Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) (42 page)

The giant lowered the ladder once
more and pointed to the citadel across the lake. “Morlon will ferry you
across.”

Katka was first to descend,
jumping off the ladder before she reached the bottom and landing in crumpled
pile of her own arms and legs. She stood and brushed off her robes and then
steadied the ladder for Kali, Kale, and Delilah as they each descended. Her
skin appeared to be paler than Delilah remembered.

“Are you all right?”

The human girl nodded and
swallowed. “The swaying motion made me sick. I’ll be all right now that I’m on
my feet again.”

“Don’t get too used to it.” Kali
pointed to the boat on the shore of the lake. “Looks like we’ve some more
riding to do.”

Katka turned green and raced into
the scrub at the edge of the forest. Delilah heard some of the giants in
attendance snicker at the girl’s discomfort. The giants resembled tall, massive
humans. Like the one who brought them to the village, they were all dressed in
leathers and furs. Most chopped wood or chiseled stone, but a few leaned on
weapons and regarded the draks, sneering down their bulbous noses at the
strangers in their midst.

The village was similar to
stories of settlements Delilah heard about from traders in Drak-Anor, albeit on
a larger scale. Round and square huts with thatched rooves were clustered
around a central bonfire. Children laughed and shrieked as they ran and played.
Others pointed at the draks and clutched at their mother’s legs, fearful of the
newcomers.

“These hardly seem like the sort
of people to send emissaries back in pieces, eh?”

Kale shrugged. “The guards might.”

Delilah stepped toward the lake,
ignoring a child who shuffled along behind the draks, chewing on his finger as
he watched the diminutive creatures. She found it difficult to regard him as a
child, considering the top of her head reached only his waist. The drak
sorceress noticed a giant standing knee-deep in the lake and holding a rope
that guided the ferry in the direction of the citadel. She approached him,
allowing the cool waters of the valley lake to lap over her feet.

“Are you Morlon?”

The giant pointed at himself.
“Morlon vosta ka nook. Bala fu kanoo pok turock.” He pointed at the citadel.

Delilah assumed he spoke the
language of giants; it was a tongue she’d never heard before. She waved Kale
and Kali over, peering into the forest in the direction Katka ran and emptied
her stomach. The human girl emerged, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and trotted
to the shore.

“Sorry. The thought of getting in
a boat at that moment was too much. I’m better now.”

“Are you sure?” Delilah brushed
Katka’s arm “You can stay here.”

The color drained from Katka’s
face again as she glanced at all the giants watching them. She shook her head.
“No. No, I don’t think I can do that.”

“Let’s go then.” Kali climbed
into the boat and helped Kale over the side. The draks gripped the planks that
served as seats, as their feet dangled over the bottom of the boat. Katka’s
toes, barely touching the bottom of the boat, provided more stability than the
draks enjoyed. Morlon grunted and pulled the rope, sending the ferry gliding
across the water.

Chapter 23

Leaving Dawnwatch Keep behind
them, Gisella led Pancras and Qaliah to the road as dusk fell. Her overland
route shaved days off their journey, and it was a simple matter of following
the road and river past the southern edge of Raven’s Forest to Cliffport.

It was widely rumored the elves
of Raven’s Forest watched the banks of the river day and night, jealously
guarding their border. Lush with thick, deciduous growth, shrubs, and bushes
lining both the northern and southern sides of the Copper Run River could
easily conceal elven archers. Travelers along the river were exposed with
nowhere to hide during an attack.

From his seat atop Stormheart,
Pancras saw no signs of watchful elves. Pancras found most rumors were mere
stories made up by bored folk trying to one-up each other while they shared
ales at the tavern. He decided the stories were fabrications, and it was very
unlikely they were being watched.

Qaliah rode next to Pancras. “The
Icymist always looks so inviting. Even if you know it’s too cold to go
swimming, you want to. This thing looks like it would drown you in mud.”

The minotaur nodded and curled
his lip at the thought of a refreshing dip in the muddy river. The Copper Run
was a rushing, uniform-brown sludge, racing downhill to escape itself.

“It runs downstream from the
industry of Curton, where the mudders churn up clay and gods know what else.”
Pancras steadied Stormheart as the horse snorted and tossed his head. “You
couldn’t pay me to go swimming in that.”

“I bet the elves love it.”
Gisella gestured to the forest on the opposite bank.

“No doubt.” Pancras scratched his
chin. “I wonder if the roots of Syl’drasil reach this far.”

“What’s that?” Qaliah regarded
the river as they rode.

“The World Tree of Raven’s
Forest. Said to be at least a mile tall. It would have very far-reaching
roots.” Its location was a closely guarded secret, and though the city of
Raven’s Forest was built on and around the World Tree, they welcomed no
visitors.

