Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  But suddenly he realized something—Erika wasn’t carrying the divining rod! Of course—the tracking party had to be using it! His instincts told him Erika would most likely parade it for the trophy presentation though … or so he sincerely hoped. It was a big gamble, but one worth taking. This also meant the tracking party was out there this very moment, hunting for Nana … she had to last, had to!

  Giovanni’s voice boomed on. “Please remember that at least two of the three judges must pull their judging lever for a point to be awarded. And now … what you’ve been patiently waiting all year for … the first event of this year’s Antioc Classic!”

  The crowd cheered loudly.

  “We begin with the 1st degree. Since our young contenders have no arcane offensive capabilities, they will have to score points using other creative means. In this corner, representing the Academy of Arcane Arts and the Blackhaven Legion outfit of the Rose Quarter; she wields the air element like a whip and is known to topple block stones in her spare time, please put your hands together for … Maybelle ‘Born Blustering’ Jackson!”

  The crowd cheered as a tiny ebony-skinned girl wearing a necrophyte robe pumped her fist and flashed a single barely visible ring of air.

  “And in this corner, coming all the way from the Nodian capital—” Lucca Giovanni held an arm up waiting for the boos to calm down. “From the newly-built Heartfire Academy, wielding the water element like he’s putting out a fire … he’s known to scowl his opponents to submission … please welcome … Nadir ‘The Frown’ Nazz!” Giovanni stretched out the z’s into a snake hiss as the crowd booed—Nodia was on the Legion’s to-be-conquered list, and the necrophytes and supporters in the crowd were making sure the contenders knew it. A sun-bronzed boy with an overdramatic scowl sauntered forth, giving a brief nod and flashing a single watery ring.

  Attendants carried the platform away as Giovanni brought the two opponents together to give a final quiet talking-to. More attendants wheeled in six wooden stands, each with a small assortment of wooden practice weapons.

  “Now as the ancient tradition of arcane honor dictates … combatants, show your stripes and bow!”

  One ring flared to life around each of the combatant’s arms. Then they gracefully bowed to each other as the crowd applauded.

  Giovanni gestured dramatically at the girl. “Are you ready?” She nodded. He gestured the other way at the boy. “And are you ready?” Soon as he nodded, Giovanni made a chopping gesture, shouting, “Fight!” while an attendant near the judges flipped a giant hourglass and rang a bell.

  The two opponents wasted no time using Telekinesis to hurl dull wooden spears at each other. The crowd rooted for the ebony-skinned necrophyte, gasping as she ducked the projectile. The boy was not quick enough and got plonked in the shoulder.

  The judges pulled their levers and an arcanely-modulated wooden scoreboard flipped one of two zeroes to the number one. Above the one was a sliding slat board painted with the name Born Blustering. Opposite, above the zero, was written The Frown.

  Leera leaned closer to Augum with a giggle. “The Frown. It’s like calling someone ‘The Wink’, or ‘The Stare’.”

  But Augum barely paid any attention. His hands were clammy—this was going to be him in only a matter of hours! In front of a bazillion people—!

  “Shyneo!” the Nodian boy shouted, voice arcanely amplified somehow, echoing among the stands. His palm lit up with a weak watery glow.

  Leera flipped her hand questioningly. “What’s he going to do with that, light up some water with the extension?”

  “Born Blustering is not in the least intimidated, folks,” Giovanni’s voice boomed. “That may have been a mistake on The Frown’s part.”

  The girl gestured at a wooden practice sword behind the boy. It flew toward him, smacking him in the back of the head. The sound of an “Oof!” reverberated through the arena and the crowd roared.

  “Two-nothing!” Giovanni stated. “She’s really laying it on him—”

  Leera was shaking her head. “Why doesn’t he do something?”

  The boy charged at the girl but she shoved violently at the air, shouting, “BAKA!” and he was sent sprawling.

  “Three-nothing!”

  Leera scowled. “Come on, he should have seen that coming—”

  The boy gestured at a wooden club behind the girl and it shot at her. The crowd shouted a warning but she failed to dodge in time and was knocked to the ground. The scoreboard flipped to three-one. The crowd called for her to get up but she suddenly began rotting instead.

