Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)
Page 17
“Aug, don’t you—”
“I said shut it!” The guard smacked her with the back of his mailed hand and she yelped again.
Robin leaned in even closer. Augum smelled the rotten stench of the grave off his robes and felt his stomach spasm.
“Well, gutterborn?”
Augum only stood there, fighting to stay conscious from all the blood loss and pain but refusing to speak. He couldn’t give Nana up, it’d be the end of them all. He bit his lower lip and glared defiantly at Robin. Blood continued to drip off his chin, splattering Robin’s boot.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Robin whispered. “Hold him!”
One of the guards grabbed Augum and slammed him against the wall as Robin marched over to Leera, who lay slumped on the ground, hands protecting her head. He punched her in the face, glancing back at Augum to make sure he saw. She whimpered and her hand shot to her cheek. Augum jerked in the guard’s grip. The man grabbed his jaw and held it firmly pointed at Leera.
“Are you going to tell us where the crone went or not?”
When Augum didn’t reply, Robin punched her again, even harder. Her head hit the back wall with a sickening thud. Her hands fell away from her bloody face and her eyes wandered the room in a daze. “Aug …”
“One. Final. Time, gutterborn. Where did the crone go?”
Augum tensed, fighting to keep the dark tunnel of unconsciousness at bay. This wasn’t worth it. Just tell them already, you fool!
Robin opened his palm and smiled. “Grab her!”
The other guard took Leera’s arms with one hand and bent them back, holding her head with the other.
“Why don’t I make that face truly ugly. Shyneo!” Robin’s palm burst with fire. Leera kicked out with her feet as his burning palm closed in, the leather of her turnshoes squealing against the iron floor. She unleashed a scream that rang Augum’s innards like a giant bell. He struggled violently against the guard’s grip, knowing Robin and the Blade of Sorrows would only keep escalating their brutality until he or Leera told them where Mrs. Stone went. He couldn’t stay conscious for much longer, and then what would they do to her?
Forgive me, Nana, he thought.
The commander, who had been carefully watching him, straightened a little. “Look, Apprentice.”
Robin glanced over, flaming palm near Leera’s face. His eyes were full of … could that be joy? Augum suddenly understood exactly what Tridian was really doing here. Leera was right—he was making a monster. The thought occurred to him that if he joined his father, it would be him standing there alongside the Lord of the Legion …
Tridian made an idle gesture and the guard let go of Augum’s jaw with a yank.
“I’m sorry, Lee, I can’t let them hurt you.” Leera moaned in protest but he returned his gaze to Robin. “Mrs. Stone has gone north to the mountain monks.”
It was over, they had won.
“You see there, Apprentice? How his body relaxed like that? The way the eyes fell to the floor in resignation? One, he is telling the truth, and two, now you must press.”
Robin was nodding along, absorbing every word like a dutiful son. He studied Augum carefully, no longer like a human being, but as a thing, or rather as a nothing.
Augum felt as hollow as a cavern. He recalled the torture room in Castle Arinthian, constructed by Narsus, his father’s predecessor, and wondered if others folded as quickly as he did, just by the threat of torture of a friend or loved one.
Robin kept his burning palm near Leera as a barrage of questions followed.
“Does she have the scion?”
“Yes.”
“Has she trained you with it?”
“No.”
“Does she know where you are?”
“No.”
The answers came automatically now. Tridian would occasionally point something out to Robin, but Augum didn’t care. His only concern was for his suffering friend, whimpering on the floor. Tears rolled down Leera’s cheeks, and all he wanted to do was gently take her in his arms and dry them.
“ … what kind of opposition does the Legion face in Tiberra?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does the crone have an army?”
“No.”
“Does she have a following of warlocks with her?”
“No.”
The questions kept on, mostly about the coming war. He answered truthfully to them all, though he hardly knew much about anything. There weren’t many questions involving him and the others either, perhaps because they hadn’t suspected a bunch of fourteen-year-olds to have gone to a place called Ley, and Augum certainly wasn’t about to volunteer information like that. Though if they had asked him about it, he would have told them that too.
“And now you must reward your subject for being honest, Apprentice.”
A malicious smile crept across Robin’s face.
“Not that kind of reward.”
Robin’s face fell.
“Guard,” Tridian said. “Take her back to the cell and see that she is fed.”
The guard thumped the floor with his spear and dragged a limp Leera out.
Robin leaned in close. “Oh, we’re not done with you yet!” and he laughed before suddenly gripping Augum’s head and smashing it against the wall.
Augum saw innumerable white-hot lights sweep his vision, barely felt his body hit the floor. He heard Tridian sigh. “Learn when to show restraint, Apprentice,” before blacking out.
He came to on a cold stone floor amid cries from Bridget, Mya and Leera, just as the guards slammed his cell door shut and marched off. He couldn’t make any sound or move. He lay numb and spent. Well, at least he’d held out long enough. He hadn’t told them that should his father ever come to possess all seven scions, he’d be destroyed. Nor had he told them about Ley.
