Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) (35 page)

“He’s a good boy.” Her red-rimmed
eyes met his. “Are you here to take my soul now?”

Pancras licked his lips. “I
confess, I’ve never done this before. I think I’m supposed to help you cross
over. You’re suffering. You’ll continue to linger until you can no longer eat,
and you’ll starve.”

Nika pushed him away and stared
out over the meadow. “I don’t want to go.”

“I can’t make you. Piotr’s wife
and son care for you now. They have you by the window so you can see the change
of seasons.” Pancras shuffled his feet, sending a puff of white seeds into the
air from nearby dandelions. Despite the breeze, the world around them was
bereft of sound. No wind rustling the leaves of nearby trees, no insects
buzzing. The world was still, yet in motion.

“I’m wasting away. Watching the
world pass by with unseeing eyes. You’ve come to kill me, Bonelord.”

The words were knives in
Pancras’s chest; a sensation he noted with amusement with which he had become
all too familiar. He didn’t want to kill anyone.

“Why is your goddess doing this
to me? I’ve worked hard; I don’t deserve this.”

It was a common misconception that
Aita not only caused death, but also spread disease and suffering. “Aita does
not afflict the innocent with suffering like this.”

She spun on him, fists clenched.
“Are you saying I deserve this—this—curse?”

Pancras backed away from the
woman, holding up his hands. “No. No, diseases are not brought to this world by
Aita. She concerns herself with the dead, not the living.”

The woman stared at him, her
nostrils flaring as her lips trembled. “Then why do you haunt my dreams!”

“This is no dream, Nika. I am kneeling
at your bedside, with your son. We want to end your suffering.” Pancras wanted
to help this woman, but he didn’t know what he could say to convince her.
Telling
her the world isn’t fair seems wrong.

“Can you cure me? Make me strong
again?”

Pancras shook his head.

“Then, get out!”

Pancras flew backward and gasped
as he opened his eyes. He stood again in the spartan room with Piotr and the
twisted form of Nika. Clutching the maul, he pushed himself to his feet. “Her
mind is strong. She’s not ready to move on.”

“So? What does that mean?”

The minotaur swallowed and rubbed
his eyes. “It means I cannot help her. I cannot make her cross over if she
doesn’t want to go.”

“Heal her then!” The smith
advanced on him. His eyes were cold, the muscles in his neck stood out like
rope.

“I can do nothing. I’m not a
healer. She’s not ready.”

The smith clenched his fists. His
breathing was rapid, and Pancras noticed his muscles tensed. He then turned and
flung open the door. “Go. Get out.”

Pancras didn’t wait for Piotr to
change his mind. He heard the door slam behind him as he stumbled down the
stairs behind the smithy, nearly losing his footing and falling the final third
of the way down. Gisella stood inside the shop, still examining weapons on the
display racks. He didn’t see Lady Aveline.

“Well? Were you able to help
him?”

Pancras clenched his jaw. His
heart raced, and he took a moment to breathe before shaking his head. “I could
not.” Thumping from above drew his attention away from Gisella. “I think we
should go.”

Gisella touched his arm. “I’m
sorry.”

He lifted the maul. It still felt
warm in his hand. Gritting his teeth, he reached into his money pouch. He left
a handful of crowns and talons on Piotr’s anvil.

“There’s a dwarf and a fiendling
involved in some trouble at a place called Danica’s Den. Loath as I am to know
the truth, I think we need to check it out.”

Gisella’s words caused Pancras’s
chest to tighten. The odds were slim of there being another dwarf and fiendling
pair capable of causing trouble. He nodded and followed Gisella into the
crowds.

Chapter 19

Delilah’s meeting with Master
Galina was not the stress-filled interrogation she expected. The master told
Delilah what to expect at her Novice Trials and then sent her on her way. In
theory, Delilah’s performance in her Novice Trials would be judged by the high
wizards, the archmage, and any masters who sought an apprentice. Delilah
expected the archmage to claim her as his own, however, as she reflected while
strolling back to the library.

It’s all busywork and magical
theater. A lot of what these wizards do doesn’t seem to have a point.
About a
dozen students moved about the library as they researched various projects.
While a few were novices, most appeared to be apprentices. She saw Master Agata
at the
Rose Concordat
’s podium. Delilah sat in a nearby chair to wait.
Master Agata glanced over her shoulder at the drak sorceress.

“Come to brush up on your guild
rules, Novice?”

“Master Renata said I should read
the
Rose Concordat
. So, I have been.” Delilah swung her feet as they
dangled above the floor. Not one chair in the Arcane University was sized to
fit draks. She felt like a child among giants.

“There are certainly worse ways
to spend your time.” Master Agata turned to the codex and flipped forward,
stopping about three-quarters of the way to the end.

She stepped aside and moved a
chair in front of the codex. “All yours, Novice.”

Delilah hopped off the chair and
bowed to the departing master. As she grabbed the pages to flip back to where
she left off, a few words on the page caught her eye.

