Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  “It’s all right, Haylee, come on back,” but Haylee had curled up into a ball, shoulders twitching. “Look, I know you’re not a bad person, I heard you help One Eye when Robin pushed him over. A bad person wouldn’t do that.”

  “You don’t know me, I am a bad person—”

  “You can’t stay here, the Legion will find you by your footprints. They’ll torture you …”

  She began visibly shaking.

  “Don’t make me carry you because I will, I’ll throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and tie you to the damn horse—”

  Haylee burst with a blubbery chortle and Augum knew he had broken through to her.

  “Come on, we really need to go.” He helped her stand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her red face with the sleeve of her necrophyte robe. He nodded and led her back to the horses, checking the horizon. The cloud was still there, though a bit closer.

  The Legion had overcome the banyan beast.

  He helped Haylee back on the horse before hopping on, Leera resolutely keeping her arms crossed, refusing to give him a hand like usual. He urged the horse forward, pushing the pace a little bit. At the rate they were going, he estimated less than two hours until the Legion caught up.

  His breathing shortened. Bridget was badly hurt and needed arcane attention from a healer, and Bartholomew … where was Bartholomew? Had he sold Blackbite and kept the money for himself? Was One Eye’s trust in the man blind? He scanned ahead, desperate for any sign of the man.

  They passed hill after hill in silence, Leera keeping a steady eye on Bridget, Haylee a watchful eye on their rear, though more probably to avoid Leera than anything else.

  Augum looked up at the cloudless starry night. At least Bridge has a great view, he thought, glancing at her still form.

  He shivered at a particularly strong gust of wind. The excitement from the battle had faded, leaving behind a bone-seeping cold and that damn throbbing pain.

  Leera removed the other two blankets from the rucksack and draped one over his shoulders.

  “Thanks.”

  She didn’t reply, throwing the other one around herself, leaving Haylee to shiver in her necrophyte robe. Haylee’s teeth soon began chattering loudly.

  “Here, take mine—” he said.

  “No! You need it more than she does,” Leera said immediately, casting a vicious glance backward.

  “She’s right—keep it,” Haylee said, forcing her teeth to stop.

  He didn’t want to push things and reluctantly let it go.

  Time passed as they traversed more crests and long valleys. The wind kept steady as the stars moved overhead. Meanwhile, the torch-lit cloud steadily gained—they were quickly running out of time.

  More hills, and the legion drew closer still, yet the foursome could not go any faster. The wind had picked up slightly, coming at them straight on making the going that much more difficult. They pushed forward, hungry, tired and cold, now able to make out individual dots of fire amongst the approaching plume, at least ten or so. Augum suspected there were more riders, riders without torches galloping along unseen in the dark. He pictured the Blade of Sorrows among them, face twisted in iron determination.

  There was still no sign of Bartholomew. If they didn’t see him soon, it would be too late, and they still had to learn the scroll. A thought suddenly occurred to him—what if Bartholomew had seen the cloud and was running away in the other direction? If that was the case, they were done for. He checked the ground for fresh return tracks, but there were none.

  “You have to send a signal,” Haylee said.

  Leera scoffed. “Are you stupid? The Legion will see us.”

  “They already know where we are,” Augum said. “They’ve been following our tracks. It’s worth a shot. Shyneo!” His hand lit up as Leera made a disapproving noise. They needed every chance of being seen, and so he concentrated on brightening it again, pushing the boundaries of the spell. It brightened, a small crackling lamp in a desolate snowy landscape. He waved broadly, as if seeing a friend. He hoped, truly hoped, Bartholomew was somewhere out there to see their signal.

  “Helloooooo! Bartholomeeeewww!”

  There was no response. He shouted again, all the while draining his arcane stamina, yet it just seemed futile. His heart sank. That was it, their last hope. Nothing to do now but wait for the Legion to catch up. His shoulders slumped. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be …

  Haylee and Leera had fallen silent, perhaps also appreciating the severity of their predicament. Leera reached out and patted Bridget’s still hand. Tears no longer flowed down Bridget’s cheeks. She just stared at the stars, a peaceful expression on her face.

