Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  Augum telekinetically held the blade in midair while the man awkwardly tried to guess what he would do next, waving his flaming blade in a haphazard manner as his back sizzled against the wall. Augum simultaneously disappeared his shield and rapidly snapped his fingers, causing multiple silent and bright flashes—Blinding Flash, an off-the-books 6th degree elemental spell he had recently learned.

  The man blinked and flinched, allowing Augum to telekinetically launch Burden’s Edge like a spear, skewering him through the heart. The man gasped as his burning sword and shield instantly disappeared. He staggered into Augum’s clutches, mouth opening and closing and eyes wild and aware of the black end that was rushing in. For some inexplicable reason, Augum held onto him, watching his life fade, before the enemy’s grip loosened and those wild eyes rolled into the back of his head.

  “May your soul find the peace together we could not reach,” Augum whispered, gently lowering the man to the ground. Conscious that the sounds of fighting had ended behind him, he withdrew Burden’s Edge and wiped the blade clean on the man’s robe.

  He stared down at the body, a warlock locked in war. Becometh violence hath I, destroyer of worlds …

  “Aug!” Leera called.

  He turned to see the place half on fire and his friends helping each other away from the smoke and flames.

  “Give us a hand, would you?” Leera pressed, shepherding a hobbling Haylee, who was holding up a singed hand, away from a particularly turbulent fire.

  Just then, a bleeding warlock woman in her mid-twenties stumbled out of the tunnel, gurgling, “Mercy—”

  Maxine, who was standing over a fallen enemy, stabbed her earthen blade across the torn entranceway, slicing the woman’s throat. The Canterran fell to her knees, gurgling and gasping and clutching her throat. Blood spurted through her fingers as she looked directly at Augum with horror-filled eyes before falling forward, dead.

  The friends gaped in shocked silence as Maxine allowed her summoned blade to disappear.

  Augum started to march up to her when Bridget got in her face first, ignoring the swirling flames around them. “We always accept a bent knee,” she said through gritted teeth. “That is the Arcaner way. Do you understand?”

  Maxine studied her. “Fact. I am not an Arcaner. Fact. We are at war. Put your dolls away, kiddo, this is the real thing,” and she shouldered past Bridget to check the tunnel for enemies.

  Leera’s face twisted with fury. She carefully handed Haylee off to Jengo and began marching to confront Maxine, who began searching the bodies at the entrance for crucial intelligence—only for Bridget to grab her arm. “Not now.”

  Leera glared at Maxine’s back. “Fine,” she said with gritted teeth, “but this ain’t over.” Then she turned about to take stock of the situation. Jengo was casting healing spells on Haylee while the rest of their friends tried to keep the fire at bay with whatever arcane means were at their disposal. Naoki, the only fire warlock in their group, was most effective, snuffing flames by repeatedly sweeping her arms back and forth, while Mary, a water warlock, cast a focal rainstorm over a hotspot. But they were losing the battle and it was only a matter of time until the whole city came down upon them.

  Leera kneeled over the woman’s body and whispered the Final Valediction. Augum and Bridget joined her and the trio finished the sacred custom even as Maxine searched the enemy’s belongings.

  They soon gave up trying to snuff the flames and scrambled outside, taking shelter against a snowy building across the road. Bridget then withdrew a Group Teleport scroll from her satchel. “I’ll start the preparations,” and began studying the 17th degree scroll, something that would take high concentration. Luckily, the trio had cast Group Teleport scrolls before and their training had been recently bolstered in the academy.

  “Where’s Maxine?” Augum asked as Bridget worked.

  “Still inside,” Cry replied in that perpetually bored tone of his—a misnomer, to be sure, for although Cry looked bored and withdrawn, Augum thought him actually quite astute.

  Maxine emerged a moment later, coughing. “No useful intelligence on the bodies,” she reported when she got to them. “Who’s casting the scroll?” When she saw that it was Bridget, she made a sucking sound through her teeth, as if disagreeing with the choice.

  Olaf placed a hand over his eyes and looked up at the column of smoke rising into a clear sky. “That’s a heck of a beacon fire. Going to bring the whole city down on this spot.”

