Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  Mary chewed on a fingernail. “Isn’t Crimson Tooth, like … full of crooks?”

  Klines smiled down at her stubby feet. “Jez liked to call it a ‘den of scoundrels and miscreants, just my type.’ But it’s also been known to be a fiercely independent town.” She looked to Augum. “When do you need to go?”

  “The ritual has to be completed during a full moon.”

  “Which is full through tomorrow night,” Cry noted.

  “Thus a small window of opportunity presents itself,” Klines said. She rubbed her eyes underneath her spectacles, as if contemplating if she should say what she was about to say. “Fine. We can pick up the dragon bone ingredient here in the arcane wing of the library,” adding in a mutter, “though it might get me dismissed.”

  “You be darn right it might, lass,” Herzog said, head bobbing like a cork. “Best you ’fess up and tell the old windbag once all is said and done. Only way she’ll let you keep that beetle hide of yours.”

  Klines expelled a tedious breath before fixing her spectacle-magnified gaze on Augum once more. “What’s your plan for the rest of the ingredients?”

  “I was rather hoping you could help us with that, Secretary Klines.”

  She sighed. “Just as I feared …”

  And so the group put their heads together and strategized. Just as they finished forming a plan, a loud alarm went off in Augum’s head.

  “Intruders!” he blurted. Palms immediately dimmed or extinguished altogether as everyone hurriedly gathered their things. The trio quickly donned their Dreadnought breastplates, helping each other with the straps.

  “Summano semperis vorto honos,” Jengo whispered, lighting his palm with a pale glow. He touched Augum’s shoulder, imparting a bit of that glow, and quickly did the same to everyone nearby.

  Augum, thankful for Jengo’s initiative in casting the Ally of the Dragon simul, shivered at its warm tingling sensation that temporarily boosted his casting strength by one whole degree.

  “Take up battle positions at the end of the rows,” Augum commanded.

  “No fighting in here!” Klines hissed, but they were already hurrying to the bookshelves.

  Augum was among the last to get into position, joining Leera’s side and snuffing his dimly lit palm. She stood before him, peeking around the corner of the shelf. Since they were the only two in that spot, she found his arm in the dark and dragged it around her waist. He gently squeezed her midriff in response. There was nothing more exciting—or nerve-wracking—than danger in the dark.

  In the distance, the enemy, visible by their dimly lit palms, was whispering to each other.

  “Violence is prohibited!” Klines kept hissing at the huddled group from nearby. “The books must be spared at all costs!”

  “Tell that to the Canterrans,” Leera muttered.

  “I’m going to tell that to the Canterrans too,” Klines comically added, though there was no way she’d heard Leera. Augum thought she had been jesting, but Klines’s palm lit up with a bright airy glow and she strode out from her hiding spot. The group immediately began hissing at her to return, but it was too late.

  “There goes one!” shouted a stern male voice Augum recognized as belonging to Prince Gavinius, which meant the enemy must have finally caught on to Leland’s clever illusion.

  The enemy palm lights hurriedly intersected with Klines’s light. Augum counted at least twenty warlocks, indicating the Canterrans weren’t messing about.

  “Easy now, I am only here on routine inspection, nothing more,” Klines said in a nonchalant voice that revealed a bit of extra squeakiness. “Etonius! Etonius, wake up!”

  A clanking noise sounded along with several notes of surprise from the enemy.

  “Clean up the mess they left back there, Etonius.”

  “As my lady commands,” Etonius replied in his echoing voice.

  “Where is it going?” Gavinius demanded.

  “To clean up the mess.”

  “What mess?”

  “Students come here all the time and do not bother cleaning up after themselves.”

  “You mean students who should be enjoying winter recess from an academy that’s barricaded itself in?”

  Augum gulped.

  “Er—”

  “Silence, woman!” Gavinius roared so suddenly Leera flinched in Augum’s grip. “Who gave the illusion that I had visited this wing of the library? Huh? Who ordered my troops to guard the entrance? Answer me, or by the light of The Path I will have your head lopped off here and now!”

  “I … I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  A studied silence passed. “They are here. Inform Father.” His voice was calm once more.