  Then a feeble light sprouted to life south of them.

  “There!” Leera called, pointing. “There, Aug! Go go go!”

  He immediately changed direction, pushing the horses a touch faster.

  “Hold on, Bridge!” Leera said—something he thought absurd under the circumstance. The light flickered like a distant firefly in the night, urging them on, calling out to them.

  Soon they were close enough to identify the man’s pudgy form.

  “Bartholomew, Bartholomew—!” Augum and Leera kept shouting over the wind.

  He was on his horse, waving a small burning stick, extinguishing it as soon as they came near enough. He began digging around in his bag. “I was running from that army there when I saw your light. You’re lucky I happened to turn my head at the right moment. Anyway, this is for you.” He handed Augum a large scroll secured with a blue ribbon and a red wax seal. “What happened to her?”

  Augum dismounted and helped Leera and Haylee off the horse. He didn’t want to waste time explaining things. “Injured in a fight.”

  “Well I’m sure she’ll be fine. What news of the caravan?”

  Augum hesitated. Bartholomew, seeing his face, nodded. “A pity.” He glanced to the approaching cloud of horsemen. “My end of the deal is done. I take my leave.”

  “Wait—!” Leera called, but he was already gone, charging off into the darkness, leaving them to fend for themselves. Augum wasted no time breaking the seal, untying the ribbon, and unfurling the scroll. When he saw the tremendous amount of writing, he felt his legs weaken.

  Leera craned over his shoulder. “No … this is … this is impossible …”

  His hopes flickered and died. They were doomed.

  Unless …

  He crossed his brows sharply. “You two need to work together for the moment, we don’t have much time. Leera—you read this part in the middle. Haylee—you read the end. I’ll start the first part. Got it?”

  The girls nodded, crowding around him to read. There was enough starlight to be able to see the words. He quickly checked the horizon. He could make out the horses and dark outlines of the Black Guard now. They were at a full gallop and would be here very soon.

  “Damn it, what is that symbol there?” Leera pointed to an abstract little thing between inscriptions.

  “I think that means you need to hold hands,” Haylee replied.

  “You absolutely sure?”

  Haylee shrugged.

  “Good enough,” he said, not wanting them to get distracted. “Finished my section, ready?”

  “Ready,” they chorused.

  “All right then, mine basically says that we have to have a speaker to precisely say the arcane words, and that person has to concentrate on the location, really see it in their minds. Here’s the thing—they have to have been there before.”

  Leera and Haylee actually exchanged a quick look of alarm, before realizing they were communicating and turned away.

  “There’s a whole other bit of information, but I think we can skip some of the details.”

  Leera check the horizon. “We’ll just have to deal with it then. My section says we need to firmly hold hands else you could end up teleporting to some nether world, or worse, appear inside a mountain. Also, only what you car
ry teleports with you, like your clothes and rucksack and stuff. The rest I skimmed through …”

  The soldiers shouted in the distance now. The legion knew they were close, had probably seen Augum’s lit palm, and charged at full speed, quickly nearing the spot the foursome turned southward from.

  Haylee went next, speaking as fast as she could. “My section has the arcane words needed, but I can’t pronounce them—”

  Pronunciation! And they didn’t even have Bridget helping them.

  “—it also said that the speaker needs to focus arcane energy on the words and that they have to be spoken exactly, evenly, and all in one breath. It really stressed the one breath part. Oh, and the scroll self ignites after the spell is cast. There’s more but—”

  “That’s fine, we’re out of time, who reads?” He searched their faces.

  “I think you should, Aug. I don’t think I could pull this off …”

  “But I haven’t been to Antioc—”

  “I have,” Haylee said, “but I can’t possibly read this, it’s just too complex.”

  “Aug, just do it, anywhere but here, quick!”

  “Fine, I’ll try—” He placed the scroll before him on the snow. “All right, grab a hold of Bridget.” He took Leera and Haylee’s hands. They were both cold and clammy.

