by Sever Bronny
“And don’t use up all your arcane stamina either,” Bridget added. “Save some of it for after.” The girls were practically talking over each other by that point.
“And no Centarro unless—”
“And remember your promise—”
“—all right already.” Augum sighed, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “I got it, you two.” He couldn’t show them how truly scared he was though, how heavy his insides felt.
They swallowed but nodded. He could see the fear in their eyes. He could feel it in the slight trembling of their bodies. He forced a smile. “This is the craziest and probably stupidest thing we’ve ever attempted.” And probably the last.
They each smiled tentatively. Above, the crowd gave a roar. Muted announcements were made declaring a winner.
“Hold on,” Bridget said, a finger raised, the other hand in her pocket clutching the Exot orb. “Trophy ceremony commencing …” She listened for a while, nodding subtly. Her eyes found Augum’s. “Caireen reports the Lord of the Legion is presenting the winner a trophy …” She nodded. “Erika Scarson is handing over a bag of coin.” Suddenly she pumped her fist. “She has the divining rod!”
Augum and Leera exchanged relieved looks. The gamble had paid off. Above, the crowd whistled and cheered as a patriotic Legion song began.
Bridget withdrew her hand from her pocket and brought it to her lips, the Exot orb hidden in her sleeve. “All right, thanks, Caireen. Cease contact.” She brought her hands together, face flushed. “I suppose it’s time.”
Indeed. Augum gave them meaningful glances. “Let’s do this. Keep your hoods low and faces hidden,” and he led them to the deserted dressing room. He was immediately greeted by the cocoa-skinned Secretary Sharma, who was mumbling to herself and pacing to and fro.
“Thank the Unnameables, you made it,” she said upon spotting them, but Augum was barely listening, for behind her stood two figures in necrophyte robes.
“Thought you might have weaseled out,” Robin Scarson said with a sneer. He looked bigger, stronger. The veins were popping in his neck. His face was pointier, mottled hair a touch darker. But the nose was as crooked and broken as ever.
Temper cracked her hammy knuckles, watching them with that same stupid sneer. She made a sucking sound through her teeth.
Above, the song reached a wavering high note. Augum could make out the words. And so we battle for the glory of our Lord … Lord Sparkstone … for so he shall deliver us into … into eternity …
“Today I unleash my full potential,” Robin said quietly, playing with the Destiny Stone around his neck. “Today I become a legend.”
Augum glared from within the darkness of his hood. A small and crazy part of him wanted to attack there and then.
Robin chuckled. “Yeah, you clench your fists, kid. ‘The Hood’. What a joke. I’m going to rip that thing off your head and smash your face in. Then everybody can have a good look at the new you. I guarantee the Heralds are only going to write about me after that.”
Outside, the singing concluded on a somber note and Giovanni’s smooth voice took over. “Is everyone as excited as I am for the next match?”
The crowd cheered wildly. The ceiling shook from the stomping. Red clay dust settled on their black necrophyte robes.
“It’s time,” Secretary Sharma said, voice edged with tension.
Augum swallowed. Everything was moving too quickly.
The trio followed Secretary Sharma, taking up a position on one side halfway down the tunnel, Robin and Temper on the other. Augum spotted two Legion guards standing sentinel at the end of the tunnel, facing the crowd. The girls will have to deal with them, and Temper too. But they had discussed all that. What mattered now was the fight and the aftermath.
Especially the aftermath.
Giovanni’s voice boomed louder than ever, expertly drawing out the tension from the cheering crowd. “… widely considered the match of the tournament … are you ready … for the historical finals … of the 4th degree!” The crowd cheered and whistled.
Augum felt his whole body vibrate. He shook out his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet, channeling the gladiatorial mood of this dingy hall and an arena floor soaked with generations of warrior blood. Robin, seeing him do it, did the same, adding a twisting neck flex.
“These two contenders are well matched,” Giovanni continued. “You’ve read all about them in the Herald. You’ve seen them vanquish their foes. The first needs no introduction. He has knocked out three of the four contestants he has faced, and you all know what happened to the fourth—” The crowd was a mix of boos and cheers.