  “Damn right it is,” Maxine muttered with a Move it along motion. “You ready yet, Burns?”

  “Let her work,” Augum said, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

  Maxine ignored him and snapped her fingers at Mary and Brandon. She pointed at the corners of the building and the two of them took up lookout posts.

  “Squad of soldiers incoming,” Brandon soon reported. “Looks like Ordinaries.”

  “Good, then they won’t be following our ’port,” Leera said.

  Bridget at last kneeled and spread the scroll open before her. “I am ready.”

  Maxine snapped her fingers again. “Link up, people.”

  But after they linked hands and Bridget readied to cast the spell, Maxine noticed their sour faces. “The Grizzly chose me because I am good at what I do and I can get things done. We’re not here to make friends, and you all forget we’re at war, and lives are cheap in war. So I’d advise you all to gird your loins and suck it up. And just because you’re famous—” She flashed the trio a rather pointed look. “—doesn’t mean you’re any braver or more battle-smart than I am.” She nodded at Bridget. “Get to it already, Burns.”

  Fears

  “Yeah, well, my parents are fun-loving,” Mary said, sitting cross-legged and idly drawing a flower in the snowy plank floor. “And yes, they’re still alive, just in hiding. Father is a warlock courier, Mother an Ordinary ale taster and brewer.”

  They were in Antioc, taking shelter on the second-floor ruins of an old brick house heavily damaged in the Legion War, a pre-determined meeting spot in case of accidental separation. They planned to wait around for a couple hours in case Jez and the other arcanists and Arcaners had somehow made it out of the academy.

  Bridget had teleported them into a nearby alley she had once been to. As far as they knew, no one had spotted them as they scurried into the building, breaking the door down and repairing it after themselves.

  It was noon and slanted winter sunlight streamed in through a broken window. Bridget had already checked on the repaired Orb of Hearing they hoped would allow them to listen in on Katrina, but still heard nothing. She had rewrapped it tightly in silentium before putting it away, face troubled. Silentium was a frightfully expensive piece of silk cloth acquired from the headmaster, who informed them that it had been enchanted by an arcaneologist to prevent sound from passing through it. Everybody else huddled under the remains of the war-torn roof, with Haylee keeping an eye out through the window and Brandon watching the stairs. Conversation, for whatever reason, had drifted to the topic of parents, even though Augum—and likely some of the others, judging by their sullen faces—were itching to talk to Maxine about her behavior. The trick would be doing it in a way that wouldn’t further erode their already rock-bottom morale.

  Leera, cuddled in Augum’s lap for warmth, raised her bespectacled eyes. “My mother was an ale taster and brewer too,” she mumbled in a distant voice. Augum suspected her thoughts had been on Ulfric.

  Mary drew two leaves at the base of her flower. “Really? Did she make vile concoctions as well?”

  Leera stared at Mary’s drawing. “She did, in point of fact. They were the most revolting things. I swear she wanted to poison me half the time—good-naturedly though, and only when I misbehaved, which happened a lot, of course.”

  “Mine didn’t try to poison me but she did dabble with ingredients like stinkroot. I think she did it in jest, but I never got the joke because I don’t have much of a sense of humor, or so I am tol
d.”

  Leera forced a smile. “Fates help me, mine too. They must be sisters or something.”

  “That would make us cousins. But your parents are dead, right?”

  Leera’s already fragile smile slipped from her face. “Yes. The war.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Mary, I do not have a sense of humor either,” Bridget said, sitting beside Olaf. “Or so I’ve been told as well.”

  “Nor I,” Cry mumbled. He was sitting cross-legged near Bridget. In between writing in a parchment journal, he twirled a goose quill between perpetually ink-stained fingers.

  “Nor I,” Jengo chimed in, eyes constantly darting to the window even though he couldn’t see anything from his seat by the wall. “I mean, I think I was funnier back when I was more scared of everything. Truth be told, those fears have started creeping back.”

  “What do you fear?” Augum asked, realizing perhaps now was not the best time to confront Maxine. The group needed to settle down a bit first.

