by Sever Bronny
“But it’ll be with Augum, Bridget and Leera’s group, right, Mrs. Hawthorne?” Kiwi asked. “And will those who have not taken the test be allowed to come?”
“Yes and yes.”
This sent up another round of cheers and lots of speculation on where the mystery location was. But Augum, holding a beaming Leera close, already had a sneaking suspicion where the ceremony was going to take place.
Later in the Castle
Alone in his large room, with the velvet curtains drawn and a single arcane torch sconce flickering, Augum opened the trunk at the foot of his royal canopy bedstead, pushed the blankets, sheets, and Orb of Orion aside, and placed the captured Exot ring at the bottom. The tiny Dreadnought artifact looked dangerous just sitting there, as if at any moment it was going to leap out and attack him. This particular ring, taken from Audenteroch, would allow him to communicate directly with his father, the Lord of the Legion, the murderer. He couldn’t picture trying to reach the man, or even having a conversation with him. Maybe he’d get lucky and never have to use it. Maybe his father would succumb to another foe, or mess up a necromancy spell and die. Wouldn’t that be something …
He replaced the blankets and closed the trunk, idly brushing the fine iron banding with the tips of his fingers. It had been a tumultuous few days. They had taken root in a castle, an entire village of people in the castle of his ancestors. And Milham had burned, just like Willowbrook, just like Sparrow’s Perch. The Legion was running out of places to burn. Yet there was still the castle. And should the Legion be successful, his entire lineage, the bloodline, the hopes of the kingdom … all would go up in flames.
He glanced around him at the fine room. He imagined the curtains burning. The bed, the trunk, the desk, the wardrobe. Just like he had imagined the Harouns’ grand house burning back in Milham. And that had come true. It had come so terribly true …
He shook out his shoulders. No, think of happier things, you fool.
He flashed the four lightning rings around his arm, already imagining the fifth. Tomorrow was the traditional Advancement Ceremony. He recalled the Feast Under the Stars and how magical that had been. He couldn’t wait to see what it would be like—and with their new academy friends too!
Yet he let his rings fizzle out, eyes glazing over. Flashes of flame as the words of his old Willowbrook tormentor, fat Dap, came calling in a ghost-like voice.
“You can’t even control your thoughts let alone some legendary spell! You idiot, you fool, you dumb and useless gutterborn—”
Augum slammed his fist into the trunk. “Shut up!” before realizing he was talking to a memory. The castle wasn’t burning. The room was fine.
He strolled to the double doors, opened them, and walked out to the terrace. It was a surprisingly chilly late afternoon, the air dry and crisp. An easterly wind from the hazy Muranians blew about his umber hair and blue apprentice robe, raising goose bumps on his skin. The crimson sun quickly neared the western horizon, partially obscured by cloud.
He wandered to the ancient creneled wall and glanced down, finding workmen toiling away. The people of the castle had received quite the jolt seeing Mrs. Stone barely able to walk. The fear written on their tight faces, said it all—was she all right? Who was going to defend them if something happened to her?
Prince Augum and Princess Bridget and Princess Leera … titles that didn’t mean a lick if the Legion came. As useless as a donkey without legs, as someone once said.
Supper with the core of the Resistance had been quiet, thankfully. Seems the others sensed Augum needed space. He hadn’t felt like talking, preferring to retreat into his mind to think. And there was a great deal to think about. Word had reached them that a small town up north had fallen to the undead, many of its inhabitants converted into walkers or reavers or who knew what. And Bridget had received word from Caireen Lavo in Antioc via the Exot orb that the undead have started appearing inside the city, causing havoc and panic. Even Legion soldiers didn’t seem to know what to do, apparently because the necromancers don’t share information with the general army. It was all falling apart, and the kingdom was dying, suffering, being turned into these … things.
