by Sever Bronny
Leera nodded knowingly.
He closed the locket, then his fist over it. Leera drew close, placing her hands gently over his fist. She untangled his fingers, withdrew the locket, and slipped it over his head, where it settled below the necklace of charms his friends had made him for his birthday. She smiled, and the pair drew closer still and softly kissed for some time, until the sun began to slip beyond the horizon. It took someone clearing their voice behind them for them to finally—but without haste—break apart from their tenderness.
They glanced over to see Bridget standing beside Brandon, the latter red-faced with obvious embarrassment.
“They do this a lot?” he asked with a lopsided grin. His shaggy walnut hair was in chaos, his academy robe smudged with dirt.
Bridget made an exaggerated eye roll. “Ugh. All. The. Time.”
He shrugged. “I can, uh … see the appeal.”
Bridget flashed him a look of annoyance, but Augum swore it was laced with affection Brandon had yet to perceive. Or maybe he did, by the look he gave her in return. Had they progressed that far already, reading each other like he and Leera did?
“Haven’t swept her off her feet yet, huh?” Leera asked, mischievous smile returning.
“Hush, you,” Bridget said, nervously sweeping a cinnamon lock of hair from her forehead. “There are serious and somber matters to attend to.”
“The Memorial Ceremony is ready,” Augum stated.
“Aye, Prince Augum,” Brandon said in a seaman’s accent. “She be a-ready for ye.”
Bridget smacked his hand like a teacher scolding a schoolchild, hissing, “Inappropriate.”
“Looks like the feet-sweeping will take some time,” Leera muttered, with Augum nodding in agreement.
Bridget stepped aside and gestured for them to go first.
“You have ten days to find a broom, mister,” Leera whispered to Brandon as they passed.
Within Blue Fire
Every single person in Castle Arinthian, from students to teachers to former Milhamers, had gathered in the back bailey. All except the guards, who remained on high alert, trained to raise the call for everyone to stand still should the alarm sound.
The large group of people stood around a great fire pit surrounded by log benches. A chill evening wind had sprung up. The sun had recently set, painting the clouds with an orange-violet hue.
Augum, Leera, Bridget and Brandon were the last to arrive. Heads lowered as they passed, voices whispering out titles. “Prince Augum … Princess Leera … Princess Bridget …”
Augum still could not get used to that title. No matter how many times he heard it, he felt he had not earned it. But then, how does one earn the title of prince without being born into it? From the books he had read as a boy, it often involved subterfuge, cunning and coin. Rarely did the actions of those at court involve bravery or daring or valor. Somehow, it was always craftiness and guile.
As a matter of ceremony and custom, Augum was directed to stand—uncomfortably—in the center of the clearing between the fire pit and the people. Before him, resting above a carefully-constructed log cabin fire, lay his mother’s body, a woman he did not know except through other people’s words and writings. He wanted to feel more attached to her, but did not know how to accomplish that.
What they were about to do would be irreversible, but it had to be done. And the Lord of the Legion would be told of it at a crucial time. Thinking of it that way made Augum feel a flush of shame, for he was in essence using his mother’s cremation against the man. Yet after considering it some more, he was certain she would have understood.
A long moment of silence passed during which there could only be heard the sound of flapping robes and the distant rustle of slowly swaying trees, along with the occasional suppressed cough. At last, Mrs. Hawthorne, being the most senior warlock, stepped forward to stand opposite Augum on the other side of the fire pit, voice solemn.
“We are gathered here to bid final farewell to Terra Titan Stone, of the Sierran Titan clan of the deep desert south. None of us knew who she was as a person. None of us laughed and cherished time with her. Yet her spirit touches us all most profoundly, for she sacrificed herself so Augum Stone may live a free life, a gesture that spoke more about her character than words could convey. Tonight, we give her to the flames in the old way, as per her wishes.”
