Valor (Book 3)

by Sever Bronny

  “Now you shall feel a sting.” Tridian sprang. His Dreadnought blade sizzled through the air so quickly and thinly it appeared invisible. Yet as he finished his stride past the towering wolven, a thin line of red appeared beneath the ice armor, quickly blotching.

  The wolven backed away and blew on his wound, freezing it.

  “Neat trick,” Tridian said. “I wonder if you can still do it without a head.” He leapt again, but this time the wolven was ready, jumping back onto the pillar and swiping. His claws connected with Tridian’s head, tearing a chunk off.

  “Commander—!” Robin called, but Tridian only surrendered a grisly smile, for there was no blood. Even as they watched, the scalp seemed to mend. Tiny white things seemed to crawl from within his scalp, giving the impression maggots were doing the work.

  “What dark sorcery is this …” Raptos said.

  “Ah, but it is precisely that.” Tridian swung the Dreadnought blade to his left and to his right before aiming for the wolven, but Raptos jumped over the blade. It sank deep into the portal pillar in a shower of sparks. The wolven used the occasion to tackle Tridian. The pair rolled over the ground, coming precariously close to the edge, while the Dreadnought blade, still wedged in the pillar, wobbled stiffly like a saw.

  “They can’t fall—” Garryk said, “or it won’t count!”

  “It has to be blood!” Tridian said from underneath Raptos as another battle of strength ensued between them. This time the wolven clutched Tridian’s gauntleted arms in his claws. The man looked like a doll next to Raptos’ giant body, yet he did not yield. In fact, he smiled as Raptos bit his scalp. When the wolven tore off a rotten chunk of flesh, Tridian seemed to tire of the game and flung him back. Raptos slammed against the pillar, chest bleeding again. It appeared impossible someone so under matched in size could perform such a feat of strength.

  “The blade, take the blade!” Augum shouted.

  “I told you, lowlander,” Raptos said as he blew frost on his wound, “I do not require your counsel!”

  “Yes but it could pierce the armor!”

  “Now who’s cheating!” Robin called from the other side.

  Raptos growled at Augum before reforming his ice mace. “Take your blade, lowlander!”

  Tridian’s forehead rose, though there were no brows to accent his surprise. He strode around Raptos, poised for a leap that did not come, and yanked his Dreadnought blade from the pillar. “That was a mistake, dog.”

  “I was born in honor, and should I die, it shall be in honor, lowlander.”

  “So be it.” Tridian began whirling the longsword as he approached. It sliced from right to left in a butterfly fashion, zipping cleanly through the air. Raptos retreated a few steps before lunging forward, mace swinging. Tridian made a final backhand stroke that connected just as the ice mace splintered against his Dreadnought armor. The wolven fell in a heap at his feet, gasping.

  Tridian paced around the stricken wolven.

  “Be done with it, lowlander,” Raptos growled.

  “You fought well.” The Blade of Sorrows’ pale eyes briefly fell upon Augum, before he raised his sword and beheaded Raptos.

  Bridget yelped and began silently crying in Leera’s arms. Leera held her tight.

  Tridian wiped his blade on the wolven’s white fur before standing up and looking around. “Well? Why is nothing happening?”

  Garryk frantically rifled through the books.

  “Find the answer, Wart,” Robin said, “or you’re next—”

  “Wait!” Mr. Spigot said. “Look there!” He pointed into the darkness. Hovering stone blocks began to silently appear from all around them, perhaps detaching from the walls, lining up neatly in a flat bridge that led directly to the door. There was a momentary grating sound as each stone locked into place.

  The display was mesmerizing. When Augum looked back to Raptos’ body, he noticed it was almost gone, having somehow sunk into the platform, leaving only his rucksack and belt, horn still attached.

  “Seize his possessions,” Tridian said. The female soldier marched up to the rucksack and hauled it over her shoulder, kicking the belt into the abyss without a second glance.

  There goes the horn, Augum thought. “Goodbye, Raptos,” he whispered, stomach feeling hollow. Despite the wolven’s aloofness, he had been a great help to them, and died with honor.

  “Bring them, Lieutenant,” Tridian said, turning to cross the bridge. Mr. Spigot and Garryk quickly followed, the latter fumbling with his books.