  “It’s a trick, a trick!” Leera was shouting, but the boy couldn’t hear above the roar. He sauntered forth, nodding triumphantly and raising his arms in victory.

  Leera cupped her hands around her mouth. “The hourglass hasn’t run out yet, you fool! It’s a trick—!”

  As the boy neared, the girl swept a kick his way, tripping him. He fell to the ground with a thud and the scoreboard flipped 4-1.

  “What a move!” Giovanni shouted.

  “Idiot,” Leera muttered as the girl used Telekinesis to shoot a wooden practice sword into her hand, which she promptly used to swing at the Nodian boy. But Nadir “The Frown” Nazz surprised everybody by summoning a shield that blocked the sword strike with a hodge-podge of leaves and sticks. Even the boy seemed surprised that he had achieved the feat—but he had little time to celebrate, because the girl aimed a second strike. This time his Shield spell failed and he cried out as the sword smacked his raised arm.

  “Five to one!” Giovanni shouted as the crowd roared their pleasure. “It’s over, folks!” He strolled onto the arena, bringing the two panting combatants together. “Please give a round of applause to our two contestants, Nadir ‘The Frown’ Nazz, and our victor, Maybelle ‘Born Blustering’ Jackson!” The crowd clapped politely.

  Giovanni’s hand remained on the contestants’ shoulders, even though they looked like they very much wanted to leave the arena immediately. He leaned to the Nodian boy. “How did it feel, Nadir, when you got hit in the head that first time? Was it a surprise?”

  The crowd tittered as the boy nervously twiddled his hands. “Uh … ya, good it not,” he said in a thick Nodian accent.

  “I bet. Thank you for participating, and try not to get trampled when our valiant soldiers come marching through your town, will you?”

  The crowd roared with laughter as the boy’s head dropped.

  “What a jerk!” Leera called. She cupped her hands, shouting, “Boo! It’s you that sucks, Giovanni! Crawl back under the slimy rock you came from!”

  Some in the nearby crowd glared at Leera, including one Legionnaire. Bridget gave her a stern look, mouthing, “Are you crazy?” but Leera merely dismissed everyone with a derisive wave of her hand.

  Giovanni, meanwhile, turned to the young girl by his side. “Maybelle, what were you thinking when he cast his Shine spell?”

  Maybelle was still breathing hard. “Uh … that he messed up, because, uh, there’s no useful extension for Shine in his element.” The crowd clapped their approval.

  “You did extremely well, my dear. I am sure your outfit is very proud.” A segment of the crowd composed of necrophytes cheered loudly in high-pitched tones.

  “All right. Congratulations, Maybelle, you’ll be moving on to the quarter-finals tomorrow. Good luck! Another round of applause, everyone!”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Leera said, disgusted.

  Back in the Library

  Soon as they reached the entrance hall, Bridget dug out the library map and gave it a quick study. “This way,” she said, leading them toward a hallway. They still had a couple hours before they had to meet Malaika and Charissa for their pre-noon spy report, plenty of time to get started on some Agonex research.

  But Augum’s mind was mostly on the tournament. How old had Nana been when she won in the tournament, and at what degree had she won? She had to have been young, and certainly still attending the academy at the time.<
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  They strolled down a vast and ancient hallway made from crude stone blocks. Verdigris bronze sculptures of mythical figures sat on carved ebony stands along the walls, behind which hung old tapestries. A smattering of people came and went—Legion warlocks, Legionnaires, necrophytes, people in fancy garb, but very few common folk.

  Augum stopped before a sculpture of a wolven flashing his armor. “People here know wolven exist, right?”

  “Not really,” Bridget replied. “Nobody goes that far north, it’s forbidden. Some old pact from some old war. Now wolven are like Leyans—legend.”

  “I didn’t know they existed either,” Leera said, “till we bumped into one on that mountain, that is.”

