Legend (The Arinthian Line Book 5)

by Sever Bronny

  LEGEND

  The Arinthian Line: Book Five

  By Sever Bronny

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or deceased, establishments of any kind, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Bronny, Sever, 1979-, author

  Legend / Sever Bronny.

  (The Arinthian line ; book five)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-0-9937676-8-5 (softcover).--ISBN ISBN 978-0-9937676-9-2 (ebook)

  I. Title. II. Series: Bronny, Sever, 1979- . Arinthian line ; bk. 5.

  PS8603.R652L46 2016 C813'.6

  C2016-907979-1 C2016-907980-5

  Version 1.0

  Copyright ©2017 Sever Bronny Ltd. All Rights reserved. Map and cover by author using creative commons and commercial licensing. “Clash” cover font by Steve Deffeyes, deffeyes.com. For information about permission to reproduce certain portions of this work, please contact the author at severbronny@gmail.com or via www.severbronny.com

  Forest Stalkers

  Rather than a rabbit, it was death that had ensnared itself in one of Augum Stone’s traps.

  “Well that’s certainly bigger than a raccoon,” Augum muttered, hands resting on the top of his bow. “Second one in a tenday.”

  “Third,” Leera Jones corrected.

  Right, one had fallen down a pit trap south of town. A hunter found it impaled and writhing on a spike. Walkers were turning up everywhere now, not just near their village. It was a worrying trend.

  With cocked heads, the two of them stared at the creature that had begun wildly flailing the moment it had spotted them through the sparse evergreens.

  “Looks freshly raised,” Augum noted. The skin hadn’t turned black yet and the clothes weren’t torn to strips.

  Leera nodded slowly. “Doesn’t even look like it’s been buried.”

  “Think it’s a man?” It was hard to tell. Faces changed after being raised. Some go sallow, some widen, some get a stretched waxy look. And that’s when they’re still fresh, like this one. With every passing day, the rot only hastened … as did the smell.

  “It’s wearing a dress, Aug.”

  “Could be a robe.”

  “And the pink hair ribbon?”

  He sighed, adjusting his stance on the spongy moss. “I must be tired.” Unnoticed details could get them killed. He had pushed himself in training that morning and probably should have stopped hunting earlier. Except people were starving from the famine and depended on them, for the villagers could not defend themselves against the walkers like the trio could.

  He glanced into the sack at his side. Two rabbits and a possum. Not even enough to feed their own household.

  Leera elbowed him. “I think she likes you.”

  “Gross.”

  “Look. Her eyes are saying, ‘Augum, come close so I can munch on your sweet flesh’. I’m actually getting a little jealous.”

  Augum stared into the walker’s blood-black eyes, eyes that were hungry and vicious. He gave Leera a skeptical look. “I think you need some sleep too.”

  “What, you mean joking about a deadly live corpse isn’t normal?”

  He said nothing as the creature furiously swiped at the air, its jaws clacking.

  She gave an exasperated sigh that blew strands of hair away from her face. “It’s called gallows humor. You should be used to it by now.”

  He was. “Looks about three days old.”

  “How can you tell?”

  He flicked his fingers idly. “Clothes are soggy from the rain. Lack of bloating. All the hair is there. No bones peeking. And she’s only lost a few teeth so far.”

  “Maybe she lost those before she was raised.”

  “Mmm.”

  The gaunt walker bared its remaining teeth as it strained against the snare, never ceasing its vicious swipes. Yet the rope around its ankle held firm. Augum wasn’t worried. As fast as the walker was, if the rope snapped, he still had a couple heartbeats to obliterate it into smithereens—one heartbeat to focus the First Offensive, and another to smack his wrists together and cast the spell. Less if he was particularly sharp.

