Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  “Mya, it’ll be okay, everything’s going to be fine,” he mumbled absurdly.

  “There. There! Now we’re even,” he heard Robin say in a shaky voice. “It was your fault anyway—you made me do it. You shouldn’t have taken Haylee from me!”

  To Augum, the words were a thousand leagues away. Time slowed to a crawl. It was just him and Mya, together at last. She kept staring at him, her light now a sputtering candle.

  Every moment he remembered of her swam before his mind—the first time he had laid eyes on her in Castle Arinthian, when she curtsied and smiled; seeing her unconscious on the stairs and shoving oxy into her mouth to save her life; her feverish form in the trapper’s cabin; feeling her porcelain hand touch his chest to survey the damage done by the walker; her hair whipping about as she ran to distract the guards, sacrificing herself so the trio could get away; the time he danced with her in the ancient Leyan city of Absalon, holding her close to him, a dance he would never forget as long as he lived …

  A single tear rolled down her cheek. She smiled weakly, her hands going limp under his, the blood no longer gushing. Her eyes remained upon him even after that precious light had dimmed to total darkness.

  “Mya …” he whispered, holding her gently. “Mya …”

  Feats

  Everything was in slow motion when hands began prying Augum from Mya. The voices were distant and muted. Flames leapt nearby, but they were dim, their heat feeble compared to the burning inside his heart.

  “Come on, Aug, we have to go!” said a freckled girl he barely recognized.

  “You monster!” shouted a cinnamon-haired girl. “What have you done!”

  “He’s in shock,” said a blonde-haired girl. “Take him, go—go now!”

  A great shadow appeared nearby, but he could only see it as a blurry figure in the flames.

  “It’s back—!”

  “I’ll stay and fight, I might be able to command it—what are you waiting for, take him and go—!”

  He felt himself led away from Mya’s still form, unable to comprehend what was happening. Was he still holding her? Had he ever held her? Part of him was clear, the part that told him she should be saved—but he didn’t even have the fight to run back to her, to save her from the encroaching flames, to give her a proper burial.

  Explosions boomed yet he could barely hear past the sound of rushing blood in his head. Fire roared as men moaned and died all around them.

  He didn’t care. Nothing mattered.

  All at once, they were free of it, emerging just west of the camp, stepping over scalded soldiers with bizarre lightning patterns on their flesh, none of whom seemed willing or able to fight. He was dragged to the woods, suddenly hearing an implosive sucking sound.

  He turned to his right only to find Corrigus standing there, splattered with blood from his beard to his boots. His gold-fringed robe was torn and his left arm hung limp at his side. A giant gash streaked across his face.

  “No, I won’t let you, not again—” Augum said through gritted teeth, barely conscious of what he was saying. He broke away from the girls’ grip and charged the old warlock, every fiber of his being alive with anger. The girls were screaming behind him but he didn’t care—he wouldn’t let them kill another of his friends, even if he had to die to prevent it.

  Corrigus gurgled a laugh, making a beckoning motion with his good hand, before deteriorating into a bloody coughing fit.

  “Centeratoraye xao xen!” Augum spat, never meaning a spell more. The world instantly became profoundly simple. There were less than seven paces between himself and Corrigus. The old man was choking but regaining his composure quickly—too quickly in fact. Augum noticed he wore an ornate dagger at his belt. That was his chance. He was aware Corrigus didn’t fear him and would strike him down quicker than he could run. He decided to resort to plain trickery.

  Knowing it was Mrs. Stone Corrigus truly feared, he glanced a little past the man and made a grateful face as if seeing a familiar savior.

  “The oldest trick in the book,” he could hear Sir Westwood say, a straw dangling from his mouth.

  This maneuver may not have worked on the Blade of Sorrows, but Corrigus fell for it, turning his head to what he perceived to be the true threat—Mrs. Stone. Augum increased his charge to a full-on sprint, using, with the aid of Centarro, certain pockets in the snow for better footing. As Corrigus’ head turned back to him, pronouncing the first words of an incantation, Augum’s hand was on the man’s dagger. Just as Corrigus finished the spell, Augum buried the dagger in his temple with one graceful motion.