Augum drew his hood to protect against the wind. The wool robe was cool in the heat and warm in the shade. It was soft and comfortable and made him feel at home. And this great castle, it too made him feel like he was at home. He glanced up the dark facade, imagining the generations that had passed through it. So much rich history, and he was so terribly ignorant of it. Perhaps he might have the chance to rectify that someday …
As his eyes lovingly roamed the tough countenance of the castle of his ancestor, a sudden realization hit him so hard his throat tightened. Yes it was his home, but it was also his true home, his only home, and his final home. That last part was what stung. He was going to die defending it if he had to. There was no more running away. There was no place to run to. Here was where he was going to make his stand.
He slowly nodded to himself as he turned back to glance at the vast Ravenwood, sprawling before him like an army, sentinels to the castle. Oh, if that were only so, perhaps then they would stand a chance …
He watched as two random trails of smoke billowed distantly amongst the Ravenwood. Reavers with their burning swords. The time was coming, that much he knew.
But there were two major obstacles to overcome before he faced his father. The first was learning Annocronomus Tempusari. Bridget had already cast it once with seemingly few to no side effects. And she was going to help Augum and Leera with it. They would master it, they had to. The second was the raid on the Black Castle to retrieve his mother’s body. A raid that would be helped by an academy uprising. A crazy, risky, probably foolhardy raid.
Yet if successful, he would give his mother a proper cremation, as she had requested. And that would enrage his father. Then Augum would reel him in like a spider. Somehow. He dared not think of the odds, or how it was to be accomplished. Right now, he had to simply trust the Fates that he would be prepared.
He burst with a derisive laugh at the ludicrous nature of the entire endeavor. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?” he asked the sprawling wilderness before him. “Just throwing more lives away.” The wind whistled through his hood. No reply came. It was just him out here amongst the vast Ravenwood. The castle was once more full of life, the windows flickering yellow with candles or arcane torchlight, yet here he was feeling all alone, alone with his fears, alone with the enemies he was yet to face. And they waited upon him out there in the darkness, among the graves, the fires. They waited with Dreadnought blades and burning swords and necromancy. And what did he have? There was nothing as—
“Prince Augum.”
Augum turned to find his beloved nearby, robe gathered close, raven hair whipping in the wind. She had meant to say it playfully, but he hated that title right now. He felt he did not deserve it. It almost sounded mocking.
“You all right?” Leera asked softly.
He nodded. “Fine.”
“Acting a little moody, aren’t you?”
“What, am I not allowed to be moody?”
“Sorry, of course you are.” She reached into her robe. “Here,” and opened her palm, revealing a spare Exot ring. He took it and slipped it on, for he had given his to Elizabeth.
“Now that Jengo got his 2nd degree, only one left to hand out,” she said.
Augum returned his gaze to the sun, which had begun to set. He absorbed its crimson rays, the vast view, the whistling of the wind, and the distant and lonely hammering of someone working on the castle grounds below.
Beside him, Leera watched the sun slowly edge down, steadily reddening and darkening as it went.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
He made no reply.
“You’re thinking how crazy this all is, how it isn’t going to work.”
She always could read his face like a book. Was he that obvious with his thoughts? Was his stupid face that sour?
“And you’re worried about Mrs. Stone, about the castle, about us.”
Still he said nothing. The sun had set halfway, a great crimson fireball of life, fragility, time …
“You’re thinking we don’t have much time left …”
His nod was almost imperceptible.
“You’re not alone in thinking those thoughts.” She drew near, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’re thinking we stand no chance …”
Damn right we don’t, he wanted to say. “I’ll die defending this castle,” he said instead, adding in a whisper, “ ‘Quarrel, quarrel for the light. Know naught but darkness should you lose the fight.’ ”
Leera withdrew to searchingly gaze into his eyes. “You hate poetry.”
He shrugged. “I do. Just a random phrase Laudine said that rang true for me.” A phrase that seared itself into his brain the moment he had heard it.
Normally, she would say something here, something comforting, or even rebuke him sternly for being a fool, but instead she said nothing, only returned to leaning against him. And that made him feel worse about himself.
