Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2)

by Sever Bronny

  Bridget glanced up from putting away the pouch. “How can you say that? The Legion is a bunch of murderers, they killed our families—”

  “I’m sure it was just a terrible misunderstanding. Lord Sparkstone is a leader with vision. One day I’m going to track down a scion just so I can personally give it to him.”

  The trio gaped at him.

  “This life sucks. I hate this stupid caravan and I hate that old fool. I need a sword in my hand and a cause to fight for.” Justinius’ eyes wandered to the horizon. “The Legion is glorious. Duty unto death. That’s me, that’s what I should be doing. Fighting the good fight, helping forge an empire.”

  “Are. You. Serious?” Leera asked.

  “The eternal life thing is a lie,” Augum blurted, trying to keep calm in the face of this brainwashed young man.

  “You’re just ignorant. Of course it’s true, there’s already been one example— Lord Sparkstone himself paraded the man who liberated the third scion through the streets of Blackhaven. It was in the Blackhaven Herald even. He’s first in line to receive eternity. Our great lord argues we should all have the right to live forever. Eternal life shouldn’t be just for the gods. And I would be careful if I were you, your kind of talk is treasonous.”

  Leera’s face went from cherry red to purple. “ ‘Our great lord’? What, did you already sign up—?”

  “You know what? I don’t think I’m going to show you how to cast the extension after all, you little brat.”

  “Then you can give us back our money—!”

  “I don’t think I will. I don’t deal with traitorous runaways.”

  “What! You thieving—”

  “Thanks, but we have to go now—” Augum grabbed the girls’ arms and practically dragged them away. “Let it go, you two. We have to keep quiet until Bartholomew returns. If the Legion came by asking questions …

  Leera glanced back with a venomous look. “The nerve of that thieving barn boy …”

  “Ugh, if there was ever a time I wanted to—” Bridget made the motion to strangle someone.

  Leera and Augum gave her a look—it took a lot to get Bridget that upset.

  “Sorry about the money,” Leera mumbled.

  He waved it off. “Forget it. Come on, let’s go see if One Eye is finished his coffee.”

  When they returned to the red and orange supper wagon, One Eye was using a loupe and meticulously inspecting a piece of parchment with a large black splotch on it. Upon closer inspection, however, the black blob turned out to be tiny writing.

  Without looking up, the old man took a shaky sip from a nearly empty mug of black coffee. “Welcome back, saplings. Did Fargwabe tell you what you need to know?”

  “Sort of,” Augum replied, taking a seat at the table and giving Bridget and Leera a sidelong look. Bridget pulled up an elaborate chair and sat smoldering, while Leera angrily cleared her throat. “Sir, did you realize Justi—um, I mean Fungusabwe—wants to join the Legion?”

  One Eye jerked so suddenly he dropped his loupe to the floor, which Odo the flutist promptly picked up as if used to doing so. For a moment, Augum thought One Eye was choking, before realizing he was actually laughing.

  “Don’t be absurd, Stephanie. Fargswabe would never do such a thing. He is a noble young man.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Leera muttered.

  One Eye reached for his ear trumpet. “What’s that now? Speak up girl—”

  “She—a—greed!” Odo shouted into the battered ear trumpet.

  One Eye jumped and dropped the thing. Odo sighed, picked it up and placed it on the table, a fresh dent on its rim.

  The old man grunted, returning to the blotchy parchment. “Now then, I have just been studying up on Slam, and find myself delighted to rediscover the intricacies of this complex little spell.” He looked up from the parchment, the loupe still stuck to his eye, giving him the appearance of a deranged owl. “Did you know that the spell was originally thought up during a thunderstorm? Makes it quite adequate for a lightning warlock, does it not?”

  Augum pressed his lips together into a smile.

  “So, let us begin then!” One Eye stood, the loupe tumbling to the floor, quickly tracked down by a resigned Odo. The trio stood as well, awaiting instruction as he paced while tugging his beard.

