Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  The stone slabs sprawled out beyond the arch into darkness. Augum sensed a great space, as if they were in a massive cavern, the ceiling and walls too far to see. The air smelled very old, reminding him of castle Arinthian’s crypt.

  “Where are the others?” Leera asked.

  Sixty-seven, no less nor more, Augum recalled.

  “Some are already here, others have yet to come,” Thomas replied, his floating fire a beacon in a sea of darkness.

  They arrived at a very wide set of long and shallow steps, so wide its edges were lost to darkness. The stairs led them to a plateau, where they finally spotted buildings across from each other, forming an alley in between. They were simple ghostly works of functional stone, unadorned and uncolored, two-storied, windowless.

  “So this is it?” Leera asked slowly. “This is the ancient city of Absalon?”

  “It is, Leera Jones.”

  “Not what I expected at all. Kind of … drab.”

  Augum had to agree with her. He thought it would be much … grander.

  “Sir, where are we going?” Sydo asked, his fire sputtering.

  “To a home better suited for mortals, Sydo Ridian.”

  They soon stopped at a windowless two-story home with a slanted shingled roof. There was a plain wooden door with a bronze doorknob, flanked by a pair of stone pots, ancient remnants of soil still inside.

  “If you’ll forgive me, m’lord, but why do the other buildings not have a roof?” Mya asked.

  Looking around, Augum realized she was right—the other buildings were completely open to the air.

  “Roofs are unnecessary here, but it has been observed having a roof eases the transition for mortals.”

  “So does having windows,” Leera muttered.

  Thomas gestured with an open palm and the door swung open. “Please enter.”

  Inside, the floor was made of polished obsidian slabs, the walls smooth gray stone, broken only by rod-shaped ebony and bronze sconces. To the left was a spartan common area furnished with a polished stone table and square block chairs. The bare kitchen had a stone wash basin and shelves lined with earthen tableware.

  Straight ahead from the entrance was a black marble staircase that presumably led to the bedrooms. To the right of it was a bathing room with copper taps in the shape of tree limbs. The polished black stone tub appeared very comfortable. Seeing it, Augum realized he couldn’t even remember the last time he took a bath.

  “The fixtures here were constructed for the non-arcane, long ago,” Thomas said, walking over to a wall with an ebony rod in a bronze sconce, one of many strewn about the room. With a wave of a finger, his floating globe of fire extinguished itself, darkening the room. He pressed an engraved Helix at the base of the rod and it emitted a small flame. “The taps and fireplace work the same way. I hope you find the accommodations comfortable.”

  “This is incredible,” Leera mumbled, pressing a tap in the bathing room. “Oh, yuck—the water’s brown!”

  “It has not been used for some time.”

  “Ooo, it’s turning clear … and hot!”

  Bridget squealed and ran over, testing the water.

  Mya followed right behind and daintily placed her hand underneath the tap. “What witchery is this?” she whispered.

  “You mean Ancient arcanery,” Bridget replied.

  “Food will be provided and the water here is good to drink,” Thomas said. “Oba will bring you fresh linens and provisions. I shall return later when you are settled.” He departed, but they were too caught up to notice.

  Bridget grinned. “We can wash our clothes here!”

  Sydo shrugged. “I daresay it is not like what I am used to … but it will do.”

  Augum’s eyes dropped to the burn mark on the prince’s doublet. “Hey, let me apologize one more time for striking you with lightning. I’ll ask Great-grandfather if he can spare some new clothes … or something.”

  Sydo gave him a cool look. “No need to bother, I shall have Mya prepare me a new one.”

  Augum had to bite his tongue as the girls piled out of the bathing room, giggling like schoolchildren.

  “All right everybody—race for your rooms!” Leera said, lunging for the stairs along with Bridget and lastly Mya, who avoided the race but did skip a step or two. Soon Leera’s voice came echoing down the stairs. “Me and Bridge pick this one—!”

