by Sever Bronny
He raced by a stunned Chaska and Caireen, the latter holding a wet cloth to Kiwi’s forehead.
“Everything all right?” Chaska asked.
“Yes,” he answered, recognizing it was more for their morale than his own. Never mind that he had missed out on precious time practicing tuning, never mind he didn’t know what Spirit Form was, and never mind that he’d messed up in a giant way by allowing Bowlander to escape early.
He slid to a stop in the vestibule, catching his breath while waiting for Bridget, Leera and Jez to finish yet another casting of Seal. He used the time to scan the castle with his tuned arcane vision, checking up on the hidden shelter of the bathing house, the various ballistae as well as Jengo’s healing station in the training cavern, the ballista battlements, the watchtower, the grounds thick with battle … finally finding a man in an abandoned house, a short ways into the Ravenwood. It was the old secret entrance to the castle, the spot they had uncovered via the wine cellar and accidentally led Vion Rames into, later followed by Sparkstone’s Red Guard. That error had resulted in them fleeing the castle into Ley.
Now Sparkstone had found that entrance, just as they hoped, and was already undoing the enchantments. They did not have much time.
The girls finished first, eyes lighting up at seeing him.
“News?” Bridget asked, sweeping aside a lock of cinnamon hair from her sweat-prickled forehead.
“I’m one especially dim candle,” he blurted with Centarric passion. “I’ve been tuned to the castle for hours, since the visions began. It’s basic arcanery—I’m supposed to practice the tuning.”
The girls exchanged a stupefied look.
“So, uh, how much practice do you need?” Leera asked as the doors shook with another thunderous hit. Muffled explosions from the battlement ballistae and the top bombard filtered into the vestibule.
“Unknown, will begin now.” He nodded at the door. “Stall it.”
Leera and Bridget exchanged another—this time exasperated—look, before whipping back to the door, where they continued to cast Seal beside Jez, who had never ceased her casting.
Augum closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to jump out of his body, this time focusing on relaxing himself rather than forcing it. The difference was immediate. He was able to see clearer, float more nimbly—even his headache lessened.
He began with the most important offensive upgrade—strengthening the four battlement ballistae, a maneuver the compendium referred to as fortification, only available to the Keeper of the Keys after tuning.
He focused on Haylee’s position first. He flew around the battlement like a bird made entirely from consciousness. Inside the battlement he saw her manning a massive icy ballista. She shouted a war cry with each squeeze of the trigger, shooting a long razor-thin shard of ice through the archer slits, quickly followed by a vicious curse when all the shard managed to do was send a couple reavers tumbling.
“Die already, undead scum!” she cried, suddenly smashing the trigger with angry fists. “Why isn’t it working!” then shaking her hands from the pain.
Augum moved his gaze along the battlement. It had to be here somewhere! Much like the Seal spell, with its arcane threads invisible to those not looking, there were levers that would only appear with the right frame of mind. He knew of them, just not how to find them. The compendium had lacked that specific instruction. He had assumed it would just “happen”, yet it now appeared he had to work for it.
Come on, come on, come on, he mentally muttered, using Centarric focus to study every nuance of the battlement: the curving stones thick with frost due to Haylee’s ice element, the thick angled archer slits caked with ice, the old pilfered trunks covered with loose snow, the ironwork spiral staircase from which hung spiky icicles, Haylee’s body sitting in a crude chair made from solid ice, the massive arcane ballista itself—
He spotted a tiny glow on the side of the ballista. His vision hovered closer, finding three tiny arcane tendril levers, invisible to all but the Keeper of the Keys. Underneath each was a crude etched symbol: one showed armor, another showed a sword, the last a partial figure.
Augum felt himself smile in the vestibule. It was simple. Armor, strength, invisibility. He reached out with his telekinetic Centarro and scion-amplified mind and flipped the first tendril lever.
Haylee gave a yelp as her ballista station was unexpectedly enveloped in a thick arcane bubble. Augum flipped the second lever and Haylee’s next attack elicited a victorious cry and fist pump. The ballista’s attack had strengthened significantly, it seemed. He flipped the last lever and she disappeared with a whoosh, yelping once more.
