by Sever Bronny
That night, Augum rubbed Leera’s poor aching feet, and she in turn rubbed his aching back, for the improvised water barrel had taken its toll. Bridget counted out their provisions and measured how much water they had left, murmuring to herself under her breath while twirling a quill, taking precise notes. Before going to bed, they placed Object Alarm enchantments on their chest plates, which they stood on end around them, serving as alarms, not that they expected anything to happen. The armor was too cold to wear anyway and it might as well serve some function. When the trio turned in, they covered themselves with blankets to ward off the increasingly bitter and crisp cold that fogged their breath and frosted their eyebrows. As in the war, they huddled for warmth, sleeping deeply and soundly.
Another day and a half passed and the distant darkness further thickened. It was their eighth day, but they were alive and in good spirits. By then, their legs and feet, although perpetually throbbing, had grown accustomed to the basalt floor. Although their faces were sunken, they always slept soundly and ate and drank just enough to get by, the food load they carried growing lighter as they ate it. They had tested every door they passed, though the frequency of the doors’ appearance dropped to once every eight hours of walking. But it was one such door that abruptly opened, blasting them with warm air and the aroma of cinnamon tea. On the other side of that door was the solar of King Rupert. He sat by the fire.
And he was weeping.
Choices, Choices
King Rupert stood as soon as he saw the trio, hearth fire shining in his tears. Two sheepskin hides hung loosely around his shoulders, clasped by a golden chain. A ceremonial candle surrounded with ivy flickered on a mantle. “Unnameables, you live …”
Augum stepped forward. “Your Highness, we are eight days into our Arcaner dragoon trial, with the worst yet to come.” He glanced back and saw the door still looked out into the freezing Hall of Rapture. “The door opened into your solar, Your Highness. We do not understand why.”
The king turned his head away and wiped his eyes with the back of his beefy hand. “Then … you do not know.”
“Know what, Sire?”
King Rupert got up and went to a window overlooking the city. Augum thought he glimpsed flames in the distance before the king’s bulky frame obscured them.
“Come, look. Look out this window.”
Augum was about to check out the window when a gut feeling—foresight—told him not to. He quickly spotted the reason—a crimson-robed Black Eagle stood in the deep shadow of a corner.
“Your Highness, there is little time,” Augum said instead.
“The streets are rivers of blood,” the king whispered. “You can see the blood from here. You can see the blood.”
Augum gaped. Was this an illusion, or could this be real and what the king was saying be true?
Bridget broke the silence. “Your Highness, have the Canterrans found the Heart of the Colossus?”
“No, Lady Burns, they have not, and Sepherin’s anger fuels his vengeance. They say we are keeping it secret. They say every day it stays hidden, a thousand more will perish. My kingdom is turning to ashes before my eyes and I am powerless.” He turned to face the trio. “They tell me you know what the Heart of the Colossus is.”
“We do not, Your Highness,” Augum said.
“Then you must come back this instant. You must help us find it … or all will be lost.”
“Your Highness, we believe our quest will yield the answer,” Augum said, squeezing his hand into a fist and bringing it to his chest. “You must allow us to finish it.”
“I do not know what ancient arcanery has brought you through the arcane protections that prevent teleportation into this castle, but it is exemplary of the power of Arcaners. I now believe in the order returning, Lord Stone.”
Augum couldn’t help himself. “A lord has land, Your Highness. You took my land from me. My home. My ancestral castle. Even my savings.”
“I … I have made mistakes. Grave mistakes. Mistakes I … I regret. Those mistakes will lead to my downfall, and … and it will be deserved.”
Augum thought of Eric down on his knees in this room, begging for his life, and the king coldly condemning him to death. “Katrina plans to marry Darby and take the throne, Your Highness.”
“No … no, she would never do that to me.”
“She will.”
“She is my own daughter …”
Augum raised his chin. “All he ever wanted, Your Highness, was your love, if not your respect.”
