Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) (40 page)

“Oh. Others don’t? Red and black,
right?” Ori licked his lips and nodded.

“Even my brother thinks he’s
black with red stripes. I stopped correcting him when we were still
hatchlings.”

Delilah watched as Ori put away
the book he showed her. She wanted to trust this drak, who was clearly more
educated than most she encountered. It would look bad for Kale to evict his
tenant the same day he set up shop just because he had to leave.
Maybe the
traps will be enough.

She stepped over to him and took
his hands in hers. She concentrated and pulled together just enough energy to
cause swirling blue and golden tendrils to dance around their hands. “There’s a
locked door, just down the hall. That’s where my stuff is. Guard it with your
life if need be.”

Ori’s eyes widened as he stared
at the rope-like wisps enveloping their hands. His mouth moved, but no words
escaped. Then he gulped and nodded. Delilah allowed the tendrils to fade away.
She hadn’t placed a geas on him, the display was just for show, but she counted
on the fact that he didn’t know that.

Delilah slapped him on the
shoulder. “Relax! No one except my brother and his mate even know I have
anything valuable stored in their home. Well, no one except them and you.” She
offered him a smile.

Ori giggled. “Oh. Why don’t you
have wings, too? Stripes are pretty special, don’t get me wrong, but—”

“That’s a long story. He wasn’t
born with them. What do you know about the chaos from which the world formed?”

“Oh! Chaos! Umm… nothing,
actually. I’ve heard the word, that’s all.”

Delilah parted her lips to tell
the story just as the door opened. Kale and Kali entered, each carrying bulging
sacks.

“We’re back! We have everything
you need, Deli!”

“You didn’t frighten poor Ori too
badly, did you?” Kali winked at Delilah as she walked past.

“Oh! No, she didn’t. I think
she’s amazing.”

Delilah grunted and regarded the
ceiling as her brother elbowed her, jerked his head toward Ori, and grinned.
Delilah snatched the sack from Kale’s claws and shoved him.

“I don’t need your help, Kale.
Thanks for the rocks.” She left her brother to deal with Ori and followed Kali
to the door that led downstairs.

Kali handed her the key.
“Hopefully, your brother knows what he’s doing. We haven’t tested this.”

“Gee, thanks.” Delilah wasn’t too
worried. If her brother knew anything, it was about locks and traps. Delilah’s
only concern was that he was too distracted by his mate to do his job properly.
She turned the key in the lock. An impressive number of tumblers and latches
released, far more than were indicated by the deceptively primitive lock on the
front of the door.

She pulled the door open. The
backside was covered in a complex lock mechanism. “I am officially impressed.
He’s never done work this intricate before.”

“I think that puzzle box is
affecting him. We can’t figure out any more of it, but he often watches those
clockwork mechanisms before we go to sleep.” Kali held up her sack of crystals.
“Need this?”

“Yes. I could use a hand, if you
don’t mind.”

Kali recoiled in surprise. “Me?
Sure! Leave the boys to their business.” She pulled the door closed behind
them, and the latches clicked and locked the door.

Delilah examined the key in her
hand. “I hope this opens it both ways.”

“It will.” Kali led the way down
the stairs. “It’s the only key, too, so we’re safe from them for a while.”

When they reached the bottom, the
gems in torch sconces burst into golden light. Kali gasped. “That’s different!
They weren’t that color before.”

Delilah had a suspicion their
appearance was connected with her earlier encounter with Gil-Li. “Maybe they
needed to warm up some. The last time we were here was probably the first time
they lit up in centuries.”

“You think?”

Delilah spread out the crystals
Kale and Kali acquired for her. They brought hammers, pitons, and sufficient
twine for Delilah to rig the place to fend off an army of curious treasure
seekers.

She cracked her knuckles and smiled.
“This will be just like old times in Drak-Anor. Let’s get to work!”

