Burden's Edge (Fury of a Rising Dragon Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  “They’ll be fine,” Augum boomed with his amplified voice while he and the girls easily pried Haylee from Gritchards’ lizard grasp. They then laid her down on the stage.

  “Where are the guards?” Augum asked the crowd.

  “They tied them up!” a villager shouted.

  “Release them.”

  A few villagers ran off.

  Augum stood and turned his attention to Gritchards and his henchmen.

  Leera redrew Gritchards’s frame in reverse, uttering, “Paralizo null.” Gritchards unfroze with a gasp and stumbled away from the trio, hands on his chest.

  “You are all banished from Arinthia, never to set foot here again,” Augum declared.

  “You cannot do that!” Gritchards snarled. “We are followers of The Path. We have a right to preach here!”

  “As long as I am lord of this land, you will not be welcome here. You will depart. Now.” The alternative was arresting the lot of them, but he feared the headlines such an act would provoke.

  Gritchards and his henchmen eyed the trio, the former in fanatical defiance, the latter still on their knees in fear. The trio stood firm until Gritchards’s muscled shoulders finally lowered.

  “We will leave this place, but you will bitterly regret this.” He turned to the crowd. “Unless you depose these demon-worshipping hell witches, a terrible plague will come for you all. You will be damned, dragged kicking and screaming into the fires of hell where you will suffer unimaginable—”

  Augum made a motion akin to viciously whipping the ground, roaring, “Grau!” The air ripped with a crack of thunder that rumbled the planks and made every soul, other than the trio, cry out in alarm. Many jumped for shelter or dropped to their knees, covering their heads. Gritchards sprang back and shielded his head with his veined hands.

  “Leave,” Augum repeated in an amplified voice edged with iron resolve. “Now. And consider yourselves lucky we don’t lock you up or have you teleported to the middle of nowhere.” Though he knew such actions would have serious repercussions when the heralds picked up the story, enraging devout followers throughout Sithesia. They’d descend on Arinthia like a swarm of locusts.

  Gritchards swallowed, then snarled and turned his back.

  The trio watched him depart with his henchmen. Some of the visitors left with them. The remaining people murmured amongst themselves.

  Augum picked out the loyal faces in the crowd. “You, you, and you. Please take Haylee to her home and see if you can find the castle physician.”

  They bowed. “M’lord.”

  Then Augum squared his shoulders and looked out from the small stage to the snowy village square before him. From peasants missing teeth to traveling rogues to inquisitive nobles, all sorts of pilgrims had come to ask for miracles the trio could not possibly provide.

  The sky steadily darkened from the coming storm and the nearby Ravenwood swayed. A chill wind sent powdery snow flying into people’s faces, forcing them to cover up as best they could. The girls drew their hoods over their heads while Augum hid his face in the crook of his elbow.

  When the gust passed, Augum addressed the crowd. “We do not have the scions. We cannot perform miracles. We are as mortal as you are. We will get sick. And we will age. An inquisition committee will bear our claim out in due time. All I can offer is water, bread and salt fish for your return journey, and whatever healing my castle physician can provide after he sees to our friend.”

  As if on cue, Jengo showed up with one of the villagers Augum had tasked to search for him. He directed Jengo toward the direction of Haylee’s home while mouthing her name to him. Jengo nodded his understanding, but before striding off, he jogged to the stage, withdrew a small pouch from a pocket in his robe, and handed it to Leera.

  “Is the physician expensive?” someone shouted. “Is this all a grab for money from the poor?”

  Augum returned his attention to the crowd. “Jengo does his duties er priem, meaning without pay for the public good.”

  “My lord should teach them powers to us!” a man shouted, and received mutters of agreement.

  A woman chimed in, “I can read and I go on to that there academy and they says to me, ‘You ain’t got the gift.’ Well I says, ‘Then don’t be so stingy!’ ”

  Some people chortled, but the calls to “share the power with us” quickly grew, overwhelming Augum.

