by Sever Bronny
An object, flashing with silent lightning, bumped into his foot. Drool dripped from his open mouth as he gaped stupidly, mesmerized by that silent flickering. It was so beautiful and lonely and enchanting, yet he struggled to understand what it was. A distant, echoed voice told him he should grab it.
Feebly, Augum raised a shaking hand and watched as his fingers closed over the flashing object. The moment he did so, a revitalized strength burst through his being like a brushfire, instantly banishing the fog. His head snapped up, vision suddenly clear as day. Centarro had renewed itself … and it was more powerful than ever. Clarity had suddenly become him. It was his new being. It was the strangest realization, the deepest truth.
And it changed everything.
Augum glanced down. He was holding the Arinthian scion. He was holding his destiny.
He shot to his feet, profoundly aware that the heartbeats had long expired. Lightning rings around his arm flared off and on like fireflies in the night. His palm light crackled in and out. Fine tendrils of lightning crept from the scion, exploring his hand and arm and chest. Some kind of ancient adjustment was taking place, he could feel it inside his soul, a soul that had never felt fresher, stronger, more alive.
The scion had found its new owner.
He glanced down at Mrs. Stone’s body … only to see nothing there. The entire ledge had broken off into the magma below. He glanced over the edge but saw only bubbling waves of heat. Had her body gone with the ledge, or had she made it into Ley? It was impossible to know.
But there was no time to dwell on it, for the girls awaited amongst the enemy.
He turned on his heel and sprinted through the corridors, the scion’s energies ripping through his veins and vibrating soul. The rooms of magma sped by in a hot blur. In that blur, he saw the girls’ faces, and the faces of his friends back in Castle Arinthian. They needed him more than ever. And now he was ready to give them his all.
He smoothly jumped through the hole in the ancient Rivican block wall and sprinted down the rocky mine-like tunnel to the elevator. And when at last he arrived, he saw what he been expecting to see all along.
An empty corridor.
The Drawbridge
Augum calmly placed his shining palm against the oval with the drawbridge symbol above it. He enjoyed seeing lightning tendrils flick from his palm, exploring the rock. His words were succinct and precise.
“Emerga exato.”
A portal ruptured in the tunnel and he stepped through, quickly emerging on the other side, neither sick nor dizzy, mind clear as day.
Before him rested a wet drawbridge. Augum tilted his head in interest, taking in the scene. The sky was dark and windy, the cobbled houses shimmering with rainwater. The brackish moat waters ran high. The air stank of smoke and death.
His eyes fell upon a commotion on the other end of the drawbridge. He quickly spied the girls—they were being dragged away by a warlock commanding a small detachment of troops, including a wraith, various undead, and thirty black-armored soldiers surrounding what he knew had to be his mother’s body. Augum knew the warlock was not too high in degree because he had not teleported the girls off with the Group Teleport spell.
He began pacing toward them, palm lit blue, arm crackling with five star-bright lightning rings, the scion clutched in his fist, Centarro ripping through him. He no longer felt fear. Rather, he understood it.
He touched his throat. “Amplifico.” His head dropped as he narrowed his eyes at the enemy. He had never felt so destructive, so pure, so … dangerous.
“Ho!” one of the soldiers cried as the group halted. “There walks the wanted one!” Burning blades immediately rose into the air as a mix of walkers and reavers took to a sprint in his direction.
Augum began idly flicking his wrist left and right as he walked, sweeping the undead off the bridge with an invisible telekinetic broom. They clacked their jaws before splashing into the waters below, the burning blades extinguishing with a hiss. He sensed he could almost lift the entire bridge off its moorings and send it flying, that’s how strong Telekinesis felt with the aid of the scion and Centarro. It was pure arcane muscle.
His voice, aimed at the soldiers holding Bridget and Leera, their hands clamped over the girls’ mouths, was a roar that shook the ground.
“UNHAND THEM!”
The soldiers jumped, startled by the power of it, many of them ducking, others glancing about as if the Lord of the Legion had come in the flesh.
And Augum immediately realized why—his voice sounded like his father’s.
