Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  Bridget was about to put a finger to her lips when a horse whinnied nearby. The trio immediately ducked. Bridget drew Blackbite, Augum Burden’s Edge.

  Augum prowled to the hole of a ruined window and peered over the edge. Something moved just beyond a nearby cluster of snowy trees. A horse—but where was the rider? It neighed, its breath bellowing clouds of steam.

  “What is it, boy, what’s the matter?” someone asked in the darkness.

  “Pro’ably a ‘coon, Commander,” said a reedy voice.

  “Keep your voice down, you fool.”

  “Right, sorry sir.”

  There was a pause, followed by, “Stay here and keep your mouth shut.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “He’s coming—” Augum mouthed, making frantic motions for the girls to get back inside the tunnel. Just as Leera reached the door though, it slammed shut. She fumbled to pry it open, but it would not budge. “No no no …”

  Augum jumped to his feet, Burden’s Edge in hand. Bridget was beside him, Blackbite glinting in the moonlight.

  “Where is he?” she asked in a whisper. “Can’t see him …”

  “Of course you can’t,” said an amused voice from the window, the space oddly shimmering. “But I can see you just fine, younglings. O’Donnell—fetch our lord and master!”

  “Me, Commander?” The reedy voice wavered. “I’m not fit to speak to him, sir—”

  “NOW, O’Donnell! Unless you want to become a walking corpse.”

  “Who are you?” Augum asked.

  The space within the window seemed to twist, coalescing into a person who calmly climbed over the ledge.

  A chill travelled down Augum’s spine as he recognized the electric eyes and the black robe with silver embroidered lightning.

  “Augum Stone. What a prize,” Commander Vion Rames said.

  Breached

  Augum felt dizzy. This man standing before him, besides being Mrs. Stone’s former apprentice, had been the commander in charge of the column that razed Willowbrook and murdered Sir Westwood.

  Commander Vion Rames’ face twisted into a smile. He grasped his long night-black hair and smoothed it down his chest, something that seemed habitual, intended to maintain its perfect straightness. “I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on you, boy, quivering on the ground, clinging to a tree. I must confess, had I known you were the Lord of the Legion’s own son, things would have turned out … rather differently, you might say.”

  “I wasn’t quivering.” Augum felt sweat prickling his forehead.

  “But how did you find us?” Bridget asked.

  “Oh, we’ve kept an eye on the crown for some time. Even during King Ridian’s reign, there was always someone close by whose loyalties laid … elsewhere. When Lord Sparkstone claimed the throne for himself, he wisely let the prince go so we could find any remaining insurgent holdouts. It seems the gamble paid off handsomely.”

  Augum exchanged looks with the girls—it had to be the Nightsword.

  Rames glanced to the small door. “My pets have been sniffing for a way in, how convenient for you to give us one.”

  “Those hellhounds were yours?” Leera asked.

  “Gifted to me by the Lord of the Legion. Quite remarkable beasts, aren’t they? Unfortunately, it seems you have dispatched them. My heart aches, but justice shall be served.” Rames’ electric eyes flicked over Bridget and Leera.

  “You killed Sir Westwood—” Augum said.

  “Who now?”

  “Sir Tobias Westwood. You murdered him—”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to remember every little worm I step on, do you?”

  “—and you burnt down my village!”

  “Oh? And which village was that, pray tell?” His voice became louder as he spoke. “I recall burning many dissenting, traitorous, insurgent-infested hovels in the service of the greatest sorcerer who has ever lived!”

  For a moment, Rames just stared at them, breathing heavily, before running his fingers down the length of his hair. “There now, are we happy? I have become bothered. As it is, please allow me to infuse you with clarity.” He took a step forward. The trio took one back. “You either stand with the Legion, or against.” His voice quickened. “Is that in any way confusing to you? Shall I draw you a diagram, a map, ink you a book on the subject—?”

  “How could she ever have trained you?” Augum asked. By the look Rames gave him, he half-expected a throttling. Instead, the man bent a knee.

