Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  He forgot about the pain in his chest as the guards lumbered by. Should they touch his cell door, they would instantly know it was open. Soon as he saw the back of them, he went to push on the door, but Cled’s hand shot up.

  “Wait, boy. Ye be needing help opening them bars, they be too loud.” Cled made a show of coughing like a sick man. Augum winced as he opened the door. Sure enough, it squeaked, but the guards hadn’t noticed. It worked. He snuck through unseen and took his first look around, quickly realizing just how dangerous this was. There were two guards patrolling back and forth down a long corridor, currently pacing off to the left. He would not have much time to get back in his cell. The knees of another sentry protruded from the far right. He hoped that sentry had the keys.

  For the first time, he saw Bridget and Mya, disheveled but unharmed. Bridget held a hand over her mouth while Mya bit her lip. Both eyed him with great concern, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the way his face looked, or the situation, or both. Nonetheless, seeing them buoyed his spirits.

  He prowled to the right, finger on his lips. Frightened emaciated faces watched from the cells between him and the sitting sentry. As he crept past the last three, he was able to see the man scribbling away at a parchment. Thankfully, a ring of keys hung above his shoulder on the wall. Should the man raise his head, should the patrolling guards turn sooner than usual, or should his timing be off even a little—

  Augum sharpened his focus, ignoring his many aches and pains. The lives of his friends depended on his next action. There was only one chance—he would have to use Telekinesis in a new way.

  His heart raced. He better be ready for what he was about to try.

  Sweat prickled his forehead as he raised his arm, envisioning the task, sure it could work. He pointed at the keys and made a confident gesture. They silently lifted off the peg. He took a shallow breath to calm his nerves, letting the keys dangle above the man’s head, refusing to think about the two guards somewhere behind him, who only needed to turn around to spot him.

  A subtle gesture resumed the journey. The keys hovered past cells of wide-eyed prisoners and into his waiting hand. He immediately smothered them in his robe and scurried back to his cell, ignoring the whispers. Miraculously, the guards at the other end had stopped to argue about some woman, for if they had been patrolling like normal, he would have been late returning to his cell.

  He slipped through the door as Cled faked another coughing fit. When he held up his prize, the old man’s eyes brightened.

  “Done craziest thing I ever seen. Hope ye know what ye be doing, boy.”

  So did he, but there was no time to dwell on it. The next part was crucial and time was of the essence. What he was about to attempt demanded precision and a large amount of luck. He waited until the two guards patrolled by again. They were still arguing about a woman, yet all they needed to do was look at the spot where the keys once hung and it would be over.

  He heard them converse with the sentry. Don’t notice the empty peg, don’t notice the empty peg!

  Thankfully, they continued their patrol without raising the alarm. Almost as soon as they passed back to the left, he gave the signal and Cled started coughing. He readied to open the cell door—

  “Shut it, old man!” said one of the guards, making his way back to Cled’s cell. “Sick of hearing your hacks. Die already!”

  Cled threw a hand over his mouth and nodded, eyes cast to the floor. The glaring guard turned, glanced at Augum—whose white-knuckled hands gripped the bars—scowled, and returned to conversing with his colleague.

  The only thing to do now was to wait for a loud noise of some kind. The patrol soon wandered by again, postponing the escape further. Augum felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. It was only a matter of time until a guard discovered the keys stolen.

  A commotion erupted from the right.

  His heart sank. That’s it, they’ve been found …

  “Attention! The Lord of the Legion arrives!” someone yelled. Many cried in despair, fearing the worst. The two patrolling guards rushed by. “Make sure the report is done before the lord arrives!” one of them said.

  “Aug—” Leera whispered from her cell, “all the guards but the sentry are gone now. Hurry—”

  “I’m on it—”

  After being put to the question, he no longer felt the urge to talk his father out of his ambitions. No, they were getting out of there right then. He opened his cell door just enough to squeeze through, the squeak muffled by the general tumult. He withdrew the iron ring and realized he had no clue which key it was. There must have been hundreds. He stared at them, dumbstruck.

