Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  Sure enough, blood seeped across the linen. “We have to find the others,” he blubbered, preferring to hear his voice over the awful noises. And then he remembered that he had cast Object Track on them, and they in turn on him! He spread his fingers and focused past the panic, trying to sense the faint tendril trail hidden within the arcane ether.

  But he sensed absolutely nothing. He kept trying to pick up the trail, but it was simply impossible as it no longer existed. And it soon occurred to him why.

  “The dragons must have canceled all live enchantments when they snuffed our arcanery,” he whispered.

  He glanced about, stuck in the quagmire of indecision. “Well, we can’t stay here, Hayles, we can’t. Right?” She did not respond. “I mean, we’ll get hunted by who knows what.” Make a decision, you fool!

  But like a giant bell that had been struck, his brain kept repeating idiocies. Decision, decision, decision. Go, go, go. Fool, fool, fool!

  Scythe noises ripped through his mind, again followed by the scream. He pictured Leera lying in pieces and slapped a violently trembling hand to his mouth to prevent himself from crying out.

  Get it together, get it together, get it together. Delegate your mind. Delegate, delegate, delegate. No, decide! I need to decide not delegate. Don’t get confused now. Stop panicking. Suddenly he was so thirsty he could drink a lake.

  “We need water,” he blurted, breathing like a rabbit. “You’re going to need water. Water, water, water. We need to find a pond. A pond, a pond, a pond.”

  You’re going crazy. You’re going crazy. You’re going crazy.

  He slapped himself across the face—hard. “Stop it. Stop it now.”

  After regaining some semblance of control, he gently scooped Haylee up, mindful of her wound. “A pond. Right,” and he carried her, allowing a sliver of precious light from his palm to guide them along.

  “Don’t worry, Nana will find us,” he said as he watched his steps in the suddenly spooky forest. Every branch was a skeletal hand, every trunk an awaiting monster. “Nana will find us …” Nana, Nana, Nana.

  Stop it, damn you!

  He did not know how long he blundered through that pitch-darkness, talking to himself to keep the noises at bay.

  He heard the stream before seeing it and quickened his pace. “A stream, Hayles, we found a stream.” A stream, a stream, a stream. It was nothing more than a babbling brook, but it would do. Palm trees surrounded it, their trunks covered with spikes that glistened with what looked like poison.

  He gently lay her down. Water, water, water.

  “Shut the hell up!” he hissed. “Shut it, shut it, shut it!” And he dunked his face into the cool water. As if a dam had broken, thirst crashed through his being and so he sucked and sucked on that water and drank his fill until he almost threw up.

  Like a soothing balm, the cool water quieted his troubled mind.

  Thinking a little more clearly, he brought an unconscious Haylee over his lap. Her face was deathly pale, indicating she had lost a lot of blood.

  He scooped a handful of water with his lit palm and brought it to her dry lips, but they were closed. He maneuvered her so that both his hands were free. With one hand he opened her jaw and with the other he scooped up another handful of water and slowly fed it to her. She gagged on it immediately and spit it back up, coughing and gasping.

  “Easy, Hayles, easy,” he whispered, gathering another handful. “Here, try again.”

  This time she drank greedily. He kept feeding her water until she turned away and weakly gurgled, “What … happened? Where … where are we?”

  He explained everything though did not reveal the true horror of what he had seen and heard.

  “Where … where are … the others?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Aug … my back … it hurts. It hurts real bad.”

  “I know, I wrapped you up. You got a gash across your lower back, but I don’t think it got your spine, so you should be fine with some proper healing. The important thing is you have to strengthen up enough to teleport.”

  She snorted derisively at this, snuffing his hopes.

  “None of that,” he said. “You’ve got to strengthen up, you hear? Conserve your energy.”

  He felt something in his pocket underneath Haylee and, realizing what it was, gently moved her to retrieve it.

  Even in the dim light of his palm, Leera stared at him from her portrait as radiant as ever. The glass had cracked. He’d repair it later.

