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

The rock creature pulled itself
out of the floor, leaving a collapsed, sunken depression of stone and dirt in
its wake. Gavril’s eyes widened, and he stepped backward as the creature
advanced. The former prince’s lackeys shuffled and glanced at each other. Among
them, Delilah spotted the slight man who once controlled Almeria’s largest salt
mine, Reznik.

“Looks like we’re both trying to
slink away in the night, Gavril.” The minotaur crossed his chest with his arms.

“You see, Reznik?” Gavril glanced
over his shoulder at the balding man. “Princess Bitch has turned on him, too.”
He drew a short, broad-bladed sword. “Fear not. The pain of her betrayal will
be over quickly. Kill them all.”

Gavril’s men yelled and charged.

Edric charged forward to meet
them, axe raised. The dwarf slashed at the legs of the nearest guard as a ray
of emerald energy shot over his head. The ray struck the man in the chest, and
his face grew ashen and withered. He collapsed, gasping and howling in pain.

Delilah’s rock creature waded
into the crowd, its rocky fists smashing men as if pounding wooden pegs into
the dirt. She scrambled backward as Pancras moved between her and a charging
Gavril.

She directed the creature to
clear a path to Kale and Kali, keeping an eye on any humans intent on making
her a target. Controlling the rock creature required more concentration than
Delilah expected. She was linked to its mind, such as it was, and she
understood it wanted nothing more than to pulverize everything and everyone in
its vicinity, her friends included. Even a momentary lapse to defend herself
might cause it to smash one of her allies.

* * *

Pancras resisted the urge to
marvel at the rock creature pounding its way through Gavril’s men.
What else
has Delilah learned this winter?
He heard of such conjurations, of course,
but never witnessed them in action. As the former prince approached, Pancras
cut his ruminations short.

“I’ll gut you this time,
Necromancer.”

The minotaur ignored the taunt.
Raising his rod, he jumped to the side as a flicker of motion in his periphery
foretold an attack on his flank by Reznik. He ducked under a guard sent flying
over his head by the mighty fists of the rock creature Delilah controlled. The
man hit the wall with a crunch and slid down to rest motionless on the floor.
Reznik and Gavril lunged at Pancras.

“
Skia veema
.” The
multitude of shadows swallowed him, and the minotaur stepped out of an alcove
further down the hall. He leveled his rod at Reznik. “
Klepstee dynami tis
zois
.”

A verdant ray struck the wiry man
in the face. His hair whitened, and his eyes became cloudy as his skin dried up
and withered. He let out a strangled cry, falling backward and clutching at his
aged face. Backing into a guard, he tripped the man and provided Kali an
opportunity to leap upon them, stabbing with her daggers until they both lay in
pools of blood.

Gavril kicked Reznik’s legs out
of the way and advanced on Pancras, his eyes burning with rage. The minotaur’s
wounded leg ached, and he realized he would not be able to evade the murderous
human forever. “
Angigma tou tafou!”

The former prince dove forward,
ducking under the green ray. It struck one of the guards instead, and the man
screamed as ghostly hands grasped at him from the floor and walls, holding him
in place as Kale ran by him, slashing at his legs.

Pancras kicked, connecting with
Gavril’s face as the human rose in front of him. Gavril stumbled back and spat
a gobbet of blood onto the floor. He growled and lunged again.

“
Skia
—” Gavril’s blade
caught the minotaur’s side before he finished the spell. He brought his head
down and butted the human. Gavril fell backward, reaching out and grabbing the
front of Pancras’s robe. The human’s weight jerked Pancras forward, wrenching
his wounded leg.

Pancras gasped in pain and cried
out as a sharp fire bloomed in his gut. He tipped his head and noticed Gavril’s
sword protruding from his belly. The human grimaced with bloody teeth as he
twisted the blade. Pancras’s legs became numb and buckled under him.