  “Let me see here … first off, why don’t the three of you stand together so I can see you better …”

  The trio stood in line as if Mrs. Stone herself was addressing them. Augum caught Odo rolling his eyes.

  “Good, now then …” One Eye resumed his pacing, stopping abruptly to raise a finger as the trio waited with baited breath. He stood frozen in place like that.

  Augum cleared his throat politely. “Sir—?”

  One Eye seemed to catch himself and frowned. “I cannot concentrate in here, let us go to my shop. Odo, join us please, and bring the parchment,” and so they filed out of the spacious dining wagon and piled into the cramped and messy shop wagon. One Eye bade them to stand in a line again and quickly resumed his pacing, while Odo stood by the counter, parchment in one hand, loupe in the other.

  “All right I have it now!” One Eye said suddenly, chuckling to himself. “It is about—” He paused to wait until he was sure they were paying strict attention. “It is about CON—CEN—TRA—TION!”

  Leera groaned.

  One Eye, undeterred by their lack of enthusiasm, blathered on with mounting excitement.

  “Yes. When attempting to cast the Slam spell, one must adhere to the founding principles of the arcane element one stems from. It is about devotion to the sheer knowledge and profound wisdom one attains during the trials and tribulations of the discovery of the nature of one’s element. For example, the Shine spell …”

  As One Eye droned on, Leera’s eyes glazed over while Bridget furrowed her brows in an impressive attempt to understand every word, though even her attention wandered after a while. Augum just nodded, trying not to look like One Eye’s sermon was an incoherent ramble. Meanwhile, Odo sat behind the counter and placed his head on folded arms.

  “… if one merely attempts to assimilate the patterns that are interwoven into the fabric of the elementary tract one stems from, it would not nearly be enough. No, one needs a complete understanding and belief in the very nature of the spell, which is to crack the air.” To make his point, One Eye suddenly whacked his cane into the side of a towering bookcase, breaking the cane clean in two and startling everyone, especially Odo, who fell off his stool. One Eye blinked, studying the broken end.

  “Dear me. Do you mind, Odo?”

  Odo picked himself off the floor, dusted himself off, fetched the cane, and returned it to One Eye.

  “Apreyo,” One Eye said, and the cane repaired itself. He swung it about then leaned on it with a nod. “Now, where was I—?”

  “Sir, would you mind if we just studied the parchment for ourselves?” Bridget asked.

  One Eye gaped a moment before reaching for his ear trumpet. When he stuck it in his ear, Odo shouted into it, “They—want—to—read—the—parchment!”

  “No need to shout, dear boy, I am not that deaf!” One Eye tried to whack Odo on the shins, but Odo dodged behind the counter. He returned his attention to the trio and sighed. “This spell is far more than mere words. Listen.”

  For a moment, Augum thought One Eye had lost it completely, standing like that as if in a trance. Suddenly the old man made a gesture as if throwing something to the ground. “GRAU!” he shouted in a guttural voice. There was a monstrous wooden cracking sound as if the entire wagon was splitting in two. It was so loud it shook the shelves, sending an avalanche of knick-knacks tumbling to the planks. The trio dove for cover, Augum expecting a giant rift to appear in the floor.

  When the chaos subsided, Odo glanced at the mess and deflated with a groan. He seemed to resign himself to picking things up.

  The old man’s good eye twinkled. “You see now? Notice my utter concentration and the
gesture I used?”

  The trio stood, brushing themselves off.

  “Now I want each of you to try it, starting with you, Grundvelda.”

  Bridget flicked dried snakeskin from her robe. “Sir, I don’t think we’re ready yet—”

  “Nonsense, girl, give it a try.”

  “All right …” Bridget made a throwing gesture to the ground, face scrunched as if sneezing. “GRAU!”

  Nothing happened.

  “It was a worthy try but it was obvious to me you were not paying any attention whatsoever, Grundvelda. When I said, ‘there should not be a division between the aforementioned desire to break the flowing structure of the air and to actually break the air’, what is it you think I meant?”

  Bridget was saved from answering by an urgent and authoritative pounding at the door.

