Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  “Thanks.” Leera gathered it into a pile and began striking flint against a small steel rod.

  Augum’s eyes searched for Thomas’ frame before realizing he would never see his great-grandfather again. The hollow pang in his stomach returned.

  Mya brushed Sydo’s damp hair away from his forehead. “We need the services of an arcane healer or he will not survive.”

  For a moment, everyone stopped what they were doing and glanced to the prince and Mya.

  “It’s a days’ walk east to Tornvale,” Augum said. “Maybe I can find a healer there.”

  “Forgive me, m’lo—err, Augum—but healers are very rare,” Mya said. “You will not find one in a hamlet or a village—only in a city.”

  “Not to mention they’re expensive,” Leera said, intensifying her efforts with the flint. “We could wait for the trapper. He could take Sydo to Tornvale on a sled or something.”

  Mya glanced down at the wheezing prince. “Pardon, m‘lady, but what if the trapper refuses to take him, or does not return for another day? We cannot wait.”

  “Ugh, I hate that m’lady stuff. You’re not my servant.”

  “My apologies, Leera, it is force of habit.”

  “I’ll go,” Augum said.

  Concern passed over Bridget’s face. “But your ribs—”

  He shrugged, forcing himself not to wince.

  Leera blew at a spark. “Then I’m coming with you.”

  “No way,” Bridget said. “You’d freeze without a winter garment.”

  Leera added some twigs to the smoking pile. “Not if I wrap myself in blankets, and not if we make mitts and boots out of more wolf hide.”

  “We can’t just take more hide, the trapper will throw us out—”

  “Look, mirko is harder to come by than wolf. We can scrape and clean it, then leave it for him in trade.”

  “I don’t know,” Augum said, fearing for Leera but also wanting company.

  “Look, it’s simple—if you’re going, I am too.” She blew at the tinder and a tiny flame emerged. “Bridget can stay here with Mya and look after the prince. Mya seems to be getting better anyway, her fever broke this morning.”

  “It’s true,” Mya said. “We have the mirko meat, we now have fire again, and we can make water and tea from snow. We’ll be fine. And I agree, Augum should have someone with him this time, and I’m still too weak. But we do need to make the mitts and boots first.”

  Bridget looked at them all before reluctantly nodding. “Then we have to start right away if you’re to make it to Tornvale by nightfall.”

  They worked in quiet harmony, roasting mirko then making two pairs of boots and two pairs of mitts from three ragged wolf pelts. The prince, meanwhile, seemed to be getting worse. His coughing came from deep within his chest, his breathing was ragged, and he mumbled deliriously.

  They finished in the afternoon. Augum threw on the wolf hide coat and pants, grabbed some roasted mirko meat wrapped in linen, and pulled on the newly made mitts and boots, right over his own leather turnshoes.

  “Couldn’t buy a better pair if you tried,” he said.

  “Forgive me but you need to make haste,” Mya said, blotting the prince’s forehead.

  Leera glanced out a snow-encrusted window. “We’re already behind. It’ll be well past dark by the time we reach Tornvale.”

  If we even find it, he thought. Travelling during the day was one thing, travelling by night quite another altogether. And in unfamiliar land no less.

  Leera pulled on the boots, mitts, gathered a blanket, and punched Augum on the shoulder. “Come on.”

  “Wait—” Bridget said. “Here, take Blackbite.”

  Augum waved it off. “We have Burden’s Edge.”

  Leera finished filling a skin of water from the kettle. “If the trapper returns—”

  “—we’ll tell him you’ve gone to Tornvale for help,” Bridget said.

  Augum peered at Mya and Bridget, both of whom stood to give them a farewell hug. When Mya wrapped her long arms around him, he felt a shiver. Things were different now though. There was a sense of urgency. Their lives were on the line here. It was more than just a friendly hug—it was an embrace with hopes of survival attached.

  She fixed him with those almond eyes. “Be careful and good luck.” Then she traded with Bridget to hug Leera.

