by Sever Bronny
“Yeah, yeah, save it, Bridge,” Leera said.
Augum pointed at his girlfriend while glancing past her shoulder at Bridget. “I’m just going to, uh, steal her for a bit.”
Bridget raised two open palms. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” she said in a decent imitation of him. “You two have proven you can restrain yourselves from causing a horrendous scandal. Besides, I’m tired of playing minder.”
Leera turned around while walking backward. “That’s because you finally have a reason to bend the rules—gah!”
Augum had pulled her into the room, quipping, “Get in here, Jones.”
She was barely inside before he kicked the door closed and they were all over each other.
* * *
“I’ll be seventeen in a few days,” Augum whispered, idly running his fingers through Leera’s hair as she lay beside him on the bed, her head nuzzled into his neck, a hand resting on his chest. His stuff was all over the floor as they had haphazardly shoved it off.
She toned a sleepy, “Mmm.”
“Sometimes I feel so much older.”
“Mmm.”
“You falling asleep?”
“Mmm.”
He sighed. He craved more than just a make-out session with her, but tradition demanded that had to wait until marriage. He knew she wanted the same thing, yet they had promised each other and Jez and essentially the entire kingdom—by virtue of being Heroes of the Resistance—that they would not plunge themselves into scandal. And gods help him it was difficult. More than once he had wanted to throw caution to the gutter, except they were honor-bound Arcaners, which meant they themselves would know, and it would be yet another stone in his heart that would never dislodge.
“We can wait,” she whispered, as if reading his thoughts. Her eyes remained closed. “We can do it. Otherwise we’ll condemn our marriage before the gods and kingdom. Besides, we’re not ready for children.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t diminish our love for each other.”
“I know.”
“Either one of us can always ask the question.”
“I know.”
“So watch out, because one of these days you might turn around to find your girl taking a knee asking for your hand in marriage.”
A smile graced the corner of his mouth. “You never were a traditionalist.”
“Got that right.”
“It’s not a race, Dragoon Jones.”
“We can wait ten years if need be.”
They shared a look and burst with laughter.
“Not a chance in hell,” they chorused cheekily, and shared another tender kiss. He squeezed her closer and they again lost themselves in each other until the academy bell mutedly tolled eleven times.
She lifted herself up and clumsily scrubbed her face with the back of her hand. “We should get ready for bed. Big day tomorrow.”
“Agreed. And I still have to bathe.”
“As do I.” She climbed onto his lap and kissed him deeply one more time before making her way to the door, stepping over the breastplate. “Ugh, you’re such a boy. You should clean all this up.”
“You mean the mess we made making out?”
Leera snorted. “Bah, you got me.”
“That will be one extra massage please.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And Dragoon Jones—”
“Mmm?”
“Forgetting something?”
“Oh, right—” She skipped over to the small desk and snatched her spectacles, looping them around her ears.
“Dragoon Jones—”
His pirate girl opened the door and turned around. “What is it now, Dragoon Stone?”
“Those spectacles. That outfit.” He leaned back, interlinked his hands behind his neck, and winked.
She smirked. “Sleep well, Dragoon Stone,” and closed the door behind her.
Before the Dawn
An exhausted and freshly bathed Augum slept rather well that night, although his trained mind subconsciously paid attention to the distant muted gongs of the bell until they struck five times in a row. Then he jumped out of bed, lit his palm, changed out of his night clothes, and put on his rucksack, which ran diagonally across his back with a strap across his chest.
He glanced through the small arched window and saw a city still in the grips of a cold and dark winter morning. A smattering of torches lit the streets and a few windows glittered with candlelight. Chimneys belted out pale smoke. He took it all in with a sense of quiet excitement.
Augum left the room and rapped a playful rhythm on Olaf’s and Jengo’s doors. “Up, up, up, dragoons! Let’s make history,” and smiled to himself, for it reminded him of his days apprenticing under the venerable Anna Atticus Stone—his famous great-grandmother—who would grumpily pound on his door with her staff at obscene hours.
