Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (20 page)

He first inspected the cold floor and walls, the grooves between the cut stones, the rough texture. He then carefully studied the bars—which parts were thinnest, which rusted and flaked. Then the construction of the iron hinges, imagining them squeaking like the ones in Castle Arinthian.

He missed the castle now more than ever—its cozy canopy beds, the stained-glass windows, that ancient castle smell. But above all, he missed the warmth from those large hearths. He even missed the cellar, with its bronze servant plaque and those mysterious gates. Then again, perhaps it would be better to say he missed exploring the cellar with Bridget and Leera. Except the crypt. He didn’t miss that. Even imagining his ancestor walking around under his father’s command made his muscles tighten. Would Atrius Arinthian come for him now along with his father?

He became aware of Cled watching him and worried about revealing he was a warlock, especially to someone with four sons in the Legion. Yet he had to get out of there before his father came. Not only that, but he had to somehow save the others and then find Mrs. Stone. No, he had to take the risk.

“Ye can’t escape, boy,” Cled wheezed, smacking his gums. “They’d cut ye down before ye even be seeing the light o’ day. Best prepare to be put to the question. You done need an iron mind, boy—an iron mind for an iron room.”

Augum tuned the man out, concentrating on the arcane words that would make the spell real. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out a few times in an attempt to still the pain.

“Centeratoraye xao xen,” but nothing happened except the throbbing worsened. He was too tired and needed rest.

The old man gripped the bars, eyes glinting. Others in nearby cells stirred too, and Augum realized what he was trying to do was dangerous. He couldn’t let them find out what he was capable of, not until he absolutely had to.

“I be doggone. Would that be magic ye be trying to cast there, boy?”

“It’s just a prayer—to the Unnameables,” Augum replied quickly.

“Is that right,” Cled muttered. He faded back into the shadows, watching.

Augum slumped against the wall. He wondered what Mrs. Stone was doing in that moment. Walking through snow? Teleporting from place to place? What degree did he require to learn Teleport? There was still so much he didn’t know, so much more to learn …

He pondered the possibilities, until his stray thoughts became confused with real dreams.

The Questioning

Augum woke to the unusually sharp prodding of Mrs. Stone’s staff. “I’m coming, Nana, I’m coming. Let me just sleep a little more.” He squirmed to move away from the sharply increasing prods, until one smacked his mouth so hard he thought a tooth loosened.

“Think the boy’s pining for his mother or something,” a guard said with a chortle, withdrawing the spear.

As Augum spit blood, he felt stone beneath him instead of bedding. How much time had passed? He was in that cell, wasn’t he? All the familiar aches and pains returned—chest, nose, arm, head—though the latter two less so.

Keys jingled.

“Unnameables help him. Let’s get this over with,” said a second guard.

The words jarred him to his senses. He forced himself to pay close attention to his surroundings—the creaking hinges purposefully left unoiled to warn guards of an opening cell; the long passage and its low ceiling, meant to delay escape; the harsh smell of lamp oil; these details and more he absorbed like a sponge.

As they dragged him limply by Leera’s cell, she clutched his arm and squeezed it tightly, withdrawing quickly before one of the guards caught her. “Stay strong, Aug,” she whispered, face muddy and hair tangled. She held her side as she stood, giving him the impression she was still injured from the spear attack.

It hurt to see her like that. The guard that had done it was not one of the two, for if he had been, Augum probably would have tried something stupid.

Even when he attempted walking on his own, the guards would not let him, preferring to drag him. He gave up and instead focused on the corridors. A right, a left, up thirty steps, right at a fork, a last right through an iron door. He caught a brief whiff of crisp wintery air—the exit had to be near!

The two guards threw him into a room that was iron top to bottom, its walls and floor wet and caked with rust. Crude iron lanterns burned in each corner, caged in wire. Bolted in the center was a single iron table the size of a small bed. The guards flanked the door, snapping to attention as the Blade of Sorrows strolled in with a placid look on his face, dressed in his polished ornate black armor and surcoat. Robin Scarson followed, smiling with malignant joy. He gestured to the table with a mailed glove. “Sit. Please.”

Augum glanced to the door but did as he was told.

