by Sever Bronny
“I love it.”
“Thank you, Isaac.”
“No, seriously—” Isaac nodded at Olaf. “If Jez gets in on this with you and Alyssa, eight hours a day is plenty of time to teleport off with enough suits to equip every academy warlock, given we find a secret hiding spot, mind you. I know it’s crazy, but with the right cover, they’d never suspect it. It’s too bold.”
“I know this plan of Augum’s sounds crazy,” Haylee said, “but he led the defense of the castle in the war. I think we should let him lead us in this.” She glanced at the others. “I’m in.”
Bridget nodded. “We need to tweak the plan obviously, and it’ll be dangerous, but I’m in.”
Leera was smiling. “I’m absolutely in.”
One by one, Caireen, Jengo and Laudine chimed in with their thoughts and then their agreement, until Augum’s heart swelled with pride at their bravery and daring.
“All right, all right,” Olaf said when everyone had a say, expelling a long breath. “I’m in too. You’ll need to win Jez over, but I’m in. And anyway, for it to even work, we need to see if this crazy scroll idea of yours will work first. So let’s get to that right away.”
* * *
“And it’s arguatojatermanej not arguatojatermanaj,” Bridget corrected gently.
“Is there a difference?” Augum gave Leera a blank expression. “Did you hear a difference?”
Leera scoffed. “All gibberish to me.”
“The second-to-last letter, Aug,” Bridget pressed. “And you need to take this seriously. And don’t forget you’ll be doing the first gesture while envisioning …?” She nodded invitingly at him, her straight brows rising up her forehead.
“Asking the sacred arcane ether to release the oath. And I am taking this seriously.”
“Good. And what follows next?”
“The second and subsequent visuals are that I’ll be guiding the arcane tendrils to my soul—well, visualizing guiding them, but you know what I mean—and then I’ll be attaching the tendrils to me in the sequence provided in the scroll, all while performing the gestures and precisely pronouncing the words.”
She smiled, and Augum felt like a dutiful pupil. “Good, now say it with me again.”
He said it over and over until he perfected the pronunciation, all while making the gesture and visualizing the appropriate visual. And that was only one word of five he needed to pronounce perfectly. They had already gone over the scroll in minute detail. Every part of it, from the phrasing to the gestures to the requisite thought patterns. The language had needed some translating, for portions of it was written in the old tongue, but they managed it between the nine of them. The old tongue indicated just how old the scroll was. Which of course would work against them. Even the slightest mistranslation would result in the scroll going up in a puff of smoke. That’s why Augum had decided to cast his most powerful and ancient spell first—Centarro. He had learned it in Ley, and it allowed him to vastly amplify his focus.
After what felt like an hour of grueling preparation, throughout which the others, when not helping Augum prepare, quietly discussed how to bring his bold armor-snatching plan into fruition, Bridget, who was referencing the scroll, opened her mouth to speak, only to close it. Instead, she nodded. “I think you’re ready.”
Jengo nervously glanced through the window. “We’ll be late to our Theory of Elemental Spellcraft class.”
“We’ll live,” Haylee said.
Jengo gave her a rather imperious look. “Healing pupils like me don’t miss class. We just don’t. Trying to catch up in healing is like, like …” He pinched at the air with both hands, searching for the appropriate simile. “Bah, I don’t have Laud’s gift of the gab.”
Laudine made a graceful gesture with a supine hand. “Like chasing after the setting sun.”
“Yes, exactly. Er, well, if you work hard enough, then you theoretically can catch up using Teleport, so maybe not like chasing after the setting sun.”
She blinked, unimpressed.
They were all in the living room. Isaac was standing in the middle dressed in full black Dreadnought-plate armor. Since the armor had been crafted for the Lord of the Legion’s army, it was based on his visage, thus the entire suit looked like an elongated and sleek skull. The belt area was notched to give the appearance of teeth, a pair of divots in the chest were the hollow nose, concave pits on the left and right chest were the eye sockets. The craftsmanship was astounding, for there were no seams. The straps that joined the plates together were stained black leather. The steel was thin, but it was arcanely forged by the Dreadnoughts, a race only a handful of living people had seen with their own eyes.
