Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  Bridget strode up to the settle, kneeled before it and splayed her hands out. “Apreyo.” The pieces slowly reformed. Augum, meanwhile, fixed the pots, Leera the candelabras.

  “There, good as new,” Bridget said once they finished.

  “Shh—I hear something,” Leera whispered, freezing. Sure enough, the sound of muffled voices came from the southwest room. They crept to the door and listened.

  “—I do not want to stay in this miserable hovel!” the prince shouted. “That old hag is uncouth and her tongue is too spirited. I want her head!”

  “Your Highness, please …” said a voice they recognized as Ms. Grinds’. “Sir Gallows deems the castle suitable. Your father put all his trust in him, as should you. He is your regent and captain of your royal guard. Surely you must know he has your best interests at heart—”

  “—Castle Dirtclod is not fit for a prince! I want to go home, and I want them flayed for their insolence.”

  “Your Highness—you know we cannot go home, and this is no way to talk about those that took us in, especially of Anna Atticus Stone.”

  “I am not a child—I am a prince, and heir to my father’s throne! Do not forget it, or I will have your head when I turn of age and take the crown—”

  “Begging forgiveness, Your Highness—I meant no disrespect.”

  “And when are you going to fix this place? Look at this, the bed is hardly fit to sleep in!”

  “Your Highness, I believe Mrs. Stone’s three apprentices are coming up to repair it this very moment.”

  “I do not want those peasant rats in here! Send them away, I can repair it myself!”

  “But Your Highness, you have already tried—”

  “Do as I command, Grinds!”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Ms. Grinds said in a stiff voice. The trio barely had time enough to jump back and pretend as if they just arrived when the door opened.

  “Oh—!” Ms. Grinds hastily closed the door behind her. She was pale and a few hairs poked out of her usually perfect bun.

  “Um, we’re here to repair the prince’s room,” Augum said, keeping his voice light.

  Ms. Grinds herded them towards the stairs, adjusting her hat. “The prince is … indisposed at this time. You will simply have to find something else to do—”

  The sound of feet running up the stairs echoed from below.

  “Ms. Grinds—!” called a breathless young girl’s voice. “Ms. Grinds, come quick—!”

  “What is it, child, what happened?”

  “It’s Sir Dollard Canes, m’lady,” huffed a red-faced Mandy. “His wound … it’s much worse … come right away.”

  “Right—off you go to boil a pot of water. And summon Mya.”

  “She’s already there, m’lady.”

  “Then tell Rafinda to fetch clean towels. Well, what are you waiting for, wretched child—go!”

  Mandy curtsied and ran back downstairs, Ms. Grinds hurrying after. Augum, Bridget and Leera took one look at each other and followed Grinds to the second floor, somewhere they had not visited yet. It looked identical to the third where they slept, except without windows. To compensate, the servants had installed torches and candles for light. Augum wondered if they had missed an arcane solution to the problem; after all, they now knew where the servant plaque was. Then he realized it had to be because none of them knew arcanery, not even Ms. Grinds.

  Sir Gallows was quietly speaking with two other knights on the east side when Mya’s tall figure emerged from a room behind them.

  The trio gasped—Mya’s porcelain hands and apron glistened with blood. For a moment, Augum was terrified something had happened to her.

  Mya pointed a bloody finger at them. “The children … they mustn’t see such a thing—”

  Ms. Grinds turned and started shouting and making shooing motions, but Augum did not register a word, he just kept staring at Mya’s bloody hands. Finally, Ms. Grinds took him by the scruff and yanked him upstairs, herding Leera and Bridget with her other hand. She only let go when they reached the third floor, giving a stern warning to stay there, before marching back downstairs, muttering to herself.

  “Sir Canes must be in dire straits,” Bridget said, gripping the marble banister and looking down.

  Leera gave Augum a nudge. “You look as pale as Grinds. You all right?”

  “Fine …” he croaked.

  It was not the blood that bothered him, however; he had seen his share of it hunting with Sir Westwood. What really bothered him was seeing her covered in blood—and the fact that she called them children. He was fourteen, two years from becoming a man, though he desperately wanted to be older.