Gavril held his grip on Pancras’s
robe as the minotaur succumbed, using the necromancer’s weight as a lever to
right himself. Pancras heard Kale cry his name. The human stood over Pancras
and with a spray of crimson, yanked his sword from his stomach. The former
sovereign then fell forward, plunging the blade between the minotaur’s ribs and
into his chest.

Kale and Kali assaulted Gavril,
knocking him off Pancras as they screamed and stabbed. The world grew dim as
the minotaur’s sight failed him. Delilah called his name, and he felt a burst
of heat just before the catacombs fell silent.

Darkness took him.

* * *

“Pancras! Pancras!” Kale tripped
over the bloody corpse of Gavril in his haste to reach Pancras’s side. His
daggers flew from his hands and clattered across the floor. Already, the
minotaur’s limbs were limp, and his blood mingled with the blood and dust on
the floor. He shook Pancras and called his name, but the minotaur did not
respond.

“Don’t do this. Don’t die on us!”
Delilah knelt on the other side of Pancras. A bloody gash marred her side.

“Damn you, Drak!” Edric kicked
one of the dead guards as he approached them. “Ya nearly incinerated me when ya
let off that spell. Oh—” He stopped when he saw Pancras.

Kali probed Pancras’s wounds with
a claw and shook her head. Kale’s eyes burned, and he blinked back tears. His
sister stroked the minotaur’s hand as she repeated one word again and again.
“No.”

The nightmare of being alone in a
strange city clouded Kale’s thoughts.
Without Pancras, we’re lost. What do
we do? What do we do?
He grabbed the minotaur’s shoulders and shook him, as
if the violent action would awaken him from the slumber of death. In the
recesses of his mind, he heard the clanking of mail and armored boots on the
stone floor.

His heart pounded in his ears.
Barely aware of Edric’s cursing, he didn’t react when rough hands grabbed him
and hauled him to his feet. He struggled when they pulled him away from
Pancras.

“Stop. Release them!” The voice
of Lady Milena broke through his grief. “By the gods, what happened here?”

The Royal Guard Captain’s eyes
were puffy; she had obviously been roused from sleep. Kale tried to speak, but
his words were barely a hoarse croak. He stared at his feet as tears fell from
his eyes.

“We grew tired of your
hospitality, so we were leaving.” Kali took Kale’s hand. “Gavril and Reznik had
the same idea and attacked us.”

Milena stepped over to Gavril’s
body and prodded it with her toe. “He was supposed to be locked up.” She stared
at her guards. “Find out who released him and arrest them immediately.”

The guards released the draks,
saluted, and then exited through the catacombs. Milena sighed and rubbed her
temples before kneeling in front of the four. “I understand why you might have
thought this was your best option. Believe me. I do understand.”

“We just wanted to be on our
way.” Delilah spat the words through sobs.

“Come back to your suite. I’ll
have my brother tend to your wounds. We’ll take care of Pancras. The princess
and I bear him no ill will. He deserves a proper burial or whatever you think
is appropriate. I’ll see to it personally you’re given sufficient supplies to
last until you arrive at your next destination. You can leave whenever you
like.”

She glanced over her shoulder at
Pancras. “He was a decent man… minotaur. I grieve with you.”

“Let’s get going, then. I want to
walk or sleep.” Edric stopped at Pancras as he passed. “Go with Aita, Minotaur.
You were better than I expected.”

They followed Lady Milena through
the catacombs and to the undercroft. She locked the door behind them as they
passed and locked the undercroft door when they returned to the palace. “I’ll
have the guards collect Pancras’s body and place it in our mausoleum while you
decide what is appropriate for him.”

In the main hall, Milena instructed
guards to clean up the bodies in the catacombs and sent one to fetch her
brother Arnost. They had not waited long in their chambers before the priest of
Apellon arrived. Only Delilah suffered from more than bumps and bruises, and
the gash in her side was superficial. It appeared far worse than it actually
was. By the time the human finished mending their wounds, the rush of battle
and the grief of Pancras’s death caught up with Kale, and he fell into a fitful
sleep.