Isaac sniffed the black gauntlets. “Yep, reeks of the dead.”
Augum could smell it too. It was subtle, like an ancient crypt.
Caireen held herself as if cold. “There’s something vicious and unsettling about how the armor looks.”
“Like living death,” Laudine said in a dramatic whisper. “ ‘In plain sight, so the reaper walketh.’ ”
“Darn intimidating,” Jengo murmured with a shiver. “And brings back a lot of memories.”
“Harrowing memories,” Haylee added, absently biting her fingernails.
“I wish I had been there with you to meet the Dreadnoughts,” Caireen said, circling Isaac, one hand floating just above the mythical black steel. “Can you tell me about them, Augum? I mean, not just what’s in the books.”
Augum’s eyes unfocused as he stared at the hot coals in the hearth. “An ancient race of lions, damned to serve as weapon and armor smiths. Children of the God of War …” Treyus was the deity’s name, but as an Unnameable, it would bring ill fortune to say it aloud. Only the most fervent acolytes of the humble faith were allowed to verbalize the names of the gods, and then only with a token sacrifice to appease their anger over a mortal besmirching their name.
Augum continued in a solemn voice, infused with memory. “They had lived for eons and knew much, but slept for long periods of time. When I spoke to them, they smelled of ash and fire and metal. They were thin and malnourished. And they deeply grieved the passing of every one of their number, for there were less than two hundred of them. Each lifetime represented …” He shook his head. It was so hard to describe. “They witnessed The Founding. The rise and fall of empires. They served Attyla the Mighty. Occulus. And many legendary others. They met creatures and men that caused ripples in history. Behind their eyes rested … the entire span of history.”
He finished in a murmur after which came a deep silence.
“You spoke like they did,” Bridget whispered. “I remember their cadence, the words they used. They were a tragically beautiful race. And I say were because I am not sure any remain alive.”
Augum continued to stare at the coals. Perhaps one or two remained alive. Or perhaps they were gone forever, to be written about in books and spoken of as children’s tales before a fire. In due time, they too would turn into myth, if they hadn’t already.
The hot coals sizzled as history swept through the room like a sweet childhood memory.
“Wowee!” Olaf finally said, slapping his knee, releasing the tension. “That’s some story, Aug. Wowee indeed.” The others chortled and relaxed as Olaf patted his chubby sides. “They might be fine armor smiths, but when I tried that armor on, I spilled out of it like a muffin from its cone.”
Augum rolled his eyes, something he seldom did. “We bled together, man. Nobody cares how big you are.”
Bridget put a hand over her mouth.
Olaf beamed at her. “Look, the princess is suppressing a giggle.”
“Excuse me, I am not!” But she was smiling.
“Do you find my fats funny, Your Royal Highness?”
“I do not! Don’t be crass, Olaf Hroljassen. And I’m not a princess anymore.”
“Yet you’re still trying not to laugh. Do you find my muffin top …” Olaf swirled his hips slowly. “Bewitching?”
; “Oh, gods, I’m going to kill you,” Bridget snorted between heaves of laughter, joined by everyone else. There was something hilarious about the way Olaf kept swirling his hips.
“Please, stop,” Bridget finally had to say. “Stop … swirling. Ugh, gross.” By then, everyone had laughingly covered their eyes, though more than a few fingers scissored open to steal a peek.
Olaf eventually stopped, only to slide over to Bridget and hip-check her gently. She raised a stern finger at him and pursed her lips, trying not to smile or laugh.
Laudine splayed her hands at the two of them. “Doth a new love strike its fancy in Castle Squalor?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Laud,” Bridget snapped, yet she had turned scarlet and looked away from Olaf. Meanwhile, Olaf’s cheeks reddened. He smiled as he sheepishly glanced over at Bridget. Caireen snickered, sharing a warm look with Isaac, the same sort of look Augum was exchanging with Leera.
“All right, people, let’s keep it going here before I vomit,” Haylee said.
