Valor (Book 3)

by Sever Bronny

  Augum scanned the horde of monsters. “Why aren’t they attacking?” he asked.

  Peyas waved a lumbering creature aside and it pushed into its undead companions. “They have been commanded not to.”

  Nefra stopped near the center of the room, beside the giant demon, allowing herself to be surrounded by the horde. She raised a single arm. “I give you entry, Pretender.”

  A light briefly flared on the distant floating platform. Augum strained to see, but it was pitch-dark. The Blade of Sorrows and his group turned around to watch. There was a brief scream, probably from a sacrifice, and the stones of the bridge began to form.

  Robin and Temper lit their palms. Their light soon touched upon a man dressed in highly ornate and sleek Dreadnought steel armor. It was the color of night, shining like the moon, with the burning sword emblem of the Legion upon the breast. A wispy black cape rolled from his great shoulders. At his side hung Burden’s Edge, the family Dreadnought blade. Yet he wore no helm—his head was free to look upon the army before him, his eyes crackling electrically, the lightning sometimes spidering down to his strong chin.

  “My new children,” the Lord of the Legion, Death and Dreadnoughts said, voice magnified arcanely, booming off the walls. “Join me. There is no reason for us to quarrel.”

  “Imposter …” Nefra’s voice was silk, slithering through the horde before her. “Pretender … submit yourself to the cauldron … and raise the true master …”

  Lord Sparkstone’s lips creased with a smile as his lightning eyes fell upon Augum. “I see you have my son.”

  “He will boil in the purifying waters along with his pretender father …”

  Sparkstone’s arched brows rose. “You think it is I who is the pretender? But you are not even Occulus’ true wife.”

  “You dare …”

  “Oh, but you know very well someone else had his heart. He never loved you.” He raised a finger at her. “You are the pretender.”

  Nefra’s tongue rattled angrily as the horde stirred, eager to pounce.

  Sparkstone made a casual gesture and a globe popped out of a pouch, hovering near. Then more floated free, until four scions buzzed around him like attentive bees.

  Augum almost swore aloud. His father had four scions now …

  Sparkstone watched the ancient orbs hover. “You have no idea how much I have learned; the true extent of my powers. You see, I am the true Lord of Death.”

  His lightning eyes returned to her. “Let us strike a bargain—I will give you a kingdom to reign. You can have Tiberra, if you like, for I know that was his kingdom once. You will be a queen, as you were meant to be, with a kingdom to rule as you see fit. In return, you will teach me the secrets of this castle. You will teach me everything Occulus knew, and more. I want it all.”

  What a horribly evil match that would be, Augum thought. She’d enslave or torture or play malicious games with an entire nation. It couldn’t be allowed to happen, yet what he could do about it, he did not know …

  Nefra stood silent as if actually entertaining the offer. It became deathly quiet, until she spat the words out like venom: “No, you will boil! Take him!”

  The horde lumbered forward, groaning and screaming and clacking, the fastest of them, the walkers, once again in front. Robin and Temper scurried to hide behind the doors while Tridian stepped forward to assist in the battle. The Lord of the Legion merely raised a hand, staying him. He then pointed at various walkers. Some of them immediately attacked their brethren, while others continued to charge at Sparkstone. The ones that refused his command, he vaporized with thick ropes of lightning.

  As soon as the first wave was destroyed, the second, composed of wraiths and small demons, charged. Nefra was pointing this way and that, casting spells, enchantments or curses. Sparkstone shrugged most off. The ones that actually hit his Dreadnought armor dissipated or did little damage. He watched her with a disdainful smile, toying with her, allowing certain strikes to hit him.

  Soon Peyas began directing some of the larger beasts, including the great bull demon. The battle became thick and loud, with light flashing and explosions bursting. Meanwhile, Augum backed away to the door. Nefra was going to lose, this much he knew. He had to get out of there; he needed to open the doors, but how?

  Then an idea came to him, but was it possible? He imagined Osbert, who he had left behind in the other room, running back to the entrance of the Spawnery, where Augum had last seen Horrick, and scooping the enchanted armor up in his arms. Then he imagined Osbert carrying Horrick back to where Augum was and setting him down just on the other side of the closed doors.