  Haylee, watching him with a quivering lip, murmured, “I’m sure … Leera’s fine.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, of course she is. If she didn’t teleport herself out, Mrs. Stone would have done it for her, I’m sure of it.” Lies. Stop lying to yourself, you stupid liar. Liar, liar, liar.

  “Shut up!” Then he realized he’d said it aloud and apologized.

  “She’s fine,” Haylee mouthed, eyes closed. “Fine …” For a time they listened to the stone silence. Then she began breathing rapidly, eyes wide. “Aug … Aug …” Her hand scrambled to find him.

  “I’m here, Hayles, I’m here.”

  “Aug … I’m scared. I’m so scared …”

  “I know. Me too. Me too …”

  The distant crack of a twig was followed by a shushing noise. Augum instantly snuffed his palm and froze, listening to the darkness.

  “What was that?” a panic-stricken Haylee pleaded way too loudly. “Aug? You there—? Don’t you leave me here to be eaten alive, don’t you do it!”

  Augum gently pressed his hand over both of hers. “Shh, I’m going to put you to sleep for a moment, all right? Don’t resist it. I just have to handle something.”

  “Sleep would be nice,” she whispered. “Blessed sleep …”

  Augum made a petting motion over her. “Senna dormo coma torpos,” and felt her go limp. Then he put her down, stuck the portrait deep in his pocket, and straightened, listening to the darkness. Voices came from somewhere ahead, along with the rattle of a chain and a low growl.

  “It’s sniffed them out,” someone whispered.

  Augum, blood racing with violence, picked up a small rock and, aware of his position in the pitch-darkness, moved behind a spiny tree he had seen earlier that separated Haylee and the enemy, careful not to touch the poisonous-looking needles. By the sound of it, he estimated three enemies, and they had some sort of dog-like creature with them that sniffed at the ground, leading them on.

  All his best battle spells and combinations ran through his mind—and this time, he would show no mercy. They had no idea what he was truly capable of, but would find out soon enough.

  The enemy’s palms were illuminated with a dim light partially hidden within their sleeves. When Augum judged them near enough, he tossed the rock over them. It crashed into a spot behind them and they whirled about.

  “Where are they?” one of them asked.

  Augum, borrowing a tactic he’d seen Gavinius use, quietly incanted, “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus,” casting the Reveal spell to allow him to see their tendrils. Whether he could hold onto the casting through the fight was another matter altogether, however—he’d only practiced it a couple times while training with Mrs. Stone. Then he stepped out from behind the tree and flared his eight lightning stripes. “Here,” he said.

  They whirled about and Augum saw three of the oldest Path Archons, including Pigface—but not Gavinius. Pigface gripped a chain leading to a hellhound, a large wolf-like beast with rotten flesh and a horribly poisonous bite that would be a death sentence in this plane. They must have used their necromancy to summon it.

  But Augum was more than ready. As they defensively summoned their black-and-crimson shields, he fluidly and expertly drew the outline of his dragon, watching the tendrils form. “Summano elementus minimus draco.” A lightning dragon crackled into existence between him and the enemy. “Draco, attack,” Augum snapped, pointing at the now growling hellhound. The dragon shot toward the beast and ripped into i
t. Pigface let go of the chain with a yelp and the two beasts rolled aside, though it was apparent by the dragon’s sheer ferocity that it would soon tear the hellhound to shreds.

  Meanwhile, the three enemies spread out in a trained manner and each snapped off their own spell—the man on Augum’s left, who happened to be the shortest of the three, slapped his hands together and hissed, “Annihilo!” Pigface, in the middle, incanted, “Armari bona totalus,” enveloping himself in bone armor. And the third and tallest, who jumped right, snapped, “Closs pesti!” a necromantic spell that summoned a swarm of insects.

  Augum, still able to see the tendrils form—albeit only barely, for he was losing concentration with the complex spell—reacted with fluid combat ease, stepping away from the First Offensive, allowing it to blow by and blast through a tree behind him. Its trunk cracked and the tree began to fall. Then he shoved the air before him twice in succession, “Baka, baka!” blowing apart the swarm. Lastly, he shot out a hand and guided the falling tree to miss Haylee’s body by a mere foot. This last act obliterated the Reveal spell.