Augum nodded at the armor. “How’d you bring it home, anyway?”
Olaf strode over and flashed a wicked grin. “Multiple trips and superb arcane guile. All right, the truth is I wore a few pieces at a time under my robe and got a friend to cover while I said I had to check in on my pa. Told them he was sick.” He slapped his belly. “A loose robe and a big belly come in handy for stuff like that. The helmet was the tricky part. Let’s just say it involved some exaggerated waddling—all while grumbling about a bad leg.” He winked at Bridget. “Sometimes me fats come in handy.”
“It would make a heck of a stage costume,” Laudine said. She turned to Augum. “Hey, if this doesn’t work—”
“No,” he said.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to—”
“No, you can’t borrow it for a play.”
Laudine twisted two fists under her eyes, miming crying.
“Put the helm on,” Leera said. “Just in case.”
Isaac put the spiked skull helm on. “I feel … brutal in this thing. And it’s light. Super light. But I have to be honest, it’s kind of hard to see through this thing. Still—” He shook his shoulders and wiggled his hips. “What do you think, Cai? Am I a catch or what?”
Caireen covered her mouth and giggled. “You are a terrible dancer, Mr. Fleiszmann.”
Isaac stopped the ugly dance and appealed to the other girls. “Am I really?”
Laudine, Bridget and Leera immediately nodded.
“Terrible.”
“Just awful.”
“Unredeemable.”
Isaac dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Pfft. Critics. Anyway, how do I activate it?”
Bridget adjusted her grip on the blackened parchment. “Once the scroll is cast and you’ve sworn sacred allegiance to Augum, I believe all you have to do is cast Elemental Armor. The armor should amplify the spell. And you will additionally receive partial arcane immunity from all spells.”
“Right.” Isaac nodded. “Then I’m ready. Aug?”
Augum sat down on the settee. Bridget sat before him cross-legged and unfurled the scroll for him to read. Conscious of everyone watching him, he went through one more practice run without tapping into the great arcane ether to use it as a conduit.
“I feel like a mime in one of Laud’s plays,” he muttered, imitating one of the more ridiculous gestures—left palm circling over the head leftward while right palm circling over his face rightward—all without touching the skin and while saying the word transferranoss. This caused a nervous titter amongst his friends, bolstering his spirits. Gods, if he got this wrong or if it didn’t work, it’d mean he’d sunk a fortune of a loan on nothing. But either way he would have lost that money. Worse, had the Von Edgeworths stolen it, knowing the Black Bank, he still would have been on the hook to repay the loan.
“Everyone step back and give him space,” Leera said, shooing them away. “Come on, people, move it.”
“Good luck, Aug,” Caireen said, the sentiment echoed by others.
With his friends on the other side of the small room, Bridget fixed a concentrating gaze upon him. She gave a single nod, mouthing, “Good luck.” He nodded back and placed his entire focus on the task at hand. The first thing he needed to do was prepare for Centarro, which involved paying close attention to the nuances of the moment, to the things around him, to his feelings.
He formed a plan for the side effects of the spell, for they would induce a haze of near unconscious stupidity. He would lie back and relax while staring at the old timber ceiling. With the plan formed, he moved his attention to the plank floor, noting its coarseness, the occasional square iron nail clumsily hammered into the surface, the bits of dust and food and dirt. He then focused on his rapidly beating heart, on the blood that raced through his veins as if he were preparing for battle, on the deep ongoing anxiety that vibrated like a bell. He listened to the quiet but anxious breathing of his friends, feeling their support in his troubled soul, and took his own measured breath which he exhaled at his leisure, a breath that seemed to slow their breathing. Finally, with precise intonation, he calmly said, “Centeratoraye xao xen.”
The world sharpened. Bridget’s gaze turned a hundredfold more intense, her hazel eyes clear as a mountain brook. The world turned into fluid poetry. The old settee behind her became a tragic story of love and loss and decay, its faded floral patterns an echo of a long-lost garden. A nearby portrait of an old woman became a silent song about how fleeting existence was. A tar-stained tobacco pipe became the musings of a doting grandfather who had passed on.
