Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  “Go on and sit and tell Old Jory abouts where you from and such.”

  Augum took a seat on the bench beside Bridget. “I’m from Willowbrook.”

  “Willowbrook. Never heard of it.”

  “It’s a ways to the west.”

  “You look and sound like city kids. You look like privilege.”

  “Two of us are from Blackhaven,” Bridget said. “And yes, we’ve been luckier than some, sir.”

  Only some, Augum thought with dark cynicism.

  Leera came back in, holding the slopping bucket with both hands. Augum helped her pour water into the pot. “Had to wash it out first,” she whispered from behind her sleeve before taking a seat beside Augum.

  “What happened to everyone here?” Augum asked.

  “Most up and died on the sword when the Legion took the able.” He made a snatching gesture with a shaky hand. “Took women and men, they did. Just like that. Rest plain starved. No farmin’ could get done by the old and folks ain’t have no money. No food stores either—stolen, they be. Bandits.” Old Jory gave a practiced nod while gumming his lips. “There be shallow graves all about, even in the huts.”

  The trio glanced at the uneven floor. Was there a grave underneath them? Certainly would explain the smell.

  Old Jory poured a measured amount of rice in and stirred it with a grubby wooden spoon. “You be wearing warlock robes, yes?”

  The trio exchanged glances. “Yes, sir,” Augum replied.

  Old Jory revealed his black tooth with a smile. “Do an old man a good and show me them stripes.”

  The trio summoned their respective rings for him. He gazed at their arms fondly. “Three is the witch’s number.” Then he stretched his own blotchy arm out and groaned from effort, but nothing came of it. “Ah, I be too old, she don’t come back no more. Had me a single stripe. Could move things with me mind once. See, I stopped practicing a long time ago. Got tired. Kids took it up though. Couldn’t be prouder.”

  Augum extinguished. “Your children are warlocks?”

  “Oh yes, had ter join the Legion, they did. Haven’t heard word since.” The man kept stirring. “That’s life, it is. She be a harsh mistress.”

  They watched the man patiently cook the rice, sleeves over their noses to block the stench. Augum was so hungry his eyes would not leave the pot as it boiled.

  “You rich city folk not too high-minded to use your hands, be you?”

  “Of course not, sir,” Bridget replied with a smile. “And thank you.”

  They hardly let the rice cool before they were at it.

  Old Jory gave a snicker. “Like a pack o’ feastin’ ‘ungry dogs. By the looks of your gaunt faces, I’d say you ‘aven’t eaten in days. And you done look like you seen battle.”

  “Bandits,” Leera managed to say between mouthfuls.

  “Sal an’ Beef an’ their gang west o’ here?”

  The trio nodded.

  “Aye. Sal don’t come ‘ere no more. Nothin’ to steal.”

  Augum flinched as he remembered. And he never will again …

  Leera gave him an Are you all right? look. He nodded that he was fine.

  “Are you and your wife not going to have any?” Bridget asked.

  “You is hungrier than I am. Go on an’ ‘ave your fill. I’m an old man. Hardly need none to get by.” Old Jory adjusted his tattered shirt as if readying for a formal supper. “Nice to have decent company for a change, it is.” He languidly chased away a fly that had settled on his knobby nose. “Nothing but famine here. Famine, death, an’ Old Jory an’ his old wife.” He watched as they scraped out the last of the rice with their dirty nails. “I suppose you be wanting to know which way to Milham.”

  “We would be grateful, sir,” Augum said, washing out the pot.

  “Go on through town. Left at the fork. Right at the next one. A good ways on you’ll cross a stream, and you’re almost there.”

  “Thank you kindly.”

  The man used his stick to stand. “Like I says, nice to have company.” He turned to his wife. “Ain’t that right, my love?” but she did not move—nor had she moved since they had come … and suddenly Augum knew the awful truth of the smell. He squeezed Leera’s hand in his own. She squeezed back. Her face was pale as she gave him a heartfelt look of sorrow.

  She had to know too. He glanced at Bridget. Her head was bowed, eyes closed, hands clasped in front. And so did she.

  “Would you like to come with us?” Augum asked the old man. “To Milham? Start a new life?”

