Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  Augum inhaled the musty scent of old stone and books and scrolls and wax. It was good to be back in the ancient and venerable institution.

  Klines nodded across from them at door number one thousand ninety-nine. “Thought you’d like your old room while you stay. You still remember how to get in?”

  “Of course.” Leera pressed her hand against the door where there should have been a doorknob. “Initiate Leera Jones.” The door soundlessly opened inward, revealing a spacious room with a leaded glass window at the far end.

  “For those of you that do not know me,” Klines began after they filed in, “my name is Secretary Prudence Klines. I welcome you to the Library of Antioc. As tradition dictates, all knowledge here must be earned. Please refrain from asking historical questions. Instead, try reading a book.” She grinned cheekily and opened her palms. “These are the dormitories. But first, I will have to register you so that you may safely use the library. Please step forward, one at a time.”

  Those who hadn’t been there before placed their palm over an etching of a gargoyle by the door. While she initiated them, which involved giving the etching a simple command, Augum glanced around. The room was just as he remembered—sparse and with simple mahogany furnishings. There was a study table, three beds with three small foot boxes and folding wooden privacy screens. A plain door led to a bathing room and privy. The room also had a large central carpet found in all the dorm rooms. The carpet’s edges were decorated with ornate books and runes and its interior depicted knights, gargoyles, demons, peasants … and a dragon. And it was that dragon that caught Augum’s attention, for the last time he had been here it meant little to him other than a decorative embellishment. But much had changed since the war …

  Olaf elbowed Bridget. “So this is where you hatched your evil plots, is it?” As he bantered with her, Leera led the now-initiated group to the window to point out the great arena and recount a few highlights from Augum’s duels, along with their adventures.

  Augum, meanwhile, remained behind to study the carpet, barely aware that Secretary Klines was watching him. The knights, the gargoyles, and even the demons defended a castle. He had always assumed they were defending the castle from the dragon, but upon closer examination, everyone—including the dragon, which hovered above the castle menacingly—was looking in the same direction. Augum followed their gazes and saw a great shadow with a distinctive outline woven into the carpet.

  “You see it, do you?” Klines asked, arms folded.

  “They’re working together,” Augum replied. “The knights, the dragon, the demons, the gargoyles—they were all on our side, weren’t they? And this shadow—” He kneeled down and traced its outline with a finger, recognizing the shape all too well for it had been seared into his brain since bursting through the academy grounds. “—is one of the three Rivican siege engines, isn’t it?”

  “Omnio incipus equa liberatus corsisi mei.”

  “All begin equal but only the curious thrive,” Augum whispered in reply, looking up at Klines. “Did library attendants know about the true history of the dragon prior to the rise of Orion?”

  “A precious few did. Such knowledge could have only been acquired by dutiful study and the dogged pursuit of lost truth, a truth complicated by thousands of years of obfuscation in the form of legends, children’s stories, and campfire tales. But history is cyclical.” A mysterious smile graced the corner of her small mouth. “It seems the time of the dragons may yet return …”

  “What have you found there, Aug?” Brandon asked. The others had stopped ogling the city and were looking over at him and Klines. Augum stood and explained what he had discovered in the carpet, and soon the others joined in a barrage of questioning.

  “How much does the library know?”

  “Why isn’t this knowledge taught in schools anymore?”

  “Why didn’t the library aid the trio with their Arcaner quest?”

  “What news of the kingdom? Where is Orion now?”

  “Are the Canterrans in charge of the library?”

  Klines, standing with folded arms and a placid face, waited until the questions trickled to a halt. “Are you done pestering me? Because it is not my place to answer all of those questions. The library is fiercely independent—perhaps to a fault—but that has allowed it to remain free and its sacred knowledge kept safe.”

  “How many kingdoms have the Canterrans taken over?” Maxine asked.

  “You have not heard?”

  “We have been barricaded in the academy for over a month,” Cry stated.

  “Yes, of course. Then this will come as a shock.” She unfolded her arms and looked from face to face. “All of them.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Maxine pressed.

  “The Canterrans captured all of them. In the span of a month, every kingdom capitulated to the dragon. Emperor Samuel controls all of Sithesia.”