“Fortification complete, Haylee,” Augum said into her ear, for she was still visible to the Keeper of the Keys.
“Ack! Augum? That you?” she said.
“Yes. Fight hard and good luck.”
Haylee smashed one fist into her palm. “You bet your butt I’m going to!”
As she walloped away, he turned his attention to the other three battlement ballistae, completing the procedure on Brandon’s vine-encrusted ballista, Laudine’s burning ballista, and Mary’s watery ballista. He also fortified Bogdan’s top bombard, a catapult-like contraption with similar mechanisms. All were told what happened and began to attack in earnest.
Augum briefly glanced at the field of battle and now saw massive icicles pierce Dreadnought armor, boulders punch through wraiths like they were butter, jets of water carve neat paths through the horde, and massive fireballs consume multiple undead at once with molten flame.
A white light lit up the entire battlefield out front. Just as a bull demon raised his great hoofed foot to kick at the castle, a massive lava ball smashed into its horned head, causing a great melting hole. The bull demon roared, teetered, and crashed over on dozens of undead troops, flattening them underneath its great bulk.
A cry of victory rang from within the battlements as news was shared that one bull demon was down. Meanwhile, Mrs. Hawthorne, enveloped in shimmering windy armor, stood on the very edge of the terrace, spinning both hands in the air. Two great vortexes emerged in the fiery clouds. They tapered to a cone and touched down on the battlefield. The wind quickly turned into a howling shriek as troops were drawn toward it. Those unfortunate enough to be caught by the funnels, be they wraith or reaver or necromancer, were sucked up into the tornadoes and spit out over the forest.
Augum, Centarro-laced consciousness floating high above that maelstrom of arcane warfare, took a moment to appreciate the sinister beauty before him. The sky darkened as the walls of fire rapidly closed in on the castle. The air was thick with smoke and embers. Summoned demons fought against chunky elementals made from thousands of miniature tornadoes that consumed limbs, tearing them off and spitting them out in random directions. Multiple black veins shot out from the forests; necromancers attacking the castle. The venomous veins hit the dome but did not penetrate its thick arcane crust. Blackened lights flickered from the horde. Burning swords met Dreadnought blades. But Occulus’ army, now commanded by Leland, fought well, and clung on even though they were now vastly outnumbered due to the many battle-summoned demons.
Augum’s confidence with the tuning grew by the heartbeat. He settled into the floating consciousness like he’d settle into a hot bath. And although everywhere was chaos, he was quickly becoming one with the castle, almost—but not quite—feeling its bones. He began to understand how the knowledge in the compendium dovetailed with the scion and the many invisible arcane complexities of the castle. The scion was the core arcane energy that fed the terrific engine of the castle, the knowledge was the weaponry and defense mechanisms, whereas the levers and runewords were its activators. On so many levels, it was fascinating, and he wished he had more time to explore it all.
He turned his soaring consciousness away from the chaotic battle and began flying through the castle, vividly recalling that moment in the Cloud Chamber when he had extended his arms and actually flown. That joy beg
an returning in waves, and it was glorious.
Augum stopped at Alyssa’s ballista, which he found floating unmanned above the well. He mentally flew around the cellar and found her hiding behind a bunch of broken crates.
“Westwood, Alyssa,” he whispered into her ear, causing her to startle with a yelp. “Sorry, but you better hurry.”
“Right.” She raced to the floating ballista and hopped in. Augum immediately flipped the three levers and she disappeared with a whoosh.
“That was you, right?” she asked.
“Yesss …” His voice, an ethereal hiss, trailed.
She swiveled the invisible—and burning, as per her fire element—ballista toward the cellar door, where they expected Sparkstone to appear. Augum knew that the tuning afforded teleportation of ballistae, but he had not realized he would be able to monitor them like this. It was incredible … and powerful.