  “Oh, that is just a marvelous story, of which I shall only tell a tiny portion, if you will, for we have little time.” He glanced over his shoulder as if expecting reinforcements to arrive at any moment. “You see, I was just like you, Augum—an ambitious, young apprentice under one of the most powerful sorceresses known. I believed every word she said. I followed every gesture. But you know what? I was not good enough for her.” He paused to give the thought weight. “And I was not the only one, you see. Her very own grandson was not good enough either. It was he, the future Lord of the Legion—your own father—that showed me how to unlock my true potential. Under the crone, I languished and fell behind; I shriveled and withered and weakened. Under him, however, I could do whatever I wanted. I became strong, powerful, and learned so much more. I was … unleashed … as you will be when you join your father.”

  Rames stood up, dusting his hands. “So—want to show me how well the old crone’s trained you?”

  Augum tightened his grip on Burden’s Edge. He knew he had to warn the others in the castle, had to save the girls—”

  “All right, I shall start then,” Rames said in a mock-cheery tone. He flexed and his right arm burst with ten rings of lightning, blue coils of electricity that licked the curves of his black robe. The space around the man seemed to warp as Augum felt his hair stiffen. The trio retreated another step, backs against the wall of the house, blades pointed ahead.

  Augum glanced at the door at his feet. If only they could get back inside somehow, warn Mrs. Stone—

  “What, no rings of your own?” Rames raised his arm. “Then you shall have no defense against this—dreadus terrablus!”

  The world instantly sharpened with thousands of claws. Augum saw his poor mule, Meli, lashed again and again, her hide ripping open. Out poured more Melis, each lashed anew, each ripping open and multiplying, their stinking flesh burying and choking him.

  He began shaking. His sword turned into a writhing snake with nothing but sharp edges. He let it go. It smashed against the ground. Each of the edges became a moving needle, with tiny needle feet, all running towards him. Cold sweat prickled his skin. When he glanced at his arm, each prickle was a miniature hellhound, gnawing at his flesh. He scratched at them but there was only more. Now they were on his hands—

  “Augum, what’s wrong!” Bridget asked, but her voice sounded demonic. She wanted to kill him—

  Then he wet his pants. They knew; they saw him wet his pants! There was Mya and she saw! It shows through clothing, just as it had when he was a boy … and there was Dap, laughing, reaching back with that ham fist that multiplied into a thousand little fists … and the Pendersons … each had a whip, each raised it … everything multiplied and grew and—

  He screamed.

  Then, in some remote corner of his mind, he realized it could not be real. He began fighting it, until …

  His eyes flew open. He was drooling, head splitting, but at least his pants were not wet; it had been an illusion all along. Burden’s Edge was on the ground and Bridget and Leera were each gripping him by an elbow.

  “Aug, are you all right?” Bridget asked, voice quivering.

  He could only swallow and nod.

  Rames cocked his head slightly. “Fear is quite an interesting spell, is it not? Different for everyone. For some, the horror is … indescribable. I have even witnessed people pleading to be killed. It has to be one of my favorites.” He lowered his chin. “But you did shake it off. Interesting. How about this one—think
you can shake this one off?” He raised his arm. “Silenzio!”

  Augum felt his mouth go dry and his throat constrict. He tried to speak, to shout, yet nothing came. Rames studied his struggles, habitually smoothing his hair.

  “Ah, I thought not. She hasn’t got you that far, has she? That was always a fault of hers … slow as a snail. Your father will get you much, much further.”

  Augum did the only thing he could think of—he reached for Burden’s Edge.

  It slid away.

  Rames wagged a finger. “Mustn’t make it easy now. Surely you can do better than that. Has the crone not taught you anything?”

  Augum, realizing what he meant, stretched out his arm and willed the sword to come to him.

  It flew into his hand.

  “Better,” Rames said with a patronizing smile. “Untrained, misguided, but not entirely without promise. Nothing a little fatherly discipline couldn’t solve. Now, that old crone placed a certain powerful protective enchantment around the castle that requires an invitation. I assume I do not have to make this difficult.”

  Augum glared at him.

