by Sever Bronny
“What kind of clue, Mrs. Stone?” Bridget asked, sharing a puzzled look with Leera.
“I came across it whilst training the servants on basic castle runes. It came in the form of a small symbol on the bronze servant plaque in the cellar, a symbol I did not recognize. At first I believed it to be an unfamiliar servant rune, except for the letters DRC.”
“DRC, Nana?”
“Indeed. I believe the letters stand for dominus runesermo castla, as written in the ancient arcane language. It translates to master castle runeword. But it is the shape of the runeword and its specifics that has baffled me thus far. I urge you to try to unravel this ancient mystery, for we shall need it when the time comes.”
“You’re talking about my father coming here.”
Mrs. Stone stopped to face him at the bottom of the final set of steps that would take her to the queen’s chambers. “That is your plan, is it not, Great-grandson? To face Lividius here?”
Augum swallowed. “It is, Nana.” He had been mulling over how exactly that would work. Except every plan thus far resulted in catastrophic failure when he tried to mentally apply it.
Mrs. Stone grunted and began shuffling to her chamber. When they tried to follow, she idly swatted them away. “I think facing your father in this castle would be appropriate,” she wheezed, taking each step one at a time. “That is why it is most imperative that this old mystery be solved.”
“What’s down in the dungeon, Nana—?” There was a gate in the cellar sealed to time.
“That knowledge you shall have to earn, Great-grandson. Indeed you shall …” She disappeared around the corner at the top.
“Good night, Mrs. Stone!” Bridget called, but received only a grunt.
“Well this is going to be interesting,” Leera said. “Mystery is only what, fifteen hundred years old? Should be easy, right?”
“We should get back to the festivities,” Bridget said, ignoring her sarcasm.
“Should we not go check out that rune?” Augum asked, anxious to get started.
“It is rude of us to abandon the festivities as is,” Bridget replied, beginning the descent.
“Oh, we get it,” Leera said with a wry grin. “You want to get back to those two fighting over you.”
“They are not fighting over me!”
“Ha! They’re a hairsbreadth from an arena duel of honor.”
Bridget’s cheeks went red.
“So who has said what to you by now?” Leera pressed as they turned the corner on the third floor.
Bridget stopped with a mysterious smile. “I could use your advice, actually.” She lingered on the top step. “I don’t know how to react, to be honest. Lord Bowlander has told me …”
Leera leaned in a little, whispering, “Has told you what?”
Bridget swallowed as she wrung her hands nervously. “He told me he loved me. Deeply.”
Augum and Leera reacted the same way—they recoiled, perplexed.
“But he hardly knows you—” Augum said.
“I know, I know, it’s just … he’s really charming and I’ve never had anyone … you know—”
“—say that to you?” Leera said.
Bridget gave a half shrug.
“Do you … do you love him back?” Leera asked in delicate tones.
“Honestly, I have no idea. I’m still getting to know him. I mean, I do enjoy his company. He’s funny and witty and he seems sincere when we’re together. It’s just …”
Leera frowned. “Just what? You’re not making much sense here.”
“I know, I’m sorry, this is all quite new to me. I guess I just need time to think things through.” Bridget began to stroll downstairs before stopping. “Oh, and he kissed me.”
“He what?” Leera smacked Bridget’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us!”
Augum felt guilty for knowing already, but said nothing.
“I was planning on it, I really was, there just … hasn’t been an opportunity, you know? What with the Advancement Ceremony and such.”
“Well?” Leera pressed.
“Well what?”
“Was he any good?”
Bridget went apple crimson. “How am I supposed to know, it was my first kiss!”
“Oh, come on.”
“All right. It was pleasant, I guess, if not a little … sloppy.”
The girls giggled.
Augum made a face. “Too much information,” he said, shooing them along. “Let’s get back already before you two make me sick.”
