by Sever Bronny
“You trying to pop your eyeballs out, Stone?” she sniped as Augum flexed his muscles while amplifying his crackling lightning armor. He burst, expelling his breath, the spell fizzling immediately.
Jez strolled over to him across creaky floorboards. They were in a cozy round tree house. A hearth crackled behind, while outside, a cold wind blew snow. Today, for whatever reason, the enchanted giant cavern was in the grip of a sudden winter storm.
Jez tapped Augum’s forehead. “You’ve gotta strain those muscles—” She smacked his shoulders with both hands. “—not these. Got me?”
“Got you.”
“Good.” Jez stepped back. “Again!”
“Fiercer, Burns!” she later barked, startling Bridget. “You’re going easy on me. You’ve got to constrict my throat like you’re squeezing the life out of someone you hate. It’s Mute, not cuddle. Just think of Brandon when he makes a vulgar joke.”
Bridget went scarlet but nodded.
“Great job, Jones,” Jez complimented when Leera once more successfully cast Seal on a door. “See that, you two?” she said to Augum and Bridget while giving the door a solid kick. “Stuck hard, as if the seams have fused with the frame.” She pronged two fingers between Augum and Leera. “Or like you two making out.”
Meanwhile, the students worked on various other degrees with Hawthorne. The best part about these three hours was when the trio got to use and explore some of the Arinthian Trainers with the academy students, fostering camaraderie, trust and friendship. It’s also when Brandon tried winning Bridget over most.
“Why do you keep doing that thing with your bandana?” Augum asked Brandon as they sauntered to the next obstacle in a dimly-lit boulder-strewn labyrinth. That day, the vast cavern was lit with a morning hue, and a low mist had settled over the entire forest.
“What thing?”
“You know, this thing.” Augum demonstrated the smoothing motion Brandon kept making to his bandana, but only when Bridget wasn’t around.
“What? I don’t do that.”
“You just did it there again.”
“Fine, I do it a little.”
“Bridge doesn’t care about stuff like how smooth your bandana is.”
Brandon stopped before a small target range of enemy iron shields from forgotten ages, hanging on boulders at varying distances. It was First Offensive aiming practice.
“She doesn’t?” he asked, squinting through the mist.
“She doesn’t.”
“Oh.” Brandon smacked his palms together. “Annihilo!” A vine snapped forth, striking a nearby shield depicting a horned helm, reverberating it like a gong. He shrugged. “Habit, I guess. What does she care about?”
“Honesty.”
Brandon snorted. “Of course. Damn.”
Brandon and Augum had grown closer as friends. Brandon would mostly talk about Bridget, something Augum did not discourage, helping him strategize ways to win her over. Later, Bridget would listen appraisingly to anything Augum had to say about Brandon, prodding him with annoying questions like, “But what were his eyes saying to you?” which made Augum’s brain hurt. Unfortunately there was no time whatsoever for the budding pair to be alone together, a consequence of the regimen that plagued Augum and Leera as well. Bridget was, however, spotted trying some new jokes on Mr. Goss (“A book just fell on my head. I’ve only got myshelf to blame.”), while the man only chortled politely, if not a little uncomfortably.
After the three hours of training came a desperately needed hour of lunch and rest, which Augum and Bridget, munching absently on whatever was served, used for additional study and review. Leera, when not training battle spells or napping or trying to sneak alone time with Augum, loitered in the kitchen attempting to persuade Priya to make her sweet cake.
After lunch came regimented “hourlies”, starting with an hour of tedious castle muster drills, followed by an hour on various combat strategies against the undead, the army, and the Lord of the Legion. It was headed by different teachers, from perfunctory Lieutenant Cobb, who trained them on regimented group warfare using the Arinthian armory, to forgetful Chappie Fungal, who talked about morale, accenting particularly valid points with a quick twiddle on his bagpipes—when he remembered to bring them.