The girls kept trying to get him to say something, but he just couldn’t do it. Never had pain and exhaustion mingled in such a sweet brew. Mercy came quickly in the form of sleep.
Nerve
Augum woke once again to the butt end of a spear, this time having no illusions as to what it was or where he was. He was really starting to hate being woken up this way.
“Eat your slop, boy.”
He sat up, wincing from the grating in his chest and the countless other aches and throbs, cuts and bruises. The movement immediately caused the tunnel of darkness and nausea to return. When he placed his hand to his blood-caked face, it felt gritty and foreign.
“Eat your slop, I say.”
He glanced up at the blurred outline of a guard.
“They sure worked you over good, boy. You as blue as a berry.”
Augum dragged himself over to a bowl of congealed soup and a piece of hard bread. The sight of the soup skin turned his stomach. He picked up the wooden spoon and pretended to eat.
The guard grunted and walked on, followed by a man with a cart. A pair of bony hands extended from the cell opposite. “M’lords … please.”
The guard scowled, threatening Cled with a spear. Cled withdrew, though his eyes soon travelled to Augum’s bowl. He smacked toothless lips, waiting for the guards to walk a bit further.
“They only feeds me once a day. They says I be too old for more.”
Augum wordlessly tossed him the piece of bread and shoved the bowl of soup between them in the corridor. He then collapsed, the effort draining his energy.
Cled snatched the bowl. “Bless your heart, boy.”
“Augum—” Leera whispered, her hand extending from her cell and reaching to his. “Are you all right? Oh, Aug … please, say something!”
He tried to speak but only gasps came out. His tongue felt like a large slug.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You held out as best you could.”
He stared at her grasping hand.
“Hold my hand, just for a little bit … please.”
He moved towards it but a wave of nausea stopped him. Perhaps he should have eaten after a
ll.
“Are you listening to me—? Say something!”
“I’m … all … right,” he managed to croak finally, barely able to recognize his own voice.
Leera’s hand disappeared as she whimpered. “You sound awful,” she said, voice shaking. “But I’m glad you’re all right—and you don’t have to worry about the others. Everyone’s okay—Bridget, Mya, the prince, though they took him away somewhere and haven’t brought him back since. Mya’s in the cell to my right and Bridget’s to her right.”
Her hand stretched out again, her voice soft. “Please, take my hand, Aug.”
He winced reaching for it. When they connected, she squeezed and refused to let go.
“Aug … I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing … to … apologize … for …”
“You need a healer. You lost a lot of blood. You—”
“I’m … fine,” he lied. “How’s … your … head?”
“It smarts, but I’ve taken worse knocks falling from trees.” She tugged him forward a little, voice dropping to an almost inaudible murmur. “Listen, we have to figure something out. We have to get out of here and warn Mrs. Stone.”
Warn her? They don’t even know how get to her.
The blackness returned. Sitting up was too difficult. His grip loosened but she refused to let go.
“Aug?”
“Mmm?”
“Do this with me. Let’s come up with a plan.”
He grunted, doubting he could put together any coherent thought right now.
She gave his hand a final squeeze before letting go, allowing him to slump. “Great—I’ll pass on the word.”
He lay there until realizing Cled had been watching him the entire time, and probably had heard every word. The old man leaned forward, smiling toothlessly, still holding the bowl of soup, now licked clean.
“I know that look, boy. Ye done want to escape. Well put it out o’ your mind ‘cause it be barking mad to try. You’d only be killing yourself and your friends. The Blade of Sorrows is no fool, he has them guards posted everywhere like flies on this here soup they be serving—” Cled hushed up as two guards walked by in the relatively narrow corridor, laughing at a jape one of them told.
Leera’s hand reappeared when the guards had passed. “Aug—listen,” she whispered as Cled retreated to a dark corner of his cell, eyes glinting. “We’ve been keeping track. The guards patrol steadily, but they take their time during meal breaks. We could use, you know … see.”
He blinked, trying to figure out what she meant, before realizing it was the letter C, as in Centarro.
“Rest … first.”
“Of course, I’m so sorry. Don’t rush it. You rest and I’ll be right here, all right?”
He groaned, closed his eyes. He lay in that exact position for a long time, drifting in and out of consciousness, until another bowl was shoved in the cell. This time, he dragged himself over and painstakingly ate every last bit of the bitter soup and stale bread.
The effect was like drinking from the Arinthian fountain. He sat up, trying to avoid scratching at his itchy face.
“Lee …”
“I’m right here—”
“Let’s use C, but we’ll have to practice for the after effects.”
Cled shuffled forward. “Use ‘See’? That some power ye be talking about, boy? Ye be trying to magic your way out, that it?”
He didn’t respond, thinking Cled may be a spy planted there by the Blade of Sorrows to keep an eye on them. Centarro was their only hope right now. He couldn’t take the chance of the Legion discovering the spell. For all he knew, they might be forced to teach the Legion how to use it, and such a spell would be disastrous in the wrong hands. He wondered if there was a prisoner to his left that might overhear, yet he hadn’t heard anyone stir in that cell, nor had soup been delivered there.