  Sydo made a sound rather like that of a donkey. “Stupid peasants …”

  Augum sighed and walked upstairs, lighting the corridor torches along the way. He stepped into the last room on the right, extinguished his palm, and stood in the partial darkness, listening to the distant exclamations of the girls. He pressed the engraved Helix on a torch and closed the door.

  The windowless room lit up in a gentle amber glow. It had a dresser, a small wardrobe, a wooden cot, and a writing table with a spindled chair, all carved with the helix and crafted by patient hands—not a joint out of place, not a single uneven line. The pillow and linens on the cot had long rotted away.

  There was a knock at the door. “Pardon me, Augum,” Mya said when he opened it, almond eyes peering about his room. “But m’ladies Bridget and Leera insist we take a peek at your room.”

  We? To his disappointment, Bridget and Leera giggled, completely ruining any chance of him having a private conversation with Mya.

  “Um, of course,” he stammered, getting out of the girls’ way as they piled in.

  “Looks identical to ours,” Leera said, opening the dresser drawers.

  “Does it—?” he mumbled absently, watching the play of torchlight on Mya’s delicate features as she padded about the room.

  “Oh, stop your snooping, Lee,” Bridget said, opening his wardrobe.

  Another knock came, this time from below, and much louder.

  “That must be Oba with the linens!” Bridget yelled, swooping out of the room. Mya and Leera followed, Augum trudging along behind.

  Sydo had already allowed Oba entry by the time they crashed downstairs. The brawny Leyan held two large woven baskets, each overstuffed with items. “Solians spoiled.” He dropped the baskets to the ground with a derisive snort before taking his leave.

  “Sir—” Leera called after him, but Oba Sassone had already gone.

  Bridget fished out a fresh white towel and squealed. “Oooo … look!”

  “And soap—!” Mya held up a bundle of multi-colored bars like a prized hen.

  Soon everyone was greedily rooting around, even the prince, deprived for so long of his luxuries. In the first basket, they found an ornate silver comb and hand mirror that appeared to have come from an age long past; nightgowns embroidered with the Helix; an assortment of scented oils; white towels; blankets and silk sheets. The other basket held Leyan food, though there were some additional goodies, namely two jars of dark jam and two bars of what appeared to be chocolate.

  Mya stood up with a meek expression. “Would m’ladies care to take a bath first?”

  “You go ahead,” Bridget said idly.

  “Oh, thank you—”

  Sydo’s head shot up but Bridget gave him an imploring look. “If you must,” he muttered. Mya flashed Bridget a secretly grateful smile before excusing herself with a curtsy.

  Sydo gathered a great many of the goods and slithered to his room.

  “Did you want the wash basins too?” Leera called after him. “Take some chairs while you’re at it. Ugh, I hate him.”

  “He’s had a difficult upbringing,” Bridget said, adjusting her hair in the mirror. “Give him some leeway.”

  “He’s got so much leeway there’s no room for anyone else.” Leera picked out a nightgown. “Hey, remember when Tyeon tried one of these on?”

  Bridget burst with a laugh. “Only he could get away with stuff like that.”

  They fell silent.

  Augum sat down beside Leera. “Miss him, don’t you?”

  They nodded.

  “You would have really liked him, Aug,”
Leera said quietly.

  He recalled Tyeon’s clever and friendly wit. Then he recalled the boy taking a spear through the gut for his grandfather and crumpling at the man’s feet. “I know I would have.”

  Sydo came down the steps, taking a seat across from Bridget at the table. “What is the matter with you lot? Why so glum?”

  Bridget shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Do not keep secrets from your prince.”

  “I suppose it’s fair to tell you, since you don’t know.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Bridget folded and refolded a blanket. “The Legion burned down Sparrow’s Perch, mine and Leera’s home.”

  Sydo gave Augum a knowing look. “I see. Were there casualties?”

  Bridget only nodded.

  Augum felt his heart constrict. “My father murdered their parents.”

  There was a fleeting look of triumph on Sydo’s face before he caught himself. “So they suffered the same fate as my father.”

  “And what of your mother?” Bridget cut in.

