Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  Sir Gallows gestured ceremoniously. “If I may introduce the heir to the Kingdom of Solia, His Royal Highness Prince Sydo Ridian the Fourth—and his minder, Lord Boron.”

  Lord Boron gave a slight bow.

  The prince gawked at Mrs. Stone’s lightning orb. His face contorted in a scowl. “How is it that you cannot produce such an effect, Lord Moron?”

  Augum wondered if he had misheard the prince.

  Lord Boron flushed. “Heh heh … now, Your Highness, I—”

  “—so this is the benevolent heir to our great kingdom,” Mrs. Stone said, “the son of Wise King Ridian.”

  Prince Sydo gave her a withering look. He opened his mouth to say something when Sir Gallows hastily interjected.

  “Your Highness, may I introduce Mrs. Anna Atticus Stone.”

  “The Anna Atticus Stone that all of Sithesia searches for, the one with the scion?” The prince whipped around on Lord Boron. “Ignorant fool, why did you not inform me? You have made me appear daft!”

  Lord Boron sputtered while fiddling with his fingers.

  “Mrs. Stone is in need of discretion, young prince,” Sir Gallows said. “For good measure, I made the decision to inform you only upon arrival.”

  Sydo glowered at the knight before turning to Mrs. Stone. “Show it to me!”

  The trio exchanged looks—Sydo was about to get the dressing down of his life.

  “Your Highness,” Sir Gallows began, “that is most unbecoming—”

  “I do not care, I want to see it! Show me the scion; show me what everyone searches for!”

  Sir Gallows stiffened. “Mrs. Stone will certainly not show you the scion. You will stop asking for it immediately!”

  Prince Sydo turned purple shaking with rage, but said no more.

  Mrs. Stone made a tactful gesture at the trio. “May I present Leera Jones, Bridget Burns, and my great-grandson, Augum Stone.”

  They bowed at the call of their names, as expected when in royal company.

  Sydo smoothed his hair. He looked them over as if just noticing them. “I thought they were the help.”

  The trio stirred, but under Mrs. Stone’s watchful gaze did not dare reply.

  “Interesting choice of robes,” Sydo continued, making a face like there was a terrible stink in the air. He then proceeded to remove his bearskin, revealing a finely embroidered red doublet over a pristine white silk shirt and black velvet pants. “I find it so … barbarian … to wear this thing.” He threw the bearskin at Lord Boron, who barely caught it, a look of exasperation on his round face.

  “It was for your own protection, Your Highness,” Sir Gallows said. He stepped past the prince toward Augum, snow falling from his shoulders with each stride. The tall knight bent a knee, fixing him with those steel-gray eyes, bushy brows crimping. “So you are the Lord of the Legion’s true son.”

  Augum felt his spine tingle. “Not by choice, Sir.”

  Prince Sydo suddenly appeared beside the knight, red hair quivering. “Your father murdered my father! He is a villainous traitor and I shall have his head on a spike! A branch never falls far from its tree—”

  “Augum isn’t a traitor!” Leera said from Augum’s left.

  “He certainly isn’t,” Bridget added from his right, “and Sparkstone murdered Augum’s mother.”

  Augum looked to Leera and Bridget in surprise then back to Sydo. He crossed his arms. “Well, you got the villainous part right.”

  “How dare you speak to me without deference, peasant scum—”

  Bridget gasped.

  “That is quite enough, Your Highness,” Sir Gallows said in a patient voice, as if this kind of thing happened all the time. He raised a thick gray eyebrow and turned his gaze to Mrs. Stone. “Is it true they are that different?”

  “It is true, Eldric. Lividius seeks his son, but the two are as different as a puddle is from an ocean.”

  “Lividius?”

  “Lord Sparkstone as you know him.”

  Sydo looked mutinous but said nothing. Sir Gallows gave a curt nod and stood. “Please do forgive our rudeness, Mrs. Stone. The journey has been long and fraught with peril. We are grateful for the hospitality and thus in your debt. If you hadn’t chanced upon us in our distress—”

  Mrs. Stone made a dismissive gesture. “I hardly think it worth mentioning, Eldric. We must work together for the good of all. Perhaps now would be the time to tell the young prince what we have discussed.”

