Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4)

by Sever Bronny

  He quietly padded over to the washbasin and splashed cold water on his face. Then he strode to the window as Bridget and Leera slept on, entangled in blankets.

  The biggest day in his life to date was windy and dark. The clouds hung low, brooding. He could feel the tension of the city below in the common folk as they hurried this way and that. Busy ants trying to avoid their doom. Or maybe that’s how he felt about himself …

  His eyes flicked to the arena. Crowds clapped to a performance brimming with fire dancers. That meant it was past the first afternoon bell. Soon the finals of the 1st degree would begin. There would be ten duels today. Ten trophies. Ten degrees. He was fourth up, and his heart was already buzzing in that nervous and all-too-familiar way. They would have to get going soon.

  But not just yet …

  Augum sat on the window ledge, back against the thick wall. He removed his birthday chain and placed it between his teeth. It grounded him, made him remember people cared about him.

  Malaika was right. He should turn away. The odds of snatching the divining rod—let alone getting out of there without being captured or killed—were remote at best. He knew that. The girls knew it.

  He sighed and drew his legs in, placing his chin on his knees. Yet so much rode on this day, so very much. And he dared to hope, for it might—just might—turn the tide. If he could only beat Robin somehow, then … yes, what happened next, how he behaved himself, how he reacted, would give him that precious chance he needed to do one desperate maneuver, the one maneuver he was truly banking on.

  But would it work …?

  Of course, now that he knew the loser stood on the platform as well, as long as he survived the duel, he should have a chance, no matter how remote. Although what it meant for the Resistance was another matter. And then there was the other question … should he reveal his identity? And if so, when? See how you feel in the moment, Bridget had said … see how you feel in the moment.

  “Hey,” came a whisper.

  Augum turned to see Bridget sleepily shuffle over, clutching the Exot orb. He adjusted to sit cross-legged again. She slumped across from him in the windowsill, eyes puffy.

  “You like chewing on that thing, huh?” she said, rubbing her face with the back of her wrist.

  “Helps me think.” He tucked the necklace away, whispering, “She still asleep?”

  Bridget nodded, swallowed, pulled her legs in. “I slept terribly.”

  “Me too.” More like tossed and turned. How he longed for an uninterrupted night’s sleep without worry or fear …

  She placed her chin on her knees. “I dreamed I lived in the gargoyle hut on some empty prairie. I was alone. So terribly alone. Missed you guys so much.”

  Augum shuddered recalling that experience. “We’re right here.”

  “I can still hear the shutter thunking …” She turned her head toward the dark window. “I know you’ll take care of her if something happened to me.”

  “Nothing will happen to you a healer won’t be able to fix.”

  She patronized him with a half-smile. She was right of course—there were no available healers. Any healing counted on Mrs. Stone.

  “It’s just a scroll from a library,” he added. An ancient library with dangerous obstacles that sometimes killed young warlocks.

  She said nothing.

  He gently drew her in for a hug. “It’ll be fine, Attyla.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Oh, Lee and I think you might have Attyla the Mighty blood in you.”

  She snorted. “Shut up,” and sat back. She took a long breath and exhaled slowly. He had never seen her look as tired and worn out as she did then—her dyed black hair was tangled and frizzy; her eyes half-closed; face pale.

  “Promise me something,” she whispered.

  “Anything.”

  “I know you can be proud. I know you can be angry. I know that you still want vengeance for Mya, for the iron room, for Hangman’s Rock—and everything else. And I know you want to beat Robin for the kingdom’s sake.” She brushed aside a lock of hair, curling it around her ear like she used to back when she cared more how she looked. “But, if you don’t think you can beat him—” She leaned forward, placing a hand on his right knee. “Bend the knee. You’ll still get up on that platform. You’ll still have your shot at the rod.”

  This time it was him that did not reply.

  “You promise me that, Aug.”

  He watched her a moment, but eventually nodded. “I promise.”

  She sat back, glanced out the window. “I guess we both know the odds anyway.”

  He nodded again. It’s all he thought about. Their odds and how to improve them.

