Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

The reply was immediate. “You wield proverbs like weapons and yet I stand unharmed.”

  Ah, there! Augum thought. Discounting knowledge in favor of the blade is, in the end, a weakness.

  And what can you deduce from that, Dragoon Stone?

  His horizon is limited. He will hit his ceiling in due time.

  And therefore …?

  Augum concentrated but was unable to take that second step of deduction. Ning sighed into his mind before her voice once more rang out through the hall.

  “Good training is no replacement for independence, my dear prince. From birth, every wish of yours has been fulfilled. With the exception of your father, every single soul in your life has bowed or taken a knee before you. Every child, every man, every woman—including your unfortunate mother.”

  “Tread carefully, woman.”

  “You grew up with no boundaries but those set by your father, who ran your life with an iron fist. Tell me, Your Royal Highness, what is it you truly seek?”

  “To become the man I was destined to be, to rule the empire—”

  “Wrong!” Ning snapped, surprising Augum. “Try again, Your Highness. Concentrate.” Gavinius hesitated and Ning pounced. “You seek a worthy foe whom you can test your training against. All that training, all that fury and rage and impotence—”

  Gavinius exploded, face crimson as spittle shot forth. “You insolent old bitch! You and yours shall be guillotined—”

  But Ning barreled right over him, voice even louder. “—yearns to be tested against the one who wronged you, who dares to hold one of your future kingdoms in question, who dares to hold your very own brother hostage!”

  A ringing silence enveloped the room like a blanket. Above, the dome shuddered from a particularly strong gust as hail began pelting the glass. Distant flashes lit up the racing clouds.

  Calm returned to Ning’s voice, a calm juxtaposed against the silent and dark fury outside. “Attyla the Mighty once said, and I quote, ‘All that I am lies not within my fist, but in that fist crushing my enemy. I shall be defined by my victories, not by groveling fools begging for their lives.’ ”

  The book before Ning, now devoured, closed and returned to its place. Yet another cabinet door opened, and yet another book zoomed forth. This time, Ning’s tone was matter-of-fact. “You search for Augum Arinthian Stone not because it is your duty, but because you wish to be defined. And what a definition that would bring. To slay the one who vanquished his own father, the Lord of the Legion. To slay the one who so effortlessly humiliated your brother’s future wife in the arena, a woman who prowls the night sky as we speak, seeking final vengeance. And lastly, you wish to succeed where your brother has failed, earning your everlasting place …” Ning paused to return the book, evidently unsatisfied with its contents. “… in your father’s good graces.”

  Gavinius stared at her, face almost serene. “Father was right. You are impertinent—” He nodded to himself. “—but wise indeed. He told me to learn from you, and learn I have.” He looked up at her with bold eyes. “I shall find this villain of villains and pulverize his very bones, as well as the bones of those he loves.”

  Augum felt goosebumps rise on his skin, conscious of Leera beside him.

  “I need to find him,” Gavinius pressed. “Help me find him … Your Brilliance.”

  “But is there no current means for you to find him?”

  Gavinius resumed his pacing. “As a matter of fact, perhaps there is. I believe my poor brother’s future wife successfully spied on the fugitives using an Orb of Hearing. She mentioned that the enemy smashed their pairing.” He rubbed his goatee in thought. “I suppose it is within the realm of possibility they had it repaired in order to …” He abruptly ceased pacing to look back up at her. “You implanted that idea in my head so that we could communicate! You hide them here as we speak!”

  A cold wave washed over Augum as his group inhaled sharply.

  “You do not give yourself credit where credit is due, Your Royal Highness. Understandable, considering your upbringing.”

  “Yes. Yes, quite right.” Gavinius nodded to himself before abruptly going stiff. “Nonetheless, Emperor Samuel Sepherin hereby formally commands you to surrender the fugitives at the first opportunity should they enter library grounds.”

  The chair descended, settling to float before the heir to the empire. There was an audible sigh as a cabinet far above opened and out floated a tiny and weathered book. “His Emperorship has asked me to find the Treatise on the Sexes. I have uncovered it in my records.” The book zoomed down to the man, who grabbed it. “But please inform him that I wish to debate his underlying assumption that karma is due upon an entire gender, as that assumption is fundamentally flawed.”