  One of the Legion’s most powerful warlocks stood gaping, jaw clacking as if stuck on a word, before falling dead.

  But Augum’s Centarro-laced mind was solely on Mya. Plans formed on how to save her, how to rush back into the flames, pick her up, and somehow bring her back to life. Everything seemed possible in that moment, everything.

  Yet he just stood there, staring at the bloody corpse of this old man. He wondered what kind of life Corrigus had lived. Did he have friends that would miss him? Did someone love him? Did he ever care about others, or was he just … evil? Did he have sons, daughters, nephews, cousins? Was there a Mya out there somewhere without a father now?

  “Aug … I can’t believe what you just did,” someone said as the fog began to cloud his mind. “What a feat …”

  He dully felt himself led away. The stupidity that came along with the side effects of Centarro forbade comprehension. All that he experienced was a series of basic sensations. Hands kept at his back and shoulders, pushing him onwards. He didn’t understand what the big rush was. A harsh smell burned his throat. Shapes moved in ways far too complex for his mind. He recognized the basic outlines of trees. They were kind of pretty in the dull darkness, lit by something orange and hot.

  When his sense began returning, he found himself sitting in the snow, back against a trunk, hands bloody and shaking. Bridget and Leera conversed in low voices beside him, trying to decide which direction to go next. The smell of wood smoke was in the air. Was there a hearth nearby? Could he sit before it and warm up?

  “Where are we?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s Mya? Is she all right?” He knew where she was, he had left her to the flames …

  Bridget and Leera exchanged looks before each embraced him.

  “Mya’s gone,” Bridget whispered, refusing to let go even when he tried pushing her away.

  “No she’s not,” he said, haunted by Mya’s final smile. “We have to go back and get her.” He recalled how cold her hands were. “She’s waiting for us right now.” The blood from her throat had been warm though … “Why aren’t we moving to get her already?” He left her all alone back there.

  Leera squeezed harder. “Oh, Aug …”

  Why weren’t they going back to get Mya? He swallowed, envisioning her lying on the ground, alone, surrounded by flames and a looming shadow that moved.

  “I think Mya’s in trouble, we should get her,” he mumbled through Bridget’s hair. Her shoulders were heaving, as were Leera’s, and neither of them would let go for some reason. Why wouldn’t they let go—didn’t they realize they had work to do? What was wrong with them! He tried to pry them off again, but it was in vain—their grip was stronger than his trembling hands.

  “Haylee stayed behind to hold off the wraith,” Bridget said, finally withdrawing, hands remaining on his shoulders. Her eyes were red, cheeks soot-stained.

  “It’s just us now,” Leera said quietly.

  “Just us?”

  Leera nodded. “Just us …”

  “Where’s Nana?”

  “I don’t know. There was a really big explosion—”

  He finally tore away from them to peer around the trunk. The entire Legion camp burned. Black armored bodies lay smoking in the slush. Some figures still hobbled or crawled within the flames, crying out. Horses roamed riderless.

  “We have to find Nana—” he said, repeatedly straighten
ing his stained and charred robe.

  Bridget’s brows knit together as she stood. “Augum, what can we do? We have to get out of here. We have to save ourselves. That’s what Mrs. Stone wants.”

  He looked her in the eye. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I have to try to find her.” She was the only one who could save Mya. “Find some horses and stay here, I’ll be right back—” and without waiting for a response, he raced toward the flames, the girls desperately calling after him.

  Find Nana. Save Mya. Find Nana. Save Mya … The mantra repeated in his frantic brain.

  He soon reached the outskirts of the burning camp, strewn with bodies. Flames licked around Hangman’s Rock, a giant black egg baking in the inferno. He envisioned it cracking and that witch spilling out.

  “Nana!” he called, searching the bodies. “Nana—!”

  Suddenly a stick shot out from the fires and tumbled in the snow, coming to rest only feet away, smoking and melting through the top layer of frost. Something else, maybe a sack of some sort, also rolled out of the fire.

