by Sever Bronny
What they saw took their breath away.
“Unnameables help us all,” Leera whispered.
Augum felt the blood drain from his cheeks, making them tingle. The entire horizon was on fire. Wherever he looked he saw a wall of flame, towering infernos propelled by angry winds.
Infernos that would likely hit the castle by nightfall
“It’s too soon,” Augum said, cursing under his breath. “We needed one more night …”
Bridget was suddenly breathing rapid shallow breaths, face pale as death as she stared at the western horizon. “Aug … Lee … tell me those burning bull demons heading our way aren’t real …”
Augum’s heart skipped a beat as for a moment he mistook billowing fiery tornadoes for demons. “They’re not real.” If they had been …
Bridget placed a hand on her chest, still breathless. “This is hard. This is really hard.”
Leera held firmly onto her hand. “We know, Bridge. We know …” She dropped her head. “Our poor Solia …”
Augum stood mesmerized by the distant slowly leaping flames, marching ever closer. They signified the end of all things. Of Solia. Sithesia. Their lives. Everything. And even if they should see victory, who would be left out there? What kind of kingdom would it be? The answer was plain.
A kingdom of ashes.
Augum withdrew the night-black divining rod from his belt. It was studded with seven polished stones and jewels, each lit subtly. It could sense direction but not distance. He placed a finger on the round ruby that symbolized the fire scion and pressed. The rod urged itself to the west. He repeated the procedure with all the five others and the rod remained firmly to the west, the direction of the Lord of the Legion. When he pressed the lightning jewel, the rod pointed straight at the idly floating lightning scion, and followed it until Augum let go of the jewel.
“Nothing we didn’t expect,” he said, stuffing it back under his belt.
He checked to make sure the Orb of Orion was still in place between two crenels on the wall before opening his palm, revealing the captured Exot ring. He had been avoiding putting it on for a while. He supposed he should have probably been checking in on Sparkstone. Yet he had a hard time listening to the man’s ravings.
“Give it a listen,” Leera urged, adjusting her vambrace. “See what happens.”
Augum slipped it on and immediately heard a shrill voice. Surprisingly, it was not the Lord of the Legion’s, but rather a woman’s he did not recognize.
“… The Lord of the Legion wishes a trade. Return him his wife and the scion in exchange for the Kingdom of Solia. You will be bestowed kingship. All Solians will be left alone. Contact Augum Stone. The Lord of …” and it repeated itself.
Augum took off the ring. “He has some woman on the other end repeating the offer of a trade. Wants my mother’s body and the scion in exchange for kingship of Solia.”
Leera scoffed. “What Solia? It’ll be a pile of ashes and stuffed with undead.”
Bridget’s iron gaze was on the horizon, her voice barely audible above the wind. “No, we end it here.”
Suddenly, Augum thought he heard a distant echo trying to reach him, but was unable to hear what it was saying above the wind. Was it the ever-present but distantly-slinking shadows, calling out to him? Or was it Atrius Arinthian himself reaching through time? He imagined that ancient powerful soul watching over them, waiting for the right moment to finally speak with Augum, to guide and tutor him in the coming battle. How sweet such a thing would be. How he longed to have counsel, his or Mrs. Stone’s. How he longed …
“Let’s assume our posts, we’re taking too long as is,” he said, hoping that being indoors would allow him to hear that voice better.
Bridget suddenly screamed, shooting her hand out over the creneled wall. “NO! LEE—!”
Before Augum and Leera could react, she jumped away from Augum, hissing, “Stay away from me, Aug! Don’t you do it …!” while tears streamed down her cheeks.
Augum immediately raised his hands, understanding. “It’s not real, Bridge. Leera’s right here.”
“I’m right here,” Leera chimed in, slowly walking toward Bridget and taking her in her arms, gently consoling her.
“That … really … you …?” Bridget sobbed, trying to shake off whatever it was she was seeing and hearing.
“Shh, it’s all right,” Leera whispered. “It’s all right.” She gave Augum a worried look.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bridget finally said. “Just an episode.”
