by Sever Bronny
Those who had heard the quote and knew her rolled their eyes, one student even muttering, “Ugh, tedious …”
“Anyway, she survived,” Brandon added.
Augum blinked. “Who did—? Erika?”
“Yep. Rumor is she’s a mangled heap, but she’s alive.”
“I believe her to be a revenant,” Garryk said in his squeaky voice.
“I hear she’s been sent to Nodia, to the front,” Olaf said. He scrunched thick blonde eyebrows. “Or was it Canterra?”
“I hear she’s been cast into the nether darkness of the depths of the Black Castle,” Laudine said in spooky whisper, adding, “ ‘Quarrel, quarrel for the light. Know naught but darkness, should you lose the fight.’ ”
“Unnameables, give it a rest, Laud,” Alyssa said. “We’re not on stage here.”
But Augum felt a tingling in his flesh. He instantly knew that he would remember that quote, for it seemed a reflection of his journey along the knife-edge of death.
“Hey, but anyway, he kicked her butt, didn’t he?” Brandon said.
“Not to mention wiped the arena floor with her cheating nephew,” Alyssa added. “Those of you who didn’t see that fight … missed out all right. Legendary.”
“Forgive, but, what make you special?” Bogdan asked, adjusting the animal fur draped around his shoulders. “Famous father and great-grandmother?”
“Well he did survive a direct strike of the Lord of the Legion’s lightning,” Olaf said, making a visceral shooting gesture at Augum’s stomach, something Augum instinctively blocked with his arm. “See those reflexes? Battle hardened. Anyway, I saw it with my own eyes. No way he should have survived.”
Augum held his tongue on that point. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about his lightning immunity, an ancestral echo passed down to him from Atrius Arinthian.
“Those are real pretty traditional robes,” Mary said, feeling the cuff of Haylee’s burgundy apprentice robe. “So soft.” She flicked the cuff of her necrophyte robe. “These are so ugly. We used to have ones like that too until the stupid Legion came. Ours had the school crest though. You’d really like them.”
“They’re the exact same robes, airhead,” Elizabeth said. “They just embroidered patches on them.”
Next came the questions.
“I heard you all can sing,” Laudine said with a wide dimpled smile. “Want to be in a play with me when this is all over?”
“How does it feel to be training under the most legendary warlock to have ever lived?” Isaac asked.
“What are you like in real life?” Mary pressed. “I mean, like, not what they say about you in the Heralds, but in real life and stuff?”
“Do you know spells ahead of degree?” Bogdan asked. “I hear you know many powerful spells. You show.”
“Is true you kill Corrigus?” Sasha asked.
“You know you got no chance against your father, right?” Cry said in his grating monotone voice. “He’s got six scions, the entire Legion, and—”
“Shut up, Fry Himself,” Brandon said, slowly pushing him away from the group. “Nobody cares to hear your sour crap.”
“Don’t, or I’ll tell.”
“ ‘Don’t or I’ll tell’,” Brandon mimicked. “What are you, four? Go play with that lying scumbag.”
Augum glanced past the group to see Bowlander standing with his hands in his pockets, watching Bridget with a sulking expression.
“Hey, Hayles,” Elizabeth said, prodding Haylee. “You were jesting about that Henawa kid, right?”
“Uh, well, no, actually, and I don’t go by Hayles anymore. Robin used to call me that even up until he murdered my parents.”
“Oh, sorry,” Elizabeth said in a tone that struck Augum as insincere.
The girls soon stole Bridget, Leera and Haylee away, leaving the boys with Augum, Jengo and Bowlander, who still stood apart, mostly watching Bridget.
“I wish I was at the academy with you,” Augum finally said, feeling weird talking to a bunch of boys who seemed to look at him with admiration and respect. The last group of boys he knew, back at Willowbrook, weren’t near as kind.
“And he’s not the only one,” Jengo chimed in after finishing conversing with Kiwi. “Father forbid me to go with the Legion being there. Not sure I’d want to anyway.”
“Wish we had you too,” Brandon said. “Bet you we could make one hell of a warlock gang.” He tightened his bandana. “Bad boys of Blackhaven. Or maybe, Marauders of the ‘Haven. What do you think about that?”
