Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

Augum eyed the frame, wondering if it would hold in this storm. He imagined it abruptly crumpling and all of them getting sucked out into the night. “Let’s move on, my concentration’s shot anyway; don’t know if I can repair another thing tonight.”

  Leera massaged her temple. “I second that.”

  Bridget moved to the door. “We did get a lot accomplished already; I think we’re getting the hang of the spell.”

  “We’ll see if that’s enough for Mrs. Stone,” Leera added as they left.

  They explored the rooms flanking the library—more broken bookshelves, desks, chairs, glass and torn paper. Bridget pronounced them study rooms. Too tired to do anymore repairing, they left everything as is, though they did find a few more examples of the letter “A” carved into the furniture.

  Then, as they passed the staircase, there came a metal shuffling sound from within the southwest battlement.

  The trio froze. Something moved at the far edge of their light, deep inside the battlement.

  “Who’s there?” Augum asked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He unsheathed his sword.

  “Wouldst thou fancy a duel, mine lord?” asked a nasal voice from the darkness.

  Bridget shrieked, Leera covered her mouth and Augum nearly dropped his sword. They scurried back to the staircase.

  “A duel—?” Augum asked.

  “Indeed, mine lord. What setting dost mine lord beseech of me—defender, beginner, intermediate, advanced, or expert?”

  Augum exchanged mystified looks with Bridget and Leera.

  A gust of wind sent windows clattering and the trio instinctively took a step downstairs.

  “Come forward so we can see you!” Augum said in the most menacing tone he could muster.

  Something advanced, clanking and clattering. The trio took another step downstairs. A suit of dented child-sized armor limped to a stop just at the edge of their light. It held a wooden practice sword in a gauntleted hand.

  “Thou hath besought, thus hither I come,” it said in that nasal voice.

  Leera snorted a laugh before slamming a hand over her mouth. She took a few steps closer, lit palm held forward. “Who are you?”

  The suit of armor rattled as it bowed. “Fentwick at thine service, mine lady—trainer, defender and sparring partner to thee young princes and princesses of ye castle.”

  Augum could hardly believe what he was seeing. “Are you a ghost?”

  “Nae, mine lord, merely an arcane suit of armor. Dost mine lord care to duel?”

  Augum sheathed his sword, noticing he had been able to keep his hand lit throughout the ordeal, and the same went for Leera and Bridget. They were getting better at Shine.

  He took a cautious step forward. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long, mine lord?”

  “Yes, how—long—have—you—been—in—this—castle?”

  “He’s not stupid, Augum,” Bridget said. “It’s probably just not the kind of question he could answer. Interesting how he speaks in the old tongue though.”

  Fentwick rattled to life again. “Mayhaps mine lord or mine lady wouldst care to duel? I canst set mine self to defender, beginner, intermediate, advanced, or expert rank as befits thou needs.”

  Leera strode up to Fentwick and examined him from all sides. Augum advanced with her, hand on the pommel of his sword. She blew at Fentwick’s helmet. A cloud of dust billowed, yet Fentwick stood as still as a statue.

  Bridget hesitantly approached. “Is he safe?”

  Leera peered in through the visor. “Whoa, there’s nothing inside the helmet!”

  “Lee, that’s kind of rude.”

  “It’s only a hunk of armor, Bridge.”

  Bridget sighed. “I suppose you’re right. You know what though? It’s kind of cute.”

  Leera gave Bridget a repulsed look.

  “Anyway,” Bridget continued, “it’s an animated suit of armor, so it must be ancient arcane.”

  “Well it certainly talks ancient.”

  Augum tapped it on the shoulder. “Um, Fentwick—?”

  Fentwick abruptly turned toward him, throwing off a fresh cloud of dust. “Mine lord, wouldst thou care to duel?”

  Augum swatted the plume away, coughing. “Um … maybe later, but you wouldn’t happen to know what the letter ‘A’ stands for that’s carved into everything around here, would you?”

  “Thee letter ‘A’, mine lord? Mayhaps mine lord or mine lady would care—”

  “No thanks, Fentwick.” Augum shrugged and turned to the girls. “Was worth a try anyway. So should we bring him with us?”