From here on, the gauntlet of traps and teleportable ballistae awaited the Lord of the Legion. Augum zoomed from one ballista to another, fortifying each and reassuring that the Resistance was still in the fight, for Olaf, Garryk, Sasha, Elizabeth and Isaac only heard the deep gongs that had struck the dome, and were thus quite anxious to hear news.
The great subterranean arcane training cavern was dim with smoky dusk, the trees swaying in a restless breeze. Augum marveled at what was now visible to him—a sprawling and elegant web of interconnected arcanery. And as he floated back up to the vestibule, he noticed that he was able to see the arcane tendrils of the castle itself, its weavings and sub-weavings, making a grand and complex tapestry of ancient arcanery, most of it well beyond his comprehension, even as he studied it through Centarric eyes. It was generations of fortifications that had sunk to permanence. And underlying the entire foundation was Atrius Arinthian’s own 20th degree workmanship. The threads were indescribably complex and beautiful, like the finest work of art. They were the work of a true arcane artist … a master.
Augum felt like he was out of his body now, and out of his mind; one with the joints and mortar, with the window frames and doors, with the steps and floors, with the stone and wood and iron. He was aware of the ever-enlarging hole in the door area of the protective dome, for he felt every crack and fissure, every fist strike, every sword blow and arcane offensive. Each was a minor sting pricking a behemoth.
Augum’s consciousness slowed and drifted, fortified by the scion and the tuning and Centarro. He became a tingling suspended sensation, once more reminding him of the boundless Cloud Chamber deep under the Black Castle. He enjoyed the sensation and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the peace it afforded, for he was floating as if on a bed of air, understanding and learning more and more with each heartbeat that passed.
People were shouting in alarm back in the vestibule, but he let the voices go, trusting this strange path. Millipede fingers of thought worked over the castle’s entirety, consuming and understanding it in a new dimension. His awareness expanded voluminously, thirsty for more, more, more.
Suddenly, his consciousness began coalescing at a feverish pace, contracting to a single point, until an explosion of pure understanding blasted through Augum’s new body—the entire castle.
Back in the vestibule, his physical body and items evaporated.
He had become one with the castle.
He had become … Spirit Form.
Reprisal
“WESTWOOD!” Augum’s voice roared through the entire castle, informing the Resistance he had finally tuned. And oh was the tuning glorious. It was unlike anything Augum had ever experienced before. Beyond the eternal black void of the arcane ether when he had been sick. Beyond the weightless floating freedom of the Cloud Chamber. Beyond his wildest imagination. He was the castle. It was his body, his soul.
And it was under vicious attack, constantly needling him.
But first things first. Augum’s consciousness descended upon the vestibule like a great spider. There he saw a confused and frantic Bridget, Leera and Jez about to lose the final seal on the doors.
“Retreat to the foyer,” he said, hearing his voice bounce powerfully between the walls.
“Aug?” Leera asked, glancing around before grabbing Bridget’s sleeve and yanking, the pair retreating. “That you? Where’d you go?”
“I have tuned. I am one with the castle.”
As she exclaimed something in surprise, Augum’s attention flicked to a room nestled in the heart of the castle. There, poor, forgetful, gray-haired Chappie Fungal waited, his bagpipes clutched tight to his ale belly. He had been placed there for this very moment. The power that would amplify his bagpipes through the castle, raising their spirits so crucially, was finally available to Augum.
“Mr. Fungal,” Augum said. “It is time.”
Like the others, the man startled. “Huh? Who’s there—? A ghost?”
“It’s Augum, sir. Please enact the plan.” The old academy teacher had been expecting to be called upon in person. And so had Augum. He had no idea this was the tuning. He’d had little inkling of its true power.
“Oh. Augum. All right then.” Mr. Fungal stood up from his chair and readied his pipes. The man would be safe, for it was an ancient Arcaner tradition that even Sparkstone should respect, a tradition that said no battle musician would be struck down, for they told the story of that battle with song, and it stirred all souls regardless of side.
Augum’s consciousness drew close and touched the bagpipes. “Amplifico.” He shepherded the arcane webbing around the pipes, and marveled at how the tendrils interacted with the object in a kind of wispy dance, and how he was able to control them so precisely.
