Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1) (36 page)

“What do you see, Aug?” Bridget asked.

“There’s a chain keeping it fixed to the wall. I’ll need to break the link. Can you hand me Blackbite?”

“All right, but just
please
be careful.” Bridget handed him the ornate dagger.

“Now if I can just reach it …” After a bit of trial and error, he was able to wedge the dagger between the link and the wall, then leveraged his weight onto it.

“Don’t break my dagger!”

Augum grunted from the strain when the iron link suddenly split. He barely managed to avoid falling and wedging himself in.

“That should do it. All right, let’s try it again.” He dismounted and re-secured Burden’s Edge to his waist.

Bridget snatched Blackbite back and examined it. “Look at that, not even a scratch.”

“Dreadnought steel …” Leera said.

On their second attempt, the cask screeched forward just a tad.

“Leera, we’ll need your help here,” Bridget said, wheezing. “Thing’s heavier than an anvil.”

“Too bad none of us know how to chronocast,” Leera said, extinguishing her palm and bathing them in darkness.

“On three now,” Bridget said. “One, two,
three
—!”

The cask shrieked and rumbled, the weight of it enormous—the single toughest test of their skill thus far. It was impossible to judge how far it moved in the dark; it could very well run them over. From the terrible noise, Augum expected everyone in the castle to come down and investigate—and then lost his concentration worrying about it. The trio immediately collapsed from the effort, gasping for breath as if they had been sprinting.

Augum’s head throbbed and his stomach gurgled with nausea.

“Poor Rafinda,” Leera said between huffs, snorting a laugh. “Probably thinks the place is haunted.”

They rested in the cool darkness, listening, hoping beyond hope that nobody heard them.

“Shyneo,” Bridget said at last. Her face glistened with sweat as she surveyed their work. “We did it …”

“Now let’s see what’s back there,” Augum said. “Shyneo.” He shimmied to the rear of the cask and examined the wall closely. “Don’t see anything …”

Leera climbed along the top of it. “Here, let me try Unconceal. I need the practice.”

He moved aside. She jumped down, kneeled, and closed her eyes. After three deep breaths, she raised her arm and opened her palm.

“Un vun deo.” Her hand stayed motionless for a while before she moved it around in circles, letting it guide her higher and higher until she found a camouflaged lever and pulled. A small portion of the wall swung inwards, expelling a plume of dust and cold air. Grinning, she made a grand gesture that said
after you
,
sir
.

Augum gave her a bemused look, dropped to his knees, and crawled into the tunnel. The passage was cold and stony at first but grew earthier as he went along.

“Nice job, Lee,” he heard Bridget say as she dropped to her knees to follow.

After what seemed like a very long distance, the tunnel ended in a rocky door. On the right-hand side was a wooden lever. He waited until the girls caught up before giving it a pull. The door opened outward with a grinding rumble. Air swooped into the tunnel, inducing shivers.

He trundled onward, one hand on Burden’s Edge, into an ancient country house with half its ceiling missing. Moonlight flooded a dirty stone floor mottled with patches of snow. The walls were mostly ruin covered with thick ropes of frozen vine.

So much for a treasure room …

Bridget emerged. “Where are we?” she whispered, dusting her robe.

“I think it’s an abandoned house outside of the castle.” He wondered why it was so quiet. Sir Westwood had always cautioned to be wary of a quiet forest.

Leera stumbled out from the tunnel, clapping dirt from her robe. “Ugh, that was no fun—” When she spotted where they were, her face fell as if she had been robbed of a great prize.

Bridget was about to put a finger to her lips when a horse whinnied nearby. The trio immediately ducked. Bridget drew Blackbite, Augum Burden’s Edge.

Augum prowled to the hole of a ruined window and peered over the edge. Something moved just beyond a nearby cluster of snowy trees. A horse—but where was the rider? It neighed, its breath bellowing clouds of steam.

“What is it, boy, what’s the matter?” someone asked in the darkness.

“Pro’ably a ‘coon, Commander,” said a reedy voice.

“Keep your voice down, you fool.”

“Right, sorry sir.”

There was a pause, followed by, “Stay here and keep your mouth shut.”

“Aye, sir.”