  The gray-stubbled soldier made quick gestures. “Raina, take the freckled one. Spiller, the crier. Boots, you have the lord’s son. Squeaky, Fatface—you’re with me in the rear.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Fatface huffed. Augum could see why they called him that—his face was wholly out of proportion to his body, as if stung by bees.

  The one called Boots sheathed his broad sword and prodded Augum’s shoulder. “Go on then.” He was a youngish man with a bored-looking face.

  “What about their possessions, Sir?” Squeaky asked, voice high-pitched like that of a tiny mouse.

  “Later. Move.”

  As Leera passed by, Temper slapped her so hard she fell to the ground, gasping. Then she spat on her. “That’s for talking dirt.”

  “Told you it would feel good,” Robin said as the pair strolled off.

  Mr. Spigot hadn’t seen and the soldiers did nothing.

  Augum glared, wishing Robin had to walk past so he could deck him. One day, he knew they were going to duel as Tridian and Raptos had. One day …

  “You all right?” he asked, helping her stand.

  Leera rubbed her tender cheek. “I’ll get her for that—”

  “Move along,” the old lieutenant said.

  “Sir, was I supposed to intervene—”

  “Shut up, Squeaky.”

  They were herded to the other side of the bridge where an enormous iron door awaited them.

  Garryk was already rifling through books, shaking his head. “I read the eyes to this door would light up as strangers neared. Then they would open … I don’t understand why it hasn’t happened.”

  “Maybe because there’s no one inside to let us in?” Temper said, voice oozing with condescension.

  “Temperance, that’s enough now,” Mr. Spigot said. “Let the boy concentrate.”

  Augum saw the other two books Garryk carried were titled The War of the Scions and The Mad Necromancer, A Tale of Horror.

  Tridian hissed an impatient sigh. Garryk’s hands began trembling.

  Leera lightly cleared her throat. “There might be a door rune or something.”

  Raina yanked on Leera’s hair. “Who said you could talk?”

  “Really now,” Mr. Spigot said. “They’re just students! That’s hardly necessary. Commander—”

  “You forget yourself, teacher,” Tridian said. “They are traitors, nothing more, and are subject to military authority. My authority.”

  Mr. Spigot swallowed as he absently tugged at his empty left sleeve.

  “I think they should be punished for opening their mouths, sir,” Robin said.

  Mr. Spigot straightened. “Although they may not be under my supervision, Robin Scarson, you are. Mind yourself.”

  Robin scowled.

  They waited as Garryk’s forehead began to glisten with sweat. “I … I …”

  “Oh for—” Tridian gestured at the door. “Check the damn thing already.”

  The younger soldiers—Squeaky, Fatface, Spiller and Boots—ran to inspect the door and surrounding wall.

  “Found something here, Sir!” the one named Spiller called. He had an unfortunate freakishly bulbous chin and a matching bulbous nose. Augum pictured him earning his nickname spilling drinks as he tried to bring them to his lips.

  “See what it is, Lieutenant,” Tridian said with a bored gesture.

  The old soldier marched over and inspected what they had found. “I can’t make it out, Sir. Some sort of symbol.
”

  Augum exchanged looks with Bridget and Leera. It had to be a rune. They had studied some back in Castle Arinthian. Would this one be in Mrs. Stone’s blue book on arcaneology? It was quite the problem, for if they drew attention to the book, it would surely be confiscated.

  “Why did we bring him along if he can’t figure anything out?” Temper said to Robin.

  “I’m asking myself the same question. Come on, Wart, what have you got for us already?”

  “I … I …”

  “Permission to slap Wart, sir.”

  “Don’t be smart with me, Robin,” Mr. Spigot said. “Let him study it. He’ll come to the correct conclusion, I am sure.”

  Garryk looked up from his sitting position and shakily pushed his spectacles up his nose, from whence they immediately began to slide back down. “Study it … right.” He stumbled his way over to the rune, the soldiers reluctantly standing aside. “Uh … yes, uh … it appears to be a castle rune, sir. Except … except I don’t … I don’t have …” He winced.

