by Sever Bronny
“These are the ancient arcane Black Castle Trainers,” Mr. Ribbons whispered to the trio, seemingly noticing their curious faces. “We should be safe here for now as the Legion does not use them, preferring to train in the spawnery. And back there was the arena. If we had continued ahead down that tunnel, we would have found the barracks, the armory, and the castle smithy.” He gave a tired smile. “I was once a teacher of history, you know. A teacher of Ordinaries, mind you, but a teacher nonetheless.”
“How did you join the Legion?” Augum whispered. It was easy to forget that the Black Guard were mostly commoners forcefully recruited. And many were not interested in war or plundering kingdoms, or the Great Quest. They simply wished to be with their families and to live simple lives, nothing more.
“That is a long story, my heroic friend,” the man replied as the woman led them to a dirt path around the side of the cavern wall, stopping at a spacious nook in the rock filled with old dusty training equipment. Augum’s heart panged seeing it unused like that. So much waste … and for what?
“Not all of us believe you are brainwashed,” Mrs. Ribbons said, adjusting the buckles on her black Legion chest plate. “In fact, since your tournament victory, young Stone, many a soldier’s heart has secretly warmed to the Resistance—”
Suddenly there was a deep gong that reverberated through the entire structure, followed by two more.
“That is the call,” Mr. Ribbons whispered. “Your gate attack has begun. The troops are being mustered as we speak.”
Silent Darkness
“The soldiers are scared,” Mrs. Ribbons whispered while the group sat in the pitch-dark niche, the trio having extinguished their palm lights for the sake of secrecy.
“They do not understand what is going on,” her husband explained. “The young ones, those that believe in the Great Quest and the Lord of the Legion, follow unquestioningly, while everyone else has doubts. They see their fellow soldiers being converted into the undead. They see commoners undergoing the same vile transformations—” He had to smother his mouth to quiet an involuntary cough.
“We saw it happening in the streets,” Leera whispered.
“It’s the necromancers,” Bridget added.
“Yes,” the woman said. “The Lord of the Legion has commanded them to deliver him his destiny … a great eternal army.”
“He has thus delivered on his promise, in a way,” Mr. Ribbons added. “And some soldiers, would you believe it, are lining up to undertake the transformation. Some of those that do, the elite, are made into revenants.”
Augum heard Mrs. Stone’s rattling breaths slow. She sat on a nearby bench, recuperating her frail energies. He found Leera’s hand in the darkness and squeezed. She drew closer, laying her head on his chest. From the distance, beyond the heavy door, came the muffled sounds of a frantically mustering army. He only hoped the invisible and sleeping soldiers would not be found just yet.
“Are you going to see the Dreadnoughts?” Mrs. Ribbons asked after a time.
Right, of course! In all the flurry of activity, Augum had completely forgotten the Dreadnought lair was supposed to be hidden beneath the Black Castle.
“Yes,” Mrs. Stone wheezed in the darkness, much to Augum’s surprise.
There was a momentary deep silence.
“They are deep below in the ancient Rivican ruins,” Mr. Ribbons whispered. “Ruins built eons before this very castle. To demonstrate how deep, imagine a tall snow-capped mountain, but below ground. That is how far down the Dreadnought lair resides.”
“Only a precious few are allowed that deep,” his wife said in grave tones. “Some say the Dreadnoughts do not even exist, for no one has laid eyes upon them.”
“That is where we must go,” Mrs. Stone said in a frail voice.
Augum had to ask. “We are searching for something else too.” He sensed he could trust them with this information. “My mother. My father hid her here, I know it. It was her devout wish not to be raised, yet my father intends on doing just that when he is powerful enough.”
He could sense the husband and wife exchanging a look.
“We are not aware of such a thing or of her, young man,” the woman said slowly. “But we are not privy to higher tiers of information. We are mere soldiers.”
“Mere Ordinary soldiers at that,” Mr. Ribbons added.
Leera squeezed Augum’s hand in support, whispering, “We’ll find her, don’t worry.”
