Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  Men screamed and shouted for mercy and dove for cover. As soon as Beef realized the headless body was coming for him, he retreated so quickly he tripped and fell, rolling on the earth like a great log. That broke any remaining morale, and the trio was allowed to escape the bandit camp, leaving behind cries of anguish, prayers to the gods, and curses that the trio never return, damn witches that they be.

  Old Jory

  Bridget had the reins on the ride back, with Leera sitting right behind, tenderly held by Augum, who sat in the rear. The horse cantered along, the trio bobbing to its rhythmic trot. Augum, head nuzzled into Leera’s neck and arms wrapped around her torso, had a giant smile on his face. All was well again.

  That is, all except for the stinging wound in his back from Sal’s cleaver, which was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. Every bounce made him feel weaker, more light-headed, more thirsty. And wow did it sting!

  Augum’s smile faded. There was also the dark knowledge he had ended another life, and in such a violent way. The memory of the man’s head exploding was seared into his brain forever. Just like the memory of killing Corrigus, back at Hangman’s Rock. Taking life was such a difficult thing to fathom, and it bothered him on a level that subtly poisoned everything. He supposed his anxiety over the matter should be tempered by the knowledge they were at war with cruel people. But justifications only felt like he was lying to himself, and the memories of what he had done would haunt him like ghosts.

  Life was cheap in war. That’s what Sir Westwood had always said. Life was cheap in war.

  His back suddenly twinged with searing pain after a particularly hard bounce. He winced and raised his head from Leera’s shoulder, trying to will the pain to go away. High above the dark trees was a vast field of bright stars, and the largest, most beautiful silver moon he had ever seen. At least they were alive to witness it, to enjoy each other’s company once more. At least she was safe in his arms. At least, that is, for a little while longer, for life to him now seemed a harrowing existence, a delicate dance on the sharpest blade, of which falling meant the nothingness that was death.

  His head swam from staring at the heavens. He nuzzled his face again into Leera’s raven hair and gently gave her a squeeze. Her hands closed over his. But he wasn’t feeling that good now, what with the horse’s canter. He might need to lie down soon, else throw up. He should have dressed the wound … or even told Bridget about it. What was the matter with him?

  “We need to stop,” he gurgled, feeling thoroughly queasy now, as if he was swimming through an ocean of bile.

  “Huh?” Bridget said.

  “We need to …” but then he felt all the fight go out of him. The long and stressful day, combined with lack of food and blood loss, had triumphed. He slipped from the horse and smashed into the soggy earth.

  He woke up to Leera’s panicked face staring at him. She was slowly stroking his forehead. “Oh, Aug … why didn’t you say something?”

  Bridget was kneeling beside her. “Augum Stone, you can be such a fool sometimes.”

  “Just a tiny cut …” he mumbled.

  Bridget stared at him. “A tiny cut. A tiny cut. Augum, do you—”

  “Spare him, Bridge,” Leera said in exhausted tones, giving her a pleading look.

  Bridget’s countenance softened.

  Leera sighed, returning her gaze to him. “Bridge bandaged you up with a small Legion banner we found in the horse’s pack. I also repaired your robe.” She reached behind her, retrieving a skin of water with the Legion emblem on it. It immediately made him aware how parched he was and how dry his lips felt. She placed it to his lips and he drank greedily.

  “Not too much, not yet.” Leera then passed it to Bridget, before taking a swig herself. “We’ve also got a bit of dried beef. But that’s for tomorrow. Now rest …”

  And rest he did, soon falling asleep in Leera’s arms.

  * * *

  They resumed the journey the next morning, after Augum felt a little better. The water had helped, but his stomach still panged with hunger. The morning was misty, cool and quiet, the forest still wet from the recent rains. It was good to have slept. It was good knowing the girls were safe. And as far as hunger was concerned, after Bahbell, they certainly knew their limits and could endure far more.

  “You should switch and let Augum take the reins, Bridge,” Leera said. “Then you can rest your head on my shoulder.” She turned her head to Augum. “She slept poorly again. Nightmares.”