  “His Emperorship deems it a security issue to meet with you, considering that—”

  “—I am a telepath? Yes, well, I assure you his thoughts lay themselves bare with his actions. Tell him I look forward to a rigorous debate by correspondence then.”

  “As you wish.” He turned to depart only to catch himself. “Oh, and where is your secretary, the beetle-like woman? I wish to speak to her.”

  “Running errands, I dare say. Is that little creature yours, Your Highness?”

  “What? Your secretary?”

  The chair floated closer to Leera. “No, that.”

  Prince Gavinius glanced at a spot right by Leera’s feet, though for the life of him, Augum couldn’t see anything there. The man nonetheless made a distasteful noise and stooped to pick it up, appearing as if he were miming, for there was nothing between his fingers. Leera, who stood a mere foot away, stiffened like a board. He studied what was in his hand and frowned. “Interesting, what is it?”

  Ning merely floated above him.

  The man held it up for the warlock Path Disciples to see. “An exotic Solian bug of some sort, as ugly as the Solians themselves.” They nodded, some chortling, only vaguely interested.

  We see what we want to see, Ning said into Augum’s mind. And by his friends’ jerky reactions, he knew they had heard it too.

  The heir to the empire walked off, still inspecting the bug only he and his compatriots could see. He stopped at the doors. “The fugitives—”

  “I will notify you should they dare to stroll my way, Your Highness. I look forward to the emperor’s correspondence.”

  Gavinius inclined his head and departed with his entourage. When the doors shut behind him, Augum’s group relaxed, drawing a collective sigh of relief.

  As the hail pelting the glass increased in ferocity along with the rattling wind, Augum rubbed his temples, head spinning from everything he had heard and witnessed. He looked at his friends and saw genuine concern behind their eyes. “If he finds me, he finds me,” he said to them. “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready.”

  “You and he share much in common, young champion. You search for him as much as he searches for you, whether you know it or not. Why fight the army when you can vanquish its leadership? Part of you has never left the arena.”

  For a moment, Augum mistook the steady drumbeat of hail for the thunderous applause he had heard in the arena upon defeating an opponent. Then he cracked a grin. “You seeded the clapping, didn’t you, Your Brilliance?”

  “We are learning. Good.”

  “Just like you seeded the idea that if the Canterrans picked up the other end of the Orb of Hearing, we could communicate. Gavinius knew our side of the orb pairing had been smashed, but you specifically gave him the idea that it could be repaired—and he thought the idea his own.”

  “Now that is deductive reasoning. And he almost caught on too—only his pride and arrogance stood in the way of the revelation.”

  A smiling Augum nodded and inclined his head, in awe at her abilities. “Your Brilliance.”

  Bridget delicately cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Senior Arcaneologist Ning, but when did the Canterrans begin ordaining warlock Path Disciples?”

  “I too am curious. All I have uncov
ered thus far is that the emperor refers to them as Path Archons. They abide by a twisted code of honor, but further study will be needed. They seem to be the emperor’s special project and are walking contradictions considering The Path suppresses arcanery. The lesson is thus—power will use any means necessary to gain more power, which often means employing the weapon of hypocrisy.”

  Augum recalled standing in the same room as Sepherin the Sufferer, a silent and infinite blizzard wall looming behind the man. “Sepherin uses The Path as a tool, Your Brilliance.”

  “Tyrants use any means at their disposal. Belief is the most powerful one.”

  The leather cord that bound the floating linen parcel began unwrapping itself and soon slipped to the floor. The parcel then floated over to Augum, who removed the linen, revealing the most beautiful book he had ever seen. It was large and heavy and latched with ornate clasps. The cover was silver with raised panel reliefs depicting seven scenes of warlock knights, each a different element, each accented with gold. Precious gems were studded into each panel, color-matched to each element. The panel depicting a fire warlock was decorated with fine rubies. Healing had opals, ice had sapphires, earth had emeralds, air had diamonds, water had lapis lazuli, and lightning had color-changing alexandrite.

