by Sever Bronny
Jengo, Caireen, Haylee and Bridget also placed their rings onto the table, each nodding at Augum, who stood trying to find words a leader would say.
“My friends,” he began with slight weariness. “We have a historic battle ahead. The last battle. It will be difficult. But I do have a plan, which I want to discuss at length in due course.” Just as soon as he worked out the kinks in his brain. He glanced to the empty chair at the head of the table beside him. “I am young, but I have been trained well.” He swept the table again, this time with hawk eyes. “We can beat them. We can beat the Lord of the Legion.” He didn’t know how yet, but he’d figure out a way. Maybe he should visit the Seers in the north. After all, everyone gets to ask them one question per lifetime.
He sat back down. That was all that came to him at the moment. Yet it seemed to help, for the tension in the room eased as people relaxed in their chairs and began conversing and strategizing.
As for Augum, he recalled spinning around with his crackling lightning blade in hand and lopping off a necromancer’s head. That spinning morphed into the memory of burning Erika Scarson rapidly flipping end over end in a black void, until his lightning blade crossed her neck’s path. He recalled the absolute silence of the body snuffing and spinning off into the darkness, perhaps to drift on forever.
The realization that he was getting used to killing unnerved him. One should never get used to killing, he told himself. Never. And he scolded himself for not … feeling more.
“Shadows?” Leera whispered. She had been watching him.
“Err, no.” He hadn’t seen them since acquiring the scion, actually. Interesting. He rubbed his forehead, still feeling the dull throb from the “feat of legend” casting, as they called it.
“Well I’m still seeing them,” she muttered.
When the conversation reached its natural conclusion, Mr. Haroun stood up and raised his cup, proclaiming, “To the Resistance!”
The table raised their cups. “To the Resistance!”
They finished eating in strained mirth, with some even cracking a jest here and there. Bowlander just stared at his food while Charissa repeatedly glanced over at him. It occurred to Augum he had probably been using her to get to Bridget. The poor girl. But he did not have the energy to focus on such matters right now.
After the meal, Constable Clouds stood, using his son’s shoulder as leverage, for he had grown even more weary of late. His skin was a flat pallor, and his brow was constantly pricked with sweat.
“I bring tidings from within the Legion ranks.” He gave a brief nod to Jez, who looked on with a serious gaze. The fleeting gesture told Augum she was partly responsible for the forthcoming information. “The Legion troops are in disarray. Those loyal to the Lord of the Legion continue to do as they are told, no matter the cost of those commands. I hear it on good authority that some of those troops have been asked to allow themselves to be turned into the undead.”
The gathered throng glanced at each other uneasily. But the trio already knew this piece of intelligence.
“I fear it is obvious the Legion would easily overcome the common folk of the castle. My thoughts on the matter are two-fold …” He droned on. Others, like distinguished Hanad Haroun, took his place to speak. It was the usual—how the famine was affecting the castle and would only worsen; how the communal coffers were almost completely dry; troop movements in the field; martial law reported in all towns and cities; a bunch of restrictive new Legion proclamations, including, absurdly, no celebrations like birthdays or advancement ceremonies, as well as no unsanctioned arcanery whatsoever; reports from secret Resistance sources that said nothing new; another massive kingdom-wide search would surely be underway for the trio; and on and on.
Augum found himself repeatedly rubbing his forehead.
Mr. Haroun tentatively asked if it was somehow possible to free all the prisoners from the Blackhaven prison, seeing as they would likely fight on behalf of the Resistance—otherwise they’d surely be turned into the undead, if they hadn’t been already, that is. Like so many other thoughts, it hung in the air like the stench of fall pumpkin rot. Bridget added that the Legion was using newly-forged Dreadnought weapons and armor to equip the undead, which provided a shock.
But for Augum, the excitement from the many battles had long drained from his veins, replaced by the bloat and languor of a meal consumed far too quickly. And not even the ever-fading undercurrent of Centarro or the power of the scion helped him to see through that food haze.