“They found spies,” Mr. Ribbons said in a distant voice, suppressing another cough. “All over. They were supposedly everywhere—Antioc, its library, the academy, and of course, the countryside. But we know it’s all a cheap excuse. The true aim, as you have no doubted suspected, is a mass conversion. An entire kingdom of powerful undead troops at the Lord of the Legion’s command.”
“What’s he going to do with this great army?” Leera asked.
“Raid the other kingdoms, of course,” the man replied. “The Lord of the Legion’s ambitions know no bounds, I am afraid.”
“There’s a quiet rumor,” his wife whispered in the darkness. “A dangerous rumor. The Lord of the Legion has made a pact with an ancient witch.”
“The rumor is true,” Augum said. “Her name is Magua.”
“Yes, yes we have heard that name spoken of once!” the man exclaimed to his wife. “They are working together then.”
“She helped him forge the divining rod,” Bridget added.
“Which you most bravely recovered in Antioc,” Mrs. Ribbons said. “Why can’t you use it to find the Lord of the Legion and attack him?”
“We can,” Augum replied. “But that is what he wants. We’re working on a plan still.”
Augum could sense doubt in the silence that followed, a doubt that echoed his soul. There was a bubbling undercurrent of thoughts in his mind that repeatedly nagged him with the words, You are so woefully unprepared!
Mr. Ribbons was beset by a wracking cough that, when it finally passed, had him sigh deeply, his lungs rattling like Mrs. Stone’s. “I am tired and sick. I do not have long for this life. But I know one thing now. We are at a pivotal moment in Sithesian history. A moment that will dictate whether history will continue on, or cease to exist at all. That is my sense of it, as ominous as it sounds.”
“For what is history but a catalogue of deeds?” his wife added, continuing her husband’s thought. “And surely the undead would not care a whit of what happens or what has happened.”
Augum suddenly felt tired and overwhelmed by it all. He gently stroked Leera’s cheek and kissed her head. She squeezed him close. This was what mattered to him right now, being with her. A fearful tingling began in his bones, a tingling that mirrored the worries he felt deep in his being. Unnameables, please, let them survive this. Please …
“I can still see the shadows,” Leera murmured to Augum. “Even in the darkness.”
“Hang in there and ignore them,” he replied. He could see them too, but less frequently or clearly now. The shadows were darker than the darkness, as if they were holes in the fabric of reality. Yet they no longer attacked him, or talked to him, something he was grateful for.
“You were born here,” Leera whispered. “In this castle, isn’t that right?”
“I was,” Augum replied. He had been trying not to think about it. He was so closely tied to it all, yet so removed as well. “I’m as divorced from the castle as I am from my father,” he finally said, choosing his words carefully.
“If the kingdom survives this, you should lead it,” the man said. “Be its sovereign king and protector, with Lady Jones at your side as your queen. All three of you should rule, in fact. Many would follow.”
There was a grunt from Mrs. Stone, but nothing more.
“I’d rather a quiet life,” Augum said.
“I think we all would,” Bridget added.
“The people will never allow you that. Surely you know that. You are the kingdom’s prince. A true Solian heir. A true Arinthian.�
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Augum stirred uncomfortably. It’s the last thing he wanted to talk about. All he wanted was to survive.
Bridget seemed to sense this because she said, “I’m going to check in with some of the others,” and cycled through everyone with an Exot ring, except for two people, Lord Bowlander and poor Secretary Klines, who had perished in Antioc. Haylee and Jengo reported they were frantically busy with refugees from the academy, some of whom had lost relatives. Elizabeth had been crying hysterically when Bridget tried to reach her, ceasing contact almost immediately. It seems the castle was coping, though everyone was terrified of an attack.
“Poor soul, I think she lost someone close,” Bridget whispered.
The guilt of being tied to his father surfaced inside Augum like an old festering wound. He was tired of the death and the destruction. He longed for peace now more than ever, longed for a simple life again.
For a time, they silently rested in the darkness of the Black Castle Trainers, each lost to thought, awaiting the command from Mrs. Stone that would signal the next part of the dangerous quest.
