by Sever Bronny
He placed his palm on a secret spot on the wall. “Shyneo. Arma castla captum.” The stone block he touched glowed briefly and there was an audible click. “Central staircase landing trap armed!” he shouted, voice amplified.
“Central staircase landing trap armed!” came the echo.
It’d be so much easier with the tuning, Augum thought as he jumped over the trigger tiles and ran to the next trap. Then he could merely announce it all over the castle, or to certain parts, as per his choosing.
His heightened Centarric senses became all too aware of the heat and the mustard haze of the approaching fires. And as thick as the stench was, he could nonetheless smell the ancient musty scent of the castle stones, along with the subtlest hint of the crypts. Everything was brighter, sharper, clearer. He could feel the cool marble through his turnshoes, the smoothness of the banister against his palm. Touching the castle connected him to its ancient roots. It felt like home. He only hoped he hadn’t doomed it, or the people in it.
He efficiently set his remaining three traps, his reports echoed by the others. In total, they had four mechanical and eight arcane traps strewn throughout the castle in strategic locations, each memorized by every single soul who had remained to defend the place. It was part of the muster drills they had been undertaking all tenday. Luckily, Bowlander, who had taken no interest in the castle’s defense and had kept himself moodily shut in his room, knew little or nothing of these traps, or the plan as a whole. But Augum acknowledged he could be disastrously wrong. In fact, he could be disastrously wrong about a lot of things.
He raced back to the foyer where he found a dazed Alyssa scratching her head. Upon seeing him, she opened her mouth, but Augum, flying along under the influence of Centarro, cut her off for efficiency’s sake. “He spiked your water and escaped. Yes, we deduced. Need you to man your ballista.”
“I’m sorry for letting you down—”
“—you did the best you could.” Could he say the same for himself?
“Where’s Olaf?” he asked.
“He’s devastated, but went to man his ballista. Gauntlet.”
“Gauntlet,” Augum repeated, as if doing so strengthened the idea. Cold awareness that the plan they called Gauntlet had so many fail points swept over him like an icy ocean wave.
“You all right?” Alyssa asked.
“Fine. Good luck.” Not an appropriate time for doubt, he realized, especially under the influence of Centarro. It was causing him to hesitate and lose precious time.
She gave him a fuzzy look before stumbling off.
“Oh, and Alyssa?”
“Mmm—?”
“Traps are set. Watch your step.”
She pointed absently at him. “Right. Thanks,” and traipsed to the door. Her station floated over the cellar well. It was one of the most vulnerable—until he tuned to the castle, then it’d be invisible and strengthened. That thought led to a series of powerful images, all concluding with Alyssa’s body in the deep darkness of that well.
His doubt suddenly felt as bottomless as the abyss they had traversed under the Library of Antioc, a doubt deepened by one callous mistake.
“Wait!” he shouted after her. She would be too exposed.
Alyssa stumped back into the foyer. “Yes?”
“Change of plans. I want you to hide until you hear the word ‘Westwood’.” That word felt appropriate. And Sparkstone would not know it. “Can you do that?”
“But that’s not what we—”
“—I know. Just … do it, all right? Please?” Great, beg, Prince, beg. Yet the image of her being blown from her battlement seat remained like the afterglow of the sun.
She nodded reluctantly. “All right, I’ll hide.”
“Good, and … if he gets in, you’ll be the first point of contact.”
She swallowed. “I know. I’ll be ready.”
“Hey … I’ll have your back.”
She forced a smile. “You better,” and departed.
Augum touched his throat. “Amplifico,” then craned his neck, shouting, “When you hear the word ‘Westwood’, that means I have tuned to the castle!”
“Acknowledged!” someone shouted from above, before repeating the phrase. He could hear it echo all the way up and down the castle.
The cold awareness had now seeped into his bones. It felt like he was trying to patch a dam that had sprung a thousand leaks. He was losing control of the situation and it scared him. Even under Centarro, it scared him. Especially under Centarro …
He grit his teeth and tried to shake the nasty sensation off. It was like Centarro’s powerful effects were getting negated by the doubt, as if the doubt was just as potent.