King Rupert stiffened, but there was a tremor in his shoulders. “King Samuel has found the siege engine. He has sworn to me, king to king, man to man, that should a Solian—any Solian—deliver the Heart of the Colossus, he will cease the killing. I believe him. If there is one thing he respects, it is the word of honor. That is why I command you to set aside your ambitions for the sake of my kingdom. For the sake of our kingdom.” He turned his head to the side and gave the slightest nod. The Black Eagle was lightning fast, shooting an arm out while spitting, “Paralizo carcusa cemente ito—”
But the triple Paralyze spell, albeit uttered quickly and by a highly competent warlock, did not beat Augum’s combat-trained reflexes, for he raised his shield and countered with, “Mimicus!” The paralyzing arcane tendrils roared toward him like a cold wind. But after applying the countering effect of arcane perpendicularity, those invisible tendrils reflected off his mirrored shield back at the caster, who went statue still, indicating his Mind Armor had not been ready. Yet the triple paralysis had an unintended effect—it also paralyzed the king, who stood within its radius, stuck watching the city.
Augum allowed his shield to disappear, conscious of the sound of rushing boots coming from the corridors. His gaze lingered on the ceremonial candle, fragile flame wavering, delicate ivy laced around its base. He knew its significance and it sent a pang of regret through his chest. “Your Highness, what we do, we do in service to Solia.”
The trio turned around and stepped back through the door, closing it behind them just as other secret doors opened into the solar. They stood listening, arms at the ready, but not a peep came through the door, for the connection to the king’s solar had been broken.
“I don’t get it. What was the point of that?” Leera asked as they resumed their journey.
“We had a choice. Abandon the quest to serve him, or continue … and serve the kingdom.”
“Ah … service.” She thought about it. “That one was quite literal, wasn’t it?”
“ ‘Sometimes a cap is just a cap,’ ” Bridget said.
Leera crinkled her nose. “Huh?”
“It’s an old proverb. Just means that not everything has a hidden meaning.”
“Okay there, Laudine.”
“No need for sarcasm.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you two notice the Endyear candle?” Augum asked.
The girls nodded.
“So if this isn’t an illusion, then we’ve been walking long enough for Endyear to begin,” Leera whispered somberly, referring to the final tenday of every year, marked with celebrations, games, and customs like Merrygive, which called for the young to go to the doors of the old and volunteer to help around the house or farm in exchange for sweets like butter cookies.
They walked in thoughtful silence for a few hours. Augum was conscious of the darkness looming a couple days’ walk ahead. It felt like the black basalt floor was a demonic carpet leading them to their graves.
“There’s another door ahead,” Bridget said, breaking the cold quiet.
Leera squinted, rubbed her eyes, and squinted again. “Nothing but a blur. Curse these stupid eyes, I swear they’re getting weaker.”
“It’s on the right-hand wall. Looks to be about an hour’s walk or so.”
They snacked on thin dried strips of venison and took sips of water.
“Ugh, what I wouldn’t do for some salt,” Leera muttered.
“I wish we had asked t
he king for water,” Augum replied.
“That would have gone well.” Leera’s voice slipped into a commoner twang. “ ‘Oh, ’scuse us, Yer Majesty, just droppin’ by your private solar to snatch a wee bit o’ water.’ ”
“Is it bad I find that accent attractive?”
“You sayin’ I should talk like this all the time, m’lord?”
Bridget groaned as she clutched her head. “You’re giving me a headache.”
Leera’s brows danced at Augum. “Uh-oh, Bridgey’s annoyed. Better tone it down a wee bit.”
Augum placed a finger to her lips. “Shhh—”
Leera smacked his paw away with one hand while placing a finger over his lips with the other, whispering, “Don’t you shush me—shush you!”
They giddily tussled back and forth until Augum realized they were wasting precious energy and ceased the friendly melee. By then, Bridget had strode ahead so she wouldn’t have to watch. He didn’t blame her in the least; she was probably sick of him and Leera. They had been traveling together for almost eight full days and had spent another tenday training together before that. He sincerely wished she had Olaf around to heap attention on, and to have attention heaped upon her. Brandon had filled those shoes once. Unfortunately, the poor fool had made decisions that could not be undone. But he had to admit, Olaf was arguably funnier and certainly kinder, and Augum looked forward to spending time together as a foursome of friends.
