Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1) (31 page)

“Not a chance—”

“On my word—brave little scamps, aren’t they?”

“They jest—”

Only the Nightsword did not share their amusement, face unexpressive.

Gallows picked up the stone again and dropped it on the wall with a loud crunch. “Is that what you mean to say, Augum—that you three can do this ten times faster than the six of us
grown men
—?”

Augum rubbed his neck. “Well … yes.”

Gallows leaned against the wall. “All right, young one—prove it.”

“Yes, do prove it!” one of the Brack brothers said. The others soon took up the call.

Sir Fostian Red shook his head while retrieving a stone. “Comrades, there is work to be done. Let us stop making a mock of these children.”

Augum felt a hot flush. There is that word again. He marched to the wall, the girls following.

Castor elbowed Gallows. “Fostian’s right. Look there—already they give up.”

One by one, the knights went back to work.

“Let’s show them a thing or two,” Bridget said with a determined gleam in her eye.

“They asked for it,” Leera added.

Augum splayed out his palms over the ruins. “Ready?”

The girls nodded, extending their hands. After a brief moment of concentration, the three yelled, “Apreyo!”

Chips, pebbles, rocks and even small boulders began to appear from the snow, some rolling, some dragging, some flying. Augum dimly heard the knights stir but resolved to keep his focus on the wall.

See the cracks disappear; see two stones become one.

The snow whipped around them as they kept increasing their pace, as if racing each other to see who could repair more. At last, after reaching a furious speed, Augum cracked a smile. He immediately lost his concentration and fell to the snow. Bridget and Leera followed, giggling. He sat up and saw they had repaired ten feet of the wall.

The knights quibbled and laughed amongst each other while Gallows approached, hands spread in conciliation.

“If we get the stoves ready, perhaps we can sup a second time tonight, but with some roast chicken. I of all people should have known what kind of mentor Mrs. Stone is.” Then he turned to his companions. “Come, gentle Sirs, let us be gracious in defeat—the warmth of the kitchens awaits!”

“Mmm, chicken is my favorite …” Augum mumbled. Spiced roast chicken was the first dish Sir Westwood had served him after finding him on the edge of the Gamber. To this day, it was the most delicious single dish he had ever eaten—though perhaps it was the taste of freedom that made it so special.

“Mine too,” Leera said. “Creamed chicken …”

Bridget quieted down. “Mine is Mother’s pumpkin pie …”

The knights picked up the vat and brazier and left, muttering about the youth these days. The Nightsword’s cold gaze lingered on the trio before he turned to walk away with his companions.

Bridget stood and brushed the snow off. “I don’t like the look of that one.”

“Same here,” Leera said. “We should keep an eye on him.”

Together they continued work but at a far slower pace, stamping their feet and rubbing their arms to ward off the bitter cold. They plopped down after dusk, numb from exhaustion, heads throbbing. While catching their breath, they admired their work—one hundred feet of newly repaired wall, barely visible in the occasional patch of starlight that shone through the clouds.

It was then a peculiar noise came from the woods beyond the wall. They stood up, faces tight with apprehension.

“Who’s there—?” Leera called out. When there was no response, she took a step forward.

Bridget caught her arm. “Remember what Mrs. Stone said—we’re not to go beyond the wall. Besides, it’s probably only a rabbit or something.”

“Or a wolf,” Augum said, wishing he had his sword with him.

There was a rustling followed by what sounded like a child’s sob.

“Shyneo,” Bridget said. “Who’s there—? Show yourself!”

Pine branches parted revealing a dirty young boy in ragged cloth, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. He looked to be five years old and reminded Augum of Leland.

“Mommy—?”

Bridget surged forward. “A child—! Come here, little boy, come out from under those branches—”

“Wait—!” Leera said, but it was too late. The boy flashed a greedy smile and crawled over the ruined wall, where he suddenly began transforming—the skin rapidly grew hair, a snout formed from the nose, and his hands took the shape of paws.

Bridget screamed as Leera and Augum snatched her away from the wolf-like creature. Its eyes shone the color of blood, its body twice the size.

The moment the transformation stopped, the beast pounced, snapping its black-toothed jaws. Bridget barely got her hands up in time as it clamped down on her right forearm. She raised a bloodcurdling shriek as the wolf-thing started thrashing, tossing her around like a rag doll, knocking Augum and Leera aside.