“MY NAME … IS AUGUM STONE,” Augum said as he continued to stride purposefully toward the group, knowing the effect that name would cause. They had heard the rumors of his battles and duels. He was champion of his degree at the warlock tournament. But now … now he had a new weapon. And they needed to see it. He raised his left arm, holding the scion aloft.
“FLEE AND YOU SHALL LIVE.” He felt the space around him warp. Lightning fingers lashed out at the thick planks, snapping at the air like whips. The crackling was much louder than he was used to hearing.
Remarkably, nearly every one of the human soldiers broke ranks and ran, many not even looking back, most at a full-on sprint, leaving only four to hold on to the girls, as well as the wraith and a warlock he did not recognize, a young olive-skinned man with short stubble and a dark look about him. The man barked a necromantic command at the wraith and it charged, goopy limbs dripping onto the planks.
Augum kept striding forth, slamming his wrists together. “ANNIHILO!” A ferocious bolt of lightning, channeled from his arcane core and greatly amplified by the scion, burst from his hands and exploded into the wraith, blowing it apart in all directions.
Augum calmly stepped over the hunks of rotten flesh. The warlock finished speaking into an Exot ring before stepping between the girls and Augum. Twelve black rings sprang to life around his arm.
A necromancer.
The man spat, “Impetus peragro!” but he made a crucial error—Augum saw where he had been looking. “Summano arma—” Augum snapped as he whirled about. Just as the necromancer teleported behind him, Augum’s amplified lightning long sword—which had appeared in his fist halfway through the turn—neatly sliced through the man’s armored torso like a hot knife through butter. Before he even finished the rotation, he let go of the Summon Weapon spell, and finished the spin facing the remaining four soldiers, who took one look at each other, shoved the girls away, and bolted.
Augum got to the girls and the trio embraced.
“I’m so sorry, Aug, we had to leave,” Bridget said. “We thought we heard Von Edgeworth coming. And Jez wasn’t here so we got captured.” She let go and asked in a small voice, “Did he … you know …”
Augum gave Leera a peck on that cute nose of hers before smiled bittersweetly at her. How he had missed spending time with her.
“Aug?” Leera whispered, holding him by the waist. “What happened to Mrs. Stone?”
“Her last words were to accept an invitation to Ley, but I’m not sure if she made it there. I think she wanted to take on Magua.” His prose felt rapid and intelligent. It was an awesome sensation, though he began to feel Centarro ever slowly fading. He had so much to learn.
Bridget dropped her eyes and nodded.
“Do you realize how strong she’d be as a Leyan?” Leera said, forcing a smile.
“They’ll think she’s an Unnameable,” Augum replied, recalling the conversation with Esha.
“Huh? Who would?”
“Oh, never mind. Just something about relativity between strengths.”
“You’ve changed,” Leera said with a frown, glancing down at the scion in his fist. Suddenly she withdrew a little.
“I have.” It was all right that she feared it. It was expected. He raised her hand and gently entwined his fingers with hers. “But my love for you hasn’t.” He smiled, and she tentatively smiled back. How radiant she looked. Her tussled raven hair, the sprinkle of
freckles on her smudged cheeks, her sparkling eyes so full of adventure and spirit and love.
Soldiers began creeping out from behind the houses, including some warlocks and undead. They approached warily, slinking along like cagey wolves. A single bold reaver sprinted down a cobbled street.
Augum thought they needed a reminder. He calmly reached out with a closed fist, tuning to the enemy, bridging arcane divides. Suddenly he opened his palm and the reaver exploded, its limbs torn in all directions by the raw strength of his Telekinesis.
That instantly ceased the advance.
“Holy Fates, Aug!” Leera cried.
Something caught Bridget’s attention behind Augum. He turned around to see a small army coalescing under the castle gates.
Bridget swallowed. “How are we going to get out of here without my Exot orb or Jez?”
“That necromancer called your father,” Leera said. “He’s on his way.”
“And he’s late.” Yet Augum had a feeling he knew exactly where his father was. “Please bring my mother’s body close.” While the girls telekinetically brought the linen-wrapped body near, Augum brought the Exot ring that would contact his father to his lips.