“You can’t control it,” Augum said, fully remembering his own “episodes” after a long casting under the Black Castle.
“I can.” She grit her teeth. “I can. I will … I must.”
Leera curled Bridget’s hair around her ear. “All right, Bridge, all right …”
After she seemed to get herself together, they hurried downstairs, bumping into Jez and Hawthorne, both of whom were making the rounds from battlement to battlement, doling out dried rations and water.
“Why aren’t you three at your posts?” Hawthorne asked.
Augum pointed at the divining rod in his belt. “Had to retrieve this. And we needed to check outside. ”
“It’s bad out there,” Leera said.
“Entire horizon’s on fire,” Bridget added, eyes roving.
Mrs. Hawthorne was unimpressed. “That could have been accomplished with only one of you.”
Augum gaped. She was right. He could have done it alone, leaving Leera and Bridget to guard the doors. They were just so used to doing everything together it was like second nature, to the point of distraction.
“Tell me you left someone to man the doors,” Mrs. Hawthorne added.
The trio gaped stupidly.
“That’s a serious lapse of judgment, you three,” Jez said. “You should have got one of us to guard in the mean.”
Strangely, for once, Bridget’s mind was on something else. “Is … is Brandon—”
“—he’s fine, Burns,” Jez said. “But do you really think now an appropriate time to worry about—”
“—I know, I’m sorry, it’s just I had a vision that—”
“I said he’s fine. And yes he’s asking about you, obviously. But there are other concerns at the moment, now get down there, the three of you!” She gave Hawthorne an incredulous look, muttering, “Unbelievable.”
The trio sped downstairs.
“Not our finest moment,” Augum muttered, angry at himself for such a basic lapse in judgment.
“I’m sure nothing happened,” Leera said. “It’s not like we were gone for a tenday.”
Bridget said nothing, though tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Bridge?” he asked as they skipped several steps at a time.
“It’s fine, I just thought he said he hated me and he never wanted to see me—”
“Bridge, get a grip,” Leera said. “He’s fine, you’re just emotional from the side-effects. It’s understandable, but you’ve got to focus. We haven’t seen Brandon in a while. He hasn’t said anything like that to you.”
Bridget wiped her cheeks as she worked to keep up. “Right, sorry. I don’t feel like myself. I keep seeing and hearing things you wouldn’t believe.”
None of us feel like ourselves, Augum thought darkly. Yet her anguish was his, and by the deep look of concern on Leera’s face, he sensed she shared it too. Poor Bridget could use Brandon by her side for support, but he was manning a battlement ballista.
They strode through the empty foyer and on to the vestibule.
… And discovered the door ajar, creaking in the wind.
“That’s odd, we didn’t leave it open, did we?” Leera said.
“Definitely not.” Augum marched over and took a peek outside, but saw no one. He shut the giant door, listening to the wind whistling through the cracks in the castle. “Strange, eh?”
For a long moment the trio just stood there puzzling over why the door was ajar, only to suddenly
start talking all at once, seeming to arrive at the same thought.
“Bowlander—”
“Could he have—?”
“No, he’s guarded by Olaf and Alyssa—”
They stood frozen in place, as if simply making a move would itself make such a possibility true.
“I’ll check the dungeon,” Leera snapped. “You two stay here,” and she sped off.
Augum immediately dug out the pearl and checked the front of the castle through the Orb of Orion, but saw nothing untoward. He returned the pearl to his pocket, suddenly aware his nails had dug into his palms. He made a conscious effort to unclench. His emerald academy robe, burdened with the Arinthian leather armor, suddenly felt stuffy and hot. Or maybe it was the approaching fires. Regardless, the castle was stifling and he longed to open the doors. Maybe that’s what had happened … someone merely opened the doors for a breath of fresh air, yes!
But it only took an anxious glance from Bridget to shatter that foolish illusion. No one would do such a dumb thing, and he swore they had not left the doors open. No, the only person stupid enough to make that kind of mistake was him. He was supposed to be responsible now. Prince Augum, Castellan of Castle Arinthian. More like Prince Idiot, Lapser of Judgment, Leaver of His Post.