  Leera reached out. “Here, let me help—”

  He handed the ring to her and she began sorting.

  “Look, they have symbols—”

  Sure enough, each key had a tiny symbol engraved on it, like a triangle with a dot inside it, or a square within a square, and so on. He found a tiny symbol just above the lock—a circle with a triangle inside—found the respective key, and opened her cell.

  “Excellent—” Leera whispered, giving his hand a squeeze before the pair scampered on to Mya’s cell. This time Leera helped and they found the key almost immediately. Mya, whose almond eyes had dark circles underneath, flashed a grateful smile that made Augum’s stomach flutter.

  Bridget’s cell was last. By this time, some of the other prisoners began pleading for release, even threatening to raise the alarm if they weren’t freed.

  Augum made gestures indicating they’d all be freed but to be patient. He ran back to Cled’s cell and threw him the keys.

  “Boy, ye crazy—!”

  Augum inspected the lock. “Your symbol is a circle within a circle. Free as many as you can. Good luck—” and he rushed to his friends who anxiously watched a pair of knees at the end of the corridor. The sentry frantically scribbled away, trying to finish his report, doing his best to ignore all the commotion in the cells.

  They had to get past him to escape.

  Bridget quickly swept cinnamon hair from her face. “I have an idea—”

  To their utter horror, she strolled right up the sitting guard and raised her arm. “SHYNEO!” An ivy ring formed around her wrist just as her palm exploded with writhing vines.

  Parchment flew as the guard jumped.

  “I am a warlock, and if you so much as move, I will entangle you and squeeze until you suffocate!”

  It was a tremendous gamble. Had the guard any knowledge of arcanery, he would have instantly known a warlock with a single degree would not have that power.

  The guard froze.

  Bridget, never dropping eye contact, gestured for them to run past. The other prisoners begged for release, but they had to be ignored. There was no time.

  “How do we get out of here?” Bridget asked as Augum ran by, the tumult in the cells rising.

  The guard’s eyes shifted about before he stuttered a reply. “You go right twice and then left—”

  But Augum remembered the smell of winter from near the interrogation room, which was a right, a left, up thirty steps, and right at a fork.

  “He’s lying—” he said. “Don’t worry, I know where it is. Follow me—”

  Bridget scowled and the ivy around her palm seemed to snake faster.

  “Please—” began the young guard, dropping to his knees. “Don’t kill me, young miss, I didn’t mean it, honest … you don’t understand what they’ll do to me—”

  “Lie on the floor face down and stay there—”

  The guard did as he was told and they ran off. The hallways flew by in a blur—a right, a left, up thirty steps, the fork. Augum peeked around the corner to the left, where the smell of the outdoors came from. He was distinctly aware of the iron interrogation room just to the right. Bridget, Leera and Mya stood close behind, silent as mice.

  “I think they’re readying to meet my father,” he murmured, watching guards race by through an adjoining corridor that appeare
d to go outside. Many of them had put on their cloaks or surcoats, trying to look as official as possible. He waited until they were gone and gestured to move. The group scurried past a series of rooms until they stood in an exit corridor.

  Augum peeked outside through the rustic door left open by the guards. It looked to be midday, though he couldn’t be sure as it was gray and cloudy. Near the center of town, a decent distance away, it appeared all of Commander Tridian’s men gathered around a column of caravans and horses.

  “Must be around two hundred men or so,” Leera whispered.

  The entire village seemed to have turned out as well, some with fear on their faces, though many cheering. Mothers held muddy children close. Chickens squawked and dogs ran amok in the filthy snow. Horses whinnied and soldiers raised triumphant shouts.

  “We have to find His Royal Highness—” Mya said.

  “He’s probably in the sick ward,” Bridget replied

  “What about our stuff?” Leera asked.

  Augum gave them a dark look. “Tridian’s command post.”

  They didn’t reply. Everyone understood the risks.

  “I think I remember where it is,” Leera said. “Follow me.”