He next turned to Bridget, who had just returned from a check on the upper castle, skipping over the deadly staircase trap.
“Kiwi in position?” he asked.
“Both healing stations manned.” They were nothing more than rooms where the injured would be carried. But if Augum could tune in time, he might be able to teleport them, just like he’d be able to teleport the moveable ballistae. He now understood just how critically important that tuning was.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“A little better.” She swallowed. “The shadows … they’re … relentless.”
“I know,” he replied softly. “And Jez and Haw—”
“—we’re off to the vestibule to reinforce the doors!” Jez barked, bursting into the foyer with Hawthorne by her side. It seemed they had already finished casting their arcane traps. Her voice was as angry as Augum had heard it, but there was no time for apologies.
“All ballistae manned,” said a breathless Leera. “Healing stations ready.”
Augum nodded. He only hoped Sparkstone would be as predictable as he hoped.
And then it happened.
The sound they had been fearing.
A monstrous horn blasted throughout the castle, indicating a perimeter breach.
They had come.
He had come.
The amplified horn echoed through the castle, reverberating in Augum’s bones. Before the trio could even exchange looks, it sounded again.
And again.
And again.
And it kept going, one blast after another, turning into a cacophonous roar ripping through the castle with the reality of a coming battle to the death.
“ARMY INBOUND!” came the call from above, the cry repeated and tossed around the castle. But Augum could barely hear past the blood rushing through his head. It was all happening so quickly, he hadn’t even tuned yet! Nothing was fortified! And for once, he was using Centarro’s focus in the wrong direction; not toward confidence, or toward creative solutions, but rather toward doubt and uncertainty. Every insecure thought, every horrible memory of a beat-down, every moment of cowardice, indecision, awkwardness and weakness surfaced, parading around him like a mocking gathering of jesters. Amplified by Centarro, the feelings were powerful and precise and particularly damning.
Cold sweat drenched his body. His knees felt weak, throat dry. He was a puddle, a boy playing soldier. A coward, the most useless kind of coward. A base, gutterborn moron of the lowest sort. And he was a massive failure, the greatest disappointment in all of history—
“Aug.” It was Leera. Her face was soft with forgiveness and love. She took his hand in hers. “Hey, it’s all right,” she whispered, and despite the horn blasts, he heard her. “It’s all right,” he saw her lips utter. Then she turned to Bridget, who was shaking where she stood, hands on her ears, eyes closed, no doubt attacked by hallucinations. Leera gently took her hand as well. And she spoke something to her that Augum did not hear, but it seemed to make Bridget relax a little.
“This is it,” Leera said to them, holding their hands. “This is everything we’ve been training for. Sure, we’re not perfect, but we never have been. We’ve always done the best with what we knew, haven’t we?”
How odd to hear her say something like this, something
leader-like. It wasn’t like her, and that was why it made Augum feel a thousand times better with every word that came from her witty lips.
“I believe in us,” she continued, “we can do this.” She gave their hands a firm jerk, repeating, “We can do this.”
The horn blasts continued to slam the castle.
“We can do this,” Augum and Bridget repeated through the cacophony, nodding. “We can do this.” Together they would triumph or fall.
Together they would triumph or fall.
There was a peace in that thought. If they perished, Augum would much prefer he perish with them. He could not imagine life without their friendship and love. It was a sobering thought.
The horn blasts abruptly ceased, creating a vast void of tremulous silence. Strangely, Centarro had dissipated completely. It was like the enormity of the emotions he had experienced had washed the spell away, a sand castle taken by ocean waves.
“I love you both,” Leera said in the awful quiet. She drew them near and the trio hugged. It was the kind of hug that was not rushed. It was relaxed, healing, reenergizing. They squeezed tight, and together took a long, deep breath, expelling it at leisure.