“Easy peasy, baby,” Temper said, massaging Robin’s shoulders.
“He comes all the way from Blackhaven, and is surely destined for greatness. Mentored by none other than the Lord of the legion himself, who graces us today with his presence—” The crowd cheered and saluted with cries of, “Hail the Legion!” Augum pictured his demented father nodding his head in acknowledgment.
“They fear his name … they fear his face and his arcane strength … he wields the fire element as sharply as he does necromancy … please give a hearty welcome to the one, the only … Robin … ‘The Tormentor’ … Scarsooooooon—!”
The crowd was on its feet as Robin jogged out. Temper followed him to the edge of the tunnel, where she remained.
Bridget grabbed Augum’s arm and made him face her. “Remember your promise.”
“I will.”
Giovanni’s voice returned. “And now for his opponent …”
Bridget grabbed Augum’s other arm and gave him a firm shake. “You can do this. I know you can. Concentrate. Take it to the next level.” She drew him into a tight hug. “I’ll be out there with you in your head,” she whispered into his ear. “Follow your instincts and … good luck.”
He could barely talk, his throat had suddenly closed up. “You too.” He squeezed her tighter before letting go. What kind of penalty will the library inflict upon her for casting a borrowed scroll? He was terrified for her, but also awed by her bravery and sacrifice.
“… representing the Lightning element …”
Augum turned to face Leera as Bridget stepped away to give them space. For a moment they just stared at each other, until Leera suddenly drew him close. Her fingers dug into him as she squeezed. They held one another, each nuzzling into the other’s neck.
“… Augustus … ‘The Hood’ … Westwoooooood—!”
“I love you,” she whispered into his ear.
“I love you too,” he instantly replied. He had wanted to say it for so long, before it was too late. If he was going to leave this life, it was going to be with her hearing him say it. They were young, so wretchedly and inadequately young. But it mattered not, for he loved her with every ounce of his being, and that love made him want to survive more than anything else.
The crowd was roaring. He gently kissed her on the lips before slowly letting her go, feeling her slip through his fingers as he walked backward.
There they stood, Bridget and Leera, watching him with proud and fearful tear-stained faces. Behind him, the crowd chanted, “HOOD! HOOD! HOOD!”
He gave a final firm nod to the girls, turned, and jogged out to meet his destiny.
In the Moment
The arena crackled with energy, the crowd a beast with thousands of faces, its roar deafening and constant. Giovanni brought Augum and Robin close, a hand on each of their shoulders. He carefully explained the rules, but Augum could barely hear anything past the blood rushing through his head, past the thunder of the crowd, past the fear of the unknown. He kept his hood hanging low as his body swayed to the rhythm of coming battle.
“Remember, these are the finals, folks,” Giovanni said, straightening, “which means live weapons and no time limit—”
Augum was so focused on Robin he was barely aware as two sharp-edged weapon racks were wheeled out.
“A win can only be achieved by knockou
t, first-to-five points, or a bent knee—” Giovanni wanted to say more, but there was no stopping the crowd. “LO-SERS SHALL! BEND THE KNEE! WI-NNERS FIND! ETER-NI-TY!” The chant was the loudest thing Augum had ever heard. It thrummed in time to his own heart hammering against his anvil chest.
“Watch for any dirty tricks,” Bridget coached into his mind. He could see her and Leera in his peripheral vision on one side of the tunnel, Temper on the other. Bridget’s sleeve covered her mouth. “Use your Shield as much as you can, it’s your best defense.”
Robin was glaring at him, mouthing silent threats, but Augum was too focused to care. He did not hear the crowd anymore. He swayed from foot to foot, hands clenching and unclenching, barely conscious of his arm rings flaring and disappearing with each fist that he made. The whole arena seemed to sway with him. His whole life swayed with him.
“Robin Scarson … any last words for your opponent?”
“He’s so scared he can’t even look me in the eye—” Robin said in an arcanely amplified voice. The crowd was a mix of boos and sniggers.
“And Augustus Westwood … any final words for your opponent?”
