Legend (The Arinthian Line Book 5)

by Sever Bronny

  “The curse that promised to destroy anyone possessing all seven scions?” Leera asked, squeezing his waist excitedly. “That protective preventative enchantment thingy originally cast by the Leyans?”

  “Exactly.”

  Bridget frowned. “But … but how did you know the curse was back into effect?”

  “As for the word ‘glow’…” Augum, smiling serenely, picked up the divining rod and slowly rolled it around in his hands. “It always used to glow a little. But it went dark, which meant—”

  “—that the divining rod’s soul-bound creator had died!” Leera said, beaming. “Which in turn meant Mrs. Stone had vanquished Magua!”

  “And because the soul-bound circumvention relied on Magua being alive,” Bridget continued giddily, getting to her feet, “the ancient Leyan curse prohibiting one person from possessing all seven instantly came back into effect upon her death!” She double-clapped while hopping up and down, drawing a bemused look from Leera.

  Augum expelled a long, weary breath. “Yup, it’s over.”

  The trio abruptly embraced, long and hard, shoulders shaking as they cried together in relief.

  “I can’t believe we did it,” Leera said, wiping tears from Bridget’s face as the pair made giddy snorting noises.

  Augum was continuously shaking his head. “Neither can I …”

  “Clever of Magua,” Bridget noted. “As long as she lived, Sparkstone would too. It insured he would not betray her after coming to possess seven scions.”

  “Guess she didn’t factor in getting her butt handed to her by Mrs. Stone,” Leera quipped.

  “And Krakatos,” Augum said. “They fought side-by-side.”

  “How do you know that?” Bridget asked.

  Augum made a vague gesture. “Kind of an afterglow vision thingy.” He would be hard-pressed to explain it to himself, but suspected Mrs. Stone had something to do with him knowing about their duel.

  The trio stood in silence pondering that turn of events. Mrs. Stone had fought alongside Krakatos at that same moment and defeated Magua. But how such a thing could have been orchestrated was well beyond Augum’s comprehension, and he was too exhausted to even try.

  Bridget tugged at her robe and rubbed her forearm. “The equipment has returned, hasn’t it?”

  Leera held up the barren finger where the Arinthian war ring used to be. “Was wondering about that.”

  “The castle returned the items to the vault,” Augum said. “Some kind of ancient protection mechanism Arinthian put in place anytime the Keeper …” He trailed off, idly examining his hand, half-hoping the blue key would shine forth once more.

  Leera’s sooty brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re no longer the Keeper of the Keys, are you?” Bridget whispered. “Because the scion’s been destroyed …”

  Augum took Leera’s hand and smiled. “A tiny sacrifice to pay.” The destruction of the eighteen hundred-year-old family scion insured that he had been the last Keeper of the Keys of Castle Arinthian. Neither he nor anyone will ever again access the vault, the armory and all contents within. They were now sealed to time like tombs, the protective enchantments having long sunk to permanence. He’ll never go into Spirit Form again, meld with the castle, or be able to protect it like before. And no one else will be able to either. But that wasn’t important, for beside him stood two people that mattered more to him than a thousand castles.

  Leera glanced back at the giant magnifying globe on its gilded stand. “Shame to lose all that treasure. Guess that means we’ll never be able to get back in here, will we?”

  Bridget flicked Leera’s ear. “Not until you reach the 19th degree, rascal.”

  “Hey—!” but then Leera got the joke and snorted. “Yeah, all right, it’ll be a final goodbye then.”

  Augum stuffed the dead rod into his belt and picked up Burden’s Edge.

  “It’s returned to you,” Bridget said. “Fitting.”

  “Fitting,” he echoed in a whisper, examining the fine blade. It looked smaller than he remembered.

  “How come it didn’t return to the vault?” Leera asked.

  Augum shrugged. “My guess is someone at some point in history removed the return enchantment on it.”

  Leera flinched. “Sorry—saw a shadow. They haven’t left me since the last few castings.”

  “Me neither,” Bridget chimed in.