Mr. and Mrs. Ribbons
The muffled sounds of the mustering army had ceased, and Mrs. Stone at last stirred. “We travel on,” she said. The group gathered and returned to the door, where the lieutenant and her sergeant husband checked the silent corridor. It seemed the soldiers they had fought earlier were still asleep, for there could be heard gentle but quiet snoring, unheard during the chaos of the muster.
“Can you make us invisible too, Nana?” Surely that would make things easier.
“I would rather conserve my energies, Great-grandson.”
The group dipped ahead into the arena, which would apparently save them having to sneak by the underground barracks. As expected, the arena was empty. It was a simple dusty affair, with a high vaulted ceiling and ancient tournament banners. Dim torches burned quietly along the high walls above the elevated stands. The arena was much smaller than the Antioc one, but still made Augum’s blood race recalling those glorious moments of battle.
“This is the tricky part,” Mrs. Ribbons said by the doorway on the other side. “There are four guard booths in the Hall of Ceremony ahead. Half will still be manned. If you give me a moment, I’ll command the guards to muster at the gate.”
Mrs. Stone agreed to this with a nod and the woman slipped out, returning not long after with a quick but nervous smile. “All clear.” They followed her into a grand hall with gleaming pillars and giant royal tapestries hanging from the walls. Their footsteps echoed as they paced quickly across the marble floor. The guard booths were indeed empty.
Augum, hand-in-hand with Leera, kept glancing over his shoulder. He already had a bad feeling in this place, but now he had the impression they were being followed. Then he saw a shadow dip from one pillar to another, and realized it was still the side effects of Cron haunting him. Besides, if they were being followed, his father would be notified and would be there straight away. He was tempted to talk into the Exot ring and somehow find out where the man was. Too bad the divining rod was next to useless. Then again, if it could tell them where the Lord of the Legion was, then it would have told him where Mrs. Stone was when Sparkstone had possessed it.
They passed a wide staircase, slipped by another set of empty guard booths, and stepped through a pair of intricately carved black oak doors, which Bridget quietly shut behind them. The room they entered was cavernous and lit by dim iron-worked braziers. There were five gigantic pyramidal structures, into which were carved figural forms, some ruined.
“What is this place?” Bridget whispered as they quietly strode through it.
“This, Lady Burns, is an ancient temple,” Mr. Ribbons replied in a voice tinged with awe. “We do not know how old it is. Some say it dates to the Founding.” He gestured at a pyramidal form from which jutted several bald men and women. “A shrine to the Leyans.” He pointed at another depicting a shriveled woman. “That one is believed to be a shrine to the ancient witch of old, from which all arcanery is said to stem from. The grand one at the end there, with the shapeless forms, is a shrine to the Unnameables, and the other one opposite, depicting various elements, is a shrine to the mystery of arcanery itself.”
Bridget indicated two ruined pyramids. “And those ones?”
“Long destroyed by time, I am afraid.”
The woman led them past the massive shrine to the Unnameables, one of whom looked vaguely like Krakatos, that pink-spectacled bald Leyan who wore a loincloth. Behind the shrine they found a massive circular staircase made of gigantic carved blocks of basalt, a staircase so large it looked like it had been made for giants.
“This is known as simply the ‘Grand Ol’ Staircase’,” Mr. Ribbons explained. “A Rivican construction, it is the oldest known staircase in Solia, and probably the strangest due to the ancient chambers it passes through. It is also the deepest staircase in all of Sithesia, spiraling down a mountain’s worth of depth below ground. Interestingly, the Lord of the Legion himself does not use it, preferring to take a special portal—”
“—shh!” his wife said, stopping at the curved balustrade at the top of the stairs, eyes flicking about warily. Below, the stairs descended into darkness. “From here on it gets vastly more dangerous. Let us be on our guard. Archmage, we cannot cross the top of the stair without his Lordship being notified, for we have not been granted access to pass through the protective enchantment—”
“—leave it to us, Mrs. Ribbons.” Mrs. Stone turned to the trio. “You know what is expected of you.”
The trio nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Stone,” and assembled near the very top step. Then, one by one, each cast the Reveal spell.
