Legend (The Arinthian Line Book 5)

by Sever Bronny

  Haylee blocked out the reddening sun shining from the west. “I dub it … Crate Mountain.”

  Augum snorted a laugh. Then he thought of something. “Hey, you remember much of last night?”

  “Only a bit. Got a little … tipsy. Chaska had to help me home. I was so sick this morning, yuck …”

  “You remember Bowlander being inappropriate?”

  “Honestly, not really. I remember him being pretty funny though. Chaska did mention you had a thing or two to say to him. But yeah, I don’t remember much past the jokes, sorry.” She glanced over at him. “Actually, Chaska was pretty mad at me today, but he wouldn’t really—” She made a vague gesture. “—say why.”

  You don’t say, Augum thought, remembering how he felt the same way and hadn’t been able to elaborate with the girls. He thought of Bowlander’s smarmy smile and unconsciously dug his nails into his palm.

  Suddenly there was a cry as Mr. Haroun started climbing Crate Mountain. His wife was trying to swat at him, shouting, “Hanad! What are you doing? Get down off of there, you’ll kill yourself! Hanaaad!” but Mr. Haroun waved his wife away. Once he was on top of the highest crate, he raised his hands, his plain cream robe illuminated a bright crimson in the fading sunset. A great golden sash indicating he was a town elder flashed in the sun when it caught certain angles.

  “May I have everyone’s attention, please! Attention!”

  The crowd quieted down and turned toward Mr. Haroun.

  “Good. Thank you for your cooperation and patience. It has been a very trying day for all of us. We have lost our homes, our land, and our way of life, but let us not lose our heads as well.”

  There was some nervous chortling among the crowd.

  “Instead, let us adapt. Now, to answer the most prevalent questions, no, your soul has not been stolen by the teleportation; no, you will not be eternally damned—”

  There was scattered laughter.

  “—no, the Legion does not know you are here; no, the castle is not haunted; yes, you are quite safe here, that I assure you; yes, we are aware of the food situation and have planned for it; and no, you will not be able to return to Milham, and here is why—the enchantments that currently protect Milham will soon be dispelled and the buildings torched.”

  There was a cry of anguish at this news, but Mr. Haroun merely raised a hand, begging for patience.

  “I understand this may be shocking, but I assure you the reasoning is sound. This way, the Legion will believe the town to have been destroyed by the undead, some of which, as you know, wield burning swords. The Legion will assume all who have survived will have fled into the woods, or have themselves been turned into undead.”

  There were grudging nods.

  “We will begin new lives here in the castle together. Let us make ourselves as useful to the Resistance as possible. Also, please understand that this castle is ancient and arcanely infused, meaning it may behave oddly at times. I assure you it is not haunted! What will appear as ghostly manifestations is mere basic arcanery. To us Ordinaries, this of course looks strange and frightening. If you have any questions, find myself, Constable Clouds, or a warlock.”

  The crowd stirred but seemed to accept their town elder’s words.

  A hand abruptly rose from the crowd. “Excuse me, Mr. Haroun.”

  Heads bobbed as people searched for the source of the voice. After seeing who it was, Augum’s brows rose.

  “Yes, Miss Burns?”

  “May I come up? I’d like to say something.”

  “Oh, uh—”

  “—Hanad, she’ll fall and kill herself—”

  “—I am sure the warlocks present would not permit such a thing, Selma. Come on up, dear Bridget.”

  Bridget expertly scaled Crate Mountain as people muttered.

  “See the three of them stagger out last night?” someone whispered near Augum.

  “Sure did.”

  Bridget stood at the top and gave a small wave. “Uh, hi,” she said in a tremulous voice. “I haven’t, uh, met many of you officially or anything. Um. I’m nervous, but, I just wanted to extend a sincere apology on behalf of myself, Leera and Augum. We, uh, we behaved in an inappropriate manner last night, when the town was in mourning. We are so very, very sorry. It will not happen again.”

