by Sever Bronny
The table did not laugh at this.
The emperor gawked at her and was then overcome by another coughing fit, forcing him to fumble for his cloth.
While his father fought to regain control, Gavinius seized the opportunity to take the reins, pressing his palms to the table and leaning forward. “We wholly reject your pathetic offer,” he hissed, spittle flying. “Further, you dare address the emperor, you churlish cow! You, an impure and blasphemous and smug little peasant girl who will be flogged and quartered once all this—”
But Bridget interrupted him, never taking her eyes off the emperor. “We both know the only reason you have not continued murdering Solians in noticeable numbers is because we hold your precious son hostage. The moment that changes, you’ll slaughter us like cattle.”
Gavinius was shaking with fury now as he raised a white-knuckled fist and slowly extended a finger, about to deliver a response, only to be stayed by a hand from the emperor, who had finally quelled his fit.
“Last we spoke, Dragoon Burns,” the emperor began in a lethal whisper, “I warned you that I would only forgive your intransigence but that one time. The last woman who dared to insult me by speaking out of turn had rats feasting on her innards while she still breathed. The only thing that protects you on this eve is the Hallowed Trust, but beyond this night, you shall not escape my wrath again. This I promise you before everyone present. Consider yourself marked.”
Bridget’s nose flared with each breath, but she maintained her gaze on the emperor. Beside her, Leera shared that glare.
Before them, the food steadily went cold. Not a soul had touched it. As famished as they were, the companions knew that eating it would show weakness. As host, the emperor should have initiated the meal by inviting them to toast to something both sides could agree on. Augum was annoyed that the Canterrans would ignore tradition to purposely torture his companions, for employing such tactics was dishonorable.
Instead, the emperor nodded coolly at the Lord High Steward to continue negotiations. Augum realized it amused Sepherin to use the traitor in this way, as if he did not want to filthy his hands by using his own people.
“A counter proposal, if you will, Dragoon Stone,” the weasel said, voice wavering slightly. “You hand over the Ancient One, the captives, open the portal for us, and we spare your lives and your academy—”
“Oh, is it no longer your academy, Lord High Steward?” Augum snapped. “Have you turned traitor so completely that you consider yourself wholly Canterran?”
The Lord High Steward hesitated. “My cause is a new Great Peace, Dragoon Stone. That is worth the price of disloyalty.”
Augum glanced between the enemy faces, drawing on his studies in History class while gathering the courage to say what he wanted to say. “The First Great Peace came about because Arcaners destroyed two Rivican siege engines, vanquishing the invaders. The Second Great Peace came about because of plague and the dawn of enlightenment that manifested in The Founding.” He waved dismissively at The Path Archons and Katrina. “The Third Great Peace will never come traveling on the road of necromancy, nor will it come through the manipulations of a controlling cult—”
The table broke out in tumult, with many older Canterrans standing and quivering with rage while hissing curses at him and calling for “Heathens to burn.”
Augum plowed over them, shouting, “—a cult that wishes to reverse the progress of the written word, turn women into slaves, and keep arcanery strictly for the rich and corrupt!”
While the enemy protested, the companions folded their arms across their chests.
“That is merely an uninformed and blasphemous opinion,” the Lord High Steward declared at last, and the Canterrans settled down. “And although you have a brave—albeit foolish—tongue, my misguided friend, you forget that Arcaners enforced peace with might before destroying that very peace—and half the kingdoms along with it—through infighting.”
“Ah, but you are wrong, my traitorous friend.” Augum tapped the table. “The First Great Peace was enforced with honor and justice and dignity ensured by Arcaners.” He glared at the man. “We’re never giving up the last living Dreadnought, ever. And we all know how little you care about Solian lives. So spare them. Spare them all, leave Esha alone, and we begin from there.”
“I am afraid His Highness insists on the Ancient One as being part of the bargain,” the Lord High Steward countered.