The man studied him a moment with those pale eyes. “You know, Augum Stone, I do not believe you understand your father, or what he is trying to accomplish.” The commander began pacing, searching for the right words. “He is building an empire, Augum. An
empire.
It will stretch—” he made a sweeping gesture, “—to every corner of Sithesia. There are lands we have not even heard of, awaiting his Lord’s arrival. The world has never seen one such as him,
never.
And you—” he placed his mailed hands on Augum’s shoulders, “—you are his son, his only … son
.
”

Robin stirred but Augum was careful not to look away, as the commander was studying his reactions.

Tridian let go and began pacing again, sighing as if encumbered by a heavy burden. “You could be there with him, Augum. Side by side. He wants you there, but not—” he stopped and waved a finger as if addressing a naughty child, “—not with half your heart set elsewhere. “Your father, the Lord of the Legion and eventual Emperor of all kingdoms in all lands, wants you only with a loyal and dedicated heart. Now you think about that.”

Augum chose to focus on the tang of blood in his mouth than say anything.

Commander Tridian stopped pacing a moment and placed his hands behind his back. “You know, I fought alongside your father when the Legion was but a seed in his eye. The battle for Blackhaven was fierce. Naturally, we had to dispose of the warlocks first, but it was at the academy that your father proved himself to his troops.”

He stared off for a moment. “I have never seen such power …
never
.” He cleared his throat. “So let me say this—your father is willing to train you and share with you that power, a power you are predisposed to master.” He made a dismissive gesture and chuckled. “Your entire bloodline, apparently.” He leaned in a little. “But mark my words—if he feels you will not partake in that power as a dutiful son should, he will crush you, utterly and simply, and everyone that you love along with you.”

The Blade of Sorrows studied him as the words sank in. Augum thought of Bridget and Leera, of Mya and Mrs. Stone. He wanted to say something stupid and brash, but bit his tongue and glared.

A smile slowly spread across the Blade of Sorrows’ face, a smile without warmth or conscience. Abruptly, he turned to Robin. “Now, young apprentice, it is your turn. The Lord of the Legion expects his necrophytes to know the meaning of discipline, especially when it comes to the question. You must be cold as ice and strong as iron. You must be demanding yet conscious of your subjects’ weaknesses and strengths. Above all, you must be
smart.
Are you ready, Apprentice?”

The doubt on Robin’s face was momentary before a smirk replaced it. “I am, Commander.”

“Good.” Tridian made a polite gesture at Augum. “Then you may begin.” The Blade of Sorrows crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. The two guards stood statue-still in attention beside him, their eyes focused straight ahead.

Robin paced back and forth in a close impression of the commander. “Where is she?”

Commander Tridian rubbed his forehead. “Do not cut to the chase right from the start. Learn to play with your subject first as a cat plays with a mouse. Lull him into a sense of security. The best questioners can do that for days, making friends of their subjects, before springing on them like a lion.”

Robin nodded along. “Yes, Commander.” He turned back to Augum and gave a gleeful smile.

Tridian sighed as if bored. “Avoid showing your emotions, either eagerness or hatred. Learn to use them as tools instead, Apprentice.”

“As you say, Commander.” Robin turned back to Augum, trying to control his facial expression. If the situation wasn’t so dangerous, Augum would have laughed.

Robin folded his hands behind his back. “Look, your gutterborn piglet friends will be here soon. I can easily get the information from them, but that would ruin the sport of it, wouldn’t it?” He took a step closer, his voice dropping. “I want to hear it from
you.
I don’t care what it is I have to do to
them
, you understand, but
you
are going to tell me where the old crone went.”

The Blade of Sorrows started clapping slowly, the sound ringing off the iron walls. “Well done, Apprentice. Your academy training is starting to show. Our Lord will be pleased, as I will be sure to mention to him how much of a success his program has been so far. When you become a great warlock in the Legion, do not forget about the little people.”

The pair chortled together, Robin’s cheeks reddening. Even the guards broke out in a reserved chuckle until the Blade of Sorrows silenced them with a look. He then flicked a finger at Robin. “Resume.”

“As I understand it—” Robin continued, “you are being
trained
by the crone, is that not true?”

Augum stared defiantly. Robin smirked back. He made to start pacing again when he suddenly smashed his fist into Augum’s face. Augum’s eyes involuntarily welled with tears as blood spurted from his nose.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you, you disgusting gutterborn scum. Didn’t weasel out that time, did you? Want to black out on me again?”

Augum only glared. Never mind that Robin had sucker-punched him twice now. He refused to touch his nose, letting the blood drip down his chin and robe.

“I can see you are developing a taste for pressure,” Commander Tridian said, as if commenting on nothing more than the weather. “Very good. Plenty of questioners use the pressure method. Why? Because it works. Incidentally, most of the great commanders in his Lords’ army know the pressure method. I am quite fond of it myself. You will be in good company when you become a man, Apprentice. Perhaps it would also be useful for you to train with Commander Rames, who I believe was the only other person in our great lord’s army to be trained by the crone.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Augum said, unable to restrain himself this time. “Rames is dead. We killed him.”

Robin cackled. “You bluff—”

“No, he tells the truth, Apprentice, learn to spot the difference. Now, we want to reward the truth, but in this case, he is being insubordinate, is he not?”

Robin’s lip curled. “He most certainly is, Commander.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Robin reared back and slapped Augum.

Augum made a show of sticking out his chin and taking it. He spat blood on the floor before resuming his glare. “I’ve been hit harder.” It was true—if there was one thing he could thank Dap and the damn Pendersons for, it was conditioning. “Why don’t you take me on one-on-one, huh?” All he needed was a fair fight.

“Trying to be smart, eh?” Robin wiped his hand, returning Augum’s glare with a hate-filled one of his own. “Can I drag her in, Commander?”

There was a hint of pride in the commander’s reply. “Why yes. This is, after all,
your
questioning.”

“Guards—bring the girl!”

The guards thumped their spears before marching off.

A wave of nausea came over Augum. Suddenly he was very thirsty. Must be the blood loss or something.

Robin’s brow rose. “What’s the matter, gutterborn?”

Augum stiffened. “Leave her alone, or I’ll tell my father and he’ll destroy you both!” he knew it was stupid and futile, but he had to try.

The Blade of Sorrows laughed, Robin quickly joining, though for a moment Augum saw fear in his eyes.

“Was that not worth watching, Apprentice?”

Robin belted out an overzealous laugh while nodding along.

“Wishful thinking, boy,” Tridian said. “You do not know your father like I do.”

There came the sound of struggle from the corridor. Leera was dragged in and dumped to the floor, clutching her side and wincing. She flashed Robin a dirty look.

Augum stood. “Leera—”

“SIT DOWN!” the Blade of Sorrows roared, the outburst so sudden that every other soul in that room flinched.

Augum, breathing hard, swallowed his pride and sat back down, though he purposefully took his time doing it.

“Did you notice that little act of defiance, Apprentice? The way he sat himself? I will teach you how to rid him of that.”

“I look forward to it, sir.”

Augum looked at Leera with deep concern. “You all right?”

“I’m fine, don’t tell them anything—”

“Aw, how touching,” Robin said. “Hey, Leer, want to go to my advancement ceremony as my date? Just kidding! Haylee’s coming with me,” and he cackled.

Augum remembered Haylee, the blonde with cold blue eyes. Her father, Lord Tennyson, was the one that informed Sparkstone about Augum and Mrs. Stone, costing almost everyone in Sparrow’s Perch their life.

Leera tried to wipe the mud off her face with her sleeve. “You’ve become a real fine monster. Still an idiot though.”

Robin walked towards her and she scurried back. He laughed before snapping his fingers. “Guards—hold her against the wall.”

She struggled but it was no use. Robin took one of the guards’ spears in hand, watching Augum’s reaction. “You are going to tell me exactly where the old crone wandered off to, or I will punish
her
for it.”

“Don’t do it Aug, don’t—”

One of the guards clamped a hand over her mouth. She kept struggling, voice muffled. Augum had never felt more powerless in his life. He desperately tried to think of something to do. Even
if
he managed to cast Centarro, he was not foolish enough to think it would work against all four of them. Yet he couldn’t tell them where Mrs. Stone had gone either—”