by Sever Bronny
RIVEN
The Arinthian Line: Book Two
By Sever Bronny
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or deceased, establishments of any kind, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Bronny, Sever, 1979-, author
Riven / Sever Bronny.
(The Arinthian line ; bk. 2)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-0-9937676-2-3 (pbk.).--ISBN 978-0-9937676-3-0 (epub)
I. Title.
PS8603.R652R59 2015 C813'.6
C2015-901205-8 C2015-901206-6
Copyright ©2014 Sever Bronny Ltd. All Rights reserved. Map and cover by author using creative commons and commercial licensing. “Arcane” cover font by Steve Deffeyes, deffeyes.com. For information about permission to reproduce certain portions of this work, please contact the author at [email protected] or via www.severbronny.com
Ley
There was murder in the sand here, Augum Stone thought, sweeping the horizon with parchment-dry eyes. Ley stretched in every direction, a blistering, dusty wasteland squashed by fast-moving clouds. Something about the place made him feel as if he was walking over graves. He imagined entire armies buried just beneath the orange desert. Armies from some ancient era, long forgotten. Armies that met a slow end, where the land choked their thoughts until they turned on each other in a barbaric bloodbath.
“Leera—” he said. Leera Jones trundled just ahead, shoulder-length raven hair sashaying with hypnotic rhythm. How irritating—she was ignoring him again. She and Bridget were supposed to be his good friends, except friendship felt like a distant echo in this harsh land.
“Lee—” but he tripped over something. His heart stopped.
It was a soldier’s hand.
No, it was a rock, stop seeing things. He rubbed his eyes and continued on. How many times had that happened? Too many visions that mirrored his fears.
“Leera—” Was it so hard to answer him? They had explored Castle Arinthian and achieved their 1st degree together, she specializing in the water element, Bridget in earth, and he in lightning. They had saved each other’s lives and witnessed so much, and now she was … now she was ignoring him!
A particularly strong gust whipped the hood off his head. For the umpteenth time he jerked the scratchy wool back over his tangle of short umber hair, cracked hands aching.
The march was wearying. His limbs throbbed as if each had an extra heart. His thigh was bruised from the slap of his sword, the Dreadnought blade Burden’s Edge. Then there were his tender feet, numb and sore.
What he wouldn’t do for a quiet night in a soft bed, sheltered from the wind. It had been ten days since he and five others had stepped through a portal linking Castle Arinthian to Ley. Yet, with the exception of a memorial ceremony on the first day, all they had done since was drag themselves through this barren landscape.
Days were unusually long in Ley, the sun never rising more than a third of the way up the sky, as if too tired to finish the journey. It would shine for twenty hours of every day before surrendering to an icy tempest of night that made restful sleep a luxury of the past.
Flopping one foot before the other, his thoughts drifted to the Kingdom of Solia. He had never stepped outside its borders before. He missed the smell of a cedar campfire, the crisp stillness of the forests, the pristine snow. He missed the castle, abandoned for the last two hundred years and now surely swarming with Legion soldiers. He even missed the rustic confines of Mrs. Stone’s cave, long collapsed. Above all, he missed the almost carefree joy he had felt, at least in comparison to this dreary march of an existence in which every thought seemed tainted by an unexplainable dread.
Maybe someone else will talk to him. He glanced to the front of the line where his great-grandmother and mentor, the legendary lightning warlock Anna Atticus Stone, shuffled along in the lead, white robe billowing in the wind. Her shriveled frame bent over a gnarled walking stick, silver ponytail dangling past her waist. But even she had been particularly terse of late. Just that morning, she snapped at him for not paying attention to some long-winded speech about staying close together.
Bridget Burns hiked behind her, wearing the same burgundy apprentice robe as Augum. She had a small pert nose and long cinnamon hair she habitually swept away from hazel eyes. A Dreadnought piercing dagger named Blackbite hung from her belt. She probably missed Solia as much as he did, if not more. Then again, after everything that had happened, maybe not …
She’d probably ignore him too. None of them got along lately. Even Bridget, the most thoughtful person he knew, had yelled at Sydo for breathing too loudly. That led to a big argument that required Mrs. Stone’s intervention.