“Maybe someone got in,” Bridget whispered, glancing about nervously.
“Past the illusion?” Augum said. “Past the basic arcane protections Mrs. Stone left?”
“Or past the basic ancient castle protections. You’re right, it’s improbable.”
Augum did not reply. Mrs. Stone had to undo all of her exterior protections to avoid raising suspicions, for such powerful enchantments would be a red flag to any warlock worth his robe. They counted on the illusion being powerful enough to dissuade anyone from entering the castle, for if they tried, they’d be prevented and immediately know it was protected.
Bridget suddenly grabbed her heart as her eyes once again watered. “Oh, how could you say such a thing to me, Aug?”
“What? Say what?”
“That you think me so irresponsible and cold and stupid—”
“—what! I said no such thing, Bridge.” She was losing it and that scared him. “Bridge? Look at me, you are hearing things.”
She quickly nodded. “Right … hearing things … right.” But then she slowly backed away from the vestibule doors, stopping at the wall. She closed her eyes.
“What do you see?” Augum asked in a whisper.
“I see … I see you and Leera. Over and over. But you do crazy things …”
“Like …?”
She shook her head, indicating she didn’t want to say, only to blurt, “Stab yourselves. Or each other. Or me. It’s never been this bad before. This is on a whole new level, Aug. I … I’m afraid.”
Gods, it was worse than he had suspected. Much worse. No wonder she was so affected.
“It’s not real. You know that.”
She did not reply, only kept her eyes tightly closed.
The voice abruptly came again, but it was garbled, distant, echoed. He sensed it was fighting hard to get through, yet it was failing. He did not tell Bridget, fearing it would only make her paranoid. Was it Arinthian? If only he had time to stand before his portrait and ask him. Maybe the signal would be stronger there …
Bridget began rocking back and forth, holding her trembling hands close. Seeing her like that made Augum once again appreciate the full cost of the ancient Annocronomus Tempusari spell. It traded time for sanity, and that cost was immense. What if the effects did not go away for her? Every casting had that possibility. It always got worse, the more the spell was used. It was dangerous, highly dangerous. Even with the scion, the shadows were constantly at Augum’s peripheral vision, waiting, haunting …
She was shaking so bad that he had to go to her and draw her into a hug, saying, “It’s all right.” His poor friend was like a child again, desperately needing comfort. Her usually strong mind was regressing in terror.
“I’m scared, Aug …”
“You’ll be fine. You’re strong and you’ll figure out a way to fight it. Do you want to tell me about what you read in the Arinthian Odyssey book?” he asked, slowing her rocking and keeping her close as only a friend could, as only a brother could, for that is how he felt in relation to her—a brother. His former father murdered her brothers. It felt appropriate that Sparkstone should lose a son to replace a murdered brother. Yet it was only one exchange. There were countless murders to account for …
“There’s some kind of … magnifier …”
“Uh huh …”
“It’s ancient. Was used to magnify enchantment spells that were then cast on weapons and armor and stuff.”
“ ‘And stuff’?” He’d never seen her so fragile.
“Yeah … thought … we could think about it and see if—” but she froze. They both froze, for they heard the sound of sprinting footsteps coming from the foyer. A moment later, a breathless Leera burst through the doors, face white as a sheet.
Blast
“What do you mean Bowlander’s loose!” Bridget screamed, grabbing her head.
“Olaf … Alyssa …” Leera said between hasty breaths. “Knocked out … look asleep … skin of water between them.”
“He must have slipped something into their waterskin when they shared it with him,” Augum said, mind frantically trying to work past the repeating phrase This is bad this is bad this is so bad.
“Can’t cast Cron,” Bridget said. “It happened way too far back.”
“Like thousands of heartbeats back,” Leera added. “Looks like they’ve been out for a while.”
Bowlander had to have been waiting for the moment they all went upstairs, then slipped out the door.