  Bridget gave him a strong squeeze. He grimaced but bore the pain. “Come back to us,” she whispered, sweeping long cinnamon hair from her face.

  “We will, and I’ll try to bring more food. We should be back by nightfall tomorrow.”

  Bridget glanced back at Sydo. “Just hope he makes it …”

  Leera drew her hood and wrapped the blanket around herself like a giant shawl. She grinned. “All right, stop stalling,” and the pair exited, waving their last goodbyes as they descended the creaking steps.

  Augum’s heart grew heavy upon seeing the charred area where they had cremated his great-grandfather. They strode by without a word, the snow crisp underfoot. It was a gray, windy day, the cold bitter and unrelenting. It was difficult keeping direction, though he generally had a good idea of which way was east. It was mostly a matter of paying attention to the trees, as there were signs that helped determine from where the sun usually shone, such as the particular bend of certain bushes, or the abundance of moss on one side of a trunk. He perpetually scanned the surface of the snow, his heart racing with every pockmark or depression. Sticks in the sand, sticks in the snow, reveal a man, dead long ago …

  Leera kept right behind him. “We have to push on till we get to the village. Let’s not stop too much else we’ll freeze out here. This cold is brutal.”

  “Is the blanket enough?”

  “I’m managing …”

  All she wore were wool apprentice robes, linen undergarments, mitts, boots, and a single blanket. He knew that was dangerously inadequate and made a note to watch her. “We’ll trade later.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Their pace soon slowed. As the day wore on, the terrain became hilly and the trees shorter and sparser, broken by occasional snowy fields. The pair hardly talked at all, conserving their energies, stopping only once to eat some salted mirko steak. The wind picked up as nightfall approached, throwing snowdrift in their faces. Both their teeth were chattering now, and Augum was no longer able to feel his toes or his face, despite having drawn his hood tight around his head. His chest grated with each step, a ceaseless annoyance he just couldn’t get used to. Leera insisted all the while she was fine and refused to trade the blanket for his coat and pants.

  It was well past dusk, the sky opaque, when he began to worry. They had yet to stumble across a hunting or merchant trail.

  Leera, breathing heavily, stumbled. “Can we stop for a bit?”

  They hunkered down by a white birch, barely shielded from the frequent gusts.

  He glanced at her. Her skin was pale and her teeth were chattering. “That’s it, we’re trading.”

  “No, I’m fine—”

  “No, you’re not! We’re trading and I don’t want to hear anymore about it. Now get up.”

  She groaned but didn’t stand. “Can’t … Too cold.”

  He drew her hood tight around her head for her then removed his wolf coat as fast as he could. He began to stuff it on her when she stopped him.

  “No! Not over the blanket—you’re taking that, at least.”

  “Fine.” He took the blanket from her and finished helping her put on the coat. Then he removed his hide pants and made her step into them, the whole process shooting spasms through his chest and draining his energy. His legs began shaking almost immediately. How in Sithesia had she lasted this long? Why hadn’t he been more attentive to her needs? He wrapped the blanket around himself and hunkered down beside her, his own teeth chattering.

  “Aug?” she said as he dug for the mirko meat with numb hands.

  “Yes?”

  She smiled. “Thanks …”

&nbs
p; “You’re welcome, Miss Stubborn.”

  Her cheeks colored a little. She glanced at the cloudy skies. “Sun’s going down. Have to be careful.”

  He didn’t reply, choosing to save his energy. He ripped a large chunk of mirko meat off and handed it to her.

  “Let’s keep going,” he managed to stammer. Stopping had cooled them down and it was too dangerous to linger in the fading light.

  They resumed their eastward plowing, forced to lean into an increasingly bitter wind.

  Leera pointed at a spot to their right. “Stop! Tracks …”

  Augum’s hand reflexively went to Burden’s Edge. Upon closer inspection, they turned out to be sled, dog, and human tracks, and from the looks of them, there must have been three or more people.

  People were better than sticks—as long as they weren’t the Legion, that is.