Mrs. Hawthorne glanced to Mr. Chappie Fungal, who stood nearby with his bagpipes at his chest. The man raised the pipe to his lips and released a single deep discordant note that slowly tuned itself the longer it went on. In the mean, Mrs. Hawthorne began the phrasing that would set off the ancient spell.
“I call upon the spirits of the dead to listen to the cries of the living, and to remember those they left behind, those that still breathe the air and walk above ground. Dearly departed, allow us a final goodbye as we mourn your passing from this life.”
She held a palm over the logs until a blue fire burst around the body of Terra Titan Stone.
“Hear the cry,” but instead of Mrs. Hawthorne singing, it was Mr. Fungal’s bagpipes that took over as the lone voice soaring above those assembled. Augum’s eyes unfocused on the fire, his vision blurring, carried by the wavering tune that stirred his very soul, a tune that was doubled by the echo bouncing off the ancient castle walls. He wondered how many times those walls had heard this tune, a tune that spanned the ages.
Out of the white mist appeared an ailing man, along with a woman with a melancholy look about her.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ribbons …” Augum murmured. The pair stood apart. They reached out to each other but were unable to touch before fading into nothingness. His heart panged, hoping they reunited in some form in the eternal after.
But what came next made no sense at all and sent a shiver of fear across his flesh and made his knees weak, for there before him stood not Mrs. Stone, not his mother …
… but Bridget and Leera.
They stood knowingly, faces etched with serious expressions. And they were staring right at him, as if waiting for him to make some kind of decision.
“Unnameables, please, no …” He wanted to throw up. What did it mean? What did it mean!
The girls dropped their heads mournfully and began to fade into a white mist. He reached out to them, but they were already gone. Unnameables, no. If they were destined for death in a meeting with the Lord of the Legion, then that changed everything.
And that was it. No other soul came, not his mother nor Mrs. Stone. There was only the white mist, mysterious, eternal, cold. It had given him no finality, no easing of suffering, but rather the opposite. He opened his eyes to see an empty blue fire gasping its last. His mother’s body was gone. Glancing about, he noticed all were still assembled, heads bowed, and the song of the pipes, although it was nearing its end, had not entirely concluded.
Augum couldn’t believe it. He had no answers at all, only questions. All that remained within him was an icy feeling in his bones. He glanced to Bridget and Leera, but their heads were bowed as well. The ceremony hadn’t even finished for them! And here he was tormented by what he had seen. Did he dare tell them? He couldn’t stop the coursing panic. What did it mean! He resolved to speak with Mrs. Hawthorne the moment the ceremony concluded—
Suddenly there was a deep and powerful horn blast that instantly sent prickles along his skin. The bagpipes immediately cut off and everyone glanced about at each other with fear and uncertainty in their eyes.
Laudine Cooper’s hands shot to her mouth. “The Lord of the Legion …” She was staring at Augum with wide eyes.
Gods, had he come already? If so, it was over, they were done for …
“To the stables!” someone shouted, the call quickly taken up by others. “And stay absolutely still! Go, go, go—!” People started running in a quiet but rushed panic, for they were more terrified than Augum had ever seen a group of people. Faces were pale as porcelain, eyes watery with terror, mouths covered with hands. There was quiet wee
ping and sobbing.
“Prince Augum, this way! Hurry—!” Captain Briggs hissed.
But something told Augum to remain. He had to witness for himself, to see, above all, to overhear.
“You go ahead, Captain, I have to test the enchantment.” As long as he stood still, he’d be invisible. Also, if something should go wrong, he wanted to be the first to respond.
Captain Briggs hesitated. “Yes, Your Highness,” before running off, corralling the others into the repaired stables. Augum could feel the arcanery ripping through his veins, already anticipating a monstrous battle. The scion buzzed loudly by his ear like an angry wasp.
Suddenly he felt a presence and turned, finding the girls standing there with determined faces. Heat flashed through his body. He wanted to shout at them to run, to take cover, for he feared what may happen now that he had seen them within the flames of the memorial fire. They had no idea, none at all!