Prince Sydo Ridian the Fourth, heir to the Kingdom of Solia, slouched along next, his close-cropped fiery hair in disarray, the once-pristine royal doublet dusty and unkempt. Augum had never met a more spoiled brat, their acquaintance strained by the fact his father murdered Sydo’s. As it were, just watching the way Sydo’s back labored like a dog annoyed him, just as everything seemed to be bothersome of late, from the sand that crept into his clothes to the long silences between conversations.
“Pssst Leera,” he hissed. “Leera—!”
She barely turned her head, voice raspy. “What, damn it!”
He finally had her attention, but forgot what he wanted to say. “I’m worried about Mya, she still hasn’t spoken,” he blurted.
Leera gave a derisive snort.
“You don’t care?”
She didn’t reply.
“Fine, don’t say anything.” When she still didn’t respond, he had to fight the urge to shout at her. He really wanted to talk about all the things going on in his head, all the worries and fears. If anyone could understand, it should be her.
Instead, he turned his attention to Mya’s dragging footsteps behind him. Mya hadn’t spoken since the memorial ceremony days ago. Even when the prince addressed her—whom she was sworn to obey—she gave no response. She had not been the same since witnessing the death of her fellow servants.
Augum stole a glance at her, sure that seeing her porcelain face would lift his spirits. But instead of a tall beauty with a warm smile, he saw a hunched girl plodding along as if carrying a great weight. Her once silky jet hair was lanky and uncombed. Her almond eyes, usually brilliant emerald, were downcast and dull. Her plain black servant dress would have been the picture of cleanliness back in the castle, but now it was dusty and torn.
He turned back lest the image burn itself into his mind. Despite being five years his senior, he thought her the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, that soon they’d find plenty of food, water and shelter, yet he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. Perhaps he was too afraid of making a fool of himself, like the time he had opened a door in Castle Arinthian and found her standing there wanting entry. Instead of moving aside, he gaped like a fool while Bridget and Leera snickered.
Had they snickered, or was that a malicious twist of memory? This place … this place gave him a bad feeling. Maybe Mya had a remedy for the dark thoughts. She was, after all, a non-arcane traditional healer. He tried to think of ways to approach her on the subject, but his mind drifted with the ever-changing dunes. He imagined her suddenly grabbing him and tearfully apologizing for being so cold, so distant, so—
Mrs. Stone abruptly stopped and turned around. Everyone gathered near, hair and robes whipping in the wind like dry grass.
“It should not be far now,” she said in a wheezy voice.
“The same story she fed us yesterday,” Prince Sydo said under his breath. “I wager she really could teleport us there, she just wants to teach us some inane lesson.”
Bridget’s face darkened. “Mrs. Stone already told you that Ley blocks certain spells to prevent a quick attack from armies. You know she’d never—”
Sydo’s face twisted. “Unnameable gods, must you prattle—”
Mrs. Stone held up a withered hand, instantly quelling them. “Sit. Down.”
They collapsed where they stood while she reached into her robe, withdrawing a small crystal orb.
“Mercy, your endless bickering is getting quite tiresome of late. I need to depart to scavenge more food. Comport yourselves until my return.”
Augum stared at the scion with undiminished fascination. He still had a hard time believing the Leyans forged this highly sought-after artifact over fifteen hundred years ago. How his ancestors managed to keep it in the family from one generation to the next, stretching all the way back to Atrius Arinthian, was a complete mystery to him. He had an even harder time believing that little orb was what all this trouble was about. His father, the Lord of the Legion, wanted all seven to complete his Great Quest. He supposedly possessed two thus far—what would happen if he attained them all?
He checked over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the murderous man astride his deathly horse, golden armor gleaming in the bleak sun. He only saw a wind-blasted orange emptiness.