  “The Legion!” Bridget mouthed, going ashen.

  One Eye waved for them to disappear. “Coming, coming! Please be patient, I am an old man—”

  They hid behind a large pile of bent scrap metal by the corner.

  “Well what a pleasant surprise this is!” One Eye said upon opening the door. “What an honor it is to receive you again, Commander Tridian.”

  Foes

  The planks groaned as many pairs of boots stomped inside. Armor creaked, straps jingled and swords were drawn.

  “No need to be rude now,” the Blade of Sorrows said. Swords were returned to scabbards. “You can spare me that clever tongue of yours, One Eye, I am not in the mood. You know perfectly well why I am here. Tell me where the rats are and I will spare the caravan.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander, but they have moved on. Candledale, I believe.” In the silence that followed, Augum visualized Tridian staring at One Eye with pale empty eyes, evaluating him, toying with him. He’d see through One Eye as if he was nothing more than a pane of cheap glass.

  “Apprentice?”

  “He’s lying, sir,” came Robin’s reply.

  “And how can you tell?”

  “I … my instinct says so.”

  “You must learn to know, not just feel, Apprentice. It is not just about instinct. There are signs. The direction the eyes follow—or in this case, the eye—” Tridian paused to let his soldiers chortle. “There is the subtle play of the hands, the nod of the head, the coloring of the cheeks … all taken together give you a thorough understanding of whether or not the subject is being truthful.”

  “Pardon me, Commander,” One Eye began in a jovial manner, “but is this about the three men attempting to sell me a scroll of Greater Repair? I assure you we did not trade. My worthy assistant can attest to that fact.”

  “What are you talking about, old man?”

  “Allow me to explain. Three men on horseback came through here in the morning. They came only to see me, knowing my … if you will forgive me … my previous reputation. They tried to sell a series of rare spell scrolls for a very good price. Of course, as profitable as this trade would have been, I regret to say I had to decline, informing them that the scroll trade is now forbidden—”

  “That is quite enough drivel, thank you.” Tridian expelled a long breath. “Your shop is looking a little worse for wear, One Eye.”

  “Yes it has seen better days, I am afraid.”

  “But what was that sound earlier?” Haylee asked in a voice oozing with suspicion.

  “That sound? Oh, you mean the Slam spell. I was demonstrating to my faithful assistant how it should be performed. He is just learning, young Atricia.”

  “My name is Haylee.”

  “No need to play tricks on me, Atricia. I know perfectly well who you are.”

  The trio exchanged looks as a silent moment passed.

  “He’s lost his marbles!” Robin called out finally, joined by a chorus of laughter from the soldiers. “Look, he’s laughing along with us. Daft codger,” Robin added, throwing up a new round of laughter.

  Augum wondered if One Eye really thought Haylee was Atricia or was just using that as cover.

  “Now, now, Apprentice, mind your manners. You are still addressing an elder. Just because the man has lost a part of his feeble mind, does not give you the right to treat him that way.” They all hooted with laughter upon hearing the sarcasm in Tridian’s voice.

  Augum didn’t think it possible to achieve a higher level of loathing.

  “Sergeant, get out there and start searching the caravan for any sign of them,” Tridian ordered after the laughter died down.

  Augum’s stomach took a dive. It was now only a matter of time until they discovered their horses.

  “The rest of you—search this dump.”

  There was the sound of boots dispersing in all directions as the trio tried to shrink further behind the pile of scrap, though all it would take was someone peeking around and it was over.

  “Search over there, Hayles, I’ll get this section,” Robin said over the sound of things being rifled through. They were getting closer and closer to the trio, and Augum had no idea what to do.

  “Don’t wander off too far, old man,” Tridian said.

  “Forgive me, Commander. Like you say, I am an old man and I have a hard time hearing. Allow me to retrieve my ear trumpet.”

  One Eye soon appeared near the pile of scrap. He gave the tiniest gesture for them to stay still. His beard moved as if speaking to someone, hand making subtle gestures.

