Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) (10 page)

Gisella waited for him to leave
and then unrolled the scroll again. The minotaur’s dues were almost two decades
overdue. The charge of necromancy, however, was new. It had only been outlawed
when Archmage Vilkan took office. When the minotaur chose to study necromancy,
it was perfectly legal, if discouraged.

She sniffed and then chuckled as
the realization of Vilkan’s intent dawned on her.
He’s cleaning house.
Making sure there is no one out there who can challenge him.
It fit with
his ego and his paranoia.

A page ran into the hall. “I must
see the archmage. The court, where are they?”

Gisella took the page by the
shoulder and marched him out of the court. “They’ve gone for the evening.
You’ll have to find Archmage Vilkan in his quarters.”

The color drained from the page’s
face. “The archmage said he is to never be disturbed in his quarters.”

“Then you’ll have to wait until
tomorrow”—Gisella cocked an eyebrow at the page—“or give me the message. I will
be reporting to them first thing in the morning.”

The page hesitated and then
nodded. “Yes, fine. The archduke’s emissaries who went to visit the giants, the
ones taking the tribute? They’ve been returned.”

News that they returned didn’t seem
worthy of his haste to inform the archmage. Gisella opened her mouth to reply
and then paused. “Wait, you said ‘they’ve been returned,’ not ‘they have
returned’.”

“Yes, milady. In pieces.”

* * *

“Do you think your sister will
mind having a room to herself?” Kali stretched on the bed as Kale examined his
puzzle box. A fire crackling in their room’s hearth, the only light at the
moment, cast an orange glow across the table. The inner workings of the puzzle
box were obscured in shadow.

“She’s probably happy for the
peace and quiet. Can you believe there aren’t any lamps in here?”

“Most of the patrons are wizards.
They make their own light.” Kali rolled over and rested her head on her hands.
“Your sister seems jealous of us.”

Kale set the puzzle box on the
table and looked at Kali. “She is. She’s used to it being just us. Me and her
against all the tall folk of the world.”

“There were other draks in
Drak-Anor, though.” Kali laughed. “There must have been; the name wouldn’t make
sense otherwise.”

“Yeah, but we were cast out. They
didn’t include us in any clan events. They tolerated us because we had
important jobs.” Kale and Delilah started out building traps to keep invaders
out of the caves, but years of loyal service earned them the ear of Sarvesh,
Drak-Anor’s eventual ruler.

“Do you think they’ll shun me?”

Kale joined Kali in bed. “Nah,
you’re not a twin. It might take them a while to warm up to you, but they’ll
come around. I mean, if we ever get back there.”

Kali stroked Kale’s arm. “You
don’t think we’re going back?”

“I don’t know.” Kale shrugged and
leaned back, interlacing his hands behind his head. “To come all this way to
pay a fine… then go back? I just can’t believe it’s going to be that easy.”

“Did you hear those humans talking
when we were eating?”

“About the giants? Yeah. I think
something bad is going to go down around here soon. I hope we leave before
that.” Kale thought about Kazi and Meriz. He was a two-headed giant and not too
bright. He was killed the last time invaders attacked Drak-Anor. Of course, in
those days, it wasn’t called that. A smile spread across Kale’s face. There was
a lot more opportunity for mischief in those days. Sarvesh didn’t care if Kale
and his sister played pranks on the oroqs. He would grumble and complain, but
Sarvesh didn’t like the oroqs any better than he did.

“Giants aren’t all bad.
Honeywater used to trade with them. I think they help the draks in the Western
Wastes capture nailtooths and other lizards, too.” Kali scooted closer to Kale
and nuzzled his neck.

He shivered, even though he
wasn’t cold. “Well, the way these humans were talking, I don’t think we want to
be anywhere near these giants if they come marching down from the mountains.”

As sleep overtook him, Kale
fought to keep images of rampaging giants out of his thoughts. He hoped their
business with the Arcane University would be resolved sooner rather than later.
They would then spend a few days enjoying what the city had to offer and head
home.