  They moved on, passing gargoyles and dragons and hellhounds and other mythical creatures. Were they all real too? Hellhounds certainly were, he had fought them at Castle Arinthian. But dragons? There was that tooth he had smashed against Hangman’s Rock, a tooth gifted to him by One Eye, a tooth supposedly from a dragon …

  The corridor merged into a vast hall with a high, arched roof painted with ancient depictions of scholars, some of whom Augum swore were Leyans, as they were hairless and had black eyes. Thick stone pillars ran down both sides of the hall. Behind the pillars were rows of doors, each guarded by a bored-looking Legionnaire. Some were closed, some open. In the center was a great statue of a gargoyle sitting with its chin resting on its fist in thought, a loose book in the other hand, wings folded neatly behind. Below was an inscription.

  The trio slowly approached, marveling at the statue.

  “Wonder what the gargoyle represents,” Leera said. “See it everywhere.”

  “Wisdom, inquisitiveness, and strength of character,” replied a hoarse voice behind them. They turned to see a bespectacled old man bent over a cane, wearing a gray scholar’s robe with an animated embroidered oval depicting a crimson gargoyle. The man had a silver beard that hung past his waist and a matching bush of unruly hair. His ears were as pointy as the gargoyle’s.

  The man prodded at the ground, wheezing as he strode near the statue, then raised his cane and asked, “Know what it says?”

  “No, sir,” Augum replied.

  “You would if you were studied, yes you would. It translates to, ‘Thee wisdom of thy ages be scratched in scroll and parchment. Woe be to those who let either wither’.” Then he grunted, nodding to himself. “Know who wrote those words?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, you certainly do not. But you should. That was written by the library founder, Theodorus Winkfield. Now let me ask another. Know how old the statue is?”

  Augum exchanged a bewildered look with Leera and Bridget. “I’m sure we don’t, sir.”

  “Ah, I was hoping you’d tell me.” The man wheezed a laugh. “I don’t either, but much older than me, yes it is.” He rubbed his heavily veined nose and turned to look at them. He squinted at their robes, blinking rapidly, and loosed a great big sigh. “They don’t teach you kids proper history like they should, no they do not. Once was a time they did, but not anymore.” He waved his cane in a tight circle. “Once was a time you young ‘uns knew more than the old fools who prowl these here halls, yes siree, you can bet on that.” He kept nodding as if his neck was a swing. After staring at the trio with those rapidly blinking eyes, he suddenly thrust his cane at one of the doors. “Necromancy’s that door there, yes she is, though she be a harsh mistress, yes she be, a harsh mistress indeed.”

  “Uh, sorry, sir, but we’re not here to look at necromancy,” Augum replied, quickly adding, “Today, that is. Maybe tomorrow.”

  The man’s bushy brows rose. “Well then, sonny, what, pray tell, are you here for?”

  “Is there a section on artifacts?”

  “Oh, aye, there’s a section on artifacts.” The man’s head returned to bobbing along as if it was a cork in water.

  “Can … can you tell us where it is?”

  “Aye, I can.” His eyes stayed even as his head went up and down and up and down, driving Augum nuts.

  “So … where is it?”

  “Somewhere in this library.”

  “Right … Should we just maybe poke around then?”

  The man’s head now started swinging the other way. “Nay, ye probably shouldn’t do that, nope, no siree … but you could.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  The man turned on his heel, looked up at the gargoyle. “Do you want to know a secret?”

  The trio exchanged looks. Was this man mad?

  “Sure, I guess,” Augum replied, hoping this was going somewhere soon.

  The old man’s hoarse voice dropped to a tremulous whisper as he nodded at the inscription. “There are words behind these words, yes there are indeed.”

  The trio came a little closer to inspect the words.

  Augum frowned. “You mean, like, a double meaning?”

  The man stood impassively watching them, head bouncing.

  “I don’t see anything,” Leera replied.

  “That’s because ye ain’t really lookin’, is you now? What does that there gargoyle represent?”

  Leera frowned. “You just told us.”

  “But were you listening, lass?”

  Bridget tapped her chin. “Wisdom, inquisitiveness, and strength of character …”

  “Ah, this one here has brains to go along with them little ears.” He made an impatient gesture with his cane. “Now put two-and-two together, dear, come on now, lest these bones grow any more brittle.”