  He gaped stupidly before realizing what the object really was. “Nana—!”

  He ran to her, falling by her side, tenderly holding up her bloody head. Her eyes barely opened into weak slits. Her once pristine white robe was charred, torn and frayed.

  He felt a nauseating weakness and had to steady himself. “Not you too, Nana, not you too …”

  “My … staff …” she said in a barely audible voice. He laid her down gently, turning to the raging fire. Sparkstone laughed triumphantly from within, the sound amplified arcanely, visually reverberating the flames and shaking the ground.

  “I’ll find it, Nana—” he said, running off to where he saw it sink into the snow.

  He stopped as the laughter suddenly sharpened. Without turning around, he knew the Lord of the Legion had emerged from the fire.

  “Leaving her behind already, Son?” boomed his father, sounding out of breath.

  Augum turned, conscious of the staff only paces away. He pretended not to have seen it and faced his father. Mrs. Stone lay between the two of them.

  “Shyneo,” Augum said, lighting up his palm and flaring his arm with his only stripe.

  Sparkstone smiled. A melted gash tore across his golden chest plate. Besides that, there were only scratches and occasional char marks. The plume of his helmet had burned completely off, as had his cloak and leather pouches, though he himself seemed immune to the flames. The three scions slowly revolved around his head, glinting sentinels humming faintly.

  “Congratulations, Son, you have achieved your 1st degree. I am proud of you. Your mother would be proud too, I know it.”

  “My mother …” Augum said mockingly.

  “You have to understand, Son, things were never supposed to happen that way. If I could go back … one day …” Sparkstone stiffened and raised his chin. “You know, I think I am finally getting the feel of these scions. They extend arcane powers and strengthen them, but they can do so much more, I can sense that now. As you are a beginner in the arcane ways, so, too, am I a beginner with these ancient artifacts.”

  Augum squared his body, splaying his hands in a gesture as if readying to fight. His father didn’t seem to care, sighing and pacing toward Mrs. Stone.

  He thinks she has the scion in her possession! Augum realized, senses sharpening. He concentrated on the one task he knew he could do at that moment.

  “Feel the attraction of the stones”, he remembered Mrs. Stone say to him at the beginning of his training. Without another moment’s hesitation, he reached out, using Telekinesis to summon her staff. As soon as he felt its sleekness in his shining palm, a powerful surge shot through his heart, quickening it.

  “Centeratoraye xao xen!”

  The effect of Centarro while holding Mrs. Stone’s staff, topped with the family scion, was like being transformed into an arcane bull. The first thing he felt was a fountain of new arcane strength, instantly accessible. He knew the power and duration of his spells were extended by unknown amounts. Additionally, for the first time in his life, he felt certain he could completely control his arcanery.

  All this he understood in the time it took for his father to look up. Sparkstone blurted a laugh before seeing something in his son’s face, something that made him hesitate. Augum, in Centarric perfection, calmly pointed the staff at his father. He accessed that mysterious and arcanely wild part of him he knew could slow time, and watched in fascination as the flames, leaping tall behind his father, slowed to a calm wavering. Everything began to sparkle, just as when he had been under the influence of the Slow Time spell. He hoped Mrs. Stone had worn the Lord of the Legion down just enough for him to pull this off.

  Ever calm, he allowed the lightning to manifest inside him, building and building, until the blue crystal scion shone radiantly. Before his father even blinked, he pointed the staff and discharged the buildup of his arcane strength, like an over-extended crossbow bolt. Even under the influence of Slow Time, the bolt of lightning was instantaneous. For the briefest moment, he glimpsed surprise on his father’s face as the bolt smashed into him, sending him flying backward into the fire.

  Now came the choice he’d known he would have to face the moment he had gripped the staff—even though Centarro’s duration would be extended, it would not be extended enough for him to rush into the fire, find Mya, carry her back, and then do the same for his great-grandmother.

  He could save one of them, but not both.

  The choice was impossible, but it had to be made. He glanced up at the flames, roaring in one giant inferno.