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it, especially after Leera gave him a supportive wink.
It wasn’t long after things settled to a quiet yet windy standstill when the first figure emerged from the forest—a lone Dreadnought-armored Legionnaire, carrying a flaming sword. The protective enchantments that would have prevented such an intrusion had been dissolved on purpose … but would the combined arcane enchantments of Mrs. Stone and Senior Arcaneologist Lien Ning work?
Augum tensed as another figure emerged, and then a third. Soon they were pouring in. He kept a silent count. Twenty. Fifty. Seventy. One hundred … and still they came. Nearly every kind of Legion soldier and demon was within the bailey, sniffing about. Dreadnought-armored men-at-arms carrying burning blades flanked wraiths. Reavers carrying summoned arcane versions of the same burning blades were paired off with walkers, guided by young necromancers the trio’s age or older. All had passed the Torment Trial and were 5th degree or higher, for they proudly displayed black arm rings. Sparkstone’s forces were getting stronger, it seemed.
An ebony-skinned and gray-haired revenant Augum swore looked vaguely familiar stopped nearby to glance up at the castle. He was dressed in matte black Dreadnought plate and carried a burning sword. A black Legion cape dangled from his back, clasped in front by a thick chain.
“Looks like it’s been burning a long while, Commander Jordan,” said a female soldier. “Mostly smoke now.”
Of course … Commander Jordan! It was his Exot set they had stolen back at the Library of Antioc. He was also the man who stood on a podium in the library trainer cavern to address the assembled necrophytes. But he was different now. His face was rotten. Teeth could be seen through his cheeks. One of his hawk brows had been burnt off.
“That appears to be the case,” the commander replied.
“Bandits, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.”
“It’s a blackened husk, a total loss. What a shame.”
The Commander turned a steely gaze upon the woman soldier, who quickly stuttered, “I mean, not that His Lordship much cares about some old relic.”
“No, he does not. He did not expect them to be here.”
“Rumors say the savages have taken them in.”
The Commander returned his gaze to the supposedly burning castle. “Those rumors could have been planted. Though I do not put it past the Nodians.”
“That is why we are here, sir. To check.”
Commander Jordan gave her a look of annoyance. “Shut up and search the stables, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Augum dared not turn around to watch. If he so much as moved a finger …
After what felt like an eternity, “Nothing, sir!” came the call. And others soon reported the same, until one fat soldier huffed over.
“We did find a few undead bodies, sir,” he reported. “There was a raid, perhaps a tenday ago, judging by the flies. It appears the undead had warred with bandits or the fugitives.”
“And the castle has been razed,” Commander Jordan mused. “They thought themselves uncovered and fled. Typical cowards.”
“Shall we proceed to Nodia, sir?” his lieutenant asked.
“Not yet. First we sweep the other villages. Someone might know something.”
“Sir, reports say none are left alive in this part of the kingdom.”
“Converted or killed, no doubt,” Commander Jordan muttered, sighing. “Very well then. I’ll inform his lordship. To Nodia.”
The woman sent the call out. “We’re moving!” and the army slowly responded like a great waterwheel starting up, filing southward.
Commander Jordan swept the scene, black eyes passing over the trio. An Exot ring glimmered on a charred finger. “Bah,” he spat, and turned his back on Castle Arinthian.
Anxieties
The elaborate illusion had worked. The Legion army left with the impression the castle had been razed. But just in case, the trio and everybody else, as trained, had remained absolutely still for another hour while dusk settled to deep hues of purple. A very long, tense hour. Only then was a scout permitted to check the forest. When he gave the all clear, the trio instantly relaxed with a deep sigh of relief.
But as the girls chattered about the power of Mrs. Stone and Senior Arcaneologist Ning’s illusion enchantment, Augum bee-lined to Mrs. Hawthorne, taking her aside.
“What is it, Prince Augum?” she asked with deep concern in her stern eyes.
