Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  Augum, who had to bite his lip from calling out from the pain in his chest, caught glimpses of dark peat homes, muddy snow-covered yards, and wooden troughs.

  They were dragged in through a doorframe and thrown onto a dirty plank floor. The room had a shuttered window on the side with a cabinet underneath, a hearth at the far end. A wooden campaign desk sat in the middle strewn with parchments, quill and ink. Torches flickered in sconces mounted on the log walls.

  A man with close-cropped gray hair wearing ornate black armor patiently washed his hands in a basin. He dried off with a cloth, adjusted his black surcoat—belted in the middle and emblazoned with the burning sword of the Legion—and began pacing before them. A crimson cloak trailed the floor, linked by a collar chain that danced against his breast with every step.

  He stopped abruptly and fixed them with pale gray eyes. “Search them,” in that deep voice they had heard earlier.

  “Yes, Commander,” replied a pair of burly guardsmen with stern yet youthful faces. Soon Burden’s Edge, coins, hooded lantern, flint, steel, and the remains of mirko meat lay before them on the floor. The commander stepped on the meat, making a show of grinding it underfoot.

  Augum’s heart ached as he recalled Bridget tenderly wrapping it in linen for them. “So it stays fresh longer,” she had said with that affectionate smile of hers.

  The commander snapped his fingers and one of the guards grabbed the back of Augum and Leera’s necks and thrust them forward, noses to the floor. Leera gasped while Augum let out an involuntary grunt from the pain in his chest.

  The man casually kicked the rest of the items. “Quite prepared the two of you were.”

  “Please, m’lord,” Leera began in a commoner accent, “our brother’s sick—ow!” The guard holding her neck had squeezed.

  “Hand me that short blade.”

  “Commander.” The guard that wasn’t holding their necks picked up Burden’s Edge and passed it over.

  “Now what would peasant rats be doing with such a fine blade?” He let that thought linger as he continued pacing, turning the Dreadnought blade over in his hands. “Do you know what we do to thieves?”

  “We ain’t—” but Augum’s words were cut off by a vice-like squeeze on his neck.

  “Why would I care about your little brother? Is he old enough to join us? Hmm?”

  “He is, sir,” Augum said, wincing, “but—”

  The commander unsheathed Burden’s Edge and tapped Augum’s head with it. “Well then, do tell us where he is so we may send our healer along and help the poor child.”

  Better alive and taken prisoner than dead, Augum reasoned. Now it was his turn to mimic the trapper’s twang. “M’lord, me sisters are taking care of me brother in me father’s cabin, a days’ walk west o’ here.” A poor impression at best.

  The commander stood there a moment before chuckling mirthlessly. “Good, because when we find him, we shall cut off his head for desertion, then put your sisters to work.”

  “NO!” Augum struggled, but the guard that had him by the neck slammed him into the plank floor. His nose immediately began gushing, the iron taste of blood filling his mouth. Leera started to shout but the other guard kicked her to a coughing and writhing halt.

  “Please don’t harm them,” Augum managed to say, dizzy from the blow. It hardly helped the guard seemed to take pleasure smearing his face into the bloody planks.

  The commander crouched down, grabbed Augum’s hair and lifted his head. “Then will you kindly explain why else your brother is still in his cabin, if not hiding from his required service?” Those pale gray eyes were as empty as any Augum had ever seen, reminding him of Sir Jayson Quick, the Nightsword.

  “Speak up, boy.” He shook Augum’s head back and forth like a doll, with no thought as to the hair he ripped out. Augum grit his teeth, refusing to cry out despite the pain and nausea.

  The commander scowled, released Augum’s scalp, and dusted his hands. “I think I know what happened here. Everyone in Solia received the order for men to join the Legion. You simply chose to ignore it, and now your poor little brother is sick. So that peasant rat brain of yours thought, ‘By golly, let us have a good jest an’ rub one over on the ol’ commander—he’s too darn stupid to tell the difference!’ ”

  Augum remained silent, fighting to breathe properly.

  The commander inspected his fingernails, voice almost a whisper again. “Well, is that not the way of it, boy?”