Augum stopped swaying. The moment he had been envisioning in his mind’s eye countless times had arrived. Without hesitation, he reached up and slowly pulled his hood back, raising his chin to meet Robin’s shocked gaze.
“That’s not my name.”
The crowd suddenly hushed.
“My name is Augum Stone.”
The noise of the crowd erupted into a cacophonous mix of outrage, hysteria, and wild cheering. It gave Augum courage, made his muscles tighten, the blood race hot through his veins. It made him feel strong.
Augum glanced up to see a figure shove past others on the judge’s podium—a tall and hulking figure in matte black Dreadnought armor adorned with skulls and spikes. A heavy cloak hung from his back, held together by a golden chain in front. The helm was sharp, a towering crimson plume jutting from it. Six globes of various colors floated around him, sparkling in the torchlight.
He could feel the power of the scions all the way from the arena floor. It was a subtle pull, warping the space around his father, the Lord of the Legion.
Giovanni looked around, unsure what to make of this development.
Augum stole his gaze from his father to stare Robin Scarson down. There was the slightest trace of fear in the murderer’s eyes. Perhaps a memory of their last fight. But then those eyes—full of malice and arrogance—narrowed, and Robin Scarson smiled.
“You’ve made my dreams come true,” he whispered. Then he raised his fist and boomed, “Now they will write about me, for I’ll show you the might of the Legion!”
When the roar died down, Augum turned to the crowd, channeling his ancestor, Atrius Arinthian. “The Resistance is real, but my father’s golden promises are not.” He could hardly believe he had said it. “Eternal life cannot be brought back from Ley—I have seen it with my own eyes! What my father means is he’ll turn you into the undead, as he is already doing in the field!”
The crowd was a confused roar. Augum felt his chest heave. He expected to be struck down any moment, but his father only stood there, watching … hesitating! Augum turned round slowly as he faced down the crowd. “Help the Resistance overcome the evil that you know in your hearts has plagued this kingdom. Help us bring justice and peace to Solia!” He did not sound like himself. He sounded confident, strong … like a leader. It was an unfamiliar feeling. As a final gesture, he tore off the necrophyte robe, leaving him in simple linen pants and shirt. Leaving him, appropriately, he thought, in peasant garb. He tossed the robe aside like a rag and raised a fist, roaring the last words. “Join us … join THE RESISTANCE!”
The crowd was on its feet, the vast majority shouting in praise. Some were crying, a few pointing and cursing menacingly. Augum suddenly realized something—together they were strong. Together they could cheer. Together they could make their voices heard. And there they were, the people, resisting. The crowd roared in response.
“Well done,” Bridget said into his head. “We’re proud of you over here. You can do this, Aug. You can do this!”
Giovanni glanced up at the Lord of the Legion, who was now flanked by his Red Guards, the plume on his helm swaying in the wind along with the mammoth flag behind him. Soon the crowd watched their lord, as did his own soldiers. Even the judges faced him—everyone waited to see his reaction.
Black clouds trawled silently overhead, amplifying the quiet heaviness of the moment.
The Lord of the Legion clenched his fists as he swept his subjects with eyes hidden behind a thin helm slit. “My son is a fool,” he said in a deep and booming voice louder than Giovanni’s. “A fool misguided by the crone. A brainwashed fool cajoled into lying on behalf of the crone.”
“Let him fight!” someone called from the stands.
“Yes, let him fight!” someone else said. Soon the whole crowd was chanting, “LET HIM FIGHT! LET HIM FIGHT!”
The Lord of the Legion raised his chin slightly as he held up a steel-gloved hand, and the crowd went silent. The space around him shifted subtly. He held their attention before ceremoniously inclining his head once … and the crowd cheered.
The fight was on.
Augum narrowed his eyes at Robin, more ready than he had ever been. His battle stance and sway unconsciously returned.
Giovanni cleared his throat, the first hint of nervousness Augum had heard from the man. “We are witnessing living history before our eyes, folks.” He ceremoniously gestured at Robin with both hands. “The young and future heart of the Legion.” He swung his arms the other way. “Versus the heart of the Resistance.” The crowd cheered wildly. “Now as the ancient Arcaner tradition of honorable combat demands, combatants … bow and show your stripes!”