  Bridget scrunched up her face in thought. “He might be too loud and slow. Let’s leave him here for now—no offense, Fentwick.”

  The armor made no reply.

  Augum leaned in close. “Fentwick—stay—here—okay?”

  “Ugh, Augum—”

  Fentwick bowed. “As ye say, mine lord,” before stiffening like a statue.

  The trio moved on down the corridor, checking over their shoulders.

  “He’s certainly a treasure,” Leera said upon entering a debris-filled room on the west side of the castle, one of many like it in the corridor.

  Augum examined the rubble before them. “Wonder what other oddities this castle has.”

  “Or once had.” Bridget withdrew the unfinished map and grimaced. “I’m just surprised someone hasn’t made off with little Fentwick.”

  Augum imagined that dented suit of armor struggling in the arms of a bandit.

  “There’s a good reason for that,” Leera said.

  “What, that stick of a sword?” Bridget asked.

  “No—he’d annoy you to death. We’ll probably find bodies of bandits who’ve committed suicide in that battlement.”

  “Maybe that’s what drove the people out from the castle,” Augum said. “Fentwick’s high-pitched nattering.”

  Bridget placed a finger to her lips. “Shh—he’ll hear you. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  Leera snorted. “He’s got about as many feelings as a door knob …”

  Bridget rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the room. “This one’s a mess, let’s keep exploring.”

  They made their way to the opposite side of the corridor where a plain black door awaited. Augum wrestled it open and a burst of hot, humid air greeted them.

  The girls gasped. Before them was a room overgrown with ancient-looking ferns, gnarled ropes of ivy, rainbow mosses, thorny rose bushes, blue palms, and a vast array of bizarre tropical plants in every shape and color. All it needed were sounds of insects and animals and they would be in the jungle, as other than the door, there was no sign of castle structure anywhere.

  Bridget poked a huge blue leaf. “Why is there a garden in the center of the castle?”

  Augum had heard stories of exotic plants of the south from Sir Westwood, who himself heard them from people who ventured down there on trade missions; but this—

  “—this is impossible,” Bridget said.

  “We just spoke with a talking suit of child-sized armor named Fentwick,” Leera said. “Nothing’s impossible.”

  “Fair point.” Bridget raised a hand for them to be still. “Anyone else hear water trickling ahead?”

  “I can hear it too,” Augum said, spotting an overgrown trail. “There’s a path here.”

  Leera strode past, grinning. “Come on then, there’s exploring to be had!”

  The path wound snake-like. Each of their steps squished into soggy aqua grass or crusty purple moss. Their hands cast chameleon-like shadows into thick foliage.

  “Spooky,” Bridget whispered.

  Soon they arrived at an ancient stone fountain of a bald man with a serene look on his face, hands spread in a gesture of welcome. Clear water spouted from his palms into a shallow basin, before overflowing into the earth. Small colorful flowers grew around the base.

  Augum reached for the water but Bridget caught his arm.

  “Don
’t,” she said. “Could be poison.”

  He doubted it but withdrew his arm nonetheless.

  Leera looked up into the canopy. “How do these plants survive without the light of day?”

  “Must be an arcane room,” Bridget said.

  “Probably as ancient as Fentwick too.”

  They stood silent for a time simply enjoying the peace of the room. The plant growth was near impenetrable, so thick a small cat would have a hard time slinking through.

  Bridget seemed to recognize a particularly odd-looking plant with black shoots and blue leaves near the fountain. “This place would be an herbalist’s dream …”

  Augum studied the fountain. Who was this serene man? Had the royal family used this strange room as a peaceful retreat, or was it something more?

  “Shall we see where the path ends?” Leera asked.

  They travelled on to the other end of the room, exiting through another black door and emerging into a hallway on the eastern side of the castle.

  Augum grimaced. “I was hoping the path led somewhere more—”

  “—exotic?” Leera said. “Me too.”

  The distant sound of wind rattling windows emphasized the difference between the dark castle and the peace of the forest room. It almost made Augum want to go back.

  The trio explored the rooms in this hallway, which turned out to be empty or ruined like the ones on the other side. They walked on towards the north room, which sat directly above the grand dining room where they had eaten.

  Bridget was the first to open the heavily scratched oaken door. As soon as she laid eyes on what was inside, however, she shrieked and recoiled.

  Beyond the door, extending far into the room, stood an iron maiden, a head vice, a chair with a spiked seat, a guillotine, and a great many other dusty torture devices that seemed perfectly heinous.

  They backed away as if from a crumbling cliff. Then the door started to close on its own, creaking as if in agony, finally slamming shut. The trio screamed and bolted back down the hall, the quickly moving light from their hands throwing claw-like shadows.

  “Fentwick—help!” Bridget called as they rounded the staircase.

  The trio did not wait for an acknowledgment, careening down the stairs and piling into the girls’ room, slamming the door behind them. Panting quietly, they stood frozen, listening. It was not long before shuffling was heard.

  Bridget paled; Leera and Augum put their ears to the door, eyes wide.

  The sound steadily came closer, echoing off the walls.

  “Fentwick?” Leera whispered, freckles glistening.

  “Don’t know,” Augum replied.

  The sound only grew louder. They backed away to the end of the room. Augum drew his sword.

  The sound screeched to a halt right on the other side of the door.

  Then silence.

  The trio watched the crack underneath, but it was pitch-black on the other side. Whatever it was, it could see in the dark. They held their breath. Behind them, the windows rattled from the wind.

  Finally, Bridget took a cagey step forward, robe rustling. “Fentwick—?”

  “Mine lady—” began the muted nasal voice, “wouldst thou care to duel? I canst set mine self to defender, beginner—”

  They breathed sighs of relief and chuckled at each other while Fentwick prattled on.

  “You were scared—”

  “No, you were—”

  Augum sheathed his sword and extinguished his palm. Then an idea struck him. “Fentwick, will you stand guard outside the room?”

  “As ye wish, mine lord,” and they heard him turn around.

  Leera collapsed onto the bed. “Wow—can we also get him to clean the castle?” Then she propped herself up on her elbows. “Wait, why is there a torture chamber on the fourth floor?”

  Bridget sat on the bed beside her. “Didn’t Mrs. Stone say that the castle was used for dark purposes for a while?”

  “Yes, she did, when we first came here,” Augum said, remembering that initial freezing late-night walk.

  Leera teased her raven hair. “Wonder who by …”

  They sat pondering that question. To Augum, the castle no longer seemed as welcoming, with gouges on doors, holes in the walls, a dark dungeon, a crypt, and now a torture chamber. Nonetheless, he found himself yawning. It had been a long day. “Think I’m going to turn in, I’m tired.”

  “We did get a lot accomplished tonight,” Bridget said, catching the yawn.

  “Practiced loads,” Leera added, preparing the bed. “Even found a map. Let’s continue tomorrow.”

  He nodded and made his way to the door. “And we’ve got Fentwick now too. Can’t wait to have him meet Mrs. Stone. Goodnight then.”

  “Night, Augum!”

  “Shyneo,” and he went through the door.

  “Mine lord, wouldst though—”

  “Goodnight, Fentwick.”

  “May thee stars brighten thy dreams, mine lord.” The words echoed gently in the cool dark of the castle.

  As he entered his room, Augum imagined Fentwick saying that line to princes and princesses of old. He dressed in his nightgown and jumped into bed, bundling the covers close. For a time, he listened to the howl of the wind and the way it rattled the windows. He wished he had a second Fentwick outside his door. Would that forgotten suit of arcane armor protect him too should something come in the night? He tried not to think about the cold darkness of the castle, its ancient secrets and ancient ghosts, its eternally silent crypt and dungeon. When sleep took him at last, his thoughts had drifted to Fentwick watching life from a thousand years ago; a forest behind a black door; and a dark room …

  The Hunt

  “Where is it? Tell me or I will squeeze the life out of you,” the shadowy figure said in a growling voice, its hands wrapped tightly around Augum’s neck. Augum did not know where this mysterious “it” was though, and tried to communicate that with horror-struck eyes. Around him, he heard the sound of torture devices screeching and clanking away. Fire blazed in two massive hearths somewhere behind; dark figures moved nearby. The sound of girls screaming in pain came from out of view.

  Let me go, you fiend, he thought, struggling in the vice-like grip. The figure above him laughed and started squeezing. Augum kicked and gasped, feeling his life slither away.

  His heart started to bang thunderously in his chest. The noise persisted, growing louder and consuming his entire being, until he bolted up in bed, soaked in cold sweat.

  “—sake, Augum, breakfast!”

  He wiped his brow, breathing heavy. It was just a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare …

  The door banged again. “Augum—!”

  “Coming, Mrs. Stone!”

  She grunted and shuffled off, grumbling.

  Augum rubbed the sleep from his eyes, frustrated that he was unable to recall what the figure had been after, as if the answer was around a corner just beyond reach.

  He slid out of bed and tread to the window, feeling out of sorts. It was sunny but windy outside, and the blizzard had covered everything in a silky blanket of fresh snow. The trees swayed in the breeze, releasing milky plumes.

  He donned his burgundy apprentice robes and made his way to the dining room, greeting everyone through a bleary haze. The anxious feelings from the nightmare were still with him as he ate his breakfast of buttered bread, salted spinach and peppered beans.

  Bridget and Leera sat in their usual places, immersed in an energetic retelling of last night. When they told Mrs. Stone about the torture room, she merely said, “Indeed now.”

  The girls blathered on, describing the library and the strange garden and Fentwick and how he simply had to be ancient arcane …

  Augum did not pay much attention, the combination of a bad dream and beans making his stomach feel like it was filled with acid. He pushed his food away unfinished and eyed the two massive fireplaces with suspicion, unconsciously touching his throat.

  “—have to know
, Mrs. Stone,” Bridget continued, curling long strands of cinnamon hair behind her ears, “has there always been a torture room in the castle?”

  Augum glanced to the ceiling; it was just above them.

  Mrs. Stone dabbed at her lip with a cloth and sat back in the queen’s chair, taking a long breath before replying. “No, Bridget, I daresay there was not. The previous tenants had an appetite for torment, however, and thus thought to … redecorate.”

  Bridget mulled this over, an unsatisfied look on her face. “But … why, Mrs. Stone, to what purpose?” She tried to buy an answer with the most endearing look she could muster. Augum knew what was coming—Bridget had simply forgotten that Mrs. Stone had been a headmistress for thirty-five years and knew all the tricks.

  Sure enough, Mrs. Stone’s eyes flashed. “Mercy, girl, you are going to send me to my grave with all that prattling.”

  Bridget hid her face behind her hair. “Sorry, Mrs. Stone.”

  Mrs. Stone expelled a weary breath. “I brought the Blackhaven Herald.”

  Augum and Leera perked up.

  Mrs. Stone reached into her robe and withdrew a curled parchment. She handed it to a red-faced Bridget. “Read it aloud, child. I believe it shall speak for itself.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” Bridget unrolled it and began. “‘All take notice of the following proclamations. Proclamation one: Let it be known the uprisings in Blackhaven and Antioc have been crushed. All insurgents guilty of treason are hereby sentenced to death. Let all the kingdoms in Sithesia hear that the Kingdom of Solia is under the rule of Lord Sparkstone. Foreign dignitaries are invited to pay the standard courtesies.’”

  Bridget looked up uncertainly.

  Mrs. Stone’s lips thinned. “Continue please.”

  “‘Proclamation two: Those that plead undying allegiance to the Legion shall stand to gain greatly, for Lord Sparkstone’s benevolence shall express itself in the form of eternal life bestowed upon his loyal subjects.’”

  Augum and Leera shared a look. His father had gone crazy.

  “‘Proclamation three: In order for Lord Sparkstone to bestow the gift of eternal life, he requires the possession of seven ancient spheres known as “scions”. All peoples from all kingdoms take heed! Eternal life, great wealth, power and fame await those who bring Lord Sparkstone a scion. The name his eminence chose for this enterprise is “The Great Quest”. Once Lord Sparkstone possesses all seven scions, he shall use them to take back the secrets of eternal life from those that have jealously guarded them for eons. Lord Sparkstone believes all loyal followers deserve eternal life.’”