Augum had to laugh. A warlock gang … how ridiculous.
“What wrong with elbow?” Bogdan asked, noticing him absently rubbing it.
“Never healed right after the arena,” and that response sent off a flurry of questions about what it had been like to face Robin Scarson in the finals, or Erika, and then especially the Lord of the Legion. Augum tried his best but the questions came in faster than he could reply.
“But you can track him now, right?” Brandon asked. “With the divining rod thingy?”
“Well, more like sense his direction, but other than that it’s pretty useless. We’re just happy he can’t track Mrs. Stone, which was why I entered the tournament in the first place—to steal the rod.”
“That’s insanely brave.”
Cry made a skeptical face. “Can’t he make another divining rod?”
“Mrs. Stone said he can’t because it requires some kind of soul-binding life force sacrifice that could only be done once. I don’t really understand it, to be honest.”
Isaac surreptitiously thumbed at Bowlander, voice low. “How’d that loser end up with you, anyway?”
“His aunt’s a friend. She’s real nice. Said he needed to hide from the Legion otherwise they’d put him in the army. Also, he’s made Mrs. Stone a special potion to keep her strength up.”
“And you trust him doing that?”
“Not really.”
“I wouldn’t either—”
“All right, people, gather round,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, waving them in as she stood beside Mrs. Stone. “Let’s go, Cooper, and stop drooling over Miss Burns, you can discuss your poetry another day.”
The two groups merged around the pair of academy elders.
“It is our hope that we will be able to spend more time together like this. Mrs. Stone and I believe it to be critical.”
“Aww, is it over already?” Laudine cooed.
“Didn’t even get to train,” Olaf muttered.
Mrs. Hawthorne raised a finger. “I wasn’t finished. Now, this is the 5th degree Trainer. For those of you unfamiliar with it, it is known as the Blade Room. It is ancient and has been visited by almost every legendary academy warlock at one point or other. Consider it a great privilege for you to be here.”
Mary put up her hand.
“Martel.”
“Where do all the swords come from, Mrs. Hawthorne?”
“Wars, mostly. These are the blades of vanquished enemies of the kingdom.” Mrs. Hawthorne slowly paced while gesturing idly at large groups of embedded blades, each marked with ancient crests. “The Canterran invasion of 2721. The Longbeard war of 2915. The tumultuous reign of Sardius the Great, 2441. And more recently, the Narsinian war of 3324 …”
Everyone admired the multitude of Narsinian weapons. Many glanced over at Mrs. Stone in awe.
“Whoa, this staff has been signed by a Von Edgeworth!” Brandon said, pointing at a very long wooden staff embedded into the floor.
“Who are the Von Edgeworths?” Augum asked.
“A notoriously vengeful family of cross-kingdom duelers,” Alyssa replied.
“Hey, didn’t Mrs. Stone vanquish one of them in her youth?” Isaac asked.
“A legendary duel to the death,” Garryk said, adjusting his thick and oily spectacles. “I believe his name was …” He closed his eyes in recollection. “Scadius. Scadius Von Edgeworth.”
The group stirred, turning to Mrs. Stone, hoping for elaborati
on or a great story. But she said nothing, merely watched.
“His son, Zigmund, wants revenge, doesn’t he?” Mary asked. “He joined the Legion to get it too.”
“Mary, that’s rude,” Elizabeth hissed.
Mary shrugged, mumbling, “I only read it in the Herald …”
“And this signed by Narsus,” Sasha said, tapping a dagger. She stood and gave a rigid bow. “Mrs. Stone, forgive, but how vanquish Narsus under Academy?”
“These are all long stories, ones time does not allow telling of.”
“Now that you can appreciate the history of the room,” Mrs. Hawthorne continued, “think about what it would be like adding Legion blades here. We are up against a brainwashed enemy. Your very own classmates will defend the necromantic path. One of your tasks will be to convince them to abandon that pursuit.” She glanced at the trio with her hawk eyes, her frame heightened by that beehive bun, before once again turning to her necrophyte-robed students.