  The group stared at her, mouths gaping.

  “A few resisted for a short while,” Klines continued, “but all it really took for them to bend the knee was for the dragon to fly over their armies.” She wandered past them to stare out the window. “You can guess what happened—they soiled themselves where they stood. Many now worship the dragon as if it were a god. And Sepherin the Sufferer has begun to live his motto.”

  “Del servi o tei ancro balan,” Augum whispered, haunted by it.

  “In service to the sacred balance. He calls it the Great Blood Debt. Every kingdom but Ohm owes the Canterrans lives, and the man has begun collecting—from the other kingdoms, at least, sparing ours for the time being. But he is said to be ruminating on the problem that comes next for him—how to balance the sexes. Many more men have died than women, something the madman thinks he may be able to correct.” She continued staring out the darkening window that rattled in strong wind gusts. “Your only advantage is that the Canterrans have spread themselves thin.”

  “How do they maintain control while the dragon is gone?” Haylee asked.

  Klines nodded at the window. “See for yourself.”

  They crowded close but only saw a city in the grip of an ever-strengthening storm. They were so high up that the clouds, gray and heavy and sliding by at a furious pace, looked like they were directly overhead. Smoke from chimneys streamed horizontally. Distant banners of the arena, now empty, rippled in the fierce wind. Down on the street, people looked like ants … and they seemed panicked, running wildly around and taking cover where they could.

  “They are hiding from something,” Jengo whispered.

  “What are we looking for?” Mary asked.

  Klines raised a tiny finger. “Watch.”

  They held their breath. Just at the point of letting go, something monstrous and black flew by the window, rattling it. Everyone but Klines jumped back, only to quickly return to witness Orion the siege engine dragon, a gleaming colossus of black Dreadnought steel, swoop away from the library and glide silently over the city, causing thousands of people below to scramble for shelter. Its wings were blades of evisceration and its toothed maw gaped, hungry for warlock souls. And inside that beast was a vengeful and victorious Katrina Von Edgeworth.

  “I had forgotten how huge it is,” Maxine said, breathing rapidly.

  Klines nodded. “A wingspan that is eight barns wide. And as you see, unlike a soldier, whose patrol may be confined to a street or a city wall, the dragon’s patrol can span the kingdoms. It’s actually been quite punctual lately now that the kingdoms have fallen. They feed it captured warlocks. We don’t know how far a feeding takes it, but the Canterrans seem to have quite the supply now that all of Sithesia is at the emperor’s disposal.”

  “She knows we’re here,” Bridget said, withdrawing from the window and bundling her furs close.

  “We think they put our captured colleague to the question,” Jengo noted, flashing Maxine a look that she ignored.

  “Perhaps,” Klines replied, “but you forget Emperor Samuel’s interest in history. He is no
fool, and would have likely guessed your next move anyhow. As the first Arcaners in generations, you would logically try to do what your ancestors achieved—bring back the dragons, which would require a trip to Semadon to ask the Seers how to get into Ley. The Senior Arcaneologist already surmised this.”

  She turned to face them. “Your quest was most likely doomed to fail before it even began. Should you have continued on to Semadon, you would have almost certainly fallen into a trap. Thus, I would be counting your fortunes that you find yourselves here among us, for believe it or not, Senior Arcaneologist Ning had been hoping to aid you in your quest.”

  Augum watched as the dragon disappeared into a distant bank of black clouds. “Did she know we would come here?”

  “She is not a Seer, Augum. It was a mere hope. I thought it a faint one, until that messenger tracked me down in my study.”

  Mary preened, proud of herself.

  “So what do we do?” Bridget pressed.

  But before Klines could answer, a gentle knock came at the door. She gave an impish smile and strode over to it. When she opened the door, they saw Leland Goss, a boy on the verge of teenagehood with a burn-scarred face and eternally shut eyes. Behind them, standing with round spectacles and a balding and partially burnt scalp, was the boy’s smiling father, Mr. Albert Goss.

  And behind the father stood Leland’s undead ghoul.

