Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  “So she’ll be a while.”

  “You know how she is. Tea?”

  “You’re a shining light in this dark dungeon, Prudence.”

  “If only everyone else thought so. Guards here are about as sharp as a cake knife. Speaking of which, how does a bite of candied Tiberran apple sound?”

  “In these times? That would be marvelous …” Ms. Terse’s voice trailed as the two women departed, one set of footsteps soft and relaxed, the other quick and noisy.

  Just as Augum was about to whisper if everyone was all right, there was the sound of vomiting—except it did not come from the trio.

  “Who’s there?” Leera hissed.

  There was a whimper and a muffled gagging. Suddenly there was another vomiting noise, this time from a new source, just as close, but from a different corner of the crate.

  “What’s going on here, who is that—?” Bridget whispered.

  A panting and groaning. “Gods, I’m covered in my own filth, someone help me.”

  Augum immediately recognized that voice. Bumps rose on his arms. “Malaika—?”

  There was a cough and another groan. “Ugh, I’m not feeling well.”

  This time it was Leera’s turn for incredulity. “Charissa—?”

  “I need to get out of here,” Malaika said in a panicked voice. “I can’t breathe, and the stench—Unnameables help me before I—”

  “Shh, someone’s coming!” Bridget hissed, and everyone inside the crate fell silent.

  “… said to me, ‘I can teleport too, you just watch!’ and do you know what happened?” Ms. Terse asked.

  “I could scarcely guess, but knowing your other stories, something gruesome,” Jezebel replied.

  “The poor boy teleported all right—they unearthed him two days later underneath the spot he tried to teleport from. I swear these necrophytes are dumber than beheaded chickens.”

  “They don’t train warlocks like they used to.”

  “You’re damn right they don’t. All they care about is training them how to raise corpses and kill things; hardly room for minutia. No wonder most of the poor wretches don’t make it past the second degree. And guess how many healers are being trained? That’s right—zero. You believe that? Necromancy is apparently more important!”

  “Not to mention all the good teachers have fled—”

  “—or been murdered.”

  There was a dual sigh.

  “Did … did they raise the boy?” Prudence asked, taking a bite of what Augum could only assume was a candied apple.

  “What do you think?”

  “Unnameables …”

  “That’s right, used as a teaching example on how to raise a freshly-killed seventeen-year-old boy from the grave.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Speaking of which, what’s that smell?”

  The two women sniffed at the air as Augum stiffened.

  “Must be a dead rat in the crate or something,” Ms. Terse said.

  “You sure that fat constable isn’t in there?”

  The two women laughed.

  “PRUDENCE!” roared an arcanely amplified voice that echoed off what sounded like stone walls.

  There was a deep sigh. “Gods, what is it now …”

  “Probably wants you to change her floating chamber pot.”

  “Stop it, you’ll get me in trouble again. And don’t you even think about making it do tricks behind her back.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “PRUDENCE—! HOW MANY TIMES MUST—”

  “I should go. Why don’t you just fly off, I’ll sign the crate in for you.”

  “Thanks, Prudes, you’re a soul.”

  “I hate that nickname.”

  “Comes from love, you little thing. See you.”

  “Bye, Jez. Oh, and let’s have wine again at the Hilt next time.”

  “When I’m not working. Maybe we’ll see if you can make it through a glass. Impetus peragro atto.” There was a THWOMP sound.

  “PRUDENCE—!”

  There was a long sigh. “Coming, Senior Arcaneologist Ning!”

  “What the heck are we going to do with them?” Leera asked.

  “We have to send them back somehow,” Bridget replied.

  “You’re not sending us anywhere!” Malaika said. “We’ve come for adventure. We’ve come to help—”

  “—and we’ve come to see the tournament!” Charissa added.

  Augum couldn’t stop himself. “Are you mad? Have you two completely lost your minds? We’re on a vital quest and you … you …”

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” Malaika said. “I had Gabe working on the crate all night, getting our places set up just right. We got in before you showed up. Thought we were done for when the books started coming off. I think I only have one layer left—”

  Augum’s fists clenched. “Do you realize how much danger you put us all in—”

  “—shh! Someone’s coming!”

