Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1) (34 page)

* * *

Attuning to
the rod was not as difficult as Pancras expected, although the rod itself was
rather plain for his tastes. It was made from a single piece of hard wood,
perhaps oak or ironwood, with a simple brass cap affixed on one end. From what
Pancras deciphered, the arcane runes scratched into the wood appeared to be
related to the control of arcane constructs.

Pancras
preferred more flashy implements: an ivory scepter or polished bone with a cap
depicting a mouth or a geometric design. He decided the runes would have to go.
Attunement took most of the evening, but when he went to bed, he felt confident
it would work as well as the gilded horn tips he had used for decades.

In the
morning, he planned to let Delilah sleep while he took his morning constitutional
in the cold and tracked down Lady Milena. The sorceress, however, had other
plans. She was already awake and studying her grimoire in the armchair by the
time Pancras dressed and emerged from his room.

"Feeling
better today, Delilah?" Pancras opened the food lift and removed the tray
the servants sent up while he was still in bed. He poured himself a goblet of
mulled wine.

"I'm no
longer exhausted." Without looking up, she turned the page.

The answer
wasn't exactly the response Pancras sought, but he decided to let it lie.
"I will be just outside if you need me."

Delilah
closed her grimoire. "I'll come with you, if that's okay."

Although it
surprised Pancras, he didn't have a problem with Delilah tagging along;
however, he didn't think she would find it particularly invigorating. Together,
they entered the corridor. Scattered clouds covered the skies over Almeria. A
light breeze was enough to scatter wisps of snow off the tops of the buildings
but didn't add to the chill of the morning air. Pancras leaned on the ledge and
looked out over the city. Delilah climbed up and sat on the ledge next to him.

"So
what do you do out here every morning?" She brushed some snow off the
ledge, watching it drift down and become caught up in the wind.

"Contemplate
the upcoming day, admire the city, try not to drive myself insane wondering
what you and your brother are up to."

Delilah
laughed and punched Pancras in the shoulder. "We don't go out looking for
trouble."

"Nevertheless,
it seems to find you." In truth, Pancras tried not to be sick with worry
for Kale. Almeria was a far different city than Drak-Anor, and it wouldn't be
hard for one lone, unfamiliar drak to disappear or find himself on the wrong
end of a cutpurse's blade.

Pancras's
ears twitched as he heard the tell-tale sounds of Princess Valene approaching.
She rounded the corner with her customary goblet of heated, mulled wine. A
slight hesitation and hitch in her step revealed her surprise at seeing Delilah
sitting with Pancras, but her face was a mask of boredom. From outward
appearances, it was as if Princess Valene always encountered a minotaur and
drak during her morning strolls.

"I see
we are not alone this morning, Pancras."

Pancras
crossed one arm over his chest and bowed. "Good morning, Princess. May I
present one of my companions, Delilah?"

Delilah
waved hello. The Princess pursed her lips and groaned deep in the back of her
throat. It was clear she expected Delilah to hop off and bow. "An unusual
name for a drak."

"Yeah,
well, when half your clan wants to hide you away out of sight and the other
half wishes they'd smashed your egg before you hatched, you have to forge your
own identity."

Pancras
closed his eyes and coughed, hoping Delilah was a figment of his imagination,
but when he reopened them, she was still there.

"Indeed."
Princess Valene sniffed and raised her head as she looked at the drak and then
sipped her mulled wine. She switched her gaze to Pancras. "Apart from
introducing me to this rude creature, have you any interesting thoughts for me
today?"

"I
would never presume to know what you would find interesting, Your
Highness." Pancras felt the tension in the air.

Princess
Valene sniffed and looked back at Delilah. "So you, Delilah. Why did half
your clan wish to commit infanticide? Surely that is more interesting than
Pancras's new found desire to walk on eggshells."

Pancras
caught himself before he sighed in resignation and turned to look out over the
city again. He prayed silently to Aita that Delilah find enough tact not to
insult the princess.

"Draks
with stripes are revered. Twins are feared. My brother and I are both."
She scratched at a blemish in the ledge. "You might say our clan was
conflicted. They didn't kill us at birth but cast us out as soon as we were old
enough to fend for ourselves. They didn't even allow our parents to name
us."

Pancras knew
the bare bones of Kale and Delilah's story, but not many details. They didn't
talk about it unless they were asked, and he never wanted to pry.

"So you
chose your names yourselves?" Princess Valene took a drink of wine and
nodded. "Hm, I do not know much about draks, apart from how poorly they've
been treated in Almeria. They seem to be held in ill regard here, for reasons I
cannot fathom. Back home, in Vlorey, we find draks to be skilled craftsmen and
tinkerers."

"Yeah,
around here some people treat draks like slaves. Or worse."

Pancras
nudged Delilah. She shot him the glare of a thousand knives as he shook his
head.

"Yes,
well. Obviously hyperbole is a trait draks share with humans. Have a good
day." Princess Valene left them without giving them a second look.

Delilah
smacked Pancras on the arm. "Why'd you push me? I could've fallen!"

"I
don't know what you and Kale got up to the other night, but comparing the
people of Almeria to slavers in front of one of its rulers is…" He
couldn't find the word. Rude seemed an understatement.

"That's
what they are, Pancras!" Delilah hopped off the ledge, poking him in the
belly with a clawed finger. "The big salt mine under the city? They were
using drak slaves to mine the salt. Slaves!"

Pancras
first became aware of the hidden salt mine when Delilah told him of her brush
with blood magic, and Almeria wasn't the first city in which exploitative
industry was concealed from visitors. He stood there while Delilah lectured him
about the events of their expedition with Kali, and he tried to maintain a
neutral expression. Some parts of the story seemed unbelievable, but he knew
Delilah well enough to know that although she might lie for a prank, she never
lied if she was passionate or angry about a subject.