A crash came from Olaf’s room, not unlike that of a body falling to the floor, followed by a groaned, “Just put me out of my misery already.” Jengo, meanwhile, sounded like he had jumped out of bed energetically, no doubt used to waking early for his studies as a healing element student.
The morning turned into a flurry of activity. When Augum wasn’t saying goodbye or being wished good luck or readying last-moment preparations, he was munching on stale bread and salted beef and picking at seeds from a bowl while listening to final stern instructions from The Grizzly or Jez or any other arcanist that drifted near. As always, he telekinetically kept heavy objects like desks or chairs or whatever he could find aloft, an ongoing effort to work his Telekinesis muscle, for that was the foundational spell of all arcanery.
To avoid raising suspicion from the Canterrans watching the academy, each departing Arcaner’s possessions were teleported from the Lecture Wing to the Student Wing. Although certain arcanists had emergency teleportation powers within the academy, they could not breach the dome. Once in the Student Wing, the group assembled in the theater for a final lecture.
“Remember, protectors are to watch everything and remain alert at all times,” The Grizzly boomed. He was pacing on stage, hands held behind his back. Before him, the small group of Arcaners, their protectors, and three older minders readied themselves by donning winter clothing, which included hooded fur coats and mitts. The trio secured their golden breastplates, helping each other tighten the leather straps, then donned their own arcane winter coats, which unfortunately lacked hoods. Instead, the trio were given fur hats.
“Protectors must stay close to their charges and keep talking to a minimum. We don’t know what to expect in the coal tunnels, so be on guard. And remember that you will be unable to teleport until you make it to the surface. However, once you do teleport into Antioc, the next phase of the plan will kick off. Success will mean a quick teleport to Semadon. Failure will mean a long ride on horseback.”
Augum exchanged a look with his friends. He hoped that Jez, Ordrid or Flagon would be able to hire a warlock in time to teleport them to Ohm. The problem was they’d had almost no contact with the outside world in the month since barricading themselves in the academy, so they didn’t know how many warlocks remained, and expected most to have been captured by the Canterrans—the ones that hadn’t fled or gone into hiding, that is.
“At least we’ll finally get some news as to what’s been going on in Sithesia,” Leera whispered as The Grizzly droned on.
Augum grunted in agreement. After an incident involving a desperate mother trying to hear word of her daughter, the Canterrans had locked down access to the academy dome, preventing outsiders from sneaking by and leaving parchment heralds in spots where they could be read.
“All right, that about does it.” The Grizzly glanced to the back of the theater and beckoned. Everyone from the departing group turned to see students, arcanists and Ordinaries shuffle inside. Almost every warlock was dressed in sleek black Dreadnought armor. Crafted for Augum’s father, the previous Lord of Death, the armors were fearsome in visage an
d reflected the necromantic outlook—fearsome horned helms, spiked gauntlets, and chests with hollows that resembled the pitiless eye sockets of a skull.
“They’ve come to say goodbye in the old way,” Bridget noted.
The four hundred students and arcanists formed two lines in the central aisle, leaving a path in between, while the Ordinaries gathered at the back of the theater. The ceremonial affair reminded Augum of The Grizzly gathering all the warlocks—students and arcanists alike—to swear allegiance to Augum in order to be able to activate the Dreadnought armor’s arcane protections.
“Hu-ten … tion!” The Grizzly barked. As everyone snapped to attention, he stepped aside for Chappie Fungal to waddle onto the stage, bagpipes resting on his belly. The man stopped in the center, placed the pipes to his lips, and waited a moment before blaring the first note, which wavered throughout the Grand Theater. It was a long and fragile note that echoed times past, when the academy had been full of hope and promise and many more students and arcanists. It was a note that pierced Augum’s heart and made him wish for success in the endeavor to come. He closed his eyes, fingers intertwining with Leera’s, and imagined them soaring into the sky riding dragons, defeating the enemy, freeing the academy, his castle, and finally the kingdom. And then he tried to imagine blissful peace.