  “Indeed, Mrs. Stone.” Gallows turned to Prince Sydo and Lord Boron. The prince’s fists clenched; Augum surmised he was not accustomed to being kept in the dark.

  “It is my duty, as the Royal Guardian to the Crown, to secure shelter and safety for the heir to the throne. We will henceforth take shelter in this castle.”

  The prince’s shoulders slumped as he peered at the barren walls. “You cannot mean what you say—this rotten shack? I hardly think it fit for royal blood!”

  Lord Boron made a nervous chuckle. “Heh heh … I’m sure Your Royal Highness will find it amply adequate upon seeing the accommodations.”

  Sydo smoothed his hair and flexed his jaw. “Oh, stuff it, Lord Moron.”

  Augum exchanged looks with Bridget and Leera—the prince was a spoiled ass!

  “Perhaps it would be best I see to the entourage,” Sir Gallows said. “We have horses, the royal wagon, four servants and another six men.”

  “I recall last we met you had many more, Eldric.”

  “That is true, Mrs. Stone, however the Legion surprised us; cut twenty of our men down before we could organize. We even lost our healer, though I count us lucky it had been the Black Guard and not the Red; I fear we would have been much the worse for it. There was one who was particularly dangerous though, a sorcerer with a black robe of lightning who slew most of our men, including Sir Matthew Silvers, the Havensword.”

  Augum felt himself stiffen.

  Mrs. Stone frowned. “From your description I would guess him to be Commander Vion Rames.”

  “You know of him?”

  “Indeed, he was once my apprentice, before joining Lividius.”

  “She trains our enemies too?” Sydo asked.

  “Manners, young prince,” Sir Gallows said. “Mrs. Stone, are there stables where we can see to the horses? I fear we also have injured that need attending to.”

  “Behind the castle, but they are buried in snow and damaged from the years. I will come with you to repair them and see to your injured.” She pulled the hood of her robe over her head, tucking her long ponytail in before turning to the trio. “Can I trust the three of you to show our guests to the great dining room?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  Sydo snorted.

  For a moment, Augum thought Mrs. Stone was going to deliver a most withering reproach, but she only pursed her lips.

  “Is there a place to leave the wagon?” Sir Gallows asked.

  Mrs. Stone arcanely swatted one of the outer doors aside. “Yes. Allow me to show you where,” and she departed with Sir Gallows. The door clanged shut behind them, drenching the vestibule in darkness.

  “Got away with one there,” Leera muttered.

  “I beg your pardon—”

  “You’ll see. Shyneo.” Her hand rippled to life. Augum and Bridget lit their palms as well, lighting the vestibule with blue-green light.

  “Shyneo,” Prince Sydo and Lord Boron chorused, their right hands lighting up with fire. The prince’s light was the weakest of everybody’s, flickering like a candle. Lord Boron’s fire was brightest of all, but only mildly so. The prince scowled when he spotted Augum’s lightning palm.

  “This way, um, Your Highness,” Augum said. He led them to the marble steps.

  The prince kept making snide remarks as they ascended. “And there, Lord Moron,” he would say, pointing at the giant shredded tapestry behind the landing. “Look at what they did to the tapestry—!”

  Augum had to keep from saying something rude; yeah, as if he and the
girls were the jackals that had torn it up.

  Lord Boron mopped his brow, each step a wheezing trial. “Heh heh … I believe the castle has been abandoned for some time, Your Highness.”

  Sydo dragged a finger across the banister and held it before his eyes. “Disgusting. This is what happens when you leave a castle in the hands of gutterborn—”

  The girls gasped.

  “Your Highness,” Lord Boron whispered, “that is a most base and uncouth word for a royal to use.”

  Sydo shrugged. “What is the name of this so-called castle anyway?”

  Augum extinguished his palm, the others doing the same. “We don’t know actually.”

  “Then I shall title it. It shall henceforth be known as … Castle Dirtclod!”

  “Heh heh, a most intriguing name, Your Highness.”

  Leera turned her head so quickly her hair whipped Augum’s face. “That’s the stupidest name ever—”

  “Exactly.” The prince flashed a triumphant grin.

  Leera was going to say something else when Bridget elbowed her.