“Now let’s kick some butt,” Leera said, gently letting go of them. It was as if she could sense their doubts, and in the moment of their greatest angst, came through for them.
Augum and Bridget exchanged amazed looks. Mrs. Stone had said never to underestimate the power of friendship.
“What would we do without our Leera?” Bridget asked. “Our heart, our brave heart?”
Leera snorted. “Since when did you become a poet?” adding in a whisper, “Please don’t take it up, I loathe poetry.” She prodded each of them with a finger. “And you’d both be boring as heck. Bo. Ring.” She turned toward the vestibule. “Right. Let them bring it.”
Augum took her head in his hands and kissed it. “I love you.”
“Love you too, but get off me right now, you goon, we have a fight on our hands.”
Augum squeezed the pearl in his pocket, closed his eyes, and glanced through the Orb of Orion. What he saw made him inhale sharply. They were streaming in from the forest by the hundreds, almost all equipped with black Dreadnought armor and burning weapons. And among these soldiers—most of whom were certainly undead reavers—were necromancers commanding hellhounds and wraiths and various summoned monsters, including two massive bull demons. One of these horned behemoths was smashing through the trees, while the other was already in the bailey, its great hoof stepping on the fountain, crushing it like a wooden toy.
“That bad, huh?” Leera said with a smirk when he returned his attention to the foyer. He could hear the clamor of the army through the doors, the clang of metal, and vaguely squishy press of undead flesh.
“Just a wee few undead losers,” he quipped, trying on an accent.
Leera shook her head and rolled her eyes, a small smile quirking the corner of her mouth.
Gallows humor. He loved it.
And all of a sudden, the sounds from outside ceased.
“See if you can reach him, Stone,” came Jez’s voice from the vestibule.
He withdrew the captured Exot ring and slipped it on a finger … and only heard silence, a silence mirrored within the castle. The woman’s voice was gone. No order of attack had been given on either side. The battlements were hush quiet.
Thus far …
“A clever illusion,” came the Lord of the Legion’s voice at long last. It sounded inside Augum’s head, but it also could be heard through the walls of the castle, for it had been amplified outside to a reverberating intensity.
“Let us strip such pretentions away though, shall we?” the Lord of the Legion continued. “Exotus duo dai ideum exat.”
Augum felt himself tense. It was strange hearing the Lord of the Legion perform the same spell as them. Sure, it was an easy spell compared to most other spells in the 11th degree, but hearing him cast it made the situation that much more real.
“Ah, there we are. She rests in her decrepit glory. Alas, she is not as black as my beloved Black Castle.”
That’s fine, Augum thought. They had expected the illusion to be dispelled. What mattered was that no one unauthorized was able to teleport into the castle. Some basic protections remained, in addition to the ones the Resistance had set on their own.
The Lord of the Legion chuckled mirthlessly. “Seems you cannot even keep your prisoners secure, and you think some stuffy old arcanery is going to keep me out? Hmm? Soon as I heard where you were, I almost rolled with laughter. You thought you could launch an attack from here, you poor, stupid fool of a boy. With what force? Hmm?”
There was a pause during which Augum traded meaningful looks with the girls. Was it possible that, in his haste, Sparkstone did not put Bowlander to the question?
“I laughed and I came with an army, Augum,” The Lord of the Legion continued in his booming voice. “Do you hear me in that cheap shell of a castle? I have brought an army. One of the most powerful armies ever assembled. I grant you it is rather small in comparison to some historical armies, but that is because I have chosen, for this oh-so-special occasion, quality over quantity.”
Augum’s studies on Sparkstone told him to cultivate the man’s overconfidence, for besides anger, it was one of his greatest weaknesses. He touched his throat. “Amplifico,” and felt it expand. The others needed to hear him speak as it would give them courage. This was the time to stand strong, regardless of his prior failings.