Everyone solemnly sang the academy anthem, followed by the Solian anthem. Afterward, Arcanist Fungal marched off stage and The Grizzly stepped before the lectern one final time.
“On this, the morn of the thirtieth day of the first month of the 3343rd year after The Founding, this small group of Arcaner dragoons, the first in generations, as well as their protectors, will embark on a historic quest against tyranny.”
His black eyes swept over the departing group. “What is at stake? Our beloved Solia. All of Sithesia. Hope.” He raised his chin above the crowd, voice strengthening. “As we speak, the enemy watches us, looking for a weakness. They will likely attempt to overwhelm the academy once the protective dome disappears. If all goes according to plan, the dome will only be down for a short thirty heartbeats. Nonetheless, everyone needs to be ready and understand that we may not be able to re-raise the dome.”
As people anxiously stirred, The Grizzly gripped the lectern. “But you have trained for this. Night and day, you have trained for this moment. Make it a fine one.” He looked down at Augum’s group, settling a rather soft gaze on Jez. “Arcaners, protectors—may the Unnameables see you through safe and sound, and may you return to us as fearsome defenders.” He stepped away from the lectern. “Company … salute!”
The two rows of Dreadnought-armored warlocks turned to face each other in formation, some a tad sooner than others, with more than one young student tripping over his or her feet. But these things were ignored as Arcanist Fungal struck up another tune on his bagpipes, the patriotic anthem Crickets of War. This time, only the Ordinaries in the back sang, voices unifying, “For the crickets they are a-calling, and the fires of war burn bright. For the crickets are a-warning, that it will be a cold, cold night …”
The song reminded Augum of seeing villages go up in flames, of people losing their homes, their lives. He recalled swords clashing, spells flying, the harrowing cries of people trying to survive.
Jez placed her hands on Augum’s shoulders and led him to the front of their procession. Then she retrieved Leera and Bridget and made them stand alongside him. She patted each of them on the back and said, “This is it. Lead us onward, monkeys.”
The trio nodded with grave expressions and secured their belongings and rucksacks. Then, with the rest of their squad lined up behind them, they marched through the four-hundred-strong force of Dreadnought-armored warlocks. Final well-wishes came in sacred whispers from their fellow students.
“Good luck, dragoons.”
“You will always be prince and princesses to me.”
“We’ll hold the fort while you’re gone.”
“Unnameables bless you all.”
“For the academy. For Solia. For all of Sithesia.”
“Soar high, soar proud.”
The trio somberly nodded their thanks as they walked, trailed by the sound of bagpipes. At the end they faced the throng of still-singing Ordinaries. Standing at the head of them was the dark-skinned and venerable Hanad Haroun, his daughter Malaika beside him holding a bundle of garlands of dry pine, for fresh ones could not be attained. The song at last finished, drowning them in silence, and Mr. Haroun began speaking in a proud and clear voice.
“Dragoons—on behalf of all Ordinaries who wish to see a free Solia, we bestow upon you these garlands of pine, symbolizing the hardiness and strength and vitality of this kingdom which we call home. May you return to us alive and in good health. May you return to us with the ancient knowledge that will free our people from tyranny.”
Malaika smiled bittersweetly at Augum before handing her father a garland. He placed it on Augum’s head, then did the same for the girls, the other Arcaners, and their protectors, before shaking their hands and wishing them luck one final time. There was hardly a dry eye among them. All knew how dangerous this quest was. All knew the odds. Should they be successful, they would reunite history with the present. Should they fail, their kingdom would be no more and they would all likely perish.
Charles Poorman waited for them by the doors, the last to say goodbye, Sir Pawsalot in his arms. “We shall keep him safe for you, Lady Jones, worry not. We wish all three of you the luck of the gods, don’t we, Sir Pawsalot?”
The little tabby meowed and leaned closer to Leera.