  Augum gaped. He had never seen Bridget do anything remotely like that. And as he continued to gape stupidly, people began to clap, some shouting things like, “We forgive you!” and “You still be heroes, all of you!” and even, “You deserve to have fun too now and then!” It took Augum a moment to realize the last one had been shouted by Bowlander.

  “Very well done, thank you, Bridget,” Mr. Haroun said. “I am proud to see teenagers taking responsibility for their actions.” He gave a pointed look at his daughter, Malaika, who crossed her arms and harrumphed. And while Bridget clambered back down, Mr. Haroun raised his arms again.

  “Now, the Resistance is doing everything in its power to understand what is happening to our poor Solia. But in the mean, you will be safe in Castle Arinthian, which is the ancient home to Mrs. Stone and Augum’s ancestors. By all known rights, the castle belongs to these two intrepid heroes of the kingdom. Please treat them with the proper courtesies as they have inherited the burden of custody, among many other burdens, as you know.”

  Many people turned to Augum and clapped. He felt his cheeks flush with awkwardness. As Mr. Haroun spoke on, he received a gentle elbow to the ribs, and turned to see Leera smiling at him.

  “Custodian of the Castle,” she said. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  He snorted. “Hey, see Bridget?”

  “Right? It’s that Attyla the Mighty blood we keep talking about. She’s got it, all right.”

  He placed an arm around her neck and drew her near, absently kissing the top of her head while paying attention to what Mr. Haroun said. He hadn’t realized how big of a moment this was until now. His heart thumped against his chest knowing his ancient ancestral home was going to be full of life again! Above all, the village had forgiven them for being so callous, and that meant a lot.

  Mr. Haroun gestured at the crimson horizon. “Even though the sun is setting on our old life, tomorrow it will rise to a new one. Let us work together to make our new home feel like a home. Here we will rebuild, and we will thrive. To the Resistance!”

  “The Resistance!” the crowd shouted before devolving into clapping and whistling.

  “May the Unnameables keep you and your beloved safe and healthy!” a nearby village woman yelled.

  “Aww,” Leera cooed, nuzzling into Augum’s neck.

  “Hail to the heroic trio!” a sooty-faced man shouted.

  “Hurrah!” the crowd responded.

  “Thank you,” Augum said to them, holding Leera close.

  A hand pressed Augum’s shoulder. It was Bridget, and she had a bittersweet look on her face.

  “Well if it isn’t Miss Big Speech,” Augum said, nodding proudly.

  She shrugged. “I felt it had to be done.”

  “Hail to the legendary Anna Atticus Stone!” the sooty-faced man called.

  “Hurrah!”

  Mrs. Stone’s silver brows rose up her forehead in surprise, but she did smile and incline her head in thanks. Only then did Augum realize she had been watching from nearby.

  “Hail to Castle Arinthian!”

  “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” and again, more whistling and loud cheering and clapping. It was all quite unexpected, and Augum couldn’t help but smile and acknowledge these hopeful people with a nod of the head to every single person who made eye contact with him. It appeared their awful blunder from the night before had been all but forgotten.

  Mr. Haroun raised both hands one last time. “And now, my wonderful dear ladies and men of gentle hearts, children and elders, warlocks and apprentices … please follow us as we enter Castle Arinthian, our new home!”

  Resurrection

  As a symbolic gesture of leadership,
Mr. Haroun led the way to the castle with Mrs. Stone on his arm. Her back was hunched as she pawed at the ground with her staff. The trio, Haylee, Chaska and Jengo walked immediately behind them, followed by everyone else—a great throng of gawking, neck-craning, anxious, tired and dusty people. They left Crate Mountain behind to be dismantled later.

  “The castle is majestic, Augum,” Jengo said, towering head and shoulders above everyone else. “I just hope it’ll hold against the Legion.”

  “Me too,” Augum whispered. Would this be where they faced his father in an epic final showdown?

  Mrs. Stone telekinetically opened the doors with two waves of her hand, one for each door. Then she did the same to the interior doors.

  “I’ve always wanted to come here,” Haylee whispered to Chaska. She tugged on his arm. “This is our new home! We’re going to live in a castle, can you believe it?”