* * *

Pancras swung his leg over the
saddle horn as he mounted Stormheart. His steed nickered and stomped his feet,
eager to run in the open country once more. Pancras patted the horse’s muscular
neck and clucked his tongue to calm him. Gisella rode ahead on Moonsilver to
scout the countryside as Pancras waited for Qaliah. He suspected the fiendling
dawdled as a protest of sorts against leaving Edric to the whim of Curton’s
magistrate.

Earlier in the morning, Gisella
proceeded to the jail to determine if the fiendling decided to join them or
remain behind with Edric and returned with a sour-faced fiendling in tow. She
exited The Drunken Horse carrying her saddlebags as Lady Aveline walked up to
him.

“Good thing you’re leaving,
Bonelord.” Lady Aveline grabbed Stormheart’s reins. She fished in her pouch and
produced a treat for the horse. He nickered and flapped his lips over her
fingers to reach it.

“Trouble?” Pancras never liked to
hear someone was glad he was leaving, even if he, himself, was happy to depart.

“Piotr the smith was arrested
last night. It appears he did what you could not: he smothered his mother with
a pillow. They brought him in ranting about a Bonelord’s Curse.” She cocked an
eyebrow as she glanced up at him.

“I”—Pancras’s mouth was as dry as
a desert in drought—“I had nothing to do—” His heart pounded in his chest, and
a dark cloud passed over his thoughts. He wanted to help that woman, but
despite his pleas, she would have nothing to do with him. Now her light was
extinguished, taken by her very son.

“I realize that. Long has Piotr
been tormented by his mother’s affliction. Still”—Lady Aveline observed Qaliah
retrieve Comet and saddle him—“enough people overheard that, and there’ll be
talk. Best if you make yourself scarce.”

“We’re heading to Cliffport and
then Vlorey, so I doubt I’ll be back this way. Ever.”

At the mention of her homeland,
Lady Aveline stared skyward, and she sighed. “I haven’t been to Vlorey since my
parents and I left when I was a little girl. I wonder what it’s like now.
Probably different, yet the same.”

Pancras fished around in his
pouch and pulled out a gold crown. He offered it to Lady Aveline. “Edric has a
pony stabled. Yaffa. This should cover her stabling and care for a couple more
weeks.”

She blinked and shook her head.
“Look at me, becoming nostalgic. Thanks for trying to help the smith, Bonelord.
Sorry your visit to Curton wasn’t less eventful.” She took the coin from him.
“I’ll see to it the livery gets this.”

Qaliah rode Comet alongside
Pancras and Stormheart. “It seems everywhere this minotaur goes, something bad
happens.”

Pancras felt a shiver run down
his spine. Instinct told him to protest Qaliah’s words, but his heart felt the
truth. First, he was killed in Almeria. Then separated from his friends in
Muncifer. Then killed again at the fort. Once again, he separated from a
companion in Curton. Finally, his inability to help Nika burned like salt
poured into an open wound.

“Dolios watch over your journey.
Be vigilant near Dawnwatch Keep. It’s abandoned and crumbling. Might not be
safe.” Lady Aveline released Stormheart’s reins and waved them off.

Qaliah rode ahead of Pancras,
spurring Comet whenever he started to catch up. After the third time, the
minotaur realized she meant to evade him and contented himself with following
behind. He stewed in his dark thoughts. He wondered how often he would be
called upon to exercise his new power as a bonelord and how often he would fail.
When all he did was brew potions and create undead, he didn’t have to worry
about failure. He was well-trained and practiced all the proper techniques.

Life was simpler. Regimented.
Easy, even.

Now, his burden was to help
people. Not just friends, but strangers who would see him as a bonelord first
and minotaur second. Some would be suspicious of him, of course, but others
wouldn’t care; the reputation of a bonelord would precede him, and they would
have certain expectations.

How many more people are there
like Piotr the smith?
People who expected help from a bonelord. People he would
disappoint, because not everyone was as ready as their families were to have
them cross over.