Until a knock came at the supper room door. The pink-eyed senior servant, Clayborne, fluidly opened it, yet his mouth hung open instead of announcing the person’s name, for there stood a short beetle-like woman in a gray Antioc Library robe, a woman the trio instantly recognized.
But it was Jez who shot to her feet. “Prudes!” she shouted, running to her. “You’re alive—!” Her close friend, Secretary Prudence Klines, whom everyone thought dead, had somehow survived.
Ally
The story Secretary Prudence Klines told was that she had fallen in a battle in the Library of Antioc trying to save what she considered one of the most precious resources the Resistance had. Though exactly what this resource was she refused to say. Instead, her gaze, magnified grotesquely by thick spectacles, flicked to Augum, who still sat at the table beside Leera, trying to figure out where she was going with this.
“The Legion thought me dead as well,” Klines explained in her squeaky voice as she paced to stand behind Augum and Leera. “Just like you did, Jez.”
Augum noticed she was barefoot, her feet pricked with scabbed nicks as if she had been running over shards of glass. Her escape had to have been a perilous one indeed.
Jez’s face melted with warmth. “Oh, Prudes …”
“I am happy you are well, Aunt,” Bowlander finally said.
“Thank you, Nephew,” Klines replied in equally cool tones, indicating she probably had not gotten along with Bowlander much back in Antioc. Augum wondered if that was one of the reasons for sending him away.
“No worse for wear,” she continued, barely tall enough to peek over Augum’s shoulder. “Luckily, my duty to the Resistance, I can proudly say, remains intact.”
It suddenly occurred to Augum she was the ally Nana had been talking of. She had instructions for the scion!
“I am afraid I must speak with the trio immediately,” Secretary Klines said, confirming his suspicions.
“Why?” Jez asked. “What’s going on, Prudes?”
“Anna Atticus Stone charged me with a sacred quest, one I am finally able to complete.” She smiled wearily at her friend.
Jez returned the smile. “Got one of those too, did you?” She thumbed at herself with both hands. “Guess who I got stuck with? Yup, you’re looking at the trio’s new mentor.”
“The gods help us all,” Secretary Klines said with a shake of her head and a wry smile.
“Yeah, I know.”
Klines glanced over at the trio, muttering, “Gods help you all.” Then she straightened and gestured at the door. “If you please.”
Bridget stood and curtsied gently like a princess would. “Please excuse us.”
Everyone stood. Women curtsied while men gave proper bows. Murmurs rang out. “Princess Bridget … Princess Leera … Prince Augum.”
The girls followed Secretary Klines, but Augum stopped at the door. The crowd, which had begun to take their places, noticed him lingering and stood back up.
“Prince Stone?” Mr. Haroun asked.
“Forgive me, but my mother … she wished to be mourned in the old way and I … I was hoping to get some assistance—”
“—we shall prepare the proper ceremony for you, Prince,” Mrs. Hawthorne replied.
“You can leave it to us,” Jez said. “We’ll organize it for this evening.”
Augum slowly nodded. “Thank you,” before striding after Klines and the girls, who had overheard his question and gave him sympathetic looks. His mother’s
body had been placed in a room on the second floor. Soon he too would complete a sacred quest.
But instead of going downstairs, the small group traveled upstairs.
“Secretary Klines, where are we going?” Bridget asked.
“You shall see in a moment,” Klines replied mysteriously as she ascended the marble steps, looking dwarfish now that she lacked her customary high-heeled shoes. She took them up to their floor with the outdoor veranda—and kept going, all the way up to a part of the castle the trio had never been invited to—the king and queen’s quarters. Above this floor remained only the guard watchtower, now manned as per Captain Briggs’ charge.
“Beautiful …” Bridget whispered, glancing about at the ostentatious hall decorations consisting of gilded ceiling paneling, two sets of exquisitely carved black oak double doors that faced each other, and massive fine tapestries that had to have been arcanely repaired by Mrs. Stone, for they were in immaculate condition considering their age.