  “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

  He smiled. “That’s an understatement.”

  A thoughtful silence passed between them.

  Leera suddenly sat up in bed with a yelp.

  “You all right?” Bridget asked.

  Leera glanced over with a puzzled look as if she didn’t know who they were. “Nightmare. You don’t want to know.” She dragged herself out of bed and thumped over, melting into Augum’s arms. “Can we just stay here forever?” she mumbled sleepily.

  He smiled as he stroked her dyed brown hair. It will be nice to see it raven again, but then, she looked beautiful to him regardless.

  “Think the tuning worked?” he asked, nodding at the small Exot orb.

  The Dreadnought steel orb lifted telekinetically from Bridget’s hand to float before her face. She raised an eyebrow. “Let’s find out.” She snatched it and jumped off the windowsill, grabbed the finely carved pine box, and withdrew two rings, tossing them to Augum. He put his on first, then, with an amused grin, took Leera’s hand and slipped the other on her finger.

  Leera placed her arm on her forehead. “Oh, fairest Augum Stone,” she said in a ridiculous misty accent, “however could I thank thee? You ought not to have, for I am nothing but an innocent—”

  “Shut up—” he said, laughing while gently shoving her off him.

  “Well, I never,” she tutted, hands on her hips.

  “All right, hit us with it,” Augum said to Bridget.

  “Here goes nothing.” Bridget lifted the small orb to her lips. “Contact Augum Stone.”

  He frowned as there was a momentary fizzing buzz in his head.

  “Did it work?” she asked. Her voice came from her lips but also sounded in his head. It made him jump.

  “Seems it worked,” Leera said, watching his reaction. “Let me try—contact Bridget Burns. Hi, Bridget!”

  The fuzzy hum in Augum’s brain disappeared. “Transmission ends when someone else cuts in.”

  “Makes sense.” Bridget turned to Leera. “And you have to speak into the ring.”

  Leera placed her lips close to the Dreadnought steel ring. “Contact Bridget Burns. Hi, Bridget.”

  “There you go.”

  Leera startled. “Whoa, I heard you in my head at the same time! Neat, it’s like an upgraded Orb of Orion.”

  “Cease contact,” Bridget said into the orb, and she went on to remind them of some of the other qualities of the Exot set.

  “Oh, almost forgot,” Augum said, placing the ring to his lips. “Contact Caireen Lavo—Caireen, it’s Augum,” but there was no response.

  “Only the orb bearer can contact other rings,” Bridget said. She put her lips to the orb. “Contact Caireen Lavo. Hello, Caireen, can you hear me? It’s a friend of Augum’s. Reply into the ring.” She smiled, took her lips away from the orb, whispering, “She’s quite startled.”

  “I can imagine,” Leera muttered. “Hearing a voice suddenly pop into your head might make you think you’d gone mad.”

  “No, the other one—Bridget,” Bridget said into the orb. “Can you come to room 1099?” She nodded. “Good, see you soon. Oh—you wouldn’t happen to have a rucksack, would you? Great—cease contact,” and put down the orb. “Caireen’s on her way. She was getting worried
something happened to us. Sounds excited to help.”

  Soon a soft knock came at the door. Augum strode over as the girls stood. He opened the door and his former opponent skirted inside, giant bush of orange hair bouncing. She wore a tan cloth garment that wrapped around one shoulder.

  “Hi,” she said sheepishly, giving them all a small wave.

  “Caireen, meet Bridget and Leera.”

  Caireen extended a slender dark-skinned hand and smiled. “I am very honored. You have no idea.”

  “Pleasure,” Bridget and Leera said, taking her hand.

  “Oh, here—” Caireen handed Bridget an empty rucksack. “As requested.” Her orange eyes flicked between the girls. “My parents died the same way as yours. I just want to say that you three are heroes in my homeland. And I can see why. You are very brave. It means more to people than you can possibly know.” She adjusted her wild orange hair while the trio exchanged awkward and shy looks. “I’ll do anything to help the Resistance. Anything.”