Chapter 2

Pancras felt himself falling. He
felt the wind roaring and sensed the world around him passing by. There was no
light rushing closer, and although it was dark, he sensed the darkness
deepening, growing darker, if such a thing were possible.

The wound in his stomach should
ache, yet it did not, nor did his knee. The further he fell, the fewer physical
sensations he felt, and he was overcome with a sense of disappointment; yet, he
felt oddly at peace. At last, a creeping shadow engulfed him. He wanted to
struggle, to shout, to fight, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel.

He was dead.

The shadow enveloped him in a
cold embrace of total, utter darkness. Yet, even in the stark absence of
illumination, he sensed a smile from within it.
You have not evaded me,
Necromancer. You will yet serve my queen.

Pancras wanted to cry out, to
deny the dark creature that kept his spirit in thrall. His body was heavy, as
though a lead weight pressed down on him. His mind wanted to scream, yet in
death, he could not form even one thought.

Your suppositions are wrong. You
live and die at the whim of my queen now, Necromancer. Her power grows, and
your struggles to deny her, to deny me, are in vain. Feel her glory. Live
again, as she desires.

With a gasp, his eyes snapped
open. A white veil obscured his vision. For a moment, he panicked, unable to
move. It felt as though pins and needles coursed through his body. He slid the
veil off his face and noticed that he lay in a small, stone-walled room on a
marble slab. Excruciating pain lanced through his arm. He bolted upright and
screamed, pulling it up and across his bare chest. His arm felt as if it had
been thrust into the fiery heart of a forge. He gaped at his limb as it
blackened and withered, his fingers curling into sharp, black talons. As
suddenly as it began, the pain stopped. He felt the shadow tickle the back of
his mind, but it seemed content as it faded into the deep recesses of his
memory.

“What in the name of Tinian’s
lance?” Two guards threw open the door and dashed into the room. They saw Pancras
sitting upright, took one look at him, and fled.

Pancras panted, trying to catch
his breath. The air smelled, tasting musty and stale, like the air in the
undercroft. He felt as if he had been asleep for days. Darkness hovered at the
edge of his vision, a fleeting phantasm that vanished when he tried to focus on
it.

A dim light dangled from the
ceiling, and he saw a shrouded body lying on another slab next to him. He could
just reach it if he stretched, and a quick peek under confirmed it was Prince Gavril.
He suppressed a shiver generated by the cold stone and heard approaching
footsteps.

Arnost pushed the door open, his
hand clutching the symbol of Apellon at his neck. The color drained from his
face as he came upon Pancras, and he held the golden lyre before him. “By the
light of Apellon, be thou cleansed, foul creature!”

The power of Apellon radiated
from the symbol and washed over Pancras. It warmed his body, though the
brightness hurt his eyes. He squinted and held up his withered hand to block the
light.

“I don’t think that’s doing what
you want it to do. It’s quite warm. It feels nice.” The absurdity of it struck
Pancras, and he laughed. Gathering the shroud around his waist, he swung his
legs over the edge of the slab and yawned.

“You are not dead? Or undead?”

Pancras stretched his legs and
arched his back. “No. No, I don’t think I am. I thought I was.” The minotaur
flexed his still-bandaged knee. “Huh, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“You were most assuredly dead.”
Arnost glanced behind him and frowned. “I must report this. Wait here?”

“I have no desire to walk around
the palace naked, clutching this burial shroud around my waist.”

Pancras remained seated on the
slab as Arnost departed. He examined his withered hand. Blackened and leathery,
its condition did not seem to impair its function. Colder than his other hand,
the nails had lengthened into talons, and it appeared mummified. He ran his
good hand over his belly and found no evidence of the wound that claimed his
life.