  “What is this?” barked a deep and wheezy voice.

  “It’s a crate, Your Brilliance.”

  Augum wondered how the other person got there as he only heard one pair of footsteps.

  There was a pause. “How did you come to serve me?”

  “My work ethic. My ability to catalogue effectively, organize efficiently, command—”

  “Not your brains, you palpably obtuse shrunken beetle?”

  There was a pause.

  “It was not my brains, Your Brilliance. I apologize for stating the obvious.” Prudence’s voice was even, as if she was used to being insulted in such a manner. “Legion confiscations and contributions.”

  “You signed for it?”

  “I did.”

  “Have the juniors catalogue it.”

  “I am afraid there is quite a backlog, Your Brilliance.”

  A marked silence.

  “I’ll have it done right away, Your Brilliance.”

  “And Secretary Klines?”

  “Yes, Senior Arcaneologist Ning?”

  Another pause. “That is all.”

  “Your Brilliance.” There was the slightest whooshing sound. Augum wondered what it was.

  A long sigh. Then the clacking footsteps started again. Augum suddenly realized this Prudence Klines was on her way to get the juniors, whoever they were, and they couldn’t afford to be found this way by others. He made a snap judgment and called out. “Wait! Uh, Ms. Prudence Klines!”

  The clacking footsteps immediately stopped.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Secretary Klines,” Augum hastily said from within the book pile, fully realizing how ridiculous it sounded. “We’re here to, uh, to see Lien Ning in secret.”

  “Damn it, Jez, I told you to inspect all the shipments,” the Secretary Klines muttered to herself. “GUARDS—”

  “NO—!” Augum immediately shouted. “I mean, please, don’t get the guards. Trust us, you don’t want to do that. We have to see Mrs. Ning immediately. Please, can you help us? It’s urgent.”

  “We have a letter—” Bridget chimed in.

  “There’s more than one of you—?”

  “Uh, yes, there’s, uh, five of us,” Augum said.

  “Five?”

  “Five.”

  There was a pause in which Augum could hear his heart hammering against his chest.

  A sigh as the clacky footsteps drew near. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.” The books started coming off quickly, far quicker than if someone was doing it by hand—had to be Telekinesis.

  “Oh, hi there,” Charissa said nervously.

  “Get out and sit where I can see you. And don’t try anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Secretary Klines.”

  “I mean, Secretary Klines.”

  Soon they were all out of the crate, sitting in a tight, nervous bunch, hoods drawn. Augum had a quick look around. They were in a massive gently curving flagstone hallway lined with pedestals featuring marble bu
sts. The ceiling was arched with massive beam supports. Ornate iron sconces jutted from the gray walls at even intervals, each lit with a fat candle. Great portrait paintings hung behind each bust, depicting that person in study, battle, or some other occupation. The occasional deep-ledged window let in bright morning light. The air smelled of cleaning mint and musty books.

  Before them stood a tiny beetle-like woman dressed in a gray scholar’s robe embroidered with a small crimson gargoyle. The gargoyle was surrounded by a crimson oval and appeared to be reading a book. The pages of the book turned now and then, reminding Augum of Mrs. Stone’s embroidered robe and how the lightning used to flash.

  Secretary Klines gave each of them a studied look with eyes greatly magnified by thick spectacles much too large for her face. “Necrophytes. Figures. Why would you bother coming in through a crate?” She glanced down the hall, as if wondering if she should call the guards.

  Augum wondered how the stowaways got their hands on necrophyte robes. As much as he wanted to yell at them, now was not the time. And as far as the secretary’s question was concerned, he thought it best to tell her right away. Something about her gave him a good feeling. He only hoped he was right. “We’re not necrophytes,” he said. “We’re, uh—”

  “On a quest,” Bridget interrupted. “And it’s urgent we see Arcaneologist Ning.”

  “Senior Arcaneologist Ning.” Klines’ dark hair was done up in a bun as tight as her face.

  “Senior, right.”