  “Thank you, your help means a lot to us and is badly needed,” Bridget said, taking Caireen by the elbow and walking her to the window. “We don’t have much time until we have to go. This is what we’re going to need from you …”

  The Roar of the Arena

  Caireen left first as they did not want her to be seen with them. Not long after, Bridget stuffed the Portal scroll and the Exot box (minus the orb and the three rings of course) into the rucksack, and the trio departed, leaving the pile of clothes where it lay. They kept silent in the corridor, their hoods drawn, as attendants and necrophytes alike hurried to the portal room, eager to catch the finals.

  “D’you hear a Legion lieutenant went missing too?” a pale necrophyte girl asked an ebony-skinned boy as they stood in line waiting to use a portal. The line was so long it snaked out into the corridor.

  “Whatever’s been going on is giving me the heebies,” the boy answered. “And that kid who had his mind wiped?”

  “He was just being dumb, I don’t think that had anything to do with it. That wraith getting slaughtered in the restricted area though … now that’s creepy. Maybe it was the gargoyle ghosts of the library.”

  The boy shrugged. “They’re saying it could be insurgents. Either that or it’s sabotage or something. I’ll ask Commander Jordan.”

  “I wouldn’t talk to him right now, he’s mad as a walker.”

  “Oh, right, the orb set. He’s in trouble.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  The girl leaned closer to whisper. “I think it’s her.”

  “No way, the tracking party would’ve found her.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe she found a way around it, who knows.” She gave a mysterious smile. “Or maybe Augum Stone was here last night.”

  “Pfft.” The boy shook his head. “Besides, I hear they’ve caught her already down south.”

  “Caught who?” Augum blurted, unable to help himself.

  The boy and girl turned and their eyes went wide. “The Hood!” they chorused.

  The whole line turned to gawk and murmur excitedly, but Augum didn’t care. Had Nana been captured? No, it couldn’t be.

  “Who—?” he repeated urgently.

  “The crone of course,” the boy said. “Heard she got captured.”

  Augum exchanged looks with Bridget and Leera.

  “Ain’t true,” said the girl, “heard she got captured but escaped. She’s a wily one.”

  “Yup, she escaped,” said an older boy further up the line. He casually wiggled his fingers in the air, one of which had an Exot ring on it. “Just got word from my commander.”

  “Oh,” the boy said. “Too bad.”

  Augum breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  “Can I have your autograph?” the girl asked, digging in her rucksack and retrieving a colorful quill and ink bottle.

  The boy rolled his eyes. “Lines moving, you ain’t got time.”

  She used Telekinesis to hover the ink bottle while she dipped the quill into it. She thrust a little book at Augum. “Right here, in my journal please.”

  Augum awkwardly took the quill. “Here?”

  “Yes, right there. My name is Maggie.”

  “Uh, okay …” He scribbled something and signed underneath.

  She yanked it from him and read it. “ ‘Hi Maggie’? Couldn’t have written something more—” She frowned. “Hey, you signed it as Augum Stone! What in the—” but she was suddenly yanked by the boy into the portal, held open by a bored-looking attendant.

  Augum felt a cold flush. Oops. There was no time to do anything about it as they were next in line and the attendant was waving them through. The trio jumped in.

  “He likes to jest like that,” Leera said quickly on the other side, shoving Augum past the boy and girl and out into the library entrance hall. “Nice one,” she muttered.

  Bridget gave him a Be more careful look as they strode as fast as they dared out of the library and over the drawbridge. Augum took one last glance back at the majestic converted castle, wondering if he’d live to see it again.

  Commoners milled in the streets. Bridget stopped at a stall and grabbed some food with the last dregs of her money—stringy hot beef on bread and a skin of water, but Augum could barely eat. His whole body buzzed nervously. It was like he was a swarm of bees.

  After eating, “Contact Caireen Lavo,” Bridget whispered into her sleeve, in which she clutched the Exot orb. “Are you in position yet?” She paused to listen to the reply. “How’s it looking?” Another pause. “All right, we’ll talk soon. Cease contact.” She glanced about as they marched on. “Place is brimming with guards,” she said in an undertone.