“All right, I want you all to witness what training was like in the old day, back when it was conducted in the field. With that, I turn to Mrs. Stone.”
The group of students stirred excitedly. Augum could easily see why on their rapt faces—they were about to receive a lesson from none other than the legendary Anna Atticus Stone!
Mrs. Stone’s brows crossed as she swept the group with cloudy eyes. “Warlock arcanery comes from war. Nearly every standard and elemental spell was designed for offense, defense, or subterfuge, as codified in the Founding, 3342 years ago. Originally, that codified arcanery was used to defend Sithesia from outside forces. Since, it has turned on itself in the form of duels and tournaments and internal kingdom-on-kingdom wars. Further, there is no unifying warlock faction of warlocks as there once was. I of course refer to Arcaners, knights of spellcraft—”
Mrs. Stone ceased to speak, her attention momentarily caught by something beyond the circle of gathered people. Her eyes followed that something, but when Augum turned, nothing was there.
Augum shared a look with the girls. Cron? Potion? Who knew.
“Although arcanery has been suppressed throughout history,” Mrs. Stone soon continued, “it has also seen times of resurgence. But it has always been the heart of a kingdom’s power. Thus every kingdom—when not denying or decrying the tools of arcanery as witchery—has sought to train the best warlocks in the best academies.
“But as you may well have perceived, training a warlock becomes ever more difficult with each degree. There are few warlocks past the 10th degree, fewer still beyond the 15th. And I am the only living master at the 20th.” She let that thought sink in a moment. Everyone stood still, watching the living legend speak. To Augum, it was interesting that she spoke of herself in such a manner, for she usually refrained from speaking about herself at all.
“In ages past, the Arcaner, with her chivalry and deep customs, had been the model for a warlock. But times have changed. Warlocks in this day and age no longer train in the old way, or practice much of chivalry for that matter, many resorting to … a darker path.”
She raised a proud chin at Augum, Bridget and Leera, who stood together. “I have been training my three apprentices in the spirit of that ancient Arcaner tradition. It is the path of struggle. It is the path of war. They have suffered much, but have also already seen as much combat as some soldiers do in a lifetime.” She swept the students with her cool gaze. “Today, you will train in that old way. Today, you train as soldiers in a war of the mind. Today, you don the shield and sword of your kingdom, Solia, in preparation for its defense.”
Heads nodded gravely and bodies stiffened. Augum could sense the pride in the clenched jaws, in the tight faces. His own muscles tensed as he prepared himself for battle, for it was coming, that much he knew, and coming soon.
Mrs. Stone stood straight as she glanced beyond them, her voice quiet. “The kingdom will burn, but from the ashes, like a phoenix, you will rise to defend it. You will rise together. It has been this way for eons. I challenge you—” She locked eyes with each and every one of them in turn. “—to take your place in history,” and each nodded, from the tiny bookish Kiwi Kaisan, to the sullen Cry Slimwealth, to the proud Elizabeth Beaumont the Third, to the hawkish Mrs. Hawthorne, and lastly, of course, to Augum, Bridget and Leera. Each, if they had not so before, surely now understood the gravity of this meeting, for it was a uniting of the Resistance.
And a new chapter in the war against the Legion.
Training Together
Mrs. Stone began with a simple enough exercise—telekinetically hold a rock in the air for as long as possible. Everyone stood in a long line, floating a rock before their face. What was interesting was that Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Stone partook in the challenge, both watching the students as their rocks floated before them, while each student was hyper focused on their own rock. Except for the trio, who were able to look around them with ease, for they had done this exercise with Mrs. Stone quite a bit over the past few months. It was training the first muscle in arcanery—Telekinesis, the foundation of nearly all spells to come.
Most of the students had scoffed at the exercise. Brandon declared it “Childish” while Cry had rolled his eyes, muttering something about “Stupid waste of time”. Augum knew where this was going and tried not to smile. When Mrs. Stone first made them do it, he had smugly thought it a joke exercise, only to be quickly proven wrong. He hadn’t been able to last more than the time it took a pot of water to come to a full boil, for the longer one held the spell, the more concentration and arcane stamina it required. On that first go he had induced a terrible headache, even a nosebleed.