“What are you doing?” Bridget asked, voice tinted with alarm.
“Setting a trap.” He had a plan. It would take some explaining, but that would come later. He was about to speak into it only to flinch, for his father’s frothing mad voice chimed into his head.
“I’M GOING TO HANG YOU FROM THE GATES FOR ALL TO SEE! HOW DARE YOU INTERFERE—”
“Father,” Augum interrupted. “The drawbridge.”
There was an angry roar.
Leera raised a brow at him.
“He only just discovered his wife was missing,” Augum said.
There was a THWOMP on the other side of the drawbridge. The Lord of the Legion appeared dressed in sleek matte black armor and a long cape. Lightning eyes flared within the helm. The space around the man warped angrily.
“HOW DARE YOU—” the man roared in an amplified voice only to stop. “You have the scion.” There was a pause. “Then the crone is no more …”
Augum brought the Exot ring to his lips. “Anna Atticus Stone perished from her injuries after beating Von Edgeworth.”
A deep silence passed.
“You speak the truth. I can hear it in your voice. So the crone indeed is no more. A shame, for I would have preferred dispatching her by my own hand. And now her great burden, her quest to bequeath the scion to one she deemed worthy, has been fulfilled. She chose you, my own blood, over me. The arrogance, the audacity, the betrayal.”
Augum heard the anger, a flaw to the Resistance’s advantage. He placed the ring to his lips once more.
“I have the scion, yes. I also … rescued Mother.”
“YOU DARE!” came the roaring reply from the other end of the drawbridge, the voice seeming to float over the entire city.
“I dare,” Augum replied into the ring. He didn’t feel like yelling, nor did he feel it was needed.
“YOU HAVE STOLEN THE DIVINING ROD, YOU HAVE STOLEN MY INHERITANCE … AND NOW YOU HAVE STOLEN MY BELOVED WIFE!”
The entire city must have heard.
At this, Augum had to reply publicly. He amplified his throat with a touch. “The one you murdered.”
There was a ringing silence.
The Lord of the Legion crunched a fist. “I hereby, before all these witnesses, disown you in the old way. You are no longer my son. We are true blood enemies. You and those around you shall suffer unimaginably.”
“I am relieved to no longer be your son.” It was amazingly freeing. From then on, the man would only be known to Augum as Sparkstone, the Lord of the Legion. They would no longer be bound by blood.
“I shall use the Divining Rod to find you,” Augum continued, voice bouncing off the walls of the castle, giving it a powerful echo. “We shall come for you soon. Expect a great army at these gates. This castle, and you, will fall.”
There was a roar of derisive laughter from the Lord of the Legion, a roar quickly taken up by all his troops, who seemed most eager to laugh. Yet Augum sensed hesitation in their laughter. He sensed there were those who did it out of fear. He sensed many hearts that were secretly hoping for him to be the victor. It reminded him of poor Mr. and Mrs. Ribbons.
“With what’s left of Occulus’ old decrepit rag-tag lot, you mean?” Sparkstone said amongst the forced laughter. “You shall not even get off this bridge!” But as he spoke, Augum was already preparing the spell. Somehow, using the strength of the scion and the last vestiges of Centarro, he remembered the difficult pronunciation, even though he had forgotten it after every casting before, for he had cast the spell from scrolls a couple times already. He had also cast wild minor versions of it on himself, and the knowledge he gained from both would now aid him in the greatest test of his arcanery to date.
“Get my mother, then hold hands,” Augum instructed under his breath to the girls. Meanwhile, the Lord of the Legion droned on, his voice becoming angrier and angrier as he frothed about Augum’s indiscretions and what he was going to do to him and his allies. The moment was rapidly arriving when Sparkstone would strike, hence Augum unleashed the spell while the man was in mid-sentence.
“Impetus peragro grapa lestato exa exaei!”
By the violent yank and instant immense drain on his arcanery, he knew the 17th degree spell Group Teleport had worked.