  “I’ll always remember you …”

  He pointed the staff at his great-grandmother and effortlessly lifted her with Telekinesis. He then raced back to the girls, Mrs. Stone floating alongside. He had to return before the side effects of Centarro kicked in, and he still had to give Nana back her staff, for if his father was right, she would die without the scion in her control. The thought reawakened the memory of Thomas Stone aging before his eyes.

  Augum navigated trees, bodies, horses, and fire as if they were mere puddles, yet when the scion-extended effects of Centarro finally began wearing off, he still had not found his friends.

  “Bridget! Leera!” he kept calling out. “Bridget! Leera! Where are you!”

  At last, there came a muffled reply. He ran stupidly, every ounce of his concentration dedicated to keeping Mrs. Stone afloat—and stumbled right into Leera’s arms, somehow managing to allow Mrs. Stone to float safely to the snowy ground. With the last echo of any rational thought, he thrust the staff into Leera’s hand.

  “Give … this … to … her…” he said before the familiar nebulous fog overtook him for the second time that night.

  Reunion

  When Augum regained his senses, he found himself bobbing to the rhythm of a horse. Leera sat behind, holding him tenderly with one hand, reins with the other. They were riding through snowy woods on a black warhorse, Bridget and Mrs. Stone on a chestnut mare beside them. Dramask blankets covered everyone.

  Leera was unaware he had woken from his stupor. For a little while, he just let himself feel nothing but the secure sensation of being held in someone’s arms.

  Suddenly he remembered holding Mya, his hand over both of hers trying to stop the blood flow, her eyes watching him. He bolted upright, searching for her.

  “Aug, it’s all right, we’re safe now,” Leera whispered, squeezing his midriff.

  Bridget glanced at him, a pained expression on her face.

  He wanted to ask about Mya, if she had made it out, but couldn’t voice the question. It wouldn’t move past his lips. His heart tightened painfully as he let Leera guide him back into her embrace.

  Then he remembered, and the world turned gray and hollow.

  “You did good,” Leera whispered. “Mrs. Stone is all right, but she’ll need lots of bed rest.”

  He glanced over at the unconscious form of his great-grandmother. The leg
endary warlock held her staff to her chest, the scion tip gleaming. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it looked like there were more lines on her face.

  “We don’t know what happened to Haylee though,” Bridget said, tugging at the blanket so it covered Mrs. Stone’s neck. “She stayed behind to take on Robin and the wraith. I hope she’s all right …”

  His thoughts were black. Haylee, too, was gone. What happened to her? Nothing turned out as it should have. He dully watched fields of stars sparkle in the cloudless sky, thinking how miserably his plans had failed.

  “You were senseless a long time,” Leera said. “Half the night. It was odd.”

  Augum recalled the lightning striking his father. His voice was distant when he replied. “I used Centarro a second time. The scion made things weird. It made my spells … stronger. I even used wild arcanery with it …”

  “I think you pushed your arcane stamina beyond its limits.” She delicately brushed aside his muddy hair. “We have to clean you up, you’re a mess.”

  As if all the pain needed was a reminder, his ankle began stinging where Robin had scorched it. His head, too, throbbed. He licked his lips, tasting blood.

  “Aug, you did … you did amazing.” There was a quiet affection in Leera’s voice, but to him, amazing wasn’t good enough. In fact, he wished she would curse at him instead.

  “I really didn’t think we’d survive that one,” Bridget said.

  “Yeah, neither did I,” Leera said. “How’d you get past your father?”

  He said the words without emotion. “Centarro and Nana’s staff. Got lucky—he was distracted. Blasted him into the fire.” What did it matter though? Mya was gone.

  “You mean distracted like Corrigus? It’s not all luck, you know.”

  He didn’t bother shrugging. Why won’t they just leave him alone …

  Leera gave him a squeeze. “One day, they’ll call you a hero as great as your great-grandmother.”

  He sat up suddenly, blanket falling from his shoulders. “Stop it! If you were in my place, you would have done the same, probably better even. I failed, all right? Mya’s dead, do you understand? She. Is. Dead!”