Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  The fiery beast tried to lunge but slipped, unsteady with one leg missing.

  Leera slammed her wrists together once more. “ANNIHILO!” but nothing happened—she had run out of arcane stamina.

  “I can see, I can see!” Bridget hollered in Augum’s arms. “What can I do?”

  “Telekinesis—” Augum said. “All three of us—we drag it over the puddles!”

  They extended their palms and began dragging the beast. While the smaller puddles evaporated, the larger ones snuffed out more and more flame.

  “It’s working!” Augum called through gritted teeth, watching the beast hit a particularly large puddle and wither in a hissing roar, until it was nothing but smoking coals and embers. Amidst the pile were three shining gold coins.

  The trio collapsed against each other.

  “Bet you the fire trainer has a water elemental,” Leera blurted with a laugh.

  “Your nose is bleeding,” Augum said.

  She wiped it with her sleeve. Her accumulated arcanery was taking its toll.

  “Let’s go before the door shuts,” Bridget said, scooping up the coins before suddenly jerking on Leera’s sleeve, stopping her from going first.

  “Oh, right.” Leera waved them by. “Now that would have sucked.” The door shut the moment she stepped through.

  Augum could still smell acrid smoke. “Hey, at least we’re a little drier.”

  “All right, it doesn’t matter what’s in this fourth room, we have to find the passage to the fountain,” Bridget said as they walked the narrow rock tunnel.

  “Can you two believe these dumb rooms go all the way to the 10th degree?” Leera said. “Why would anyone risk their lives for them?”

  “There’s probably some kind of reward at the end,” Bridget replied, navigating a series of boulders that had come loose from the ceiling. “Besides the gargoyle coins that is. Maybe an artifact that compliments your element, or an ancient tome detailing a rare off-the-book spell.”

  “Or maybe you get to join an elite warlock club,” Augum said, giving Leera a mischievous look.

  Leera stopped, eyes magnifying. “Ooo, and you learn a secret handshake that identifies you to other members, or you have a secret mark only they know about, or you get new awesome robes.” She resumed walking, an extra bounce in her step. “Well … I guess those would be worth it. Hate these stupid necrophyte rags.”

  They stopped before a granite door with a gargoyle emblem and four etched strikes.

  “The fourth room.” Leera placed her lit palm over it. “Entarro,” and the door swung inwards.

  It was a damp and dark room with an arched masonry ceiling, from which hung ancient rusted iron candelabras. Three simple tombs sat in the center, each overgrown with tendrils of ivy and moss.

  “Hmm, could be more of the founders,” Leera said, pacing over to the stone tombs.

  “Let’s stay focused,” Bridget said, searching the walls, “we need to find the passage to the fountain—” but she was cut off by an alarmed squeak from Leera, who was suddenly backing away from the tombs.

  “What is it?” Augum asked, hurrying to her.

  Leera nodded at the sarcophagi. “Look.”

  Augum glanced over and what he saw made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His name was etched into one!

  “These are our tombs—” Leera blurted to Bridget.

  Bridget gave the tombs a nervous glance. “It’s just arcane trickery, never mind them, come help me look for the secret passage—”

  But Augum had to take a second look. He got on his knees and brushed aside the ivy, reading the inscription aloud. “ ‘Augum Stone, of the Arinthian line, died fighting the Lord of the Legion, Lividius Stone, while trying to save Leera Jones’.”

  “What—?” Leera shot over. “I’m confused … how can it …” She frantically brushed aside the ivy on her tomb. “ ‘Leera Jones, of the Artemesia line, died of ineptitude while facing the Lord of the Legion, Lividius Stone’.” She stared at it, hands covering her mouth, before suddenly beating her fists on the stone. “No, no, no, no …!”

  Augum slumped onto his tomb, suddenly nauseous. He knew he’d save Leera at the cost of his own life without even a second thought. The only other option would be to never face his father.

  He slowly ran his fingers tightly through his hair. The blood in his ears was a raging torrent. But it was his destiny to face his father. He had even convinced himself that’s what he wanted!