  The battle raged on. His father had summoned an elemental to fight the bull demon, and the mighty but frantic brawl was making the ground shake. After obliterating two wraiths with forked lightning, the man reached to the ceiling and summoned a small lightning storm. The noise of thunder was deafening.

  Augum hoped his plan had worked. “Horrick, open the doors! Horrick—!”

  Peyas, who had been concentrating on the bull demon, looked his way just as the doors began to open.

  Augum met his bloodshot eyes. “Please, let me go …”

  The bull demon suddenly roared and fell, crushing a slew of undead, but Peyas did not seem to care. “The battle is lost,” and turned away from him.

  Augum was about to run out when an idea occurred to him. He turned toward Nefra, watching her movements carefully, particularly the large leather pouch on her belt where the tablet was hidden.

  He had to time it just right …

  He raised his arm and beckoned for the pouch to open with Telekinesis, trying to undo the strap. But at this distance, the spell required complexity and skill he did not possess yet.

  The battle raged as Augum dropped his arm in frustration. But he couldn’t give up, not yet. There was one other thing he could try, as foolishly dangerous as it was …

  He focused all his remaining arcane stamina and concentrated on the pouch, the way it moved, the way the strap bounced, how her body reacted to the ebb and flow of battle.

  “Centeratoraye xao xen.”

  Centarro immediately sharpened his senses, brightening the lights and amplifying sounds. Augum ignored the chaos around him, a plan forming beautifully in his mind like a complex puzzle coming together.

  The pounding in his head was a drum now, but he fought through it. He raised his arm and focused on the strap, focused all his concentration, even as things exploded nearby and bones flew at him; even as he was struck by fleshy debris; even as time quickly ran out.

  The strap slowly undid itself like a leather snake. Soon the pouch was open and the tablet sprang free. Augum kept all his attention on that iron tablet as it carefully floated out of Nefra’s pack, escaping her awareness. He ignored the blood trickling from his nose, the black walls of unconsciousness creeping into his vision. He weaved the tablet through scrambling walkers and bursts of lightning, until at last he was able to snatch it from the air.

  He held on to that piece of cold iron like his life depended on it.

  “Horrick, follow me!” he shouted, collapsing to his knees. He was about to lose awareness, but not before sending one last carefully imagined set of instructions to Osbert.

  Find me. Pick me up. Carry me to the doors of the smithy. Do not let me go.

  Cunning

  Augum slowly became aware of himself struggling in the grip of strong and unyielding arms. It dawned on him it was Osbert. He quickly envisioned the animated creature letting him go, and was suddenly dumped to the floor. There he lay a moment, trying to get his bearings. He felt his nose and saw blood on his fingers. It was hard concentrating through the dull haze, not to mention the pounding headache. Somewhere, not too far away, were the echoes of a battle.

  Horrick stood quietly nearby. A large bronze door loomed ahead, decorated with a hammer and anvil.

  The smithy …

  “Horrick, open the door to the smithy!”

  “As mi
ne disgustingly wretched unworthy commands.” Horrick stepped before the great door and made a gesture. It rumbled open, releasing a stale mineral smell.

  Augum scrambled to his feet, suddenly aware his hands held nothing.

  Where was the tablet!

  He glanced around, only to find it laying a few steps back. He must have dropped it in his Centarro-induced stupor. He grabbed it and raced through the door, commanding Horrick and Osbert to follow. Inside the pitch-dark room, he quickly found a torch rune on the wall.

  “Firemente,” he said, and watched as torches flared to life along the walls of a vast tall room, making visible an array of large forges, each matched with an anvil, a stone basin, bellows, and assorted other smith equipment. All of it was oversized and dusted with ancient soot.

  He raced from one forge to the next, sliding on the dusty black marble floor, yet none of the runes he found made any sense. At least they were arcane forges. Now all he needed was a way to—

  “Horrick! How do I fire one up—?”