  They snuck out of the low gray-stoned keep, darting amongst carts, stacks of hay, peat houses, and torches flickering on iron stands. It would have been difficult to do had there not been such commotion.

  “His Eminence has come, His Eminence has come to see us!” cried one peasant woman with only one front tooth, reminding Augum of Cled.

  “Blessed are we, soon the receivers of eternal life!” cried another peasant in rough-spun wools.

  They continued on, circling the edge of the village, Leera leading. The guards had left their posts to greet the Lord of the Legion, allowing the group to sneak right up to Tridian’s quarters. The log house abutted the trees, a single shuttered window visible. They hid behind a stack of barrels, listening for sounds from within.

  The crowd hooped and hollered, sending up cheer after cheer, coming closer and closer, until the doors inside Tridian’s quarters sprang open. The foursome froze, listening through the gap in the shutters. A gaggle of voices flooded the interior. Floorboards creaked and groaned. There seemed to be some ceremony in how they organized themselves, until Augum heard his father’s voice for the first time since the butchering of Sparrow’s Perch.

  The Lord of the Legion

  “Commander Tridian,” The Lord of the Legion began, “your reputation has grown since last we met. Good news comes often written in your hand.”

  “My lord flatters me.”

  Sparkstone’s voice carried to the crowd gathered inside. “My loyal commander is quite modest, so I am sure he has not yet told you how he has earned the appellation ‘the Blade of Sorrows’.”

  “He indeed has not!”

  “Do tell, Great Lord!”

  “Let us hear it—”

  “It was I that bestowed the title on the man standing before me, and how well deserved it has become. Commander Tridian, who was then, what, a lieutenant—?”

  “That is correct, my lord.”

  “When he was nothing more than a lieutenant, Tridian took hostage the family of the Headmaster of the Academy of Arcane Arts, who had barricaded himself, the pupils, and remaining warlocks inside the academy. The black castle had already fallen, and here was this old fool, refusing to surrender, for the ‘children’s sake’, or some such nonsense.

  “Incidentally, some of you may note the headmaster was the successor to my grandmother, who, if you ask my opinion, had more sense in her little finger than this old fool had in totality.” There was some strained chuckling. “In any case, Lieutenant Tridian dragged the man’s family before the walls of the academy. When the old man refused to surrender, Tridian said—and please help me if I mistake your words, Commander—he said, ‘You will find nothing but sorrow on my blade!’ Now what did that old fool say back to you again?”

  “Something to the effect of, ‘You would not murder family, let us battle as men’. ”

  “So, in full view of the son and daughter and every eye from that academy, Tridian unsheathed his blade and chopped off the wife’s head.” Sparkstone paused, his voice quiet. “The silence was the loudest I had ever heard. The sight was almost comic in its absurdity. That head bounced along the ground and came to rest at the feet of the fool’s daughter. She said nothing, only stood there like a daft cow. Now, guess what the old man did.”

  “Surrendered!” cried the throng.

  “Ah, but you underestimate the resolve of this old fool. He came from a long line of fools—Arcaners, what with their silly code and such. The man refused again, begging to resolve the conflict as men, calling us cowards and dogs and unleashing his pale wit at our honor. Now mind you, I had my first scion at the time, so we were quite safe. Nonetheless, it got under Tridian’s skin, did it not, the words he had said?”

  “A point needed to be made.”

  “Indeed. Indeed …” Sparkstone paused, the crowd hanging on to every word. “So the lieutenant rips the boy from the hands of his sister and chops off his head too. Let me tell you all, never had I seen such a man capitulate so quickly and weep so hard.”

  “Motivation is a tricky thing.”

  “And you are a shining example on its use, my good man. The cause is greater than a child, a wife, a kingdom. You did a good thing that day. The academy needed to be brought to its knees, and you brought it down with only two lives.” Sparkstone paused again as Augum exchanged looks with the girls, their faces slack with horror.

  “And that is the story behind the Blade of Sorrows.”