And so the negotiations went, with offers and counteroffers thrown back and forth like bowshots. The food went stone cold and not a drop of ale or wine was drunk. Not even water was permitted. After nearly an hour of this back-and-forth, many of the companions sat glumly in their seats, exhausted.
Prince Gavinius leaned back and slowly rotated his neck, stretching and flexing it. “I say we kick them out, let them walk, then hunt them down like the dogs they are. Capture them, force them to cast the portal.” He snarled. “Force them in the old way.”
“Hear, hear,” said one of the old lords, knocking on the table in agreement. “Kick them out, track them, put them to the question. They will break. They always break.”
“One hundred thousand lives,” Augum blurted. “Spare one hundred thousand Solian lives, including everyone around this table and the servants, and we let you come to Ley with us. Nothing else changes. No other hostages, nothing.”
It was the lowest number proposed yet, by twenty-five thousand lives.
The emperor stood in a formal manner, prompting every Canterran to stand as well. “Done.” He extended a hand across to Augum, who gaped at it in surprise.
As a testament to the gravity of the situation, both chroniclers exchanged a meaningful look before scribbling furiously.
Something still didn’t feel right to Augum, yet he couldn’t place it. But what choice did he have? The Canterrans had the leverage and power, and his group had to get into Ley before the full moon waned. He knew that if this fell apart, their odds of success plummeted, and who knew what treachery the Canterrans were capable of. One hundred thousand lives deducted from that insane blood debt was still an incredible amount of lives saved.
The exhausted and starved companions seemed to be thinking along similar lines, for none objected when Augum looked to them. And so he stood, his friends joining ceremoniously. With great reluctance, he accepted the handshake.
The emperor flashed a cold smile. “Now let us feast.”
Repercussions
The starving companions gorged on the sumptuous fare. The Solian servants, who smiled and curtsied and beamed at the friends, grateful for their captivity soon coming to an end, kept bringing more food.
Soon both groups sat with contented stomachs. And while the companions sat in anxious silence, the Canterrans conversed among themselves, speaking to each other about military campaigns and completely ignoring the companions.
Esha did not eat. Her gaze had remained on the emperor since the handshake. Her head tilted one way and then another as she studied him. The emperor, absorbed in a quiet discussion with his son on the best way to suppress a Tiberran slave revolt, finally noticed. He looked to her, held out his hands for a terrified servant girl to wipe clean, and clasped them in his lap. He opened his mouth to address Esha when she spoke first.
“You will honor the bargain, Emperor Samuel,” she said, instantly silencing the table as eyes turned to watch.
“I am insulted, Ancient One, I would never—”
“Perhaps you are not aware that a young man sitting at this very table freed my people.” All eyes then turned to Augum, who felt his cheeks prickle. “My people, extinct but for my lonesome self, owe him a soul debt that can never be repaid. You shall honor the bargain, and in turn, I shall go with you and we can discuss and clarify history.”
The companions bolted to their feet, pleading with her to reconsider.
But Esha continued, intractable. “And I shall watch with mine own eyes as they depart in safety. Should you fail in this point of honor,
Emperor Samuel, you shall never hear another word from me again, for I shall think the final thought to completion—I shall commit seppek.”
The emperor descended into a horrendous coughing fit that had him doubled over in his chair, forcing his son to aid him in retrieving his cloth. When he at last regained control, his lips were stained with blood and he clenched the cloth tightly in his scarred fist.
“You … you would not do that. You cannot do that. You cannot deprive a parched Sithesia of your priceless fountain of knowledge.”
Augum inferred that seppek meant that Esha would choose to die, joining her people. And she had revealed that the man had been intent on dishonoring the bargain, perhaps not immediately, but certainly later.