  “Not being smart enough for healing. It’s hard to describe how difficult an occupation it is. For example, whereas all your extensions are optional, mine are mandatory. And they’re super complicated. So every degree, not only do I have to learn the standard spells—which I’m simply never going to have time to fully master because of how intensive a process learning the healing spells is—but I have to also learn two healing spells and their extensions. Previous degree—the 5th—I learned Dehexify and Anesthetize and their extensions. This degree, it’s the spells Induce Coma, as well as Remedy Infection Poison Venom—”

  “And thank the gods for that,” Haylee muttered. “No more relying on mere antidotes in case of assassins.”

  “And I just learned Exploratory Abscission and Single Spell immunity for the 7th—all while training up on those two support simuls. Still struggling with Remedy Complex Wound though, which is 8th.” He rubbed his face and groaned. “Never been so challenged in my entire life.”

  “But you have one big advantage,” Cry said without looking up. “You get to learn as far ahead as you want.”

  “That’s true as long as I’m learning a healing element spell—and that’s obviously because it’s in everyone’s best interest. But as you know, healing spells are notoriously complex, so it’s easier said than done. Thing is, I can’t even defend myself, and if I do dare to cast, say, the First Offensive—the only one of the four major offensives healers are allowed to learn, a fascinating story all on its own as back during The Founding certain interests demanded that healers still be able to lend a hand in a fight—anyway, if I dare cast the First Offensive, I have to write down all the details and face a mandatory disciplinary hearing on the matter.” He sighed heavily. “I just want to make my arcanists proud. Father too. He was very much against me learning the arcane arts in the first place.”

  Mary shrugged. “My father said it’s not brains that count but hard work.”

  “That’s comforting to hear. But I guess I fear dying too. This is dangerous. You saw what just happened.” Jengo glanced around at them. “Incredibly dangerous. You do realize that, right?”

  Maxine pressed her eyes shut in impatience and seemed about to say something when Arthur whispered, “I fear my luck running out like Ulfric’s. I fear it running out before I am able to fulfill my duty to Dragoon Jones.” He was sitting near Augum and Leera, and his gaze kept flitting back to her while he wrung his hands.

  “I share that fear,” Naoki blurted, training her gaze on Augum. She sat cross-legged beside him, back stiff as a board.

  “Then I suggest the two of you focus on the task at hand,” Maxine snapped. She was pacing between the window and the stairs as if not trusting Brandon and Haylee to do their jobs.

  “Since we’re talking about fears, I still fear I hit my ceiling,” Olaf mumbled. “You all know I’ve decided to give it another go, same as Alyssa. That is, I’m going to come back to the academy after this is over—assuming it still stands, of course—but I can’t get over the thought that because I failed my last exam period, I’ll never pass again.”

  “I’ll help you this time.” Bridget smiled warmly at him and smoothed back a lock of blond hair from his forehead. He had been growing it out lately, muttering how short hair made him look like a fat ugly soldier.

  “She’s good at helping people,” Brandon blurted, keeping his gaze focused on the stairs, refusing to look at the pair of them. “I … I wouldn’t have passed without her help. I owe her a lot.”

  Bridget had helped Brandon study for the recent exams, even after everything he had done, an example of her capacity for forgiveness and compassion.

  Cry looked up from his occasional scribbling. “That’s big of you to say.”

  Brandon smacked his lips at him and Cry sighed and returned to scribbling.

  Augum nodded at his journal. “Are you writing anything that would concern us if it should fall into enemy hands?”

  Cry pressed his lips together and held his journal up for all to see.

  Olaf leaned forward and squinted. “That’s total gibberish.”

  “Not only is my writing purposefully bad, but I also write in code. Cryptography has its uses.” He nodded at Leera. “We took that class together.”

  “It indeed has its uses,” Leera mumbled, one hand resting on Augum’s arm around her waist, the other doodling in the snow like Mary.

  “What about your parents, Cry?” Haylee asked from the window.

  Cry abruptly dropped his journal and scrambled to pick it back up. He wiped the snow off with his sleeve as he fumbled for a response. “I’m the son of, uh, the son of tax collectors. Everyone hates my family.”