  Augum and Leera glanced at each other. What was he going on about?

  Bridget’s face suddenly lit up. She approached the inscription, reached out, and said, “Un vun deo.” The words immediately morphed. “ ‘Thou canst find wisdom, if thou not searcheth for it first’,” she read solemnly.

  The man smiled, head wobbling. “Very good, young lass, very good. And what does that tell you about this here ancient institution?”

  Bridget crossed her brows in concentration. “It says two things—that not all is as it first appears, and that things cannot be found without being searched for.”

  “Omnio incipus equa liberatus corsisi mei.”

  Bridget immediately replied with, “All begin equal but only the curious thrive.”

  The man’s smile broadened as he gave her an appraising look. He opened his palms and glanced at the ornate ceiling. “Unnameables, there is hope for this lost generation yet. Have mercy on the few we have remaining. Keep them safe and guide them on the path of knowledge.”

  He returned his gaze to Bridget’s robe and started shaking his head again. “A pity, my dear, a real pity, yes it is.” His voice dropped. “Your time would be better served as a scholar within these here walls, yes it would. There are many, many secrets to be unlocked here, to be rediscovered even, I dare say, yes I do.”

  He raised a stern finger and went absolutely still. “But if you repeat it, I shall deny it, yes I will. And then I shall play the old fool, and no one will be the wiser.” He winked and wheezily chuckled, head bob returning. “Did you know that sometimes you can tell the age of an idea just by the smell of the parchment? Did you know that? Yes you can indeed. One must take time in life to bend down and sniff the pages.”

  Suddenly he put on a stern mask, freezing once again while whispering, “But be on ye guard, for there be people …” His rapidly blinking eyes flicked to and fro. “That do not like their secrets being aired, no they do not. And then … and then there be ghosts, and ghosts are never to be trifled with, no, never trifle with a ghost.” His voice dropped even lower, to a gravelly rumble, and his face darkened. “But then … then there are ghosts of ghosts … the past come to life … that go out of their way to harm the soul, yes they do.” His head bobbed slowly. “They do indeed … sometimes with a puzzle. Sometimes with a gesture.” He tapped the floor slowly with his cane. “Some of those ghosts of ghosts rest in this here very library, yes they do. In its five foot walls. In its statues. In the bowe
ls of bowels, deep, deep beneath the shell that is what the unlearned peasant sees. Old, tired ghosts, whom you’ll probably never even get to see …”

  The trio exchanged wide-eyed looks. Augum felt goose bumps on his skin. Something about the way the old man spoke …

  The man raised that bony finger again. “But you shouldn’t ask too many questions either, no you should not, not around here. Not in this time. Especially not the right ones.” His eyes bored into Bridget. “No, those questions can get a young lass put in the ground awful quick, oh yes, awful quick …” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or worse … raise her after she be buried.”

  Bridget drew her hood a little tighter.

  “Omnio incipus equa liberatus corsisi mei,” the man repeated in that same spooky tone before suddenly brightening. “Why don’t I leave you to it then, eh?” He chuckled to himself while wiping his veined nose. “Never too early for a whisky, no it ain’t, I says, never too early,” and he padded off, cane tapping on the floor. He sang to himself in a warbling tone, “Too early or too late, it don’t matter here nor hine, yet the library it doth open, and close at the strike of nine, yes it does, it does indeed …”

  “Who in Sithesia was that?” Leera said.

  “Wish we’d asked,” Augum replied.

  Bridget watched the man go before turning back to the statue. “Not sure he would have told you anyway.”

  Leera nodded at the inscription. “Words are back to that gibberish again.”

  Bridget glanced around as if seeing the library anew. Augum, too, suddenly saw things he had not noticed before—a small odd gargoyle, out of place amongst a family tapestry scene; a runic carving up high on one of the pillars, not repeated on any of the other pillars and far out of reach; how each of the doors had a different rune, subtly etched among a forest scene, or a castle scene, or some other scene; he even noticed an odd stone in the walls, discolored from the rest. Everything seemed to have meaning, layers, depth … secrets. Yes, this place had secrets, many of them. He could smell it in the musty and ancient air.