  The man watched his unmoving wife, covered in a rotten wool blanket. “A new life.” He glanced at Augum and Leera. “It’s a precious thing to have a hand to hold. A precious thing, fleeting though it oft be.”

  Bridget gathered herself, eyes now lingering on the bed. Her voice was soft. “We’ll send back supplies for you.”

  “Send nothin’. Forget this place. It don’t exist no more.” The man’s face grew stern. “You hear? Send nothin’.” He glanced at his wife. “I wants nothin’ from no one. I wants my peace. I can feel it comin’ for me. I’m a waitin’.” The man’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you understand?”

  Augum swallowed through the hard lump in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

  “You is them, ain’t you, the ones they be lookin’ for.”

  “How did—”

  “I never forget no face. Not even a badly drawn one. You keep strong now, you hear? Plenty o’ folk out there need you and that ol’ warlock o’ yours. Plenty of folk …” He shuffled past, pointing at the far gate. “Like I says, left, right, ride some, then over the river. Now go on home. Go on and do some good for this poor kingdom, for us wretched folk. Go on and make things right if you can. I be too old and too daft and my time done come and gone. But not yours, no, not yours.” He closed his eyes and nodded. “It was right that you be the last I see. It was right. I am glad of it.”

  “Thank you for the directions and the rice, sir.” Augum and the girls bowed their heads out of respect for a long moment. “Thank you again,” he said, then retrieved the horse, helping the girls mount.

  Old Jory raised his chin. “Who would’a reckoned. And so young. What a thing to see.” He hobbled back to his doorway and stopped. “You be sure to keep well clear o’ the black-armored. An’ if you can, send some o’ them to hell for me,” and with that, he disappeared inside his hut.

  Expectations

  The trio hardly spoke on the return journey. What was there to say after seeing such a thing? An old man robbed of everything, the last of a village stolen of its inhabitants. An old man and his deceased wife. An old man awaiting the loneliest of ends. There was an entire kingdom of that. Burned-out villages. Lonely, starving people. Wives awaiting husbands that would never return. Parents thinking of their children. Children missing departed parents. The whole of it made Augum’s heart ache with heaviness, and made him that much more grateful he was being held by Leera just then.

  They followed Old Jory’s directions very carefully, until they heard a single horn blast. Soon they cantered by an old wooden sign carved with the words Village of Milham.

  “Just in time for supper,” Leera whispered, head resting on Augum’s shoulders.

  Soon as they entered town, a pudgy boy Augum recognized as Devon, Constable Clouds’ son, threw up a shout of victory. With a wide smile on his face, he ran up to them, limbs flailing about as if he had never used them before.

  “You made it! I don’t believe it!” Devon turned his chubby-cheeked face back to the village, cupping his mouth. “And they brought Leera back! They rescued Leeraaaa!” He tromped over to the trio, wearing an ill-fitting mustard doublet, copper hair in a small ponytail. His smile was infectious.

  Augum extended his hand. “You must be Devon.”

  Devon heartily shook it. “I can’t believe I’m meeting you three. You don’t understand!” He kept shaking Augum’s hand. “When I heard the famous trio—the heroes and future saviors of Solia—were in
town, I just … I can’t believe I’m meeting you! Father and I are on your side! We’re all on your side, you see—the whole village!”

  Augum was nodding along, but he was thinking, oh great, how many others knew?

  Devon finally let go, moving on to the girls. “And you must be Leera Jones and Bridget Burns—you’re both so much prettier than the poster!” He hastily withdrew a well-worn parchment and unfolded it. It was a drawn poster of the trio, with Mrs. Stone’s image looming largest of all in the background. Augum was drawn in front, Leera and Bridget flanking.

  “Huh … ‘Wanted. 5000 gold reward’,” Leera read aloud. “Crazy. That’s a fortune.”

  Augum glanced around at the crowd. There were more than a few soot-faced down-on-their-luck miners staring. What’s to stop them trying to claim the 5000 gold reward?

  “And you’re not kidding, I look like some kind of evil freckled owl,” Leera went on.

  “They made me look like a squirrel,” Bridget added, “and Mrs. Stone looks like some twisted hag.”