Secretary Klines stood before the doors on the right, into which was engraved the image of a beautiful young woman with a soft countenance, bejeweled ornately-styled hair, and wearing a formal gown. The other set was carved with the image of a young and strong-looking king Augum suspected was Arinthian himself. Therefore, the set they stood before had to depict his wife. He thought it amazing these carefully crafted doors had survived over fifteen-hundred years. Unless, of course, Mrs. Stone had repaired them.
Klines’ gaze briefly flicked to the quietly-buzzing scion in Augum’s grip before speaking. “With the opening of these doors, I thus fulfill my promise to the great Anna Atticus Stone. May she find peace.” She then turned the ancient bronze handle and quietly opened the door.
It was not the barren yet extravagant room that drew their attention, nor Mrs. Stone’s meager possessions neatly laid out on a great canopy bedstead, but rather a floating throne chair, within which sat the familiar shriveled form of Senior Arcaneologist Lien Ning, of the ancient and venerable Library of Antioc.
“Your Brilliance, may I present Prince Augum, Princess Bridget, and Princess Leera,” Secretary Klines said in a soft voice that echoed the quiet broken sun that filtered in through the semi-closed velvet curtains.
As before, the trio bowed their heads out of respect. Augum would never forget Klines’ description of this ancient woman: Imagine a young gifted warlock with a strong memory, but even stronger curiosity. Imagine that warlock using all her talents for study in the pursuit of knowledge. Now imagine that warlock aging, but learning to stave off death a little at a time using that knowledge.
“Ah, the young ones before their time.” And again as before, the voice had spoken within Augum’s mind. “And princes and princesses do not bow except to other royalty. You would do well to remember that in the future, when you will have to deal with the flies that so often follow lions around the royal court.”
Augum recalled Mrs. Stone once saying something similar regarding the late King Ridian. It never occurred to him he’d ever have that problem to concern himself with. In fact, he hoped he would never have to.
Ning was watching him, waiting for him to say something.
“Forgive me, but you are the ally Mrs. Stone spoke of?” Augum blurted.
The chair floated closer, bringing with it the faint scent of cloves. The withered, blackened form within stared with almond-shaped night black eyes that reminded Augum of the Leyans. The lips remained forever curled back in a grotesque scowl. The hands had long closed in upon themselves, and the skin was as pockmarked as the moon.
“Do you still believe you are capable of this?” her voice asked inside his head. It sounded harsh and snappy, almost impatient. By the girls’ subtle reaction, it seemed they had heard the question too.
Augum glanced down at the scion in contemplation. He felt it necessary to be reflective with the answer.
“The answer lies there not,” Ning said.
He glanced back at her. “I believe I am still capable of this.”
“Wary you are of being accustomed to death.”
“I …” How did she know? But after matching her gaze and knowing who she was, well, of course she knew.
“I am,” he replied.
“Admirably antithetical to your enemies.” She waited to see if he responded before continuing. “Three successful castings. Dare say I that is quite the feat for one so young. A legendary feat indeed, as much a commendation to your mentor as to your diligence, for Annocronomus Tempusari has not been cast successfully for a very long time.”
Augum sensed a great intelligence before him in that chair, an intelligence he only felt once before in front of a certain pink-spectacled Leyan known as Krakatos the Ancient.
“Are you a Leyan?” he blurted before he could stop himself.
The girls glanced sharply at him. But it was the voice inside his head that was a surprise, for it was amused.
“I am not. Though considering where you have been and what you have witnessed, the question is foreseeable. Long age often takes on certain characteristics. Some call it the disease of time. Others call it a curse. In the days of old they called it enlightenment.”
The chair abruptly floated over to Bridget, who shrank a little at the intense gaze.
“Ever so full of uncertainty, aren’t we?”
Augum and Leera adjusted their stances in surprise. Augum was unaware Bridget felt uncertainty. She always presented such a strong, confident face. He felt like an awful friend for not asking her how she was feeling and coping. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he had been quite self-centered of late.
Bridget swallowed as she curled long cinnamon strands around an ear. “I feel we are not ready.”
