Free Lament (Scars of the Sundering Book 2) by Hans Cummings Page A

nose a red tinge.
    “Were those real monsters you
made your lizards eat?”
    Delilah stared at him, her mouth
agape, before she glanced at the nailtooths and back at him. “They were real…
they weren’t monsters though, not really.”
    She shifted her weight, desperate
for the comfort of her staff. It was where she left it on the ground near where
she had been seated in front of the fire.
    “What were they? I ain’t never
seen things like that before.”
    “Boggins. They live in the
mountains. In caves.”
    The child continued to stare at
her. “Are they nice? Our sheep are nice. I cry when we have to kill one to eat
it.”
    Delilah’s lips curled. “They’re
nasty. They’re bitey and stupid.”
    “Oh.” He studied the grass and
scratched his leg. “You’re a wizard.” It was a statement, not a question.
    Delilah answered anyway. “Yes.
I’m a sorceress.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “Wizards study arcana in schools.
I learned it on my own.” I guess since I’m learning from a book now, I’m
more wizardly than I used to be.
    “Huh. What’s your name?”
    “Delilah.”
    The boy stared at her, his brow
creased in thought. “That doesn’t sound so wizardy.”
    “Well, what’s your name?”
    “Adric.”
    “Well, Adric”—Delilah offered her
hand—“I’m sorry I scared you.”
    He took her hand and peered at it
as they shook. “Okay.”
    Adric turned and ran. He glanced
over his shoulder at the sorceress. “Time for sleep.”
    Delilah watched the boy jog away
and then returned to the fire. Vasily continued telling stories, and Magda was
deep in her interrogation of Pancras. Delilah huddled under her cloak with her staff
and thought of volcanic fire. Maybe if I think I’m hot, I won’t feel so
cold.
     
     

 
    Chapter 5
     
    Cold snaps were not unheard of as
the season transitioned to spring, but Pancras had hoped they would not
encounter one as they traveled to Muncifer. He shivered as he fell into a
fitful sleep, despite having covered himself with numerous blankets and furs.
    The tickle in the corner of his
mind, which Pancras felt earlier that evening, returned as his dreams resumed
and whisked him away to magical places. It started light as a feather’s touch
and then gripped his mind stronger and tighter like an iron vise. Eyes formed
in the darkness, pinpoints like glowing embers in the night.
    The embers cooled, and the red
glow faded to icy blue. A spectral visage formed around the eyes, a mask of
death. A woman with sunken cheeks, skin stretched tight as a drum, smiled, her
teeth sharpened into spikes as she grimaced in pleasure.
    Seek me out, Necromancer. Your
life, your death, belongs to me.
    Pancras felt his throat
constrict. He tried to awaken but could not. In his dream, he gasped for
breath. The grip around his throat tightened.
    You can resist. You can fight.
You can die. It is useless. Futile. Escape is impossible. Before the end, you
will do my bidding.
    The grim visage faded and was
replaced by a shadow with glowing ember eyes, its laugh a chill wind that froze
Pancras’s blood.
    He awoke with a grunt, his
withered hand locked around his throat. The world was covered in a dark haze,
as if his face were covered with a black veil. Rolling over, Pancras groaned
and pushed himself to his hands and knees. Dawn broke, the sun’s rays
backlighting wispy clouds gliding across a rose sky. He rubbed his eyes with
his unwithered hand. The haze faded, retreating to the edges of his vision.
Edric, already up, stood talking with Vasily by the cooking fire. Delilah was
huddled next to her brother, who was also lending his body heat to Kali.
    Vasily saw Pancras stir and
raised a hand to him. “Good morning, my friend! Sleep well?”
    “Not really. I miss my bed.”
Pancras rolled his neck and tried to work out the kinks in his muscles. The
more he slept on hard-packed, semi-frozen dirt, the more he missed the comforts
of Drak-Anor.
    “I have helped Edric feed your
animals.