Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  “A … a rumor?” Watts sputtered.

  “A rumor that a certain secretary has been experimenting with her walker in a certain very fragile and very valuable hall.”

  “Preposterous—”

  “Necromantic experimentation is strictly restricted to the training grounds, Secretary Watts. Failure to abide by this rule will result in immediate expulsion from one’s duties.”

  “This is absurd, I do not … ‘experiment’ with my walker! My administration of the walker are totally in accordance with Legion protocols.”

  “Shall I arrange for you to have a word with Senior Arcaneologist Ning again, perhaps?”

  Watts was now speaking very fast. “Oh, no, Secretary Klines, that would be most unnecessary. Senior Arcaneologist Ning is a very, very busy woman and I wouldn’t want to disturb her with such trivial matters. I’ll … I’ll investigate these rumors and make sure there will not be any more trouble in the, uh … the hall. Good day, Secretary Klines. Hail to the Legion.”

  “Secretary Watts.” Klines watched her waddle off in a huff, whispering, “She will be doubly suspicious. I will not be able to help you with that favor now. I suggest you find alternative means to accomplish any … goals … you may have. Good day.” She strode past them before they could even thank her.

  Bridget tapped her lips. “We’ll have to figure something out. Watts is going to be a thorn. She’ll probably have extra guards and walkers there tonight.”

  “Lucky she didn’t see my cut,” Leera said, dabbing at her forehead. Augum agreed. It was small, but enough to warrant further suspicion from Watts, and that’s the last thing they needed right now.

  A gray-robed crier strode through the hall, calling out, “Hear ye, hear ye—the second afternoon bell tolls!”

  “We’re late for registration,” Leera said. “Come on.”

  Quarter-finals

  It was a cloudy and windy day outside, the cobbled streets still wet from last night’s thunderstorm. Due to the Heralds, people recognized The Hood even more now.

  “Uh, thank you,” Augum said to an elderly couple who had told him he was a stand-up fellow for fighting for the Legion.

  “I’ll try,” he replied to a young girl who proudly flared her single ice ring after telling him to “Kick that mean jerkface in the bum”.

  “He’s going to beat you to a pulp!” one older necrophyte boy shouted, obviously a fan of the other boy.

  It was a tedious and odd situation—they couldn’t risk lowering their hoods for fear of being recognized as the most wanted young warlocks in all of Solia, yet here Augum was being recognized for an altogether different reason—fighting in an arena under an assumed name.

  The noise of a cheering crowd soon reached their ears as they hurried through the streets. Sudden shouts and swells indicated a match was underway. They paid the entrance fees (Bridget was looking worried now every time she rooted around her coin pouch), received their chit only to hand it to a bored-looking guard, and entered. Augum registered for his fight. Leera pointed out where they were going to sit. She gave him a tight hug and the girls both wished him luck before disappearing into the crowd.

  Augum strode past another guard and on through the tunnel, feeling the energy of the crowd above. They were stamping their feet, chanting, “LO-SERS SHALL! BEND THE KNEE! WI-NNERS FIND! ETER-NI-TY!”

  “You’re late,” Secretary Sharma said, checking off her parchment. “Have a seat.”

  A hulking necrophyte boy with a small mop of frizzy hair immediately strode over to Augum. He cracked his thick neck from left to right and flashed a gap-toothed smile. “You’re The Hood, huh?” He made a snapping gesture. “Like a twig. That’s going to be you.”

  Augum wanted to roll his eyes so hard. “What are you, like, thirty?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “You look older.”

  “I told you I’m—”

  “You should have a cane.”

  “You’re mincemeat.”

  Augum was feeling immature. “And you’re so old there’s moss growing on your head.”

  The boy took a menacing step forward. “What’d you say about my hair?”

  “Settle down, Brutus,” Secretary Sharma said absently, ticking off her list as another competitor entered the room.

  “He thinks he all bad because he beat some wimpy girl from Canterra. She don’t even know any necromancy! Look at him. He’s a gangly nobody from a nobody town, and by the time I’m through with him, my name will be in the Herald.”

