Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) (9 page)

The page curtsied again.
“Straight away!” She sprinted toward one of the buildings where the scribes
worked.

“What do you need that for?”

“I’m sending a letter with you,
in case it is my sister you seek.” Gisella patted Grímar’s knee. “It should
make her more cooperative. She can be headstrong and volatile.”

“I have other concerns.” Grímar
stared at his amulet, tracing the shape of the moon with his thumb. “I hear it
is often overcast. One could go months without seeing the moons.”

Gisella understood why that would
be a problem for a man like Grímar. He shared his secret with precious few, and
he included Gisella in that number because of their occasional trysts. “There
is help. The Circle of the Moon has a counterpart in each of the Watches, you
know.”

“Yes, I know, but I hear the
others are bands of murderers and thugs.” Grímar spoke often of his contempt
for those lycanthropes who allowed their beast to run wild. He prided himself,
as did all members of the Circle, on his control.

Lycanthropes were more accepted
in the Four Watches than in the northern lands. The unforgiving living
conditions and harsh environment forced folk to be more tolerant of others as
long as they contributed to keeping the community fed and warm. Folk able to
hunt in near-whiteout conditions unencumbered by heavy furs were a rare breed
the communities of the Four Watches could ill afford to turn away.

“I don’t think they’re as bad as
all that. A few bad apples and such.”

“Perhaps…”

The page returned with the
materials Gisella requested. After handing the girl a silver talon for her
troubles, she scrawled a message. She handed the folded paper to Grímar. “Now,
before you force a confrontation, see to it she reads this.”

Grímar narrowed his eyes and
grinned. “A secret note.”

“Oh, go ahead and read it.”
Gisella grimaced and waved her hand toward the letter. “It’s not secret. I
figured you would, anyway.”

He unfolded the parchment.
“‘Dearest Alysha, I fear Grandmother may be needing you soon. Remember who you
are and why you’re there. Be kind to Grímar; he is an honorable man. Love,
Gisella.”

Grímar’s face blossomed red.
“You’re too kind.”

Gisella kissed Grímar on the
cheek. “Be safe, my friend. Try not to eat anyone related to me.” She stood and
stretched.

Grímar reached for her hand.
“Where are you off to?”

“I have to meet with the court.”
She waved the reports in her hand. “My messengers bring dire tidings.”

Grímar laughed. “All tidings are
dire. Chasing down those rumors from the north? The Witch Queen or Lich Queen,
whichever you prefer.”

“Such news is worth
investigating. If she has returned, it is no small matter.”

“Before you go, tell me, how will
I recognize your sister?”

“She’s prettier than I, but we
both have our mother’s eyes.” Gisella ran a hand through her hair. “Her hair is
as white as pale alabaster.” Gisella smiled. “She has voracious appetites. I
can only hope her tastes have improved.”

“Yes, well… farewell, Gisella.”

Gisella kissed his cheek again
and left her friend to his preparations. When she entered the court building,
she found the seneschal, Lyov, gripping his podium and scowling at a young
woman who pranced in front of him. The woman was garbed in tight-fitting,
multicolored leather leggings and a garish suede vest. Bells on her tri-pointed
hat jingled with each movement of her head. The elderly man was thin, and white
wisps of hair crowned his head. His bushy eyebrows appeared to be embattled in
a sea of tanned wrinkles.

“Lyov! You’ve got to let me in!
It’s my job!” The fiendling, a girl who had the misfortune of demonic
parentage, had skin the color of lampblack that was almost perfectly matched to
the black patches on her clothes. Gisella didn’t know her story, but she
understood that fiendlings usually resulted from wizards miscalculating the
amount of control they had when summoning dark entities best left undisturbed.
They were rare in the world, but they were most common in cities where Arcane
Universities were located.

“Be gone, Qaliah. The court is
not interested in entertainment today.” He looked up as Gisella approached.
“Slayer, do something about this scamp.”