Back at Castle Arinthian
There was a great THWOMP as the trio and the mummified body of Augum’s mother appeared at the fountain before Castle Arinthian. Augum immediately collapsed, dizzy and weak from such a taxing spell. While the girls saw to him, clapping him on the back for such a phenomenal casting, he yanked off the Exot ring that communicated with Sparkstone, sticking it in a pocket. He did not want to hear the man’s angry screams of frustration.
Bridget quickly forgot Augum’s nauseous condition. “I … I can’t believe what you just did,” she said, glancing about as if unsure of where she was. “Group Teleport … at your degree and training … should be impossible.” She grabbed him somewhat roughly. “Augum, do you realize what you just performed? A feat of legend.”
“Relax there, Bridgey,” Leera said as Augum, scion still clutched in his left fist, dry-heaved, though there was nothing to throw up as he hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever. Even with the scion’s mighty aid, he had still overdrawn. His head pounded and blood dribbled from his nose. But he also sensed his ability to overdraw had been greatly extended. He could find new spell boundaries now. And with proper training …
“Mrs. Stone was said to perform a few feats of legend,” Bridget went on in an awed whisper after a quick apology.
“Including that famous simulcast outside the academy against Narsus,” Leera said. She was beside him, patting at his nose with a cloth. “Crazy.” Then she leaned in. “You know we don’t have an army large enough to take the Black Castle, so why did you tell the Lord of the Legion that we did?”
“I’ll explain … later.” It was a worthy plan. But it would have to be revealed carefully and played perfectly. In the meantime, the Lord of the Legion would prepare himself for a full-on attack. He would shore up his defenses, summon demons and raise more undead. But none of that mattered, so long as he believed an attack was imminent. The only thing Augum regretted was the innocent lives that would be lost in the time it would take to prepare the plan.
“Here they come,” Leera muttered, helping Augum to his feet.
The call had gone out and refugees from the academy, their families, and others poured from the castle. His friends threw up shouts of joy at seeing them safely returned, while strangers whispered excitedly.
“These are the three hero fugitives—!”
“I can’t believe we’re here with them—”
“They’re prince and princesses now—”
“I was there at the arena when Augum—”
“Can you save my mom
ma—?”
The last question came from a young boy holding his father’s hand. The father was dressed in a torn Legion warlock robe, unshaven cheek bruised, fresh from a fight. He had a distant look to his eyes. But before Augum could answer, the anxious yet excited crowd quickly swept the trio inside to the castle foyer, carrying Terra’s body procession-like.
“Caireen made it,” Bridget said, giving the amber-eyed Tiberran girl a wave. She waved back and sheepishly smiled, her wild bush of orange hair bouncing.
“See, told you they’re a couple—” Laudine Cooper whispered to a girl her age, nodding at Augum and Leera, who were holding hands.
“Here,” Jengo said, rushing Augum over to the steps to administer arcane healing.
“Space, please,” bronze-skinned Kiwi Kaisan said, the other apprentice healer. “Give him space! And water! Anyone have a skin—?”
Someone passed forth a full waterskin and Augum drank greedily, while Jengo carefully focused on his wounds. Meanwhile, Kiwi had Bridget and Leera sit on the steps beside him, readying them for a turn with Jengo by cleaning their minor wounds with cotton.
The questions immediately descended upon the exhausted trio, and it was the girls that wearily replied. News spread like wildfire. The retrieval of Augum’s mother. The orb clutched in Augum’s palm (“Is that a scion …?”). And especially …
“What about Mrs. Stone? Where is she?”
The trio exchanged a dark look.
“She has passed on,” Augum at last replied, hearing his voice echo in the ancient hall.
Jengo, who had finished healing Augum’s shoulder, glanced up suddenly, the glow from his lingering palm fading.
“But she may have become a Leyan,” Bridget quickly added, trying to lift their spirits with an eager nod of her head. Yet a deep ringing silence hit the foyer. Many removed their caps.
“Ley isn’t even real,” Cry Slimwealth said, scrunching his pimpled face. “It’s a made-up place to fool dumb people.”
“Shut up, Cry,” a student said, though in a despondent voice.
“If she made it, she’ll fight Magua,” Bridget went on in a small voice.