  “Only Dreadnoughts used thy smithy, wretched cur.”

  He could hide the tablet maybe. No, they’d easily discover it with an Unconceal spell!

  A concussive boom echoed distantly. The battle quieted down a little after that, sounding as if it was coming to an end. He better figure something out fast. The First Offensive definitely wasn’t strong enough to melt iron. He needed something more …

  He spotted an exquisitely carved ebony cabinet. He raced to it and flung open the doors. Inside he found an array of chisels. He recognized the craftsmanship immediately—all were made from Dreadnought steel.

  And suddenly the idea hit him. He threw the iron tablet to the ground with a clang.

  “Osbert, come here!” Augum called, before realizing his mistake. He pictured the horse-headed creature doing his bidding instead. Osbert ran over, grabbed the largest chisel and a hammer, and began carving the intricate writing off the tablet.

  It was working! Sliver by sliver, the words peeled off in crinkled strips like butter. Augum could barely contain his excitement. It had to be the stupidest way to destroy something so important, but who cared? He kept his imagination focused on Osbert, making sure none of the inscription survived.

  Just as Osbert finished chiseling off the last strip of writing, Augum hit upon a horrible realization—his father could easily repair it! He still had to destroy the strips!

  There was a distant mighty boom and then a grinding noise. There was no time. He quickly stuffed the precious shards into a pocket and ran, leaving the scraped-clean tablet behind.

  “Horrick, follow me!” he shouted as he raced through the doors into the grand Hall of Ceremony, imagining Osbert keeping pace. Osbert had dropped the precious Dreadnought chisel though, as Augum forgot to imagine him holding on to it.

  No time to go back—to his far left, the horde was retreating from the sentinel room, pursued by bursts of lightning and fire. Something large was squeezing through the doorway, but he did not stick around to find out what. He raced past the laboratorium and on to the throne room, where he tripped and scrambled over unraised ancient bodies, all while trying not to leave Horrick or Osbert behind—he might still need them.

  Augum charged up the steps, past the mighty throne, and crashed through the open door just behind. It was dark on the other side.

  “Shyneo,” he said, gasping for breath. His blue light crackled to life, revealing a semi-circular grand guest hall with plush carved chairs, pedestal tables, and low mahogany shelving. A coat of untouched ancient dust clung to everything—untouched except for fresh footprints that led through one of a series of fine black oak doors.

  The girls and Garryk had to have gone that way.

  “Horrick, follow me!” he said, imagining Osbert doing the same.

  Beyond the central door was a corridor of dusty paintings that reached all the way to the vaulted ceiling. Every single one was a portrait of the same woman—a petite girl with porcelain Henawa skin and milky hair. Her face was plain but pretty, eyes full of sad love.

  Occulus’ beloved.

  Augum tried to still his heart so he could feel the subtle pull of Object Track, but again failed—he simply wasn’t practiced enough with the spell. He raced on, Osbert right behind, Horrick shuffling along in the rear.

  At last, he barreled through an ornate oak door, into what looked like a grand bedroom furnished with a towering tester bed carved in the shape of a dragon. All the furniture was carved from the same black oak. There were dragon dressers, wardrobes, tables, chairs, and even shelves. The floor was covered with the finest Tiberran silk carpets, the walls with Tiberran tapestries depicting all manner of natural creature. At the foot of the bed hung another portrait of Occulus’ beloved, this one the finest of them all. She wore an exquisitely embroidered robe, cheeks lightly brushed with crimson, an ivy coronet resting on snowy hair ornately done up.

  There was no time to stare though; who knew how long until his father came looking for him.

  Augum searched for a secret door. He looked everywhere, even in the wardrobe and privy, but found nothing. Yet they had to have come this way—there were even dusty footprints, which seemed to disappear right in the center of the room.

  He forced himself to relax and tried focusing on the Object Track spell again. At last, he felt a very subtle tug pointing him onward and downward.

  But downward? So there was a hidden passage here …

  He extinguished his lit palm and concentrated on finding something purposefully hidden. He splayed his fingers. “Un vun deo.” In the darkness, the Unconceal spell tugged him to look underneath the dragon bed. There he found a page torn from a book, roughly written over with charcoal.