Rocks quickly began dropping, starting, of course, with the lower degrees—Jengo, Kiwi, a scoffing Cry, and even Brandon, who tightened his bandana while cursing under his breath in frustration.
“Disappointing, Summers,” Mrs. Hawthorne said while her rock floated before her. He glanced about him, scowling at the realization that Garryk, who was 3rd degree air, had beaten him, though not by much longer, for with a quick gasp, Garryk dropped his too.
“Step aside, please,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, and those who had dropped their rocks assembled away from the group, where they watched with crossed arms. Augum noticed they hadn’t really tried, for their heads did not seem to hurt, nor had their noses bled. They hadn’t truly pushed themselves at all. It was the same with those who dropped out next—Broderick, Mary, Alyssa, Olaf, and Elizabeth, each dejectedly stepping aside without appearing to have suffered much at all.
“This is unethical, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Elizabeth declared from the fail group. Her blonde hair shook with indignation as she spoke. “You’re making everyone suffer. It’s … cruel!”
“This is the ancient Arcaner way, Beaumont,” Mrs. Hawthorne declared. “An old way of the academy. Perhaps you might want to rethink if you are ready to step onto the battlefield, for war is a thousand times harsher.” She glared at Beaumont a moment, whose eyes fell as she bit her lip. “And I expect more leadership from the head of the student council.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
More rocks fell—Isaac, who cursed aloud only to receive a swift reprimand from Mrs. Hawthorne; Laudine, who sang a poetic verse that sounded vaguely curse-like; and Haylee, who lost with quiet grace. That left the fierce Sasha, who was intensely staring at her rock; the 8th degree fire warlock Bogdan; and the trio, who still stood at ease, able to look about while the other two had to remain focused. By then, the fail group had begun to mutter amongst themselves, some even prodding their fellow classmates on.
“Come on, Sasha,” the beefy Olaf said. “Don’t make us look like total losers.”
“Keep it up, you two,” Isaac added.
“It’s like they’re not even trying,” Kiwi whispered to Garryk, who nodded gravely. “So strong …”
Haylee watched proudly, the smallest smile at the corner of her mouth.
“Way to go, Miss Burns,” Bowlander said, only to receive cold looks from the stu
dents. He cleared his throat and went quiet after that.
Sasha had begun to clench her jaw, face reddening. “Gah!” she yelled before her stone dropped. She expelled a long breath and rubbed her temples, wincing, before joining the fail group.
“Not bad, Luganov,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, rock floating lazily before her.
It wasn’t long before Augum noticed tall Bogdan begin to shake with concentration. And still, the trio were at ease.
“Are you kidding me?” Brandon said.
“What’s going on here?” Laudine asked, mirroring the disbelieving faces of her fellow classmates.
“Come on, Bogdan, you got to beat ‘em,” ebony-skinned Alyssa said. “For the honor of the academy at least!”
“Come on, you three,” Jengo mouthed.
Augum spotted the smallest smile from Mrs. Hawthorne.
There was a thunk and a great sigh as Bogdan’s stone dropped. He walked over to the fail group with a shaking head. But again, it was evident that he too had not pushed himself—no headache nor nosebleed.
The intensity of the whispers increased.
“Sheeze, they’re going up against Mrs. Hawthorne!”
“Keep in mind all they do is train. It’s, like, their life.”
“But look how relaxed they are!”
Mrs. Stone stood before the trio with casual poise, watching them carefully. Mrs. Hawthorne soon stepped before them as well. Augum returned his attention to the rock. It was slowly beginning—that initial pulse in his brain indicating he had to focus solely on the stone. Bridget and Leera did the same. The two elders and three fifteen-year-olds stood resolute and in close proximity, each challenging the other with nothing more than a floating stone.
“They’re only 4th degree!”
“How long can this continue?”
“Ridiculous, eh?”
The whispers soon devolved into gaping mouths and shaking heads. And time crawled on. Yet the trio continued to hold their rocks before them. Mrs. Stone stood watching in silent support, the look on her face grave … but subtly encouraging.