  “I … I don’t know.” Damn this nausea.

  “You don’t know.” The commander inhaled slowly, before changing his tone into that of a doting grandfather. “This is quite the fine blade you have here, son. Did you inherit it from your father?”

  Augum’s mind swam through a murky lake trying to concoct a story, or even to hold onto one. “I … I …”

  The commander only shook his head. “Bah, you see, Lieutenant? These filthy peasants are all useless. I venture to guess this boy stole this blade, as well as everything else here. Did you steal this blade, boy? Confess it and save yourself some pain.”

  “No, I—” but the commander suddenly struck him with an open hand, sending his head flying backwards. The world quickly became a foggy blur. Leera cried out until silenced by a sharp jerk of her neck.

  “I do not like hurting you, my boy,” the commander said in a way that suggested otherwise, “but if there is one thing I cannot stand for besides filth and degradation, it is lies.” He sheathed Burden’s Edge and put it on his desk, gesturing at the rest of their stuff on the floor. “Confiscate it all and lock the criminals up.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the guard standing by. He yanked Leera to her feet, while the other guard did the same with Augum, who was fighting a losing battle to stay conscious. Not even his former foster father, Mr. Penderson, had hit him that hard. It was like being struck with a hammer. Blood dribbled down his chin and onto his fur coat.

  Just as the guards began dragging the two of them off, someone walked in. All Augum could see was the bottom of the person’s robes, decorated with black and red vertical stripes.

  “Ah, our talented young necrophyte enters. How did the day’s batch go?”

  “Miserably, Commander Tridian ,” replied the boy in whiny tones. “Raised one so fat he could hardly claw a peasant’s eyes out. Had to put him to the torch along with—” He stopped speaking a moment. “Unspeakable gods—I know these two!”

  Augum tried to power through his dizziness. That voice … he knew that voice. A sharp tug on his scalp forced his head up. Before him hovered a pinched face he had not seen since the massacre at Sparrow’s Perch.

  Robin Scarson smiled with victorious glee. “Commander Tridian, this is the one we are looking for. May I introduce Augum Stone, the son of the Lord of the Legion.”

  Robin Scarson

  Augum woke up on a cold stone floor in a small prison cell with iron bars and stone walls, stripped of his newly-made hide garments, though mercifully left with his burgundy robe and worn leather turnshoes.

  He groaned trying to sit up, gently touching his throbbing chest. He felt his swollen face, trying to remember what happened after seeing Robin. Blood crusted across the whole of it, down his chin and neck. His nose stung when he touched it.

  He stumbled forward, grabbed the bars, and looked around. Prison cells stretched down both sides of the corridor. Hooded candles flickered in the space between every second cell, casting dim light. There was the sound of distant weeping and coughing, broken by occasional moans of pain. Water dripped with a slight echo. A figure lay sleeping in the cell opposite, but it was too dark to see who it was.

  “Leera—?” he whispered, unsure if there were guards near.

  “Aug, beside you,” came the quiet reply.

  He tried looking to the right, but it was impossible—the bars were just too close together. “Are you okay, did they hurt you—?”

  “I’m all right.” A pause. “They sent a party to get Bridget and Mya an
d the prince.”

  “I should have kept my damn mouth shut.”

  “No, you did right playing the odds. Better captured than dead. And they won’t kill any of us if they think us valuable.” She extended her hand out to him. He grabbed it and they squeezed. “How about you, you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” He saw her wrist was purple, probably from the way the guards had dragged her. His heart panged at the sight. “Hey, at least they’ll save the prince’s life.” Though the Legion had killed Sydo’s father, the king. Then he remembered something—Sydo and Robin were friends, going all the way back to Blackhaven! Robin had bragged about it once.

  He decided now was not the best time to mention that.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Aug? I … I couldn’t bear to watch the way they … the way they beat you.”

  So that’s what had happened. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He had endured far worse beatings from the Pendersons and Dap. “Was it Robin?” He let go, trying to ignore the many jarring pains in his body.

  “He sucker-punched you and you fell unconscious. Then he just … went at you. You … you don’t remember any of that?”