“What sorcery is this?” Princess
Valene entered the chamber, Arnost and Milena hot on her heels. The princess
wore a black gown of mourning and a lace veil. Pancras noticed the bleak color
poorly matched her rich, sepia-toned skin. Milena’s armor blazed orange with
reflected candlelight.

“Necromancy!” Milena began to
draw her sword, but Arnost placed his hand on her arm and stopped her.

“By some great fortune, I am not
dead. I was, but I am now not.” Pancras felt he stated the obvious, but some
people needed the obvious stated when they were in shock.

“Arnost?” Princess Valene
addressed Milena’s brother.

“The light of Apellon had no
effect on him. He appears to be alive and”—Arnost examined Pancras’s
belly—“unharmed.”

“This complicates matters.
Arnost, you may leave. Milena?”

Milena nodded to her brother as
he ascended the stairs. She turned to the princess. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Inform the draks and bring them
here.” She took Milena’s hand. “Be discreet.”

“It will be done.” Milena brought
Princess Valene’s hand to her lips and bowed. Turning, she left the princess
alone with her dead husband and Pancras.

“What now am I to do with you,
Minotaur? You have killed the sovereign ruler of Etrunia.” She sighed and
crossed her arms over her chest. “Such a crime cannot go unpunished.” She regarded
him, a slight smile lingering at the corners of her mouth.

“He did kill me first.” By
Pancras’s reckoning, it was a closed-and-shut case. The law, of course,
probably would not side with a minotaur, a foreigner at that.

Valene laughed and waved her hand.
“Clearly self-defense. Your actions have freed me and this once-great nation
from an odious, vile, petty little man. Two of them, actually. I understand
Reznik was found amongst the dead. I suspected he would try to save his prince.
He probably wanted to retreat with Gavril, regroup, and attempt a coup in the
spring. I suppose I’ll have to launch an investigation to know for certain.

“You have effected great change
here.” She paced as she spoke, stopping alongside her husband’s body and then
turning her back to it to regard Pancras.

“That was not my intention when I
arrived. My friends and I sought only safety and warmth during the winter.”

Princess Valene reached behind,
moved her husband’s dangling arm out of the way, and then leaned against the
stone slab upon which he lay. “I intended to reward your service once things
settled down, before you left. I am pleased you’re not dead, you know. I
enjoyed our shared constitutionals in the mornings. I’m curious how you accomplished
this resurrection.”

Pancras wanted those answers for
himself, as well. He had a suspicion, which lingered at the edges of his
memory. A gnawing, twisting feeling deep in his gut indicated he was not free
of the shadow creature. He needed more time to research the matter before
making any claims, however. “Perhaps the fetish I failed to create properly had
some effect after all?”

“Is that possible?”

Pancras shrugged and then rolled
his neck in an attempt to loosen the muscles. “There are very few impossible
things when it comes to the arcane arts. I have heard of ways to cheat death,
but I have never tried any of them myself.”

“Under the circumstances, I think
it best if you keep a low profile. Some of the guards will not understand.”
Princess Valene circled the slab upon which Pancras rested, her heels clicking
on the stone floor. “In a few days, I will have completed my purge of those
loyal to Gavril, after which I should think you can move freely again. Besides,
there was another snowstorm while you were… away. No one will be able to leave
the palace again until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Snow? How long was I… dead?”
Intellectually, Pancras realized time must have passed in between the
confrontation in the throne room and awakening on a slab, but he had no sense
of it.

“You died the day before
yesterday. The snow came upon us quickly; otherwise, we might have prepared you
for internment in the catacombs by now.”

Pancras’s head reeled. He swayed,
grasping the slab to steady himself. Princess Valene touched his shoulder.

“Easy. Your friends will be here
shortly. Rest now.”

* * *

“Firk—blast it, ye scaly—By
Adranus’s beard!” Edric’s sputtering cut through Delilah’s concentration like
an axe splitting a log. She slammed her grimoire shut and glared over her
shoulder at the dwarf. He sat in the center of the parlor with her brother and
Kali.