Spitting snow, Augum remembered something about the Shine spell, something he had yet to try.

“Shyneo!”

His palm ruptured with lightning. He lunged at the thing and grabbed a chunk of its squishy flesh, concentrating on giving it a shock. Yet the moment he touched it, he knew he had lost arcane control; his body stiffened, the space around him warped, and time slowed.

He found himself sitting on Mt. Barrow, extending his hand towards a stone. A moment later, he was back in the tent at Hangman’s Rock, reaching for a claw. Suddenly he was flying over the Tallows, lightning blazing at rapid intervals, a looming mass ahead. He sensed what was coming before it happened—a ripping flash and a surging heat. As his world blackened, something sizzled and yelped.

When he opened his eyes, he had no idea how much time had passed, or where he was. His body shivered and he appeared to be lying in snow. He saw a freckled girl’s head framed in starlight, eyes tearful and frightened. She started shaking him.

“Get up, Augum, get up!”

He gave her a lost look. Who was she and what did she want?

“Get up—Bridge needs our help—!”

Upon hearing Bridget’s name, it all rushed back—along with a wave of nausea that made him wobble. He scrambled to his feet, trying to keep from throwing up. “Where’s the thing—is it gone?”

“It ran towards the castle after you shocked it. Bridget’s hurt! We need to take her inside.”

He rushed to Bridget. She gave him a wild look that raised bumps on his arms. Hair stuck in clumps to her shiny forehead. The robe on her right arm was shredded and stained with blood.

“There’s snow in my eyes,” she gurgled.

He and Leera exchanged looks before hoisting her up. Leera grabbed Bridget by the waist while he wrapped her good arm around his neck.

Bridget cried out in pain. “When Father returns, we’re going on a journey …”

“She’s delirious,” Leera said. “Bite must have been poisonous.”

They stumbled toward the castle. Along the way, Augum spotted the creature’s footprints in the snow. His heart nearly stopped when he saw they led straight to the castle doors—
and they were open
.

Bridget’s skin now burned through her robe. “It’s so pretty outside. I don’t feel well, Mommy.”

“Hang in there, Bridge—” Leera said, voice infused with panic.

They made it through the repaired outer doors. Augum felt his body stiffen as he braced for an attack.

Bridget was now slurring her words like a drunk. “Water … thirsty … tell Father … I’ll return,” then her eyes rolled back into her head and her body slumped.

They carried her through the inner doors, which were also open.

Augum scanned the foyer. “Mya, Sir Gallows, anyone—we need help here—!” His words echoed up the castle stairs as Bridget’s head lolled about between them.

From somewhere above came the sound of frantic shouting.

“Let’s take her to Sir Dollard Canes’ room,” he said, hoping Mya was there attending to the injured knight.

They trundled along as fast as they dared to the second floor, where Canes was recovering; but upon entering, they discovered Mya absent and Canes asleep, forehead beaded with sweat, bandage soaked through with fresh blood.

“Next room over—” Leera said. They rushed Bridget next door to a dark room with a dirty bed. Lighting their palms, they laid her down, carefully placing her injured arm on her stomach. She stirred, moving her lips.

Leera placed her ear close. “Did you say something, Bridge—?”

“Oxy …”

For Augum, the word brought back memories of identifying herbs in the forest with Sir Westwood, though he could not quite remember what oxy looked like.

“I think it’s some kind of herb,” he said. “I need to get my sword and find Mya, maybe she could help.”

Bridget’s head shifted from side to side. “The man … no hair … oxy …”

“She’s trying to tell us something,” Leera said.

“Bald … arms … water …” and she passed out.

Augum locked eyes with Leera. “The fountain—!” they chorused.

“She must mean oxy is near the fountain,” he said. “You stay here and keep the door shut. I’m going to get my sword and make a run for it.”

Leera nodded and started tearing pieces of cloth from the feather-filled mattress. He guessed she was going to start binding the wound like Mya would have, though he knew blood loss was not the concern here.

“Aug—!” she called as he was closing the door, freckled face glistening in the watery light of her palm. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He closed the door and ran as fast as he could up the steps, screeching to a halt on the landing between the second and third level where he found two people sprawled on the floor.