  Upon reaching the third floor, the prince abruptly stopped, pointing at the child-sized suit of dented armor standing by the girls’ door. “I say, what is that—?”

  Bridget waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, that’s just Fentwick. He’s an animated suit of armor.”

  “You jest with me!” Sydo marched up to Fentwick, who immediately sprang to life.

  “Wouldst thou fancy a duel, mine lord?”

  Sydo recoiled. “Gods, it speaks! But how can it be so?”

  Fentwick bowed, joints squeaking. “I art nothing more than an arcane suit of armor, mine lord. Mine sole purpose is to train and defend thy young princes and princesses of ye castle. Wouldst thou care to duel, mine lord?”

  “You shall call me prince, you sorry gathering of rust!”

  “What setting dost mine lord beseech of me?”

  “I said prince!”

  “It’s no use, Your Highness,” Bridget said, sauntering around Fentwick. “He doesn’t understand. We don’t know much about him, but we’re sure he’s ancient arcane—probably been with the castle a long time; quite harmless anyway.”

  Prince Sydo smoothed his red hair and began examining Fentwick, poking at the helmet and even giving him a cagey push.

  “So it only wishes to duel with me—?”

  Fentwick rattled to life again. “Indeed, mine lord, wouldst thou care to duel? What setting dost mine lord beseech of me—”

  “And you say he trains the princes of the castle?”

  Bridget shrugged. “I think he spars with whoever wants to spar. We actually haven’t tried yet.”

  “Lord Moron! Fetch me my sword.”

  Lord Boron took a nervous glance at the stairs and mopped his forehead. “Heh heh … but Your Highness, your sword is all the way in the royal wagon. Perhaps His Highness would care to spar with the, uh, armor another time?”

  “NO! NOW, Lord Moron.”

  Lord Boron resigned a bow. “As His Highness commands …”

  “Wait—” Augum said, feeling sorry for the man. “You can use my sword, Your Highness. It’s just in my room here.”

  Lord Boron froze, face lighting with hope.

  The prince weighed the choice a little while. “Since I do not care to wait for your snail-like stride, Lord Moron …” His eyes fell disdainfully upon Augum. “You may fetch your sword, my subject.”

  “I’ll get it, but I’m not your subject; you aren’t king yet.” Augum retrieved his blade from his room and presented it hilt first. Unnoticed by the prince, the blade stopped sparking the moment he took it.

  Nose in the air, the prince took a few practice swings. “It will have to do, I suppose.” He turned to Fentwick. “All right, you ragged collection of scrap—let us spar.”

  Fentwick bowed. “As ye wish, mine lord,” and limped to stand across from the prince. “What setting dost mine lord beseech of me—defender, beginner, intermediate, advanced, or expert?”

  Sydo let out an involuntary snort. “Expert, of course.” He raised the sword in a battle stance.

  “Your Highness … heh heh … is this wise?”

  The prince silenced Lord Boron with a look.

  “This should be good,” Leera muttered as the trio stood back to watch.

  Fentwick backed away a few steps then became as agile and fluid as a cat, limp disappearing. He raised his wooden sword and deftly spun it in his hands.

  Sydo hesitated before the two circled each other. Suddenly the prince lunged at Fentwick, who dodged and wacked him hard on the shins. Sydo howled like a wounded dog. “How dare you—!”

  Leera snickered. “Had enough there, Your Highness?”

  The prince gave her an unsure sidelong glance. “Of course not! I was merely testing his stance. On guard!” and he leapt at Fentwick again, but the animated armor was too nimble, evading the strike and giving Sydo another hard thwack. The blow landed on the side of his head and sent the prince sprawling to the ground, sword flying from his hands.

  “Gods, how it hurts …” Sydo said, tears in his eyes, hair askew.

  Fentwick lowered his wooden sword. “I beseech thee; mine lord is naer skilled enough to duel at this rank. Mighteth I suggest beginner difficulty.”

  Leera began to crack up but Bridget gave her a quelling look and she composed herself, but not before the prince saw. He picked himself up, holding the side of his head, a malicious look on his face.