“He’s coming—” Augum mouthed, making frantic motions for the girls to get back inside the tunnel. Just as Leera reached the door though, it slammed shut. She fumbled to pry it open, but it would not budge. “No no no …”

Augum jumped to his feet, Burden’s Edge in hand. Bridget was beside him, Blackbite glinting in the moonlight.

“Where is he?” she asked in a whisper. “Can’t see him …”

“Of course you can’t,” said an amused voice from the window, the space oddly shimmering. “But I can see you just fine, younglings. O’Donnell—fetch our lord and master!”

“Me, Commander?” The reedy voice wavered. “I’m not fit to speak to
him
, sir—”

“NOW, O’Donnell! Unless you want to become a walking corpse.”

“Who are you?” Augum asked.

The space within the window seemed to twist, coalescing into a person who calmly climbed over the ledge.

A chill travelled down Augum’s spine as he recognized the electric eyes and the black robe with silver embroidered lightning.

“Augum Stone. What a prize,” Commander Vion Rames said.

Breached

Augum felt dizzy. This man standing before him, besides being Mrs. Stone’s former apprentice, had been the commander in charge of the column that razed Willowbrook and murdered Sir Westwood.

Commander Vion Rames’ face twisted into a smile. He grasped his long night-black hair and smoothed it down his chest, something that seemed habitual, intended to maintain its perfect straightness. “I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on you, boy, quivering on the ground, clinging to a tree. I must confess, had I known you were the Lord of the Legion’s own son, things would have turned out … rather differently, you might say.”

“I wasn’t quivering.” Augum felt sweat prickling his forehead.

“But how did you find us?” Bridget asked.

“Oh, we’ve kept an eye on the crown for some time. Even during King Ridian’s reign, there was always someone close by whose loyalties laid … elsewhere. When Lord Sparkstone claimed the throne for himself, he wisely let the prince go so we could find any remaining insurgent holdouts. It seems the gamble paid off handsomely.”

Augum exchanged looks with the girls—it had to be the Nightsword.

Rames glanced to the small door. “My pets have been sniffing for a way in, how convenient for you to give us one.”

“Those hellhounds were
yours
?” Leera asked.

“Gifted to me by the Lord of the Legion. Quite remarkable beasts, aren’t they? Unfortunately, it seems you have dispatched them. My heart aches, but justice shall be served.” Rames’ electric eyes flicked over Bridget and Leera.

“You killed Sir Westwood—” Augum said.

“Who now?”

“Sir Tobias Westwood. You murdered him—”

“Surely you don’t expect me to remember every little worm I step on, do you?”

“—and you burnt down my village!”

“Oh? And which village was that, pray tell?” His voice became louder as he spoke. “I recall burning many dissenting, traitorous, insurgent-infested hovels in the service of the greatest sorcerer who has ever lived!”

For a moment, Rames just stared at them, breathing heavily, before running his fingers down the length of his hair. “There now, are we happy? I have become bothered. As it is, please allow me to infuse you with clarity.” He took a step forward. The trio took one back. “You either stand
with
the Legion, or
against
.” His voice quickened. “Is that in any way confusing to you? Shall I draw you a diagram, a map, ink you a book on the subject—?”

“How could she ever have trained you?” Augum asked. By the look Rames gave him, he half-expected a throttling. Instead, the man bent a knee.

“Oh, that is just a marvelous story, of which I shall only tell a tiny portion, if you will, for we have little time.” He glanced over his shoulder as if expecting reinforcements to arrive at any moment. “You see, I was just like you, Augum—an ambitious, young apprentice under one of the most powerful sorceresses known. I believed every word she said. I followed every gesture. But you know what? I was not good enough for her.” He paused to give the thought weight. “And I was not the only one, you see. Her very own
grandson
was not good enough either. It was he, the future Lord of the Legion—your own father—that showed me how to unlock my true potential. Under the crone, I languished and fell behind; I shriveled and withered and weakened. Under
him
, however, I could do whatever I wanted. I became strong, powerful, and learned so much more. I was …
unleashed
… as you will be when you join your father.”

Rames stood up, dusting his hands. “So—want to show me how well the old crone’s trained you?”