But then her hand slipped around his waist and she drew him even closer. He noticed her head was uncovered and pulled her hood up to protect her from the wind. Then he placed his arm around her waist, squeezed, and rested his head on hers.
They watched a final dagger slice of crimson sun disappear beyond the horizon as the dry wind raked at their robes.
“It’s not easy carrying this weight,” she said in a voice barely audible. “But you’re forgetting something, Augum Stone.”
“And that is?”
“Faces.”
“Faces? What fa—” but then they came to him. The hairless night-eyed face of his great-grandfather, Thomas Stone, a face that aged before his mind’s eye, rapidly becoming older, those eyes clouding and softening, the body shaking as Augum held it, feeling its breath leave one last time. The kind and round face of Miralda Jenkins as she returned Augum his arcanery with her last breath at the Battle of Hangman’s Rock. The withered old face of William Smith the Plotter, otherwise known as One Eye—Nana’s old friend—as he said goodbye to the trio after buying them time to escape the Blade of Sorrows and Robin, certainly knowing what awaited him. He thought of the ancient lined face of Mrs. Stone, his dear Nana, gasping for breath in her bed, fighting to stay alive so that she may pass on one last lesson, one last spell. That fading generation was giving its last so that the next may survive.
“Faces …” he whispered, watching the horizon darken.
“Faces …” Leera echoed.
Leland
“Prince and Princess watching the sunset from the terrace of their future castle,” Bridget said, startling Augum and Leera. She strolled up to them, hugging herself against the wind.
“Sounds romantic if you put it like that,” Leera said. “Where’s what’s-his-face?”
“Lord Bowlander and Jengo are arguing over the potion ingredients in his room. He invited me for a cup of wine after, which I declined, reminding him that, as Master of Festivities, he should be focusing on preparations for tomorrow evening.” She sighed. “He’s seventeen and a man, though sometimes I think him more a boy than anything.”
“You’re too young to drink anyway.”
“Did Leera Jones just say something responsible?”
Leera smiled. “Have to surprise you now and then.”
Augum wanted to say a disparaging remark about Bowlander but saw that Leera was giving him a particular look, so held his tongue.
Bridget leaned against the creneled wall, glancing over the edge.
“Castle’s coming along nicely,” she said. “People are keeping busy. That Legion warlock who teleported us in a crate—”
“—the one that looks like an older Leera?” Augum quipped.
Bridget chortled. “Yeah, that one, Ms. Jezebel Terse, she spent all day teleporting in food and supplies. I gave her our last Exot ring.” She counted on her fingers. “That accounts for all ten—you two, Haylee, Jengo, Mrs. Stone, Caireen Lavo, Secretary Klines, Lord Bowlander, Elizabeth Beaumont … and Ms. Terse.” She smiled. “Ms. Terse even teleported us a few blades. You believe that?”
“Blades.” Augum snorted as he let go of Leera. “What are blades going to do against the Legion? Might as well throw rocks at a bull.” He wasn’t taking Mrs. Stone’s failing health too well, was he?
Bridget watched him a moment. “Since when did you get so cynical?”
He felt a creep of shame.
“They’re all looking to you now. You walk around like we’re already dead and they’re going to think that, you know. They’re going to think we stand no chance.” She snapped her hand at the castle. “All of them do consider you a prince, Augum. They look to you for inspiration and hope. And they’re not the only ones. Those students … you should have seen the way they were looking at us … at you! This entire kingdom is about to burn and their only hope …” Bridget stopped herself from ballooning any further and instead took a deep breath.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “You forgot, didn’t you? You forgot what the people saw you do in that arena, what they heard you say. You forgot that you threw off that stupid necrophyte robe and fought like one of them. Your duel against Robin was symbolic. It was you standing up for the kingdom, for Solia. And now they have someone to stand with.”
She only got this upset when he was being a total fool. And that was quickly verified by the way Leera was looking at him.
Fool. Why was he so dumb, so immature, so young? He wished he was older, wiser, smarter … stronger.