She closed her lioness eyes. “I am the last living Dreadnought. I have glimpsed pockets of time spread over ten thousand years. What I see before me—” She opened her eyes and glanced down the table at the old men, at Katrina, at Gavinius, and at Emperor Samuel. “—is decay and regression.” She looked to the Lord High Steward. “Malice and greed.” She looked to The Path Archons. “And dishonor.” She leaned ever so slightly toward the emperor and whispered, “I agree with Dragoon Stone’s sentiment. The end you seek cannot help but be corrupted, for the path you tread is itself a path of corruption.”
The emperor’s face changed. His mask of gaiety and control slipped like a napkin from a servant’s hand, revealing cool fury. “I look forward to proving you wrong, Ancient One.”
“Our thoughts dye our soul, Emperor Sepherin.”
The emperor glared at her. Then, after a deep think, he surrendered a nod. “I never had the intention of betraying the bargain,” he said, something Augum thought was a blatant lie, “but I accept your addendum.” He extended his hand to her, which she accepted with her paw. “And I am honored and relieved that you will teach me about history, for I have much to learn.”
The companions slumped back down into their seats, only for the emperor to stand, prompting the table to stand along with him.
“Let us seal our bargain,” he said to Augum. “It is time for the ritual to take place.”
Augum, on his guard, nodded.
Both sides left the tent in one large throng, though Augum noted that the Golden Panthers manned the perimeter of this loose gathering like shepherds minding sheep. Olaf was by Bridget’s side, consoling her with soothing whispers, arm around her shoulders. She hung her head, defeated and depressed.
Augum and Leera walked hand-in-hand behind them, saying nothing, for what was there to say? The Canterrans had won a victory, but there was still a war to fight. And at least they had saved an astonishing one hundred thousand lives. In fact, Augum could not comprehend the number any more than he could the previous number of two hundred fifty thousand lives. He could focus on a life or even a few, but any more than that became abstract and intangible.
Outside, the air was cool and fresh and smelled of oaken wood fires and charred meat. The soldiers’ voices hushed as the procession wound its way past them to a grassy clearing above the beach, where a formation of ancient roughly hewn stones thrice the size of a man stood in a crude circle, surrounded by burning torches. There the two groups gathered on opposite sides, with the Golden Panthers manning the perimeter, keeping a watchful distance.
Augum knew from Military Strategy class that prior to setting up camp the Canterrans would have cast a powerful anti-teleportation enchantment around the entire area, making escape impossible. He wondered if this enchantment would get in the way of the ritual portal casting.
Augum glanced to Maxine, wondering what was going through her head. She was as implacable as ever, watching Augum’s back like a grumpy but loyal soldier. He could not believe she was so … calm. If he had offered to sacrifice himself, he’d be quaking where he stood. He was in utter awe of her bravery.
Esha, who was followed by Herzog the Historian, pointed at a nearby boulder spotted with gray and white lichen. “That stone there has moved four feet in two thousand, six hundred and seventy-four years.”
Many awed glances were exchanged, even among the enemy.
Esha stepped before a small hollow in the earth. “Its original position was here.” She looked about, seeing through the many people who watched her, as if reliving a moment long lost to time. “And somewhere … yes, there.” She strode past the outer perimeter of Golden Panthers, forcing them to step further into the forest to maintain their watch. There she kneeled before a vine-encrusted stone inscribed with words faded beyond recognition. “This is Nulia’s tomb.”
“Who was Nulia?” Leera asked in a soft voice, arm around Augum’s waist, his around her shoulders.
“A weaver. A mother. A widow. A traveler. A warrior. A builder. A friend. A victim.” Esha pushed aside the ivy with a paw before resting it on the old stone. “Enestra aui kania ken nen tera xao, Nulia, niot memba nat. Ona kon enta gaba ufin. Tama ola eni. Antana, Nulia. Goso, Nulia. Eni, Nulia. Tama ola eni …” The last words were said in the barest of whispers.
“What language was that, Ancient One?” Mary asked after a thoughtful silence.
“A long-dead language spoken by a long-dead people.”