  “Me neither,” Augum said in tones of finality. The shadows were different too. Deep in his core he knew they were never going to go away. Sure, they left him alone at the moment because he was happy, but as soon as any form of dread or worry set in, they’d pounce, and worse than ever before. Now he saw friends, even the girls, stalking as shadows.

  “So how do we get out of here?” Leera pressed with a chortle. The chortling was quickly picked up by Augum and Bridget, for the irony of such a thing would have truly been something. Imagine them defeating the Lord of the Legion only to be trapped in this infinite and eternally white place!

  Luckily Augum, via his studies with the compendium, vaguely remembered the particular phrase that would summon the 20th degree portal. He only hoped it would work, for he was no longer the Keeper of the Keys. Without the scion, he felt relatively weak and ordinary, and his memory was not nearly as sharp. He was back to his former self in arcane strength and stamina, nothing more than a 5th degree warlock.

  And he’d have it no other way.

  “No, but seriously, how do we get out of here?” Leera asked when the mirth died down.

  Augum raised a hand. “Finito exat.” A portal ripped to life before them, its wind blowing at their torn robes. Augum gestured to the girls. “After you.”

  Feast

  Augum, Bridget and Leera trooped back through the ancient forest of the Trainers in silence. As bedraggled, battle-scarred and exhausted as they looked and felt, each still wore a smile. They exited the forest into the domed chamber. There Augum confirmed he was unable to open the door to the armory. With the scion destroyed, there can never be a Keeper of the Keys again, and thus the armory was now permanently sealed to time. Luckily the doors that led to the Trainers had been left open.

  “Dungeon’s left open too,” Leera noted as they strolled by. “We can shove Bowlander back in there to rot soon as we find him.”

  “I think there’s been enough suffering,” Bridget said. “Let him go.”

  The castle itself was silent as a tomb. There were countless heaps of ash and husks of empty armor, representing the bodies of wraiths, reavers, revenants and necromancers, having turned to ash where they stood when their lord and master perished, for they too had been soul-bound, only to him.

  The trio stepped around the piles and went outside, finding that the fires had passed, replaced by smoke and fat rain. The Ravenwood was decimated, now a forest of blackened and stripped trees. Dark clouds roamed above and there was a cool wind. The entire courtyard and bailey of the castle was filled with husks of Dreadnought armor, out of which spilled black ash.

  Leera held out a palm caked with blood. “Never thought I’d be so happy to feel rain.”

  Bridget glanced to the still smoldering barren conifers. “Poor Ravenwood …”

  “It’ll grow back,” Augum said, clapping both of them on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get the others.”

  As they walked to the hidden bathing rooms, they found a bunch of people already milling about outside, looking confused and lost.

  “They’re alive!” Devon shouted, pointing at them. “Gods, they’re alive—!”

  The rest of them poured out of the bathing rooms, sprinting over. In no time the trio found themselves surrounded, hugging and crying and laughing, pressed to tell the story of the final battle in the 20th degree Trainer, and how Augum had put two-and-two together with the divining rod. They explained why everyone’s equipment had suddenly disappeared and how the undead and their masters fell dead all at once.

  The students told of their own battles
too, how they held the stairs and the main doors as long as possible. Everyone talked at once with their neighbor. Even usually sullen Cry Slimwealth was seen arm-in-arm with Malaika and Charissa, singing gaily about beating back the temptations of despair. Tears continued to roll down cheeks even as the fat drops of badly-needed rain plopped into puddles. Spontaneous song broke out, including the rousing anthem The Brave and the Broken, and A Mighty Blow, A Mighty King, based on the life of the legendary Solian king Willith Burnbright.

  The trio were elated to see Jez, looking no more than a little worse for wear (“Knew you monkeys would do it—”), and Haylee too, smiling beside Chaska.

  Leland, meanwhile, was with his father. It turned out his entire Agonex-summoned army had fallen, though he somehow managed to keep his captain alive, allowing Leland a means to communicate. The undead soldier, perhaps the last in the entire kingdom, stood atop the castle still. Mr. Fungal turned out to be alive as well, for he soon stumbled out of the castle, rubbing his head, complaining about being surprised by a stray walker. In fact, all but two souls were accounted for—brave Mrs. Hawthorne, who Augum had seen fall to the Lord of the Legion; and Bogdan Sczepanski, having been converted into the undead protecting Leland. Both losses weighed heavily upon Augum’s conscience.