As he flew back to the foyer, he heard the first wavering note, amplified clearly throughout the castle by his tuned powers. It went on to rise loftily, morphing to a stirring battle anthem that surely made Resistance blood run quicker. It was the sound of resistance for the Resistance.
Jez, who stood in battle stance between Bridget and Leera in the foyer, suddenly pointed at the vestibule. “Here they come!”
Augum felt the doors get blown inward. His consciousness winced; it was like having a fingernail ripped off. Nonetheless, he focused in on the surging intruders, consisting of that spider-faced necromancer, Commander Predis, several reavers, and a wraith.
Augum occupied the physical fortifications surrounding the vestibule. “No,” he simply said, flexing all his scion-amplified spirit muscles, using the walls like a vice. There was a massive CRUNCH followed by a long hiss as everything in the vestibule was instantly crushed. Augum strained and pressed the stones in further with a grinding embrace. It was incredibly satisfying to feel them rumble together like that, further pulverizing the insects underneath.
Bridget, Leera and Jez let out a cry of victory, accented by a rising bagpipe note, while Augum loosened his grip lest he consume too much of his arcane stamina. Then he fanned out great invisible palms over the smashed vestibule, marshalling the appropriate preparatory thoughts, and whispering, “Apreyo.” The mass of blocks and rubble immediately began to reform with rapid flashes of light, leaving only pulpy bodies behind. Then his consciousness floated invisibly before the broken doors. The horde was squirming to get in.
“I said, no.” Augum slammed invisible wrists together. “ANNIHILO!” except this time he used the power of the scion and the tuning to amplify the strength of the blast. To an outside observer, it surely would have appeared as if the castle’s mouth had screamed, for a massive door-sized bolt of lightning blew through the horde, leaving a smoldering hole all the way to the burning trees. Nothing had stood in the way of the blast, not even Dreadnought armor.
But it had ravaged Augum’s stamina. The arcane muscles involved had not had time to bulk. He had no training and easily tired. He could sense that arcane boundary like the approaching wall of fire. Such attacks were critically limited.
Cries of victory were thrown up in various parts of the castle. The music of the bagpipes rose higher still, as if Mr. Fungal co
uld feel their hearts rising with hope and defiance.
Augum used the moment the powerful attack had afforded to spread invisible hands above the wreckage of the dome, invisible to the horde. “Apreyo,” and carefully shepherded the repair. Then he did the same to the great iron-strapped double doors. Needless to say, there was more than one groan of despair from the other side, for they had to start from scratch.
He cast Seal next, using that magnified arcane strength to weave complexity on a whole new level, for the threads were a tangled forest of intricacy, a miasma of deeply-woven layers as thick as the doors themselves and heavily strengthened by the scion and the tuning.
He wanted to throw them a snarky comment, something like, Good luck getting through that, fiends, but thought better of it. There was a dignity to this craft, and he wanted to respect it. It was the ancient Arcaner tradition, seeping through time, begging for some semblance of decorum to be returned to a mad world.
Augum briefly flashed his consciousness through the rest of the castle, seeing that there were no other breaches … except for one, which he promptly drew his attention to. There he found the Lord of the Legion burrowing like a mole. It was almost amusing seeing the powerful man on his knees in the dingy tunnel. Unfortunately, he was moving far too quickly through the complex delaying enchantments, undoing one after another with relative ease, the six scions buzzing around him, amplifying his arcanery to obscene levels. Augum could see the arcane membranes that fused the scions to the man. His own scion had the same fusing, though now it was ethereal, one with his mind. How beautifully interesting, all of it.
Augum drew in upon the space like a storm cloud, enveloping the dirt and stone and moss. He crunched it all inward, squeezing the Lord of the Legion with all his might, testing his ethereal arcane strength against the man’s armor, perhaps hoping to do serious damage. The Lord of the Legion groaned with the exertion, but his six scions immediately flared, allowing him to telekinetically push back against Augum’s own telekinetically tuned strength.