“Thank you, Charles,” Leera whispered in a broken voice, gently petting Sir Pawsalot. The trio gave the tabby one last chin scratching and pet, with Leera giving him an extra-long squeeze for good measure, before stepping out into the Student Wing’s castle-like hallways. There they spotted four arcanists guarding two chained captives, Vintus Von Edgeworth and Prince Darby Sepherin, who flashed Augum and his procession loathsome looks but stayed silent.
When The Grizzly and a guard procession of arcanists not dressed in Dreadnought armor joined them, Augum knew the captives would be used as pawns in case the worst happened.
Jez rhythmically snapped the fingers of both hands while singing, “Positions, people.” The eight Arcaners lined up single file, with Augum in the very front, then Leera, Bridget, Olaf, Jengo, Haylee, Laudine and Alyssa. The protectors lined up flanking each Arcaner, making a line of threes. After came the two arcanists and Jez for a total of twenty-seven people. Four competent students in the back would report the squad’s success or failure to The Grizzly and serve as emergency reinforcement in case of an underground breach.
As they walked toward the secondary entrance to the catacombs, Augum heard The Grizzly bark more commands before the Dreadnought-armored students marched out of the theater. They would line up by the portal to the courtyard, ready to run outside as soon as the dome fell—but only in case of a serious breach, for they hoped to not have to reveal that they had the armors in their possession. In that moment, the Arcaners would pass through the underground boundary and Headmaster Byron would initiate the complicated ritual to re-summon the dome.
Brandon squeezed in between Maxine and Augum, earning a fierce glare from her.
“And just in case there are any lingering doubts,” he began sheepishly, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve learned my lesson. My loyalties will forever lie with you now. I swore the oath to serve you and I meant every word of it.” His eyes drifted back to Bridget. “The Unnameables know I already lost enough.”
Augum nodded his thanks, distracted with reviewing plans. Brandon had been effusive and honest with his efforts to get back in their good books, but the trio had kept him at arm’s length. Once their trust had been broken, it was difficult to regain.
“Glad you saw the error of your ways, maggot-breath,” Leera said from behind them, delivering a light punch to Brandon’s shoulder.
Brandon forced a nervous smile. �
��I’m just glad to be on the right side again. I got swept up in stupidity and brainwashing, and that’s … embarrassing to admit.”
“And you paid for it.”
A distant look came over Brandon’s face. “I did …” He cleared his throat. “I better get back in formation,” and he scurried back to protect Bridget alongside Cry.
Naoki walked on Augum’s right side. “Are we still playing that game?”
“No, that’s over with now.”
“Pity.”
As if they were in cahoots, Arthur, who walked beside Leera and Ulfric, asked Leera in his whispery voice, “So who won out of the two of you?”
Augum whirled about, walking backward. “It was a draw.”
Arthur reddened at being overheard. “Oh, uh … nothing purse with the question, Augum.”
“Purse?”
“Personal.”
“Ah.” That slimy short form again. He noticed a guilty blush to Leera’s cheeks and suspected she knew she had also let the game get out of hand. They were both at fault for their immaturity, mostly bred from boredom at being stuck in the academy for the past month with little to do but train.
Augum turned back around. Naoki leaned close to Augum and whispered, “You sure you don’t want to needle your girlfriend a bit more? That was fun.”
“Hey!” Maxine barked, marching alongside Augum like a soldier. “Are the lot of you going to yap on about inanities like this for the whole journey? Because I’m going to give myself a Nodian smile if you are. I’m twenty-three, way too old to be dealing with this kind of nonsense.”
They fell silent. Maxine was one of those people whose presence somehow made jesting an offense.
The procession eventually reached the catacombs and then continued on to the long-sealed coal tunnel entrance. By then, Augum was boiling in his winter coat, robe and Dreadnought breastplate, and the dry pine garland was irritating his scalp.
Jez dug out a runic key from a pocket. “Hand the garlands to the back and prepare for entry.”
