by Sever Bronny
The echoed words died. There would be no protracted siege. It was evident the man, in his great impatience, demanded the choice be made immediately. There was an ancient and historical formality to this whole thing, and it required an appropriate reply. Augum’s voice did not waver.
“You offer kingship and the kingdom in exchange for the scion and the body of your wife, my mother, who you murdered in cold blood … like a coward.” He could not help but spit the last word venomously.
There was a seething pause during which they could hear the man’s angry amplified breathing. “You. Dare. YOU DARE! Those who play with fire get burned. That fire approaches as we speak, boy, and now that I think upon it, I see destiny fulfill its graces. As a humble student of history, allow me to enlighten you, impudent bloodline traitor. ‘When thy fallen can’t be slain, when lion children rise again, when fires burn from east to west, blood of kin can vanquish death.’ Have you heard that one, my corrupted, depraved, brainwashed progeny? Or is your horizon limited by jealous envy? It is an ancient prophecy, boy, one I am about to fulfill, for that final scion represents eternity, the vanquishing of death!”
That’s one way to think about it, Augum thought. Though he could not deny the prophecy was just as true for the man as it was for Augum. How strange …
“My destiny has always been that scion, boy.”
“My destiny has always been to face you, coward.”
There was a seething hiss. “Brave words from a brainwashed fool.” The man took a deep breath. “But I’ll give you one final chance to save yourself and those you love. You will make your choice and you will make it clear. It will be the greatest choice of your misguided, wretched life. And you will make it now. Do. You. Surrender?”
Augum glanced over at Bridget. Graceful, intelligent, kind Bridget. She was smiling subtly, brimming with confidence once more, seemingly refusing to give the shadows power over her. And in her eyes he could see that she was ready to sacrifice all. She was ready to die. It stirred his soul.
He looked to Leera. Proud, quirky, witty and loving Leera. His raven-haired girl. The corner of her mouth was curved upward in defiance. It told him, Screw this bastard.
Augum leveled his gaze toward the vestibule, past the iron-gazed Mrs. Hawthorne and the serious-faced Jez, imagining the man somewhere on the other side, standing with his army. He placed the Exot ring to his lips one more time and uttered a single word.
“No.”
Onslaught
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“So be it,” came the reply from the Lord of the Legion. “I look forward to turning each and every one of you into one of my lowliest minions. You will know true agony, as only traitors can.” The ground began to rumble.
“Bull demons incoming—!” came a warning from above.
Mrs. Hawthorne cursed under her breath. This was unexpected, for they had thought the bull demons would attack last, as was his usual strategy. But now, Mrs. Hawthorne was forced to run up to the terrace to take on the bull demons from there … alone. It suddenly occurred to Augum why the bull demons were sent in first—the man wanted to destroy the castle completely, to punish the Arinthian line that had abandoned him. He wanted it in ashes and rubble …
“Cease contact,” Augum said, voice still amplified. He cupped his hands and craned his neck. “ATTACK AT WILL!” He then closed his eyes and focused on the arcane sight, sacrificing precious arcane stamina to see outside. The horde surrounded the entire castle in a great crush and was pressing forward. Almost every soldier wore Dreadnought armor, which meant partial arcane immunity. But the Resistance already fought back—all four battlement ballistae began walloping the enemy with concussive blasts. There were Laudine’s fireballs, Haylee’s icy spikes, Mary’s sharp jets of water, and Brandon’s earthy boulders. Augum watched as each cut a swath through the horde. The blasts were forceful enough to send soldiers and monsters tumbling, but to his disappointment, were not powerful enough to destroy them. He immediately realized why—the ballistae weren’t amplified, and that was because he, the Keeper of the Keys, had yet to tune to the castle. Everything depended upon it. Everything.
Now they only needed to survive long enough for the tuning to take hold.
Meanwhile, the massive bull demons began slowly punching the castle exterior. An ancient protective arcane bubble that the Resistance had permission to pass through blocked those punches, yet the reverberations permeated the walls, each strike sounding like a great gong being smashed by a tree trunk fist.