“How am I supposed to get
anything done with the three of you making so much noise all the time?” Delilah
hopped out of the armchair and grabbed a poker from the side of the hearth. She
wanted to wrap it around the dwarf’s head but settled on stabbing the
smoldering logs in the fireplace.

“Come on, Deli. We’re just having
some fun.”

Her brother, Kale, always wanted
to have fun.
How can he think of fun at a time like this? That’s why I’m in
charge now, I guess. I’m the only one who realizes we have serious business to
take care of.

“Is that magic book of yours
going to teach you how to melt the snow away?” Edric stood and walked over to
the table. He poured himself a goblet of wine.

“No.” Delilah pointed the poker
at Edric. “But it’ll teach me how to burn that beard of yours right off!”

A knock at the doors interrupted
his retort. Delilah threw the poker to the floor and crossed the room to find
out who disturbed them. Lady Milena bowed as the drak invited her in. The
humans kept their distance since Pancras’s death; Delilah waited for the
Captain of the Royal Guard to speak first.

She stared at the human. Behind
her, Kale coughed. “Deli?”

Delilah raised her eyebrows. She
was determined not to extend any niceties.

“Pardon my intrusion. The
princess needs to see you and your brother immediately.”

Narrowing her eyes, Delilah
stepped away from the door. She reached behind her and fumbled at the armchair
for her staff. “What for now?”

Lady Milena regarded the dwarf
and draks staring at her. “I’m not at liberty to say. It’s… it’s about Pancras.
It’s important.”

Kali took Kale’s arm. “Then we’re
all going. We’re sticking together until we leave this city.” She eyed Edric
and then Delilah. “Right?”

“Yes.” Delilah located her staff.
She tapped the butt on the floor. “We all go, or none of us do.”

Lady Milena bowed her head. “As
you wish.” She gestured to the hallway. “If you please?”

The hallway outside their
chambers was open to the palace courtyard on one side. From three floors up,
one could look out over the city. The fresh, white blanket of snow covering
Almeria reflected the sun’s light, nearly blinding Delilah as she emerged
through the doors. A gust of wind slammed one of the doors shut behind them,
and she closed the other one.

Delilah ignored Edric’s grumbles
about how underground folk should stay underground when the weather turned bad.
Her thoughts turned toward Pancras and how he bled out with his head in her
lap. When they left Drak-Anor, she thought their excursion would be a fun trip
to the far south and then back home. Instead, she ended up involved in a slave
revolt and witnessed the only wizard in Drak-Anor murdered by a petty tyrant.

Lady Milena led the draks and the
dwarf through the main hall, down the hallway to the undercroft, and through
the dusty, cobweb-filled halls to stairs that spiraled down.

Delilah pondered why the knight
led them into the bowels of the palace, but all thoughts of betrayal fled when
she saw Pancras seated upright on the edge of the marble slab, chatting with
Princess Valene.

As Delilah stood frozen, her
mouth agape, Kale ran past her and jumped up on the slab to hug Pancras. “I
knew you’d find a way to beat them!”

Kali and Edric stared. Edric spat
on the floor and stepped backward. “What foul sorcery is this?”

Delilah held up her hand to
silence the dwarf. “Not every magical thing you don’t understand is ‘foul
sorcery’!”

She stepped around the slab,
touching Pancras as she circled him. Delilah wasn’t as confident as her
brother, and she viewed Pancras through narrowed eyes. “How did you come back?
There was a lot of blood. Are you undead?”

He shifted and covered up his
right arm. “I feel alive.” Pancras rubbed his arm through the sheet. “Mostly.”

The drak sorceress examined him.
“No cravings for flesh or blood or anything like that?”

Pancras rested his hand on his
stomach. “I am a bit hungry now that you mention it, but I think bread and wine
would do nicely for a first course. Perhaps some fruit?”