  “Aug got off easy though,” Leera said. “Actually looks handsome.”

  Bridget frowned. “Hmm. I think I know who fed the details to the artist. Think about it—Freckles and Squirrel. Can only be—”

  “Erika Scarson,” the girls chorused.

  “Who’s that?” Devon asked.

  “Long story,” Leera said as a mass of people ascended upon them, including Constable Clouds (with a patched-up shoulder), his two soldiers, Priya, Jengo, Mr. Okeke, Mr. Goss, Haylee and Chaska and a slew of others.

  “I’m too tired for this,” Augum muttered.

  “What, does the whole village know about us now?” Leera asked.

  Devon splayed his palms at them. “Don’t worry, as I said, everyone’s completely behind you. I mean behind us. After all, we’re the Resistance!”

  Augum raised his brows. This was spiraling out of control. Were they all mad? Did they not realize there could be Legion spies in this very crowd? Did they not realize what the Legion did to towns harboring fugitives? When he saw the look on the girls’ faces, he knew they were thinking the exact same thing.

  Once the trio dismounted, the throng congratulated Augum and Bridget with handshakes and welcomed Leera back with hugs. It was bizarre and Augum did not know what to make of it. He remembered his great-grandmother swamped in the same way at Sparrow’s Perch before his father ambushed them and razed the place to the ground. He couldn’t help but look around at the trees, half-expecting to see deathly horses and armored men hiding there.

  “… yes, my shoulder is just fine,” Constable Clouds was saying to Bridget. “Merely a flesh wound, and I have a lot of flesh.”

  Mr. Goss wiped his tired eyes. “Dear me, I really did fear the worst. We spent half the night combing the woods for you three. I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am to see you safe and sound.”

  Leland groped his way to the trio, hugging each in turn and moaning happily.

  “Any word from Nana?” Augum quietly asked Mr. Goss after pinching Leland’s dimpled cheek.

  “None, I am afraid, though Leland has listened carefully to the orb and has made notes.”

  “Notes?”

  “His studies have not stopped just because he’s blind and mute, Augum,” Bridget said in an undertone. “He can write, you know.”

  “Right, of course.”

  “We considered holding the other artifact,” Constable Clouds said in a whisper, “but realized we needed to foster trust. So we turned it back over to Mr. Goss.”

  Mr. Goss beamed. “The constable has proven himself time and again.”

  Augum had to grudgingly admit that if the Constable was an enemy, he would have confiscated the artifacts, not to mention the Legion would have swept through there by now.

  “Some battle,” Haylee said after finishing hugging the trio, cane in hand. “Glad you three are all right. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

  “What are you talking about?” Augum said. “You saved my hide.”

  “Owed you. Still do.” She thumbed at Chaska. “Big lug felt so bad for not firing more arrows.”

  Chaska nervously glanced at the constable. “I could have done better.”

  The constable clapped Chaska on his meaty back. “Wasn’t your fault, my dear boy. And one did strike true, did it not?”

  Chaska let a smile slip. “It did.”

  Leland moaned sharply while searching his garments, finally finding a crumbled piece of parchment.

  Augum took it, reading it aloud. “ ‘Pearl near Legion camp.’ ”

  Leland nodded.

  “Great work, Leland. Do you know which one?”

  Leland fumbled for the small parchment and made Augum turn it over.

  “ ‘Velmara’,” Augum read. They were going to need a map. He frowned—the mystery of what had happened to Nana suddenly cut through the celebrations. Had she been captured already, or simply lost the pearl?

  “Mr. Okeke, your arm—” Bridget exclaimed upon seeing it in a sling.

  “I do believe now I know what my son felt like,” Mr. Okeke said with a nodding smile, referring to their initial meeting when Mrs. Stone healed Jengo’s broken arm in exchange for shelter. “Though it is only a muscle tear and not, thankfully, broken.”

  “Speaking of—” Augum said as Jengo finally managed to squeeze himself near. The towering Sierran immediately drew Augum, Bridget and Leera into a hug.

  “Straight out of the grave, you three,” he said. “A miracle you lived. Can’t wait to hear the story.”