“You hypocrite!” Bridget said, nonetheless allowing herself to be herded downstairs. “I’ve had to put up with you two—” She made the same gesture Jezebel had made of her hands attacking each other, “—forev—” She stopped as they turned the corner of the second floor.
“What is it?” Augum asked, only to hear it too. A girlish giggle followed by a quiet voice.
“Bridge? What are you doing—?” Leera whispered as Bridget marched to a nearby room, the door of which was slightly ajar. She slapped it open.
Standing there kissing Charissa … was Lord Bowlander.
Bridget
“It’s not what it looks like—” Bowlander began to say, pushing Charissa away.
“Hey—!” she squealed.
“Neither is this,” Bridget snapped, violently shoving the air before her. “BAKA!”
Bowlander, caught unawares, was sent flying, slamming hard into a bookshelf, the tomes tumbling onto him.
Bridget was shaking. “You … you … you sleazy, lying, two-faced, dung-infested … UGH!” She whirled and ran downstairs.
“Wait, Bridget, please!” Bowlander wailed.
Augum and Leera gave him a furious look before running after poor Bridget, who thumped down the stairs, careened through the doors into the garden-in-progress out front, where she hurled herself against a ruined wall, hidden from view. There she placed her head into her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
Leera immediately drew her into a tight hug while Augum sat on her other side. For a time, the two only listened to Bridget as she railed through angry tears.
“—and that simple, daft little witch has been conniving it the whole time, I know it!”
“Whoa, Bridge, easy there,” Leera said, rubbing her back gently. “Before you accidentally curse.”
Bridget took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself. “One of you should go back. We can’t all be missing.”
“I’ll go,” Augum said, knowing she was in capable hands with Leera. She needed a girl friend right now anyway.
He gave her a hug. “You going to be all right? Want me to punch his nose in for you?”
She snorted again. “Thanks, Aug, and I love you for it, but you go and be a prince to the people that need you.”
He squeezed her, pecked Leera on the lips, and left them to it.
He had mixed emotions as he strolled back to the festivities. On the one hand, Bowlander was definitely no good for Bridget, and that was something he knew all along, but on the other, it hurt seeing her heart broken like that.
He glanced up at the night sky and took a deep breath, wondering if any of this truly mattered. But it did matter, and greatly so. As Brandon said, This is why we live …
A faint scent of burning pine reached him as he turned the corner. The ceremonial night fire had to be lit already, he thought.
“Where’ve you been, stranger?” Alyssa asked as he joined a group of students milling about near the stone platform, listening to soft music. Mr. Okeke was playing his Sierran stringed instrument, and there was sorrow in the sound, as if he was thinking of his deceased wife. Priya’s head was on Jengo’s shoulder as the pair listened nearby.
“Just had to take care of a few things with Mrs. Stone,” Augum said absently, frowning at the fire pit. The fire hadn’t been lit. He felt a friendly clap on the back.
“Where’s Princess Bridget?” Brandon asked, sipping youngling ale.
Augum was barely paying att
ention to him. “Oh, she’s with Leera,” he replied, mind on the fire pit, the scent of burning pine stronger.
Brandon was saying something else, but Augum’s attention suddenly went to the Ravenwood, the foremost trees lit by torchlight, the ones behind dark as the night. The trees stood sentinel around the castle bailey, just beyond the ruined perimeter wall, with some stragglers inside the compound.
“… she’s actually funny and smart, but also kind and forgiving, which I find admirable. Wow, listen to me babble! ‘Admirable’. I don’t use words like that, I’m not a dweeb.” Brandon paused. “You look distracted.”
“You smell that?”
“Smell what?”
“Burning pine.”
Brandon sniffed the air. “I do, but isn’t there a fire—” He glanced beyond Augum to the silent and dark fire pit. Then his head swiveled to the trees, eyes on alert.
“You think it’s the Legion?” he whispered.