  She glanced at Malaika and Charissa’s soiled robes with a revolted expression and sighed. “Her Brilliance will never see you looking like that.” She turned on her heel and clacked her way to a large black oak door. She waved impatiently and it sprang open. She made another gesture and a pitcher of water floated over, along with a rag. The items placed themselves at their feet. “Clean yourselves at once.”

  Malaika picked up the cloth with two fingers. “Don’t … don’t you have servants?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing, Secretary Klines,” Malaika and Charissa mumbled, and they began cleaning their robes while Augum and Leera glared.

  “Remove your hoods.”

  They exchanged glances but did as they were told.

  Secretary Klines scanned their faces, doing a double-take on Augum. “Have we met before?”

  “No.”

  “You look familiar.”

  “I …”

  “We need to speak to Mrs. Ning,” Bridget said.

  “Your Brilliance or Senior Arcaneologist Ning, if you value your hides. And if you remind her of her husband …” She left the rest unsaid.

  “Yes, Secretary Klines, and thank you,” Bridget said.

  “Don’t thank me just yet. You may end up getting arrested and put to the question should Senior Arcaneologist Ning deem it so.” Secretary Klines folded her arms, tapping at her elbow, waiting for Malaika and Charissa to finish cleaning themselves. Meanwhile a young man in a gray scholar robe appeared at one end of the corridor, slowly washing the flagstone floor with a mop. He glanced up. Soon as he saw Klines, he sped up his pace.

  “Hurry up,” Leera hissed at the stowaways. “And I can’t believe you two.”

  “This better be important,” Secretary Klines said, flicking her wrist at the water and cloth. They were yanked out of their hands and zoomed back into the room. The heavy oaken door closed with a light click.

  “Get up.” She gestured for them to go first. “This way.”

  They did as they were told, Augum leading. He drew his hood.

  “Hoods stay down,” Secretary Klines barked.

  They walked along the corridor, coming to a finely carved and exquisitely painted pair of giant oak doors, depicting a wise-looking crimson gargoyle reading a book. Behind the gargoyle teetered piles of tomes and scrolls.

  Klines made a gesture and the doors opened soundlessly. Beyond was a vast round room with a giant desk in the center, covered in scrolls, parchments and quills. The walls were completely covered by glass-front bookcase cabinets. Their eyes followed the bookcases skyward, all the way to the glass-domed ceiling, which had to be a hundred feet above them. And there, high amongst the bookcase cabinets, drifted an ornate throne-like chair.

  Augum barely noticed the great double doors close soundlessly behind him. He watched mesmerized as a cabinet door closed high above, only for another to open on the far opposite side. A book soundlessly floated out, opening in time to meet the figure in the chair, who had floated over to meet it. The person, unseen from below, scanned the page only a moment before the book closed itself and returned to the case.

  “Can we talk to her?” Bridget whispered, cringing. Augum didn’t blame her—place was so quiet even her whispering felt too loud.

  Secretary Klines kept her neck craned and raised a single stubby finger, indicating for them to wait.

  They watched as the chair floated noiselessly from one cabinet to the next, with not a sound uttered throughout. Augum took the time to marvel at the sheer size of the room. It was gargantuan. The flooring was smooth stone, depicting a coiling pattern that centered at the desk. Every bookcase was intricately carved, as was the ink-stained desk.

  “Secretary Klines,” a clear but wheezy voice from above at last rang out, echoing along the curved walls.

  “Your Brilliance. You have visitors. Necrophytes, uh, without an appointment.”

  “They are not necrophytes.”

  “How did—” Leera began to say but was immediately stopped short by a warning look from Klines.

  The chair slowly hovered down to them, revealing a withered old woman with a shriveled body, dressed in a faded gray robe similar to Secretary Klines’. Her throne-like chair was carved in the form of a miniature castle—the supports were battlements, the arms draw-bridges, the backrest a castle facade tapering to a series of minarets. Runes and depictions of gargoyles were strategically carved into the chair throughout.

  Secretary Klines made a small but sharp gesture, hissing, “Bow!”

  They immediately did as she ordered.