  There were claps and respectful murmurs from the crowd. Augum stiffened as the floorboards creaked close to the window. A bottle was uncorked, the contents poured into many cups.

  “A toast—to the Blade of Sorrows!”

  “The Blade of Sorrows!”

  “Very good. Now let us move this meeting along. A report, dear Commander.”

  “As my lord commands,” Tridian said, a tinge of relief in his voice. “Allow me to dispense of the minutiae first. The men and I stand ready to serve. As for the peasants, the Great Quest is having the desired effect. They long for eternal life and are joining the cause in droves. The only trouble we are having is feeding them. The harvest was poor this season, trade has plummeted, and the roads marred by traitors.”

  “Revolutions have complications. The food situation will be rectified when we take Tiberra. We shall raid their renowned winter stores like wolves feasting on hare.”

  The crowd tittered.

  “I am humbled by my lord’s compliments.” Tridian walked near the shuttered window and retrieved something. “Allow me to present my lord with a gift.”

  “Why, that is the family blade,” Sparkstone said in a fond voice. “How appropriate that my son carried it, as his own father had.”

  Augum felt a hot prickle—he did not want to be compared to this vile man in any way.

  “So he is indeed here. I shall see the boy shortly. Thank you, Commander. You have done well. Expect an adequate reward.”

  “Sire, in ye hand a Dreadnought Blade ye doth hold,” said a guttural voice that sounded like two large millstones grinding together.

  The crowd stirred.

  “Is it now? Well then, the old crone sure loves her secrets!” Laughter rippled among the men. “Tridian, may I introduce Dredius Hestius, my Dreadnought commander. I do believe he is older than all the men in this room put together.”

  “My lord, it gladdens my heart to hear the stories are true. All hail the Lord of Dreadnoughts!”

  “HAIL!”

  A Dreadnought, a real Dreadnought—! Augum wished he could see what it he looked like, but dared not take a peek.

  “Thank you, dear commander. Dredius, what else can you tell me about this blade?”

  “At Master’s command I doth serve.” The Dreadnought’s words came slowly, as if he had all the time in the worl
d. “This ancient blade is thus named Burden’s Edge. It hath been forged for one Atrius Arinthian, amidst the wars of the scions.”

  The crowd stirred as Augum gave the girls a significant look. He had been wielding his ancestor’s sword the whole time!

  “Thank you, ancient commander,” Sparkstone said when the chatter died down. “Amazing, is it not? Dreadnoughts somehow know every single item forged by their kind. The perfect arcaneologists. I shall carry this blade in honor of my legendary ancestor. Pity I had to raise the man and then sacrifice him anew.”

  Gasps came from the crowd.

  “My lord—?” Commander Tridian said.

  “You heard me correctly, Commander. It was quite the problem I faced—how to become the Lord of Dreadnoughts when their last master had forsaken them. The answer was remarkably simple if you think about it, though the task actually quite complex—raise the man, sacrifice him, and choose to become their master. Only a necromancer could accomplish such a feat.”

  Silence followed.

  “I assure you the ceremony was the most difficult thing I have ever undertaken, the arcanery well beyond my abilities. Thankfully, three scions did aid in the matter.”

  The crowd chortled.

  “Would you believe it though, that I had to step across the body of none other than Commander Rames to get inside the mausoleum housing Arinthian’s bones?”

  “Your son confessed to his slaying, my lord,” Tridian said.

  “Is that right? So the boy was down there. How peculiar. What else did he confess to?”

  “Only exactly the information we have been seeking—the location of Anna Atticus Stone. She heads to see the mountain monks.”

  The crowd murmured approval.

  “That is most welcome information indeed, Commander.” Sparkstone paced a moment. “There is only one reason for her to journey there—she wishes to see the Seers, probably to ask how to defeat me.”

  The crowd rumbled with nervous laughter just as the door flew open.

  “My great lord!” called a boy’s voice from the back of the cabin. Augum felt a flush of anger upon hearing that voice.

  “This is the boy I told my lord about,” Commander Tridian said, voice bubbling with pride.