“It’s hundreds of miles away. I
doubt its roots run this far.” Gisella spurred Moonsilver into a trot and
called to them as she pulled away. “Let’s stretch their legs some. We’re losing
daylight.” They pressed on, running their mounts and then slowing to a lazy
canter. They passed a caravan of tinkers and traders around midday and another
as the afternoon hours waned. At night, after dinning on crusty bread and dried
meat procured from the traders, Gisella offered to spar with Qaliah. The two
women possessed different fighting styles but fell into a rhythm that, to
Pancras’s untrained eye, seemed to benefit them both.

Meanwhile, Pancras communed with
Aita and performed the rituals needed to attune himself to his maul. He felt a
twinge of guilt, like a rock in the pit of his stomach, for how he acquired the
weapon. His inability to help the blacksmith’s mother weighed on him. Pancras
realized only through the success of his future acts could he atone for his failure
in Curton. For a moment, his thoughts turned to Edric. The dwarf was rude and
gruff, but was, after a fashion, a friend.

Pancras reviewed escape scenarios
in his head.
Was there anything we could have done?
Every permutation he
considered ended with the rest of them imprisoned or dead and depended upon the
assumption Edric would have left with them willingly; he seemed adamant in his
vow to avoid sailing. The minotaur pushed the thoughts aside, cradled his
weapon in his lap, and then closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth he
felt from it.

As the power of Aita flowed into
him, a suffuse glow surrounded him. He sensed the life all around him: the
worms in the earth, the grass and trees, an insect alight on a nearby shrub,
the fiendling and the human as they practiced their swordplay. He felt not the
strength of their life force but its ebbs. All around him, life was dying, some
more quickly than others. The slow turn of time was a universal constant, and
each breath a living creature drew brought them closer to death, closer to the
realm of Aita.

Pancras felt the presence of his
goddess as she affected all living things. His consciousness expanded as he
fell deeper into his trance. The world itself was dying on a timescale beyond
his comprehension, but he felt it ebb, nonetheless. Calliome and Gaia were one,
still healing from The Sundering.

In the distance, on the far side
of the continent of Andelosia, Pancras’s mind touched another: a dark, dead
presence. A hole in the life force of the world. The presence was old, but not
ancient, powerful, yet without form or substance. It was cold, yet infused with
a hellish heat.

The presence was aware of him. He
knew it perceived him. For an instant, their minds touched, and he learned more
than he wanted to know. Pancras feared the knowledge was reciprocal and opened
his eyes.

He saw nothing.

The minotaur’s mind was still
connected to that of the Lich Queen. Deep within her bower at the northern edge
of the Celtan Forest, she gathered strength. She sought out willing servants
and champions to lead her armies.

I feel the Princess of the
Underworld in your touch. How fortunate for you that she saved you from my
shadow. Now she uses you in a feeble, misguided attempt to destroy me. You will
fail. My purpose, my nature, is beyond your comprehension. Pledge yourself to
me, and I will spare you. I will give you dominion over this world.

Pancras pulled away and recoiled
like a sapling’s branch after one plucks a fruit from it. His mind would not
allow him to construct a reply, and after the brief brush with the Lich Queen’s
consciousness, a disjointed, kaleidoscopic flash of whirling shapes and colors
formed the chaotic image in his mind

Your path will lead you to me,
just as it has since you took my shadow from the chaos. You will serve me, or
you will die. In death, you will serve me. It is inevitable. It is your
destiny. Your fate and that of this world lie with me.

Pancras cried out as he fell
backward, and he opened his eyes. The glare of dawn blinded him for a moment.
Blinking to clear away the tears created by the light of the sun, he rolled
over as Gisella grabbed him and helped him to his feet.

“You were deep in that trance. We
were afraid to disturb you.”

Qaliah brought Pancras a steaming
mug of mulled wine. “You glowed all night. I wanted to throw a blanket over you
to save our eyes, but Blondie here wouldn’t let me.”

Pancras accepted the mug with
shaking hands. He tried to speak but could only open and close his mouth; no
sound issued forth. He fought to control his ragged breath and allowed the warm
wine to fill his belly instead. By the time he emptied the mug, his hands were
steady once again.

“Thanks for watching over me.” He
poured himself some more wine from the pot sitting at the edge of the fire.

“Didn’t have a choice. It was
like sleeping with twin full moons shining in our eyes.” Qaliah tossed him a
hunk of dried meat.

“It wasn’t as bad as all that.”
Gisella pulled the pots away from the fire and scattered the embers. “I am
curious what was happening with you, though. Are you all right?”

“It began as… I was just attuning
myself and the maul to Aita’s power.” Pancras lifted the weapon. It felt more
connected to him and the goddess of death’s power than ever before.
At least
that part worked.
“I’m not certain I understand all that transpired. I felt
the life force of the world, all that which Aita touches and affects as goddess
of death, and then something intruded. It was like a hole in the world.
Intelligent, malevolent. I believe it was the Lich Queen.”