Mary twiddled her fingers. “What … what did you say?”
“The letters on your stone have faded, but your memory has not. I have come to say goodbye for the final time. We are no more, but we once were. Time always claims its toll.”
Augum squeezed Leera’s shoulders. This ancient lioness remembered a person from thousands of years ago, and yet here they fought over what seemed to him like the stupidest of things, needless things, risking and losing their lives for what? Love is what mattered. Love …
Esha stood and looked about at the faces. “We die two deaths. The second death comes when our names are spoken aloud for the last time.” She once more glanced at the ancient marker. “Time always claims its toll.” She then led the procession back to the stones, where she placed an expectant gaze upon Augum.
He nodded, knowing it was time to begin the ritual and make his final decision on which Dreadnought item to sacrifice. He unslung his rucksack and dug through it, finally withdrawing the ritual scroll. He undid the crimson ribbon, placed the attached ingredients note aside, and unfurled the black parchment.
“So the first thing we do is gather all the ritual ingredients in the center,” he said. He’d tell the Canterrans about the dead body requirement last, figuring that they’d easily offer someone up as a sacrifice.
One by one, the ingredients were brought forth—the small dragon bone, the leather-wrapped tankard of ill-gotten mead, the chunk of moonstone, the bar of gold, the vial of black nettle poison, the beak of a spearfin squid, and the black soul amulet.
The friends lined up behind him as he stood before the pile, knowing he was about to forever relinquish something sacred to him. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.
“What is he doing?” a Canterran asked.
“Saying goodbye,” Leera whispered from behind.
Augum heard someone step before him and opened his eyes to see Esha standing there. She pressed a paw against his breastplate, over his heart, and looked at the inscription etched above and below the depiction of a ferocious dragon standing before a clump of trees.
“ ‘Defendi au o dominia,’ ” she began. “Defender of the Kingdom. The meaning of the words transcends the object they are inscribed upon. Do not forget that, Augum Arinthian Stone.” She gave him a bittersweet smile and stepped aside.
Augum took that as forgiveness for making the awful choice and began unfastening the golden breastplate with shaking fingers, until Leera lovingly helped unstrap it. Once removed, he held the breastplate before himself, taking in its sleek craftsmanship, its golden sheen, its beauty, for the final time, before ceremoniously placing it on the pile.
“Is that everything?” Katrina asked with a chuckle.
“No,” Maxine said, stepping forth and glaring at Katrina. “That’s not everything.”
<
br /> As the two groups tensed, Katrina glanced her over. “Who is this ugly flat-faced—” But before she even finished, Maxine flicked her wrist and sent the Dreadnought letter opener shooting at Katrina’s throat. But Katrina’s reflexes had improved and she just managed to swerve her head aside.
As Augum shot his hand out to telekinetically snatch Maxine away, Gavinius, whose own combat reflexes were faster, grabbed a nearby soldier’s spear and in one smooth motion impaled Maxine’s heart with it.
Maxine gasped and for a moment all became still. Then she looked skyward, smiled one of the broadest and most genuine smiles Augum had ever seen, and fell onto the pile of ritual ingredients.
And clutched in her hand was the parchment note she had kept hidden from everyone.
As chaos erupted—weapons were drawn, attack stances taken—Jengo rushed to her aid. But after examining her, he looked up at Augum and the girls and gave a mournful shake of his head.
Augum, heart heavy, leaned down, gently removed the note from Maxine’s hand, and read it.
As my wife, you were my rightful property. Since you decided to run instead of face the charges, you have proven the accusations that you are a witch true. I hereby claim my rights for lawful annulment. Know that our child will grow up never knowing that his mother was a witch. Know that he will grow up never knowing your name, and that I will change his. Know that we will be long gone by the time you get witch enough to come for him.
Signed, Your Former Husband, who denounces you with the full fury of the Unnameables. May they take pity on your damned witch soul.