  Mrs. Stone soon strode by without a word, followed by a perspiring Lord Boron. Upon spotting her, Ms. Grinds, patrolling below so the trio would not sneak back down, advanced up the steps.

  “Mrs. Stone, Your Ladyship—he is at death’s door, do come quick.”

  “Mrs. Stone will do, Ms. Grinds.” She turned to the trio. “I want you three to come and watch.”

  Ms. Grinds visibly shook. “But, Mrs. Stone, surely it is no sight for—”

  “This is part of their training, Ms. Grinds. I am afraid I must insist.”

  “But—there’s blood!” Grinds’ already pale face went one shade paler. Augum worried that she might faint if this continued.

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Stone said, marching past her. Lord Boron and the trio followed, careful to avoid eye contact with an exasperated Grinds.

  “I say, what is happening? I want to see!” shouted an indignant voice from above.

  “Absolutely not, Your Highness,” and Grinds stormed upstairs while holding her skirt, declaring the scene quite inappropriate for a prince.

  Meanwhile, the group made their way to the room. Three knights stood out front, silhouetted by torchlight.

  “This will not be pleasant to watch” Mrs. Stone said as they walked, “I want you three to stay quiet and learn, is that understood?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” They exchanged uneasy looks.

  She padded past the knights and into the room. Augum saw grim faces as he passed. Lord Boron engaged in hushed conversation with Sir Gallows and one of the brother knights, Augum could not tell which one. Sir Jayson Quick, the Nightsword, stroked his mustache while staring at a torch. Mandy hurried out of the room carrying a bloodstained towel and a bowl of crimson water. Augum paid her little attention, focusing on the flickering shadows within the room.

  Soon as they entered, they froze. Blood was everywhere—on the walls, on the floor, on the people, and all over the bed. Mya was busy doing something with a wound that Sir Dollard Canes had sustained in his stomach. The curly-haired knight with a bulbous nose squirmed, a fearful and agonized look on his face. Mrs. Stone stood with her hand over him, speaking soft arcane words. When she finished, his eyes closed and he went still.

  Bridget took a hesitant step forward. “Is he … is he—”

  “Merely asleep,” Mrs. Stone said, “so Mya may work.”

  “Almost … have … it …” Mya said through clenched teeth as she tugged at something, brow beaded with sweat. Her hand shot loose. It glistened with blood and held a jagged piece of metal. She gave it to Rafinda, receiving a bottle of white wine in its place, and proceeded to clean the wound with it. “Cautery, please,” she said after wiping the area with a cloth.

  Rafinda scurried forward with a glowing hot iron she had been holding over a torch. Mya took it and pressed it to the wound. The trio looked away as it sizzled. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room.

  “Now we can dress the wound.” It was then that Mya noticed the trio. Her delicate face registered surprise.

  “I insisted they attend, Mya,” Mrs. Stone said, turning to the trio. “Come closer. Watch and learn. Mya knows the ancient art of non-arcane healing. There may come a day when a healer is not present; it would be prudent to know how to care for an injury yourselves.”

  Augum, Bridget and Leera edged forward, winci
ng upon seeing the wound.

  “Will he live—?” Augum asked quietly, staring at the knight’s swollen pale face.

  “I don’t know,” Mya said, bandaging the wound. “We must keep it clean. Should you face an arrow strike, pull it out if possible, clean the wound with boiled water or white wine, cauterize it with hot iron, then wrap it with a bandage; and make sure to change the cloth frequently. An herbal poultice helps, as well as a diet of garlic, lemon, fruit, fresh vegetables and red wine. For the pain you can use whiskey or the bark of a white willow.”

  Augum had not registered what she said, instead admiring her soft lips and the confident way she spoke. Strangely, he wanted to be the one injured, cared for by her, the center of her attention.

  “How did you learn this skill?” Leera asked, taking a bowl of hot water from Mandy and placing it near Mya.