“Can’t be sure.” Should he do something? The enchantments will protect them, right? Maybe he should get everyone inside—
A sudden piercing scream split the air. The music instantly ceased as everyone looked about, gazes settling on a commotion on the other side of the party, beyond the platform. And then the scream came again. Augum instantly bolted in that direction, barely aware others were on their way as well. Soon as he came upon the somewhat repaired ruins of a country house, where villagers had been milling about with drinks and food in hand, he saw a familiar villager, one of the farmers who had lost his farm to the reavers. He was giddily chasing a plump peasant woman, children in tow.
“Just a family playing a game,” Augum panted as the music started back up.
Brandon snorted a laugh as he too panted from the sudden burst of exertion.
“You need to hear my poem, Prince Augum,” Laudine said, casually strolling up to them. “You’re strung as tight as a funeral drum.”
“You blame him?” Brandon said.
“You don’t have to call me by that title,” Augum said.
“Thanks. And of course not. But I made a special one just for him and Leera. I mean, it’s about him and Leera, but it’s for everyone to hear. I was thinking about reciting it on the stage.”
“That sounds so lovely.”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Brandon.”
“I’m just worried you’re going to bore everyone again.”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t mean that,” Brandon quickly said.
“We’d love to hear it,” Augum blurted before he witnessed a murder, eyes still flitting to the trees. “Soon as Leera and Bridget return of course.”
“See, Brandon, that’s what politeness is. Hope you’re taking notes, you jerk—” and she stormed off.
Augum ran a hand through his umber hair. “You certainly have a way with girls.”
Brandon shrugged. “Had to be honest. Her poetry can be good, sure, but sometimes it just stinks something awful. Like, rotten awful. Seriously, you should have heard her drone on about ‘the fairest leaf of them all’. I mean, half the audience wanted to be slain then and there and the other half was snoring. Literally, snoring. She’s oblivious. A nice girl, but oblivious. Now, Bridget, on the other hand—”
“—you do realize Bridget is very dear to me, right? I consider her a sister.”
Brandon raised his hands defensively. “Oh, I know.”
Augum stabbed Brandon in the chest with his index finger. “You better,” he said playfully. “Nothing but kindness.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of—” Brandon narrowed his eyes. “Something happened, didn’t it?”
Augum gave a half-shrug, unsure if he should say anything. It was kind of a private matter, after all.
“Bowlander,” Brandon blurted, shaking his head, lips pressed, fists curling. “If he’s done anything—”
“—she already shoved him into a bookshelf.”
For a moment the two of them stared at each other before Brandon burst with a laugh, then quickly got a grip on himself.
“I mean, I know it’s not funny, but I wish I was there to see that flakey loser’s face.”
“I can mimic it for you.” Augum gave him a deer look before changing his expression to sheer terror, then a whining goat. “Yeah, whoosh and then BAM! Right into a shelf. Anyway, that’s aside from the point. Bridget’s hurt. She’s with Leera.”
“Think … think it’d be all right if I went to her? Just as a friend of course.”
Augum could hear the sincerity in his voice. There was something about Brandon he trusted. He nodded to the castle. “The garden. But hey—” He playfully raised his index finger in warning.
“I know, I’ll be compassionate.”
That’s the right word, Augum thought.
Brandon smiled. “Thanks, and … I really wish we were all in the academy together.”
Me too, Augum thought as Brandon strode away. Me too.
Insect Eyes
The festivities continued with relaxing music, games and laughter. But rather than join them, Augum found himself strolling to the ruined perimeter wall, beyond which stood the dark Ravenwood. The scent of burning pine lingered. He listened to the crickets, trying to discern other noises, but could hear little beyond the music.
“You aren’t going to take my home, you bastards,” Augum said to the woods, to whatever was beyond. He strolled slowly along the ruined wall, like a wolf outside a fence, muscles tensing. Something was out there in that darkness. Something was coming for him, or the people of the castle. Something nefarious, dangerous … but what?