The next hourly was segregated, with only certain people in the core of the Resistance having knowledge of and training on the various ballistae and the gauntlet plan, while everyone else practiced evacuation procedures to the bathing rooms. The core warlocks carried the five moveable ballistae into strategic locations in the cavern forest, putting their heads together on exactly how to craft the entire path into a gauntlet that would steadily chip away at the Lord of the Legion. Other core warlocks trained on the four battlement ballistae and one fixed well ballista.
In the watchtower, a student trained on what the compendium referred to as the “top bombard” ballista. Leland practiced alongside, summoning the Agonex army onto the castle grounds. There now remained only three hundred and sixty-five of Occulus’ troops, Leland having sacrificed fifty seven in the short distraction siege on the Black Castle’s gates. In addition, there were two improvised healing stations manned by Jengo and Kiwi. The former would inhabit the lower gauntlet station, the latter the upper castle station.
The next hourly had the trio and Jez in the training cavern, separated from everyone else (“No distractions!” Jez insisted). The trio would each perform their daily Reflect casting, usually against one of Jez’s powerful Second Offensive water attacks, a dual pronged water jet that made their hands go numb after. Eventually she elevated that attack to a 13th degree Third Offensive. After Reflect, Jez mentored Bridget and Leera as they ran cycles through their entire spell repertoire. Augum used that time to train with the scion, diligently performing Mrs. Stone’s practice drills while applying her principles.
“That Shield casting,” Leera said in awe upon seeing him crank up the field width of his black lightning shield, heavily amplified by the scion. “Like a castle wall. Could hide a squad of us behind that thing.”
Augum particularly loved how its crust had thickened substantially. But he very much enjoyed all of his scion-amplified spells. Telekinesis allowed him to pick up giant boulders. Push was like having a charging arcane bull plow into an opponent. It was so strong he wasn’t even allowed to train on real people with it, a rule implemented immediately after his first demonstration, which resulted in a destroyed tree house and an emergency visit from Jengo. Luckily, his Repair spell was powerful enough now to efficiently undo the damage to the house, a demonstration that on its own had people exchanging looks.
The scion allowed his Mind Armor to handle almost all of Jez’s mind spell attacks, and she was a 17th degree water warlock. His Fear, Deafness and Confusion castings were so strong he dared only use them on Jez and Mrs. Hawthorne, the only ones mentally tough enough to take them. His Darkness spell could black out a small swath of the cavern forest, while casting Summon Minor Elemental cranked out a rugged beast the size of a man, crackling with what looked like ten times the density of his previous elemental. With the exception of Jez and Mrs. Hawthorne’s higher tier elementals, it obliterated all others with powerful lightning-crackling punches and kicks.
“You’re like a one-man siege engine, Stone,” Jez had commented after seeing him blow a hole through a boulder with his First Offensive. “Keep it up.”
After that hourly, still coached by Jez, the trio practiced Annocronomus Tempusari for three straight grueling hours using “dry runs”, which meant simulating casting it for real while strategizing on its practical use in battle. Jez acted the part of the Lord of the Legion, and though she lacked his highest tier spells (and necromancy), she did a wonderful job of simulating his attacks, even if she had to pretend some of them. They would often cross-reference Mrs. Stone’s letter on Sparkstone, and came up with all sorts of clever solutions on just precisely how they could exploit those attacks, especially with Cron. And though it was very diff
icult to understand, they also referenced the golden book on Annocronomus Tempusari, trying to glean nuggets of wisdom from its ancient golden leaf pages, although luckily, Mrs. Stone had done the majority of the work for them already, having passed on key information during their months of training with her on the spell. They only performed a single daily two-heartbeat casting just to keep the true mechanics of the spell on the tip of their tongues, castings so short the side effects were minimal.
Interestingly, Jez had absolutely no intention of learning the spell, quipping, “I’m in my mid thirties, you fools, I don’t feel the need to get ugly quicker.” But she was exceptional in coordinating practice combat scenarios, as well as getting them to pronounce the spell faster in the span of three—and sometimes even two—heartbeats, something that in itself was a crucial breakthrough.