  Jez shook Augum’s shoulders. “There will be plenty enough time to mourn, Stone. Right now, we need to laugh and cry and jump around like crazies. Got me?”

  “Sure, Jez …”

  “Good.” She ruffled his hair before suddenly drawing him into a twirling and laughing hug, exclaiming, “My crazy monkeys have done it—!”

  Slowly, the group hobbled back to the castle, wrapped in disbelieving conversation regarding the heroic and tragic events of that day, and congratulating each other on a historic victory. There were whoops of joy every time one or more of the trio was hugged or held aloft.

  Mr. Haroun, ever the gallant village elder, eventually took charge and began ordering a basic initial cleanup, as well as preparations for a great celebratory bonfire feast (not that there was much to eat).

  Jez, one of the few warlocks high enough in degree capable of teleportation, dispatched herself to the corners of the kingdom to proudly spread the news of what had happened.

  The talk of what came next slowly began. What would happen to the kingdom? How soon could the students return to Blackhaven? Was the academy even still standing? And who would take charge of poor Solia?

  Needless to say, many whispered about the trio’s involvement in such matters, some even throwing around words like king and queen, but Augum would hear none of it. With an ever-present smile plastered on his face, he took things as they came but stayed in mostly reflective silence, always holding Leera’s hand, yet helping with the cleanup efforts. After knowing the power of the scion, he felt significantly weakened. His memory was back to its bumbling self, his arcane strength felt like parchment when it had been iron, and his arcane horizon, which once seemed infinite, now seemed trite and close. It would take time getting used to it again, but he knew he’d manage. He was just happy he was alive, but more so that Bridget and Leera were all right. And he was happy that their bodies had not aged much, only about a year, so instead of looking almost sixteen, they looked almost seventeen. And at their ages, what did that matter anyway? A year was a far cry from what they had originally feared, which was instantly turning old, as he had witnessed happen to Bridget under the Black Castle.

  Bridget too held someone’s hand—Brandon’s. The pair softly conversed, sometimes bursting into giddy chuckles, or gazing into each other’s eyes. She was heard to blurt another joke, to which Brandon shook his head, though not without a tiny smile. Meanwhile, Chaska and Haylee sat together chatting amiably with the students, while Jengo, after he concluding amazing feats of healing, humbly spent time helping his betrothed, Priya, in the kitchens.

  And throughout, the shadows circled, vultures awaiting weakness. Ever present, they never dimmed nor wavered. Augum feared for his long-term sanity, but also accepted the situation as just another necessary sacrifice for the kingdom.

  That evening’s feast was meager by traditional standards. Yet Augum suspected one would be hard pressed to find a happier bunch of souls in all of Sithesia on that day, for they had stared imminent death in the face … and come through victorious. There were toasts, speeches, games, jokes, singing and dancing, all to the tune of Mr. Fungal’s rousing bagpipes. The feast was held under damaged roofs in the old ruins in the back bailey of the castle, ruins no one had bothered to repair yet. A bonfire burned in the background under one of those roofs, and it was raining torrentially.

  Everyone wanted to dance with the prince and princesses and press them for details. They obliged kindly, slowly getting worn out. And when Brandon finally slow-danced with Bridget, and Augum with Leera, all stood to sing the accompanying Lover’s Lure. There was not a dry eye in the crowd.

  Augum held Leera close, feeling her warmth, enjoying her company. Somehow, despite the odds, they had made it out alive. He ignored thoughts about the future, focusing on enjoying this evening, as for once, he felt they had earned a break from worry. Sure, the shadows circled, but all this love and happiness was keeping them at bay.

  Suddenly there was a gaggle of Awws. Augum and Leera glanced over to see Brandon and Bridget kissing, only to break apart out of sheer embarrassment. The hooting and catcalls then transferred to Augum and Leera, who shrugged … and kissed, longer, until Jez shouted with cupped hands, “Nasty teenagers!” and they had to break apart because they had both snorted with laughter.