  Bridget touched her throat. “Amplifico,” and boldly stepped forward. “Nobody knows why some of us can learn the craft while most can’t.”

  The crowd hushed.

  “Maybe the gods gift people randomly in the same way they give us different colored eyes and different skin tones,” Bridget continued. “In the same way some of us can learn the craft of medicine but make terrible bookkeepers. Or in the same way some of us can remember things perfectly from birth, whereas others forget what room they were just in.”

  There were unanimous nods and even some smiles and laughs.

  Augum traded an astonished look with Leera, who mouthed, “Who is she?”

  Augum smiled and mouthed, “Attyla the Mighty.”

  “But The Path says you is demon witches!” called a voice from the back.

  “I urge you all to be humble before the gods,” Bridget went on in a quieter voice, “and not seek sin where there is none. We must trust what we can see, feel, touch, taste and hear. These things are real. Warlocks are not your enemy. Women were not born as lesser. And so-called ‘undesirables’ are a figment of a cult imagination. Please close the door on superstition.”

  The crowd muttered, most in agreement.

  “But The Path is now Solia’s great faith!” someone said.

  “Yes, please do be careful, my lady!” a villager called. “That kind of talk can be considered blasphemous!”

  Bridget hesitated. Augum used that moment to step beside her. People had to know they stood united in this.

  “Not if your hearts triumph over despair,” he replied, summoning everything he had learned from Steward Haroun in oratory and castle governance. “Not if you refuse to fall prey to the sway of flowery words and cheap persuasion that scavenges on your fears. Solian faith in the Unnameables is stronger than a cult. It is a proud and humble faith with quiet morning and afternoon prayers that do not call on women to serve their men as slaves, or preach the banishment of undesirables, or seek to disrobe warlocks who have the power to heal you and your loved ones, as you shall see with your own eyes when you visit our warlock castle physician.”

  Leera stepped to stand on Bridget’s other side. “Yeah! Uh … we’re really just like you. And I might not be any good at this public speaking thing, but, uh, I’ve seen Jengo save lives with his healing knowledge in the arcane arts. And that’s far more valuable than—” She made a whimsical loopy gesture with her wrist. “—cheap, lofty promises supposedly made on behalf of the gods.” She sighed. “All I know is … we’re in this together.” She pressed her lips together and cringed as if expecting them to laugh at her.

  “May the Unnameables bless our young lord and ladies!” someone shouted.

  “Hear, hear!”

  The trio exchanged a warm look.

  “Thank you all for your belief in us,” Augum said. “Now I implore you to return to your homes as a storm approaches. Those who have a long way to travel may take up shelter here. Bailiff, I give you permission to dispense waterskins, bread and salt fish to the needy. And put them up in the inns at the castle’s expense.” They couldn’t afford it, but he also couldn’t just let the people freeze to death or run amok.

  The round and bald bailiff named Ben Roper bowed. “As His Lordship commands.”

  The trio stepped off stage just as the Arinthia guards arrived, looking embarrassed and apologizing profusely. They had been surprised while on a tea break, demonstrating to Augum how inept his leadership was, for his castle could not even afford a proper guard rotation.

  Leera withdrew the pouch Jengo had given her and dug out three identical
vials and a note. “It’s the antidote for that assassin poison,” she said after reading the note, handing out the vials. “One for each of us.”

  “There you rabble rousers are!”

  They turned to see Jez striding up to them in the snow. “The arcaneologist came up with information on the assassins, but he offered to give half our money back if I swore not to tell anyone where I got the information from.”

  “Because they murdered the last arcaneologist who got involved?” Augum asked.

  “Yes! Wait, how did you know that?”

  “Laudine did some research for us the other day. These assassins—whoever they are—like to work quietly.”

  “Since we’re in desperate need of money, I agreed, of course.” She leaned closer as a stiff wind whipped her hair across her face. “Those three assassins come from a guild known as the Whisper Blades.”