  He shivered, feeling cold and alone. His throat felt dry and his head swam in confusion. He hadn’t even heard Bridget speaking until she angrily waved a hand before his face.

  “Aug! Stop it!” Bridget grabbed him and Leera by the wrist. “Both of you, stop it. It’s your fears, get it?”

  Leera jerked from her grip and slowly backed away. One of her hands was bleeding from pounding on the stone, but she did not seem to notice. Her face was contorted in utter agony, and she, too, began running her hands through her hair, slowly shaking her head.

  Bridget tilted her head and sighed. “Lee, you’re being silly—”

  Leera stopped her by raising an open palm. “Don’t. Just … don’t.” She backed into a wall and slumped down against it, drawing her knees in and burying her head, shoulders heaving as she wept quietly. “I don’t want him to die …”

  Bridget sighed. “Augum’s not going to die.” She gave Augum a meaningful look to help her with the situation, but he only stared back, mouth slack.

  They were going to die facing his father.

  Bridget pursed her lips. “Look, you two are both being utterly ridiculous, and to prove it—” She marched over to her tomb and jerked at the ivy, muttering, “Completely absurd … like children sometimes …” She sighed loudly and quickly read the inscription. ‘ “Bridget Burns, of the Demeteria line, died—’ ” but suddenly she too froze, face going ashen.

  Leera’s head slowly rose. “Died from what? Died from what, Bridge—!”

  Bridget slumped against her tomb. “ ‘Died from falling off a cliff in the Library of Antioc …’ ”

  Prophecies and Predictions

  For a while, the trio just sat there in the room housing their three tombs, tombs that were inscribed with predictions of their deaths. At last, Leera schlepped over on wobbly legs to stand at the end of her sarcophagus, staring at it.

  “I’m not going to let Augum sacrifice himself for me.”

  Bridget glanced up, face pale. Her hazel eyes were dark and unfocused, as if she was reliving a nightmare.

  Leera turned to Augum, lower lip trembling. “Do you hear me? I’m not going to let you do that, and I know you would in a heartbeat.”

  Augum’s mouth was too dry to speak.

  “We’re through, you hear me?” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Augum had to steady himself on his tomb.

  “Through,” Leera repeated softly, chin quivering. She was breathing rapidly while staring at Augum. “Well aren’t you going to say anything—?”

  Augum’s head was swimming. He felt bile rising in his throat and a vertigo-like nausea in his stomach that forced him to shakily lie back on top of his own sarcophagus. He wished he was inside it already, gone and done and unable to feel anymore. Feeling hurt too much. So very, very much …

  It was Bridget’s voice that broke the icy silence. “You don’t mean that, Lee. I know you don’t.”

  But Leera said nothing, and neither did Augum.

  Bridget glanced between the two of them, wiped her eyes, and marched to the wall.

  “What are you doing?” Leera asked in a shaky voice.

  Bridget angrily turned over an earthen pot, accidentally smashing it in the process. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She searched behind it. Finding nothing, she moved on along the wall.

  Augum sat up, body as numb as if he had been swimming in an ice bath. Leera would not look at him. He would not look at her.

  Leera took a step toward her. “Bridge, now y
ou’re the one being—”

  Bridget whirled, pointing a stern finger at Leera, as if to say something. Instead, she returned to violently searching.

  Leera’s head dropped. For a moment, she just stood there. Augum was painfully aware, with every fiber of his being, of her proximity to him. He missed her so much already it hurt.

  After a while, Leera walked over to a portal etching on the wall. “Shyneo,” she said in a quivering voice. Her palm flickered to life with a weak watery glow. She placed it against the etching. “Leigh Sparrows.” The portal burst to life, blowing wind at her soggy hair and necrophyte robe.

  Bridget ceased what she was doing and Augum stepped down from the tomb.

  Leera stared into the black abyss of the portal. Somehow, Augum knew if she went through it, he would never see her again. Never. She would hide from him, and she would do it to save him.