Augum tightened his grip on Burden’s Edge. He knew he had to warn the others in the castle, had to save the girls—”

“All right, I shall start then,” Rames said in a mock-cheery tone. He flexed and his right arm burst with ten rings of lightning, blue coils of electricity that licked the curves of his black robe. The space around the man seemed to warp as Augum felt his hair stiffen. The trio retreated another step, backs against the wall of the house, blades pointed ahead.

Augum glanced at the door at his feet. If only they could get back inside somehow, warn Mrs. Stone—

“What, no rings of your own?” Rames raised his arm. “Then you shall have no defense against this—dreadus terrablus!”

The world instantly sharpened with thousands of claws. Augum saw his poor mule, Meli, lashed again and again, her hide ripping open. Out poured more Melis, each lashed anew, each ripping open and multiplying, their stinking flesh burying and choking him.

He began shaking. His sword turned into a writhing snake with nothing but sharp edges. He let it go. It smashed against the ground. Each of the edges became a moving needle, with tiny needle feet, all running towards him. Cold sweat prickled his skin. When he glanced at his arm, each prickle was a miniature hellhound, gnawing at his flesh. He scratched at them but there was only more. Now they were on his hands—

“Augum, what’s wrong!” Bridget asked, but her voice sounded demonic. She wanted to kill him—

Then he wet his pants. They knew; they saw him wet his pants! There was Mya and she saw! It shows through clothing, just as it had when he was a boy … and there was Dap, laughing, reaching back with that ham fist that multiplied into a thousand little fists … and the Pendersons … each had a whip, each raised it … everything multiplied and grew and—

He screamed.

Then, in some remote corner of his mind, he realized it could not be real. He began fighting it, until …

His eyes flew open. He was drooling, head splitting, but at least his pants were not wet; it had been an illusion all along. Burden’s Edge was on the ground and Bridget and Leera were each gripping him by an elbow.

“Aug, are you all right?” Bridget asked, voice quivering.

He could only swallow and nod.

Rames cocked his head slightly. “Fear is quite an interesting spell, is it not? Different for everyone. For some, the horror is … indescribable. I have even witnessed people pleading to be killed. It has to be one of my favorites.” He lowered his chin. “But you did shake it off. Interesting. How about this one—think you can shake this one off?” He raised his arm. “Silenzio!”

Augum felt his mouth go dry and his throat constrict. He tried to speak, to shout, yet nothing came. Rames studied his struggles, habitually smoothing his hair.

“Ah, I thought not. She hasn’t got you that far, has she? That was always a fault of hers … slow as a snail. Your father will get you much, much further.”

Augum did the only thing he could think of—he reached for Burden’s Edge.

It slid away.

Rames wagged a finger. “Mustn’t make it easy now. Surely you can do better than that. Has the crone not taught you
anything
?”

Augum, realizing what he meant, stretched out his arm and willed
the sword to come to him.

It flew into his hand.

“Better,” Rames said with a patronizing smile. “Untrained, misguided, but not entirely without promise. Nothing a little fatherly discipline couldn’t solve. Now, that old crone placed a certain powerful protective enchantment around the castle that requires an invitation. I assume I do not have to make this difficult.”

Augum glared at him.

“Oh, pardon my manners. You may speak again.” Rames waved his hand idly and Augum felt his throat loosen.

“Invite me. Now.”

“Never.”

“This is not the time to be brave, boy.” He gestured at Leera and she flew to him. He sharply yanked at her hair and she screamed, tears of pain welling from her eyes.

“Invite. NOW!”

“Don’t … Aug …” Leera managed to gurgle.

“Too slow,” Rames said, withdrawing a dagger. “Say your goodbyes—” he raised it to Leera’s neck. She closed her eyes and yelped.

“Wait—!” Augum said, holding out an open palm. “All right, just let her go …”

Rames threw Leera back at him. Augum caught her in his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into his chest, sniffing and shaking.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, placing her behind him.

“Hurry up or I’ll slice both their pretty throats.”

Augum gave Rames a hard look. “Damn you. I formally invite you, Vion Rames, into the castle.”

Rames smiled wickedly. “A wise decision, though you hardly had much of a choice. I would have killed them both.”

They heard the gallop of approaching horses. Rames raised his brows in a smug expression. “Time to end this little charade,” he said. “And now I shall have justice for my pet.” He raised his arm at Bridget and Leera.