Gisella stopped scattering ashes
and turned toward him. “Are you sure?”

“No. The entity did not identify
herself.” Pancras held his head. “Perhaps I fell asleep. Perhaps it was just a
dream.”

Qaliah poured herself more mulled
wine. “I wonder if your devotion to your gods is worth the risk. It seems like
they take perverse delight in messing with you and your friends.” After
draining her mug, she grabbed the pot. She shook out as much of the residue as
possible before shoving it in her saddlebag.

Pancras kept silent. Many people
felt as Qaliah did, that the gods were little better than meddlesome nuisances.
Pancras hoped with his newfound faith and his more intimate connection with
Aita, he would be able to answer such challenges.

Thus far, however, each encounter
provided more questions than answers.

* * *

The Citadel of Fire and Stone
loomed over them, the carvings on its face unfamiliar to Delilah. She noticed
the windows on the watchtowers flanking the approach resembled eyes. Attached
to a pulley mechanism on the inside of the citadel, the rope guided the ferry,
and she felt as if the cliff swallowed them as the ferry slid through the
entrance and bumped into the interior dock.

She gave Kale a hand as her
brother climbed out of the ferry. He helped her disembark, then Kali, and
finally Katka.

The air within the citadel
smelled of mold and decay. Darkness shrouded the interior dock, save for a bit
of sunlight reflecting off the water and shining through the entryway. Apart
from their breathing, water lapping at the stones and wood planks of the pier
was the only audible sound.

“
Fos
.” Katka held aloft
her wand as the tip glowed.

Delilah angled her staff forward.
“
Fos
.”

Their arcane foci provided more
than sufficient illumination to guide them. The dock led to a stone ramp. At
the top of the ramp, a doorway opened deeper into the citadel. Delilah took the
lead, checking her footing, careful to avoid slick spots on the damp stone.

“It’s warmer in here than I
expected.” Katka wiped her brow. Now that the human girl mentioned it, Delilah
noticed the heat, as well.

“Stone and fire, just like the
giant said, I suppose.” The drak sorceress came to a door. The handle was above
her head, out of her reach. Katka jumped up, but failed to grab the handle. She
pointed her wand at the door.

“
Dynami antikeimeno kalesei.
”
The light at the tip of her wand winked out, but the handle jerked down. Katka
guided the door open with her wand.

“Good work.” Delilah stepped
through the doorway into a vast room, its vaulted ceiling supported by columns
thick enough for draks to build homes within them. The light from her staff
illuminated only a fraction of the cavernous space.

The air in the room felt thick
and heavy. It stank of sulfur and soot, yet Delilah observed no source for the
odor. The floor was covered in dark grey dust, though she noticed a well-worn
path through the columns. She gestured to the others and followed the path
across the room. The draks’ claws clicked on the stone floor. The sound echoed
in Delilah’s ears, and for the first time in her life, she envied the coverings
humans wore on their feet.

“Ba lor, kon… forgive me. It has
been too long since I have had such small visitors.”

Delilah stopped and searched for
the source of the voice. It came from within the darkness ahead.

“Please, continue. I dwell in
darkness but do not mind the light.” The voice was raspy and breathless, as
though its owner was unused to speaking.

Delilah led her friends forward.
At the far end of the room, she noticed a throne. Upon it sat a wizened giant.
His snowy white beard spilled over his knees and covered his feet like a
blanket. A crown of disheveled white hair covered his head, hanging down over
his drooping face. Even though he was seated, Delilah stood only as high as his
mid-calf.

“Welcome, draks. You’ll forgive
me if I don’t stand. I am so very old, you see.” He coughed. “I’m told one of
you bears the mark of a draevyehfehdin. Your purpose here confuses me.”

“We come on behalf of the Archduke
of Muncifer.” Delilah stepped forward. The giant’s eyes were hidden behind his
snowy mane.

“Yet, there is a human of the
archmage with you. He has proven himself to be no friend of my people.”

Delilah glanced back at Katka and
then bowed to the giant. “She is here as my friend and assistant. The archduke
and the archmage are at odds with regard to your people.”

“I would speak with the
draevyehfehdin.”

Kale gulped audibly and stepped
forward. “That would be me. Kale of Clan Windsinger.”

“Who marked you thus?”

“Terrakaptis, the Earth Dragon—”

“Firstborne of Rannos Dragonsire
and Gaia the Earth Mother.” The giant nodded. “Yes, I knew him once.” Reclining
in his throne, he tilted back his head. He held that position for a moment
before extending his arms. The elbow joints cracked. He grunted and then sighed
before folding his hands in his lap.

“It was so very long ago. An age
has passed, and what we were has long since been forgotten. I am Ragnok the
Younger, King Under the Mountain, ruler of the Iron Giants.”