  Bridget gave the reins a stern yank while giving the horse’s flanks a kick, so he would go a little faster. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Leera sighed. “You should. Might help.”

  Bridget said nothing. It wasn’t long before she stopped the horse at a fork in the road. “Aug, you don’t happen to remember which way it is?”

  Augum glanced past both girls’ shoulders. The forks looked unfamiliar. “No idea at all.”

  Bridget chose the path to the right, mumbling, “Should’ve enchanted something with Object Track before we left.”

  “But then it would have superseded the one you cast on Harvus, and we might not have found Leera.”

  “Good point.”

  Augum wasn’t worried. They’d find their way back somehow, even if they had to stop to ask some farmer for directions—not that they saw any farms along the forest road.

  “How’s your back?” Leera asked.

  “Fine,” he lied. The cut hurt terribly. It was a deep, throbbing pain edged with a fiery stinging. And his bones still ached from being slammed against a tree by Harvus. He felt stiff and sore all over. Who knew how many bruises he had from that vicious tussle.

  “We missed Lover’s Day,” Leera said, tracing over the scar from when he hastily sliced his own palm open to make life-saving golden vitae for Bridget.

  “Could have been worse,” he said.

  “You two aren’t making out back there, are you?” Bridget said.

  “No,” they chorused.

  “Maybe later though,” Leera added. She turned in the saddle. “How does it feel to rescue a fair maiden?”

  Augum reddened. He kissed her cheek and smiled. “Pretty good, actually,” and squeezed her waist gently.

  Bridget stared at the forest and sighed. “We survived another one,” she whispered.

  “Another what?” Leera asked, turning back around.

  “Another close call.”

  “What’re you saying, that we got lucky?”

  “Yes.” Bridget turned her head in the saddle to face Leera a moment. “Just hoping our—”

  “—it won’t,” Augum cut in.

  Leera glanced between the two of them. “What won’t?”

  “Our luck. It won’t run out.” He had to stop this lying thing.

  Bridget stared at him a moment before returning her gaze to the road. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because we won’t let it.” But he knew that one day, their luck would run out. It felt inevitable, like a cloud of doom hanging over their heads. How many times had they already escaped death’s clutches? How many more times will they tempt the eternal abyss? It was a daring dance, one that felt ever more dangerous with each song.

  “Well someone’s luck ran out,” Leera said.

  Augum knew she was talking about Harvus, but he again became aware of the gut-wrenching rot he felt about killing a man. He had killed someone. A person. Someone’s son. Even if it was in self-defense, he had killed someone.

  Then he remembered Leera had killed Vion Rames in Augum’s defense back at Castle Arinthian. What an awful thing to have in common. If Sir Westwood were still alive, he would look Augum in the eye and say, “But that is war, my boy, that is war.”

  “How’d you cast the elemental spell so soon after learning it, anyway?” Leera asked Bridget.

  “While you two have been spending time getting all lovey-dovey, I’ve been reading up on the spell. Practiced it in my head for ages before Harv
us taught the final portion. Been practicing it every moment of my spare time since.”

  “Why am I not surprised,” Leera muttered.

  “She’s not perfect,” Augum said.

  Bridget scoffed.

  “What do you mean?” Leera asked.

  “She swore. Actually swore. For real. Said the words ‘damn it’ when we first rode off.”

  Leera sat up, dramatically gripping her head with her hands. “No! Not our sweet Bridgey-poo!”

  “Look, she’s blushing,” he said.

  Bridget was smiling. “Shut up, you two. And I don’t remember swearing. Anyway, your boyfriend is getting braver.”

  Leera gave Bridget a playful but weak shove. “Stop embarrassing him.”

  Augum felt his cheeks tingle. “We did what we had to do.”

  “Though I could see you becoming a general or something one day,” Leera said in afterthought.

  Augum snorted. “About all I could lead is a cow to pasture.”

  “And you did once.”

  “It was a mule.” He fondly remembered old Meli, her tail swatting tiredly. That felt forever ago, yet he still missed her companionship.