A flash of light in the distance
caught his eye. Light from the rising sun reflected off Gisella’s armor as she
sat upon Moonsilver and waved to them from the crest of a hill. Qaliah returned
the wave and spurred Comet into a gallop, pulling farther away from Pancras.
The two women rode ahead, and Pancras trailed behind.

They rode in that manner most of
the morning, following the road that led east out of Curton. Near midday,
Gisella steered them off the road and over the rolling hills of the
countryside. Technically, these lands were part of Etrunia, though this far
south and east people were ignorant of the Almerian political situation, even
before the prince’s recent death. Mostly, the towns and villages fended for
themselves, protected themselves, and turned to Curton or Cliffport for
assistance only when situations became grave.

When they made camp that night,
Curton was well behind them, past the horizon. A clear sky allowed the summer
constellations to fill the sky in all their celestial glory. The King and Queen
made their way through the houses of the gods, and by their light, Pancras
noticed the dark shapes of a farm in the distance.

Qaliah approached him as he
groomed Stormheart. “Do you have a minute?”

“Certainly.” Pancras worked to
loosen a knot in his horse’s mane. He had not expected the fiendling to
approach him after she spent most of the day avoiding him.

“I heard what Edric said last
night.”

“Did you now?”

The fiendling nodded. “Even
whispers can echo off stone jail walls. Blondie told me about your history with
him. I thought you were closer than that.” She rubbed the velvet on the end of
Stormheart’s nose. “I may have been hasty in my judgement of you.”

Pancras ran his brush along his
steed’s muscular neck. “He was your friend. I understand.”

“I spoke to him briefly, last
night.” Qaliah rested her head against Stormheart’s flank. “He’s an outcast
like me. I think he feels like if he’s indentured, he’ll at least have
someplace to stay for a while.”

“Is that why you played the fool
in Muncifer?”

The fiendling straightened and
nodded. “Being indentured was better than rotting in jail. Playing the fool fed
me, kept me clothed, and sheltered at a time when turning tricks and robbery
were the only things between living and being face-down in a dark alley’s
gutter.”

“Life is cruel towards those of
us who don’t fit in with what most people consider normal.” Pancras felt a
twitch in his gut at the memory of his own tribulations. “I’m sorry about
Edric, but I suppose being indentured is preferable to living a life on the
run. Maybe he’ll find a home in Curton. The mudders seem to be the type of
people who could understand him.”

“I guess we all just want to be
accepted.” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “I’m told I can be capricious.”
She ran her hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face. “Like the fires
in which my forebears spawned, I suppose.”

“It’s in your nature.” Pancras’s
experience with the fiendlings in Drak-Anor told him Qaliah’s behavior, her
fickle, hedonistic personality, were normal.

“True enough. I just want you to
know, even if I get angry or annoyed with you and Blondie, I’m with you. This
quest… thing you’re doing… it’s… it’s my chance to do something good, something
worthwhile with my life. I want to help. I want to be a part of it.”

Pancras stopped untangling
Stormheart’s mane and met her eyes.

She reached out and touched his
arm, her grip heated, on the verge of causing discomfort. “I don’t want my
legacy to be nothing more than that of a prancing fool forced to debase herself
to keep from starving. I want my life to have meant something in the end.”

“I can understand that.” He
placed his good hand on top of hers. “The quality of our legacy is measured by
the lives we touch. The older I become, and now, especially, after what I’ve been
through, I realize that making a difference in someone’s life is the best good
we can do.”

Chapter 22

“I don’t expect us to be gone for
more than a week.” Kale handed Ori a box of brushes from the crate they
unloaded. “I guess you can use the hearth room if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry
about me. I intend to use this shop to do my work and ignore all the rest of
the building.” Ori placed the brushes behind the counter and reached into the
crate to retrieve a tray of inks.