Cled’s eyes shifted left and right as his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, let me tell ye a secret, boy—one o’ me own sons is a warlock.”
Augum leaned forward. “What?” He could hear Leera do the same.
“That’s right, he once be a Legion warlock, until they done killed him for helping the other side.”
“I’m sorry,” Augum said.
“Now don’t go getting me wrong, when he was just a wee one, I tries to beat it out o’ him, I did. I tries hard, but it only made him want it more.” His eyes dropped. “I be regretting the way I was. I done him no good. I done him no good at all.”
Augum had this strange vision of Mr. Penderson before him and had to rub his eyes.
Cled put his toothless mug right up against the bars now, face grave. “Ye listen to me now, boy, and you listen good. What I be saying is, I understand. If ye can magic your way out, ye done better do it. Get out. Get out now, boy. And why? Because soon they’ll take them girls and put them to work for the war, and you’ll never see them again. That’s what happens to girls who done the Legion no good.”
Augum’s heart thundered. Cled was right, and maybe, just maybe, he isn’t a spy after all. He felt the blood in his veins roar again as his mind raced to come up with a plan.
“Go on. Get. And I thank ye for the soup and bread, boy, it done saved me life for one more day.” Cled retreated into the shadows of his cell, leaving Augum to contemplate. And then an idea came, and it involved study.
“Psst. Leera—” Her hand appeared and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s begin.”
“Damn right. What’s the plan?”
“Study your door. See if you can find a weakness using C. If you find one, pass it along, but keep the door closed. Don’t break it or anything or do anything else. Just learn and observe. Oh, and be sure to prepare for the side effects.”
“Gotcha.”
He returned to Thomas’ initial training on Centarro, when his great-grandfather made them carefully examine the bark of a tree. With that lesson in mind, he set himself to inspecting the bars again—every detail, including every one of the four hinges, and especially the lock mechanism. There was nothing apparent, but he knew that wasn’t the point. Under the influence of Centarro, he may yet find some use for his observations.
That complete, he studiously planned casting the spell. Leera and Bridget had been a bit less patient than he, casting it almost right away and with little success, yet passing on information they had learned in their trials. Bridget revealed it was best to cast it right after the guards patrolled by, and to face the wall at the back of the cell when it wears off so one’s attention is focused on something unexciting.
Leera, on the other hand, managed to pick off a small shard of iron from one of the bars, which could be used as a small tool. She also told him that his calming words helped when the spell had worn off, and that she would return the favor when he tried.
All this information, in addition to what he had observed, he would apply to this trial. When the guards next walked by, he took three deep breaths and closed his eyes.
“Centeratoraye xao xen.”
Immediately time seemed to slow as he became aware of every subtlety. Colors enhanced and sharpened; sound boomed and whispered nuances; the rhythm of his heart ebbed and flowed musically.
Cled watched with interest, but Augum paid him no heed.
First, he planned for the after-effects—he was going to turn around and stare at the back wall and spend the time simply thanking his great-grandfather for passing on this knowledge, and that was all. He then pressed forward and explored the bars with his hands, especially the hinges, finding nothing to exploit. He focused on the lock.
“Leera,” he whispered, reaching out his hand. “The shard.”
She handed it to him and he began exploring the inner working of the lock. The feeling soon came that his time was almost up, but all he needed to do was understand how it worked, and so he fiddled carefully, not trying to open it, just trying to understand it.
Suddenly it dawned on him he needed a second shard.
Meanwhile, Leera whispered encouraging words: “Good job, Augum. Relax, just sit and relax, there’s nothing going on out here, the guards are not coming …” She continued speaking this way until his fog cleared. His head throbbed and he felt woozy, but under the circumstances, it was a very successful casting.
“I think I might be able to pick the lock. Just need another shard or something.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She disappeared to whisper with Mya, reporting they’re looking for one now.
A guard patrol sauntered by, unaware of their plans.
Cled leaned into the light. “Mighty brave, boy. They’d whip ye raw or worse if ye get caught. I wish ye luck, though luck not be good as this—” and he produced something from within his rags.
“I found it when they be giving me a whipping for asking about me boys. They never saw me take it. I been hiding it ever since, thinking I might be needing it one day, either for them, or for me own throat.” He wheezed a laugh and tossed it to him. It turned out to be the blade of a kitchen knife, missing its handle.
Augum smiled for the first time in what felt like days. “Thank you, it’s exactly what I need.” He informed Leera, who gave a quiet squeal before passing on the word. Then he waited a while, renewing his arcane energies—just in case.
“Good luck, Aug,” she whispered.
The timing of this had to be crucial. “Don’t screw this up,” he muttered to himself. He gripped the lock, terribly conscious of how exposed his hands were, and went at it, working only when the guards’ backs were turned. They passed by twice more without him getting caught, thanks to his lookouts—Cled watched the left, girls the right.
At last, he heard the most satisfying sound in the world—click.
The lock had sprung.
Cled’s gnarled face pressed against the bars, grinning toothlessly. “By barrel o’ ale—ye done did it, boy. Careful now, don’t be rushing. Wait till they pass.”