  They followed the tracks eastward, something that became difficult as night descended and the wind gained in strength. And with no stars or moon, it soon became pitch-dark.

  Augum stopped, realizing he’d gone off course. “Where’re the tracks? Shyneo,” but the light of his palm did not penetrate the hide of his mitt.

  The wind gusted violently, drowning out Leera’s reply.

  “What—!”

  “Over here!” She was somewhere behind him. Eventually the two found each other using their voices, though it was disturbingly obvious that there was next to zero chance of them going on without a light source. And should they get separated …

  “We have to take turns casting Shine.” Leera’s trembling was now so bad he barely understood her.

  He removed his right mitt. “Shyneo,” but his hand would not light. He focused, realizing he was stuttering from the cold. “Shyneo. Shyneo!” with the last attempt, his palm finally lit up in an electric-blue glow, though his hand started hurting from the cold almost immediately. Great. His chest was already giving him enough trouble.

  Thirsty, hungry, and shivering, they plowed on, following the tracks, Augum’s arcanely lit palm illuminating the trees in a way that turned branches into creeping fingers. Unable to see much, he tried not to think about skeletal figures creeping up on them. His ears were hyper-tuned to any sound resembling a clacking.

  After a short while, Leera took her turn with Shine, having similar trouble lighting her palm. Luckily, the glowing arcane water didn’t freeze like normal water would have.

  Meanwhile, Augum carefully stuffed his painfully tingling hand back in its mitt, wondering just how long they could keep this up. Sydo better show some gratitude, he found himself thinking, pushing one numb foot in front of the other. They traded back and forth like this countless times, each also taking a turn at leading.

  Suddenly he spotted dark glistening mounds ahead in the snow. He stopped, gestured for Leera to draw Burden’s Edge as he did not want to take time to extinguish his palm. She gripped the pommel with her mitts and unsheathed the blade from his hip.

  The wind howled through the branches, the trees creaking as they swayed. The duo slowly approached, spotting dogs lying beside a sled filled with casks, snowdrifts piled up against their stiff bodies. A bloodied man lay close by.

  “What …happened—?” Leera asked, voice slowed by cold.

  He pointed at stick-like tracks. “Walkers. A bunch of them.” He examined the man. It wasn’t the trapper, maybe a trader though. The blood had well frozen over, and estimating by the pile of snowdrift, he guessed it happened only a few hours ago.

  Seeing bodies in the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere made him feel colder. Life was so fragile, so lonely. What a miserable end. Will the trader’s family ever know what had happened to him?

  “I wouldn’t want to die like this,” Leera whispered. “Awful.”

  Augum could only stare at the unmoving mounds. Now what would they do? Wolves might come at any moment, if not the walkers. It was dangerous to remain yet dangerous to continue, since the sled tracks stopped here.

  Leera rummaged through the contents of the sled. “Catch!” She threw him a long fur coat. He immediately put it on, placing the blanket around her shoulders. He helped her search.

  Hidden in a compartment underneath, they found a small hooded lantern, flint, steel, ten copper coins, and five silvers.

  He held up the lantern. “Finally some luck.”

  “We could use the coin to barter for food in town—”

  “—and now we can keep our hands in our mitts.” He lit the lantern, no easy task with frozen fingers and a strong wind. Soon it swayed in his hand as the pair searched the area, finding two sets of tracks going in opposite directions.

  “Survivors,” Leera said.

  “But they were chased.” He pointed at stick-like tracks. He guessed the second set was only one man with one walker trailing, and so he chose to follow it, hoping the man had run in the direction of town.

  The tracks went on and on. It appeared neither the man nor the walker wanted to give up. Augum tried to keep his mind off the cold by pondering if walkers got tired, if they lived forever, why it was they appeared here and now, and who exactly was bringing them back to life. Was it Sparkstone, or were there other necromancers now? The thought of his father so close made his heart thump a little faster.