  Augum, we are all right. We hope you are too. We have gone down into a chamber below the bed. You must say the phrase written above it. Take this note with you or destroy it. Hope to see you very soon. Yours, Leera.

  A wave of relief washed over him. They’re all right! But written above what? The note? He looked around. “Horrick, how do I get down there?”

  “I do not presume to understand thee ravings, mine twisted fiend of a guest.”

  “She must have meant the top of the bed,” Augum muttered to himself, and searched. There was indeed a phrase there, but it was written in ancient Tiberran. Garryk must have read it—except they had forgotten to transcribe it for him!

  He was doomed …

  “Leera, Bridget—can you hear me!” but there was only silence. He glanced back at the door, expecting his father to burst through any moment now.

  He got up and paced like a madman until his eyes fell upon the ancient suit of armor with the empty skull helm. “Horrick, read this phrase aloud to me.” He tapped at the top of the frame.

  “As mine discourteous and unwelcome unworthy commands.” Horrick shuffled over and looked up with his empty skull helm. “Andromus iu vectus, mio satus unudeus.”

  The bed creaked and came to life, folding almost mechanically, back and up. It took a portion of the floor with it, revealing a spiral stone stairway. Augum, absently playing with the pocket that held the tablet shavings, couldn’t help but be impressed.

  He took a step down and stopped, thinking he should set an alarm. He snatched a blue and white ancient vase from a dresser and placed it before the door. “Concutio del alarmo,” affixing a bell sound to the object if it should be disturbed.

  “Horrick, I want you to repeat that phrase you read on the bed frame as soon as we’re gone, then guard that door there. Do not let anyone inside, and don’t tell them where we’ve gone.”

  “As mine eternal unworthy foe commands.”

  Augum imagined Osbert following and began descending the spiral steps, palm shining in front. The walls were rough cut stone blocks, the stairs the same. The air was cool and musty and smelled of ancient earth. Above him, he heard the grind of the bed as it closed. Horrick would probably betray them, but hopefully they’d be long gone by then.


  The steps spiraled down for some length, opening up into a rubble-strewn anteroom. This one was made of old gray stone, different from the rest of the castle. He walked through an ancient archway ahead and into a vast cavern. Towering black marble monoliths circled a raised platform, on top of which sat an ornate sarcophagus. But it wasn’t the only sarcophagus—there was one at the foot of each monolith.

  He quietly climbed the steps of the platform, stopping at the top, Osbert right behind. The lid of the sarcophagus was carved with the face of Occulus’ beloved, a single rose below, and some ancient inscription he couldn’t read.

  As he stood there in the silence, he could hear a muted scratching noise.

  “Bridge? Leera?” but no one responded. Soon a similar noise began from the other side of the room. His breath quickened as he suddenly realized where the noises were coming from—the sarcophagi!

  The hairs on his neck stood on end. This is where Nefra had entombed Occulus’ women …

  The noises quickened, soon joined by muffled howling and cries of old agony. How many centuries had those poor women been here? Their suffering was unspeakable.

  He played with the idea of setting them free, yet what if they attacked him in their madness? What if they weren’t those women at all, but walkers?

  “Bridget! Leera! Where are you!” but there was only silence. He ran about, searching the walls for engraved portal symbols. Had they already teleported out?

  He spread his fingers and let his Shine extinguish. “Un vun deo,” but couldn’t concentrate in the darkness with that scratching and howling. He tried focusing on the Object Track spell he had cast on the Orb of Orion. He felt the pull, and after re-lighting his palm, discovered it pointed at a pool of water ahead, below an archway. As he neared, he saw it was a set of flooded stairs. Amidst a fresh puddle at the very top lay a rock.

  Augum picked it up. It was wet but unmarked. Was it a signal left behind by the girls? How did they get through the water? It had to be near freezing …

  Suddenly a bell went off in his head and a thrill shot up his spine—Occulus’ bedroom had been breached!