  “Oh, pardon my manners. You may speak again.” Rames waved his hand idly and Augum felt his throat loosen.

  “Invite me. Now.”

  “Never.”

  “This is not the time to be brave, boy.” He gestured at Leera and she flew to him. He sharply yanked at her hair and she screamed, tears of pain welling from her eyes.

  “Invite. NOW!”

  “Don’t … Aug …” Leera managed to gurgle.

  “Too slow,” Rames said, withdrawing a dagger. “Say your goodbyes—” he raised it to Leera’s neck. She closed her eyes and yelped.

  “Wait—!” Augum said, holding out an open palm. “All right, just let her go …”

  Rames threw Leera back at him. Augum caught her in his arms.

  “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into his chest, sniffing and shaking.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered, placing her behind him.

  “Hurry up or I’ll slice both their pretty throats.”

  Augum gave Rames a hard look. “Damn you. I formally invite you, Vion Rames, into the castle.”

  Rames smiled wickedly. “A wise decision, though you hardly had much of a choice. I would have killed them both.”

  They heard the gallop of approaching horses. Rames raised his brows in a smug expression. “Time to end this little charade,” he said. “And now I shall have justice for my pet.” He raised his arm at Bridget and Leera.

  “NO—!” Augum screamed, charging at Rames who, with a quick word, became enveloped in shimmering black armor—just in time to stop Burden’s Edge from piercing his gut. Rames fixed Augum with a triumphant look before his eyes flitted right. A second thrust came, this one from Bridget. Rames simply stood there, mouth puckered in a grin, confident his arcane armor would stop a paltry dagger.

  The small Dreadnought piercing blade punctured the shimmering armor as if it was butter, striking flesh beneath. The armor instantly vanished along with the lightning bands around Rames’ arm. He roared, his hand shooting to the wound, while Bridget and Augum jumped clear.

  Rames stared at the trio, his formerly electric eyes now glassy and black. Then without removing his gaze from Augum, he gripped the dagger, winced, and yanked it out. It dropped to the snow, staining it with blood.

  Rames tried to straighten. He glared at them then abruptly stumbled and fell backwards. Augum immediately retrieved his sword while Leera lunged for the dagger, shouting, “Back inside!”

  Bridget was already at the stone door, desperately trying to open it with her fingernails. The sound of horses was very close now.

  Rames moaned behind them. His voice slurred as if he had been drinking. “My pets … where are my pets … hey now … just where … just where do you think you are going?” He raised his arm, revealing a robe slick with blood. For a moment, Augum was afraid he would cast another spell, but nothing happened. Rames gazed at his palm, a quizzical expression on his face.

  Augum turned his attention to the door. “Let me try—”

  Bridget got out of the way as he raised his palm. In his mind, he saw the door open wide—and with a grinding noise, it quickly did. The three then scrambled inside, Bridget first followed by Leera and Augum. The last thing Augum saw were shadows jumping down into the house—his foot made contact with a snapping snout. There was no time to even close the door.

  The trio scuttled like rats from a fire. It was pitch-black and dirt flew into Augum’s eyes and mouth, yet he did not care; his only thought now was to reach the castle and raise the alarm. Something entered the passage behind, growling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He thought of Burden’s Edge but it would be impossible to draw it in such a cramped space.

  A green light flared to life ahead joined by a watery blue one—Bridget and Leera had made it out. At last, it was his turn to squeeze through the opening. He slammed the stone door on a furry head with red eyes. It yelped then resumed snapping its jaws. He kicked it back through the opening, slammed the door again, and bolted after the girls, who were calling for him to hurry.

  Upon reaching the wine cellar door, a tremendous crumbling noise began from the tunnel, as if something very big was trying to squeeze through. Meanwhile, there was a crash and a growl inside the room.

  Augum spun around. “Shyneo!” At the edge of his light padded a hellhound. It stopped and began squealing like a wounded animal, gurgling and vomiting.

  The trio screamed as the pile of guts it puked out started growing into another hellhound.

