Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  Augum rubbed his face, something he’d been doing a lot lately. “I can write the headline in the Herald for you now. ‘Idiot tries to be hero. Gets slaughtered.’ ”

  Leera placed her arm around his neck and dragged him over with an elbow, so that he lay in her lap. “Since when did you become so cynical?”

  “Since the odds went from improbable to impossible.” He idly played with her hand. “How am I going to prevent Robin from recognizing me?” Let alone defeat the murdering knave …

  Bridget, whose head was resting on her hands, suddenly brightened. “You don’t.”

  Augum sat up as he and Leera stared at her with identical dumbfounded expressions.

  Bridget continued smiling. “Hear me out.” She accented her points with open palms. “You reveal to everyone in that arena that you are Augum Stone, and you’re there to claim the honor of the kingdom.

  Leera reached over to her. “Let me feel your forehead, I think you’re coming down with a vicious fever—”

  Bridget swatted her off. “I’m serious here! Think about it—they’re going to find out anyway. They won’t stop Augum, not unless they want to look weak in front of the whole kingdom.” She paused to look between them. “This is the final of the most prestigious warlock tournament in Solia, maybe all of Sithesia. Robin Scarson, the most famous necrophyte in the kingdom versus Augum Stone, the infamous villain, and the Lord of the Legion’s own wayward son. The Legion will want to prove their necromancy could best the old arcanery. It would send a strong message to everyone if Augum lost publicly, that’s why they will let him fight—!”

  Bridget leaned forward. “But here’s the trick. If Augum wins, they’d also have to let him claim his prize, because there’s one thing about the crowd—they want to see an honorable end. They want order. Most importantly, the Legion will want to look legitimate.” She took a long breath. “You can stop looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.”

  Leera blinked. “I foresee a future in politics for you.”

  Bridget wrinkled her nose as if a rotten stench had entered the room. “Euch.”

  Augum resumed rubbing his face, which seemed to help him think.

  Bridget prodded him with a finger. “Thoughts?”

  “I don’t know … I just don’t know.”

  “Tell you what. See how you feel in the moment.”

  Augum’s brows rose. “ ‘In the moment’?”

  “Yeah.” Bridget stood, dusted herself off. She extended her hands to them both, hauling them up. Then she fixed her gaze firmly on Augum. “You stood before the entire Henawa tribe and spoke out to save a man who once repeatedly beat you with his belt, giving you all those scars.” She picked up the Portal scroll. “Now replace that tribe with an entire kingdom,” and she padded off.

  Augum and Leera gaped.

  “I swear she has, like, Attyla the Mighty blood in her or something,” Leera muttered.

  “That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. But … I’m worried about her.”

  “The scroll?”

  He nodded. What if it killed her? Even the thought of it made him want to throw up.

  “I’m worried too.” Her hand found his, squeezing tightly. “Come on.”

  * * *

  “A tenday thou shalt have, not a moment more,” Guinevere finished saying to Bridget after she was paid all ten of their gargoyle coins.

  “Right,” Bridget said, scroll tucked under her arm. “Let’s get back to our room.”

  They returned to the vestibule. The dwarves allowed them passage by shuffling aside.

  “You’d think they’d have something more menacing guarding the Restricted Room,” Leera said, skipping by the lead dwarf holding the stinkroot. “Not going to get me a second time, you little fiend,” she hissed at it.

  “Hoods up.” Bridget awkwardly stuffed the scroll under her robe then placed her lit hand on the etched oval. “Brie Sparrows. General Quarters.” The portal ripped to life. She gestured grandly. “After you.”

  Augum went first. He came out on the other side—and slammed right into the back of a Legion soldier with a shaved head.

  “What the—” The soldier turned in surprise and Augum instantly recognized him—he was the lieutenant that had led them to that necrophyte meeting in the Training Room.

  “The Hood—” the lieutenant said in surprise, high cheekbones hardening. “Why are you up and about? You know there’s a curfew, Necrophyte!”

  A moment later, Leera and Bridget stumbled out of the portal, which closed behind them.