  Since they began learning the legendary spell Annocronomus Tempusari—otherwise known as Cron—he measured everything in heartbeats. Not that he had successfully cast Cron yet. None of the trio had, not once in the entire four months since their return from the Antioc Classic warlock tournament. Four months of grueling, disheartening and harrowing training. All of them looked forward to seeing what it would be like to reverse time, even if it was for only a few heartbeats. But once success did come, each heartbeat lost in the confines of the spell would result in their bodies aging, and who knew what other side effects. Exactly how much they aged was the great question.

  Hence, details were vital.

  Leera ran a hand through unkempt raven hair that hung just past her chin. “Don’t waste an arrow.”

  “But I’m good at wasting arrows.” Augum massaged his sore left elbow, its slightly crooked bend a permanent reminder of his narrow escape from the Antioc Classic warlock tournament. No healer had been able to repair it properly, but it was a small price to pay considering they now had the divining rod, an artifact that the Lord of the Legion had specially created to track down the scions. He had used that rod to chase Mrs. Stone around Sithesia … until Augum brazenly stole it at the tournament.

  “Maybe if you could learn to move on instead of clinging to the past.” Leera nodded at the bow. “You don’t need that thing anyway. You never will again. You’re a warlock. Embrace it. Besides, Bridget’s an arcane archer now.”

  Augum hooked the bow over one shoulder. True, his damaged elbow hardly affected anything else. He could continue to set snares, or if he felt the need for hunting, there was always Telekinesis. Perhaps he was being a little stubborn. And yes, Bridget was turning out to be quite the good shot with her summonable earthen bow.

  “Besides, you can’t kill it with just an ordinary arrow.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “I don’t know …”

  She punched his shoulder. “Sarcastic jerk.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “Fair’s fair.”

  She returned the smile. “Oh, fair’s fair?”

  “Uh huh.”

  She sighed and leaned up against him, watching the walker struggle. “Could have been us.”

  “Could have …”

  He readied his mind for the First Offensive, only to stop short of casting the spell.

  She straightened and looked at him with her dark eyes. “What is it?”

  “Ever honing that sixth sense of yours.”

  “I can always tell when something’s up. I know you, Augum Stone.”

  He smiled. “You do.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s wearing jewelry.”

  Leera glanced at the struggling walker. “It’s just a bracelet.”

  “ ‘Just a bracelet.’ You’re wearing a bracelet.”

  Leera raised the cuff of her royal blue apprentice robe and lovingly passed the lapis lazuli-set silver chain between her fingers. “This isn’t just any bracelet.”

  “Darn right it isn’t.” Augum and Bridget had made it for her fifteenth birthday with the help of Mr. Okeke and Mr. Goss. Augum had presented it to her after a grand supper. Then he stole her away for a kiss.

  She noticed him staring. “You’
re hesitating.”

  He licked a finger and wiped a sliver of mud from her freckled cheek. “I am.” As beautiful as ever, this girl he had fallen in love with.

  “Can’t believe I’m the one who has to remind you to focus. Look at you, you’re still hesitating. It’s only jewelry. You’ve got to stop thinking about the kind of person they were. They’re not human anymore.” She flicked her wrist at the walker. “They’re gone already. Just a husk, a monster, death in the flesh.”

  He nodded reluctantly. They listened to the trees sway in the light breeze, to the walker clacking its jaws in frustration, to the whoosh of its arms tearing at the air.

  “Oh for—” Leera raised an arm. “Paralizo carcusa cemente.” The creature froze mid-swipe. Leera massaged her shoulder. “Love that spell.”

  Paralyze was a wonderful and useful spell. In fact, Augum loved the entire 5th degree, as difficult as it had been to learn. Yet the 6th would be even tougher …

  Leera hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her robe. “Well?”

  He sighed. Might as well practice too. He flexed his right arm. “Summano arma.” There was a ripping sound as a long sword made of pure lightning crackled to life in his fist. It was half as heavy as a regular steel sword and much more potent. He had practiced this new 5th degree elemental spell so much it felt like an extension of his arm. He had become as fluid with it as with the Shield spell. The only unfortunate part was his mediocre swordsmanship.

  Leera gave an appreciative nod. “Good cast.”