“That’s probably wise. Even I
don’t mess with my sister’s stuff. Wizards are dangerous, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Speaking of your
sister,” Ori bit his lip and glanced up at Kale, “I don’t suppose she has a
mate back where you come from or at the Arcane University?”

Kale fought to keep a smile from
crossing his face. He thought briefly about Zarach, but since Delilah hadn’t
spoken of him since they left Drak-Anor last year, he shook his head. “No one I
know of. Of course, I don’t know what she does all day at the Arcane University.”

“Wizard business.” Ori spoke the
words as a solemn vow. He glanced down the hallway toward the door leading to
the cellar stairs. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me during your
journey? I’m a hard worker, loyal. I would never do anything to harm her in any
way.”

Kale chuckled. “You’ve only just
met. We’ve only just met. I don’t know a thing about you.” He poked Ori in the
chest. “You could be a spy for Boss Steelhand for all we know.”

Ori’s face dropped, and his
shoulders slumped. He shuffled to the next crate and nodded. “Oh. You have no
reason to trust me. I understand.”

“I just don’t want you to get
your hopes up. I’ll talk to her, sure. She’s always busy though, doing things,
wizard things. You know.”

“Oh. Okay.” Kale’s promise seemed
to lift Ori’s spirits a bit.

They spent the next few hours
unpacking and sorting through Ori’s tools and supplies. By the time Kali and
Delilah returned from the cavern, Ori declared the work done. “Good enough for
now. I’ll likely rearrange as I work out my routine.”

The once-empty storefront
resembled an artist’s studio. Even to Kale’s untrained eye, he noticed
improvements in the working conditions could be had by making minor adjustments
in the shop’s furniture and layout. He planned to leave that to Ori, though.

“So, are we leaving right away?
Kali and I still need to pack our gear.”

Delilah chewed one of her claws.
“I’d like to leave today, if possible. Gather your gear, and meet me at the
Arcane University gates. I have a few things I need to pick up from there
before we leave.”

“Sounds good.” Kale and Kali left
Ori to fidget with his supplies while they packed. Kale liked to travel light,
but he packed his puzzle box and a handful of dried, cured meat. He checked his
daggers and helped Kali buckle on her daggers and harness.

“Think I’ll need a cloak?”

Kale eyed his. “I won’t. The
mountain might be chilly, but it’s still summer.”

She rolled up one and shoved it
into her pack. Kali tossed Kale’s hat at him. “Don’t forget this. My mate must
be rakish and handsome if we’re going to meet a dragon.”

Ori was in the midst of sorting
through brushes and vials of ink when they left.

“We’ll be back. We’re trusting
you, Ori.”

The blue drak glanced up and
placed his hand across his chest. “I won’t let you down. You’ll return to find
everything exactly as you left it. I promise.”

Kale hoped the drak was as good
as his word. As they made their way through the markets of the undercity, Kale
noticed the other draks still stared, though they made far less of a commotion
than they used to. The potato-cart-pushing minotaur’s eyes widened when he
noticed them, but when no other draks rushed them, he relaxed a little and
grunted an acknowledgement as Kale and Kali passed him.

Before leaving the undercity,
Kali stopped at a weaponsmith. She browsed through the selection of drak-forged
swords. “If there’s a chance we’ll have to fight giants, I want something with
a bigger bite than a dagger.”

Kale sympathized, but he decided
to stick with the daggers in his bandoleer. He never trained with anything else
and didn’t want to be responsible for injuring one of his friends or his mate
in the heat of battle. He pulled his cloak over his head and wrapped it tight
around him while his mate selected a single-edged blade that pitched forward
toward the point. The grip was styled in the shape of a nailtooth head.

The drak weaponsmith, a lanky
fellow with midnight-blue scales, rubbed his black-clawed hands together. “Ah,
my finest falcata. Note the grip: the finest oil-rubbed walnut, and the spine
reinforcement is forged brass.”

Kali swung the weapon through the
air a few times. The grip fit her hand perfectly. “How much?”

“Ten crowns.”