  “Three of you—? Where did you come—” The lieutenant froze as he spotted something at Bridget’s feet. Augum saw what he was looking at—the scroll had fallen out of her robe and was lying on the floor.

  “It was you—” The soldier glanced at the three of them as if seeing them anew. “It was you who slew the wraiths …!” He drew his Dreadnought long sword, which immediately burst with flame. “Don’t you try anything, this is a brand new—”

  Augum felt his four rings flare around his arm. “Disablo!” and the sword twirled out of the man’s hand, clanging to the ground and instantly snuffing out.

  The lieutenant stared at it dumbly.

  “Shyneo!” Augum called, slapping the oval engraving, speaking quickly. “Augustus Westwood. Labyrinth.” The portal opened. He shot a look at the girls, who had already positioned themselves on the other side of the Legionnaire.

  The lieutenant retrieved his blade. “You’ll never get away—”

  “BAKA!” the girls chorused, and the man was sent flying through the portal. Augum let go of the oval and a moment later it disappeared.

  They froze, listening, but no other sound came, no portal opened.

  “He’s not a warlock,” Augum whispered. “I remember in the arena—he described himself as an Ordinary.”

  “Then he’ll have a hard time finding his way out of the labyrinth,” Leera said.

  Augum gave her a grave look. “Unless he knows how to use portals and actually manages to find a portal rune.”

  “Not in total darkness he won’t,” Leera said. “He can’t cast Shine, remember?”

  Bridget secured the scroll. “It’s too dangerous for us to sleep here. We should evacuate as soon as the drawbridge is raised.”

  Leera shook her head. “But if Augum doesn’t get sleep—if none of us do—we’ve got no chance. None. You know that.”

  “Not to mention I won’t be tuned to the Exot orb,” Bridget muttered. “You’re right.”

  “Well we can’t stay here,” Augum said. “Let’s get the Exot orb and make a decision then.” What if it had been discovered? But hadn’t Bridget cast Object Alarm on it? Regardless, he tried not to think about the consequences of walking into a trap. It was a pattern of late, trying not to think about stuff that might happen.

  They walked as fast as they dared down the dimly lit corridor, passing room after room.

  “Heads up,” Leera whispered, tightening her hood. A patrolling gray-robed attendant strode their way.

  The man stopped in front of them. “And why might you be out of your rooms? Surely you are aware of the strict curfew.”

  “We wanted to squeeze in some training,” Leera blurted. “This is ‘The Hood’ and he has the finals coming up against Robin Scarson. Some grumpy lieutenant told us to turn right around and go back to our room, so that’s where we’re going.”

  The attendant glanced at Augum. “Ah, that explains the hoods. Well as much as I dislike that lieutenant fellow, I dare say he was right—you cannot train at this hour.” He gave a wistful sigh. “At one time the library was open to such things. That time has passed. Protocol demands I march you straight to the constabulary.” He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned forward. “But I would much rather see you beat that … evil snob.”

  Augum gave a firm nod. “I’m certainly going to try, sir.”

  “Come, I shall escort you to your room.”

  “Thank you, sir.”
/>
  “Most welcome, just do not let me or anyone catch you about before the seventh morning bell, as there have been … mishaps. Anyhow, that is only three hours away. Then you can train your hearts out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The attendant followed them to their room. “Good luck tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” Leera said, quietly closing the door after him.

  The trio exhaled. The torchlight of the city filtered through the dark window, throwing dim light against the ceiling.

  Charissa sat up in bed. “Who is it?”

  “Just us,” Augum said.

  Bridget withdrew the scroll, placed it on a table, and kneeled beside the bed. “Still here,” she said in a relieved voice, carefully dragging the pine box out from under the bed.

  Malaika got up and rushed over to Augum, trailing the blanket she had wrapped herself in. “Where have you been—? We were so worried! The guards are like bees in the corridors—” She reached out to him, only to have her hand smacked away by Leera.

  Malaika recoiled. “I was just—”

  “You were just nothing,” Leera snapped, glaring.