  Augum couldn’t help himself. He had no patience for this kind of stuff anymore. “You talk a big game. Let’s see if you play one.”

  “I’m going to—”

  “To what? Bore me to death with idle threats?”

  The boy smashed a fist into an open palm. “You’re so dead—”

  “Brutus! Sit. Down.” Secretary Sharma’s hands were on her hips. After the boy reluctantly sat down, she muttered to herself while returning to her parchment, “The stuff I have to put up with.”

  The boy kept eyeing Augum, whispering insults and threats when Secretary Sharma was out of hearing range. “… destroy you like I did that other fool yesterday …”

  Typical intimidation just to get him spooked before the fight. The boy was probably a spoiled brat who always got his way, someone who wasn’t used to being stood up to. Augum couldn’t wait to get in that arena. But he had to prepare first …

  Augum refused to get distracted as the boy muttered on with inanities. Instead, he kept his head down, mentally going over his spells as well as strategizing his initial attack. The boy was twice his size but Augum knew that meant nothing in a warlock duel. If anything, the constant mutterings spurred him on.

  They mutedly heard the crowd swell as Giovanni proclaimed yet another victor.

  Secretary Sharma snapped her head at the exit. “Augustus, Brutus—you’re up.”

  Augum strode down the tunnel leading to the arena, Brutus right beside him, scowling and still making threats. “Going to make you cry like a baby, crawl back to your mommy and—” Suddenly he stopped to listen to Giovanni’s voice.

  “… a nineteen-year-old 4th degree ice warlock from the Academy of Arcane Arts … representing the Legion outfit of the Stone Quarter … He’s known to choke his opponents into submission … please welcome … Brutus ‘The Brute’ Johnson!”

  The crowd roared as Brutus flashed Augum an arrogant Yeah, you know what’s coming look. He then strutted out into the arena, waving at the crowd as if he’d already won.

  “His opponent … hailing from the little known village of Everscale …” The crowd was on its feet. “A rare lightning necrophyte with impressive arcane dexterity … you’ve read about him in the Herald … the mysterious … the reclusive … Augustus ‘The Hood’ Westwooooood!”

  Augum strode out, heart pumping, head low. He stole a glance at Erika in the judge’s booth, but still did not see the divining rod. He glanced the other way at Bridget and Leera, who cheered him on. Malaika and Charissa were in the stands too, but he didn’t bother looking for them.

  Augum faced Brutus as Giovanni went through the usual rule pronouncements.

  Brutus, smirking and cracking his knuckles, nodded at the weapon racks. “Not going to need those.”

  The crowd tittered at his amplified joke.

  “As per tradition, let the combatants give respect,” Giovanni said.

  Augum flexed his arm, allowing his four lightning rings to burst forth, then gave a slight bow, never taking his eyes off his meaty opponent.

  Brutus, after seeing his lightning rings—and perhaps the look on Augum’s face—hesitated, but flashed four rings of ice. He didn’t bother bowing though.

  Giovanni took a step back and gestured dramatically at the boy. “Are you ready?” Brutus nodded. He gestured the other way at Augum. “And are you ready?” Augum curled his fists and gave a slight nod. Giovanni made a chopping gesture. “Fight!” and the bell rang.

>   Augum quickly and violently shoved at the air. “BAKA!” completely catching Brutus off-guard with the force of the attack. Augum glimpsed a stupid look on the boy’s face as he slammed into the stone wall, crumpling in a heap at its base.

  He did not get back up.

  The crowd fell totally silent for a moment before roaring.

  “Aaand we have a knock-out!” Giovanni shouted, striding over and placing a hand on Augum’s heaving shoulder. “That had to be one of the quickest knock-outs I have ever seen! A vicious shove attack. The Brute has been brutalized!”

  The crowd laughed as two Legion healers jogged out to attend to the boy.

  Augum was a little disappointed. He was looking forward to showing Brutus a little more of what he was made of.