When he turned back to his great-grandmother, the scion hovered before her, emitting a quiet hum. She whispered arcane words and imploded into nothingness with a percussive THWOMP.
“That’s what she should be teaching us,” the prince said with a sneer.
For once, Augum agreed, never mind that Teleport was a 9th degree spell.
Leera sneered. “Yeah, and you certainly have the talent for it, Your Highness.” She closed her eyes and fell backwards onto the dirt.
“Your sarcasm is as dull as your wit, peasant girl.”
Usually Leera would not let that slide, but in this case, she only sighed deeply, probably as exhausted as Augum was. He stole a sidelong glance at Mya, who sat with glazed eyes.
Bridget placed a hand on Leera’s arm. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’re almost there.”
Leera did not respond, letting her tongue loll out from her mouth like a lazy snail.
Bridget frowned and turned her attention to the group. “Maybe we should all tell stories, or practice arcanery, do something … constructive. You know, stay busy and positive?”
Sydo massaged his temples. “Ughh … why have I been condemned to the company of commoners?”
Sydo had obviously forgotten he was only here because they had saved him from a most untimely end. Augum leaned forward to deliver a few terse words but caught a look from Bridget. She seemed determined to keep it civil, and he relented.
“The legendary Land of the Ley. What a jape,” Sydo went on, head now resting on his knees. “I should be in Blackhaven on my father’s throne, commanding a kingdom and attended to by royal subjects. Instead, I am surrounded by fools in this miserable desert—”
“Oh, shut up already!” Leera said without opening her eyes.
Sydo’s face went purple. “How. Dare. You. You, whose parents, like my own, were slaughtered by this one’s villainous father!” He stabbed a thumb at Augum, who felt his blood begin to boil.
Leera shot up, voice a deadly whisper. “Don’t you dare bring that up—”
“The only difference,” Sydo continued, speaking through gritted teeth, “is yours deserved to die.”
For a moment, they all stared at him. Even he appeared stunned by what he said, his mouth hanging open. “I … I didn’t mean—”
Leera shot forward, grabbing him by the throat. Sydo gasped and flailed.
“Stop it, both of you!” Bridget desperately tried to pry them apart while Mya sat watching as if they were nothing more than two quibbling hens in a coop. “Augum, help me—”
Augum, who was still trying to understand why Sydo had said that, sprang to help. It took both of them to uncurl Leera’s fingers from the prince’s throat and wrestle her back. She stumbled and fell to the dirt, raven hair sticking to her forehead, looking like a freckled bull about to charge. Instead, she scowled, dusted herself off, and turned away.
“Are … are you all right, Your Highness?” Bridget asked, panting.
Augum felt his temper rise—Sydo had just said her parents deserved to die and she was calling him Your Highness?
The prince coughed, rubbing his neck, face a patchwork of loathing. He slowly turned his gaze to Bridget. “How could you let her maul me? You believe yourself worthy of my company? You are a miserable, unbecoming—do not presume to touch me—!”
Bridget recoiled as if bitten, eyes immediately tearing up.
For a moment, there was only the sound of robes flapping in the wind, until Sydo gave Augum a disgusted look.
“What are you looking at?” Augum asked, fighting the urge to punch the snotling in his face.
Suddenly Bridget turned back to them, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Fine! Great! Just kill each other, see if I care!” She fell to her knees, weeping into her hands. “I can’t do this anymore …”
Augum watched his friend heave with sobs and felt his heart tighten. What was happening to them? Why were they so angry, so emotional? “I’m … I’m sorry, I don’t know what—”
“—my mother told me about this place,” Mya said, voice almost lost to the wind, hair flailing like a tangle of snakes.
Everyone froze. It was the most she had spoken in days.
“We shall claw each other’s eyes out then lie down and starve to death.”
Bridget took Mya’s porcelain hands in her own. “Can you tell us more?”
Mya wiped a tear from Bridget’s face, and looked off into the distance.