  Augum forgot they had a fight earlier that evening, resulting in Leera getting banned from the Supper Hall. Last thing he wanted was drama at this point. There were important issues to discuss.

  “We have to talk,” he said.

  Malaika swallowed. “What about?”

  “We’re all in a lot of danger,” Bridget said, striding over with the box.

  “What’s that?” Charissa asked.

  “Soon as they raise the drawbridge, you need to flee the city,” Augum said, hoping to distract her. The less she knew the better. “It’s urgent.”

  Malaika crossed her arms. “Excuse me, but we’re not going anywhere.”

  “Excuse me,” Leera said, crossing her arms too, “but you’re leaving first thing.”

  Malaika narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have the right to boss us around. We do and go where we please.”

  Charissa joined her friend by her side, wrapped in a blanket too. “Just because you’re a warlock doesn’t give you the right to bully us!”

  “I wasn’t—”

  A tired-looking Bridget stepped between them. “Please, Malaika, you’re in great danger. Both of you are. You need to leave as soon as possible.”

  “What about our clothes?” Charissa asked, gesturing at the giant pile. “You’re going to—” She made an awkward waving gesture. “—magic them back to Milham for us, right?”

  “We’re not going to ‘magic’ anything for you,” Leera said through gritted teeth.

  Bridget shifted the box under her arm so she could place a gentle hand on Leera’s shoulder. “Give us a moment, Lee.”

  Leera threw up her hands. “Ugh,” and marched to the window, muttering to herself.

  Bridget gave Augum a look that meant he should join her.

  “Excuse me,” he said, and strode to Leera, necrophyte robe rustling softly along the carpet.

  “If anyone’s going to get us killed,” Leera grumbled, staring out at the twinkling city, “it’s those two morons.”

  He placed his arm around her waist. “Just take it easy. We’ll get through this.”

  She leaned against him, whispering, “I’m so tired.”

  “I know. So am I.”

  They listened as Bridget quietly spoke with Malaika and Charissa.

  “That’s. Not. Fair!” Charissa said, accenting each word with a stomp of her foot.

  “Please, it’s for everyone’s good,” Augum overheard Bridget saying.

  Leera was about to turn to say something, but Augum stopped her. “Leave them to it.”

  “Fine, I’ll let Attyla handle this one,” she muttered.

  The corner of Augum’s mouth curved upward. Behind them, the argument continued, until—

  “All right, we get it!” Malaika finally said.

  “Yeah, shut up already—” Charissa added.

  Leera grumbled she was about to summon her elemental. It took a lot to keep her from whipping around and following through on the threat.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Bridget said. “Will you at least tell us about what you’ve learned—”

  “Are you kidding?” Charissa turned her back on Bridget and jumped into her bed. “Leave us alone.”

  Malaika scoffed. “You want us to help you, after all this? You don’t even appreciate what we’ve done for you! You have no idea how hard we’ve worked to get you information!”

  “Yeah!” Charissa added from the bed. “No appreciation!”

  Malaika flicked her wrist at the clothes. “Look at all of Daddy’s money that you’re wasting! Do you know how hard he worked for it?”

  Leera broke free of Augum’s embrace. “No one asked you to buy clothes, you stupid—”

  “SHUT UP!” Malaika yelled at Leera. “I’m so sick of you!” She flashed Augum a mournful look. “All of you.”

  Bridget pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t handle this, I’m just too tired. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

  Malaika stabbed at Bridget’s chest with a finger. “You can go to hell for all I care,” and she twirled away and stomped to bed.

  Bridget stood there, barely visible in the dim light. Eventually she padded over to the window, clutching the box as if it was all she had left in the world. She glanced past Augum and Leera at the silent city.

  “They said they’d leave,” she murmured, “but I don’t believe them. I have a bad feeling they’ll get caught after the reveal. They’ve been seen with us in the Supper Hall and on the streets. Even if they don’t get caught, someone might figure out where they’re from. We’re in trouble.”