“And you are quite right,” came the immediate reply. Senior Arcaneologist Lien Ning allowed that difficult thought to settle before continuing on. “But you will have an opportunity to remedy that in the coming tenday, as I shall soon explain.”
Her chair floated before Leera, whose hands traveled behind her back. Augum wanted to squeeze them and tell her not to worry so much. Studying her freckled face, he suddenly noticed how often it was on edge of late, so full of fear. How self-centered he had been indeed!
But Lien Ning said nothing. Instead, a small leather pouch opened beside her, and two chocolate sweets popped out from within. One fit itself between her rotten teeth, and the other danced tantalizingly before Leera’s mouth, until she opened up and in it went.
Leera couldn’t help but beam.
“Oh just take them all,” Lien Ning said, and the pouch floated over. “Fine Tiberran chocolate, no?”
Leera nodded excitedly. “I like.”
“As you well know by now, I like too.” The ancient face softened ever slightly in compassion. “They have called you bumbling, simple, slow, daft, and all those other names the weak fling upon the strong, the dull heave upon the spirited, the aloof weigh upon the tender.”
The last word hung heavy as Augum finally reached for Leera’s hand and squeezed it. She smiled softly at him.
“They called me those names too,” Lien Ning added. “Fear not, for they were gifts in disguise.”
Leera frowned ever slightly trying to understand, but then she smiled tentatively and nodded, which gladdened Augum’s heart. Meanwhile, Lien Ning withdrew to float before them all once more.
“Anna and I go back quite a way. Believe it or not, we were not always on friendly terms. But that was all some time ago.” She turned her chair to face the window. A shaft of light fell across her decrepit face. “We have transcended the winter of our lives. We have become strong women. We have experienced much—”
“—did she survive the invitation?” Augum interrupted. He simply had to know. “Has she become a Leyan?”
“That I cannot know, my impatient prince. But we shall find out soon enough, I dare say. Beetlebreath!” she suddenly barked.
Secretary Klines bowed. “Your Reverence.”
“I tire of my own pomposity. What was I yapping on about?”
Augum had to suppress a smile. Yup, there was the old cantankerous Lien Ning they had first encountered in the library.
“Transcending the winter of your lives, Your Brilliance.”
“Ah, yes.” There was a sound much like a broken bellows wheezing its last. It was real, and not in the mind. “I dare say I am quite the pretentious creature on occasion. You shall have to allow me indulgences, for this chair gets rather … dull.” Her chair swung back around to face the trio. “But enough frivolity and stilted wordsmithing. And enough nostalgia. My tear ducts have long dried up anyhow. Now then, Anna has left detailed instructions with me. I hate to get involved with idiocies, but she threw those old but hard doe eyes at me—mercifully, for the last time it seems—and made me promise to aid the Resistance in two capacities. Hence, here we are.”
There was an awkward pause in which Augum was trying to puzzle out how she was going to help them, until her chair floated to the bed.
“These possessions Prince Stone is to inherit, for whatever use he would so desire, though I need not say Anna was a stickler for having people contribute.” Her gaze returned to Augum. “And I am certain I need not lecture you on benevolence.”
Augum eyed the bed. “I shall use them to aid the Resistance.”
“With regards to the scion, you will find a detailed letter on its use, which you are to study diligently.”
“I will, Senior Arcaneologist Ning.”
She fixed him with a stern gaze. “Pay careful attention now. Over seventeen-hundred and eighty years ago, this castle was built around the scion you wield.”
Augum’s brows rose. That was even longer than he had estimated.
“In order for you to use the castle fully as a fortress, you must tune to it, which takes a tenday. Alas, if history is any guide, the full instructions for defensive use will be locked in a vault, which is up to you to find. And no, I do not know the master runeword, and neither did Anna.” She floated a bit closer. “And here is my second contribution to the Resistance. I have augmented Anna’s arcanery. The castle will appear empty and ruined to all other than those present for eleven full days while Prince Stone tunes to the Arinthian scion. The casting has exhausted me, but if I have not lost my delicate arcane caress, then it should suffice.”
