Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  “Doubt she’d tell me,” he replied, watching the crowd buzz around Mrs. Stone. She looked like she regretted coming along; her lips were thinner than a needle, her answers short.

  Soon a squat old man with massive overgrown eyebrows started shooing everyone away from her. He was balding and wore a regal robe with a fat golden sash that hung loosely across his chest. He flashed insincere smiles as he barked at people to move; they jumped out of his way as if bitten by a small angry dog.

  The crowd slowly dispersed, most going to sit by the fire to talk with each other, some coming to the tables for refreshment, and some, like Ms. Drumworm, still feebly trying to get Mrs. Stone’s attention. The old man finally bared his teeth at her and she scurried away with a yelp.

  Leera elbowed Augum. “That shriveled parchment there, that’s Lord Alexander Scott Tennyson, Chief Elder and Haylee’s grandfather.”

  “He’s a right old grouch,” Bridget said under her breath. “Hates everyone except his precious granddaughter.”

  Tyeon nodded. “I heard that as a high-ranking noble in Blackhaven, he sold street kids to the mines.”

  “That’s just a rumor, Tye,” Bridget said. “Not even Lord Tennyson could be that cruel.”

  Leera and Tyeon exchanged a look saying otherwise.

  Lord Tennyson raised his nose, placed his arms behind his back and loudly cleared his throat. “Everyone, if I might have your attention—”

  A few people went quiet but most continued chatting on.

  A sour look crossed Tennyson’s face. He opened his palm and shot a bright ice-like sphere into the air. The globe kept expanding until it suddenly burst with a tremendous bang.

  “Shut it, people!” he said, bulldog jowls quivering. The crowd instantly went silent.

  “Right. Now then—” and he paused for effect, making sure all eyes were indeed on him. “I know how momentous the news is that Mrs. Stone is alive and well—”

  People hooted, whistled and toasted to Mrs. Stone.

  Tennyson raised a hand again. “And I daresay that we are most pleased that she decided to visit our humble little village.”

  More cheers, murmurs of approval. Mrs. Stone’s lips thinned to the point of disappearing. Lord Tennyson grasped her elbow with claw-like fingers. “Now, I know many of you wish to have a word with Mrs. Stone—perhaps inquire about how she gloriously vanquished Narsus the Necromancer, or even ask where she has been all these years—” Tennyson gave her a greedy look as the crowd tittered appreciatively, “—but I am afraid I must insist that we give her ample space. Mrs. Stone is merely here to enjoy the ceremony as a friendly neighbor, and we should therefore not distress her with our niggling questions. After all, someone in such … high esteem … deserves nothing but our respect.” Tennyson eyed Ms. Drumworm with a distasteful look.

  “Now my dear Mrs. Stone,” Tennyson continued, thick brows twitching, “I’d like to say, on behalf of the village and the elder council, that we most heartily accept your apprentice—Yogurt—as a pupil in our humble school.”

  A bunch of people started laughing, Robin’s group loudest of all.

  Augum sighed. Great …

  Bridget’s father ran up and whispered something into the old man’s ear.

  “What—? How do you say it again?”

  “Aww—gum, rhymes with bottom.”

  More snickers.

  “What kind of name is that? Oh, all right all right, buzz off, Mustache.” Tennyson swatted Mr. Burns away before turning back to the crowd with a pandering smile. “My apologies, everyone. I’m an old man, hearing’s not too good you see; apparently the boy’s name is … Augum? Anyway, welcome to the school, uh, Augum.”

  There was much hooting, clapping and toasting, with some booing from the vicinity of Robin, Haylee and Dilbur.

  Tyeon shook Augum’s hand. “Congratulations.”

  “Yes, glad to have you with us,” Bridget said, smiling heartily.

  Leera lightly punched him on the shoulder. “Welcome.”

  Augum caught Robin’s eye. “Nice job, Yogurt,” Robin mouthed with a wink.

  Augum ignored him. A warm sensation settled over his entire being—he had made friends and was going to an arcane school with them!

  Betrayed

  Lord Tennyson held up his hands. “And now I would like the elder council to join me in commencing the village naming ceremony.”

  The crowd stirred as four other elderly people emerged, silver sashes strung across their chests. Mrs. Stone shuffled over to the food table where Augum and the others stood, helping herself to a branch of Titan grapes, a tired look on her face.