That cynical part of his mind said, Older, huh? That could be arranged …
He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry.”
The girls said nothing, but he sensed their compassion and understanding. Somewhat ironic since he had not been extending compassion to Bowlander.
Bridget placed her gaze to the horizon. “We might not be sixteen yet, we might not be men and women in the eyes of the kingdom, but we’ll fight like seasoned warriors. We’ll fight together.”
“We’ll fight here,” Augum said, gazing up at the majestic castle. “I know it now.” He sensed its strength, its untapped arcane potential. The crude beginnings of a plan began to form. It would take time and careful trust to flesh out.
The girls glanced up at it, nodding in agreement. The details would be worked out later. Time was indeed the concern.
“Mrs. Stone wants us to do something for her tonight,” Bridget said at last.
“Oh?”
“Leland.”
Augum nodded, figuring as much. Mrs. Stone wanted Leland to teleport his first undead soldier from Bahbell via the Agonex, yet she was ill.
“Where do we want to do it?” Leera asked.
“I was thinking the far end of the bailey, behind the mill,” Bridget replied. “That way we won’t scare the villagers.”
“Fair enough.”
The trio made their way back inside. As they descended the stairs, they were repeatedly greeted with either a bow or a curtsy. “Prince Augum, Princess Bridget, Princess Leera. Good evening to you,” and variations thereof. Royalty held a whole different level of discourse and expectations. For Augum, he felt it was going to be a difficult adjustment. He almost preferred they call him gutterborn again, then he’d feel more at home … and could fight it. Perhaps he felt too comfortable in a state of battle, yet to him, a person being cruel was much easier to handle than being put up on some heroic pedestal.
On their way to Mr. Goss’ room, they went by Malaika and Charissa, who stopped along the way. “Prince Augum,” Malaika said with a prim and proper curtsy, complete with a bow of the head. She was wearing a lavender square-neckline dress.
“Prince Augum,” Charissa echoed with the same curtsy, wearing a cream dress. Both smiled before moving on. To Augum, their smiles always had a hint of deviousness, as if they were hatching some plot.
“The little tarts ign
ored us,” Leera said to Bridget as they continued on.
“We have more important things to worry about,” Bridget said, knocking on Mr. Goss’ door.
“Come in,” Mr. Goss said from inside.
Bridget opened the door and the trio filed inside. The room was spartan, having only a desk, a bed, and a small wardrobe.
Mr. Goss scratched at his burned scalp and adjusted his spectacles. “Oh, hello, you three. My oh my, Prince and Princesses, how wonderful. I am so incredibly proud of you all. And I know your folks would be mighty proud too, Bridget and Leera. Mighty proud.”
“Thank you, Mr. Goss,” Bridget replied.
“What can I help you with? I am just in the middle of Leland’s evening studies.”
Leland gave a bored moan from the desk, a large book open beside him which, being blind, he could not read. The bronze disk of the Agonex sat on his lap.
“Mrs. Stone asked us to work with Leland and the Agonex,” Bridget said.
Mr. Goss’ face slipped. Of late he’d been less and less keen on Leland handling this ancient artifact, not that anyone could blame him. “May I inquire what will be the subject of today’s lesson?”
Bridget hesitated only a moment. “He’s going to summon his first soldier.”
Leland gave an excited moan and leaped off the chair, clutching the Agonex to his chest, while Mr. Goss removed his spectacles and began nervously cleaning them with a cloth.
“I … I cannot tell you how much it troubles me, this business with … the necromantic artifact.”
“I understand, Mr. Goss. Mrs. Stone feels—”
“—that it is necessary, I am aware, my dear Bridget. But he is my only son, the only thing in my world. And he is handling a dangerous artifact, one that has not been used in a millennium and a half. I must say I …” His face reddened. “I do not approve of, of … of this endeavor. Should, should anything happen, I shall never be able to, to … to …” His hands trembled so much he dropped his spectacles. One lens shattered upon hitting the floor.