Suddenly a massive white-hot explosion appeared dead in the center of the horde out front, blowing some into smithereens while lighting others ablaze. It had come from high up in the tower. Augum switched his view and saw Bogdan Szczepanski manning the top bombard, his body encased in the confines of a powerful catapult that, like the battlement ballistae, had been summoned using a command found in the Keeper of the Keys’ compendium. Bogdan was winding back the mechanism with intense focus, readying for a second shot. Luckily all Resistance attacks passed through the invisible protective dome, yet none of the Legion’s did … as long as the dome held up.
Leland was up there too, lips moving silently, hands firmly upon the bronze disc that was the Agonex, his undead captain beside him.
Augum switched his view back to the horde in time to see squad after squad of Occulus’ Dreadnought-equipped soldiers appearing amidst the enemy. Leland had three hundred and sixty-five troops to teleport in, which would help tremendously.
The battle quickly descended into chaotic bedlam as soldier took on soldier, with many enemy forces mistaking their own, for it must have seemed to them that they had turned upon themselves, so alike did they look. It gave Augum some satisfaction knowing they now had to reckon with combat soldiers of equal strength.
Thus far the doors held, but it was only a matter of time until that portion of the invisible protective dome was breached. Then all that would remain between the horde and the interior was multiple Seal spells and some additional basic arcane protections cast by Mrs. Stone.
While the muted sound of undead groans and clacking jaws seeped in through the doors, Augum continued to search with his arcane gaze, finding the Red Guard in the back of the bailey, by the stables. The towering undead warriors in crimson armor and slit helms clashed brutally with Occulus’ soldiers, who were well equipped to defend against those massive burning blades. Yet Augum could not find the Lord of the Legion himself, which meant the man was likely already searching for a secondary way in. Too soon, Augum thought, too soon!
He withdrew his vision of the exterior, feeling the arcane stamina loss its use had caused, and turned his throbbing head around, almost expecting the Lord of the Legion to appear behind them. He pictured the man circling the castle, sniffing out its meager defenses. Sparkstone had to know that the ancient invisible dome, the primary defensive structure surrounding the castle and fitting its shape, had been arcanely constructed to withstand a protracted warlock siege. So far, the man seemed to ignore it, as he ignored the battlement ballistae, likely leaving them to the horde. Minor things of such a nature were beneath his notice. No, the man wanted a glorious historical battle and would certainly not spoil the show of it. He wanted a way in that involved guile and intelligence, for that was his bent: manipulation, craftiness, subterfuge. He liked others to do the dirty work for him … except for duels. Those he wanted for himself, for the glory. And Augum was counting on that.
The bottom portion of the dome that protected the doors gonged and the entire castle shook with the sound. Augum suspected one of the bull demons had attacked the spot. For a moment there was an almost absolute silence before something began repeatedly smashing the dome.
Augum conserved his energy and used the pearl to glance through the Orb of Orion. He saw a maelstrom of battle chaos. Leland’s Agonex army was heavily outmanned, but they were keeping the attention off the castle, which was all that mattered. The dome had to last as long as possible.
The massive bull demons were kicking the area around the doors, while Mrs. Hawthorne launched offensive tornado attacks from the terrace, concentrating them on one of the bull demons. The tornadoes drilled holes into the behemoth’s great head, irritating it like mosquitoes would, repeatedly causing it to miss the doors. It even occasionally kicked its own troops, squishing them between the dome and its great hooves, or sending them flying into the forest, burning blades twirling. The other bull demon, however, through repeated accurate smashing kicks, caused a crack to form in the protective dome that slowly began spreading.
Shoot, that had happened way too quickly.
“Here they come!” Augum hollered, returning to the vestibule to find Jez and the girls already casting more Seal enchantments.
The reverberations from the monstrous kicks began building throughout the castle until it sang like a great bell. The concussive resonance was so loud Augum couldn’t even hear his own thoughts. At last, there was an enormous shattering sound.