  “The knowledge has been passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations. I learned it from my mother, who learned it from her mother. One day, when I have a daughter, I shall pass it to her too. My mother was a traditional battlefield healer who served King Ridian in the Narsinian war. Arcane healers were very expensive and hard to come by. The king made do with the people he had.”

  “But why are you a servant then?” Augum asked, before realizing it was a rude question. Instead of reproach, Mya only smiled, rosy-cheeks blossoming. His stomach fluttered.

  “By the urging of the wise king. He knew of my mother’s talents and wanted me near his son in case he became wounded with no arcane healer present. As it turns out, our healer was slain when the Legion last attacked us.” Mya finished dressing the wound. “Now I am afraid I have to ask everyone to leave as Sir Canes needs rest.”

  The group obeyed her wishes and trooped from the room.

  “I think it best I leave for Antioc immediately,” Mrs. Stone said to Gallows as she passed by.

  “I will continue the work on the wall, Your Ladyship.”

  “Mrs. Stone will do, Eldric.”

  “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Stone. Old habits die hard.”

  “So they do indeed,” she muttered.

  The trio followed Mrs. Stone to the stairs, where she turned to address them. “Ms. Grinds reports the prince is indisposed. Very well. I wish for you to help the knights repair the perimeter wall, after which one of them is to impart a sword lesson. Then in late evening, you are to read up on the Unconceal spell from the blue book.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone,” they said together tonelessly.

  Her blue eyes flicked over them one last time before she slowly descended to the foyer.

  Augum wondered what had they done to deserve such a thing. He had barely slept last night from that nightmare; this morning they had to train with Unconceal to find their lunch, each only having one egg; they repaired the servant rooms, in itself an incredibly exhausting task; and now she expected them to repair the wall, take a sword lesson, then do some studying?

  “Ugh, that’s a lot of work,” Leera said when Mrs. Stone disappeared from sight.

  “She’s pushing us hard for a reason,” Bridget said.

  “That’s for sure.” Augum’s thoughts drifted to Mya. “I didn’t know she was a healer …”

  “Hmm—? Oh, you mean Mya.” Leera smirked, studying Augum. “You like her, don’t you?”

  His face reddened. He shrugged. “She’s pretty, I guess …”

  “Yes, and she’s also like five years your elder; don’t let her beauty torment you.”

  That took him aback. It was not something he expected to hear from Leera.

  “Oh, Sir Gallows—” Leera said as the knight made his way past them. “We wish to help you with the wall.”

  Sir Gallows’ bushy brows twitched. “You wish or you have been ordered?”

  Leera deflated. “Ordered …”

  Gallows looked past them and smiled. “I recall my first year at the academy, particularly when Mrs. Stone had me repair a statue I broke. To teach me a lesson, she made me break it twenty times more, repairing it again and again. I thought I would surely expire from exhaustion.”

  Augum noticed the knight looked to be around the same age as his father. “Sir Gallows, were you by chance at the academy at the same time as my father?”

  His expression soured. “I was not. Your father attended after I had already departed.”

  “What about my mother?”

  “The same, though I can see why you wish to know more about them.” Gallows brought his hands together. “Now let us go outside. I am sure we could all use some fresh air.”

  Death and Perseverance

  The group assembled outside the castle at dusk, the air blisteringly cold, fogging their breath.

  “… and here is the section we started on earlier,” finished the hollow-cheeked Castor, nodding at a crudely reassembled portion of the wall. “We shall work southward. Why don’t you three magic your way north?”

  Some of the knights chuckled.

  Augum wanted to correct the smug knight—arcane, not magic. “We will, Sir,” he said instead.

  Castor and company began looking for stones, laying them onto the wall where the grim-faced Nightsword stood by a small vat of mortar warmed by a brazier. Without arcanery, they were slow, which was interesting to Augum because Gallows had his 4th degree and could easily use Telekinesis and Repair. As it was, the work would take forever at the pace the knights were going. Had to be a point of honor, he concluded, observing the ruined wall. It stretched distantly, circumventing the castle in a great oval. But what if …

  “Sirs—!” he called. “Sirs, hear me please—”

  “What is it, Augum?” Gallows asked, lifting a large snow-covered stone.