“You need not bother with her,” Sydo said, waving dismissively. “She is as useless as a mule without legs.”
Augum’s fists instantly curled, but Bridget noticed and lunged in between, holding his gaze, the compassion in her eyes disarming his anger.
“Just let that fiend finish the job already! After all, it runs in the family—”
Bridget’s head whipped around. “What’s the matter with you! Have you no sense of decency? Have you turned into an animal?”
Sydo’s gaze faltered under Bridget’s glare.
“What if Mya’s right?” Leera asked. “I mean, what if we keep walking until we’re driven mad? What if we don’t find the Leyans in time? Or what if they’re all dead, or even worse, only myth, and this whole place is nothing but stupid, endless desert—”
“Control yourself,” Bridget said. “We’ll be fine. We have Mrs. Stone.”
Sydo made a sound like air flapping through loose bellows. “Oh, yes, and what great good that has done us here. Do you truly believe we can continue this death march on berries and leaves and so little water? We should be dead in a day if this continues—”
“—will you just stop it, you’re not helping.” Bridget’s voice shook. “We’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
Augum glanced at their tracks, concerned Mya might be right. He watched the wind slowly eat away at them. By the morning, they’ll have disappeared.
Bridget wiped her sandy face with her sleeve and drew her robes tighter. “Please, let’s all just get some sleep. Who knows when Mrs. Stone will return.”
Augum tightened his hood to keep the sand from stinging his face and tried to catch some sleep. But his dark thoughts just wouldn’t let him. Everything that ever went wrong in his life paraded across his mind in a never-ending cavalcade of torment—the first time his foster parents beat him; Dap’s fist connecting with his face; being chased by a gaggle of boys in Willowbrook; watching the village burn from the safety of the Tallows while he anxiously curled the yellow gr
ass around his fingers …
Thomas
The day steadily dimmed as the clouds picked up their pace. The wind blew at a cold roar, stinging any exposed flesh and forcing them to huddle together. Nobody seemed to catch a wink of sleep. Prince Sydo’s teeth chattered as he sat in the middle of the group, a spot that afforded the most shelter. Lamenting the lack of blankets, Augum shivered in the front, taking the brunt of the wind.
As night descended, Augum felt as if he was trying to think through a fog. He stopped caring about his painfully cracked hands, his aching feet, the gnawing hollowness in his stomach, whether or not Mrs. Stone would return. He even forgot about all the terrible memories of his past. When he sat up, squinting at the palest of lines on the horizon, he let his hood fall away from his face, exposing it to the raking wind. The sting was numbing, yet he did nothing to correct it. He glanced skyward with the expression of a dull child, marveling at the moving masses of black cloud that seemed within reaching distance.
Glancing to his right, he was strangely unsurprised to see Bridget’s silhouette standing apart from the group. She faced the wind, hair streaming behind her, robe flapping violently. She took a step into the wind, stopped, took another step, and stopped again, repeating this motion, slowly walking further and further away.
He observed with neither fascination nor fear, only the subtlest feeling that something wasn’t right. He watched until Bridget’s form disappeared into the night, and when she was completely gone, he kept his eyes on the blackness still.
Suddenly there was a loud THWOMP. The area flooded with the light from a hovering pumpkin-sized sphere of lightning. It brought Mrs. Stone’s creased face into sharp relief, gnarled stick gripped tight in her hands, a sack slung over her shoulder. Augum, usually impressed by her ability to cast the 1st degree Shine spell in a different form, found himself observing with nothing short of banal apathy.
Her eyes took quick account of them. “Where is Bridget?”
No one stirred. Augum struggled to understand what she wanted. He knew the words, just not their significance. His head turned to the darkness where he last saw a familiar form. Mrs. Stone’s eyes followed his gaze. She immediately strode off in that direction, the globe of light trailing. He watched it weave about, shrinking down to the size of a firefly. The motion was oddly calming, the peace of it a soothing, mesmerizing balm.