Following Cron training came supper, usually eaten in silence due to fatigue. By then, the trio often didn’t even have the energy to study, using the precious remainder of the hourly to nap. Only Jengo somehow maintained a furious concentration, often seen sitting beside Kiwi Kaisan, their noses buried in studies on healing. Sometimes they’d quietly trade notes or ask a question, becoming powerful study partners.
After supper came one hour of what everyone enjoyed the most—early evening war games. The best were team against team attacks simulating multiple warlock frays. Hawthorne was a general, barking things like, “Hustle those gangly bones up, Okeke! Just because you’re a healer doesn’t mean you won’t have to run for your life again!” or, “Great improvisation and return volley, Luganov,” when Sasha had snatched a telekinetically thrown practice spear and sent it hurtling at Garryk, who squealed when it pinned his robe to a stump.
Jez was Hawthorne’s smirking lieutenant, focusing of course mostly on the trio. “What’s the matter, Jones, tired from all that making out?” she would say to a panting and blushing Leera. Or, “Don’t hold back with the Push spell, Burns, it’s not Brandon you’re shoving here.” Augum was not spared either. “You call that a quick casting, Stone? I’ve seen land masses move faster.”
Next came an hour of exhausting one-on-one duels during which the trio, mostly thanks to Mrs. Stone’s diligent training, commanded the battlefield. Brandon jokingly called these sessions “beat-downs.”
The trio’s mentor, Jez, gazed upon them with fondness, whispering something about “reluctant leaders” to a nodding Hawthorne. But the trio garnered the most respect kindly helping others with arcanery. “Learn to identify that early tingle,” Bridget once explained to an almond-eyed Kiwi when she was learning how to fight off a Fear attack with Mind Armor. “That tingle is the signature of the spell. Memorize it with your mind and body.”
After the duels came one hour of diligent but strictly silent book study, something the trio usually did in the dining room surrounded by piles of loose parchments, plans, letters, maps and books. Near the end of the hour the trio would cast Centarro and go over every bit of information again in an effort to dig up nuggets—often finding a slew.
Then, in the late but still warm evenings, exhausted and sweaty from a long and grueling day, they would be rewarded with a precious hour of free time, which was almost always spent in the bathing rooms, now swept out and cleaned. Separated to male and female rooms, the students were also supervised. “Too young to be trusted with anything other than deadly weapons,” according to Jez. The boys, swimming in their undergarments, would talk about war and duels and girls (mostly girls). What the girls talked about was a complete mystery. The only hints the boys received were the echoes of girlish giggles or sudden bursts of laughter. There was more than one attempt to sneak into the girls’ pool, always thwarted by protective arcanery—which was set with the kinds of alarms only teachers knew, should anyone try anything daring like a Disenchant spell. Beefy Olaf was slapped with detention for attempting some kind of arcane dig-through, a maneuver lauded as “clever but inept” by Jez, who shook her head in that grinning fashion of hers.
Lastly, they’d drag themselves to bed, sleeping superbly, only to start it all again once old Preenie sent up the morning call.
Smoke
The trio was enjoying getting to know the academy students. Bridget and Leera appreciated having classmates around them again, and Augum was thrilled to be making more friends. Moody Cry Slimwealth and sullen Lord Bowlander were the odd ducks out, each ruminating in their thoughts, each labeled as “annoying” or “lazy” in their own way by the other boys. Their training attempts were half-hearted, contributions non-existent. Augum once tried to strike up conversation with both, only to be snidely brushed off. Bowlander quit going to the Resistance meetings almost immediately, spending the majority of his time in his room, or roaming about the castle grounds in a morose mood, sometimes muttering to himself. For that reason and others, Augum made sure he was not privy to their most secret plans, especially anything to do with the trap they were laying for Sparkstone.
The trio often trained with Fentwick, who was an excellent practice opponent, especially considering he could be set to various difficulty settings. If one of them failed to measure up to his ancient standards, he would squeal in his nasal tone, “An unworthy attempt, thy Royal Highness!”
If set to expert difficulty, he was formidable, even beating the trio in individual arcane duels by using mostly harmless proxy attacks in rapid succession, something that was talked about for days. Arcaner Fentwick was not to be messed with, it seemed. After that, there were fewer “rust bucket” jokes, or at least told in whispers when the ancient animated suit of armor happened to be near.
