Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  “Why Nephew—” Erika said in a deeply wounded voice.

  “SHUT UP WOMAN!” This time, Robin’s voice was filled with real rage. The room was completely silent, and Augum knew then that the commander had won. They needed to stop listening and concentrate on getting out of there. He almost felt sorry for Erika. Had to be quite humiliating to be questioned in such a manner by one’s own nephew, especially for a lady who considered herself in such … high esteem.

  He unstuck his ear from the orb and beckoned the girls to join him in a huddle.

  “What are you doing?” Leera whispered. “I want to see that evil witch squirm—”

  “Look, I went through that, it’s only a matter of time until Erika spills the grain and tells them we’re here, maybe even moments. We have to get out of here, and the only thing I could think of is Centarro. It’s the only spell she hasn’t prepared for.”

  The girls nodded.

  “All right,” Leera said. “We can try the door. If that fails—” she looked to the hole in the wall. The suicide route.

  “Let’s go then,” Bridget said.

  They quietly made their way over and began preparing to cast Centarro, agreeing Bridget would perform the spell this time while Leera and Augum kept watch, reasoning two people suffering from the side effects of Centarro was far too risky.

  “Centeratoraye xao xen,” Bridget said, kneeling before the door. She took a deep breath before her hands began exploring it, particularly the keyhole. She tried various things, from peering into it, picking it with a small iron shard they had ripped from the brazier, to even stuffing it with ice.

  Nothing worked.

  “I can’t …” she said at last, eyes already glazing over.

  “Spell’s wearing off,” Leera said, taking her by the hand and leading her away from the orb. Bridget was soon gazing about the room like a dull child, a silly grin on her face. She pointed at the orb and was about to say something when Leera clamped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head firmly.

  Meanwhile, conscious that time was quickly running out, Augum tried the Unconceal spell, hoping to find something hidden, some key or secret door or something else to pick the lock with—but there was nothing.

  He caught a shaft of sunlight in the face, emanating from the barrel-sized hole in the wall they had repaired. He paced over to it and glanced outside. A sharp wind waved his hair about his forehead. The trees swayed below, shedding plumes of snow. Everything was covered by a thick fresh powdery snowfall, sparkling in the sun.

  Well, this was their only hope now …

  He glanced down. It was a straight drop, maybe a hundred feet, with nothing but jagged rocks below. His breath quickened. It looked like certain death to even attempt going out there.

  When Centarro’s side effects dissipated, the girls appeared by his side.

  Bridget looked pale. “You’re not seriously thinking …”

  He stepped aside. “Just have a look for yourselves, see what you think.”

  Bridget vigorously shook her head and retreated.

  Leera stuck hers out immediately. “Here—hold on to me.” She leaned out further almost before they could catch her arm. She then looked up and down the outside of the tower, hair whipping about in the wind.

  “Pull me in!” They did so. “All right, I have an idea. I think there might be a way to climb up.”

  Bridget gave her a look as if she had completely lost her mind. “What? Why in all of Sithesia—”

  “Keep your voice down,” Leera said, giving the orb a sidelong look.

  Augum wondered how the interrogation was going. He hoped that, as with him, Tridian was drawing it out.

  “Look, trust me on this,” she continued, “there’re these holes in the walls above this spot. We could use them as handholds. We climb to the ruins above then make our way down, sneaking by the guards. Come on, it’ll be easy, like climbing a tree.”

  “—and rescue Mya of course,” Augum added.

  “Sure,” Leera said quickly.

  Bridget glanced to the hole and any remaining color drained from her face.

  To Augum’s thinking though, they really didn’t have a choice. The way down was smooth stone, and no matter how clever they were under the influence of the Centarro spell, it was simply not possible to live through a fall from this height. They had to risk it, the alternative too grim to consider.