  “Wait, the rucksack—” Leera rushed to untie it and quickly threw it on. She also grabbed the blanket from her shoulders and the one from Augum’s, stuffing them inside. The four of them then held hands, with Bridget still lying on the horse. Augum turned his attention to the scroll and dropped to his knees to read it, never letting go.

  Horribly, his mind went completely blank. The page was suddenly indecipherable gibberish, like a bunch of chicken scratching.

  The shouting of men grew louder and louder as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

  “Aug, Centarro—!”

  “Good idea—” He stilled his mind, not daring to look over his shoulder at the charging army sure to run them down any moment. This was it. He had to concentrate like never before.

  “Centeratoraye xao xen!”

  He immediately felt the familiar sensation of time slowing down, of the world becoming sharper, simpler. He went straight to the scroll, ignoring the usual step of preparing for the side effects. The writing appeared brilliant and crisp, flowing in beautiful archaic patterns and loops, but most importantly, it was understandable—every word. The parchment appeared ornate and soft, beckoning to be read.

  The ground thundered and the page shook ever so slightly from the nearing trample of horses. He took the briefest moment to marvel at the particles of snow and ice dancing on the parchment in time to the reverberations, before visualizing the place he wanted to go, the only one that readily and easily came to mind.

  Under the influence of Centarro, he judged he still had a precious moment he could spare to think of his great-grandmother and great-grandfather. He imagined Mrs. Stone giving him advice on the pronunciation, especially the intonation. Then he imagined Thomas advising on the actual sound of the letters.

  He smiled briefly, remembering his great-grandfather’s kind face, his sacrifice for them. He inhaled one last long breath, watching the words, priming them on his tongue, before invoking them aloud.

  Perhaps it was the nature of the spell, or the following fog of Centarro, but he would never be able to remember those arcane words. All he knew was that, under normal circumstances, they would have been too complex and otherwise impossible to read on the first go like that. He did not think of the pressure he was under, nor did he think of faltering. He read them as if it was the most natural thing to do, and because of Centarro, the words flowed like honey.

  As he neared completion, everything grew bright and hot and windy. He felt his body being pulled in all directions and the air sucked out of his lungs. No matter what though, he squeezed the hands of Haylee and Leera, not daring to let go, passing on courage and strength. As the last word died on his lips, the air crunched and the space seemed to collapse. He looked up just in time to see Bridget’s body framed in white light atop the horse.

  I’m taking you home, Bridge, I’m taking you home …

  The Ashes of Sparrow’s Perch

  Augum woke to discover he was laying with his head in Leera’s lap, covered by a blanket, her freckled face attentive to a quiet night. She idly stroked his hair, unaware his eyes had opened, her raven braids dangling over his head. For a short time, he just lay there, feeling sheltered and cared for. The air was cold and crisp, tinted by the scent of pine. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed burnt branches overhead. Suddenly it dawned on him that the scroll must have worked—and he had simply been unconscious through the side effects of Centarro!

  Leera broke out with a smile, leaning close. “You did it. We’re safe.”

  The dull throb of his broken ribs returned as he sat up. “Where’s Bridget—?”

  “Shh … right here. Don’t worry, she’s okay.”

  He glanced at Bridget’s still form. Her eyes met his and he thought he saw relief in them. “Glad you’re okay,” he whispered.

  Haylee sat against a nearby tree. She gave him a pained smile before looking away.

  Leera took the blanket from him and folded it up. “I didn’t want to go in without you waking up.”

  “Go in—?”

  “Yeah, into Sparrow’s Perch—or what’s left of it.”

  “Oh … right.” They had to be just on the outskirts.

  “Never thought I’d see this place again,” Haylee mumbled.

  Leera scowled. “Who asked your opinion?”

  “Leera, please—”

  “Ugh, so you’re taking her side now?”

  “No—I mean … let’s just work as a team for now, okay?” She only shrugged, but he knew it was as good as he was going to get from her.