“Ten?” Kali sheathed the blade
and thrust it at him. “Nonsense. Take it, you swindler!”

“Ten is a bargain! I sold the
last one to a stupid human for fifteen crowns.” He made no move to take the
weapon from her.

Kali examined the grip closely.
“It’s not worth more than six. There’s pitting on these rivets.”

“Oh, you wound me!” The
weaponsmith clutched his chest and staggered backward. “I have a mate and three
hatchlings to feed. You would see them starve tonight?” He recovered and
snatched the weapon from her. Peering at the rivets on the hilt, he snorted.
“These aren’t pits! They’re depictions of The Bear!”

The constellation associated with
Adranus, god of craftsmen, The Bear was often depicted in subtle ways by smiths
to honor him. Kale put his hand on the weapon. “Look, we’re in a rush. We’ll
give you seven crowns. You wouldn’t want her to go into giant territory with
just those puny daggers, would you?”

“The Striped One!” The
weaponsmith’s eyes widened in awe. Kale caught him before he dropped to his
knees.

“None of that. I’m just a regular
drak, like you.”

“You are He with Wings, the
Striped One! You will deliver us from our oppressors!”

For a moment, Kale was tempted to
ask for the weapon for no charge. Instead, he shook his head. “No, no, no.
Those are just stories. Look, we just want to buy the sword, and we’ll be on
our way. Six crowns is too much, but my mate is offering seven.”

The weaponsmith chomped his teeth
together and grumbled. “I’ll give it to you for eight.”

Kali took the falcata from the
weaponsmith. “Eight, plus you throw in a whetstone.”

“Deal!”

The two draks paid the
weaponsmith, gathered their purchases, and rushed to make up lost time, weaving
in, out, and around the legs of humans and minotaurs alike as they dashed to
the upper city. Delilah waited for them by the university gates. The human girl
waited with her, playing with the hem of her grey robe.

“You’re bringing a human?” Kale
spoke in Drak. He was sure that wasn’t what his sister meant when she told him
she had a few things to pick up.

“The archmage said I could take
some resources from the university to help me, so Katka is going as my
assistant.”

“She’s still wearing novice
robes.” Kali cocked her head.

“I understand some Drak, you
know.” Katka crossed her arms over her chest.

Kale felt heat rush into his
face. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s going to be dangerous.”

“And you want to make sure I’m
not a liability, right?”

Delilah patted Katka on the
shoulder. “Kali, don’t worry about her. I wouldn’t bring her along if I thought
she wasn’t ready. Two wizards are better than one, and there’s no one else I
trust.”

Kale shrugged. “Fine with me,
really. I’m thrilled she doesn’t tower over us to be honest. It’s always hard
to sneak around when there’s someone twice your size hanging over you.” He
wasn’t sure if Katka was short or if she was so young that she had not finished
growing. He hoped it was the former. Hatchlings had no business trekking into
the mountains in search of a dragon. Katka was taller than a drak, but nowhere
near the height of the university guards or even Pancras.

Shielding her eyes with her hand,
Delilah checked the sky. “Let’s get moving. If we hurry, we might be able to
reach the base of the mountain trail before dusk.”

They stopped at the stables on
their way out of Muncifer to pick up their lizard mounts. Katka marveled at the
sight of Fang, Blackclaw, and Taavi. Nailtooth lizards were a rare sight in
Muncifer. The lizards bounced from foot to foot and hissed as the draks saddled
and mounted up, eager to stretch their legs.

“My family’s farm is just outside
of town.” Katka pointed to the northwest. “I’ll go retrieve my horse and catch
up with you tonight. They won’t eat him, will they?”

Delilah patted Fang’s neck and
shook her head. “I’ve been conjuring boggins for them to eat, so they should
leave your horse alone.

“You’re pretty small for a
human.” Kali fought to keep her mount from rearing. “I’ll bet Taavi can carry
us both. It’ll be faster, and we won’t have to worry about keeping the lizards
from having a horse snack.”