With luck, they’d be back in
Drak-Anor before winter.

Chapter 6

The Arcane University was exactly
the way Pancras remembered it. Though the buildings were made from the same
stone as the rest of Muncifer, the embellishments made them appear warmer and
more inviting. The Blood Oak still stood in the center of the courtyard before
the unassuming building that contained the Court of Wizardry. It was a
quarter-century taller, but it was the same tree under which he whiled away
many hours.

Younger students, in their
mousy-brown robes, scurried to and fro, running whatever errands they were
assigned by their masters. Older students, wearing robes of various shades of
grey accented with the occasional colored sash, stood chatting or walking with
their noses buried in books. Only masters and visiting mages wore robes in
colors brighter than the surrounding dirt.

Pancras spotted a few people in
heavy armor carrying weapons and marching the campus. Those with tabards
bearing the insignia of the Arcane University—an eye, from which six hands
radiated, surrounded by a twelve-point star—were obviously guards. Those
stepping with purpose, their hawk eyes observing unfamiliar wizards, those
Pancras knew to be the slayers.

His eyes lingered on a
square-jawed minotaur guard cradling a broad-bladed axe. The minotaur’s arms
were tight cords of muscle straining against the weight of the blackened steel
blade. He felt his pulse quicken at the sight of the guard’s powerful legs when
he turned to speak to one his fellow guards. Pancras’s eyes lingered as he pointed
toward a pair of armored men walking past the guards.

”Slayers.”

“So they’re the ones who will
hunt us down if we don’t pay their… fees?” Delilah sneered as she passed a
female slayer wearing scale armor. The slayer cradled a spear in her arms like
it was a precious treasure. Pancras saw wisps of golden hair peeking out from
beneath her helm, wisps of gold thread seeking escape from their metallic
prison. For a brief moment, his vision darkened, the haze that lingered at the
edge taking over and then retreating once again. He pressed his knuckles into
his eyes and shook his head.

“Is everything all right?”
Delilah looked at him, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Fine, just a trick of the
light.” He returned to the subject at hand. “There was a time when slayers
would not be wasted on such trivial matters as collecting delinquent dues.”
Pancras held open the door to the Court of Wizardry building for Delilah.
Benches lined the hall, though no one was currently seated on them. At the far
end was a pair of double doors. Next to them stood a podium tended by an old
man.

“And yet, here we are. It took us
months to get here, Pancras. If all we do is pay some money and turn around to
go home, I’m going to be upset.”

Pancras placed his hand on
Delilah’s shoulder to reassure her. “You aren’t the only one.” Part of Pancras
hoped it was as minor as that, but another part of him hoped they didn’t make
this journey just to pay a fine.

The elderly man at the podium
served as the seneschal of the court. He glanced up from his ledger as Pancras
and Delilah approached. “Ah, an interesting pair. You have business with the
Court of Wizardry?”

“I am Pancras, First Nec—Wizard
of Drak-Anor, progeny of the Black Mountain. I was ordered to report by
Spring’s Dawning to answer charges.” The formality of his full introduction
felt stiff on the minotaur’s lips. His parents were born in Muncifer. Indeed,
one would have to trace back several generations before they found any minotaur
ancestors of Pancras residing in the villages at the base of Black Mountain. It
was the name under which he was enrolled in the Arcane University, though, and
if they had records of him, under that name was where they would find them.

“Ah yes.” The seneschal flipped
through his ledger. He peered over the top of his register at Pancras. “Two
days early. That is good for you. Who are you?” He pointed a bony finger at
Delilah.

“Delilah.” The drak straightened
her back and stood on tiptoe. “Of Drak-Anor. Those old guys that showed up in
Drak-Anor said I had to come because I never went to the Arcane University,
and, for some reason, learning magic is illegal without your say so.”

Pancras pulled Delilah toward
him. She shook him off and snapped at his hand.

“Ah, you wish to be a student.”