  All the girls but Maxine swooned over it.

  “So pwetty,” Leera cooed.

  “Four out of the seven people depicted are women,” Bridget noted with an approving nod.

  “Including the lightning warlock,” Augum added, gently undoing the clasps. He opened the silver cover. The pages, made from fine vellum, were cracked and stained and worn with use, but the writing was legible, the majority written in the common tongue, the rest in the old tongue. He read the title aloud. “ ‘Codex Arcanera: From Birth to Death, a Life of Honor.’ ” His chest squeezed as he gingerly flipped the pages. This was more than just a book. It was a guide to living as an Arcaner, outlining training methods, expectations, history, myths, traditions, simuls, ceremonies, pilgrimages, banquets, famous battles, Arcaner order hierarchy, diplomacy, and so on—it even detailed recipes and songs and games. He looked up, mouthing, “Thank you, Senior Arcaneologist Ning. Thank you …”

  “You are welcome.” Her chair floated before him expectantly, and Augum got the distinct impression that Ning was smiling, even though her dour countenance had not changed.

  But his intuition told him Ning knew more than she was letting on.

  “You have discovered something, Your Brilliance,” he noted. “Something from the encounter with the enemy.”

  “Astute, Dragoon Stone. Unfortunately for our little princeling, he has not been trained in the art of obfuscation as well as he had hoped. And that arrogance may cost him dearly, depending on your actions.”

  “What have you discovered, Your Brilliance?” a smiling Bridget pressed.

  “A grave choice now lies before you. You may attempt to travel to Semadon and defeat the trap that lays in wait for you, in hopes of receiving information that will eventually take you to Ley … or you can rescue the last living Dreadnought and get the information directly from her.”

  The group exchanged wide-eyed looks.

  “Both paths traverse planes of violence.” Above, the hail abruptly ceased and was replaced by a squall of fat snowflakes that silently caressed the great dome like a painter’s brush on canvas. For a moment, Augum was reminded that somewhere out there flew Orion, the mighty siege engine dragon. And within its great Dreadnought bulk sat Katrina Von Edgeworth, terrorizing, waiting, hunting …

  Augum closed the book, held it to his chest, and refocused. “The last living Dreadnought. Is it … is it Esha?” The echo of a distant, proud and war-weary bagpipe began to play in his mind. He remembered her delicate final words to him all too well: Promise me, Augum Stone, that you shall live fully to the end of your days, and that you shall love deeper than the Canyons of Sabhatha and travel farther than the wandering sun in spirit and in mind. Promise me that you shall never stop learning, and that you shall remember my people, how we were once strong and whole, and that we too cried and laughed and loved and lost. You promise me this, Augum Stone. You promise me this …

  Words spoken by the last of an ancient and great race of blacksmiths, a soul who had lived eons of time …

  Ning was watching him. “It is indeed Esha.”

  Naoki had also been watching Augum. “Who is Esha?”

  “A Dreadnought I met in the war. She’s … strange.”

  “You would be too if you had been alive for thousands of years,” Leera added. “I didn’t meet her but she’s a lioness—all Dreadnoughts are. Lions, that is. They’re all lions. Er … were, I guess. Probably for the best considering they were slaves, serving one Lord of Death after another.” She saw Augum’s downcast face and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  “So Dreadnoughts really do exist?” Arthur asked. “I thought those were just stories. What?” he said when Haylee looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Nobody has laid eyes on them, what do you expect me to think?”

  “The progeny of an Unnameable,” Augum said in a hallowed whisper. “The sons and daughters of a god.” He recalled being told a tale that he had willfully tried to forget—how to an ant a human was a god and yet to the human a warlock appeared to be a god. But then a 20th degree warlock appeared god-like in relation to that warlock. And so on. He remembered being told to imagine a warlock so old and powerful that he had become an Unnameable. The conclusion was an unspoken sacrilege, a blasphemy, a blight upon everything believed about the gods … that the Unnameables had once been mortal.