  “She died of coughing sickness when I was but a boy,” Sydo replied.

  Suddenly it hit Augum—they were all orphans, every single one of them, all but him—and it was solely his father’s fault. “I wish I could make it all better somehow,” he blurted, remembering that words were just that … words.

  Sydo stood up. “You can—turn yourself over to your father!”

  Bridget and Leera gasped.

  Sydo flipped his hand. “What? It was not I who said it—the millennials themselves are of the same mind. Think about it—it would heal Lord Sparkstone’s heart and stop the madness. Is that not what they hinted with their story? Search your souls, you know it to be true!”

  Bridget’s voice dropped to a hurt whisper. “How could you say such a thing?”

  “It—was—not—I—who—said—it! You tell me you have not thought the same …”

  Bridget abruptly stood and took a step back from the table, staring at the prince as if for the first time. She looked to Augum and hesitated. That moment of hesitation was all it took. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, Augum said, “Save it—” and stormed upstairs to his room, slamming the door. He threw himself down on his cot, not bothering to light a torch. His skin burned with anger and his heart panged with hurt.

  So it was true—they agreed he should turn himself over to his father! And if he didn’t, they’d blame him for everything that happened from here on—every single murder his father perpetrated was going to be on his hands! And they’d be right—if he had the power to stop his father, he had to … A sick feeling surged through him. Suddenly he understood what his great-grandmother meant by sacrifice.

  He took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do.

  Magua

  “Augum—?” came Leera’s quiet voice from the other side of the door.

  “What!” Augum shot back.

  “Augum I—”

  “—I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Well, I’m coming in anyway—” The door opened and closed before he could say anything else. He gave an exasperated sigh and turned away. The cot depressed slightly as she sat beside him.

  “Aug, you have to know Bridget’s very upset. She doesn’t for one moment believe you should turn yourself over to your father.”

  He didn’t reply, too afraid he’d say something mean. He wished she would just go away and leave him alone.

  “—and neither do I,” Leera continued. “We don’t believe you going to Sparkstone would do any good. He’d just try to corrupt you and continue with his plans anyway. Please, Aug, you must believe me.”

  He felt conflicted. Part of him desperately wanted to believe her, but another said it was now his duty to join his father. How many lives would that save? Damn well not enough. Wouldn’t bring Bridget and Leera’s parents back. Wouldn’t bring Sir Westwood back either.

  A small knock came at the door. “Augum …?” It was Bridget.

  Leera got up. “I’m going to let her in, okay?”

  He shrugged as the door opened.

  Bridget padded up to the cot, sniffling. “Aug—please know I’d never, ever want you to go to join your father—”

  Hearing her troubled voice made him feel like a bratty baby. But why couldn’t he be the bratty baby for once? He should just tell them he was going and leave it at that.

  “Augum? Talk to me … please.”

  He wanted to say something, but couldn’t get any words out. Bridget immediately sobbed and stormed out of the room.

  Leera sighed. “I better go see to her.” She gave Augum’s shoulder a squeeze, and quietly closed the door, once again leaving him in darkness.

  He returned to lying on his back. Nice one, why not upset Mya too while you’re at it. Idiot.

  He lay there for some time, trying to figure out how to get out of Ley and join his father. Maybe he could make a special petition or something, ask to be teleported to the Black Castle directly.

  The best thing to do was to slip out without the girls noticing. He didn’t think he could bear seeing Bridget, Leera and Mya again. Wait—the fountain! But how could he pass through the portal without the scion, and how would he find it again in the desert?

  Another knock at the door. “M’lord, it is your turn at the bath.” It was Mya, and she sounded … normal, as if nothing was going on. He really wished she had called him by his proper name.

  “Um, okay thanks,” he said, trying to sound completely normal too. He listened to the fading sound of her footsteps, heart aching.

  No, he had to face them, he couldn’t just slip out like some weasel! He really was acting like a brat …

  He got up, deciding to take a bath and think things over more. As he passed through the living area, he surreptitiously checked the dining table. Bridget, Leera and Mya sat together, obviously talking about him because they went quiet as he walked by. He strolled on into the bathing room, closing the door behind him. There he stripped off his old robes, stepped into the black stone tub and took his time washing up.