  Say it gently and with respect. He cleared his throat. “We could do this, save you a lot of trouble. Perhaps Sirs would be better served repairing the ovens—”

  Gallows dropped the stone amidst roars of laughter. The Nightsword merely raised an eyebrow.

  Castor glanced at his colleagues as if Augum was nothing but a silly child. “Better served—? You mock us!”

  “No, no—I only mean … that is …” but the words got all jumbled in his head under the knights’ challenging glares.

  “He meant we can do this ten times faster than the lot of you!” Leera said from behind. The knights laughed anew and slapped each other’s backs.

  “Not a chance—”

  “On my word—brave little scamps, aren’t they?”

  “They jest—”

  Only the Nightsword did not share their amusement, face unexpressive.

  Gallows picked up the stone again and dropped it on the wall with a loud crunch. “Is that what you mean to say, Augum—that you three can do this ten times faster than the six of us grown men—?”

  Augum rubbed his neck. “Well … yes.”

  Gallows leaned against the wall. “All right, young one—prove it.”

  “Yes, do prove it!” one of the Brack brothers said. The others soon took up the call.

  Sir Fostian Red shook his head while retrieving a stone. “Comrades, there is work to be done. Let us stop making a mock of these children.”

  Augum felt a hot flush. There is that word again. He marched to the wall, the girls following.

  Castor elbowed Gallows. “Fostian’s right. Look there—already they give up.”

  One by one, the knights went back to work.

  “Let’s show them a thing or two,” Bridget said with a determined gleam in her eye.

  “They asked for it,” Leera added.

  Augum splayed out his palms over the ruins. “Ready?”

  The girls nodded, extending their hands. After a brief moment of concentration, the three yelled, “Apreyo!”

  Chips, pebbles, rocks and even small boulders began to appear from the snow, some rolling, some dragging, some flying. Augum dimly heard the knights stir but resolved to keep his focus on the wall.

  See the cracks disappear; see two stones become one.


  The snow whipped around them as they kept increasing their pace, as if racing each other to see who could repair more. At last, after reaching a furious speed, Augum cracked a smile. He immediately lost his concentration and fell to the snow. Bridget and Leera followed, giggling. He sat up and saw they had repaired ten feet of the wall.

  The knights quibbled and laughed amongst each other while Gallows approached, hands spread in conciliation.

  “If we get the stoves ready, perhaps we can sup a second time tonight, but with some roast chicken. I of all people should have known what kind of mentor Mrs. Stone is.” Then he turned to his companions. “Come, gentle Sirs, let us be gracious in defeat—the warmth of the kitchens awaits!”

  “Mmm, chicken is my favorite …” Augum mumbled. Spiced roast chicken was the first dish Sir Westwood had served him after finding him on the edge of the Gamber. To this day, it was the most delicious single dish he had ever eaten—though perhaps it was the taste of freedom that made it so special.

  “Mine too,” Leera said. “Creamed chicken …”

  Bridget quieted down. “Mine is Mother’s pumpkin pie …”

  The knights picked up the vat and brazier and left, muttering about the youth these days. The Nightsword’s cold gaze lingered on the trio before he turned to walk away with his companions.

  Bridget stood and brushed the snow off. “I don’t like the look of that one.”

  “Same here,” Leera said. “We should keep an eye on him.”

  Together they continued work but at a far slower pace, stamping their feet and rubbing their arms to ward off the bitter cold. They plopped down after dusk, numb from exhaustion, heads throbbing. While catching their breath, they admired their work—one hundred feet of newly repaired wall, barely visible in the occasional patch of starlight that shone through the clouds.

  It was then a peculiar noise came from the woods beyond the wall. They stood up, faces tight with apprehension.

  “Who’s there—?” Leera called out. When there was no response, she took a step forward.

  Bridget caught her arm. “Remember what Mrs. Stone said—we’re not to go beyond the wall. Besides, it’s probably only a rabbit or something.”