  Senior Arcaneologist Lien Ning soundlessly floated before each of them in turn, settling on Augum last.

  Augum studied her as much as she did him. Her skin was pockmarked and blotchy. There was only the barest tuft of hair left on an emaciated scalp. Her hands were completely closed in on themselves, veins black. Curled-back lips revealed rotten teeth, and her almond eyes were so dark they reminded Augum of the Leyan elders. There was also the faint scent of cloves.

  “Augum Stone.”

  Augum suddenly realized her lips weren’t moving. The voice came from her, but was spoken arcanely.

  Secretary Klines gasped, then immediately caught herself. She studied Augum, glancing nervously at the door, but said nothing.

  Bridget shakily raised the letter. “We have—” but it was arcanely yanked from her hand, opening itself in time to meet the ancient arcaneologist’s glare.

  “You are late, Mr. Stone,” Arcaneologist Ning stated as the letter burst into flames, disappearing into nothing before their eyes.

  “I … I am?”

  Secretary Klines suddenly stiffened with understanding, but said nothing.

  Arcaneologist Ning’s crisp arcane voice echoed off the walls. “I was expecting you yesterday. I was expecting you here in this room yesterday. You dawdle almost as much as my useless husband.” Her black eyes flicked to Bridget and Leera. The action demanded she move her chair slightly, for her neck and body did not move. “There was to be a Mr. Augum Stone. There was to be a Miss Bridget Burns, and there was to be a Miss Leera Jones. But these others …”

  Malaika curtsied with a simpering smile. “I am Miss Malaika Har—” but suddenly her voice was gone. Her lips moved but no sound came out. She felt her throat with a shaking hand, cheeks reddening.

  Arcaneologist Ning’s black eyes roved over their hastily washed necrophyte garments.

  Malaika swallowed, tried to say something, and strai
ghtened herself when she realized it was fruitless.

  Arcaneologist Ning floated before her. “A waste of time is who you two are. Direction—that is what you require, for you are lost.”

  A fine porcelain bowl lifted off the desk and floated over. It hovered before Leera.

  Ning’s chair adjusted so she faced Leera. “You strike me as someone who likes sweets.”

  Leera flinched in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something but, glancing at Malaika, instead took a mint and slowly placed it on her tongue.

  A mint jumped out of the bowl and floated over to Arcaneologist Ning, forcing itself through her rotten teeth. “I like sweets too.” The bowl then returned to the desk.

  Leera forced a smile and dropped her eyes.

  Arcaneologist Ning floated before Augum, staring at him too long for his comfort. She did not blink, just stared. “Do you believe yourself capable of this?” she finally asked, lips unmoving.

  Augum hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about. “Uh, I guess so.”

  “You guess so.”

  Secretary Klines gave him a pointed look.

  “I’m capable of this,” he corrected.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  Ning studied him. “You might not be.”

  He did not reply. Did she mean he might not be certain or that he might not be capable of … whatever it was she was referring to?

  The chair floated before Bridget. “The cliff awaits.”

  Bridget paled.

  “Do you fear it?”

  Bridget surrendered a slight nod. “I cannot sleep. I do fear it.”

  “Wise of you.”

  The chair floated before Leera. The voice was cold. “Graceless.”

  Leera stared into those black eyes and her lip trembled. Augum wanted to reach out and grab her hand, to tell her that she wasn’t hopelessly graceless—

  “I was once graceless,” Arcaneologist Ning proclaimed. “I still am.”

  Leera swallowed, forcing a weak smile.

  “You have heart, Miss Jones, but do you have too much?”

  Leera’s hands twisted before her. “I … I don’t think so.”

  “Hmm.” She studied Leera a moment longer before floating back a little. The ancient arcaneologist glanced at Augum, Bridget and Leera once again. “A mischievous trio. Mischief is the root of adventure.” The chair faced Secretary Klines. “Process them. No special privileges. Initiate for three, guest for two. Discretion, but as they please.” Her chair turned to the trio. “This is a place of learning, all kinds of learning. But you will be challenged. Tradition demands it so.”