  He inspected the outside of the tower and confirmed Leera’s theory. “Bridge, we can do this—”

  Bridget took one quick look down from the lip and recoiled backwards. “No way, not doing it, no chance …” She kept shaking her head. “You two know I have a fear of heights …”

  He rubbed his forehead. He would have suggested Bridget cast Centarro again but since she just cast it, it was too risky. If the spell wore off, or worse, failed midway up the climb … the thought was too horrible to finish.

  Bridget took another step back, rubbing her arms, still shaking her head. “You two go ahead, I’ll stay here and wait.”

  “No way, Bridge,” Leera said, giving her a firm hug. “You’re coming.” She glanced to Augum, face etched with worry. What do you think, Aug, can she use Centarro again so soon?”

  “Already thought about it—way too risky. What if the spell wore off before she got to safety? I’m even worried about us using it. It could expire before we got to the top.”

  “Wait, what if me and you climbed first without Centarro, while Bridget watched where we placed our hands and mimicked us?”

  They turned to Bridget, who took a step back, endlessly shaking her head.

  “Bridge, please, this is the only way.” Leera took her hands in her own. “It would work as long as you didn’t look down.”

  “You can do it, Bridge,” Augum chimed in.

  After a tense moment, Bridget forced a nod. He and Leera expelled a long breath.

  “All right, you’ll have to watch very carefully, Bridge,” he said, tossing his blanket aside. He couldn’t afford to get tangled up in it on the ascent. “And whatever you do, don’t look down, okay? It’s just like climbing a tree—”

  “But I’ve never climbed a tree before.”

  Augum and Leera exchanged looks.

  “Never mind that,” Leera said, dragging her to the edge. “It’ll be easy, trust me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I can do this …” Bridget said, glimpsing the great white expanse beyond. A wind whipped her cinnamon hair across her face. She didn’t bother sweeping it aside, instead holding her hands close to herself and trying to step away from the edge, but Leera wouldn’t let her.

  “Look, I’ll go first,” he said. “Stop looking down, would you? Only look up.”

  Bridget nodded stiffly, still trying to squirm away from the edge. Leera took over talking to her, calmly explaining what it was she needed to do—they both need to do in fact—and that was to pay attention to where Augum was finding his handgrips.

  As he swung outside the tower, dangling over a drop that would certainly kill him, the entirety of his insides felt as if they had climbed up into his throat. He clutched the wall like a spooked cat and took some time to examine the area above.

  The good news was that he could see the lip of the top of the tower. The bad news was the wind and cold would be dangerous foes during the climb. Although he had climbed plenty of trees when he was younger, especially when running away from the Penderson brats, this was something wholly different. He had never climbed a wall like this before, especially not in such vicious conditions.

  He reached for the first hole in the stone just above him, wincing from the stabbing in his chest, but discovered he had to scrape off the ice first. The next grip was a tiny outcrop of stone, also ice-encrusted, the one after a groove between two blocks, and so it went. It wasn’t long before he developed a rhythm, scraping off a purchase with numb fingers before gripping it. He tried as best he could to let the girls see what he was grasping onto, sometimes shouting an instruction
or two about which stones and holes were safest. At one point, however, a strong gust made him lose his grip and he swung out like a loose sail. Luckily, his remaining hand held, though calming Bridget down was another story.

  At long last, with frozen and bleeding fingers and nerves strung thin as winter grass, he pulled himself over an icy lip caked with snow. The climb was the most foolhardy thing he had ever attempted, and he had barely made it. He took a brief look around before crouching over the lip to help guide the next person, trying to ignore the horrible buzzing anxiety his entire body felt.

  As it turned out, Leera made the call to send Bridget, which he thought was wise, as they could throw encouragement from above and below. If she had gone last, there was a good chance she would not have come at all.

  This could actually work, he thought, until seeing Bridget swing out, frantically clawing at the wall like a petrified rabbit. He held his breath, yet somehow she just managed to hold on.

  Her small frame, juxtaposed against a long fall ending in sharp rock, was enough to make him sweat, even in this frigid cold.