  At last, Mr. Hanad Haroun joined the fray and raised his hands to the assembled mass. “All right, everyone, remember what we discussed in sacred trust—not a word to outsiders! We must be strong and brave. Now, our heroic trio needs to rest and eat, so please allow them space. Once again—not a word!”

  The throng allowed them to depart, though not without a sizeable following embroiled in animated discussion.

  “I don’t feel comfortable at all,” Augum said to Leera, turning to glimpse a sea of smiling and chatty faces. “Not only are we vulnerable to being discovered if word leaked out, but it’s like they expect something huge from us.”

  “They only hope for the Legion to fall,” Bridget said, walking beside Leera, “and they believe we and Mrs. Stone are going to make that happen. But yes, I agree—we have to be very careful.”

  “Belief is enough to make reality,” Constable Clouds threw in, waddling along behind with his cane, his son beside him. “If I am not mistaken, that is one of the foundations of arcanery.”

  “I don’t mind being a little famous,” Leera admitted with a roguish grin, “as long as there are plenty of sweets. But what if someone turns us in for the reward?”

  “Do not concern yourselves with being found out,” Mr. Okeke said, “we have taken careful and deliberate precautions.”

  “We also have a plan in place in case the Legion do arrive,” Constable Clouds threw in.

  Mr. Goss fell in line beside them. “We will distract them while you are secreted into the woods, away from harm. From here on, we will be organized and the village will be protected.”

  Augum was doubtful. Sparrow’s Perch had been protected too, and by powerful arcanery no less. Made no difference whatsoever.

  “Augum, are you all right?” Jengo asked. “You’re walking funny and you’re kind of pale.”

  “I’m fine.” Fine except for the fact that he was hungry, exhausted, stiff, and in constant stinging pain—not to mention haunted by Sal’s exploding head.

  “It’s his back,” Leera said. “Harvus slammed him against a tree. Then he got sliced by a bandit.”

  “Can I try healing you later?” Jengo asked. “Been studying the yellow book like a madman. I’m going to become an excellent healer, you know. And I promise you won’t die.”

  “Guess so.” Augum wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea, seeing as Harvus barely trained Jengo, but what choice did he have? There were
n’t any healers about. And besides, maybe part of that trusting thing was putting faith in those close to him. Leera didn’t help matters by giving him a look he interpreted as It’s your body, but I wouldn’t.

  “What happened to Furhead anyway?” Jengo pressed.

  “Bandits,” Leera replied. “Bandits happened. He tried to sell me, then he tried to sell the artifacts. Funny thing is, he once stole from the bandits and somehow thought it was a good idea to return.”

  “So … he’s strung up on a pole?”

  “Not quite.”

  “But he’s dead, right? Tell me that he at least met his end.”

  She surrendered a single nod.

  Jengo’s face went serious, but then he simply shrugged. “There’s that then.”

  “A life is a life, Jengo Okeke,” said his father. “Have respect for the dead.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Augum swallowed. A life is a life. He had just taken a life. Will the Unnameables punish him later? Will karma find him and settle the score? Self-defense or not, a man was no longer alive because of his actions. Two men now.

  Leera was watching him. “Something’s troubling you.”

  He shrugged. What wasn’t troubling him?

  A dark look crossed her face. “We have that in common now too.”

  So she has also been thinking about it.

  “What are you two talking about?” Devon asked, beaming.

  “Nothing,” they replied in unison.

  Mr. Haroun led them to his home, a two-storied manor nestled in the forest like Mr. Okeke’s cabin, in front of a small tree-clustered hill. Constable Clouds posted Lieutenant Briggs and Sergeant Cobb outside the doors. The two Legion soldiers refused entry to a gaggle of people, most of whom Augum did not recognize.

  The group allowed entry was herded into a high-ceilinged hall, where everyone began taking off their shoes and coats, still chattering excitedly.

  “Augum Stone, wanted rebel hero,” said a soft voice.

  Augum turned. “Malaika,” he managed to say. “Uh, hi.”

  Malaika Haroun curtsied. She had ebony skin and wore a spring-green dress. Her long, tightly-curled black hair was secured with a ribbon.