“I could blast half of these
students before they’d put down their books!” Delilah tapped the podium with
her staff. The eyes of her lizard skull glowed blue.

“Oh. I see.” The seneschal closed
his ledger and pointed at a nearby bench. “Have a seat. A slayer has already
been assigned to you, so the court will want to wait until she arrives before
hearing your case.”

Before Pancras and Delilah took
the seat offered them, the outer doors opened, and a woman entered. It was the
slayer they had passed earlier in the courtyard. She adjusted her helm, tucking
the stray wisps of golden hair back underneath its rim.

“Ah, there she is now.” The
seneschal gestured toward Pancras and Delilah. “Your quarry showed up early.
You may take them into the court at your leisure.”

“Thank you, Lyov.” The woman
approached Pancras and Delilah. She cocked her head as she regarded them. “I’m
called the Golden Slayer. The archmage wanted me to hunt you down as renegades.
How fortunate that you came to us. Are you prepared to answer for your crimes?”

Delilah huffed and poked the
Golden Slayer in the thigh. “I haven’t committed any crime. We lived for years
without you people sticking your noses in our business, and we’re only here to
deal with this extortion.”

Pancras cleared his throat. “We
are prepared to clear up any misunderstandings.” He pulled Delilah away from
the slayer.

The Golden Slayer rubbed a mark
Delilah’s claw made on her polished armor. The hint of a smirk appeared on her
lips, and she gestured toward the doors. “Very well, then. Let us proceed.”

For the first time in his life,
Pancras stepped hoof into the Court of Wizardry. Most students, if they
behaved, had no need to enter these halls. He was disappointed that it was
little more than a rectangular room. Opposite the entry doors was a wide dais,
upon which stood the high-backed chairs of the Court of Wizardry. There were
thirteen total, and apart from the center chair upon which sat the archmage,
only two others were occupied. The wizards flanking the archmage kept their
faces covered, according to tradition. Students were always on their best
behavior, partially, by never knowing if their instructors sat upon the Court
of Wizardry.

“A minotaur.” The archmage stood.
“This must be Pancras, lately of Drak-Anor.”

The wizard to the archmage’s
right, presumably a man, wore head-to-toe orange robes and looked at his
counterpart, who wore violet robes not unlike those Pancras often wore. “And
the drak we were told about.”

The violet-robed wizard nodded.
“You are expected. You are early. Good.”

The archmage slashed the air with
his hand. “Silence. I am Vilkan Icebreaker, Archmage of the Arcane University,
highest of the high wizards.” He returned to his seat, tossing back his head
before clutching the arms of his chair. “I am surprised you answered the
summons.”

Pancras placed his hand on his
chest and bowed. He warned Delilah with a glance to remain silent. “It was
never my intention to dishonor the university.”

“Yet you practice a forbidden
art.”

Pancras blinked. “Forbidden?”

“Necromancy was declared a
forbidden art five years ago. Had you maintained a proper relationship with the
Arcane University, you would know this.”

Pancras felt a bead of sweat drip
down his back. Practicing forbidden arts was usually punished by death, and the
Court of Wizardry laughed at those claiming ignorance as a defense.

“Ignorance is no excuse.” The
orange-robed wizard intoned, as if he’d read Pancras’s mind.

“He was trained under the law.”
The Violet Wizard raised his hand in reply.

“Yes, yes.” The archmage glanced
aside to the Violet Wizard, irritation etched on his furrowed brow. “That is
why I am not ordering his death.”

Pancras let out a breath he did
not realize he had been holding. He heard the armor of the Golden Slayer rattle
as she shifted her weight behind him. Delilah tugged at his sleeve. Pancras
shook her hand away and gave her a short, crisp shake of his head in reply.

“I am thankful for that, Masters.
May I speak?”

The archmage rubbed his nose and
sniffed. “I suppose.”