  Bridget, who at first wavered and looked like she was going to collapse, took a firm step forward and balled her fists. “Leera Jones, don’t you dare go through that portal. My destiny is not to die in some stupid, dark dungeon falling off some ridiculous cliff. My destiny is to die old, maybe a little fat, and surrounded by family. Do you understand? And I’m going to prove it to you. I’m going to survive that damn cliff, with or without you!” She glared at Augum. “With or without both of you!”

  Leera whirled on her, the portal still howling with wind. “You’re not going near that cliff!”

  Bridget stood as strong as iron. “I. Am. And I am not going to die.”

  Augum glanced between his two very best friends, one of whom meant even more in so many ways. Each had her strengths and weaknesses, her tempers and desires and pains and fears. Each had lost her family, murdered by his father. Yet each, against all rational odds, had come along with him, to help him, on probably the most foolhardy and idiotic, the most dangerous and impossible quest in the history of quests.

  And there Bridget proudly stood, even having dyed her hair black so that she wouldn’t be recognized; having sacrificed her sleep, possibly her sanity, and now threatening to once again put her life on the line to keep this impossible quest alive.

  And opposite stood Leera, sacrificing just as much, her raven hair now dark brown, her cheeks wet with tears. And how she suffered …

  Even if somehow everything worked out; if Bridget didn’t die in this hovel of a dungeon; if Leera came back to him, it guaranteed nothing, for they might grow very old in a short period of time from an ancient spell, all just to defeat his father.

  It was ridiculous, and perhaps in another life, Augum would have laughed, called them both fools, and walked away from the whole absurd mess. But walk away to what? What life was there beyond chasing one’s dreams? Beyond chasing one’s perceived destiny? Which, the more he thought about it, were really his dreams. How would he ever be able to look back with dignity, with pride? How would he be able to live with himself knowing he gave up? Knowing he turned his back on a slim hope, a hope an entire kingdom seemed to be resting its future upon? How many lives could be saved if he could indeed—dare to—defeat his own father, the Lord of the Legion, the Lord of Death, and the Lord of Dreadnoughts—?

  Augum clenched his jaw, straightened, and strode toward Bridget. “And I’m coming with you.”

  Bridget, who had been in a staring showdown with Leera, glanced at him as if seeing him for the first time. She finally nodded, the color returning to her cheeks. “Right. Help me find the secret passage.”

  The two of them set to searching, both ignoring Leera.

  The portal howled for a little while longer before suddenly going silent.

  Augum froze, unable to peek. Had Leera just gone through it? Had she deserted them? Would he ever see her again?

  But then he heard the most comforting sound in the world—that of a third person rummaging, helping with the search.

  The Cliff

  At long last, they found what they had been looking for—a secret door, hidden behind a ragged old tapestry depicting a bunch of people merrily enjoying an ancient dinner party. Interestingly, behind them sat a spiral fountain.

  He almost turned to Leera to say, “Huh, look at that,” before realizing they hadn’t looked at each other or spoken a word the entire time they had been searching for the secret entrance. What was there to say? She was coming along for now, but that only meant she was doing it to stop Bridget. And he couldn’t speak to her either. It felt impossible, not to mention it would be fake and painful. Suddenly his birthday necklace felt awfully heavy around his neck.

  Insides roiling, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

  Bridget, whose jaw was firmly clenched, cast Unconceal to find a crude handle, which she used to open the secret door. Augum stepped inside the musty passage first, palm lit, trying not to think or feel. Bridget told him to focus, and that’s what he was going to do. He was going to ignore Leera; ignore the cacophonous turmoil in his very being.

  Bridget followed, Leera close behind in the rear. They said nothing as they traversed the tight passage that forced them to duck. It smelled of old earth and possessed a faint scent of death, reminding Augum of the crypts in Castle Arinthian. Part of him was curious what was inside them, but no way in all of Sithesia would he have dared open his own sarcophagus. For all he knew, he’d be attacked by an undead version of himself.

  The passage meandered down crude rock steps, all the while constricting until they were hunched over. At long last, Augum pushed on a rocky door that opened into a vast cavern. The air smelled of sewage and musty old rock. Tall masonry walls surrounded them with passages scattered about—they were in the maze.

