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

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,