  “Annihilo bato!” two of the opponents shouted, but Augum was quicker and summoned his shield in time, leaning in to the blows and grunting from the quadruple thwacks that made him skid backward a step. He maintained his shield as he marched forth, strategically choosing a reactive frame of mind for the moment.

  The tallest man flared fifteen black arm rings. “Tarma carcusa tormenti!” he incanted, making claws of his hands and crunching them inward.

  Augum, who recognized the powerful 15th degree necromancy incantation known as Torment, snapped, “Mimicus!” while perfectly angling his shield and applying the arcane concept of perpendicularity. He felt the invisible spell reflect back at the unprepared man, hearing only the slightest sizzle. He followed up with a twist of a clawed hand. “Dreadus terrablus!” The man’s head snapped back from the double attack as if punched, and he began shaking and screaming, “Aaah! Aaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

  Augum, gaining his stride, followed up by disappearing his shield and slapping his wrists together, shouting, “Annihilo bato!” The other two enemies bought the ruse, flinching and re-summoning their shields. Augum fluidly repeated the spell, this time for real. Two thick bolts of lightning slammed into Pigface’s bone armor just as he moved his shield aside to steal a peek, obliterating most of the armor in the chest area with a sizzling crunch and making Pigface stumble back.

  While Pigface disappeared what remained of the armor, the shorter warlock cast three battle spells in rapid succession—“Voidus lingua! Voidus aurus! Effectus xadius!” The first two—Mute and Deafness—Augum allowed to crumple against his iron Mind Armor, and the third he avoided by calmly stepping aside, practically feeling the weak casting skitter by like a rat. The man was 8th degree but inexperienced in combat, evidenced by his jerky, unsure movements.

  While marching forward, Augum simultaneously withdrew Burden’s Edge and summoned his shield. Then he hissed, “Summano arma,” opting to forgo the Roar of the Dragon simul to keep the noise down. His blade doubled in length and crackled with lightning. He kept his eyes visible above his shield, gaze wolfing. In a creative and spontaneous show of intimidation, he allowed the lightning from the blade and his shield to connect—and amplified it just enough so that it spidered over his clothes and flesh. He felt its gentle fingers lick across his face and settle into his eyes in the same manner as his murderous father—and it surprised him by remaining there.

  It was called The Settling and only happened at or after the 10th degree—and only when one far surpassed the strength of one’s element, much like the field warp that happened when he flexed his telekinetic muscle. It meant that his eyes would light up with lightning anytime he summoned his rings. It was a big deal back in the academy, indicating competence and lethality, and served as an intimidating warning for enemies. His father had it. Mrs. Stone, able to control when to show it, occasionally revealed that she had it.

  And now he had it too.

  But he’d think about the significance another time.

  Shorty and Pigface witnessed this remarkable event with eyes that kept going wider. Their gazes flitted to their screaming comrade before the pair of enemies simultaneously summoned black-hued weapons to go along with their necromantic shields. Shorty wielded a spiked ball and chain, Pigface a long and thin rapier. Both seemed to accept Augum’s challenge of personal combat and kept their Path Archon shields before them, weapons raised and ready.

  The 15th degree tall warlock finally stopped screaming just as Augum’s dragon had finished with the hellhound, leaving it in a pulpy mash of ribbons. Augum simply nodded at the 15th degree warlock and the dragon lunged at him. The screaming renewed, this time accented by gurgling desperation, for the dragon had latched onto his throat and was rolling and thrashing about, spraying blood like a fountain.

  Augum, whose mind pulsed with war and tactics and lethality while his eyes and body crackled with lightning, kept stepping toward the enemy, who were now backing up, waiting for him to make the first move.

  And move he did, abruptly disappearing his shield and releasing Burden’s Edge to float in place, instantly snuffing its lightning and returning it to shortsword form. While the blade floated like a nocked arrow, he yanked at Shorty’s shield, hissing, “Disablo!” The 2nd degree spell jerked the man’s shield away, disappearing it and leaving him with a stupid expression.