“Enchanted with three spells,” Augum reported. “One of them is Object Alarm, another is what appears to me to be a paralyzing trap of some sort, and the last I do not recognize, but it looks extremely complicated.”
The girls agreed with his assessment.
“Good,” Mrs. Stone said. “Please disenchant the first two. The third is a powerful Sanctuary Enchantment spell, the very same one you see me use to protect places like Castle Arinthian. Only I will be able to dispel that one.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone,” they chorused.
Both the trap and the Object Alarm enchantments were complicated, requiring the trio to take turns until both were dispelled. Mrs. Stone then took their place, casting Reveal followed quickly by Disenchant. Her fingers efficiently worked at the invisible enchantment as if peeling back stuck pages of an old book, until there came a sucking sound.
“It is done,” Mrs. Stone said at last. She withdrew a familiar black rod hidden within her robe, one Augum had not seen in some time. The night-black Dreadnought-and-Magua-made divining rod was encrusted with seven polished stones and gems, each a different color, each emitting the subtlest glow. Mrs. Stone allowed her staff to float free a moment while she gripped the rod with two hands, one hand on the base for balance, the other over one of the stones. She closed her eyes and concentrated. After a moment, she allowed the rod to sway her to one of the walls, before opening her eyes and registering nothing more than a grunt. Then she calmly put the rod away within her robe, gripped her staff, and said, “Let us descend.”
The trio exchanged a meaningful look.
Two Soldiers
The ancient Rivican construct known as “The Grand Ol’ Staircase” that apparently descended a mountain’s worth of depth had a graceful simplicity to it. Giant basalt blocks were fitted at matching angles like staggered slices of pie. Augum suspected they had been put in place with the aid of expert arcanery. Each was as wide as twenty standing men and worn smooth by eons of footsteps. The great curving wall had a gaping handhold groove much like a sluice, while the center hole was an elegant forever-repeating spiral of steps, an infinite dark well that tempted Augum to throw something down it.
Mrs. Stone took the steps one at a time, one hand on Bridget’s arm, the other gripping her staff, on top of which quietly hummed the
Arinthian scion. Her floating lightning lamp crackled as it led the way. Behind, Mrs. Ribbons helped her afflicted husband descend. Mr. Ribbons walked slowly, suppressing coughs. Augum and Leera held tight hands in the rear, hands softly aglow. Augum enjoyed the scent of ancient stone. It smelled of history.
The group descended quietly for some time, until echoes of voices reached them from below. Mrs. Stone’s lightning lamp immediately extinguished, as did Augum and Leera’s glowing palms.
“Against the wall,” Mrs. Stone whispered, and the sounds of shuffling could be heard in the darkness.
Mr. Ribbons suppressed another cough.
“Bridget, if you please,” Mrs. Stone whispered.
“Forgive me, Mr. Ribbons, but may I mute you?” Bridget asked in a murmur.
“Of course, young lady.”
After a moment of concentration, Bridget made a crushing gesture with her hand, aimed at his throat. “Voidus lingua.” Evidently Bridget had been practicing the spell to try it so boldly in the field.
The voices grew louder.
“Stand absolutely still,” Mrs. Stone said, and began casting a spell in the pitch-darkness. When she finished, Augum felt no different, though he suspected he knew which spell she had cast.
It wasn’t long until a pair of harsh male voices speaking in clipped tones reached them.
“If I must.”
“His Lordship demands it.”
The light of a flame could be seen as the men approached.
“I do not miss breathing, but this is still tiresome, just not in the old way.”
“I care not about your ramblings.”
A pause.
“I shall have revenge upon all who deigned me inferior.”
“I told you I care not.”
Two giant men soon appeared, bulked up by armor Augum had never seen before, armor that nonetheless looked vaguely familiar. It was matte black, not unlike Occulus’ old army, but instead of being sleek, it was encrusted with vicious sharp spikes. The helms were riddled with needles like a porcupine. The prison-bar visors were raised, revealing harshly gruesome faces, as if having been melted in fire. The light came from two burning blades, carried idly and without care. A massive spiked shield was slung over each of their backs.