“In the memorial fire … I saw … the girls … and …”
Her thin brows crossed as she placed an alabaster hand on his arm. “Slow down, Prince. Explain clearly what the problem is.”
He dropped his voice as others looked on in the background. “I saw Bridget and Leera in the memorial fire. They had a grave expression. What does it mean?”
“The Memorial Ceremony is ancient arcanery. Its functions are not entirely known to modern arcaneologists. However, typically the ceremony shows exactly what an onlooker needs to see.”
“I … I don’t understand.”
“I am sure it is fine. Do not concern yourself. As you can plainly see, Princess Bridget and Princess Leera are quite well.”
He glanced at the girls, who were involved in a light discussion with fawning academy students, mostly girls.
“I didn’t see Mrs. Stone in the fires either, or my mother.”
“Perhaps you had already said goodbye to them.”
Augum opened his mouth to reply, only to freeze. He had said goodbye to his mother in a memorial ceremony with Mrs. Stone, back when they had first arrived at the castle. And perhaps he had been saying goodbye to Nana for a long time already … either that, or it meant she had become a Leyan!
He received a playful shove from someone. He turned angrily, only to find a smirking Jez.
“Never have I ever seen so much worry in a soul want to be sorry.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s an old proverb, Stone. Stop looking for trouble and deal with the problem.” She leaned closer, arms crossed. “The girls are fine.”
“You overheard.”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips thinned. “No doubt a habit gleaned from Ms. Terse’s youth.”
Jez ignored her. “It’s my job, Stone. I’m your mentor now.” She was smiling, eyes full of life and humor and mischievous kindness. Suddenly he appreciated that she called him Stone as opposed to Prince Augum. No wonder Leera felt a kinship; something about her felt big sister-ish. She wasn’t going to let him get away with anything, nor was she going to allow him to outgrow his britches.
“Hey,” Alyssa Fairweather said, coming up to him. “My condolences about your mother and about Mrs. Stone.”
“Thank you.”
“The poor servants are having a heck of a time trying to fit everyone in.” Alyssa grimaced while adjusting one of her facial piercings, which had come slightly askew. “Sorry to cramp you all like this.”
“The castle will fit everyone even if we have to sleep under tables.”
“Oh no, you’re not giving up you
r accommodations,” Jez explained. “We need you focused and ready. It’s going to be a grueling ten days.”
Alyssa glanced about the sprawling grounds. “Lots of room to wrestle around here. Or train. Or have tournaments.” Her inquisitive gaze settled on Augum again. “So what’s this big bold plan that you’ve been meaning to discuss with all of us? Come on, spit it out.”
“I’ll tell you soon, but there’s something I have to figure out first.” And sooner than later, which meant tonight. Seeing the girls in the memorial fire had pierced his exhaustion. There was absolutely no time to lose; the master runeword puzzle was not going to solve itself.
A group started to form around him comprised of students and their parents.
“That’s him, Mother,” someone whispered. “The one I’ve been telling you about.”
“The Antioc champion …” whispered another.
“That the scion? Why’s it clouding over like that?”
“Yes, they’re in love. Like, real love …”
“No, you ask him …”
Augum suddenly felt horribly uncomfortable. Some of these people might die by decisions he was going to make in the foreseeable future to enact his plan, and they were putting him up on a pedestal. He would have much preferred they be angry with him for something.
“Get used to it, Stone,” Jez whispered. “Like it or not, you’re the most famous kid in Solia.”
But Augum’s hands were sweaty. “I didn’t see Nana in the memorial fire. What do you think that means?”
Jez glanced skyward, as if the plane of Ley was somewhere up there, even though it was either a distant kingdom inaccessible by regular arcanery, in a different dimension … or even on another planet, as some theorized. She drew her gaze back to him and winked.
“You sure you’re not related to Leera?” he asked.
“P-P-Prince Augum, can I, uh, ask you a question?” interrupted a squeaky-voiced girl who had to be no more than eight years old.
He crouched before her. “Hello there. Of course you may.”