  Augum grit his teeth. “No.” Damn it.

  “Probably for the best anyway.” She reached out again.

  “I’m worried about you. I’m worried what they’ll do to you.”

  He didn’t want to have this kind of conversation. He needed to focus on staying strong, and so did she. He looked away from her purple hand. “Don’t worry like that. I’m fine. Just … just keep yourself well.”

  She sighed, withdrawing her hand. “Aug—” her voice dropped as she pressed closer to the bars. “I overheard them talking. They’re sending a messenger for your father. Said he should arrive within a couple days’ time.”

  He leaned back against the wall they shared. It was what he had expected. Of course his father would come—he would want to personally question him on Nana’s whereabouts. He thought about his earlier determination to join him and somehow talk him out of war. The thought seemed completely ludicrous now. How could he possibly join his father? He hated the man, hated him for slaughtering Bridget and Leera’s parents and so many others. He was a cold-blooded murderer and there was no way Augum could change his mind.

  Doubt remained, though he resolved to think about it later.

  Footsteps rang down the hall. He and Leera recoiled away from the bars as a smirking Robin Scarson appeared. A guardsman stood obediently behind him, spear in hand, face impassive.

  Robin leaned in close. “I tried to improve your face for you. Didn’t work.”

  Augum made a sudden movement forward and Robin flinched, but chuckled when he saw how much pain it had caused Augum.

  “Do you realize how big of a hero you’ve made me? Your own father, the Lord of the Legion, is going to be very, very grateful.” He tilted his head. “But I’m going to give him an even better present. With the help of Commander Tridian, you’re going to tell me where that stinking crone went—”

  “I’ll tell you nothing.”

  Robin put on a pouting face. “Aw, wooks like the wittle mousie’s found some couwage.” He shook his head. “I still remember the first day we met, when you cowered in the snow, pissing yourself at the approach of horses. Now listen carefully, gutterborn—you’d do well to speak freely and openly. They don’t call him the Blade of Sorrows for nothing. You are going to tell me everything—you just don’t know it yet.”

  “I can’t believe what you’ve become, Robin Scarson,” Leera said from within her cell, sounding like Bridget.

  Robin flashed her a mock smile. “My dear Leera, remember when I asked you to join my gang back in the academy, and you said no? I don’t know what it is I saw in you. And then there was that song, the one we all sang about you, how did that one go again?”

  Leera did not reply.

  He leaned in close. “I think you’ve become ugly, you know that? To me, you’ll now always be The Leer, staring at people like an idiot, with that stupid freckled face of yours. Stupid, that’s what you are, just like your stupid dad—”

  Leera lunged forward but Robin took a casual step back.

  “And you’re boring too, you know that? You’re boring. You’ve become insufferably boring, Leera. Now let me explain exactly what I’ve become—an honored necrophyte. Do you even know what that means?”

  “Why don’t you step closer and I’ll tell you.”

  “Gross. You sure you weren’t born a boy, Leer? Now where was I? Right—being a necrophyte means training to become a necromancer. I also happen to be best of the lot. I can already raise the dead and command them. I can create walkers. Bet you regret not hanging with me now, don’t you?”

  There was something different about him, Augum realized. It wasn’t just the Robin he met on his way to Hangman’s Rock—there was a gleam in his eye now, as if anointed by a king.

  “Mind you there’s still a lot to work out,” Robin continued, waving the details aside. “Namely how to get them to do my bidding and such, but I’ll figure it out, don’t you worry. And now, since I found you lot, the commander said I’ll be rewarded with instruction from the Lord of the Legion himself.” He paused for effect, eyes flicking back to Augum. “How does that make you feel, peasant breath? Your own father favoring me? Pretty low, huh?”

  Augum would have done anything to be within reaching distance. One solid punch to the face. Was that too much to ask?

  “Pity you didn’t join me when you had the chance, Leer.” Robin’s lip curled. “Maybe your parents would still be alive if you hadn’t been so—”

  Leera spat in his face.

  Robin recoiled, quickly wiping it off. “Ugh, you filthy little pig! You’ll pay for that.” He snapped his fingers.