  Augum realized he was casting a spell!

  Suddenly Robin’s pinched face appeared directly between the pile of scrap and One Eye.

  Augum held his breath and crouched absolutely still, feeling like a deer staring at a nocked bow.

  “Shyneo,” Robin said. His palm lit with a strong fire. Amazingly, he stared right through the trio. One Eye’s spell had to be working!

  A piece of metal fell from the pile and tumbled behind him. Robin’s brows furrowed and he took a step forward—

  “—Robin, over here!” Haylee called, and he disappeared.

  Augum breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. One of the girls quietly gasped behind him. He turned and realized he was now completely visible, though the girls were not. As he looked closer, however, he could see something was not quite right in the space they sat, almost like the things behind them were mirrored forward, chameleon-like.

  He turned back to the opening, hoping to see One Eye’s beard still there, only to be disappointed.

  “What is it?” Robin asked from just the other side of the scrap pile.

  “No idea, let me ask. Hey, excuse me, sir—!”

  “Stop sucking up to the old bumpkin.”

  “Don’t be rude, Robin. He’s still our elder. Sir, what is this thing?”

  “That, young saplings, is a destiny stone. A very rare artifact.”

  “What’s a destiny stone?” Robin asked.

  “A stone enchanted with ancient arcanery long lost to mortals. It lubricates action and causality to help achieve one’s desired destiny, as opposed to one’s true destiny.”

  “Uh, what? Speak normal, you old windbag.”

  “Robin!” A pause. “That sounds really neat, sir, thank you.”

  “My destiny is to become one of the most powerful necromancers of all time,” Robin said. “Are you saying this will help me achieve that goal?”

  “It will help you achieve your destiny, young man.”

  “Pfft, I hate it when old people jabber in riddles. Mind if I take it?” Robin asked in a way suggesting it wasn’t really a question.

  “Consider it my gift to you, young man, but be warned—the stone is karma-balanced and thus exacts a price—although it skews circumstance in favor of your primary goal in life, it may at times undermine that which may benefit you but you do not seek, the degree of which is measured by your own ambition.”

  “You saying it’s broken? You trying to give me a broken gift?”

  “Far from it, dear boy. The stone begs the following question—how important is your primary goal in life?”

&n
bsp; There was a sudden feeble moan and the crash of a body shoved into shelves. Trinkets tumbled to the planks.

  “Robin, how could you—!” Haylee cried. “Oh, I am so sorry, sir. Please, allow me to help you stand.”

  One Eye wheezed before responding. “Oh, dear me …” He coughed. “Thank you, my dear Atricia. Most kind of you. My cane, if you will.”

  “You listen here, you sniveling old piece of fungus,” Robin said through gritted teeth. “I will become one of the most powerful necromancers of all time.”

  One Eye caught his breath. “Then the stone is most appropriate in your hands, dear boy.”

  The door burst open and boots shuffled in.

  “Commander, we found the horses, and this boy here has information.”

  “I ain’t no boy! I’m a man grown, now let go of me!” Justinius said.

  Uh oh, Augum thought. The brainwashed stableman … they were done for.

  “Ah, I see you’ve found my trusted stable hand, Fargswabe.”

  “Stop calling me that, you old fool, my name is Justinius. JUS—TIN—IUS! Get it through that feeble brain of yours already—”

  Robin cackled. “I like him.”

  “How could you say such things to me, Fargswabe? You wound me, dear boy.”

  “Excuse me, sir, I wish to join the Legion,” Justinius said.

  Augum managed to find a tiny hole in the scrap metal pile to peek through. He actually laid eyes on Haylee for the first time since Sparrow’s Perch. She wore the same black and red vertically striped necrophyte robes as Robin. The Blade of Sorrows wore his ornate battle armor and woolen surcoat emblazoned with the burning sword.

  “So you wish to join, do you?” Tridian asked, pacing around Justinius. “How old are you?”

  “I will be turning eighteen on the 17th day of the 5th month.”

  “Commander.”