  A Visitation

  After the hugs—gently delivered, for Leland was fragile—introductions were made. Albert Goss was a short man with laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. He kept adjusting his spectacles between bouts of rubbing his hands in excitement, for he considered himself a bit of a father figure to the trio. Leland was quickly gaining on him in height and was lanky thin. The boy’s eyes, along with his entire scalp and face, showed the scars from a lightning burn. Only part of his cheek still showed his humanity in the form of a smiling dimple. Both wore the gray attendant robes of the library. Every time Augum laid eyes on the pair he saw what his father had done to them, reminding him that they were only two people among thousands to have suffered so.

  “My, my, how good it is to see you all again,” Mr. Goss said, a fist to his chin, the other hand pressed to his cheek, head slowly shaking. “Makes me misty-eyed. You are now full-blooded Arcaner dragoons. I could not be prouder if I tried. And look! Leera has spectacles too! Do you see that, Son?”

  The ghoul stepped forward. It too wore a gray robe, hood drawn, though there was no hiding the massive musculature underneath. Its face was obscured by a porcelain human mask painted a gentle hue, with empty sockets for the eyes and mouth. It wore white cotton gloves and a white scarf around its neck, so that the only evidence that something was not right—besides the theatrical mask—were the eyes and mouth, for both were undead. The eyes were sunken and dark and flat, the mouth dry, the lips curled back to reveal rotten black teeth. The thing was perhaps the last undead creature in the kingdom, a frightful remnant of the war.

  The ghoul, towering over everyone but Jengo, leaned toward Leera, who subconsciously took a half-step back. “She looks so smart!” the ghoul suddenly blurted in an eerie gurgle, chuckling like a twelve-year-old. Those who knew Leland joined in.

  Maxine readied her hands as if to attack. “What dark witchery is this?”

  “I assure you there is nothing to be worried about, young lady,” Mr. Goss said amiably. “We simply tell anyone who asks that he is an uncle who suffered from the Necrotic Plague.”

  “You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it, Little Lee,” Augum noted. “But where’s the Agonex?”

  Leland turned around to reveal a thin rucksack specially made to conceal the Agonex, the artifact that allowed the boy to commune with and communicate through the ghoul, for Leland could only moan and make clumsy hand gestures. The Agonex, a bronze disk that the trio had acquired at great cost, had once allowed the ancient necromancer Occulus to control an entire army of undead soldiers just like this one. Leland’s ghoul had been the captain of that army, and Leland had defeated it in a mental contest, taking control of the army. Those who knew him considered it a feat of legend.

  “They keeping you busy, little man?” Leera asked, gently squeezing Leland’s burnt arm. “How old are you now, fifteen? Nineteen?” She winked at Bridget.

  “Almost twelve, silly,” the ghoul replied in a sing-song fashion, its brackish lips split in a grin behind the mask. Leland’s lips had moved but not his body. “And I’ve gotten really good at controlling it, Augum,” the ghoul went on. “I don’t have to move my body anymore to mimic what I want. I just have to think it. Watch—” and while Leland stood absolutely still, the ghoul strutted to the center of the room, where it began a ridiculous dance number, coordinating its arms and legs in an awkward wobble and making everyone but Maxine laugh. Leland made his ghoul add in a twirling hip wiggle so that the entire dance turned into an artless weave of wiggling and wobbling, causing the laughter to turn into a howl.

  “Kid’s a better wiggler than I am,” Olaf mumbled between snorts.

  “All right, Son, that is quite enough,” Mr. Goss said, and the ghoul ceased its dance and sauntered back to Leland’s side.

  Mr. Goss beamed over at Brandon. “And how are you and Bridget coming along? Well, I hope? When is the wedding?” He winked encouragingly.

  Everyone stirred awkwardly. Brandon swallowed and looked down at his feet while Olaf straightened his chin.

  Bridget went scarlet. “Uh, Mr. Goss … I’m with Olaf now.”

  “Oh. Oh dear. My sincere apologies, everyone, it is just that I have not seen you in so long a time and news has been impossible to come by.”

  Bridget wrung her hands. “Quite understandable, Mr. Goss.”

  Mr. Goss nodded. “Yes, good. And I look forward to getting to know you better, young man,” he said to Olaf. “I am sure you are quite outstanding to have caught the attentions of our beloved Bridget.”