He knelt
down and held her by the shoulders. "I believe you. Freeing slaves is
always a good thing. Just try to interact with the Princess with a bit more
tact next time. We may need her as an ally very soon."

Delilah
smacked his hands away. "Why? What's this all about anyway?" She
waved her finger in his face. "And don't tell me you can't tell me."

That was
exactly what Pancras intended to tell her. "I… am unable to discuss the
terms of my agreement with Prince Gavril."

Delilah
screeched, threw up her hands, and stormed away. Shaking his head, Pancras
stood up and dusted off his robes. "This day is certainly starting off
well."

* * *

Delilah
grumbled and scuffed her feet on the floor as she hastened away from Pancras.
She wasn't sure why she was angry.
It's the blood magic. It's affecting my
brain!
She scuffed faster, as if she could outrun her own thoughts.

When she
left Pancras, she went in the opposite direction from that of the princess. She
desired not to encounter more drak-hating people today. The corridor led to
familiar halls. She and Kale had truly explored the entire palace, except for
the wing containing the royal living quarters. Almeria's palace contained no
less than four banquet halls, along with various sitting rooms furnished with
plush chairs, roaring hearths, and colorful rugs and tapestries.

Most of the
sitting rooms remained empty. The snow kept visitors and guests away from the
palace, and the solitude Delilah found in one of the empty sitting rooms suited
her. She pulled a chair closer to the hearth and climbed into it. By reflex,
she reached for her grimoire and then smacked herself on the head. She then
realized she left her staff behind, as well. A chill born not of cold came over
her body.

Oh well,
who's going to come after me here?
She drummed her fingers on the arm
of the chair and sighed.
I probably should go back. I could be doing
something. Anything.
Instead of leaving, however, Delilah pulled her legs
up in the chair and let the crackling warmth of the fire lull her into sleep.

While she
slept, Delilah's dreams took her back to a desperate battle between the
denizens of what later became Drak-Anor and the dwarves. She and Kale crouched
behind a boulder. A dwarven battering ram slammed into the Deep Road Gate while
oroq defenders rained arrows down upon the invaders. The thunderous roar of the
lightning cannons Delilah and Kale constructed for their home's defense cut
vast swaths of dwarves down, but the stout warriors attacked in a never-ending
tide.

Delilah was
nearly spent and clutched at a wound in her side. Kale ripped a strip of fabric
from the tunic of a dead oroq lying near them and pressed the cloth against the
wound.

"The
Boss is coming. We just need to hang on a little while longer." Her
brother winced as an oroq backed into him. The grey-skinned warrior looked down
at the draks and sneered at them. He spat and growled and then turned and
head-butted the dwarf he battled, sending the hairy invader stumbling.

Delilah
didn't like oroqs. They were brutish bullies. If they didn't have dwarves to
fight, they often focused their attention on the draks and goblins who lived in
the area. The Overlord felt they were too useful in fights to get rid of.

"Little
draks too weak to fight?" The oroq laughed at them and swung his sword in
a backhand, beheading the dwarf in front of him. The head separated from the
helmet as it spun through the air, landing at Kale's feet with a splat. The
coppery scent of blood mixed with smoke and ozone from the lightning cannons
hung thick in the air.

Kale kicked the dwarf's head away. Delilah
grimaced and picked up her staff. She tapped the butt against the ground and
fought to still her trembling muscles as she summoned more magic.

"
Synnefotone shifone!
" Tendrils
of blue aether gathered around Delilah, her eyes sparkling and glowing bright
turquoise. The wound in her side threatened to overwhelm her, and she felt her
focus fade. In the periphery of her vision, a dwarven axe descended toward her
brother's head.

Delilah was exhausted, her magic failing, yet
one source called to her. She drew upon the magic in her blood, digging her
fingers into her side to encourage the wound to seep and flow. She gritted her
teeth against the pain and pointed her staff at the dwarf about to cleave her
brother. The turquoise tendrils swirling around her staff darkened, turning
purple, then red as a bolt of power shot forth and blasted the dwarf away.

She jumped up on the boulder, spinning her staff
and slamming the butt end into the rock. With her free hand, she gestured. The
swirling, vaporous tendrils of magic flowed away and into the ground. She
brought her hand up.

Spikes of rock erupted from the ground, impaling
dwarf and oroq alike. The tang of blood filled the air, and it ran down the
spikes of rock, forming streams. Delilah drew upon the power of their deaths.
Magic flowed into her, as if the floodgates of the aether were opened after a
torrential storm. The spikes continued to grow until they formed the arms of
great stone constructs ripping themselves from the earth, smashing obstacles in
their way.

Delilah turned her attention to the dwarves
manning the battering ram. She drew more power from the bleeding dwarves and
oroqs around her. The remaining color drained from their flesh, and their skin
sagged and sunk as she drained the life force of each one. The air around the
battering ram shimmered and then burst into flame. The screams of the dwarves
mingled with the groans of the dying, and Delilah reveled in the power she drew
from their deaths.

She felt the air grow thin as the expanding
inferno consumed everything in the cavern. A claw scratched at her leg. She
kicked it away as all her enemies were consumed. It returned, a clawed hand
wrapping around her ankle. Delilah looked down. Her brother stared up at her, his
face gaunt, eyes cloudy white.

"Deli—stop—you're killing—" Kale
choked and gasped as his body burst into flames, his scales blackening and
peeling away from his bloody muscles. Then they, too, burned away, revealing
his blackened, charred skeleton.

Delilah awoke with a gasp. She fell out of the
chair, slapping at her legs, trying to free them from Kale's skeletal grasp
before she realized she was in Almeria.