  Bagpipes only he could hear ascended a fragile octave. He gripped the book tighter to prevent his hands from shaking. Such a thing could not be said aloud lest it be misinterpreted.

  A sweet melody, young champion, Ning whispered into his mind.

  Augum barely heard, lost in tumultuous thoughts. He hadn’t thought of Esha in ages, had almost tried to bury her in the recesses of his mind. She scared him because she was living history. She scared him because of her seemingly infinite depth of caring and love and fragility. She scared him because she was a talking lioness yet more human than he was.

  He suddenly became deeply conscious of Ning watching him. His soul lay naked before her, and his thoughts embarrassed him. Mercifully, she made no further comment.

  “She’s the last living Dreadnought,” Leera whispered, looking at nothing in particular. “She knows ancient secrets and forging techniques. She knows the entire span of history.” She looked to Ning. “And she knows how to get into Ley, doesn’t she? The Canterrans must be putting her to the question as we speak, trying to get what they can from her. How long have they had her?”

  “She was only captured late last evening.”

  Conversation burst forth in anxious pockets from the group. Meanwhile, Augum lovingly rewrapped the Codex Arcanera in the linen and placed it into his rucksack. Bridget and Leera drew close.

  “We’ve never met Esha,” Bridget said. “But you have. What do you think we should do?”

  Augum glanced between their faces. Bridget’s straight brows were slightly creased and Leera’s were sharp and attentive as usual. They were the faces of mortal women with mortal timelines, as he was a mortal man with only a handful of years to his name. And yet Esha had lived thousands of years. Thousands. The gulf between her and everyone else was too staggering to behold.

  “In my mind, there is no choice at all,” he whispered, eyes unfocused. “We rescue her.” He refocused on the girls, looking from one face to the other and back again. “We rescue her now.” The last living Dreadnought … the last true chronicler of history…

  “Agreed,” the girls said in unison and turned around to relay their opinion. A quick vote was held and before long they stood united as a group facing Senior Arcaneologist Ning. Even Maxine grudgingly acceded to the plan, probably realizing how much time it would save.

  “Where are they keeping her, Senior Arcaneologist N
ing?” Augum asked.

  Ning did not respond. Instead, her chair turned in midair toward Leland.

  “I know where,” his ghoul said on his behalf. When they all glanced at Leland inquiringly, he tapped his own temple. “I explored the prince’s mind.”

  Mr. Goss stuck the side of his fist to his mouth in anguish. “Son,” he began in a trembling voice, “that was a needless risk.”

  “Not needless, Father—necessary.”

  “Oh, my dear child …” The man turned and walked off to ponder the situation.

  “I leave it to you,” Ning said to them before floating up and away. Outside the dome, the storm silently raged on. A brief flash of a wing and a shadow told them the mighty siege dragon was still circling, still confused as to its own intentions.

  Multiple cabinet doors opened simultaneously as Ning returned to her studies. “Bring her here should you succeed, Arcaners,” she boomed from above. “For she is the most precious flower of them all … a flower that will need to be watered if it is to survive.”

  Northspear

  “I do not feel comfortable with this, Son,” Mr. Goss said when they had exited Senior Arcaneologist Ning’s solar. “Not at all.”

  Although the son and father faced off, it was the ghoul that replied. “I have a small part to play, Father. Allow me to play it. I can help them. I helped in the war. I’m getting older now and you have to let me shine. I can’t be cooped up inside forever. One day I’ll attend the academy. After all, I already know Telekinesis.”

  “Wait, you know Telekinesis and you’re not even twelve?” Maxine interjected. “Fourteen is standard blossom age.”

  Leland and the ghoul pointed at Maxine’s coat, which began to rise off her.

  She snatched it. “It’s illegal for one so young to know—”

  “Nonsense,” the ghoul said. “Only wild arcanery is illegal. But it’s okay for someone under that age to learn the craft if they’re supervised. I’m a prodigy, you know.”

  “A little humility, Son.”

  “They might let me attend the academy a year early if I keep it up. Please, Father, I can help. I can read minds! Think how useful that is for a rescue attempt.”