  He knew the Legion was looking for them, so whatever happened in town, it might be best to go under a false name. He thought of the trapper’s grizzled face. Did the man know? Was he leading a slew of Black Guard back to the cabin at that moment?

  There was faint light ahead, blinking through branches.

  “Aug, the lantern—” Leera whispered.

  He snuffed it out. She nudged him with the pommel of the Dreadnought blade and he took it back. Hunching down, they carefully made their way towards the light, forgetting about the tracks. As they neared, it became apparent it was a long series of torches ringing a village.

  “Tornvale?” Leera mouthed.

  Closer still, they heard voices and could just make out the outline of two figures between the torches and the forest. Leera put a finger to her lips as a man’s voice spoke in authoritative yet irritated tones.

  “… tolerating the failed experiments of the necrophytes—greener at their arts than you are with that crossbow, son.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied a higher-pitched voice. “Perhaps if we—”

  “I do not care for your opinion,” the deep voice interrupted, sounding bored.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry sir.”

  “And we are supposed to raise an army of them. An army. The sheer logistics. We cannot even get the damn things to keep away from our men. You saw how that one came tearing into here. That lucky sack of ale and flesh barely made it. Gone are the days when honor meant meeting your enemy in the field, sword to sword, or bow to bow. Now we raise our enemies to do the fighting for us. And do not even get me started on warlocks.” The man sighed. “All I ask of my great lord is to do my duty—my duty, son.”

  “Sir, duty unto death—”

  “Yes, yes. You mark my words—the days of honor and truth are over.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This is a waste of my time. Keep watch. Stay alert. Expect more.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  With that, the man with the deep voice walked off. Augum gestured for Leera to back off. A distance away, they crouched down and strategized in quiet whispers as the wind rattled the trees.

  “… but they might recognize us,” Leera finished saying.

  “You heard what Mya said though—he’ll die if not attended to by a healer. He might drive me as crazy as he does you, but what choice do we have? We at least need to ask them for one. Who knows, maybe they’re a different sort than the kind we bump into up north.”

  “Aug, even if they do accept, they’d probably just send us some necromancer or something.”

  “Isn’t that better than nothing?”

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “If the town wasn’t occupied, then maybe, but now it’s impossible—th
ey’re the Black Guard—”

  “Not if we come up with a good story. Maybe we can try bribing them using the sled.”

  “I sense a crazy idea coming.”

  “You saw it yourself—casks of ale. Look, we can do this, all we have to do is play dumb,” and playing dumb was something he had plenty of practice doing at the Penderson farm. “We’ll pretend we’re brother and sister from a poor family—I’ll be Jared and you can be Wyza.” Jared and Wyza were the names of two of the Penderson brats. They were the first names that came to mind, as much as he hated them.

  “Wyza? Forget it, I’m going to be Jezebel—!”

  “Shh. You can’t be Jezebel, it’s a highborn-sounding name.”

  She crossed her arms. “Fine, Wyza then.

  “All right. We’ll tell them we live in a cabin west of here and we can pay for the healer’s services with the location of a sled full of ale—”

  A twig snapped and they froze. Something was moving nearby in the snow. Suddenly a lantern was uncovered, throwing yellow light on the both of them.

  “Don’t move or I’ll split your head in two with a bolt!” shouted a squeaky voice. The lantern only threw light forward, so the figure was cloaked all in darkness, except for the front of a crossbow, aimed directly at Leera’s head. “Got me some runaways here! Send for the commander!”

  Augum’s heart hammered as he heard voices shout from the village.

  “Please, sir—” Leera began, putting her hands together in prayer, but the man took a step forward.

  “Quiet you! Don’t say nothin’ unless I say so.”

  Augum’s mind raced. Even with Centarro, the most potent spell he could cast, that bolt would be through Leera’s head before he even finished speaking the arcane words, and his Telekinesis was nowhere near powerful or fast enough to wrench the crossbow from the man’s hands.

  Commands were issued from the same voice they heard earlier. Soon a slew of black-armored men grabbed them roughly and dragged them by their arms, facedown.