The scent of burning pine strengthened, and Augum stopped to stare. Then he saw it—a brief but distant flash of fire, deep in the woods. Was it a torch? No, the fire had been long and thin. It had to be a sword, and thus certainly a reaver. And that meant a necromancer was likely nearby, somewhere. But worse still, necromancers usually possessed Exot rings. If one of them got near the castle and spotted anyone …
The harrowing realization hit him like a punch in the gut. Gods, he needed to shut the celebrations down immediately, snuff out all the torches, herd everyone inside, and make sure every single window in the castle went dark immediately, an impossible feat in a timely manner. No, there was only one thing he could do to prevent the people of the castle from being reported to the Lord of the Legion.
He needed to surprise the necromancer.
The reavers would never get past the protective enchantments of the castle, but they weren’t his concern. It was the necromancer. If the necromancer informed his father, it would be all over tonight.
Another flash of fire. Bumps rose on Augum’s skin. It was closer. They were coming this way, and it was only a matter of heartbeats until the accompanying necromancer saw what was going on here and reported it.
Augum glanced back at the distant party, at the throng enjoying themselves, oblivious to the danger. There wasn’t even time to warn them. He had to act fast.
He bolted into the dark woods while bringing his Exot ring to his lips, panting, “Contact Bridget Burns. Bridge, I’m running west into the Ravenwood to surprise a necromancer before he sees the castle—”
Bridget’s sniffling voice cut into his mind, full of alarm. “What? No, wait for others to help you! We’re on our way—!”
“—can’t wait, no time. They’ll see the castle and report to my father. You know I can’t let that happen—”
“—we’re coming!”
“Cease contact,” Augum said into the ring.
At first he ran at a clip, but then slowed to a jog and then a creep. He had to stay hidden from the walkers or reavers or whatever was coming. All that mattered was that any necromancer be eliminated or his Exot ring stolen.
He could soon discern two burning blades, which meant at least two reavers. There could be walkers or a wraith as well, it was impossible to know.
He crouched in a hunting posture—learned from Sir Westwood what fel
t like an eon ago—and flitted from tree to tree, aware of the night, allowing the faint starlight and the knife moon to light his way. The evergreen canopy was dense and the trunks thick and sappy, making his hands sticky.
He soon got close enough to see occasional branches bursting on fire, which was most likely the cause of the burning odor. Luckily the forest was quite resistant to fire, being healthy and regularly subjected to light rainfalls.
“Report your position, Augum!” came Bridget’s voice. It was so loud and jarring that he reflexively yanked off his ring, slipping it into a pocket. He needed to concentrate. He had told her he went west, and that remained true, no point repeating himself.
He studied the moving shadows. They were walking rather slowly, turgidly, as if waiting to lay eyes upon a victim, then they would rush forth in a vicious undead sprint. The old adage returned. Sticks in the sand, sticks in the snow, reveal a man, dead long ago …
But among the two blades he saw other shadows, one of which was large. A wraith, most likely. It’s the others he was concerned with. Were any of them necromancers?
He glanced back in the direction of the castle. No firelight could be seen this far in, but that would quickly change once the squad of undead drew nearer. Strangely, the undead did not scare him. What scared him was the night, the Ravenwood, the dense darkness of the unknown.
He decided to avoid creeping closer. They would pass this way, there was no stopping that. No, what he needed was to surprise the necromancer, if there was one. If there wasn’t, he could remain hidden or run back to the castle if need be.
He pressed close to a thick redwood that was thankfully sap free, barely peeking around it. The crackle of pine needles and twigs breaking underfoot sounded closer and closer …
Two walkers, two reavers, a wraith, and … what was that last shadow?
And then, briefly lit by a burning blade, he saw a black robe.
There. There he is, the necromancer. And his walk was different too—it was more natural, more fluid and relaxed. And Augum only had moments to react. He needed that ring, for surely a necromancer was going to have one, especially this far out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe it was a scout group. Maybe it was those responsible for the village burning up north from there. Who knew. All that mattered was that ring …