  Robin threw up his hands. “You forgot to bring the right book, didn’t you, Wart?”

  Garryk began breathing rapidly.

  “What a moron.”

  “Permission to slap Wart, sir,” Temper threw in.

  “Aug—” Bridget hissed as Mr. Spigot admonished Temper. But Augum was on it. “We can help,” he blurted.

  Heads turned his way.

  “We have a book we can lend Garryk.”

  “Search them,” Tridian ordered.

  “Hey, but we gave it up ourselves—” but Leera was silenced by another sharp yank from the female guard.

  The soldiers began rifling through their possessions, tossing everything to the floor, including the Orb of Orion.

  Tridian perused the objects with his foot, stopping before one of note. “A Legion dagger. Care to explain?”

  “Raptos gave it to us,” Augum said.

  “Is that so? Hardly seemed as if you were … friends.”

  Robin and Temper chuckled in the background.

  “You did not, by chance, murder a hapless Legion soldier for this blade, did you?”

  “No.”

  “He’s lying, Commander.”

  Mr. Spigot raised his only arm. “Stay out of this, Robin.”

  The Blade of Sorrows’ pus-engorged face showed no emotion as his pale eyes studied Augum. “He is not. I am disappointed you still cannot tell the difference, Apprentice.”

  Robin gnashed his teeth at Augum.

  The Blade of Sorrows resumed kicking their belongings, stopping at the Golden Vitae vial. “And this?”

  “Don’t know what that is,” Augum lied.

  “That so?”

  “Commander, we don’t have time for a questioning,” Mr. Spigot said in a somewhat braver voice that betrayed itself with the tiniest waver. “The great lord requires this recipe most urgently.”

  Tridian’s mangled jaw flexed as he studied Augum, before glancing to their scattered belongings on the polished basalt floor. “Confiscate it. All of it.”

  “You can’t!” Bridget cried. “That’s all our food! And … and our blankets!”

  “Then refrain from going hungry or getting cold.”

  “Commander, this is highly inadvisable, they’re young—”

  A mere look from the Blade of Sorrows was enough to silence Mr. Spigot. Augum wondered why the teacher was so afraid of Tridian. The man had to be an advanced warlock to cast Sphere of Protection—surely he could defend himself if things got ugly. Was it something to do with his missing arm, or did Tridian possess unrevealed revenant powers?

  Augum glanced at Bridget, trying to draw out a clue from her. Mr. Spigot, after all, had been her mentor once. What did she know about him? Why would such a man, who seemed to have a kind nature, submit to the Legion? Yet her eyes reflected only sadness.

  “Spigot, you get the orb,” Tridian said. “I think I need not remind you how important it is to keep it enclosed.”

  Mr. Spigot tugged at his empty sleeve before picking up the enclosed Orb of Orion and stuffing it into his own rucksack.

  “Someone tell the crone I want my aunt back,” Robin muttered.

  Tridian ignored him. “And get the boy to pick up the books.”

  “Go ahead, Garryk.”

  Garryk pushed on his spectacles before hesitantly making his way over.

  “It’s in the blue one,” Augum whispered as Garryk picked up the burnt yellow tome and the blue pupil’s encyclopedia.

  “Check the index,” Bridget said when the boy was having trouble finding the right spot.

  No soldier admonished her for helping, perhaps because everyone was impatient for the process to move along. Garryk brought the book over to the rune and cross-referenced, flipping pages as he went. “I think I found it,” he said at last.

  “Sure you don’t want to take a little more time, Wart?” Robin said. “Hold everyone up a day or two?”

  Garryk squeaked an apology. After some more study, he began to chant the word “Entarro.”

  Augum immediately knew he was doing it wrong—Garryk had to pronounce the word exactly, not chant or sing it. Further, he probably had to visualize the doors opening.

  The boy finally stopped the failed repetitions, body shaking. “I … I d-d-d-don’t think I can p-p-p-pronounce it.”

  “Great, his stut-t-ter has c-come on,” Robin mocked.

  “Mr. Spigot …?” Bridget said quietly. “May I?”

  Mr. Spigot looked to Tridian, who waved idly. “Just get us inside, my patience is at an end,” said the Blade of Sorrows.