  Augum marched up to the paralyzed walker, unconsciously summoning his hard lightning shield on his left arm and four lightning rings around his right. His face contorted in concentration for only a moment before he struck the pitiful creature down with a sizzling hiss of his arcane blade. The undead woman collapsed in a heap of bones and flesh, never to continue its sole quest of murder. Augum’s shield, arm stripes and sword disappeared as he kneeled beside the thing.

  “May you rest in peace, mystery woman,” he whispered.

  “Sorry?” Leera said, traipsing over.

  “Nothing.” He hesitantly searched the pockets of the dress for clues, finding a damp letter.

  “What’s it say?” Leera asked.

  He unfolded the parchment.

  “You tore it.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He placed the torn parchment on the ground and put his hands over it, focusing on the arcane semantics and visuals necessary for a successful casting. “Apreyo.” The parchment reformed with a gentle light.

  The words were difficult to read, having blurred from moisture. He may be able to repair them too, but figured it wasn’t worth his time and energy.

  “ ‘Husband, fare thee well, for I have affronted that insect woman. Take the children south and be fleet of foot. Goodbye, my love. Goodbye, my darlings. Goodbye, my life.’ ”

  Leera grimaced. “Insect woman. Huh.”

  Augum traced the last words with a muddy finger. “She didn’t even get a chance to deliver it.”

  Leera gently wrapped her arms around his chest and placed her head on his shoulder. She needn’t say anything. She felt it as heavily as he did. And no clever jest or witty word would chase away the melancholy that was the reality of this day and age.

  Behemoth

  As Augum and Leera strolled through the forest on their way back to the quaint village of Milham, a distinct acrid odor reached them. It was the smell of burning thatch, which instantly raised the hair on the back of Augum’s neck, for it called up the harrowing memory of two dear-to-his-heart villages burning—Willowbrook and Sparrow’s Perch.

  Augum exchanged a horrified look with Leera before both broke into a sprint. Evergreen branches whipped their faces as they tore through the underbrush. A shrub Augum crashed through yanked the bow from his grip, but he charged on without retrieving it, allowing the quiver of arrows to fall away as well. Leera was right; he didn’t need a bow anymore. His destiny lay in the arcane arts, and the blood that roared through his veins only confirmed that.

  As tiny cuts opened on his cheeks from the branches, a harrowing realization struck him—the Legion was here! Would the evacuation be underway now? The village council had begun carefully planning it when the Resistance was formalized, yet he knew all too well how even the best-laid plans could easily fall apart in the thick of battle, especially when dealing with warlocks. Hopefully the defensive plans were working, though it seemed Mrs. Stone and Secretary Klines’ protective enchantments weren’t.

  Augum brought his Exot ring to his lips as he ran. “Contact Bridget Burns. Bridge, what’s going on?” Why hadn’t she contacted them yet?

  Her gasping voice burst into his brain. “Some kind of sudden attack—” There was a brief shriek, then, “ANNIHILO!”

  “We’re on our way, just hang in there!”

  “Hurry back, you two, we need hel—”

  “Bridge? Bridge!”

  “To the right!” Leera shouted, panting. She and Augum changed direction toward a smoky haze visible above the treetops.

  Milham was on fire! No, no, no!

  Suddenly Augum spotted something bright through the trees ahead. It was fire—except it was moving.

  It was a burning sword!

  Augum crashed through the bushes, Leera just behind. Before them, defending himself against a walker, was the red-haired Legion-turned-Resistance-fighter Lieutenant Briggs, wearing his dusty black Legion plate and carrying a Legion-issued sword and shield. Somehow, the undead skeleton he battled possessed a burning blade and was wielding it with staggering proficiency. And if that wasn’t enough, it was using its shield just as effectively, as if it was a trained warrior. Augum had never seen a walker move so fluidly, nor wield a blade so expertly. It wore ancient rusting armor with holes that gave glimpses of its ribcage.