  He crawled forward to peek through the brush, unsuccessfully trying to keep his ribs from grating against each other. The stars basked Sparrow’s Perch in a cool glow. The towering pines, with their branches acting as roofs for round homes, were now charred skeletons, shadows of their former selves. The burned remains of tables, benches, and other items of village life lay strewn about. Where there should have been a festive fire surrounded by dancing and laughing people, there was only a soot-covered pit.

  Leera shoved his blanket into the rucksack. “Well fine, now that you’re up, I’m going to take a look around.”

  Haylee held up a hand. “Wait, I hear something—”

  They froze. Indeed, there was a gentle rustling to their left. A shadow moved.

  “Someone’s over there,” Augum whispered, looking around for a stick, instinctively knowing he didn’t have the arcane stamina to cast any spells right then.

  “Curses, my sword didn’t teleport with us,” Haylee said.

  They watched the shadow slink closer and closer.

  “Who’s there! Shyneo!” Leera said.

  Haylee promptly followed suit, igniting her palm in a somewhat weak ice-blue glow. It was obvious she had not nearly as much practice with Shine as they had. Augum didn’t have time to marvel at the neatness of seeing her hand freeze up like that, however, for their palms revealed a short balding man holding a stick. He wore a tattered long-sleeved tunic and round spectacles, one of the lenses cracked. His cheeks were dimpled and part of his scalp was burned.

  Leera’s arm dropped a little. “Mr. Goss—? Is that really you—?”

  Augum recognized Leland’s last name. This had to be his father! Leland and his parents were burned by Sparkstone’s lightning on that fateful day the Legion razed Sparrow’s Perch. Mrs. Stone had saved the Goss’, leaving them safely in the woods before returning to the cave where Augum, Bridget and Leera waited.

  “Leera Jones—? Do I hear Leera Jones behind that light there?” Mr. Goss asked in a squeaky and hopeful voice, dropping the stick.

  “Yes, it’s me, Mr. Goss!” Leera ran forward to embrace him.r />
  “And here I was thinking I was going to find tomorrow’s supper! Oh, am I ever so glad to see you safe, Leera. Leland will be so happy to see you!”

  Leera wiped her face with her sleeve. “You mean Leland’s here too? And Mrs. Goss?”

  Mr. Goss’ face fell upon the mention of his wife. “I am afraid Annie did not make it. She died of burns not long after Mrs. Stone saved us.”

  “Mr. Goss, I’m so sorry to hear that …” Leera embraced him again, glancing to Bridget, whose cheeks were wet with tears.

  Mr. Goss adjusted his cracked spectacles. “Dear me, who else is here with you, Leera?”

  “Oh, uh, you remember Augum Stone?”

  Augum stepped forward, clearing his throat, wondering how Mr. Goss would react to seeing him. “Hello, sir. I’m really sorry to hear about Mrs. Goss.”

  Mr. Goss nodded and extended his hand. “That is kind of you to say, and I am glad to see you are well. If Mrs. Stone had not saved us, neither Leland nor I would be here right now. I would like to thank her, where is she?”

  “She’s not with us, Mr. Goss,” Leera replied. “We’re actually trying to find her before the Legion does. She’s somewhere north in the mountains.”

  “I see. And who might that be sitting all quiet and lonesome over there? Step forward, do not be shy.”

  Leera’s tone darkened. “That’s Haylee Tennyson.”

  “Haylee …” Mr. Goss hesitated a moment. “Why that is just splendid …” He forced a smile and offered his hand to her. She shook lamely, keeping her gaze on the ground.

  “Mr. Goss, Bridget’s with us too but she’s got a bad back injury. We’re looking for an arcane healer for her. We were supposed to go to Antioc, but things got a little … frantic.”

  Mr. Goss crouched beside Bridget. “Oh, dear, dear me. You poor girl.” He placed a hand on her forehead. “Do not worry now, we will find help, you be sure that we will.”

  Bridget fixed her gaze on Mr. Goss. He removed a small cloth from his tunic and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Allow me to retrieve the cart so we can wheel her inside. You all must be hungry and exhausted. I hope you are all right spending the night with us.”