  “Remember, Bridge, don’t look down!” Leera called from below.

  “Focus on me and every handhold!” Augum called from above.

  Slowly, very slowly, Bridget pawed at the next handhold, looking straight at Augum, tears rolling down her cheeks. He had never seen her so scared. “Come on, you can do it Bridge, that’s it, take your time …” he said, even though time was not exactly something they had an abundance of. He expected soldiers to storm up any moment, and then what would happen?

  Yet what came next was infinitely worse. Bridget was halfway up, fingers trembling on a tentative grip, when a powerful gust swooped in. For the briefest moment, he locked eyes with her and they shared a look of surprise, before she was ripped off the tower.

  Augum and Leera screamed.

  The Seeing Orb

  It was a moment Augum would never forget for as long as he lived—a life flashing before his eyes, the entire sequence ending in the death of one of his best friends. Yet at the end of that visual play, where he relived every moment they shared as friends, one particular scene stood out—the time they gathered near a fire in Castle Arinthian and placed their hands on Mrs. Stone’s blue book.

  He remembered his words well in that sacred moment: “I solemnly swear, on the ghosts of my mother, Sir Westwood, and on those that my father has slain, that I will learn the arcane tongue. Their deaths will not have been in vain.”

  I will learn the arcane tongue …

  A jolt of recognition.

  He shot his arm out and beckoned, summoning and applying everything he had learned with Telekinesis, every ounce of arcane strength he possessed—and then reaching beyond, into the arcane unknown. Unconsciously, his 1st degree ring erupted around his forearm, a miniature bolt of lightning spiraling brighter than it had ever before.

  He knew it was possible, though at a much higher degree, to move people. He knew it. Yet could he himself conjure that power well before he was ready?

  He willed Bridget to stop falling and float to him. He felt his arcanery grip her, and amazingly, her fall slowed—but not nearly enough.

  “Leera—help!” he called through gritted teeth, for he was arcanely holding Bridget, and if he wasn’t careful, she would rip him right off the ledge. She kept falling, screaming, pulling at him like a sack of potatoes on an invisible rope.

  Leera, without even having to look up, reached out and beckoned, groaning from the strain, a band of watery light vibrantly coming to life around her forearm.

  Miraculously, Bridget’s fall arrested—and reversed.

  The concentration and energy required, however, was so much beyond what he had ever attempted, he felt death loom its voracious head in the frantic beating of his heart. The pain of this arcane push was scorching, as if a hot brand was being applied to his very being, but he forced himself to endure its searing sting.

  His head felt like it was going to explode, every pulse a vicious hammer blow to the brain. Yet if he so much as blinked, Bridget would fall, and there was no way he would have the strength to try the spell again.

  She slowly hovered toward him, wide-eyed and gasping, until at last she was within arms’ reach, and just in time too, for he sensed he only had one last precious moment of concentration left. He simultaneously let go of the spell while snatching her out of thin air. They fell backwards onto snow-covered stone, the wind sweeping over them in cool waves.

  The consequences of pushing his arcane limits were immediate. Bridget was saying something but he couldn’t hear through the hissing rush of blood in his head. The pain was piercing, like an icicle through his skull. He couldn’t help but scream and hold his head.

  He tasted the iron tang of blood on his tongue, felt it drip from his nose. The pain built to an excruciating climax—he considered flinging himself off the tower to end it. Mercifully, the walls of blackness, the final defense against such blinding agony, closed in, enveloping him in deep unconsciousness.

  ***

  When he came to, Bridget was holding him in her arms, gently stroking his hair. Leera sat beside her, face pale, nose bloody.

  Bridget put a finger to her lips when she saw him open his eyes, gesturing that someone was coming.

  For a moment, he didn’t know where they were, thinking they must have gone outside Castle Arinthian to hide from Mrs. Stone or something. The fog in his brain refused him context. The thought seemed perfectly plausible until he heard the growling voice of a man, just to the other side of the ruined heap of wall they hid behind.