In a dare, the boys once asked Augum to switch Fentwick to classic mode so they could duel him with swords instead of arcanery. Yet when switched to expert in sword mode, again, Fentwick was unbeatable, even fluidly besting a stunned Captain Briggs. “That is why ancient arcanery is so feared,” Hawthorne mentioned in passing. “It is beyond the strength of today’s sorcery.”
Augum didn’t tell them there was one additional hidden level of difficulty accessible only to the Keeper of the Keys … master. Even the thought of seeing Fentwick set to that level was scary enough. Nonetheless, it could prove useful for other purposes …
Meanwhile, the main armory was plundered when needed by warlocks and Ordinaries alike.
“The word ‘Ordinary’ is a little demeaning, don’t you think?” Bridget asked once just before another tedious castle muster drill. “I mean, they’re special too. Everyone is special in their own way.”
“But people who do not possess arcane talents have always been known as Ordinaries,” Caireen, the amber-eyed Tiberran, replied, readying to bolt to her floor-guard station. “Even in my home kingdom.”
“But don’t you think it’s a bit like calling people ‘gutterborn’?”
Leera made an exaggerated scandalized gasp. “Oh, Bridgey! How could you use that word?”
Bridget dismissed her with a mild eye roll.
Caireen, watching a Milham boy struggle with a massive spear, shrugged. “What would you call them instead then?”
A grinning Brandon, who had been steadily winning Bridget over, elbowed her. “How about ‘under-achievers’, Bridget?” but that merely drew a fierce glare.
Leera made the slicing throat gesture at Brandon, usually indicating he forgot Bridget barely possessed a sense of humor.
“I would call them something synonymous with the word different,” Bridget finally replied.
“Is that really any better though?” Brandon pressed while Augum and Leera cringed. “I mean—” He pointed at Devon, who tottered over wearing an oversized helmet and carrying an undersized dagger. “—hey there, Different, how are you?”
Devon raised the helm, which had fallen over his eyes. “Huh? Why am I different? I’m a castle resident too.”
Brandon gave Bridget a self-satisfied look. “My point exactly.”
“What—?” Bridget sputtered. “That’s not … you don’t—” but in the end, she simply
threw up her hands in resignation. Later, Augum muttered to Brandon, “You know, it’s not always worth winning a battle only to lose the war.” Brandon, after giving it some thought, barked a curse at himself so vulgar it shriveled the ears of Mrs. Haroun, who happened to be nearby overseeing a tired-looking Charles Poorman polishing shoes. The castle housekeeper immediately stormed over to Brandon and gave him the tongue-lashing of his life, promising to “speak with his superiors immediately” and ensuring he would “regret uttering such a profanity to the end of his days.” The housekeeper then harangued a thin-lipped Hawthorne over her unruly students, which of course resulted in Brandon acquiring detention in the form of performing banal duties under the supervision of Mrs. Haroun, who seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out spots for Brandon to scrub in the kitchen floor. He only managed to evade her when an alarm horn blast sounded, indicating a breach of the grounds. These usually sounded once every couple days, but quickly evolved to a daily occurrence, and later multiple times a day. The castle would then muster efficiently and watch a solitary wandering undead minion stumble through the bailey. Sometimes it was a small pack of them. All were left alone, for a greater battle loomed.
Augum used every moment he could studying. But besides Leera, it was the scion that he spent the most leisure time with. Day in and day out, in between moments, he’d consciously and unconsciously tune with it, amplifying his spells and pushing his arcane boundaries. When chatting amiably, his hand would flare with Shine to accent some point. As he strode through the castle, he’d practice battle-casting Darkness into empty rooms, trying to cast the spell as quickly as possible. In the thick nights before bed, windows pale with starlight, he’d repeatedly summon his lightning long sword, careful not to accidentally slice the ironwood canopy bedstead. During mock duels, he’d rapid-fire successive castings so quickly people thought him akin to a Speedsword.