  “Good luck, Hood!” someone nearby called, one of many shout-outs Augum received as they walked the cobbled streets.

  “Avenge the girl!”

  “Kill that swine!”

  And so on. Augum tilted his head in acknowledgment of each one, but his thoughts were already focusing on the battle. He mentally ran through his spells, his tactics, everything they had practiced the night before in the Training Cavern, and of course, the plan.

  They heard the great arena before seeing it. The people stomped in the stands to the pounding of a drum. A chant boomed over the city. “LO-SERS SHALL! BEND THE KNEE! WI-NNERS FIND! ETER-NI-TY!”

  Soon they were at the entrance where a burly attendant shouted, “That’s The Hood! Let him by, you hear!” He gestured with giant hairy hands. “I said, move aside, you peasant loaves, he has to fight soon—”

  The crowd slowly parted for them to pass.

  “So sorry,” Bridget kept saying. “Excuse us. Sorry. Hi, sorry.”

  Leera just plowed forward with elbows out, declaring, “Coming through! Move it, people—”

  Augum followed in a daze, still trying to go over his spells. Yet it was difficult to focus. Nearby, the stands shook as the crowd roared. Combat was underway. He could barely breathe. His hands shook.

  Bridget paid the three silvers and they were admitted inside.

  “He’s late, bring him here!” a stubby gray-robed attendant called, which was convenient because the guards waved the trio by without searching them. Everyone else was searched for some reason.

  “Get to the dressing room as soon as you can, I’ll sign you in.”

  “What fight is this?” Bridget asked the attendant as Giovanni’s smooth voice echoed over the arena, commentating on the fight in sharp bursts.

  “3rd degree finals.” The attendant nodded at Augum. “He’s fighting next. Why in Sithesia did you not come earlier?”

  “Sorry, we slept in.”

  The man snorted as he impatiently waved them along.

  The trio shuffled by the stands but as planned, stopped to study the situation. The arena was decorated with colorful streamers and banners that fluttered in the chill wind alongside countless Legion flags. Dark and brooding clouds slid by silently overhead. The judge’s platform had been ext
ended, and a small podium added for presentations. Eight trophies were left, each a golden warlock figure reaching skyward. Legion guards were posted everywhere, including longbow archers with sharp crested helms.

  Bridget was surreptitiously talking into her sleeve, inaudible over the roaring crowd. In the center, two combatants tussled, each attack met with a wave of boos or cheers. Giovanni fluttered around them like a hummingbird, commenting on the battle. The arena was one great living entity, moving with the flow of combat.

  Augum studied the judge’s podium. There were a number of people standing on it watching the fight, only three of whom he could make out properly: Erika Scarson, wearing a red velvet robe and oversized earrings, a patronizing smirk on her heavily painted face; Vulica Vaneek, the ebony-skinned head examiner at the Antioc library, wearing a satin green robe and standing with arms crossed; and Martus the Black, Headmaster of the Canterran Academy of Iron, glaring with his coal eyes, bald pate reflecting torchlight. Not far behind them, Augum could make out towering figures wearing crimson armor, and his hands went clammy.

  The Red Guard. His father, the Lord of the Legion, was here somewhere. Part of him suddenly feared his father knew he was here. Maybe he was watching him in that moment, studying him. He knew it was irrational, but couldn’t help the thought from making him shudder.

  Bridget tugged on Augum’s sleeve and gave him a meaningful look before gesturing to follow. He nervously played with the reflecting prism in his pocket as they made their way down some steps, past a Legion guard who nodded at The Hood, through a doorway, and on into a dingy hall that would eventually lead them to the dressing room.

  They stopped a little ways down the dim and deserted corridor. Dust fell from the ceiling as the stands shook with muted roars.

  “Now remember,” Bridget whispered, “only reach for the rod once we have the portal up, and not until then. Leave the guards to us.”

  “Bridget will be in your head coaching,” Leera added, squeezing his hand. “While Caireen and I watch your back.”