They arrived at the door but decided to rest prior to opening it. After having a snack and another sip of water, they put everything down and tightened their breastplates, which they’d worn loose for travel. Then they set their focus on the door.
“Please no more demons, please no more demons,” Leera muttered.
Augum placed his hand on the ancient verdigris-caked door handle and turned. The door opened … revealing an enormous theater-like academy classroom filled with what had to be at least a thousand students. All ages, skin colors and robe colors were represented, as well as a fairly even distribution of genders. None took notice of the trio. A few were horsing around, tossing scraps of parchment at each other. A few had their feet up and were snoring. Many quietly cycled through their spells. Most, however, muttered to themselves as they frantically pored over scrolls and parchments.
The theater-like room looked brand new, as if crafted only yesterday. The ceiling was infinite, the walls plain and unmarked. A gentle rising staircase of desks went all the way to the back wall, and there had to be at least fifty desks per row. Hanging above a chalkboard at the front was a massive Arcaner crest, depicting a castle, underneath which were the words, Semperis vorto honos. An empty lectern and a classic arcanist’s desk stood below, on top of which sat a large hourglass with purple sand in it. And right there before the lectern, amongst a gaggle of students, were three empty desks.
“Is this … is this what I think it is?” Leera whispered.
“It’s an Arcaner classroom,” Augum blurted.
“Except everyone’s from a different epoch,” Bridget noted, studying the unruly crowd. And sure enough, some of the robes were cut in older—even ancient—fashions. Some people wore outlandish peacock caps, others bizarre raven-feather vests, others hailed from distant kingdoms and wore embroidered ceremonial outfits festooned with beads or furs or assorted ceremonial attire. Skin tones ranged from the milk-faced Henawa to ebony Sierran. Augum, having never seen a Henawa warlock before, gaped stupidly, before realizing what he was doing was frightfully rude.
“I think we’re supposed to take our seats,” he said, taking the lead. A gaggle of voices and accents reached them as they passed the desks, not all in the Solian tongue.
“Thou art a braggart scoundrel, I say!” teased one young woman wearing a brilliant lapis necklace.
“Prepare to square! I shan’t have my honor stained, naughty mushrump!” replied a smiling boy wearing a blue robe with frills on the cuffs.
“… though in my esteemed estimation, I do believe we may be underestimating Occulus,” a distinguished middle-aged man with a studious black cap and violet robe said to an attentive woman his age. “He speaks of unity, but I think his soul has ambitions well beyond our understanding. Mind that I declare those ambitions ill-conceived.”
“Yes, but we must give the man a fair hearing,” replied the woman.
“… and then she shoved him through the wall,” said a girl of the trio’s age to another girl. “Yes, he died, and she regrets it, but it was a legal tournament move.”
“Some of these people are from an even older time than the academy,” Augum noted as they awkwardly climbed over their desks and took their seats. “Yet they’re here together.” It was beyond him how any of this worked. Different times, different epochs, different cultures and experiences.
“I believe it’s a sampling of Arcaners throughout history and from various kingdoms,” Bridget said.
Leera turned around in her seat to face a gray-haired woman. “Excuse me, what’s going on?” But the woman did not look up. Leera swatted at her arm only for her hand to plunge right through it. “Ghosts,” she reported back. “Why am I not surprised.”
Bridget peeked at the parchments of her neighbor, a handsome young man with a well-cut emerald robe. “It’s all Arcaner study material. Wait, I think this is an—”
Everyone suddenly rose as Trintus Bladeofbright strode into the room from a side entrance, a tremendous bundle of scrolls floating along behind him. The trio stood as the room fell silent.