  Before them stood a magnificent spiral fountain. It was made of marble, decorated with figural depictions along its flanks. At the very top was a gargoyle holding a staff with a coiled snake around it, its other hand pointing a single raised finger. It stared proudly ahead, chin high, wings folded smartly behind. Water had long stopped trickling from its mouth, leaving a dark stain. Once upon a time, that water would have traversed the spirals like a miniature waterfall, perhaps making the marble glitter.

  Beyond the fountain was a marble staircase flanked by towering walls and two mighty pillars carved with neatly stacked books and scrolls. Augum knew that was the way because the breeze blew toward it. He strode over to the staircase. The workmanship was so intricate it appeared the shelves had once been made of real books, but had petrified over eons of time.

  Or maybe he was over-thinking things just to keep his mind off what had happened in the previous room. He refused to glance behind him at the girls. He refused to look at Leera. Instead, he climbed and climbed. It seemed to go on forever, so much so that he was gasping by the end of it, when the staircase abruptly stopped at a great set of double doors made of black oak and studded with massive strips of iron. There were no handles, only an inscription.

  Bridget, huffing, finally caught up to him. She began reading in a solemn voice. “ ‘Horror, horror of horrors, hailed from a hallowed hamlet known thus as Hyona. Begat she Hal and Heather and Heath and Haleema, but what, hearty human, was her name?’ ”

  She glanced between Augum and Leera, who stood apart. “So, uh, any thoughts, you two?”

  Neither of them replied, keeping their eyes averted. Last thing Augum was in the mood for was another stupid riddle.

  Bridget sighed, thought about it some more, then tilted her head up to the doors, proclaiming in a clear voice, “Her name was Horror.”

  The doors groaned open. The wind immediately increased to a howl and was sucked down, for directly before the doors was a drop-off into nothing, as if the staircase and doors floated above a gaping abyss. Far, far on the other side was a small perch and another set of doors just like this one.

  Bridget began breathing rapidly, backed away, and dropped to her knees. She had turned ashen and was shaking like a leaf. Her dyed black hair whipped her face in the wind.

  Leera grabbed her firmly by the f
orearms. “You’re not doing this.”

  Bridget’s voice was faint. “I dreamed this. This is my nightmare. This is where I fall again and again—”

  Leera shook her. “That’s exactly why you’re not doing this.”

  For the first time Augum glimpsed a haunting sight—he saw a shivering young girl mocked for being broken. Broken Bridget. That was the nickname other kids had teased her with. He glanced over the cliff. It seemed to have no bottom, no sides, and no end. There was no way to get across. “She’s right,” he said, feeling hollow. “It’s over.”

  There was a moment during which the only sound was the howl of the wind.

  “Like hell it is—” Bridget suddenly jerked away from Leera, stood and thrust her hand out. “Un vun deo,” she spat. A stone block at the very edge of the cliff lit up with a crimson inscription.

  “ ‘Believe in thyself’,” Augum read in a whisper.

  Bridget clenched her teeth … and marched straight for the edge.

  Augum grabbed her right arm, Leera her left.

  “What are you doing—” Augum said while Leera cried out with, “Are you mad?”

  Bridget glanced between the two of them. “What, you think I’m going to let our own stupid fears get in the way of our quest, a quest more important than either of you realize?” She was practically shrieking, an unnerving sight to behold. “You think I’m going to let our fears ruin what you two have together!”

  Augum and Leera held firm. For a moment they shared a fleeting look before glancing away.

  Bridget stared ahead. “I love you two both so much, but you have to let go.”

  “No way—”

  “Forget it—”

  “Please. I have to do this. I won’t live the rest of my life with that nightmare. I won’t live knowing I never tried, that I let myself down, that I let us down. That is not life. That is death—”

  “Don’t you remember the tower—?” Augum pressed in a panicked voice.

  “Evergray Tower,” Leera added. “You’re terrified of heights, you’ll fall—”