  “Laudine’s poem!” Leera blurted. She placed a hand to her forehead and scrunched her eyes. “Something, something, whisper blade scream. Can’t remember the rest, but it’s from an advert they placed in the Blackhaven Herald years ago.”

  Jez raised a finger. “And get this—they’re Canterran.”

  Bridget’s brows rose. “Now that’s interesting. But why would Canterran assassins want to kill us?”

  Jez idly pointed at her. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? And the arcaneologist coughed up nothing about the guild, obviously afraid they’d poison him. He said giving me the name was more than fair for the money we paid, even though it was only half.”

  “Any word on that fourth assassin?” Leera pressed. “The one that slipped into the army?”

  “I paid a visit to the High Inquisitor’s Office about that.”

  “You did? When?”

  “After informing the high council of our intentions to make money off the Trainers. What, do you think I just—” Jez flapped her wrists. “—flutter about from tavern to tavern all day trying delicious and delectable wines?”

  Leera blinked. “Do you want me to answer that honestly, or …?”

  “Do you want to live to see the age of seventeen?”

  Leera cracked a grin and smacked Jez’s arm with the back of her hand. “Tell us what the inquisitors said already, you weirdo.”

  “Not a damn thing. Instead the turd flingers threatened to arrest me.” Jez held up a hand at their reactions. “Nothing serious. As you may or may not know, Malignant Melinda and I just happen to have a bit of history, that’s all.”

  Leera crossed her arms. “A bit?”

  “All right, we were bitter enemies back at the academy and undermined each other every chance we got. As to why we were enemies, well, maybe I’ll tell you some time, but we haven’t exactly been lovey-dovey since. To be perfectly honest, she’s wanted to nail my hide to the wall for years.”

  While the women continued chatting about Melinda and Jez’s past, Augum puzzled over the problem. He had only ever met a handful of Canterrans. They spoke the same common tongue as Solians, though with a more refined lilt. But there was still something just beyond his understanding, and he felt like he only needed one more clue to figure it out. That’s when an idea came to him.

  “Jez, I need you to do me a huge favor,” he interrupted.

  “Excuse me, I’m talking about wine here.”

  “How’d you get back to that topic?”

  Jez looked him up and down like he should know better than to ask such a stupid question.

  Leera tried not to smile. “She got drunk and went on a public harangue about Melinda and somehow got arrested doing it.”

  “Don’t make it sound like that just happened! That was when I was fresh out of the academy and celebrating. And it was just an interview, thank you very much.” Jez drew her attention back to Augum. “So what do you want, your neck wrung? I can do that. The gods know I’d want to be put out of my misery if I was you.”

  “Seriously now, Jez.”

  “Okay, we’re serious. So spit it out already, I’m getting bored.”

  “Do you know the Slimwealths?”

  “What’s with you and stupid questions? Everybody knows the Slimwealths.”

  “Can you bring their son Cry here?”

  Bridget and Leera jolted as if they’d been zapped by lightning.

  “Oh, you mean the kid who slagged you in the heralds?” Jez asked, giving the girls a Can you believe him? look. “That Cry?”

  “That very one. Tell him it’s not what he thinks. I need to ask him a few serious questions. And I also need you to bring the Lord High Commander.”

  “The Grizzly? That hunky beast of a man with the thick and sexy beard?”

  “Yes,” Augum said. “Gah, and … really?”

  Jez closed her eyes and smiled. “Mmm.”

  Augum and the girls exchanged a revolted look.

  Leera raised two fingers. “Jez, you are so not allowed to ever talk about The Grizzly like that again. You know I hate that oaf, right?”

  “Can we please get back on topic?” Augum asked. “I need you to bring Cry and The Grizzly here. It’s important, Jez.”

  Jez moved her lower jaw from side to side as she studied him, wrinkling her nose in the process. “Very well, but after this, I expect a raise. Oh, that’s right—you barely pay me as is.”

  Augum lowered his head, about to apologize, when she ruffled his hair as if he was twelve.