“I am prepared to make payment
for all my lapsed guild dues, as well as any future dues I will accrue for the
remaining years of my life… to your best estimates, of course.” Pancras hoped
the lure of gold would be enough to put an end to this archmage’s machinations.

“He seeks to make restitution.”

“As an honorable wizard should.”

The archmage cut them off with
the wave of his hand. “Yes, fine. That is what you owe, but there is a matter
of punishment for the forbidden arts.”

“In my defense, I have not
actively practiced necromancy in at least five years”—he gestured at
Delilah—“as my friend here will attest.”

The archmage laughed. “I will not
accept the testimony of a renegade in this matter. It’s never even been trained
in the arts.”

Pancras sensed Delilah bristle
and placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in check. “She is a skilled
sorcerer. She has acquitted herself well in battle in the defense of others.”

“Whatever.” Archmage Vilkan
rubbed his knees and leaned forward. “Defense against wizards like you is a
skill so many of our kind neglect to learn. Indeed, reports from the north
indicate even teachers who know how to defend against your type are in short
supply.”

The fur at the back of Pancras’s
neck stood on end, and his stomach knotted up. He dreaded where the archmage
was headed with his tirade, and he suspected it would end with a conclusion he
would find unpleasant.

“You”—the archmage drew his wand
and pointed it at Pancras—“will go to Vlorey and assume the mantle of defenses
master there.
Yepakououn katanankasmo sas mechri thanto
.” The blast of
azure energy smashed into Pancras before he parsed the words spoken by Archmage
Vilkan. He’d never heard a spell recited so quickly.

Pancras wanted nothing more than
to go home.
No, that’s not it.
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes
shut.
I want to go to Vlorey. They need a teacher.
The icy fingers of
the shadow crept through his mind, and his head filled with hollow laughter.

Yes, Necromancer. You will go to
Vlorey. You will join us.

“Pancras? Pancras, are you all
right?”

He was on his knees now. Delilah
shook him. Pancras opened his eyes to see the Golden Slayer looming over him,
her hand outreached.

He brushed them off. “I’m all
right. I’m fine. It was just… it’s nothing. Fine. I’m fine.” Pancras stood, unsure
if he worked to convince them or himself that he was fine.

“You will serve in that capacity
for no fewer than five years, Pancras. Beginning from the time you take office,
of course. Gisella”—the archmage stowed his wand—“take the minotaur away. Assign
a slayer to accompany him to Vlorey to ensure he meets his obligation.”

“Sure the geas you placed upon
him—”

“Do as I say, Slayer.”

The Golden Slayer bowed and then
took Pancras by the arm. The minotaur allowed her to lead him out, all thoughts
of standing by Delilah replaced by a desire to journey to Vlorey as soon as
possible.

* * *

As the Golden Slayer took
Pancras’s arm to lead him away, Delilah moved to follow.

“Hold, Drak. I’m not through with
you, yet.”

Damn it.
Delilah bit
her bottom lip and turned to face the archmage. She took a deep breath and
walked toward him, chin held high.

“You’re guilty of practicing the
arcane arts with no training, no master, and no authorization.”

Delilah snorted. “Says you. Until
last year, your kind didn’t care what we did in Drak-Anor, as long as you
didn’t have to deal with us. Now, you decide you want to stick your nose in our
business and make us conform to your ways? Rannos craps bigger than you lot.”

Archmage Vilkan rose from his
seat. “Rannos is dead. Killed by ‘my lot,’ as you say.” He stared at her for a
moment and then laughed. “You have fire. So few draks seek us out, because so
many are executed as renegades.”

Delilah clenched her fists. She
wondered if she could take all three wizards staring her down before they
killed her.
Maybe it’s time to try out some of that new magic Gil-Li taught
me.

The archmage took his seat.
“You’ll pay your dues, and I will teach you wizardry. You’ve learned enough of
those hedge-wizard tricks the peasants call magic to fool many, but under my
tutelage, you’ll learn true power.” He turned to the Orange Wizard. “Let the
record show that I am taking this drak as my apprentice.”