  “But what are they really like?”

  He shrugged, cheeks crimson. “Boring.”

  “Fry Himself is suddenly tongue-tied when speaking to a girl he wrote about,” Brandon noted with a chuckle. But when he caught Augum’s and Bridget’s disapproving gazes, he fell silent.

  “Don’t be silly, Summers,” Haylee said matter-of-factly, glancing back out the window. “Just because he wrote a kind piece about my womanhood ceremony—which he did for the sake of academy morale, of course—”

  “This is true,” Cry said.

  “—does not mean we are a match in any way, shape or form,” Haylee concluded, nodding in affirmation to herself.

  Cry buried his face in his journal. More than a few people exchanged amused looks. Either Cry was superbly shy around certain girls or he liked Haylee. The thing was, the more Augum thought about it, the more it made sense—in training, Cry’s gaze had lingered on Haylee more and more. At first, Augum thought he was going to write another piece on her, perhaps something about struggling through adversity due to her bad leg, but now he suspected there was more to it. Maybe writing about her womanhood ceremony had made him see her in a different light. Who knew with Cry—it wasn’t like he shared his feelings with anyone.

  Arthur leaned forward to look past Augum and Leera. “And you, Naoki? What’s your store?”

  “You mean my story?”

  “Natch.”

  Naoki’s delicate cheeks reddened. “You tell yours first.”

  “All rye.”

  “All right,” Maxine corrected. “And I order you to stop using short forms. We’re in a battle situation and therefore need clear communication. Do you get me, Cartwright?”

  For once, Augum agreed with Maxine.

  “If it improves your attitude, I guess I can do that for you, Max.”

  “Maxine.”

  “Gotcha. Anyway, my story …” Arthur winced as he rubbed his apparently sore shoulder through his fur coat. “Father is a profitable carpet maker and Mother works with him and tends the house. Both are Ordinaries. Father, who expects a lot of me, was quite surprised that I had the talent for arcanery, and at first forbid it as he thought it a blasphemy against the gods. That is, until Mother reminded him how much money arcanery could make the family. Mother has always watched out for me, but Fathe
r … well, let’s just say he watched out for himself first.” He stopped rubbing his shoulder. “She, er, cringes in his shadow. He … he …”

  Leera stopped doodling to look at him. “He beats her, doesn’t he?”

  “Leera—” Bridget hissed.

  “Yes,” Arthur blurted, to gasps from the other girls. “Yes. Yes, he does.” His head fell. “Viciously.” He refused to look at any of them in the silence that followed. Even Maxine stopped pacing.

  “Uh, you go on and, uh, tell your story, Naoki,” Arthur mumbled, looking as small as Cry.

  “Wait, did you not report him to the watch?” Haylee said from the window.

  Arthur’s square face twisted in revulsion at her. “My own father? Are you stupid or something?”

  More gasps.

  Haylee folded her arms and tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

  “No, I mean it, is she stupid or something?” Arthur glanced to the boys as if hoping for support, but none came.

  “Well that’s quite out of character,” Leera said.

  “I’ll say,” Olaf blurted.

  Augum merely shook his head in disappointment.

  “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through,” Bridget began in an even tone, letting go of Olaf momentarily to stare at Arthur, “but you have no right to speak to Haylee that way.”

  Haylee nodded, glaring at Arthur.

  Arthur, seeing their furious faces, quickly cleared his throat. “I … I apologize. I forget myself. It’s … a touchy subject, that’s all. I love my father and couldn’t fathom telling on him like some … disloyal rat. Family is family. Anyway, I apologize again, now please take your turn, Naoki.”

  As Maxine returned to pacing and the friends stirred uncomfortably, Naoki took a deep breath and dragged a hand through her cropped jet hair. “My family lives in a small and isolated town in Ohm,” she began in her light Ohmish accent, almond eyes dancing from face to face. “Mother is a scribe and Father a council member. I grew up happy … until my parents arranged a marriage for me with the richest and most well-known bachelor in town.” She smiled to herself as she played with the hem of her embroidered sleeve peeking out from her coat. “Mother always said I would marry a famous man. The thing was …”