He glanced down at the long cuffs of his amber robe. The color of the robe became the passion he felt for order and happiness and safety and security and a future that begged for salvation. The openings of the cuffs were gaping caves staring into his soul.
He was ready.
He refocused his attention on the words on the parchment. Where once they had seemed complex and forbidding, they now seemed as clear as a mountain brook. He could almost taste them on the tip of his tongue, like sweet summer honey, or the tangy first bite of a plum.
He positioned his hands in first formation in readiness for the first gesture, and took one more patient breath. His friends did not move. It was so quiet he could hear the soft pitter-patter of snow against the roof and windows, measuring time in infinite increments.
The gestures and appropriate visuals began the moment he started speaking the sacred words. “Arguatojatermanej transferranoss oathanasca displacio displacii.” Throughout he envisioned taking the exact oath—which he had already memorized thanks to Isaac—from his father’s soul and placing it onto his own, as if donning his former father’s old coat, and exchanging the Lord of the Legion’s name with his own, as instructed. He was careful to attend to every fibrous detail of the powerful and complex arcane tendrils he had to imagine were there because he could not see them. Even with Centarro, it was one of the most complicated castings he had ever performed.
The moment he finished the final complex gesture, the scroll disappeared in a puff of white smoke. The slightest tingle rippled through his being.
He glanced up and smiled, knowing the perfection of the casting. “It worked. I know it did.”
As his friends celebrated, he smiled and lay back, quickly attended to by Leera, who stroked his cheeks, gently shepherding him through the coma-inducing fog of Centarro.
Acceptance
“No, I’m telling you, I cast it right!” Isaac shouted, voice ringing with indignation and slightly muffled by the helm. “I’m not a 1st degree here, I cast it perfectly! And if there’s one spell in the 6th I can nail, it’s Elemental Armor.”
“Then why is the spell not amplified?” Haylee asked, running her hands through her hair in exasperation. “Why is it underneath the armor where we can’t even see it? We should be seeing a thick shimmering coating of water outside the armor, shouldn’t we, Bridget?”
Bridget nodded, fist pressed to th
e bottom of her chin as she sat cross-legged, face scrunched with a perplexed frown.
Isaac smacked his breastplate. “Right? I’m telling you, it’s exactly the same as before. And I don’t think the partial spell immunity is working either.” He tensed. “Hit me with a head spell, Laud.”
Laudine made a vicious gouging gesture at his eyes, hooked her two fingers, and yanked, snapping, “Voidus occa!”
Isaac flinched, then shook his head. “Fought it off with Mind Armor, but the spell strength felt identical to before. No hint of even partial immunity. The suit hasn’t amplified my Mind Armor one iota, I’m absolutely sure of it.”
“The oath,” Bridget said. “Are you sure—”
Isaac yanked off the Dreadnought helmet, revealing a face cocooned in a film of vibrant water. “I’m completely certain it’s the exact oath! Stop talking to me like I’m stupid. I did the prep, damn it.”
Bridget raised her hands. “All right, all right, I’m sorry, but something obviously didn’t work.”
Isaac was breathing heavily. “I know my own element, thank you very much,” he added bitterly. “I’m not Carp here. I know when—”
“We get it already,” Leera said, sighing. She turned to Augum, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” Augum said. “I felt the truth of the spell. It worked. Not a single thing felt off in the entire casting. Not one.”
Bridget got up to pace. “Then what are we missing here?”
Olaf counted on his stubby fingers. “The spell was cast perfectly and the scroll disappeared, as it was supposed to. Isaac declared his allegiance to Augum, correctly replacing the Lord of the Legion’s name with Augum’s. Isaac then should have been able to unlock the full power of the Dreadnought suit, but when he cast his Elemental Armor spell, it wasn’t amplified at all.” He clapped his hands. “Yet it didn’t work.”
Everyone shook their heads in puzzlement. Bridget paced on, murmuring things to herself under her breath. Everyone knew to wait, for interrupting her was against their best interests.