  “I think Leera’s on to something though,” Bridget said in somber tones. “If Mrs. Stone doesn’t come back—”

  “Nana will come back,” Augum said, a little harsher than he meant to.

  Bridget stopped the horse. “I’m just saying, Augum, if she doesn’t—” She paused and turned to look him in the eyes. “If she doesn’t, I’d follow you, and I don’t think I’d be the only one.”

  “What do you mean? You’re a better leader than I! I’m just a dumb farm boy who happens to have a twisted father and a famous great-grandmother—”

  “It’s not who you’re related to.” Bridget placed a hand on her heart. “It’s what’s in here.”

  He pressed his lips together firmly and looked away. “Can we just talk about something else?” The leader of a resistance movement? How ridiculous was that? Might as well put Leland in charge. He’d be just as effective, if not more.

  Bridget flicked the reins and kicked at the horse’s flanks. “We got the Agonex back at least.”

  “You really think we can trust those guards and that constable?” Leera asked.

  “Don’t have a choice,” Augum replied. “Have to trust someone along the way. Besides, if Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke trust them enough to bring them into the home and tell them about us …”

  “The soldiers brought their families too,” Bridget added. “I haven’t sensed any treachery from them yet.”

  “Just remember Canes,” Leera said, referring to the man that betrayed them in Castle Arinthian. She leaned back against Augum. “If they did turn on us though, I mean, if they took the Agonex straight to your father, they’d be handsomely rewarded. Heck, their lives might even be extended arcanely.”

  “The only life-extending my father is doing is turning people into undead walkers.”

  “True.”

  Bridget adjusted her grip on the reins. “The guards were supposed to take the Agonex to Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke. I trust them, so I’m sure that’s exactly what they did. And Augum’s right, we simply have to trust some people along the way.”

  “Who’s going to train us now?” Leera asked after a pause. But no one had the answer to that.

  They rode for the rest of the day, refilling the waterskin at a stream and snacking on berries and beef, eventually coming upon another fork.

  “I really have no idea which way to go,” Bridget said. “And I’m so hungry I can’t think straight.”

  “Should have been there by now,” Augum said. “Think we might be lost.” His entire body throbbed from the pains in his back. It was worse than the hunger. “Let’s just find a quiet place to sleep for the night.”

  The girls agreed and they soon found themselves a spot under a lonely birch amongst a sea of evergreens. After tying up the horse, they huddled closely, preserving their warmth. Augum fell asleep holding Leera, grateful to be able to do such a simple thing.

  * * *

  He was jerked awake by a sudden yelp from Bridget. He sat up, whispering, “Bad dream?”

  She nodded, face mottled by moonlight shadows of evergreen branches. She glanced at a snoozing Leera.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Bridget shook her head, lying back down.

  Augum watched her fall asleep, worried.

  They slept in, waking late morning. The day was cloudy, gray and damp, with a light wind from the south that gently swayed the trees.

  Augum stretched and listened to the soft rustle of the forest. “Looks like it might rain again.”

  Leera yawned and gave Augum a peck on the cheek. “I could really go for some bread, eggs and bacon right about now. Maybe some buttered potatoes, then a slice of sugared blueberry pie. Mmm, pie …”

  “Stop it, you’re making my stomach feel like a cavern,” Bridget said, picking leaves out of her hair, before doing the same to Leera.

  Leera watched the stallion graze. “If only we could get by eating grass like him.”

  Augum recalled the moss they ate in the labyrinthine cave system deep under Bahbell. “We did, remember?”

  “Trying to forget.”

  Bridget nodded at his back. “Let me look at it before we go.”

  He groaned. “If you have to.”

  “I have to.”

  Leera helped her check the wound, the girls saying remarkably little, though Augum did catch them sharing a dark look.

  “That bad, huh?” he said, gritting his teeth as Leera finished the new bandage, torn from the same Legion banner.

  “Don’t think about it,” she replied.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  After changing the dressing, they gathered themselves and mounted the horse. This time Augum took the reins, with Leera delicately holding his waist, Bridget in the rear.