  “Congratulations, you continue to wow.” Giovanni allowed the crowd to clap and cheer before continuing. “The Brute is known to be a difficult opponent on and off the arena floor. Did he have a lot to say to you in the dressing room?”

  “He did some talking.”

  The crowd chortled.

  “But you’re standing here and he isn’t.” Giovanni waited for his reaction.

  “I am,” Augum finally said.

  “Two more matches to go, think you can take the semis?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Well there we have it, folks. A contestant of few words but quick off the draw.” He lifted Augum’s arm. “Advancing to tomorrow’s semi-finals … the mysterious … the arcanely agile … Augustus ‘The Hood’ Westwooooood!”

  Back at the Library of Antioc

  “Weren’t you supposed to not draw unnecessary attention?” Leera said once they had left the arena, leaving Malaika and Charissa behind to continue spying.

  Augum shrugged. “I had a plan to start off losing, but it didn’t quite work out that way.”

  “Well now the whole city will be talking about your super fast knock-out.” She sighed. “As if they hadn’t been going on enough about you already. Anyway, Robin was in the stands watching you fight. Saw him brush off the win to Temper Buttwax, that cow. I’m sure he thought you got lucky or something.”

  “Before we go to the Training Room,” Bridget began, giving Leera a disapproving look for continually twisting Temper Butterwax’s last name, “do you mind if we go to the library to do some more research? I’d like to study a bit more on symbolism.”

  Leera groaned, mumbling, “Only if I can bring a pillow this time …”

  They eventually crossed the drawbridge, passed through the bustling entrance hall, and on to the Ordinaries section of the library—the area with the large gargoyle statue. After a few mind-numbing hours of study in a room with a pile of dusty books, someone peeked into the room.

  “You three—!”

  They looked up from their desk to see a Legion guard striding toward them, helmet tucked under his arm. He possessed high cheekbones and a shaved head. Augum’s stomach plummeted. This was it, they had been recognized. For a moment, he debated attacking him and just making a flat-out run for it—

  “Why aren’t you at the meeting?” the Legionnaire snapped.

  “Meeting?” Bridget asked. “What meeting?”

  “All out-of-town necrophytes are to report to the training grounds for an official Legion meeting. Why aren’t you down there? Who is your commanding officer?”

  “We just got back from the arena, sir, and he’s in the field.”

  The guard stared at them with cool eyes that eventually settled on Augum. “You’re The Hood.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Been hearing about you. You’ve been elevating the Legion’s standing in the common folks’ hearts. Sign-ups have increased. Well done, soldier. Now follow me, you’re late.”

  They exchanged a brief look but followed. Augum’s mind was in turmoil—the last thing he wanted to do was help the Legion. But then he smiled to himself—wait until they find out who he truly was! And if he could only somehow let people know a resistance existed, maybe it would spur others to join …

  They arrived at the training grounds. A Legionnaire stood at the entrance, waving them along. Behind him sat the kind middle-aged attendant they previously met. But in place of his infectious smile was a face of melancholy. He did not raise his bald head, but instead quietly stitched a patch onto a padded practice vest.

  They spotted a large crowd of necrophytes gathered in the obstacle field around a platform, on top of which stood a robed figure. Augum’s immediate thought was Robin and Temper will probably be there, and tightened his hood.

  The Legionnaire with the shaved pate led them to the crowd, where more than a few heads turned their way. Necrophytes started whispering to each other and pointing at Augum. Unlike the trio, none of them had their hoods up. A good many of them were their age or younger. The much older kids, usually sixteen or older, tended to already be in the field, training at the art of war.

  “And speaking of winning over hearts and minds,” said an ebony-skinned man with cropped gray hair and hawk-like eyes that immediately found Augum. He wore a shiny black robe fringed with crimson threading. The burning sword of the Legion was neatly embroidered over his heart. “We have been graced by The Hood.”

  The rest of the necrophytes turned to look Augum’s way. Augum kept his face hidden in the shadowy folds of his hood.