  As the crowd clapped and settled down, Augum made eye contact with Bridget, mouthing, “Sister.”

  Bridget, cheeks still flushed, smiled, mouthing, “Brother,” then her eyes closed sleepily as she snuggled closer to Brandon’s neck.

  Later, as a throng of people sang the moody Chivalry’s Shining Armor, Augum found himself sitting on a stone ledge in the nearby ruins, staring at the sheets of rain pelting a nearby windowsill. For the first time in his entire life, he did not feel threatened. Shadows notwithstanding, all the bullies had been vanquished, including the ones in his soul. Instead, he felt light and content. It was a new feeling, totally unfamiliar. Suddenly, life seemed full of possibility. He almost dared to imagine a life at the Academy of Arcane Arts as a student. A normal, happy life, with friends and the girls by his side.

  Every single person in the castle, from servant to student to parent to mentor, had thanked him and the girls for what they had done for the kingdom. And for once, he did not feel a recoiling sensation upon hearing them call him by titles like Prince or Hero. He saw behind their eyes that it was absolutely true for each and every one of them. To them, they were Prince and Princess, Hero and Heroine.

  “They’ll talk about what happened here for centuries,” a voice said.

  Augum turned his head to see Jez smiling at him. There was a small cut on her cheek Jengo had missed, and a smudge on her forehead.

  “Half of the people didn’t believe my story when I told them. But the other half did, and they’ll convince that first half. A legend is born.” She dropped down beside him and slapped his knee. “How do you feel, my rebellious troublemaker?”

  Augum smiled as he pondered the question. “Free, I guess.”

  “You ‘guess’?” Jez snorted. “There’s been a lot of talk about you taking the throne, you know. Blood of the Arinthian line and all that.”

  “I was thinking of going to the academy.”

  Jez ruffled his hair. “I was hoping you’d say that. And I’ll continue to mentor you, Stone, as long as that head of yours doesn’t get too big.” She returned to the festivities, grabbing a cup of Titan wine from a tray held by Charles Poorman. Earlier, she had somehow “come across” a shipment of Legion wine, which she “repatriated immediately”.

  “Hey, hero boy,” Leera sang, plopping on the ledge beside him.

  “Hey, hero girl,” he said with a lopsided smile.
r />   “Still can’t believe we beat the bastard,” she said, playing with her bracelet.

  Augum only nodded.

  She thrust the bracelet before his face, jingling it about. “You made this for me!”

  He drew her into his lap, lightly tickling her. “I did.”

  She slapped his hands away while laughing. “Stop it, you buffoon.”

  Then the pair relaxed in each other’s arms, listening to the rain and to the distant singing, until Bridget joined them.

  “Left Brandon already, did you?” Leera prodded.

  “He and a couple others are reminiscing over their fallen comrades. Poor Mrs. Hawthorne. Poor Bogdan.” She sighed deeply. “I thought I’d leave them to it and check up on you two fiends.”

  “Why is everybody checking up on us all the time?” Leera asked. “We’ll be adults next year!”

  “Young, foolish adults.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Love you too.”

  “Have a seat, Sister,” Augum said, patting a spot beside him.

  Bridget sat, folding her emerald robe underneath her.

  “One big happy family,” Leera whispered, nuzzling closer to Augum. Then she perked up at Bridget. “He a better kisser than that sleazebag at least?”

  Bridget went crimson. “Much.”

  Leera snuggled back into Augum, muttering, “Better be …”

  Bridget glanced at the same ruined windowsill being pelted by rain. “Shadows are slowly creeping closer and closer.”

  “And getting clearer,” Augum said. The happiness was holding them back, but their faces were once more taking on form, their edges sharpening. Like Arinthian’s ancient enchantments, they were sinking into permanence.

  Bridget smoothed back her long cinnamon hair. “I suspect we crossed some kind of casting threshold. Our bodies each aged about a year. Pretty sure I read somewhere in the Cron book that that was the point when things started ‘setting in’.”