Master Gil-Li, former student of
Vlad the Iron Justice, was the first to ascend to the position of archmage by Rite
of Combat. As enacted by Gerald the Craven in the third series of essays on
“Arcane Rules: Civilized Magickry,” the Rite of Combat was a formal duel
between a ranking wizard and an underling who felt slighted. Prior to the
codification of the Rite of Combat, wizard duels were little more than battles
of mass destruction. The rules written by Gerald the Craven allow for a formal
dueling location designed to minimize collateral damage and allow for an
audience of judges to observe the duel from a position of safety.

Delilah scanned the room for
Master Agata, but the older woman had gone. She wondered if she turned the book
to that page for a reason. It gave the drak a new appreciation for her
grimoire; it was the book of an archmage. She must continue to conceal it from
Vilkan. So far, he kept his nose out of her personal affairs, but if she became
his apprentice, she would be under closer scrutiny.

She continued reading from the
dueling section for the rest of the afternoon, committing the words, statutes,
and rites to memory.
Gil-li is mentioned in here a lot. Is she why Manless
is so interested in me?

* * *

Pancras fought to keep his
failure with Piotr’s mother from affecting him as he and Gisella entered
Danica’s Den. A row of guards tried to hold back a crowd intent on pushing
their way across the gambling floor. A haze of smoke lingered near the ceiling,
the air thick with the odor of sweaty bodies and the residue of whatever it was
people smoked from the large water pipes set up around the perimeter of the
room. Statues of Pacha and Dolios stood on opposite ends of the bar that
bisected the room, keeping watch over the proceedings that glorified drinking,
gambling, and throwing away ones’ money on excess.

Angry shouts filled the air as
the crowd called for violent retribution. Angry gamblers stood on the gaming
tables directing their ire toward the back of the room.

“String ‘er up!”

“Get the fiendling!”

“The dwarf, too!”

Part of Pancras hoped there was
another dwarf and fiendling in town, but it didn’t take more than a cursory
glance to determine that the crowd was, indeed, yelling for Qaliah’s head. The
fiendling was visible in the center of a group of city guards escorting her through
the crowd. Lady Aveline led the procession, shoving people out of their way
with her shield.

The minotaur sought a means to
intercept Lady Aveline, hoping to smooth things over and release Qaliah and
Edric from her custody before things with the townsfolk became ugly. The ice in
her glare dissuaded him, along with the way the guards accompanying her half
drew their swords whenever anyone came too close. Pancras settled for following
them out of the gambling den and into the streets. A crowd of dedicated
hecklers followed them shouting obscenities directed at Edric and Qaliah.

Gisella pulled him to the side of
the street under bakery’s awning. “Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow. Let
the furor die down.”

“They appear to be in a lynching
mood.” Pancras shook his head. “I’d rather deal with this now.”

“I have half a mind to leave
them.” Gisella slammed her hand into the side of the building. “This was
supposed to be a quick stop and a chance to sleep in a warm bed, not cause
trouble and get arrested.”

Pancras motioned for her to
follow. “Edric gambled away an entire season in Almeria. I’m surprised he
wasn’t arrested before now.”

Following the mob through city
streets, crowded though they were, was easy enough. Pushing their way through
the crowd and guards to enter the jail was a different story. The guards turned
away anyone not wearing one of their tabards. They met Pancras’s pleas with
stony-faced stares.

The minotaur threw up his hands.
“I guess we wait.”

After a few hours of grim stares
from rather cross, armed guards, the crowd grew bored and dispersed. Mobs
burned hot, but, given sufficient time, the alcohol and fury that fueled them
wore off, and the people shambled home angry and hungover.

Pancras approached the guards.
“May we go in now? We have business with Lady Aveline.” It wasn’t strictly
true, but he hoped the guards wouldn’t know that.

“Fine.” The guard held the door
for Pancras and Gisella. The interior of the jail was more spartan than Pancras
expected. The stone walls and stone floor blended together in a depressing
expanse of grey. Two desks sat facing each other on opposite sides of the room.
Near the back, a large holding cell stood across from the hearth, and stairs
led down to, Pancras presumed, the rest of the cells. A long-haired fat man
snored in the holding cell as Lady Aveline sat behind one of the desks,
cleaning her sword.

“What do you two want now?” Lady
Aveline glanced up from her sword, but she continued to rub the blade with an
oiled cloth.

Gisella pointed to the stairs. “You
arrested our friends.”

“The dwarf and the fiendling. So?
Lord Koloman doesn’t tolerate cheaters in the gambling dens. The dens and
brothels are the only things keeping the mudders happy since the mines dried
up.”

Pancras held up his hands. “We’re
not here to protest their innocence. We want to see about rectifying the
situation. We’re just passing through on our way to Cliffport to catch a ship
to Vlorey. It’s been a long journey from Muncifer and more delays are”—Pancras
sighed—“difficult.”

“Not my problem.” Lady Aveline
slid her sword into its sheath. Footsteps clomping up the stairs heralded the
return of a guard from the jail.

Gisella clasped her hands in
front her. “What exactly is supposed to have happened, Lady Aveline?”