  “RUN—!” he yelled, pushing them to go. As soon as they were clear of the room though, he had a better idea. He turned around, raised his palm, and slammed the door shut with Telekinesis—just in time to hear two bangs from the other side.

  “Won’t be able to hold it long; get Mrs. Stone!” He refocused on the door.

  “I’m staying, Bridge, you go!” Leera said, handing Bridget her dagger back. “GO!”

  Bridget ran off while he concentrated on keeping the door shut. Every time the hellhounds slammed into it, he felt his telekinetic grip weaken. Leera was soon beside him, arm raised, sharp brows crossed with concentration.

  They managed to keep the door closed for the time being, but Augum knew it could not last. Besides, something much bigger was on the way. Another idea came to him.

  “Keep holding it,” he said, breaking his connection and drawing his sword. He ran up beside the door. “Shyneo!” His hand crackled to life as he raised the Dreadnought blade over his head. “Ready? NOW!”

  Leera dived out of the way. The door careened open and one of the beasts lunged through—only to be sliced in half in midair, the two parts flopping to the ground, dead.

  “Watch for the second one, Aug!”

  The other hound slunk forward through the doorway, baring black teeth and growling. Augum backed up, Burden’s Edge before him, its length glistening. Leera was just behind, edging along, one hand on his back, the other lit with glowing water.

  “Steady, Aug … keep backing up … steady now … almost at the stairs …”

  When they reached the steps, harsh voices began yelling from the wine cellar. Augum, however, kept his gaze locked with the remaining hellhound. The beast was at some sort of stalemate with him; it did not lunge as long as he kept his eyes on it, blade interposed between, the blood of its kin dripping from the edge.

  Just as they reached the top of the stairs, they heard the sound of running from the servant hallway.

  “Get ready to jump out of the way,” Leera whispered into his ear. “Steady … steady … and … NOW!”

  Augum jumped back and away just as Sir Gallows hurled himself at the hellhound. Because Augum kept his eyes locked with the beast’s, the hellhound was too late in reacting to Gallows’ sword slash. Gutted, it squealed while flopping down the stairs, stopping in a silent heap at the bottom.

  “More coming—�
�� Augum blurted to Gallows while helping Leera up. “The Nightsword—traitor—”

  Gallows fixed him with a grave look. His eyes were shiny with ale. “Stop jabbering, son. Upstairs and double-quick. I shall hold them off.”

  Augum wanted to explain but a gargantuan crimson-armored Red Guard appeared at the bottom of the stairs, stepping over the hellhound without breaking its gaze. It held a flaming sword in one hand and a shield with the Legion emblem in the other. As it climbed, it stared at Augum through two horizontal slits piercing a flat helm. A prickle went up Augum’s spine as he sat transfixed, unable to decide what to do. In fact, he felt possessed by hesitation.

  “What are you waiting for, boy—run!”

  Leera grabbed Augum’s arm and pulled him through the doorway. “What are you doing, come on!”

  Breaking eye contact with the Red Guard seemed to do the trick. He ran, leaving Sir Gallows behind. When they reached the foyer, moonlight filtered in through open doors. A cold draft sent a shiver through him, but there was no time to wonder why the castle was sitting open and exposed like that. They bolted up the marble stairs and almost crashed into Sir Edrian Castor and the two Brack brothers, who smelled strongly of ale, their faces anxious.

  “Sir Gallows needs help below—” Leera said in a panicked voice.

  “Just get to the top!” Castor said, skipping a few steps at a time with each stride.

  “Damn it, they’re all drunk,” Leera said, watching one of the brothers stumble.

  They continued racing upstairs. As they passed the third floor, Augum noted Fentwick’s absence. Suddenly the door from the girls’ room opened and Bridget emerged, slinging a rucksack over her shoulder.

  “Bridge—? What are you doing here?” Leera asked.

  “Oh thank—you’re okay! I grabbed the book, just in case we leave the castle—”

  “Have you seen Mrs. Stone?”

  “I think she went outside—the Legion have the castle surrounded.”

  Frantic shouts rang up from below.

  Bridget ran to the banister. “They’re all waiting upstairs, come on—”