Trintus, hair and beard and robe aflame, stopped beside the lectern. He brought his left arm before him and summoned a brilliant shield of fire. It depicted a castle and the golden Arcaner words which he solemnly spoke aloud in greeting.
“Semperis vorto honos.”
Everyone in the class, including the trio, summoned their shields where they stood, chanting in reply, “Semperis vorto honos.” Augum glanced around and saw that every single shield had the golden words, but none had a castle, meaning everyone here was a squire. And then it dawned on him what this was.
“Welcome, squires, to your formal written exam,” Trintus declared, signaling for them to disappear their shields, which they did with a collective whoosh. The scrolls continued to float beside him as he spoke on. “Should you pass, you will be allowed to proceed to your practical exam.”
The students stirred.
“Thank the Unnameables we basically had a tenday of cramming,” Leera muttered out of the side of her mouth to Augum.
Augum wondered how in Sithesia this would work. What questions would there be? Above all, who would grade them? Was there a live Arcaner arcanist behind the scenes, pulling the strings?
“Squires, prepare yourselves,” Trintus boomed. “Do not open the scroll until I turn the hourglass. The sand will trickle for two hours. When the last particle has fallen, your scrolls will disappear. Upon your honor, summon your shields and repeat after me.” There was a gentle whoosh as a thousand shields reappeared. “I swear on my honor as an Arcaner squire that I will not talk, peek, share notes, or otherwise cheat in any way.”
“I swear on my honor as an Arcaner squire that I will not talk, peek, share notes, or otherwise cheat in any way,” the class chorused as one.
“Once given, I shall not change my answer.”
“Once given, I shall not change my answer,” the class repeated.
“So serious,” Leera murmured, swallowing.
Trintus nodded and shields disappeared. He spread his fingers and the scrolls dispersed uniformly among the still-standing students, beginning with the trio in the front, who grabbed them in midair. The scrolls were huge—two feet in width, and rolled up tightly.
“Oh no, I’m out of ink—” Bridget hissed in wild panic.
But Augum had already spotted two square runes in the top corner of each desk. “You wouldn’t happen to remember the activation word for a quill rune, or for that matter, ink bottle rune, would you, Bridge?” he asked her in reply, indicati
ng the desk. “Oh and Lee and I didn’t bring our quills or inks.”
“No, I don’t. They phased out those runes centuries ago. Too laborious to maintain. Had a live Arcaner headed the course, they would have instructed us to bring our own!” She anxiously rocked from foot to foot, for running out of ink seemed to strike at a core fear.
Augum wanted to tell her to relax, that they’d work it out, but thought better of it, figuring it would only draw her ire.
“Squires may take their places,” Trintus announced and the students sat down all at once. Trintus opened a hand. “You may now summon your quills and inks.”
A great multitude of voices rang out with the word, “Shyneo.” The room brightened with a thousand hands lighting up, reflecting all seven elements. Squires placed their lit palms over each rune. Amongst the chaotic and mistimed gaggle of voices that rang out next, Augum made out one of the two rune activation phrases. He placed his lit palm over the first rune and envisioned a quill appearing, drawing on his knowledge of runes and praying to the Unnameables that it was adequate. “Summano quillio.” A quill popped into existence above the desk, and he caught it. Then he traded knowledge with Bridget, who had thankfully heard the ink bottle summoning version. “Summano inkus buetlo,” Augum said, and a small ink bottle popped into existence beside his palm. He passed on what they had learned to a frantic Leera, who hadn’t made out either rune. Once she’d summoned her quill and ink, the trio wished each other good luck.
“Squires ready yourselves.” Trintus pointed at the hourglass of purple sand and it flipped over. “You may begin.”
The sound of a thousand scrolls opening flooded the room. A minor annoyance presented itself—the scrolls were so crisp they wanted to roll right back up, and one had to keep them open telekinetically to get anything done, which Augum realized was the point. They spanned the entire desk too, and were written in tiny script.
Augum pored over the contents and discovered that every single question was multiple choice. What a mercy! Multiple choice was favored most by students. The first question read:
