Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (23 page)

Bridget scowled and the ivy around her palm seemed to snake faster.

“Please—” began the young guard, dropping to his knees. “Don’t kill me, young miss, I didn’t mean it, honest … you don’t understand what they’ll do to me—”

“Lie on the floor face down and stay there—”

The guard did as he was told and they ran off. The hallways flew by in a blur—a right, a left, up thirty steps, the fork. Augum peeked around the corner to the left, where the smell of the outdoors came from. He was distinctly aware of the iron interrogation room just to the right. Bridget, Leera and Mya stood close behind, silent as mice.

“I think they’re readying to meet my father,” he murmured, watching guards race by through an adjoining corridor that appeared to go outside. Many of them had put on their cloaks or surcoats, trying to look as official as possible. He waited until they were gone and gestured to move. The group scurried past a series of rooms until they stood in an exit corridor.

Augum peeked outside through the rustic door left open by the guards. It looked to be midday, though he couldn’t be sure as it was gray and cloudy. Near the center of town, a decent distance away, it appeared all of Commander Tridian’s men gathered around a column of caravans and horses.

“Must be around two hundred men or so,” Leera whispered.

The entire village seemed to have turned out as well, some with fear on their faces, though many cheering. Mothers held muddy children close. Chickens squawked and dogs ran amok in the filthy snow. Horses whinnied and soldiers raised triumphant shouts.

“We have to find His Royal Highness—” Mya said.

“He’s probably in the sick ward,” Bridget replied

“What about our stuff?” Leera asked.

Augum gave them a dark look. “Tridian’s command post.”

They didn’t reply. Everyone understood the risks.

“I think I remember where it is,” Leera said. “Follow me.”

They snuck out of the low gray-stoned keep, darting amongst carts, stacks of hay, peat houses, and torches flickering on iron stands. It would have been difficult to do had there not been such commotion.

“His Eminence has come, His Eminence has come to see us!” cried one peasant woman with only one front tooth, reminding Augum of Cled.

“Blessed are we, soon the receivers of eternal life!” cried another peasant in rough-spun wools.

They continued on, circling the edge of the village, Leera leading. The guards had left their posts to greet the Lord of the Legion, allowing the group to sneak right up to Tridian’s quarters. The log house abutted the trees, a single shuttered window visible. They hid behind a stack of barrels, listening for sounds from within.

The crowd hooped and hollered, sending up cheer after cheer, coming closer and closer, until the doors inside Tridian’s quarters sprang open. The foursome froze, listening through the gap in the shutters. A gaggle of voices flooded the interior. Floorboards creaked and groaned. There seemed to be some ceremony in how they organized themselves, until Augum heard his father’s voice for the first time since the butchering of Sparrow’s Perch.

The Lord of the Legion

“Commander Tridian,” The Lord of the Legion began, “your reputation has grown since last we met. Good news comes often written in your hand.”

“My lord flatters me.”

Sparkstone’s voice carried to the crowd gathered inside. “My loyal commander is quite modest, so I am sure he has not yet told you how he has earned the appellation ‘the Blade of Sorrows’.”

“He indeed has not!”

“Do tell, Great Lord!”

“Let us hear it—”

“It was I that bestowed the title on the man standing before me, and how well deserved it has become. Commander Tridian, who was then, what, a lieutenant—?”

“That is correct, my lord.”

“When he was nothing more than a lieutenant, Tridian took hostage the family of the Headmaster of the Academy of Arcane Arts, who had barricaded himself, the pupils, and remaining warlocks inside the academy. The black castle had already fallen, and here was this old fool, refusing to surrender, for the ‘children’s sake’, or some such nonsense.

“Incidentally, some of you may note the headmaster was the successor to my grandmother, who, if you ask my opinion, had more sense in her little finger than this old fool had in totality.” There was some strained chuckling. “In any case, Lieutenant Tridian dragged the man’s family before the walls of the academy. When the old man refused to surrender, Tridian said—and please help me if I mistake your words, Commander—he said, ‘You will find nothing but sorrow on my blade!’ Now what did that old fool say back to you again?”

“Something to the effect of, ‘You would not murder family, let us battle as men’. ”

“So, in full view of the son and daughter and every eye from that academy, Tridian unsheathed his blade and chopped off the wife’s head.” Sparkstone paused, his voice quiet. “The silence was the loudest I had ever heard. The sight was almost comic in its absurdity. That head bounced along the ground and came to rest at the feet of the fool’s daughter. She said nothing, only stood there like a daft cow. Now, guess what the old man did.”

“Surrendered!” cried the throng.

“Ah, but you underestimate the resolve of this old fool. He came from a long line of fools—
A
rcaners, what with their silly code and such. The man refused again, begging to resolve the conflict as men, calling us cowards and dogs and unleashing his pale wit at our honor. Now mind you, I had my first scion at the time, so we were quite safe. Nonetheless, it got under Tridian’s skin, did it not, the words he had said?”

“A point needed to be made.”

“Indeed. Indeed …” Sparkstone paused, the crowd hanging on to every word. “So the lieutenant rips the boy from the hands of his sister and chops off his head too. Let me tell you all, never had I seen such a man capitulate so quickly and weep so hard.”

“Motivation is a tricky thing.”

“And you are a shining example on its use, my good man. The cause is greater than a child, a wife, a kingdom. You did a good thing that day. The academy needed to be brought to its knees, and you brought it down with only two lives.” Sparkstone paused again as Augum exchanged looks with the girls, their faces slack with horror.

“And that is the story behind the Blade of Sorrows.”

There were claps and respectful murmurs from the crowd. Augum stiffened as the floorboards creaked close to the window. A bottle was uncorked, the contents poured into many cups.

“A toast—to the Blade of Sorrows!”

“The Blade of Sorrows!”

“Very good. Now let us move this meeting along. A report, dear Commander.”

“As my lord commands,” Tridian said, a tinge of relief in his voice. “Allow me to dispense of the minutiae first. The men and I stand ready to serve. As for the peasants, the Great Quest is having the desired effect. They long for eternal life and are joining the cause in droves. The only trouble we are having is feeding them. The harvest was poor this season, trade has plummeted, and the roads marred by traitors.”

“Revolutions have complications. The food situation will be rectified when we take Tiberra. We shall raid their renowned winter stores like wolves feasting on hare.”

The crowd tittered.

“I am humbled by my lord’s compliments.” Tridian walked near the shuttered window and retrieved something. “Allow me to present my lord with a gift.”

“Why, that is the family blade,” Sparkstone said in a fond voice. “How appropriate that my son carried it, as his own father had.”

Augum felt a hot prickle—he did not want to be compared to this vile man in any way.

“So he is indeed here. I shall see the boy shortly. Thank you, Commander. You have done well. Expect an adequate reward.”

“Sire, in ye hand a Dreadnought Blade ye doth hold,” said a guttural voice that sounded like two large millstones grinding together.

The crowd stirred.

“Is it now? Well then, the old crone sure loves her secrets!” Laughter rippled among the men. “Tridian, may I introduce Dredius Hestius, my Dreadnought commander. I do believe he is older than all the men in this room put together.”

“My lord, it gladdens my heart to hear the stories are true. All hail the Lord of Dreadnoughts!”

“HAIL!”

A Dreadnought, a real Dreadnought—! Augum wished he could see what it he looked like, but dared not take a peek.

“Thank you, dear commander. Dredius, what else can you tell me about this blade?”

“At Master’s command I doth serve.” The Dreadnought’s words came slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. “This ancient blade is thus named Burden’s Edge. It hath been forged for one Atrius Arinthian, amidst the wars of the scions.”

The crowd stirred as Augum gave the girls a significant look. He had been wielding his ancestor’s sword the whole time!

“Thank you, ancient commander,” Sparkstone said when the chatter died down. “Amazing, is it not? Dreadnoughts somehow know every single item forged by their kind. The perfect arcaneologists. I shall carry this blade in honor of my legendary ancestor. Pity I had to raise the man and then sacrifice him anew.”

Gasps came from the crowd.

“My lord—?” Commander Tridian said.

“You heard me correctly, Commander. It was quite the problem I faced—how to become the Lord of Dreadnoughts when their last master had forsaken them. The answer was remarkably simple if you think about it, though the task actually quite complex—raise the man, sacrifice him, and choose to become their master. Only a necromancer could accomplish such a feat.”

Silence followed.

“I assure you the ceremony was the most difficult thing I have ever undertaken, the arcanery well beyond my abilities. Thankfully, three scions did aid in the matter.”

The crowd chortled.

“Would you believe it though, that I had to step across the body of none other than Commander Rames to get inside the mausoleum housing Arinthian’s bones?”

“Your son confessed to his slaying, my lord,” Tridian said.

“Is that right? So the boy was down there. How peculiar. What else did he confess to?”

“Only exactly the information we have been seeking—the location of Anna Atticus Stone. She heads to see the mountain monks.”

The crowd murmured approval.

“That is most welcome information indeed, Commander.” Sparkstone paced a moment. “There is only one reason for her to journey there—she wishes to see the Seers, probably to ask how to defeat me.”

The crowd rumbled with nervous laughter just as the door flew open.

“My great lord!” called a boy’s voice from the back of the cabin. Augum felt a flush of anger upon hearing that voice.

“This is the boy I told my lord about,” Commander Tridian said, voice bubbling with pride.

“Ah, a young necrophyte. Look here men—witness the future of the Legion. Commander Tridian has already filled me in on your efforts, young man. You have reaped honor upon the cause. I shall reward you with personal instruction.”

“My lord, I am extremely grateful.” A pause, in which Augum imagined Robin’s stupid face bowing down and kissing Sparkstone’s boots.

“I come bearing you a gift,” Robin continued.

“A gift?”

“Yes. Him.”

“You’ve brought me a boy?”

The crowd chuckled.

“This is Prince Sydo Ridian the fourth. He is a personal friend of mine. I convinced him his father’s death was unfortunate but necessary. He is ready to serve the cause and earn the rewards.”

Augum glanced at Bridget in alarm. Her face was red, but whether it was from anger, fear, or sadness, he couldn’t tell.

“My father was always weak,” Prince Sydo said in a pompous voice. “He loved books and council more than anything. He refused to believe in the eternal, but I know the eternal exists, for I have seen the ancient ones for myself. I have been to Ley! I have personally witnessed their arcanery and long life!”

“Impossible …” someone said.

“A fable …”

“The boy curries favor with lies!”

“Oh, do we have nonbelievers here?” Sparkstone asked. “Because if we do …” a tense pause. “You speak of things your little minds barely understand. This boy speaks true, does he not, Commander Tridian?”

“He indeed speaks true, my lord. I have questioned him personally. This boy has been to Ley. He has seen the Leyans.”

“Make no mistake,” Sparkstone said, “the Leyans are real, and they will give us what we desire. I shall extend the lives of all my loyal followers with their knowledge. We shall all reap the rewards.”

“Hear hear!”

“Now, young prince, I am sorry about your father, but know this—he died a noble death, a worthy death. He perished because he believed in neither destiny, providence, nor the might of the Legion. He refused to retire humbly. Above all, he refused to give me his support. Thus, he had to be made example of.”

“My father chose the wrong side. I will not make the same mistake. I had to endure the insufferable companionship of rotten, gutterborn—”

The crowd gasped and stirred.

“Begging your pardon, Great One,” Sydo blubbered quickly, “I did not mean to infer—”

“—that my own son was gutterborn. No, I do not believe you intended to infer such a thing, for if you had, I would have you quartered this moment.”

A deathly silence.

“Now tell me, how did you enter Ley?”

Sydo’s voice was meek. “Through the fountain portal in Castle Arinthian, Sire. The crone—excuse me, your grandmother—opened it with her scion.”

“Crone is just fine,” Sparkstone said, much to the amusement of the crowd.

“Also, the, uh, crone destroyed the other portals. The one in Castle Arinthian is the only one left.”

“Then she is a fool for leaving it. You and I have something in common, boy. I am the rightful heir to that scion and you are the rightful heir to the Solian throne. When the time comes, if you continue to show your loyalty, the throne shall return to you. When I become emperor, I will want someone … loyal … in the Solian seat.”

“Oh, Sire … that is my only dream—to serve you, I mean.”

The crowd laughed a little.

“Ah, but do you not wield any other ambitions?”