, Pancras noticed Edric cringe and cross his legs. Qaliah sneered and then giggled. “A king’s rod isn’t the only thing making a man a man, though. I hear one of the other masters was born a woman and lives as a man, searching for the transmutation spell that will make his transformation complete.”

  “True enough.” Gisella placed her hand on her chest. “I cannot say which, of course, he entrusted me in confidence.”

  The fiendling shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I heard the same story about Manless. I have to applaud you for that.”

  Pancras eyed Gisella. She shook her head to Qaliah’s response. “That’s not the truth, though. It’s only partly true. He did proposition me a few times, but he never tried to force himself on me. The girl he forced himself on caught him off guard. Then he throttled her. By the time we responded to her screams, she was dead, and it was his word against that of a corpse. He claimed she mutilated him out of hate, spite, and/or jealousy. Pick one.”

  The Golden Slayer sighed. “We all suspected the truth, but we couldn’t prove it. So, one girl died, and her killer went on to become archmage, albeit one with a nickname he loathes.”

  “Sad though it is, not everyone gets justice.” Pancras sympathized with the girl. Gisella’s story and candid contempt for the archmage redoubled his fears about leaving Delilah under Archmage Vilkan’s tutelage. I hope she’s all right.

  Chapter 10

  Kale missed his sister. He’d been separated from her before but never in such close proximity without a means of contacting her. He tried to pass a note to the guards for her, but they refused him. Thus far, he’d been unable to convince the owners of the taller buildings to let him onto their roofs. He propped up his head with one hand as he stirred his bowl of porridge with the other.

  The tavern down the street from The Granite Anvil was now like a second home to him and Kali, and as he sat in front of the crackling hea
rth, he flapped his wings to cool his back. The din of the other patrons in the tavern provided a pleasant background noise, and he didn’t notice when it was replaced by insistent yipping.

  He glanced up. Standing in the center of the table was a glowing, blue sphere of fuzz with feet. It yipped once more. “Mistress Delilah would like to inform you that she expects to be stuck with the stuffy human wizardlings for at least another week before she’ll be permitted to leave the compound. She hopes you’re doing well.”

  It disappeared in a puff of azure smoke. Kale slumped in his chair. He shoved the porridge around in his bowl while he contemplated Delilah’s message. The din of conversation in the tavern resumed as the other patrons realized the show was over.

  “Look at this!” Kali slapped a large piece of paper onto the table in front of him. He recognized the words were printed in the common trade language. He pushed it toward her.

  “I never learned to read that language. Everything we have in Drak-Anor is written in Drak or Minotaur.” He brought the spoon to his mouth. Stirring the porridge for half an hour did not improve its flavor, and now it was cold, as well.

  Kali pulled a chair close to Kale. “It’s a broadsheet. I got it in the undercity. It talks about the miracle of the winged, striped drak, and, get this: it mentions another striped drak, a sorceress. The drak who wrote it says she’s going to give him the scoop on Drak-Anor.”

  “When did he talk to Deli?” Kale examined the paper in Kali’s hands and wished he’d taken the time to learn the written trade language.

  “Probably when she was down there with Pancras, shopping. Look, I had an idea.” Kali set aside the broadsheet. “The undercity runs under the whole city, right?”

  “I guess.” Kale just assumed it did.

  “I’ll bet we can enter the Arcane University from below. Like we snuck around in Almeria.”

  “Oh, speaking of that, Deli sent me a message.” Kale told her about the message from the boggin. “She sent it right before you got back.”