Katka wrapped her arms around
herself and furrowed her brow. “I’ve never ridden double on a lizard before.”

“Me neither.” Kali reached behind
to her saddle bag and pulled out a blanket. She held it out to Katka. The girl
folded the blanket and tucked the edge under the back of the saddle before
settling in behind Kali, and the three draks spurred their mounts into a run.
Despite the extra weight, Taavi kept up with Fang and Blackclaw. After a few
hours, they increased their pace across the rolling farmland west of Muncifer.

Kale felt energized to be out of
the city and on the move again. Invigorated by the possibilities the wider
world offered, part of him was tempted to engaged in endless exploration; he
wanted to keep riding and never turn back. The thought was fleeting, however,
as he enjoyed the comforts of home more than his bedroll.

As dusk fell, the city became a
dot on the western horizon, and snow-capped mountains filled the view ahead.
The deeply rutted dirt road servicing nearby farms gave way to a trail few
wagons or carts traveled. The trail cut an irregular, dirty scar through a sea
of green grasses and brush of the foothills and overlooked a creek that carried
cool, mountain snowmelt down to the Icymist River.

They made camp on the banks of
the creek, in a hollow carved out of a hill by a flood many years earlier. The
lizards’ claws clicked on the rocks as they shuffled, eager for their evening
feeding. Delilah and Katka took care of the nailtooths while Kale and Kali set
up camp. By the time the wizards returned, Kale tended a roaring fire as Kali
skinned a pair of rabbits she’d hunted. Fatigue and full bellies ushered them
to sleep under constellations wheeling above in the night sky.

* * *

Another day and a half of riding
passed before they saw the ruins of what Gisella assumed was Dawnwatch Keep.
They passed to the north of the keep, its crumbling walls marking what was once
the eastern edge of Etrunia. The furthest outpost from the throne in Almeria,
it appeared not to have been occupied for some time. A tower stood at each of
the four corners of the outer wall, monuments to Etrunia’s negligence of the
far reaches of her realm.

A chestnut tree protruded through
the keep’s roof, its canopy providing shade to at least a third of the
structure. Two squirrels chased each other up the tree’s trunk, disappearing
into the leaves

“Is this the place Lady Aveline
told us to avoid?” Pancras halted Stormheart next to Gisella and Moonsilver.

“Dawnwatch.” “It doesn’t look so
bad.” Qaliah trotted up on Comet. She spun her horse around. “Run down, but not
dangerous.”

“It must have been abandoned for
decades.” Moonsilver stomped her feet and whinnied as Gisella stroked the
mare’s neck.

“With the tree taking over part
of the keep, and those crumbling walls”—Pancras shook his head—“the whole thing
could come down at any time.”

Gisella glanced upward toward the
sun. “We still have several hours of daylight, so there’s no need to stop here
anyway. If we push hard, we can probably reach Cliffport by tomorrow evening.”

They spurred their horses and
pushed on. The lands between Dawnwatch and Cliffport were not officially
claimed by anyone, though most assumed they belonged to Etrunia. Cliffport
itself was a free city, unbeholden to any crown, save for that of its
Merchant-Prince. Gisella visited once, years ago while she tracked a rogue
wizard.

She found Cliffport to be
unremarkable and dull. A massive temple to Nethuns and a few shrines to other
gods dotted the city’s center, but the harbor defined it. Surrounded by cliffs
and protected by watchtowers carved into those same cliffs, the city lived and
died by its maritime trade. Almost everyone who lived there supported
themselves by providing services to the sailors and traders who passed through.

Despite its single focus,
Cliffport was more cosmopolitan than Curton. Traders came from all races:
dwarves, elves, minotaurs, draks, and humans. Gisella saw a handful of cathar,
bird-folk from the Western Wastes, on her last visit. Far from home, they were
eager to bring back all manner of goods from more fertile lands.