  Bridget glanced over the text and whispered a set of instructions to Garryk, who nodded fervently along.

  “Entarro!” he said at last in a strong and confident voice.

  The eyes of Occulus’ mark glowed red as the behemoth doors began rumbling inward. Inside was cool darkness.

  “We require more light,” Mr. Spigot said to Robin and Temper.

  Robin raised his right palm. “Shyneo.” Temper did the same. Their hands lit up with orange arcane fire. Mr. Spigot entered first, followed by the Blade of Sorrows and everyone else.

  Robin, Temper and Mr. Spigot swept their palms in wide arcs as they walked, revealing rows and rows of towering stone warrior statues in identical armor and swords, the design from a bygone era. The soldiers faced each other like two opposing armies, leaving a path in between for the group to walk through.

  “What is this place?” Robin asked.

  Garryk riffled through one of the books as he walked. “This is called the sentinel room. Occulus had it built to instill fear in guests while projecting his strength. Legend says it’s also supposed to be the place where he would teleport an entire company into battle.”

  Robin scoffed. “No one can teleport more than a dozen people at once. Two hundred’s impossible.”

  “But the history books are clear,” Garryk pressed. “That’s how Occulus won so many battles. He’d teleport an entire company to a strategic location and—”

  Robin checked to make sure Mr. Spigot was busy. “Just shut your sniveling face already.” Then he approached one of the giant statues. “Do they do anything or just stand here?” He turned back to Garryk. “Well, Wart? Answer me when I speak to you.”

  Garryk fumbled with his tomes. “Oh, uh, I am not sure, Honored Necrophyte, the book doesn’t say.”

  “Why don’t you leave him alone already,” Bridget said.

  Robin’s eyes widened. He was about to say something vile when Mr. Spigot returned to the group.

  “Quite the place I must say,” the man said. “Imposing.”

  Augum glanced up. High above them was a vaulted ceiling, its arched tresses looking like the ribs of a gigantic monster.

  The doors began to close behind them. Everyone turned to watch. The sound of the wind from the pit died the moment they shut.

  No one said anything as the group carefully continued on.

  Suddenly
they heard a rattling sound from ahead. “Soiled unworthies …” came a hissing voice out of the darkness.

  Everyone stopped.

  “It’s her,” Augum said.

  The youngest soldier, Squeaky, drew his short sword. “Who?”

  “Nefra,” Leera replied. “The Occi queen …”

  Nefra’s voice echoed in the darkness. “Pretenders … you will be … purified.”

  “What does she mean by that?” Robin asked, voice trembling slightly.

  “She means you’re going to be boiled alive in a cauldron and turned into harpies,” Leera said.

  “Pretenders … where is your master, the one who dares to name himself the Lord of Death …”

  “Lord Sparkstone is busy tracking down the scions that rightfully belong to him,” the Blade of Sorrows called out. “He is the true Lord of Death and Lord of Dreadnoughts. Now show yourself to us.”

  The rattling briefly increased in volume. “Scions … I remember …” The rattling grew so loud some of them covered their ears, before again subsiding. “Call on your pretender master … Bring him to face me with his lies …”

  She wants to sacrifice him, Augum remembered.

  “We will do no such thing, hag,” the Blade said into the darkness.

  “You dare …” The rattling surged. “Then you will amuse me until you do … the doors will not open but for a price … two of the black armored pretenders must duel to the death.” The rattling ceased, echoing to nothing.

  The grizzled lieutenant glanced at Squeaky, whose face had lost all its color.

  That’s right, she likes games, Augum recalled.

  “Let us investigate before making any decisions,” Tridian said coolly, striding forth into the darkness, the group quickly trailing.

  They soon found themselves before another set of doors. Nefra was nowhere to be found.

  Robin shoved Garryk. “Well don’t just stand there, Wart—open them.”

  Garryk closed his book and cleared his throat. “Entarro!” but nothing happened. “Entarro!”

  “Entarro!” Bridget chimed in, but she also failed to open the doors.

  Squeaky’s breathing increased in pace.

  Mr. Spigot turned to look back. “The door behind us—let us try it.”

  “It will be no use,” Tridian said. “Let us be done with it.”