  “As His Highness commands.” They heard a pair of boots running off.

  “Summano stamina au draca persona,” Jengo whispered from behind, and Augum felt another touch on his shoulder. This time he sensed his stamina reserves fatten from the Stamina of the Dragon simul. Leera got the tap right after.

  “Good work,” Augum whispered to Jengo, who had already moved on to the next row, his glowing palm hidden in his sleeve. Augum wondered if the Arcaner Order had some way to reward its warlocks, for surely Jengo deserved recognition for his amazing support. Augum hadn’t had the time to give the command and yet Jengo had taken crucial initiative twice now.

  “Light the torches,” Gavinius barked from ahead.

  “This is a warlock library,” Klines replied. “We must light our own paths—”

  “Seize her.”

  “With pleasure, Your Highness.”

  A minor scuffle broke out. “Let go of me, you fiends! I’m the Secretary—”

  “Shut your gob.” A smack was followed by a weak grunt.

  “We’re in for a fight,” Augum whispered to the next row of shelves. “Pass it on.”

  Word quickly spread. “Aug says we’re in for a fight …”

  “Who’s near me here?” Augum whispered.

  “Maxine and Arthur to the shelves right of you,” Maxine immediately replied. “Mr. Goss, his son, and Mary are to the right of us. Can’t see beyond that.”

  Augum was grateful for her military efficiency. “Bring everyone you named with you and follow me in a moment,” he whispered. “Pass along to everyone else that after a count of thirty heartbeats they’re to summon and send their elementals down the central aisles. Then tell them to flank the Canterrans by hugging the wall using the Darkness spell. And nothing and nobody gets left behind.”

  Maxine passed along the instructions precisely.

  “So we’re doing this, huh?” Leera whispered, squeezing his arm. “We mess up this place and it won’t be the Canterrans that we’ll have to worry about, but an enraged Ning.”

  Augum tightened his rucksack strap. “No choice. We have to get out of the city as soon as possible.” He ignored the butterflies in his stomach that heralded a coming battle, and tried to keep the vision of Naoki being pulverized from soiling his concentration. He feared for his friends, for his beloved, for himself. That fear made him breathe and think quicker. Lethality coursed through his veins. The bastards had no idea what was about to hit them.

  “You know they probably locked down the library,” Leera whispered.

  “We’ll just have to deal with it.” Augum waited a few more heartbeats as multiple lit palms approached between each row of shelves. “That’s about thirty.”

  “Hit ’em,” Leera said, and they carefully traced the outlines of dragons. “Summano elementus minimus draco.” Two dragons, one watery and the other crackling lightning, flared to life between one of the middle shelves while other elementals appeared nearby simultaneously. “Draco, attack,” Augum and Leera chorused while various similar commands rang out beside them. The dragons whipped their tails before lunging forward like hissing vipers.

  Augum followed up the spell with a sweeping movement of his arm, incanting, “Voidus vis,” and a wide ink-black cloud burst into existence, straddling the t
wo rows on the left and giving them cover to run to the wall. Similar spells fired off on the right.

  “Ready to move,” Maxine whispered in the darkness.

  “Stay behind me, Father,” Leland’s ghoul said.

  “You be careful now, Son,” Mr. Goss replied in a shaky voice, cradling Leland tightly in his arms.

  By then, the enemy had heard or seen the tumult and rushed at them.

  “Follow me and be ready to watch my back,” Augum said as he led his small squad to the wall. He stopped his group about ten paces behind the inky cloud.

  “Armor up,” Leera hissed to their group, and a bunch of “Armari elementus totalus” incantations rang out. Augum’s body encrusted in a thick coating of hard black lightning, powerfully amplified by his Dreadnought breastplate.

  He unsheathed Burden’s Edge. “Summano arma grau,” and the blade elongated into a longsword and burst with lightning. It was now primed with eight Slam castings.

  The sounds of combat began—swords and spells flew at their summoned elementals. Enemy commands were shouted, indiscernible through the chaos.

  “Use me as your shield,” Augum said to his squad, and summoned his black lightning shield, protecting those behind. He pondered casting a shield rune as well but figured it would only block the aisle. He held his blade forward over the shield like a needle while spell combinations blazed through his mind.