He brought the Exot ring to his lips. “Contact Lividius Stone.” He paused to take a breath. “Greetings, Murderer.” His voice echoed around the castle. He made sure to remind himself that, above all, it was vitally important to keep up the ruse. Sure, the man had come early, but there was still a hope he did not suspect the trap …
“Ah, the child who has disowned me so callously, so brutally, speaks. And you dare call me murderer? Me? You murdered an aunt and her nephew in front of thousands in cold blood. And by not handing over the scion, you forced my hand in unspeakable ways. You have a kingdom’s worth of blood on your hands, boy. Make no mistake, this is all your fault. If only you had accepted taking your rightful place by my side at Hangman’s Rock, none of this would have happened.”
Augum stood rigid straight, jaws and fists clenched. The lying liar lies; he would have committed those barbarities regardless. But Augum had to control his emotions. Now was the time to cultivate the man’s arrogance and anger, not crack under the pressure of his taunts.
“In truth, I always suspected you were too weak to attack me. You never really had much of an army, did you? Merely the crone, some undead holdouts from a bygone era, a bunch of moronic students, and a traitorous teacher or two. And now the crone is dead and you are a leaf. It seems the divining rod was wasted upon you after all. A shame, all those preparations I took. You have no idea how complicated that forging was, how I sacrificed for it, how much of my time it took. I would love to look upon your face now, to see the surprise, the fear, the unpreparedness for our coming.”
As difficult as it was, Augum strategically continued to hold his tongue.
“You try my patience with your pitiful silence, boy,” the Lord of the Legion barked. “No matter, for you shall soon see how I have transformed. I approach eternity, Augum. Eternity. But one last piece is preventing that eternity and the pure power that comes with it, and you know what piece I speak of. The seventh, final, family scion.” The word was spoken mockingly. “My scion.”
The man took a moment so Augum could appreciate his delinquent theft, but Augum interrupted before he could drone on, deciding the time had come to speak again.
“You think you’ll be able to raise my mother, the wife that you coldly murdered, after receiving the scion?”
“You dare—”
“—well I promise that you will not raise her.” Augum again held his tongue. This was the key moment. Bowlander could have told him that Terra Titan’s body had been
consumed in the blue ceremonial fires. But Augum bet that it would have slipped Bowlander’s mind, and also that Sparkstone, in his arrogance, had rushed over as soon as he heard where they were holed up. He also bet that Sparkstone hadn’t even bothered bringing Bowlander along, for such trivial details were beneath him.
His hunch proved correct, for the Lord of the Legion growled, “Your impudence will cost you greatly, boy. I shall force you to return her to me, just you wait. But let us embrace some modicum of decorum, for I have prepared a speech, Augum. A great speech that those who follow history will recognize. Mind you, I have modified it for my purpose, but it should suit just fine. And you will have one final choice to make. History will look upon this day as a defining moment. Listen well, renounced child. Listen true, former heir.”
The Lord of the Legion took a measured breath before speaking. “Return me mine inheritance and the body of my wife and I shall henceforth unburden thy kingdom of mine wrath and leave thy lands to their woe, for they will be yours to trouble over … as king. Relinquish these to me and I shall free thy common folk to sow seeds of corn and barley, unchain thy taverns so ale may flow, and free ye commons, for all such are but trivial wisps of smoke in balance to the scion and the body of my wife, both of which you have purloined.”
Augum recognized the address as Attyla’s famous historical speech, albeit modified indeed. He recalled hearing it spoken during the gathering of the Leyan millennials.
The Lord of the Legion continued, voice laced with venom. “However, should ye durst linger but a moment on mine warning, hark! For I shall erelong smite all ye begat with burning blades, carve thy friends and thy beloved with mine knife, and cut ye to the quick, for I have become the Lord of Death, leveler of cities and castles, executioner of children, and incarnate woe to mine enemies. I have laid waste to this land and slain every creature known, and yet the wretches follow me still, an endless army of the fallen. I beseech thee—heed mine words! Redeem thyself by returning mine inheritance and my wife, and walk in peace as Young King Augum Stone …”