  “They’re not going to do anything of the sort—” Leera said through gritted teeth, but Augum and Bridget stopped her from starting the argument anew, or turning them into Leera’s personal practice dummies.

  “Let him talk to her,” Bridget said, still holding her and nodding at Augum. “He’s the only one they’ll listen to.”

  Leera’s jaw flexed.

  Bridget drew Leera a little closer, voice a bare whisper. “We need to know about that trophy presentation. We need to know as much as possible. Lee, it’s important.”

  Leera’s shoulders slumped. She nodded at Augum. “See what you can do.”

  Augum sighed heavily. He didn’t want to talk to Malaika or Charissa. He’d prefer to have nothing to do with them. Ever. Not after all those ridiculous, manipulative antics. But he straightened his robe and paced over, taking a seat cross-legged on the floor between Malaika and Charissa’s beds. They had removed the folding divider between them, as best friends do.

  “Can I talk to you a moment?” he asked Malaika softly. He chanced a peek at Bridget and Leera, but they were talking to each other in low tones by the windowsill, ignoring them.

  “What do you want?” Malaika blurted in a shaky voice, back turned away. It was then Augum realized she was crying, and his stomach sank. Great, this is the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. Stupid, pointless drama …

  “Hey, it’ll be all right,” he said. “We do appreciate what you’ve done for us, we really do, we’re just … really, really tired.”

  Malaika was shaking her head. “You have no idea how much we’ve learned, the risks we took.”

  “Then … can you give me an idea?”

  She turned to face him, ebony face wet with tears. “Why, so you can tell us to go away after? And just … throw those clothes out? So what if we don’t want to look poor—?”

  Augum rubbed his face. Clothes. Stupid. Clothes. The kingdom was in peril, they were about to risk their lives in the most foolhardy plan ever concocted in Sithesia’s history, and they were discussing a pile of clothes. He wanted to keep rubbing his face until sleep came. He wished he could just rub all this craziness away.

  “I’m going to be in the biggest fight of my life tomorrow,” he
said through his hands. “I don’t know how it’s going to go. Probably not well, to be honest.” He glanced up at her. “But if I win … there’s a four hundred gold coin prize. If you leave first thing, and if I win, I’ll give all the money to your father.”

  Malaika opened her mouth to say something but just froze. Finally, “You’d … you’d do that?”

  “Of course.” If he lived.

  She sat up, whispering, “Give me your hand.”

  He almost groaned—he didn’t want her touching him. But he knew that if he didn’t play along, she might not tell him what they so desperately needed to know. He tentatively gave her his hand, and she clasped it between her own.

  “Brave Augum Stone. Know this—Erika Scarson is going to have the divining rod tomorrow—”

  His heart did that excited flip thing. Thank the Unnameables!

  “—and the trophy ceremony is going to be held right after your fight on the judge’s platform, with the loser in attendance.”

  That meant he could lose the fight and still snatch the divining rod! Yes! There was a chance now!

  Malaika sighed, closed her eyes. “One last thing. Your father—”

  “—is going to be there,” he finished, slipping his hand from hers. His mouth went sand dry. Somehow he knew it, but didn’t want to admit the possibility to himself.

  Malaika bit her lip. “He’ll be the one presenting the trophy. He’ll be surrounded by something called the ‘Red Guard’ or whatever, not to mention a whole bunch of warlocks.” Her hands went to his shoulders and she squeezed. “Don’t go. Don’t do it. Please. You’ll die, I know you will—”

  He took her hands off his shoulders. “Thank you for everything.” He stood up. “Will you leave first thing? Please?”

  She withdrew from him, stared at the floor. “I … I wish you’d let us watch …”

  “Please …”

  She wiped her eyes with a finger. At last, she nodded. “I’ll go.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you …” and quietly paced away.

  Antioc, Day Five

  It was a tremendous risk sleeping in their room, yet they were simply too tired to do otherwise. Augum was the first to wake. Malaika and Charissa were gone, but most of their clothing pile remained. He noticed they also left their necrophyte robes behind—a smart move, all things considering. They would be safer looking like normal people.