  An enemy snapped off a spell from the other side of the cloud, which lit up orange.

  “Shield wall!” Augum shouted, keeping his shield perpendicular to the ground as he huddled behind it, with Maxine and Arthur summoning their shields in the same manner alongside him. A huge fireball walloped into the wall a heartbeat later, its flames lapping around the edges like hungry tongues. Surrounding shelves instantly caught fire.

  “Snuff that fire!” Augum said over his shoulder, knowing that Leera and Mary’s water spells—at least the low-degree versions—would not damage the books since they dissipated after casting. But while they each splashed the shelves with gentle jets of water, the black cloud lit up again.

  “Incoming!” Maxine shouted, and they ducked as a double fireball walloped into the shield wall. But this time the flames were contained and no books were damaged. Augum looked back to see Mr. Goss cowering behind Leland’s ghoul while his son struggled to break free of his iron grip, no doubt wanting to help with his telepathy.

  The sounds of spell combat began to fill the room alongside screams of pain. Pockets of fire sprouted amongst the shelves from various impacts. Smoke from the burning books began to limit vision.

  “Baka!” an enemy warlock incanted from the other side of the cloud, dispersing it with a whoosh to reveal three warlocks, one in the white garb and red-and-white crest of a Path Archon, and the other two in crimson robes, indicating a maximum 12th degree. For the briefest of moments, the two sides sized each other up. Then the spell flurries began. Augum, Arthur and Maxine held their shield wall up as Leera and Mary sent watery Second Offensive castings into the enemy, who haphazardly summoned their own shields in defense.

  And then came the mind spells. Fear, Deafness, Confusion, Slow and Blind all zipped back and forth like arcane bulls, some slamming into people’s boosted Mind Armors, others delivering glancing blows or missing altogether.

  Augum, realizing that they were in a classic spell standoff, cursed himself for wasting a quality simul and sheathed Burden’s Edge so that he could enter the fray. He pointed over his shield at The Path Archon, who looked to be gesticulating at himself in readiness for a complex spell, and twisted his hand three times. “Flustrato, flustrato, flustrato!” He felt the cold pull of his arcane stamina drain with each casting.

  But the man fluidly ducked, wove and dodged, telling Augum that he had cast Reveal, which allowed him to see the spells approaching like arrows—not a bad way to fight. But at least Augum had succeeded in interrupting his casting.

  “Shield wall!” The Path Archon snapped in response, and the other two crimson-robed warlocks raised their shields in front of him, allowing the man a chance to recast the complicated spell.

  “First Offensive,” Augum commanded, conscious that they had to be conservative as they didn’t know how many more enemies they’d still have to face after this. “Everyone together, right guard. Disappear on two. Three … two—” Arthur and Maxine allowed their shields to disappear. “—one!”

  All five of them slapped their wrists together, shouting, “Annihilo!” Two lightning bolts, two jets of water and a thick vine slammed into the right-most warlock, obliterating his shield and plowing into his chest. He crumpled with a weak gasp.

  The other warlock grabbed his head and screamed, dropping his shield defense. Then he began backing away from the body and flailing wildly as if it had risen to attack him. Augum turned to see that Leland was now standing apart holding his hand out, stubby fingers spread, a vicious expression on his burnt face as he manipulated what the man saw. His father, having never been involved in combat like this—nor seen his son in action—clung onto the ghoul for dear life, eyes glassy orbs behind spectacles that reflected flaming bookshelves.

  But it was too late—The Path Archon had finished his worship of the ground. “Sancto sacro daemos marjorus,” he hissed, bursting into a muscled demon twice the size of a man.

  The warlock under Leland’s control took a pitiful swing at it, but the demon, perhaps assuming the man was already lost, smashed the side of its bucket-sized fist into his face, caving it in. Leland jolted as the body fell to the ground in a broken heap.

  “Unnameables help us all,” Mr. Goss mumbled, grabbing his boy and practically dragging him back.

  The demon kicked the body aside and shot forth with incredible speed for its girth, face twisted with malice.