“Shyneo.” His stomach plunged when he recognized Mya. Her almond-shaped eyes were closed, long jet hair splayed out around her head. She had a bite on her arm, but thankfully still breathed.

He palmed her forehead; skin was fire hot. He needed to find that herb immediately.

He glanced at the other body. Amongst the armor was a big red bush of hair—Sir Fostian Red. The knight was pale, bloody, and completely still.

Augum continued racing up the stairs and into his room, where the blade stood in the corner. He tore it from its sheath then grabbed his waterskin, fumbling to tie it to his waist. Water would help flush the poison …

Hurry, hurry, hurry!

He bolted from the room, halting at the foot of the steps to listen, breath escaping in short bursts. Shouts echoed from somewhere above. He glanced over his shoulder and happened to spot Fentwick standing before Bridget and Leera’s door.

“Fentwick, we have an intruder! Go down to the second floor and guard the room Bridget and Leera are in. It’s the one across the way with the closed door.”

“As mine lord commands.” Fentwick limped off, screeching, “Hark, knaves, villains and foes! Hark, for thou shalt lament thy deceitful ways!”

Augum wished the clumsy thing would go faster. Sword in hand, he sprinted up toward the fourth floor. As he drew close, he heard a loud growl and then Gallows’ voice.

“Edrian—get behind it!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying—!” Castor said, before suddenly screaming.

Augum raced up the rest of the steps to find the beast tumbling with Castor. Blood sprayed as Gallows tried to pry them apart. Nearby, two more bodies lay on the floor—Sir Wilbur Brack and his brother, Sir Wilfred Brack. The Nightsword held a battle stance before the library doors, blade drawn. He gave Augum a cold look. Muffled cries came from behind him; everyone else had to have barricaded themselves in the library.

“It’s too damn strong!” Gallows said through gritted teeth.

The Nightsword took a step toward them.

“No, Sir Quick—stay and guard the door in case the other one comes back—”

Other one? What other—something slammed into Augum from behind, sending him sprawling. The sword flew from his hand and clanged down the stairs. He did not even have time to get up before the thing was on him, jaws snapping. He twisted and flailed, trying to punch and kick it off, all to no avail—the beast was far too strong.

His left arm exploded with white-hot pain. For a moment, he thought someone was branding him. He screamed as the searing pain drove deeper, one jarring movement at a time. He chanced a look and saw black jagged teeth sunken into his flesh. Malevolent red eyes stared at him. They reflected the end of his life; all his aspirations, his dreams, everyone he cared about—all of it would end soon. They made him think of his father.

Murderer … damn you!

He stared back, determined not to show fear. Another hot surge of agony shot through his arm and a warm feeling began to course through his body, helped along with every beat of his heart.

The poison …

The thought crystallized his focus. Existence became just him and the beast, eye-to-eye, tooth-to-flesh. Pain subsided to a dull thud as he felt the familiar sensation of time slowing to a crawl. Clarity returned and the space around him warped, as if he was peering through a glass globe. The thing gradually growled—a low-pitched, stretched guttering. He watched it carefully, waiting for the precise moment. The energy within him ebbed and flowed, desperate to go wild. When the moment came, he steeled himself and slammed his open palm into the side of the beast’s head.

“SHYNEO!”

The time dilation allowed him to see the lightning emerge from his palm and spider around the thing’s head. Lightning fingers crept through every one of its rigid hairs, circling its crimson eyes and tearing the pupils apart.

As the last of this energy expelled, the beast exploded backwards in a percussive burst of light. It slammed into the far wall, leaving a bloody splat stain. As it fell, time rapidly sped back up, so much so that Augum vomited from the onrushing nausea, acid burning his throat and mouth.

He slipped around as he fought to stand in blood and vomit. The smell was almost enough to make him pass out.

He blearily took in the scene—Castor lay in a bloody heap, Gallows wrestled with the other wolf-thing, and the Nightsword still had not intervened, even though Gallows looked to be losing the fight.

“Help him—!” Augum gurgled.

“No!” Gallows said. “Guard … library!”

The Nightsword gave Augum a cold look—and did not move.