  Augum made a vicious motion at Burden’s Edge and telekinetically launched it so ferociously that it emitted a high-pitched whistling as it shot toward Shorty’s chest. The enemy raised an arm to shield himself but the blade cut through that arm and buried itself into his chest, pinning his arm in the process.

  Pigface flinched—and managed to snag his left arm on a nearby spiny trunk. He squealed in pain and scrambled to re-summon his shield, but his arm went limp.

  Meanwhile, the shorter man fell to his knees, sat back on his haunches, and stared ahead even as his horrified gaze went sightless, arm still pinned to his bleeding chest.

  Augum’s dragon disappeared just after, leaving a silent mess of the other warlock.

  That only left a profusely sweating Pigface, who, after witnessing the deaths of his comrades, began retreating with fumbling steps, left arm twitching from the tree poison.

  Augum relentlessly marched toward him. As he neared striking distance, Pigface scrounged the courage to jab at him with his rapier. “Disablo,” Augum spat, easily yanking the summoned rapier from his hand and disappearing it instantly.

  Pigface bumped up against another spiny tree and gasped from the sting—but he did not give up, and began the incantation that would turn him into a demon. “Sancto sacro dae—” But Augum was again far too quick for him and shot a hand out and made a fist, envisioning strangling his opponent’s vocal cords. “Voidus lingua.” Pigface choked on his words.

  “Should have cast that earlier,” Augum spat with cold rage.

  Pigface scrambled for a dagger at his belt and lunged at Augum, only for Augum to telekinetically grab his hand and curve his arm back, pushing him up against the spiny trunk. The portly Canterran strained to match Augum’s Telekinesis with his own, adding his beefy strength to the mix—and for a moment Augum let him believe they were evenly matched. But then he flexed the mighty muscles of his Telekinesis and his eyes flared like campfire splashed with lamp oil, lighting up the area in blue.

  Pigface’s mouth opened with a silent scream as he helplessly watched the dagger steadily penetrate his own heart. Then, knowing that he had lost the fight, he began to frantically shake his head in a Please stop! motion, which Augum interpreted as bending the knee, and so he instantly released his telekinetic hold. The Canterran’s purple face went slack and he detached from the spiny trunk and fell to his knees, still holding the dagger lodged in his heart.

  Augum stood over him, breathing war breaths, the lightning around him dimming until the pair were in near total darkness. The clouds parted, allowi
ng starlight to reflect off the sweaty man’s face.

  “Where are the others?” Augum growled. “Where are the others!”

  A twitching Pigface looked up at him with the frantic eyes of a man who heard death pounding on his door.

  “What are Tyranecron’s intentions?”

  But every muscle in Pigface’s body stiffened—the poison was taking its due. His eyes rolled skyward, as if his final thought was for the heavens.

  He died that way, looking at the stars.

  Slowly, Augum’s rage dissipated, replaced by a melancholy heaviness that settled in his heart. “May your soul find the peace together we could not reach,” he whispered at last.

  For a time, shoulders heaving from exertion, Augum stood staring at the body that was now robed in silence, a silence juxtaposed against the echo of blood-curdling screams and a scythe-like slicing. Then he too looked at the stars and remembered the faceless Leyan statue reaching skyward.

  Duty

  Realizing he needed to get moving, Augum dispensed the Final Valediction over the other two bodies. Then he checked on Haylee and, finding her still asleep, scavenged the bodies for anything that would help them survive. He found a single rucksack with a skin of water, three pairs of iron and chain manacles with runic engravings, a recently drawn map, and some provisions.

  He splayed a hand over the manacles. “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus.” As he suspected, the surfaces lit up with tightly woven tendrils that had long sunk to permanence. They were the typical arcane cuffs of old, brought from Sithesia or Ley, that prevented a warlock from tapping into one’s arcanery. In other words, not even Mrs. Stone could escape them. Had they been successful, the Canterrans would have clamped these on him and Haylee and dragged them along to offer to their necromantic dragon. He couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what had happened to the others.