  Then it slowly came back—the tower, Erika, Bridget falling … the voice had to be a Black Guardsman searching for them.

  The tracks—did someone cover their tracks? He tried to raise his head but Bridget held him firm, pleading with her eyes.

  “I can tell you they certainly aren’t up here!” said the voice before making its way down, the sound of creaking armor following.

  At last, she let go. He winced as he raised his throbbing head, and peeked around the corner. The tracks had been swept—maybe by Bridget or maybe by the wind. In any case, there was zero evidence of them walking, or in his case, dragging their way across the snow.

  “I tossed our aprons and blankets down to get them off us,” Leera murmured when he had scuttled back. She held her head and kept her eyes closed.

  Bridget gripped his arm, eyes moist. “Aug—”

  “—I know.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  “You saved my life. Both of you. It was … unbelievable …” Suddenly she drew them into a tight hug. His ribs ground against each other, but he ignored the pain. It was nothing like what he had experienced earlier anyway.

  Bridget sniffled before letting go. “Thought for sure I was going to die. How did you do it though? To move an actual person around with Telekinesis … I mean, who knows what degree level that even is—”

  They shrugged. He sat beside Leera, grimacing. “Guess the motivation was there.” He thought about what happens to him when he gets cornered, how a wild lightning charge sometimes coalesces and erupts, and wondered if it was the same principle. He now understood how someone could die performing arcanery. If he had pushed himself like that with his element as opposed to a standard spell, somehow he doubted he would have lived.

  The trio took time to recuperate, cleaning blood off with snow, catching their breath, and waiting things out.

  Meanwhile, plenty of distant yelling came from within the tower, mostly about the trio and where they were. Did Erika lie? Did she have them hidden? Was she thinking of cashing them in to Sparkstone herself to get some kind of reward? Was she aiding the insurgents? These questions and more were barked into her face from both her precious nephew and, more dangerously, from the Blade of Sorrows, who was utterly incensed, promising a joyful stay at the Tornvale prison.

  Augum didn’t feel one bit sorry for her as she was dragged
shouting and weeping down the steps by guards. Although he somehow wasn’t surprised, he wondered why she didn’t just use her arcanery to teleport away.

  Commands were thrown out to continue searching the place and look for a trail outside. The trio judged it best to stay in their little hiding spot for now, tucked behind a partially destroyed wall and a pile of rubble. Despite the sun being out for a change, it was still very cold and windy, so they couldn’t stay here for more than a couple hours at most. Then they would have to make their move, and it was for that that they planned.

  “Why don’t we sneak back down,” Augum began in a whisper, “to the room we had been imprisoned in? They wouldn’t think of going back there.”

  “No, the orb’s probably still there,” Leera said.

  Bridget glanced to the edge. “Well we’re definitely not climbing down.” This drew quiet chuckles.

  “We could charge down the stairs and barrel over anyone in our way,” Leera said, still holding her head and wincing in pain.

  He smiled. Saving Bridget made the world seem a lot easier to deal with, knowing she was by their side to enjoy it with them, and that they were capable enough to save her from falling to her death.

  A reflective hour passed with no consensus reached as to what to do. Luckily, the throbbing had at least diminished to a manageable level.

  I’m going to scout a little,” he said.

  “No, it’s too dangerous—” Bridget said.

  “Let him go, Bridge. We have to get out of the cold eventually.”

  Bridget gave a reluctant nod. “Just please be careful.”

  “I will, promise.”

  He crept downstairs as quiet as a mouse, ready to bolt back up at the slightest noise. The door to the room that once confined them was ajar, while the door leading to the lower portion of the tower was closed.

  He peeked around the doorframe and saw that the orb now sat in the middle of the room. For a horrifying moment, he imagined himself spotted, until he thought about it some more. The orb was away from its original spot, almost as if it had broken free of its mooring and rolled in that direction. This was odd because Erika had arcanely locked it in place.