Augum allowed his four lightning rings to flare brightly, and maintained them. He enjoyed hearing them crackle menacingly. He inclined his head only slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on Robin.
Robin’s four fiery rings burst to life. “You end here and now,” and scowled without bowing.
Giovanni pointed at Augum. “Are you ready?”
Augum flexed his jaw and gave a single nod.
Giovanni pointed the other way. “And are you—” but Robin’s eyes twinkled as he shoved at the air, shouting, “BAKA!”
Yet Augum had been ready, already suspecting Robin might try something like that. He instantly summoned his hard lightning shield and leaned in. Robin’s Push spell was strong, making a deep thunk sound, but Augum held firm.
The crowd came alive as Giovanni hollered, “And they’re off—!”
“Side attack!” Bridget said in his head.
Augum pivoted as a spear streaked from one of the racks, bouncing off his shield with a dull clang.
“Disablo!” Robin shouted, adding a dramatic flick of his wrist.
Augum’s shield disappeared. Without missing a beat, he countered by pointing at Robin’s head. “FLUSTRATO!” Robin gasped and took a step back, face registering shock from the strength of the confusion attack. He fought it off, but doing so gave Augum time to draw a precise outline in the air.
“Summano elementus minimus!” A lightning elemental crackled into existence before him. Augum pointed at Robin. “Elementus—ATTACK!” The waist-high elemental charged.
“DUCK!” Bridget’s voice shouted in Augum’s mind. He ducked just as another spear whistled by his head. He had not seen Robin make any gesture.
“Someone else made that attack—!” Bridget said.
“ANNIHILO!” Robin shouted, obliterating the elemental with an explosive fireball that singed the dirt and sent a wave of heat Augum’s way.
“A smoldering start!” Giovanni said in rapid tones as the crowd roared in agreement. “Still zero-zero, but we’re seeing rabid attacks from both sides—!”
Augum used his newest trick—he used both arms to point at two short swords from the two opposing racks and had them zip at Robin.
One thunked off his shield, the other grazed his shoulder, slicing the robe but, apparently, not his skin.
“Oh that would have been a point under any other circumstances!” Giovanni boomed, “but these are the finals, folks, and the judges are not going to give points out lightly—”
Robin pointed at Augum’s throat. “Vikari vikarei!”
Augum felt his throat burning. “BAKA!” he shouted, spoiling the spell by forcing Robin to raise his fire shield. Augum followed up with a combo—first he flicked his wrist, snapping, “Disablo!” and Robin’s shield flamed out, then he quickly slammed his wrists together. “ANNIHILO!” A jagged blast of lightning cracked into Robin’s torso and slammed him against the arena wall. He slithered to the dirt with a groan, grabbing his stomach. Yet Augum was amazed to see him slowly return to his feet. Any other person would have been terribly wounded from such a powerful strike, or at least winded!
“Surely that should be a point—” Giovanni said, but the board still showed zero-zero. “There seems to be some disagreement with the judges—”
Both Augum and Robin briefly looked up to see Erika Scarson and Vulika Vaneek smirking with crossed arms as Martus the Black yelled at them, apparently to no avail. The crowd showed its disdain with a chorus of boos. Some necrophytes though, the Legion diehards, cheered wildly.
“Looks like you’re going to have to go for a knock-out,” Bridget said into his mind.
Augum wasn’t surprised, he just hadn’t thought the cheating would be so obvious.
Robin, whose robe was charred and smoking in the area of his stomach, made a grand sweeping gesture at Augum, shouting, “CLOSS PESTI!” summoning a swarm of wasps.
Augum, seeing Robin’s vision was blocked, sprinted at him. He shoved at the air twice. “Baka! BAKA!” and the swarm was blown apart just as Augum launched himself into the air with a flying leap kick, reappearing beyond the bees. There was an instant in which Augum saw a stupid, incredulous look on Robin’s face before Augum’s boot smashed into it. Robin had taken it square in the chin. His head smacked the wall with a thunk while Augum rebounded to the dirt, rolled, and jumped to his feet.