  Bridget nodded at a large woman with pink cheeks and a pert nose. “That’s my nana.” She nodded at an ebony-skinned woman with curly gray hair. “And that one’s Tye’s.” Two other elders, a squat man with double chins and a bald man with a pinched face, joined Bridget and Tyeon’s grandmothers.

  Augum focused on the man with the pinched face. “Is that—?”

  “—Robin’s grandpa, yes.”

  Lord Tennyson corralled the elders into a line. The group hooked hands and began a rumbling chant. Silver wisps emerged from between them and swirled around the crowd before circling the village. The chanting grew in intensity until Lord Tennyson broke his grip and held up a veined arm. The crowd gasped and went quiet.

  “I now declare the name of this village to be … Sparrow’s Perch!”

  Cheers and toasts erupted; Augum exchanged smiles with his new friends. The elders disbanded and the crowd moved in, buzzing with excitement. Augum happened to be looking at Lord Tennyson when he noticed him signal to the trees.

  He turned to Bridget. “Did you see—” but before he could even finish, a tumultuous crashing came from the woods. Black-armored soldiers with massive physiques and rough faces emerged on horseback, brandishing swords, axes, maces and spears. Behind them came more riders—gargantuan crimson-armored warriors wielding burning swords and wearing flat helms pierced with two horizontal slits. They rode dead-looking horses with sharp teeth and bloody eyes.

  Augum felt a chill as Bridget’s words echoed in his brain—the Red Guard … you see one, you’re not going to live to tell about it.

  The shouting and screaming began immediately.

  “Save yourselves, it’s the Legion!”

  “Don’t let anyone escape!”

  “The children, grab the children!”

  “Death to the insurgents!”

  Tyeon ran for his family. Leera and Bridget were about to do the same when a Black Guardsman reared his steed before them. Augum instinctively shoved the girls aside as the horse came down, narrowly missing his head. He looked up to see the soldier release a spiked ball and chain.

  Augum froze, skin prickling. The man swung the flail in a wide arc. Suddenly there was a bright flash and a sharp cracking sound. The rider landed with a dull thud beside him, armor smoking. The scent of burnt flesh filled Augum’s nostrils, turning his stomach. He scrambled to his feet as Mrs. Stone stepped forward, arcs of lightning connecting with objects around her. She stood rigid, brows hawk-like, the space around her warping. She pointed at Augum and spoke an arcane phrase. A shimmering electric sphere appeared around him, Bridget and Leera, trapping them inside.

  “Mum, Dad—run!” Leera screamed while Bridget shrieked for her family.

  But there was nowhere to go; knights and soldiers surrounded them, circling like wolves. The villagers crowded around the fire, backs to each other. Tyeon shielded his blind grandfather, a stooped man with a cane who had to hold on to Tyeon’s arm. A short balding man with dimpled cheeks held onto Leland, a bespectacled woman in a flowery dress by his side.

  “Prepare for battle!” Bridget’s grandmother said, green rings flaring to life just past her elbow. A colorful assortment of striped arms quickly joined the resistance. Nobody moved to attack, however. Only Mrs. Stone, a rippling field of electric blue, stood apart.

  The throng of soldiers gave way. A mass
ive horse with weeping bloody eyes and hanging skin emerged from behind the Red Guards. Tendrils hung like wet noodles from an exposed ribcage. Bleached skulls accented a spiked saddle. The man that rode this deathly stallion wore golden plate, chest marked with the burning sword emblem. A great crimson plume bobbed from his helm. His cloak, made from pure lightning, crackled. His gauntleted hands clutched the reins, prodding the horse forward until stopping beside the cluster of villagers. He ignored them as if they posed no threat, keeping his gaze fixed on Mrs. Stone, who calmly stood between him and the shimmering bubble.

  “You know why I have come,” the golden-armored man said. “I should have known better than to have taken your word.”

  Mrs. Stone extinguished the lightning that crackled around her body. “Oh, but he came to me, Lividius.”

  “I have a new name now, Grandmother,” he said, voice full of spite. “Lord Sparkstone.”

  Quiet gasps and murmurs from the crowd.

  “The nickname you adopted when we began your training.”

  “Most correct, great teacher. Now I am Lord of the Legion.”

  A hot prickle crawled up Augum’s spine; Unnameable gods, Mrs. Stone’s grandson was the Lord of The Legion!

  “I have changed much since then, Grandmother.”

  “At the expense of many others, I daresay.”

  “You do not know me; you never knew me!”

  “But I did know you, Lividius. A boy who spent hours before a mirror; a boy who used his friends like toys to be thrown away; a boy who lied, cheated, stole and m—”

  “ENOUGH—!”

  Horses whinnied; soldiers and villagers alike stirred. Only the Red Guard stood still, burning swords hissing.

  Mrs. Stone’s voice was heavy and laced with sorrow. “I am ashamed of you, Lividius.”

  Lord Sparkstone slowly raised his chin. “Show me my stolen heir. Show me the son of my beloved, you wretched old thief.”

  Mrs. Stone expelled a long breath and stepped aside.

  Augum felt the hairs on his neck stand up as the Lord of the Legion’s eyes found him, still trapped inside the bubble with Bridget and Leera.

  “I reveal him to you only for his sake,” Mrs. Stone said.

  Augum took a step back, shaking his head. “No, it can’t be … it just can’t be …”

  Mrs. Stone’s voice was soft. “I fear it true, Augum. The Lord of the Legion is your father. He is my grandson, and you are my great-grandson …”

  Bridget and Leera’s hands shot to their mouths. The crowd stood absolutely still, watching. Even the soldiers stood quiet.

  Sparkstone, the Lord of the Legion—his father!—jumped off his horse and approached the electrified bubble, crouching before it. He removed his plumed helm.

  Augum could hardly breathe. It was almost like a mirror image staring back at him, older but with the same wiry frame, strong chin, arched brows and umber hair, though longer and darker and streaked with gray. The face had a maniacal twist to it, however, like an evil twin that had grown up all wrong; and the eyes — they crackled lightning just like the Black Robe’s.

  Looking at that face, he knew it was true—this was his father, the man responsible for the burning of Willowbrook, for the death of Sir Westwood, for the death of so many others. Why had she not told him? Why! He fell to his knees, barely feeling Leera and Bridget each rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He kept shaking his head. “No … no …”

  The voice was quiet. “Yes. You are my son, and I have come to take you home.”

  Augum’s lip quivered. “Home …?”

  “Yes, home, to the place of your birth—the Black Castle. I have so much to teach you. You are my rightful heir. You should be here by my side.” Without averting his lightning gaze, Lord Sparkstone addressed Mrs. Stone. “Does he still carry the name, or did you change it in your arrogance?”

  “Augum Stone, after his great, great, great-grandfather, bestowed upon him by you and your wife.”

  His father winced before his expression turned to granite. “You dare talk about her—”

  “What is left of your conscience betrays you,” Mrs. Stone said.

  Lord Sparkstone continued as if he had not heard. “Same name … good.” His gaze softened as pain passed through his face like a wave. “You have your mother’s eyes and nose. How I wish—”

  “We cannot change the past, Lividius,” Mrs. Stone said, pacing near.

  The Lord of the Legion flexed his jaw. “I am speaking with my son.”

  “We must face our regrets. I can name a few—I regret training you despite reservations. I regret showing you the family inheritance. I regret not paying more attention to your … exploits.”

  “First you stole my inheritance, and now I find out you stole my son!” Lord Sparkstone reached out to the bubble but Mrs. Stone caught his wrist. Both of their arms instantly lit up with electric blue rings. The Lord of the Legion’s arm had a full complement right up to his shoulder, but Mrs. Stone’s arm was a solid blue sleeve, as if all the rings had merged.

  For a brief moment, the two of them locked eyes. Then Lord Sparkstone exploded backwards.

  The crowd gasped as every single soldier surged forward.

  Sparkstone threw up a hand, instantly staying his troops. He slowly got to his feet, picking up his plumed helm and brushing it off. “You will pay dearly for that, Grandmother. I will not be denied again.”

  Mrs. Stone’s chin dropped a little as the space around her warped and crackled.

  A commotion began behind the Lord of the Legion.

  “My lord, this old bag of cabbage wants a word,” said a man obscured from view.