  “Its thoughts are strong,” the ghoul said, backing away beside Mr. Goss and Leland. “We should run.”

  Not a chance in hell, Augum thought, blood boiling with the same rage he had felt when the purple-robed warlock had betrayed him in Northspear. No way was this demon going to harm his beloved and his companions.

  “Second Offensive, fake first,” he growled. “Now!” He and the others slammed their wrists together, shouting “Annihilo bato!” but purposely not drawing upon their arcanery. It worked—the demon summoned a demonic shield that looked like it had been crafted from glowing embers.

  “Low, First Offensive—” Augum quickly said, and they slapped their wrists together again, incanting, “Annihilo!” A combo of multiple strikes shot out.

  The demonic Path Archon re-raised its shield, suspecting the trap. But it had guessed wrong—they weren’t aiming at its torso, but rather its legs, which exploded with black blood that splattered nearby shelves. The demon roared and fell to the ground, but instead of squirming in pain, it began rabidly crawling, trailing the stumpy remains of its legs and growling, “Blasphemers!”

  Augum unsheathed Burden’s Edge and charged, roaring a mighty battle cry.

  The foul thing stopped its frantic slithering in order to slap its wrists together, gutturally shouting, “Annihilo ito!” It was the same attack that had taken Ulfric down—a triple blast of three rays of fiery light that emanated from the ground.

  Augum made an instant battle calculation—rather than dodge the triple blast and risk his companions being killed, he summoned his shield, shouting, “Mimicus!” while focusing on the complicated concept known as arcane perpendicularity. His shield flashed into an arcane mirror and rebounded the three unholy blasts with a thwoom, sending them smashing into the demon and pulping it into a hissing and smoking mess of guts and gore that splashed the surrounding shelves.

  “May your soul find the peace together we could not reach,” Augum said over all the enemies. Then, chest heaving, he turned to the stunned others, the demon’s guts dripping from his face. “I’ll act as a shield. Let’s move.”

  They hurried to catch up to him and then ran like a pack of hunters, each watching through break
s in the bookshelves, ceiling lit with fiery shadows that danced the rhythm of death. The squad soon came upon another walkway allowing them access to the other rows, only to find Etonius casually standing there, arcanely shooting water at a fire from his wrist that dissipated shortly after making contact with the books. Scattered around him were the bodies of Canterran Ordinary soldiers interspersed with the occasional warlock. All looked in awful condition, as if they had been beaten by battering rams.

  “Ghastly,” Mr. Goss whispered, drawing his boy close.

  Leera only shook her head. “Surreal.”

  There was a loud thwoosh from ahead.

  “Incoming!” Maxine shouted, and the group summoned their shields just in time for a bone spear as big as a battering ram to plow into them, sending them tumbling.

  “Summano valla marjorus girata barricada brambla,” incanted a harsh voice. Augum heard a crunching noise as a huge necromantic wall of spiny brambles appeared behind him, crushing into the bookshelves and cutting him off from his friends.

  Augum scrambled to his feet in time to glimpse a crimson-checkered crest on a white robe, the dark glow of thirteen black arm rings, and the malicious twinkle of a pair of golden eyes before he was on his heels, defending himself from a flurry of spells.

  “Voidus lingua! Dreadus Terrablus! Vikari vikarei! Closs pesti! Flustrato!” A couple were necromantic spells—Rot and Pestilence. And interspersed among all the audible castings were a few flicks of the wrist or splays of the hand that sent miniature tendrils of poison and a small cloud of black mist flying toward his face—both necromantic extensions.

  Augum barely even had time to comprehend that he was dueling none other than the heir to the empire—Gavinius Sepherin—and he was using necromancy! He ducked, dodged, weaved and slapped the thankfully visible poison tendrils aside with his shield. He let the Rot spell crumple against his Mind Armor and shoved the pestilent swarm of flies away with a quality Push casting. But like a boxer taking it on the chin, he still caught a couple of the lesser mind spells, which dented his boosted Mind Armor as if it were cheap tin—but did not penetrate … yet. The man was testing him, feeling out his weaknesses with mediocre but quick castings. He was good—very good—one of the best Augum had ever faced.