  It wasn’t long before Augum halted the horse at a triple fork. “Bridge?”

  “No, it’s just a fork,” Leera said.

  “Very funny. Bridget—you remember this one?”

  “Nope,” Bridget said from the rear.

  “They all look identical.” Leera began pointing in a different direction with each syllable. “Sticks in the sand, sticks in the snow, re-veal a man, dead long a-go.”

  “Middle one it is,” Augum said, gently prodding the horse’s flanks.

  Gray clouds steadily moved overhead as the day wore on. Low on energy from the lack of food, and out of water, the trio said little. Sometime in the afternoon, they stopped at a puddle-splattered road nestled in the woods, grooved with wagon wheel tracks. The stallion drank from one of those muddy puddles while the trio was more selective, choosing the clearest one. They soon resumed the trek, but after passing a bend in the road, Augum stopped the horse.

  “Now that we definitely hadn’t ridden through,” he said, squinting to make out if there were guards manning the large wooden gates ahead. “Can’t see anyone.”

  “Spooky quiet,” Leera whispered.

  Augum noticed it too—no sounds of children playing, no smith hammering at an anvil, nothing. He led the horse onward, carefully paying attention to how it reacted. If there were any walkers here, the stallion would probably not want to go in. Or so he hoped.

  They passed through the gates, finding a small village surrounded by a twig wall. Thatch-roofed huts sat quiet, uprooted vegetable plots in front. There was not a person, chicken or hog in sight, only a bone-thin stray dog that watched them from afar between sniffs of the mud.

  Augum kept the reins tight in his fist. “Looks abandoned.”

  “Well we need directions and food,” Leera said. “Hello! Is there anyone here?” She waited before repeating the shout.

  “No souls to be found,” said a grizzled voice behind them, startling the trio. “At least none that matter.”

  Augum turned the horse to find an old man with a severe hunch, holding himself
up with a gnarled stick. He wore a tattered shirt and muddy trousers. His shoes were farming slippers.

  Augum raised a hand. “Hello. Are you alone?”

  “You ain’t no Legion.”

  “Oh, this—we borrowed the horse.”

  “Borrowed. You ain’t bringing no more trouble here, is you?” The man revealed a single black tooth as he spoke.

  “No, sir, we just need to find our way home to Milham.”

  The old man gave a grunt. “And yes, we is alone, just me and me wife. Last of Belham, we is.” He examined them with a roving eye. “You look hungry.”

  “We very much are.”

  “And where did you say you were going?”

  “Milham, sir.”

  “Well like I says, this is Belham. Milham a ways north-northeast. And I reckon we can spare some rice. Haven’t had company in some time.”

  “We would be very grateful.”

  The man cocked his head at the stallion. “You sure you not Legion witches?”

  “Definitely not, sir.”

  The man glanced at the gates. “And you sure they isn’t on your tail?”

  “They aren’t, sir.” At least not at the moment.

  “Very well. Tie ‘im out back.” The man hobbled off, disappearing into a nearby hut. They tied the horse in back and walked around. A viciously rotten stench hit them the moment they stepped inside the hut, forcing them to cover their noses with their sleeves. It was a single room with two shuttered windows open to the air. The ground was barren dirt, barely covered by old straw. There was a rustic cedar trunk, trestle table, bench, bucket, and a cot, on which lay a sleeping figure covered by a blanket. A nest of gray hair peaked out the top.

  The man opened the lid to the trunk, retrieving a sack of rice with a shaking hand. Augum immediately came in to help, trying to ignore that awful smell.

  The man gestured at Leera with his stick. “Well’s out back. Bucket’s here.”

  Leera grabbed the filthy bucket and disappeared while the man set to making a fire with dried dung.

  “We don’t want to disturb your wife, sir,” Bridget whispered.

  “Woman’s always sleeping. Some noise’ll do her good, get her up and about.” He lit the fire with flint and steel almost worn down to the nub, and placed a tired iron pot on the small black fire.