  “Father prefers the outdoors,” Chaska said. Yet his eyes wandered over the ancient tapestries, the carvings, and the stonework.

  The tall Henawa elder everyone referred to as Achishi Zafu—Honored Elder in the Henawa tongue—remained near his son. He had longer hair than Chaska, but it was just as straight and white. His skin was wrinkled and the color of milk, yet it was the elder’s chin that was his defining feature—it was sharp, proud and strong, and he was once heard to utter that his son had been lucky to inherit such a “great Henawa war chin”.

  Chaska glanced tentatively at his old man. “Father, I will build you a shop here. I will help tend it if I must.”

  “This stone house. We are Henawa. We live under sun, moon, stars. We build outside.”

  “As you wish, Father. In the bailey it is.”

  Haylee glanced at the two of them happily. “And I’ll help you organize the shop.”

  The Henawa elder said nothing, but he did give the slightest nod, which seemed to cheer Haylee immensely. It was well known he wanted his son to find a Henawa woman. Had he been changing his tune of late?

  Mr. Haroun climbed a few steps before turning to the assembled throng and opening both arms. “This is the grand foyer. Now, there are careful instructions for everyone. Constable Clouds will address you with the details.”

  Mr. Haroun stepped aside as Devon helped his father make his way up the steps. The large man then turned around, wheezing and wiping his sweaty cheeks and forehead. He was wearing his usual loose black Legion robe.

  “First of all, I’d like to thank our esteemed and gallant warlocks for helping with this transition,” Clouds began, breathing heavily. “Mrs. Stone, Ms. Terse, Secretary Klines—please take a bow.”

  The crowd clapped politely. Mrs. Stone, as usual when it came to public receptions, seemed stiff and uncomfortable.

  Augum glanced around looking for Klines and Ms. Terse, but was unable to see them anywhere.

  Mr. Haroun whispered into Constable Clouds’ ear.

  Clouds nodded. “Ah, it seems that Ms. Terse and Secretary Klines have already teleported away, though this time to bring the necessary emergency food supplies we have had prepared for this day. We wish them safe passage in these troubled times.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement, some making pious gestures to the Unnameables.

  “Now, as I recall from the castle map drawn for me by Mrs. Stone—” He searched his pockets. “—which I seem to have misplaced …”

  There were scattered chortles as Devon rummaged through his own pockets, finally withdrawing a wrinkled piece of parchment, which he promptly unfolded and held before his father.

  “Ah, thank you, my boy. Right. On this floor there are a series of rooms, beyond those double oak doors there. These rooms are the head servant rooms, which have been pre-assigned to the Claybornes and Charles Poorman. Those that are part of the Resistance meetings and the council have pre-assigned rooms, which you will be shown shortly. The remaining people will be lodging in the side-by-side Servants’ Quarters on this floor. For the time being, we ask that you do not wander to the cellar, the towers, or above this floor.

  “Now then, tomorrow we begin the rebuild, and many of you will eventually find housing in the bailey or maybe even the surrounding property. This will include farms, a mill, and the like. Rest assured that these will be repaired or built in a speedy manner, as we are fortunate to have warlocks among us.”

  “They’ve got a nice surprise waiting for them when they see half of the repairing has been done already,” Leera whispered.

  Augum nodded. It was good to make oneself useful, not to mention atone for last night’s screw up.

  “We beg for your patience in the meager accommodations certainly unsuitable for many of you. Please remember these are only temporary and a necessary sacrifice in a time of war.”

  Clouds smiled as he patted his sweaty brow. “Mr. Haroun will now show those of you with pre-assigned rooms your upstairs accommodations, while Devon and I will take everyone else to the temporary quarters here on this floor. Then we shall begin to account for our belongings and hopefully—” He rubbed his hands together, cane pressed between his arm and bulging torso. “—the food will have arrived by then. Thank you, everyone, and be of good cheer!”

  Augum exchanged excited looks with the girls. This was it, they were back! Now to see what accommodations everyone was assigned.

  The throng began dispersing. All in, Augum estimated there to be about one hundred or so people here, only about thirty of which he actually knew by name.