“The vision—” Augum shut his eyes and tried to focus past the panic and the dull headache that remained from his last use of a tuning ability. He first went to the Legion’s camp, but other than a smoking bed of coals, found it deserted. Then, as quick as he could, he viewed the outside of the castle as if he was a low-flying bird, pushing his arcane boundary once more.
“Gods … nothing,” he whispered. They had abandoned their posts and now Bowlander was loose early. Was it karma for wanting to use him later? This was an epic, careless mistake, one that could cost a lot of lives … one that could cost a kingdom.
Leera was shaking out both hands while adjusting her weight from foot to foot. “ ‘Nothing’? What do you mean, ‘nothing’? There’s got to be something. Come on, tell me they’re out there patrolling. Can’t just be … nothing!”
“I’m telling you they’re not there—” It scared Augum how much panic was in her voice. He could barely think straight himself. He needed to focus, and he needed to do it immediately. Not a single heartbeat could be wasted. Ready or not, this was it, this was it!
Suddenly he knew what to do. It was the only way to reassess. Without another moment’s hesitation, Augum spat the words that would trigger the second most powerful spell in his arsenal.
“Centeratoraye xao xen.” His daily casting of Centarro for the last tenday, combined with the power of the scion, had sharpened the spell to a Dreadnought razor. He could feel his bones vibrate with the energies, the blood rush through his veins in a torrent. He glimpsed the scion buzzing wasp-like by his ear, lightning flashing angrily within.
And he quickly concluded that what had happened must now be faced. Ahead was a reckoning.
“Tertiary plan.” He placed a hand on his throat. “Amplifico.” Then he stepped into the foyer, raised his head, and shouted, “Mrs. Hawthorne! Jez! Need to seal doors! Bowlander escaped early!” Even through Centarro, he felt a flush of deep and stinging shame that tainted his focus. He had let them all down as a leader. He had put them in the gravest danger. There was no forgiveness after death.
Soon as he finished, the girls immediately began casting Seal on the main doors. Each spoke the phrase “Obdura del boundera sen” while slowly drawing a finger al
ong the outline of both sets of doors. Augum did so as well, repeating the incantation and using Centarro to strengthen the spell by weaving additional complexities into every minute measure of the outline. As taught, he scrambled the arcane threads in a manner that would be extremely difficult to undo. It took extra time, but he judged that acceptable in the present circumstance.
Hawthorne and Jez soon joined them, neither saying a word to the trio, each instead immediately delving into the spell. Their fingers dipped and doodled at the air as they pointed at the outline of the doors, complicating the casting. He knew it only bought time, for even the current protections on the doors combined with a quintuple casting would not hold up against the mighty Lord of the Legion, a man wielding no less than six scions, a warlock of the 20th degree.
“Done,” Bridget reported in a wavering voice that betrayed her anxiety. The word was soon echoed successively by each of them.
Jez and Hawthorne glared at Augum. It hurt to see the disappointment behind their eyes, though it was an accusation most certainly deserved.
“Arm the traps,” Hawthorne spat.
This sent everybody in different directions, for each was responsible for various roles. Jez and Hawthorne, being high degree warlocks, would cast arcane traps in strategic locations throughout the castle and training cavern. Augum, as the Keeper of the Keys, was to set the precious few mechanical ones, mostly located along the stairs of the castle. Bridget would race upstairs and do a final check on the battlements and the watchtower. Meanwhile, Leera would hang by the doors in the foyer, acting as message amplifier between the upper and lower castle. Everyone was thoroughly trained on precisely where the traps were going to be located and how not to trigger them.
Leera first shouted upstairs with an amplified voice. “Traps being set! Battlements on alert!”
The call was quickly echoed above by Chaska and Caireen. “Traps being set! On alert!” followed by Kiwi Kaisan’s echoed voice, shouting, “Healing station on alert!”
Augum ran to his first trap, located at the top of the wide marble steps, one they had tested when going over the plans in the compendium book. It was an archaic mechanical leg trap, a vicious old thing that swung out from a hidden compartment in the wall, skewering anyone who stepped on a particular line of tiles. It reminded him of the torture room.