  The guardsman banged the butt of his spear against the stone floor. “Honored Necrophyte.”

  “Hear that? Honored. Unlike how it was in that stupid village of yours, I have a future in the Legion—I’m training to become a necromancer, the highest calling for us sorcerers. And you? Look at you—pathetic gutterborn peasants.”

  “And you’re a useless coward, like you’ve always been,” Leera said.

  Robin smiled. “Think so, do you? Well, I look forward to proving it otherwise very soon. But never mind that right now. When the Lord of the Legion fulfills his promise of eternal life for the loyal, I’ll make sure you’re included so you can forever shine my boots as my personal slave!” He gestured at her. “Guard—show her what power means.”

  The guard raised the butt end of his spear and repeatedly shoved it through the cell. Leera screamed as Augum shot forward, hand clawing madly after Robin, losing all sense and yelling unintelligible profanities. She kept screaming until collapsing into a heap. Robin made a quick gesture to Augum’s arm and the guard smashed the spear onto it. Augum howled and fell backwards, gasping and writhing.

  Robin clapped as he laughed. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you two.” His robe swirled as he turned. “So much fun!” and he rapped the bars while striding off.

  Augum listened to the sound of boots fade, fantasizing about wrapping his hands around Robin’s neck.

  “Oh, ye done made a foul enemy there, boy,” said a wheezing voice from the opposite cell. The pile of rags that lay on the ground moved forward, revealing an elderly man with missing teeth and wispy gray hair. “Best not be provoking them like that. It done only make them angry.”

  Augum bit his lip and crawled toward the corner of the cell closest to Leera. “Lee, you okay? Leera—”

  “—I’m fine,” Leera finally said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine …” but her breathing came in short bursts.

  “Hang in there,” he mumbled.

  “If ye are to be questioned by the Blade o’ Sorrows, may the Unnameables help ye. Best to spill it quick and spill it all, I says.”

  Augum slumped against the wall while holding his arm. It throbbed in time to his head and chest in a symp
hony of torment.

  “Lots of hustle and bustle because of ye, boy.” When Augum didn’t reply, the man continued. “They calls me Cled. Used to farm around here. Gave all four o’ me sons to the cause.”

  “So why are you in here?”

  “They says I didn’t volunteer me boys quick enough.”

  Augum grimaced from a spasm of pain. “They threw you in here because you didn’t give your sons over quickly enough?”

  “That’s what I says.”

  “Can’t your sons get you out?”

  “Reckon they don’t even know. Been sent off to some forsaken place in the east, Tigrera, or some such dastardly name.”

  “Tiberra,” Leera said, crawling closer to the bars, voice cut with agony. “Are you saying they’re going … to war with Tiberra?”

  The man smacked his gums together and scratched his ear. “Done guess so, they be sending all the young men there. Buts you gots to take what I says with some salt. I only hear them when they be lazy and the like. Been here a whiles now.”

  Augum closed his eyes and tried breathing deeper, but his chest was having none of it. He ended up coughing and sending more spasms through his body. “Do you know Frankie the trapper?”

  “Darn right I knows Frankie, him and his flea-bitten mutt. He done took ye in, didn’t he? Well ol’ Frankie’ll be a sorry fool.”

  “For taking us in—?”

  “Ye done lost him his cabin, boy. They be burning it to the ground, and maybe some o’ your friends along with it. Or they be getting’ dragged or beaten or—but you don’t want to hear that, I see it on your face. If they catch Frankie and that sorry mutt though …” He took a labored breath. “Ye should have done scurried when ye had the chance.”

  “What’s the trapper’s story?” Leera asked.

  Cled smacked his gums. “Had himself a daughter. Died in the famine. A son, too. He died—famine. Wife died o’ sickness. I figure he done, but he up in that cabin still trading away, taking his licks like the man he be. Just him and that big ol’ mutt. A whiles back, we done some trading—”

  The man continued talking but Augum couldn’t listen anymore. Even the thought of Mya and Bridget dragged by their wrists through the snow and mud made him sick to his stomach.