  Briggs, gasping and sweating profusely, was slowly backing away, parrying or counter-striking. Yet each thrust was met with the creature’s shield. A small farmhouse was on fire a ways behind them, just beyond the arcane protective boundary cast by Mrs. Stone.

  Augum slammed his wrists together. “ANNIHILO!” His body tensed from the arcane surge that manifested between his hands, before exploding forth in a vicious bolt of lightning that smashed through the walker’s shield, instantly vaporizing it and the undead arm that held it. The walker took no notice, continuing to swing its hissing blade.

  Leera shoved at the air. “BAKA!” and the one-armed creature was sent hurtling into the trunk of a tall spruce, collapsing in a heap at its base. She quickly followed up with “ANNIHILO!” sending a fiercely sharp jet of water searing its way. Amazingly, the creature rolled aside, dodging the strike, which gouged a clean hole in the trunk.

  “What the—” Leera said. “How’d it do that?”

  Lieutenant Briggs fell down to one knee, gasping and holding his side. It was then Augum saw that he was injured. By the charring on his armor, he had to have been struck by the burning blade.

  The walker nimbly sprang to its feet. There was something different about the way it moved. It was fluid, as if … and then it occurred to Augum what the walker’s movements reminded him of—Fentwick set on expert difficulty. Fentwick was the animated suit of armor from Castle Arinthian. They were able to train against it on various difficulty levels, from beginner to expert. It was ancient arcanery.

  As a test, Augum made the sudden wrist-slapping motion to cast the First Offensive at the walker, but didn’t follow through on the spell. As he suspected, it made a cat-like anticipatory dodge, then, as if realizing nothing was going to come of the attack, it shot forth in a wobbly sprint, unbalanced by the missing arm.

  Augum fluidly switched his arcane mindset and raised an arm. “Paralizo carcusa cemente.” The undead thing froze mid-stride and slammed into the dirt, stiff as a board.

  Leera strode over, four watery rings appearing around her right forearm. “Summano arma.” A short sword made from rapidly oscillating water appeared in her closed fist. Sh
e sliced off the creature’s head with a zip, her sword disappearing after. Interestingly, the walker’s burning blade disappeared too.

  “Did you see that?” Leera said. “It cast the same spell as us!” She warily circled the smoking creature. “Aug, it cast Summon Weapon. That’s impossible! I mean, obviously not since it happened, but …” She kept shaking her head. “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand …”

  Augum helped Briggs stand. “Sir, you’re hurt.”

  “I shall be fine.” Briggs swallowed, hard eyes distant. “They’re attacking from all sides, Augum. All sides.”

  Augum handed over the sack of hunted animals for Briggs to pass along. “I’ll send Jengo.” Jengo would easily be able to heal the man as he had come a long way in the healing arts.

  “Let’s go.” Augum and Leera tore into the village of thatched log cabins, nestled amongst the pines and firs of East Ravenwood. People were running to and fro in a panic, some clutching children, others scythes and pitchforks serving as makeshift weapons. There were numerous fires along the outer edge of town.

  “Thank the Unnameables, there you are—!”

  They turned to see Jengo Okeke run up to them. The gangly ebony-skinned Sierran was dressed in a traditional burgundy apprentice robe that had been specially fitted for his towering frame, presented to him at an Advancement Ceremony not too long ago.

  His words tumbled out in a rush. “This is it we’re done for I knew this would happen I told everyone it was only a matter of time until our doom was upon us and now they’re here and everyone’s in trouble and dying and oh no I didn’t know battle was like this at all I’m not sure I can—”

  Leera snagged his flailing limbs. “Stop it, get a grip! You sound like Devon. Now tell us what’s going on. Where’s Bridget? Where’s Mrs. Stone? Is the Legion here?”

  “I don’t know I don’t know I just heard fighting and I ran and I bumped into a thing with a fiery sword and I ran away it almost cut me down—”

  “Jengo!” Augum snapped. “Lieutenant Briggs needs your help. He’s just beyond that clump of trees there, by the burning farm. Go to him, all right?”