“Dome pierced at doors!” Jez shouted, furiously starting another Seal casting. How many layers was that now?
Too soon, too soon, too soon!
Suddenly a blast erupted on the other side, making the ironwork of the doors glow orange with heat, singeing the woodwork and adding the scent of old burnt oak to that of burning pine. It made Bridget lose her concentration, foiling her current casting. She muttered a mild curse under her breath and began again.
Augum surmised the attack had likely come from a necromancer. The bull demons must have stepped off to allow the rest of the army at the doors.
As he was weaving another complex Seal layer, he saw the first one they had cast begin to unwind with terrifying speed. He immediately realized their casting wasn’t fast enough to keep up. Whoever was undoing the threads was extremely skilled; even with four of them casting, it was only a matter of time until the Disenchant undid their work and caught up to them—not that their arcane stamina could sustain such a continued pace. Nor did he think the doors themselves could withstand bull demon blows, even with all those enchantments.
Augum finished his spell while shaking his head. “It’s not enough, it’s not enough!”
Suddenly an ethereal voice once again fought to get to him, a voice Augum could not hear amongst the chaos of the fight.
“Arinthian. Arinthian’s trying to reach me! I have to go to him. I have to ask for his help—” His breathing was rapid and his hands clammy. He felt the beginnings of panic take hold.
“We’re coming with you—” Leera cried.
“You can’t, you have to stay and keep casting Seal. You need to buy as much time as you can.” Unless Sparkstone found the alternate way in too quickly. Yet Augum simply had to have faith that the complex and challenging enchantments left by Hawthorne and Jez at the alternate entrance were enough to keep Sparkstone busy just long enough.
“We said no separating, remember?” Leera said.
“I know, I know, but without the blasted tuning, we’re done for.” He stared into her dark eyes, pleading for her to let him go. “I’ll be back soon, I promise. I will not leave you here.”
Leera’s eyes cried out for him, yet she nodded. Then she suddenly took him into a quick embrace, whispering, “I believe in you … and I love you,” before letting go and immediately beginning another casting.
Augum quickly glanced at them. Jez, Bridget and Leera’s faces were rock hard with concentration as they furiously cast Seal, rushing the weaving process. Bridget struggled more than Leera, for even as determined as she was, the shadows took their jabs, repeatedly causing her to flinch and lose focus. It did not bode well for what was still to come.
He sprinted out of there and up the steps, carefully jumping over the deadly traps—only to accidentally trip right before the sixth step on the way to the third floor. There was an instant click and an iron spike shot from the wall, skewering him through his thigh. He cried out from the sudden shock of it. It was so painful there was absolutely no way he would be able to cast Cron to undo it.
A wild bush of orange hair skidded to a stop above him on the third floor landing. Caireen took one look at him and her amber eyes widened. “Kiwi! Warlock down—!”
A moment later Kiwi shot around the banister and careened down the steps, robe flying. “Stop squirming!” she immediately said in her squeaky voice.
“Can’t …” Augum hissed through gritted teeth. “Hurts …”
But Kiwi was already muttering smartly to herself as she assessed his injury. “Three finger widths of piercing trauma through the vastus lateralis muscle …” The fourteen-year-old glanced at the spike. “Retract it.” When Augum hesitated, she repeated, “Retract it! Now!”
Augum, skewered like a rat over a burning hot fire, reached for the nearby invisible block. The strain was a white-hot pain on his leg, yet he grit his teeth and persisted, until his palm was flat against the block. “Shyneo … disarma castla captum …” The wall spear immediately disengaged and Augum fell to the steps with a gasp.
“Pressure, pressure!” Kiwi shouted, putting all her weight on his thigh. “Caireen!”
“I’m here!” Caireen was above, attention shooting this way and that as she monitored the floor.
“Put your weight on it!”
Caireen rushed over, face paling when she saw Kiwi’s hands. Augum dared a look down and immediately regretted it, for blood gushed through her fingers. Suddenly dizzy, he looked away as Caireen exchanged places with Kiwi.