  “Bring him forth, Commander Rames.”

  Augum felt his blood run hot. Commander Vion Rames was Mrs. Stone’s former apprentice and the man directly responsible for Sir Westwood’s murder!

  Rames stepped forward wearing a lightning-embroidered black robe. Augum instantly recognized him as the black-robed rider he had encountered on the way to Hangman’s Rock. They had met face-to-face, and neither had known the other …

  Rames’ electric eyes briefly met Augum’s before flicking over to Mrs. Stone; but if his presence affected her, she did not show it. He kicked Lord Tennyson forward. The old man landed face-first in the muddy snow.

  “Grandpa—!” Haylee rushed forward, quickly caught by Robin. “Let me go—!”

  “No, Hayles, wait, trust me—”

  Tennyson coughed and raised a hand staying his granddaughter. “Great lord … our arrangement …”

  “Yes, yes.” Lord Sparkstone waved lazily. “The Legion is grateful for the information you have provided. You, your family and fellow loyalists may go. Consider your nobility and estates restored. Commander—pay the man.”

  Tennyson repeatedly bowed. “Oh, thank you, my lord, thank you …”

  Rames removed a bag of coins from his belt and threw it at Lord Tennyson’s feet. Tennyson picked it up and beckoned to his family and at the Scarson family, some of whom seemed genuinely surprised. Haylee’s face contorted in confusion, Robin’s in triumph. The crowd hissed as they passed.

  Lord Sparkstone watched the group depart with a sneer before donning his helm and mounting his deathly stallion. His crackling eyes settled on Mrs. Stone. “You still have it, that which rightfully belongs to me?”

  Mrs. Stone only straightened.

  Lord Sparkstone nodded slowly. “So, since you do not want to return my son, nor that which belongs to me, you really do leave me no choice, Grandmother.” He smugly reached into a pouch and removed a small crystal orb.

  Mrs. Stone’s face visibly fell. “A scion … how did you get it?”

  Lord Sparkstone smiled. “A most difficult acquisition, Grandmother.” He held the orb for another moment, letting Mrs. Stone fully appreciate the situation, before releasing it to hover. The crowd took a step back, many looking about uncertainly.

  The orb began glowing; in a ripple effect starting from its positi
on, the villager’s arms fell dark, one by one.

  Pandemonium broke out.

  The Red Guard reared up on their deathly horses and came crashing down on panicking people. Some villagers tried to cast spells that did not come, some tried to run, while others dropped to the ground trying to shield family members. The soldiers’ burning blades found them, slashing men, women and children without mercy, setting some ablaze.

  Tyeon jumped before his grandfather, taking a spear through the gut. He crumpled at the man’s feet. His blind grandfather tried to scoop the boy up, but a blow to the head from a mace felled him. He fell onto his grandson.

  While Mrs. Stone put a dozen black-armored soldiers to sleep at once, Sparkstone pointed his arms at the crowd, unleashing a ripping bolt of lightning. It spread from the first person to the next, linking them in a chain. They rose in the air en masse, convulsing, feet losing shoes and slippers. They began smoking before bursting into flames.

  Bridget and Leera were beside themselves, frantically pounding the bubble with their fists, crying hysterically; but it was the screams from the villagers that made Augum’s blood curdle.

  Some of the riders stopped their butchery to watch, faces hidden behind steel helms. Meanwhile, the Red Guard, Rames, and his red-robed lieutenant raced towards Mrs. Stone.

  She only had a moment, which she used to swing her staff at the bubble. Their eyes briefly met and Augum thought he saw fear there. Then her arm, sleeved in a mass of dense blue energy, went dark. That very instant, the crystal tip made contact with the bubble, shattering the wooden portion of the staff. Augum, Bridget and Leera smashed against the inner wall as the bubble soared into the air.

  The last thing Augum saw was Mrs. Stone being overwhelmed.

  Escape

  When Augum opened his eyes, he was laying face down in a thorny bush, the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. His head throbbed, as if somebody had slammed it against a stone wall. He was disoriented and nauseous.

  Someone moaned nearby.

  He began wrestling with the thorn bush. “Bridget, Leera—that you?”

  Bridget’s voice was shaky. “Augum … I can’t wake Leera up—”