  “Silly monkey. You know I adore you. I’m your mentor, after all. Now get the hell out of my way, you feral vagrants. I’ve got fish to catch.”

  Interrogation

  Augum was plowing through knee-high snow, deep in discussion with Bridget and Leera on the subject of secretive Canterran assassins, when he heard a distant thwomp. They hurried around the corner battlement to the front of the castle, where a group of people dressed in fine attire waited by the snowed-over fountain.

  “What’s she doing here?” Leera hissed.

  Katrina Southguard Von Edgeworth, shoulders draped with a lynx-hide coat, raised her chin upon spotting the trio. She said something to the others, and the group turned to face them. Augum recognized the Lady High Inquisitor, one of the nine council members who now served King Rupert. With her were several warlock nobles wearing the brown attire of the inquisition office. They each held a stubby quill and a clay tablet, onto which was fastened a parchment and a sealed inkwell. There was one other warlock with them, standing behind Katrina—a Black Eagle guard.

  “The inquisition committee we’ve been promised,” Bridget said, deflating.

  “Great,” Leera muttered.

  The trio strode over to the group.

  “Lord Augum Arinthian Stone,” the Lady High Inquisitor said in clipped tones. “We are here at the behest of the king to investigate the allegation that you are hiding the seven scions in your vault.” She presented a small scroll sealed with red wax. “Here is a writ from the king granting us access. You will obey it, and you will answer my questions.”

  Augum received it with cold hands but didn’t bother opening it.

  “And why’s she here?” Leera spat, nodding at Katrina.

  Katrina merely straightened her long dark hair as she gave Leera a dismissive look.

  “The king has personally selected Lady Katrina Southguard to be part of the inquisition committee,” the Lady High Inquisitor snapped. “Her appointment will not be questioned.”

  “It won’t be questioned, even though she obviously has an agenda?” Augum asked.

  Katrina smiled sweetly, but it was the kind of sweetness laced with poison. “And what agenda might that be?”

  Augum thought it best that he not reveal they knew who she was, and so he kept his face plain. “I only mean it is improper for you to be here, seeing as we will be dueling to the death tomorrow morning.”

  “Her appointment shall not be questioned.”

  Augum ignored the Lady High Inquisitor and watched for Katrina’s reaction instead, but there was none. She was too in control of h
er emotions to give anything away.

  But then, like a doll becoming animated, she smiled broadly and said, “The king believes otherwise, sweet Augum.”

  “Don’t you dare talk to him like that,” Leera hissed.

  “Like what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t you play your snake games with us.”

  Katrina stared at Leera with a dead, flat gaze. “I don’t think I like your tone.”

  Leera’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I care that you don’t like my tone.”

  Katrina watched Leera like a viper about to strike. Then her face went blank as she regained control.

  “Where are your spectacles?” Augum asked in a neutral voice.

  “I do not always need them.”

  Because they’re fake, Augum wanted to say. But he held his tongue and chanced a more probing question. “Why do you suddenly want to duel me, Katrina?”

  “To avenge the king’s honor and the Southguard name, of course.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  The Lady High Inquisitor tilted her head dispassionately. “Enough wasting time. You will take us to this … so-called vault.”

  Augum made a show of crumpling the writ and stuffing it into a pocket. He wasn’t going to let anyone push him around, no matter their degree or seat of power. He had had enough of that nonsense. The trio had vanquished the Lord of the Legion; these people, as strong as they were in the arcane arts, did not scare him.

  “This way,” he said, and he and the girls strode off without waiting for them to catch up.

  The trio led the group down into the castle cellar, past a pair of ancient iron gates, and into a vast round room with a checkered black-and-white marble floor and a domed ceiling, from which hung a great wrought iron chandelier festooned with dragons, each holding a burning torch.

  The air was old and stale, tinged with the smell of earth and dust. Iron torches gave off dim arcane light.

  Besides the doorway they had come through, there were three other sets of towering doors. One set belonged to the dungeon, another went to the castle Trainers, and the last went to the armory. Augum led the group to the armory doors.