Qaliah spun and skipped around
Gisella. “Ooh, the Golden Slayer. Hi ho, dilly doe dump!” She pecked Gisella on
the cheek and skipped away.

“She’s bound to the court, Lyov.”
Gisella smiled as her eyes followed Qaliah dancing about the room. “It is not
my place to relieve her of duty.”

“Bound, bound, bound no more!”
Qaliah jumped in the air, landing in front of Lyov. She bent forward and kissed
the tip of his nose. “My servitude is finished!”

“Then why are you pestering me,
girl?” The old seneschal swatted at Qaliah, but the fiendling proved too quick,
skipping away and hiding behind Gisella as she giggled.

“Manless must pay my stipend so I
can pay for expenses.” She stopped prancing and put her hands on her hips.
“Being indentured doesn’t pay well, you know.”

Gisella placed her hands on
Qaliah’s shoulders. “I have business with the archmage. I will discuss your
situation with him.”

Qaliah fell to her knees. “The
Golden Slayer is the best. Praise to all the gods what control such things.
Dolios maybe? Praise Aurora, too, ‘cause she’s so pretty!”

Gisella laughed and pulled the
fiendling to her feet. “Off you go. We have serious business to discuss today.
I’ll find you when I have Man—the archmage’s answer.”

As Qaliah skipped away, Gisella
cursed herself in silence for her slip. She understood very well why Archmage
Vilkan was called Manless, but she tried to minimize the disrespect she showed
toward him. It was true she considered him to be contemptuous, but she was the
Golden Slayer, and to her, that meant always being dutiful and proper.

Unlike Manless.
Gisella
grimaced and steeled herself to answer the archmage’s summons.

* * *

After stabling their mounts,
Pancras led the group into the city proper. Muncifer was a walled city, like
Almeria, and tall guard houses loomed over the road. Between them an archway
stood, constructed of the ubiquitous grey stone, prolific throughout the city.
Pancras remembered not liking Muncifer when he lived here, but he forgot the
city appeared as if someone leached all the color from it.

Muncifer’s populace, however,
contrasted its buildings. People scurried about the streets in garments of
bright blue, green, orange, and red. Black and brown tones were used as trim or
accents, or not at all. Minotaurs towered over the humans. Darting in between
the taller folk, as always, was a handful of draks.

It was all so familiar, yet it
felt unfamiliar. The streets were the same, but the occupants of the buildings
were different. They passed a worn-down building Pancras swore was a bakery,
yet now was a tailor. Another shop the minotaur remembered belonging to one of
the magistrates appeared to be a raucous tavern, judging from the laughter and
whoops emanating from within. As they came to one of the bridges that crossed
the great chasm, Pancras paused to look down. Much of the undercity was cloaked
in shadow. Flickering lights on the walls were the only evidence of activity.
By Pancras’s recollection, it bustled with trade, much of it illicit. Many
people made the undercity their home, as well, mostly draks and humans too poor
to live on the surface.

“If there are any gambling dens
here, Edric”—Pancras pointed toward the undercity—“that’s where you’ll find
them.”

Edric strained to look over the
edge of the bridge. “Wish I’d kept old Yaffa with me.”

Pancras took them to an inn he
knew by reputation, the Granite Anvil. To his relief, it stood exactly as he
remembered. Other than the chiseled sign above the door, the Granite Anvil was
indistinguishable from the rest of the buildings on the street. It was a
favored hangout for transient visitors to the Arcane University, as it was one
block away from the university’s campus.

“I think we should relax for the
evening. First thing in the morning, Delilah and I will head over to the Arcane
University and clear up these charges. The rest of you will be free to do
whatever you want. Just, try to stay out of trouble, all right?”

Despite their assurances, Pancras
had the impression the last thing on Edric and Kali’s minds was avoiding
trouble. He just hoped they didn’t drag Kale down with them.