  Brandon’s gaze remained on the floor while Bridget and Olaf sheepishly glanced at each other. Cry, dawdling with his journal nearby, glanced over at Haylee. When she caught him looking, he quickly looked away, leaving her furrowing her brow in confusion.

  Mr. Goss’s face abruptly darkened as he spotted something past Augum’s shoulder. The group turned in time to witness the dragon once more disappear behind a cloud.

  Klines stepped toward the door. “This is a dangerous moment and we should not dally. Besides, Senior Arcaneologist Ning is expecting us.”

  “Do we all need to see her?” Leera blurted. “Maybe it should just be a couple key figures like Aug and Bridge or something. I mean, not that I don’t want to see her …”

  Bridget tried not to smile. “Is it because she can read your mind?”

  Leera swallowed, avoiding Augum’s gaze. “She can see through us like we’re glass. Bit of an invasion of privacy, isn’t it?”

  “She is a telepath and a healer,” Klines said in a flat tone.

  Augum was surprised to learn that Lien Ning was a healer. He wondered if that was the secret to her long life.

  “And she is over a hundred years old,” Klines continued. “She has read countless thousands of minds. What makes you think anything you have rattling around in that teenage brain of yours will shock her?”

  Leera nodded a few too many times. “Uh-huh, so you’re saying she’s exceptionally mature, got it.”

  Klines merely opened the door, unimpressed. “Follow me.”

  They made their way down the hall to a room filled with etched portals. Klines activated one and they stepped through, soon entering another portal room. They walked out to a gently curving flagstone hallway familiar to Augum. It was lined with pedestals of marble busts, a portrait hanging behind each one. The occasional deep-ledged window rattled as the storm continued to intensify. The air smelled of cleaning mint and books. But it was the storm that brought back the most memories, for the last time he had witnessed one in this institution, it heralded an epic showdown.

/>   Klines led the group down the corridor to a set of giant carved oak doors decorated with an exquisite painting of a crimson gargoyle reading a book amongst piles of tomes and scrolls.

  Klines turned and whispered, “A word of warning. She is well over a hundred years old but sharp as a blade, and is to be addressed as Senior Arcaneologist Ning or Your Brilliance. Do not speak out of turn. Do not obfuscate your thoughts. Be quiet, be honest, be humble. Understand?”

  Heads nodded.

  Klines turned and smoothed her robe, then glanced around at them and indicated her collar, making everyone adjust their coats and robes. She waved an open palm and the doors soundlessly opened.

  They entered a vast round room as silent as a tomb. A giant desk overflowing with tomes and partially furled parchments sat in the center on a polished mural-painted floor. The towering walls, stretching a hundred feet to a glass-domed ceiling, were made entirely from glass-fronted bookcase cabinets containing tightly-packed books, tomes and scrolls. A throne chair floated high above them, silhouetted by dark clouds speeding silently over the dome.

  “Gods be praised,” Arthur mumbled, for the sight had everyone’s necks craning.

  “Shh!” Klines hissed. “Wait and be quiet.” She flicked a finger and the doors closed silently behind them.

  “How fortuitous that the prodigal sons and daughters return,” a wheezing but deep voice boomed from above, echoing off the cabinets and polished floor. “By which I mean the sons and daughters of an ancient occupation most thought lost forever. An occupation—some would call it a calling, even—that could build a bridge between the Leyan plane and our own. A bridge of shared knowledge. A bridge for the sons and daughters of the calling.”

  Augum was surprised to hear her voice aloud, for he had been used to her speaking directly into his mind. Though it occurred to him that, as a high-degree warlock, there was no reason she could not do both.

  Her chair floated before a bookshelf. “Near two millennia have passed since the Leyans withdrew from Sithesia, choosing to become minders of knowledge instead of shepherds of it.” As she spoke, a scroll drifted from the chair to a shelf and the cabinet door closed. Simultaneously, another door opened on the opposite side of the vast room and a square parcel wrapped in old linen floated out, meeting up with the chair in the center. The cabinet door closed of its own accord while the parcel was examined by the person in the chair. “Ah, here we are. This has been waiting for such sons and daughters for … quite some time, dare I say.”