  Mrs. Stone allowed Mr. Haroun to once again take her arm. She looked quite tired, wheezing while taking each step slowly, back bent, hands trembling. Augum felt a flush of shame—she had missed her afternoon nap to help the village and dispel all those traps. Instead, it was the trio that had taken a snoozer.

  As the group slowly ascended the wide marble steps, Augum’s eye caught the empty wall perches and iron hooks that once displayed weapons and shields, or perhaps hunting trophies and warlock tournament awards. There were empty pedestals which once surely held precious vases, gifts from foreign dignitaries, or marble busts of notable people. There were empty crumbling picture frames and ratty tapestries. He imagined restoring it all, bringing life back to the nooks and crannies of the ancient castle … bringing it back to its glory days.

  Mr. Haroun stopped at the second floor, consulting quietly with Mrs. Stone before turning around to those assembled on the steps below him. “This is the second floor, known as the Knight’s Floor. It shall remain empty for now until repairs have been undertaken. From my understanding, this floor was traditionally for knights, their squires and attendants, men of the military serving the master of the castle, and young warlocks lacking noble titles. The floor has no windows but could be lit by candles or arcanery. Let us carry on.”

  Augum recalled a memory from this floor—of walking past knights talking in low voices, into a dimly-lit room in which Dollard Canes lay wounded, while a blood-soaked Mya tended to him. That man would later turn out to be the traitor, and Mya would die at Robin’s hand.

  But all that was the past. Canes had been vanquished by Mrs. Stone in the Battle at Hangman’s Rock, and Mya’s death had been avenged at the Antioc Classic.

  They soon reached the third floor, Augum’s favorite. This was where the trio had slept, in rooms flanking Mrs. Stone’s grand room. Augum was met by a flood of memories: joking with the girls while they sat on the steps; running back to their rooms after fearing a ghost; searching for those blasted eggs when they were learning the Unconceal spell; and, of course, Prince Sydo getting the snot wacked out of him by Fentwick. How inexperienced they had been then, how full of curiosity!

  The girls seemed to be recalling much of the same, for they smiled sweetly.

  “This is the third floor,” Mr. Haroun explained. “Otherwise known as the Nobility Floor. Lords, men of title, some of the younger princes and princesses of the castle … they would stay here, and this is where we begin to assign some rooms. Firstly, this room here—” Mr. Haroun opened a pair of
familiar ornately carved doors.

  Leera bit her lip as she gave Augum’s arm an excited jerk, squealing, “Mrs. Stone’s old room!”

  “—is where Mrs. Haroun and I will be sleeping.”

  Many squirmed to get inside the room to take a peek. There were oohs and awes, but Augum hardly needed to see it, for he remembered the room as if he had been there yesterday, most notably the high finely carved ceiling, an ironwood canopy bedstead, and six arched leaded glass windows that would prismatically bounce morning sunshine across the ceiling.

  Mrs. Haroun was examining everything in detail, constantly shaking her head. She slowly dragged a finger across a desk, holding it up for all to see. “Filthy, simply filthy. Hanad … do we not have the king and queen rooms?”

  Mr. Haroun gave his wife a look. “We are lucky to be alive, Selma.” He turned back to the crowd. “While my wife settles in, allow me to assign more rooms. Anyone assigned a room may stay or join us for the rest of the tour upstairs.” He consulted a folded map. “Ah, all right,” and took the group to Bridget and Leera’s old room. “This will be Malaika’s room.”

  Malaika dashed inside while everyone waited. “It’s so small!”

  “You will be grateful, Daughter, and I shan’t hear another word.”

  Malaika emerged with a sour look and crossed arms. “And Charissa?”

  Mr. Haroun consulted the map before pointing. “Charissa will have the room there, next to ours, her parents in the room beside her.”

  Augum exchanged a look with the girls. Charissa had his old room, and spoiled Malaika had theirs! And their rooms certainly weren’t “small” … they were each as large as a standard living room!

  “Should we tell them about the secret passages?” Bridget whispered.

  Leera dismissed the idea with a wave of a hand. “Nah, let them find it on their own.”