A hot bath and a warm meal
completed his evening and began the process of melting away the grime and
stress of the long journey. Pancras feared it wouldn’t be enough, however. If
the new archmage was stickler enough to collect decades’-old debts, there was
no telling what other petty tribulations were in store. Pancras tried to put
them out of his mind.

Delilah came to his room as he
prepared for bed. “What do you think they’re going to do to me, Pancras?”

“Probably just make you pay dues
and officially join the Mage’s Guild. I can’t imagine them requiring more than
that.” Pancras sat on the edge of his bed and removed his belt, looping it
around one of the bedposts near his head for safekeeping.

Delilah paced the floor in front
of him. “They think I’m a renegade, though, right?”

“Yes, but they’ve always been
lenient on renegades whose only crime is learning magic on their own because
they have never been near an Arcane University. If there were teachers in every
town, they might come down hard on you, but Maritropa is the closest Arcane
University to Drak-Anor, and it’s farther away than Almeria. You would hardly
be expected to know about such things.”

“What about you?” She stopped in
front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re just going to make
you pay up?”

“I hope that’s all they require.
Then we can go home.”

The drak sorceress shook her head
and snorted. “All this way for ten minutes of talk. What a waste of our time.”

Pancras didn’t disagree with that
assessment. “Often, those in power take great delight in wasting the time of
their so-called lessers.”

* * *

Gisella strode into the Court of
Wizardry. Apart from the archmage and his guards, the chamber was empty. Either
the business Vilkan wanted to discuss with her was private or was deemed not
important enough for the whole court to hear. She hoped it was the latter.
Vilkan’s private discussions always involved a measure of clumsy seduction and
machismo. After all the years they’d known each other, he still persisted.
Normally, Gisella appreciated persistence, but coming from Vilkan, it was
exhausting.

“You wanted to see me, Archmage?”

Vilkan held up a scroll.
“Renegades for you to hunt. Two of them, traveling together.”

Gisella bit back a sarcastic
retort and took the scroll from him. “You have a great deal of confidence in my
abilities if you’re sending me after two at once.”

“They should be on the road
between here and Ironkrag. They’re from that city in the mountains, Drak-Anor.
One is a minotaur. He’s delinquent on his dues and is a necromancer. The other
is a drak sorceress who never sought us out. Bring them to me.”

Gisella narrowed her eyes and
unrolled the scroll. “How do you know they’re on the road?” She scanned it.
According to the scroll, they had a deadline of Spring’s Dawning to appear:
three days from today. “They’re not late yet.”

“I doubt they’ll even show.
You’ll probably have to go to Drak-Anor to get them. You’re always interested
in events up north. Here’s your chance.”

“Up north in Vlorey. I have no
interest in the mountain cities.” Gisella rolled up the scroll and tucked it
under her arm. “Under the provisions of the Covenant of the Slain, they are not
renegades until their deadline has passed. I do not have the authorization to
hunt them while they are under a travel forbearance.”

Archmage Vilkan waved his hand.
“You won’t make it there in three days, and they’ll never know you left early
to intercept them.”

“Nevertheless, I will wait until
Spring’s Dawning to depart. They still have three days to arrive.”

The archmage heaved his bulk off
his chair. He held a finger to Gisella’s face and then huffed and turned away,
throwing up his hands in defeat. “Do as you will, then.”

“There’s one more matter.”

Archmage Vilkan stopped in his
tracks. She noticed him tense up before he turned. “What is it?”

“The jester girl, Qaliah. The
fiendling? She says her servitude is up and wants the severance stipend you
agreed upon.” It was a standard clause in most indenture contracts. Gisella assumed
Qaliah was guilty of some minor, annoying crimes, and working for the Arcane
University was a way to do penance without being thrown in jail.

“Tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”
Archmage Vilkan sneered. Shaking his head, he resumed his departure. “She’s a
liar and a thief. You should not concern yourself with such people.”