“Can you heal it?” Caireen asked in a frantic voice.
“It is a 4th degree injury, but I can try.” She crouched beside Augum and began mumbling a complicated incantation, finally placing both hands upon his thigh. A warm light began to emanate from her palms, and Augum felt that sweet tingling sensation as his muscle and skin began repairing itself.
All of a sudden both girls removed their hands and gaped. While the castle shook from repeated blows, Augum chanced another look down … and saw his thigh, although bloody, had been healed, leaving only a tingle.
“You did it,” he gasped. “You did it …”
Kiwi sat back, wincing and holding her head, blood dribbling from her nose. “I did it …” She seemed as surprised as he was.
“Fantastic job,” Augum said, getting to his feet and testing his leg. “Thank you!” There was no time, he had to go. He raced past the girls toward an anxious Chaska, who had appeared at the top of the stairs.
“News?” Chaska asked, holding a blade, bow strung on his back.
“Doors are going to fail. Stay sharp,” Augum replied, racing by. There was no time to chat.
He relit his palm and flew through the throne room doors, nearly slamming into Fentwick, who he forgot had been left in there earlier.
Augum scrambled before the magnificent painting of Atrius Arinthian, breathing hard from the sprint. “Sir, I need your help—”
“—wouldst thou care to duel, mine Royal—”
“—not now, Fentwick!” Augum returned his gaze to the great portrait. “Sir, please, the castle’s in trouble. The horde is going to get in without that tuning.”
He waited for a response, but all he heard was distant booms. Now and then the castle shook slightly from a powerful hit. No way was Mrs. Hawthorne taking on both bull demons. At least one of them had to be repeatedly slamming into the castle.
In desperation, Augum turned to the ancient empty suit of armor standing behind him. “Help me, Fentwick. I need to tune to the castle. I mean, I need the tuning to hurry up.”
“ ‘Tuning’, Your Royal Highness?”
“Yes, the tuning! Tuning, tuning, tuning—!” Augum stamped his foot like a child. Then he rubbed his face in frustration. It was no use getting angry at old Fentwick, nor did it help to act infantile.
For a long, agonizing moment during which all his hopes of victory withered, Augum stared at the ancient suit of talking armor. His headache, left over from pushing his boundaries with
the vision, seemed to worsen, as if an insect had crawled its way into his brain and was eating it from within.
“Fine, I’ll cast the spell,” he said at last, wincing, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his head. He badly needed inspiration.
“ ‘Spell’, Your Royal Highness?”
Augum ignored him, turning his gaze to the magnificent portrait of steely-eyed Arinthian, absorbing its rich detail. He took a deep breath.
“Centeratoraye xao xen.”
For the nth time, the spell coursed through his veins and sharpened his consciousness. Augum put all of that focus toward one goal: tuning.
“How do I hurry the tuning?” he kept asking Arinthian. “How do I hurry the tuning?” Yet still there came no response, nor did that ethereal voice from earlier say anything more. “Please help me, sir, please. How do I—” And then it struck him like a bolt of lightning. It was stupidly simple, and something he should have understood by then, for it was the root principle of all arcanery.
Practice.
Unnameables, of course! The tuning wasn’t just going to happen after an exact tenday. It had already happened, as evidenced by the vision! He just needed to focus and practice and build upon it. He knew all of the commands, he just hadn’t tried them. He hadn’t practiced!
His insides shriveled at the ridiculously obvious realization. Gods, he could have been ready hours ago …
After all that he had gone through, all that he had learned, all of his studies, all that training and reading and thinking … it galled him how utterly daft and clueless he could be.
“I am a unique type of fool,” he muttered to himself. “Thank you,” he whispered to Atrius Arinthian before racing out, already practicing his vision, flash-glimpsing portions of the battle and select locations of the castle, building the arcane muscle in ever-increasing doses. There were other mental commands he had to try, ones that unlocked the true strength of the Keeper of the Keys. Soon. Soon!