“It’s simple: the dwarf was
caught cheating, and several eyewitnesses say the fiendling used her demonic
powers to help him.” She regarded the approaching guard.

Pancras glanced at Gisella. As
far as he was aware, Qaliah did not possess arcane skill of any type, whether
from her demonic heritage or not. The Golden Slayer’s cocked eyebrow revealed
she shared his suspicion.

The guard stood at attention.
“The fiendling maintains she had nothing to do with the dwarf’s cheating. The
dwarf continues to berate her for not backing up his story.”

Gisella cleared her throat. “With
respect, Lady Aveline, I am familiar enough with Qaliah, the fiendling, to know
she does not possess any magical skills. Is it not possible the mudders are
letting their prejudices against fiendlings shape their stories?”

“It’s possible Dolios himself is
locked up in our jail in dwarf form, but I find it highly suspect.” Lady
Aveline pulled a scrap of paper from her desk. She scribbled a note on it,
folded the paper, and handed it to the guard. She flicked the end of her quill
toward the door. “Go to the apothecary. Tell Tasha I need a favor.”

The guard saluted and quickly
exited. Lady Aveline stood and ushered Pancras and Gisella toward the door.
“Let me do my job. I will determine who is guilty and who is not. I don’t need
the help of transients. Where are you staying?”

“The Drunken Horse.” Pancras
opened the door for Gisella.

“I’ll send for you tomorrow, in
the afternoon.” Lady Aveline closed the jail door behind them. Pancras heard
the click of the lock.

“We have to face the possibility
that we may be going on without them, you know?” Gisella took Pancras’s arm and
led him away from the jail.

“I know.” Pancras would do what
he could to help Edric and Qaliah, but he drew the line at orchestrating an
actual jailbreak. If they were guilty of breaking Curton’s laws, they would
have to face the penalties.

* * *

“Did they say what he wanted?”
Katka wrung her hands as Delilah shoved her grimoire into her pack. The drak
sorceress shook her head.

A student interrupted their study
session with a summons for Delilah to appear before the headmaster in his
office. Delilah assumed the headmaster was Archmage Vilkan. The headmaster’s
office was located at the top of a tower attached to the main keep in which all
the lecture halls and laboratories were located. Katka hurried behind Delilah,
asking the drak over and over again what she did to warrant a summons by the
headmaster.

“I don’t know!” Delilah stopped
at the bottom of the stairs leading into the tower and shoved her pack into
Katka’s arms. She was tired of lugging the thing all over the Arcane University
and didn’t want the grimoire anywhere near the headmaster. “Guard this pack
with your life. I’ll be back for it. Wait here, all right?”

Katka nodded, her eyes wide. Part
of Delilah felt leaving her grimoire in the human’s hands was asking for
trouble, but there was another, louder part of her that needed to know if she
could trust the girl. After the archduke’s revelations, Delilah needed another
friend. Kale would always be there for her, but it wasn’t fair to Kali for
Delilah to continually test her brother’s loyalties.

The stairs leading up to the
headmaster’s office started on the roof of the keep and wound around the
outside of the tower. The absence of a railing didn’t bother Delilah; none of
the precipices in Drak-Anor had handrails. She was weary of stairs built for
humans, however, and felt as if she’d climbed a mountain by the time she
reached the balcony at the top.

Two guards stood watch outside
the headmaster’s office. One yawned and held the door open for her. To her
surprise, Archmage Vilkan was seated behind what she assumed was the
headmaster’s desk. Bookshelves lined the walls of the office itself, stretching
from floor to ceiling. Windows and skylights provided bright illumination
during the day, and she noticed the dull glow of enchanted gems set in torch
scones that provided evening illumination. Smoke from incense rose from a
nearby brazier.

“Ah, Novice Drak. Come in. Stand
before me.” Archmage Vilkan smiled and stood. He gestured to a spot on the bear
skin rug in front of his desk. “I understand you’ve been reading the
Rose
Concordat
. I applaud your initiative. I have been brushing up myself.”

“You wanted to see me, Arch…
Headmaster?” Delilah wasn’t sure how to address him now.

“Indeed, indeed. I’ve been going
about things all wrong, you see. As archmage, I’m bound by the rules of the
Arcane University, insofar as students like you are concerned. It never
occurred to me my authority as headmaster provided an alternative.”

Delilah narrowed her eyes. She
shifted the grip on her staff as she calculated how quickly she could envelope
him in a cloud of swirling blades.

“The headmaster’s authority is
absolute when it comes to the university, you see; yet, I’ve been so focused on
how to accomplish things as head of the guild that I didn’t see the obvious
solution sitting right in front of me.” He laughed and tapped a piece of paper
on his desk.

The drak sorceress craned her
neck. She was too short to see details.

“As headmaster, I can make
exceptions of most of the rules here, and I have.” He drew his wand and tapped
the paper as a blue glow surrounded the tip of his focus. “So, by the power
invested in me as headmaster of the Arcane University of Muncifer, I hereby
waive the university’s requirement to subject you to the Novice Trials and
advance you directly to the rank of apprentice, effective immediately.”