  “First I shall have you locked away for impertinence, and then I will have this hunk of rust melted and made into a helmet …”

  Leera ballooned, about to unleash a scathing response, when Bridget stepped between them. “Perhaps we should move on to the great dining room,” she said with a diplomatic smile.

  “Heh heh … yes, let us sit and be merry, Your Highness.”

  Augum picked up his sword and returned it to his room. When he came back, Sydo and Leera were avoiding each other’s gaze.

  Bridget beckoned. “This way, Your Highness.”

  Sydo scowled but followed, the side of his face as red as his hair, doublet slightly askew. The group entered the great dining room. Sydo gave it a bored look and plopped down into the throne-like chair. Lord Boron placed himself to his left. Bridget, Leera and Augum sat in their usual seats, putting a wide gulf between the two groups.

  They waited in silence. The tension rose steadily until horses nickered outside. The trio rushed to the windows.

  Sydo leaned closer to Lord Boron. “Have the peasants never seen a horse before?”

  “We have, but Mrs. Stone is about to repair the stables,” Bridget said, nose against the glass.

  The prince shot from his throne and ran over to a window, Lord Boron laboring behind. Ruined outlines of buildings traced lines in the snowy bailey. Eleven horses and seven armored men—the tallest of which Augum recognized as Sir Gallows—congregated by one particular ruin. Mrs. Stone shuffled beside four women, each wearing black winter cloaks and white servant hats. After a bit of discussion the men and women stepped back and Mrs. Stone raised her arms. Suddenly the horses neighed and rose up, fighting their handlers. A moment later, giant blocks of stone silently began to emerge from the snow, reforming into a structure.

  Augum glanced at the prince, who stared at the scene with wide eyes.

  “That is most … most …” The prince seemed to struggle finding the words to downplay Mrs. Stone’s formidable talent.

  “Your Highness,” Lord Boron said, “Mrs. Anna Atticus Stone was the headmistress of the Academy of Arcane Arts for thirty-five years, even personally instructing your father for a brief period.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Quite true, heh heh; but I’m afraid your father—if you forgive me for saying so, Your Highness—had no head for sorcery. His Highness was gracious about it though, bless his old soul.” Lord Boron’s eyes misted over.

  Sydo gave him a furious look.

  “B-b-but I do
believe Sir Gallows did attend the academy, Your Highness, reaching the 4th degree in fire before being called into service for your father.” Lord Boron’s head bobbed with a wide smile.

  Sydo spoke through his teeth. “I am well aware of how many degrees he has, Lord Moron. He taught me the Shine spell, remember? Something you were unable to accomplish.”

  “Of course, Your Highness, my apologies.”

  They watched Mrs. Stone rebuild the stable. Upon its completion, the servants and knights clapped. Then the men led the horses inside while the servants walked back with Mrs. Stone.

  “Where are your servants?” Prince Sydo asked as everyone took their seat.

  “We don’t use any,” Bridget replied. “The four of us just recently arrived. We’re exploring the castle.”

  The Prince scoffed. “No fire, no servants, no food—welcome to the legendary Castle Dirtclod!” and he broke apart laughing at his own joke, stopping suddenly. “Well, Lord Moron—? Do you not find the jest amusing?”

  “Heh heh … yes, Your Highness, very amusing.” Lord Boron flashed a fawning smile.

  “Really now, Lord Moron, you bore me to no end …”

  Leera turned to Augum and gestured as if she wanted to be hung, before whispering in an undertone, “You think we’ll get to explore the top of the castle tonight?”

  Augum leaned in a little. “That’d be great, though it’ll depend on how much work we have to do.”

  The prince craned his neck.

  Bridget also leaned in, pretending to scratch her cheek. “I’d really like to find that one crucial piece of the map.”

  “I say—what are you lot whispering about over there? You are not to keep secrets from your prince!”

  Leera flashed a cheery smile. “Nothing important, Your Highness.”

  Sydo jumped up from his throne chair. “Insolent peasant girl! If you speak ill of me, I will have you flayed and—”

  “You will do no such thing,” said a deep voice from the doorway. Sir Gallows strode into the room followed by four servant women with bowed heads. The prince scowled and slid back onto the throne. The servants lined up. Each wore a white hat over hair spiraled in a bun, as well as a white apron over a plain black dress.