  He tried hard to enjoy the luxuries of hot water and soap, but it proved impossible because of a certain phrase that kept circling in his head—Return me mine son and I shall henceforth unburden thy kingdom of mine wrath …

  Was that the intention, or was there another message in the speech? He ran through people’s opinions to help weigh on the matter. Nana fiercely objected him rejoining his father, yet the millennials seemed to suggest otherwise. After some honest reflection, he came to believe Bridget and Leera didn’t want him to join his father either. Sydo certainly made it plain where he stood. As for Mya … well, he only hoped she wanted him around too.

  Now if Sir Westwood were here, he would make a big speech about how it was Augum’s duty to do the right thing—which in this case probably meant joining his father and trying to talk him out of … out of what, being a necromancer?

  The more he thought about it, the sillier the idea seemed. What could he, a 1st degree warlock, possibly say or do to stop the Lord of the Legion, a man he did not know except through his atrocities? Most likely he’d be held for ransom for the family scion …

  Return me mine son and I shall henceforth unburden thy kingdom of mine wrath …

  But even if there was a tiny chance, was it not worth taking for the sake of so many lives?

  He struggled on with his thoughts as he washed his hair. After the bath, he glanced at himself in the mirror over the washbasin. His scruffy umber hair dropped down to his sharply arched brows now, a touch long for his taste. Maybe he could convince Mya to give it a trim;. The thought made his chest constrict. He wanted to stay, but he needed to go. He had to be strong. Tough. He sighed, adjusted his robe one last time, and made his exit.

  The table once again fell quiet as Augum approached. He noticed Sydo was sitting amongst them now. The girls gave the prince urging looks. He finally stood up and cleared his throat.

  “Err … I apolo
gize for having said that you should go to your father,” the prince said in forced tones. There was a frantic whisper and he added, “And I hope you will forgive me as I have forgiven you … for striking me with lightning and almost killing me like your fa—OW! How dare—STOP IT!” but he fell silent after the second kick under the table.

  Augum frowned. When had Sydo forgiven him? He was certain he’d have remembered that happening. “I accept your apology,” he nonetheless said, unable to bring himself to argue right now.

  Bridget smiled. “Come on, Aug, have some fruit.”

  His eyes travelled to Mya, who stood tall, shiny jet hair streaming down her front. She smiled. He felt his face grow hot.

  A knock came at the door.

  “I’ll get it—” Augum said quickly, expecting to see Thomas, but after opening it, he was surprised to find a millennial instead. It was the withered old woman with milky eyes, disheveled hair, and triangular symbol on her cloak.

  She pointed a crooked finger at him. “You are the heir to the Lord of Death, are you not?”

  Augum took a step back. “I really hope not … but where’s Thomas Stone?”

  She grunted and shuffled inside, bent so far forward she only came up to his chest. The others, still at the table, stood upon seeing her.

  Her head shook uncontrollably as she spoke. “Thomas Stone is readying for judgment and penance.”

  “M’lady—” Mya began, stepping forward and curtseying, “forgive my impertinence, but, what exactly is Mr. Stone doing penance for?”

  “I am no lady! My name is Magua. Remember it well, childling. As for Thomas Stone, he will serve penance for breaking the vow. He is young and foolish, much like that wife of his—too quick to act, too slow to contemplate. It is forbidden to harbor the uninvited. It is forbidden to train them. It is forbidden to pass on secret knowledge. And it is forbidden to perform an unsanctioned Karma.”

  Sydo’s face lit up with recognition. “ ‘Unsactioned karma’? Your Eldership means the statue trick—!” His tone seemed to suggest Thomas had done him great wrong.

  Magua fixed her eyes upon the prince. “A Karma is a grave thing. It is not to be used lightly. We Leyans took the Vow of Isolation—we are not to interfere in the happenings of mortals. Even your being here is an affront to the sacred oath.”