  “And I believe his cousins,” the man continued in a penetrating voice, extending two wide-sleeved arms toward the girls. “As you can see, appearances are important. They show a united front by having their hoods raised together. As most of you know, The Hood won over the hearts and minds of the people with a simple public gesture of chivalry the other day in the arena. That is the essence of what we are trying to accomplish together as an army.”

  That’s a steaming pile of dung, Augum was thinking as the necrophytes slowly turned back to the man, clapping politely.

  The distinguished-looking warlock slowly paced the platform. “Some of you will soon be undertaking the Torment Trials. I know you are afraid, I do know that. And it is true that failure of the trial may result in death.”

  He let that thought sink in as he slowly eyed the crowd. “But that is why you shall work hard at impressing your commanders—at impressing me—with your diligence in studying the necromantic arts. You will be sacrificing your outdated pursuit of an element for the greater good of all. You will sacrifice for the security of a kingdom. You will sacrifice with the hopes of bringing glory to yourselves. And maybe, just maybe, you might find eternity along the way.”

  The necrophytes clapped while the Legion guard with the shaved head nodded, flexing his jaw. Augum and the girls had to clap along in order to avoid raising suspicion.

  “One day necrophytes will be cultivated from birth,” the man on the platform continued. “You are but the first generation. With starry eyes you stare into the horizon of destiny, awaiting the glory to come.” He raised his arm and stared past them. “Somewhere out there lay great enemies. They are to the south and to the north and to the west. They will be conquered. And one day, we shall find those who dare to commit treason against the cause of the mighty Legion!”

  The crowd roared and saluted, chanting, “Hail to the Legion!”

  He raised a hand to silence them. “Yes, the traitor Anna Atticus Stone is strong—”

  “Not as strong as you, Commander Jordan,” one of the necrophytes piped in from somewhere up front, and the crowd chortled. Augum immediately recognized that grating voice.

  The warlock commander smiled. “If only that were true, Robin,” then raised a finger. “Never underestimate your enemy. Yes, she is strong, but together, we are stronger. Together, we will find her. Together, we shall complete the Great Quest. Together we will claim eternity. Every day brings us one step closer to that goal”

  The necrophytes clapped and whistled.

  “Yes, but my aunt really will find her, Commander. I guarantee it.”

  “I am sure she will indeed.” Commander Jord
an swept the crowd with his hawk eyes. “As you progress in your training, you will be drafted into the army. Some of you are already part of a company.” He nodded at some of the older boys and girls in the crowd. “I know Malfease is represented, as well as Wolfpack—” A few of the necrophytes hooted their particular company call, “Comborai, Axon … and so on. This is a time of celebration. You are here to watch the tournament, but also to continue your training. This is a special event, and many of you—those not drafted—will return to the Academy after it is over. But rest assured, the remainder will be placed when you are needed, and the time is coming. Train hard and earn your place in history. Duty unto death!”

  “Duty unto death!” the crowd echoed as one. Augum pretended to say it, but no sound came from his lips.

  “Now I have a special surprise for you all. Our Dreadnoughts, whom very few of you have seen thus far, have been hard at work indeed. You have all heard of speaking orbs, is that not so?”

  The crowd nodded their heads in a vague fashion. Augum recalled his father using one of the palm-sized orbs to communicate with the Blade of Sorrows. Speaking orbs are similar in appearance to a scion at first glance.

  “Well, for the first time in history, the Legion has developed a unique communication system. Each necrophyte will be receiving a special Dreadnought ring tuned to a specially-designed Dreadnought speaking orb, that only their commander will possess. This will allow direct communication between necrophytes and their superior officers.”

  The necrophytes clapped.

  “When do we receive these rings, sir?” Robin asked.

  “Your commanding officers will be receiving the packages as we speak. They are only for necrophytes, and only for those who have passed their 2nd degree.”

  There were some groans.

  “Those who receive them will commence training with them immediately. The rings will an incredible boon in battle, especially because you are warlocks. Imagine trying to conquer a city otherwise. No enemy will possess such a system of communication. That is why we will be victorious.”

  Augum exchanged a look with the girls. Not only were these orbs and rings bad news, they were talking about conquering cities …