by Sever Bronny
Augum swallowed and raised his head to the king’s podium. At that moment, an attendant finished whispering something in the king’s ear—an attendant with a parchment herald in hand.
The moment had come.
Augum stepped past Giovanni and boldly summoned his shield. “Good people of Solia! Lady Katrina Southguard is not who she says she is.” He took a breath. “She is … Katrina Von Edgeworth.”
The crowd gasped. All knew of the Von Edgeworth reputation.
“And she is not here to reclaim the king’s honor. She is here to avenge her bloodline.”
“This is momentous news,” Giovanni said in a scandalized whisper that hissed through the great arena like a snake. “Lady Southguard is apparently Lady Von Edgeworth, daughter of Zigmund Von Edgeworth, honorably vanquished by the legendary Anna Atticus Stone. And since Lord Stone’s shield has not dimmed, we can see he is indeed telling the truth!”
You were right, Lord High Commander, Augum thought as he watched the crowd’s visceral reaction. There is incredible power in people knowing you are telling the truth.
And now came the crucial moment …
Augum squared his shoulders to the king and calmed his breathing. “I have beaten your niece, Lady Katrina Von Edgeworth, fair and square. But it is I who now bends the knee, asking for forgiveness from His Grace. No one need die to avenge your honor, Your Highness.”
Augum ceremoniously took a knee before the frozen Katrina as she started to come around. Her eyes, wide with terror, slowly narrowed, indicating she was also fighting off the Fear spell.
“I await your verdict, Your Highness.”
The crowd made their voices heard in a distinctive chorus that swelled until it turned into a foot-stomping chant. “Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!”
And just as Katrina unfroze, the crowd hushed and took a knee. The king had stood again. Augum swallowed. He was vulnerable. Katrina could strike him down where he kneeled.
Yet a strike did not come. Instead, he heard her take a knee as well. And he knew why. She would not reclaim the Von Edgeworth name in a dishonorable fashion. It didn’t work that way. For everything she was, she cared more about the perception than the revenge. And with no scion to attain, honor was all she had left.
King Rupert’s voice boomed over the Black Arena. “In light of grave news reported in the heralds … I thus cancel this duel … and absolve Lord Stone of the Black Slight.”
The crowd rose to its feet and cheered. Augum looked up to see the king stride off with his council, all with heralds in hand. He suspected it wasn’t the news that had won the king over so much as not wanting his people to see him as petty, weak and dishonorable by not accepting Augum’s knee. And a new king could not suffer such a grave hit to his honor on only his second day in power.
“Rise, Lord Stone, rise!” Giovanni boomed, slapping a hand on Augum’s shoulder and presenting him to the crowd. “Your victor … Lord Augum … Arinthian … Stone!”
The crowd roared as the guard procession returned. The attendants handed Burden’s Edge back to Augum and strapped on his golden breastplate.
“This isn’t over,” Katrina spat, her voice no longer amplified. She turned her back on him and limped off. The guards looked confused, as if protocol had been breached, before choosing to follow her.
Augum took a deep breath. Maybe not, but it was over for now. Then he left a gaping Giovanni behind as he strode unaccompanied to a nearby archway. He went up to the first person he saw with a herald, a young man.
“Excuse me, would you mind if I took a look at that?”
“N-not at all, Your High—I mean, Lord Stone. By all means, please do.” He held out the parchment to Augum as if it were a sacred document. “I … I can’t believe I’m standing beside you. No one will believe me.” He went on to talk about how great of an honor it was, but Augum tuned him out, ingesting the news. The headline was rather alarmist. “CANTERRAN ARMY AMASSES ON SOUTHERN BORDER.” The article declared that war was coming and questioned the kingdom’s readiness. There was also a report mentioning that the Canterrans had published a piece in their own heralds, interviewing an angry disciple who swore the way of The Path had been wholly rejected in Solia.
That could only be Gritchards …
Augum flipped the parchment over and found another article, this one written by Cry. The sounds of the crowd faded as Augum read, lips moving along with the words.
Dear reader, I have searched my heart long and hard with regards to what I am about to reveal. Those in charge of this herald and other heralds will have trouble accepting this and may not publish it. So be it. And to be fair, it is surely a controversial—and certainly grave—matter. However, I conclude that, as a budding herald, my duty to tell the truth rises above all considerations, for what is the free word if it cannot be free to be spoken aloud? And that free word is the bedrock of Solian freedom. I thus beseech thee to pardon this author for his boldness in the spirit of that truth.
On the matter of the scions, a careful inspection of the armory door within Castle Arinthian has proven Lord Augum Stone’s assertion true—the vault cannot be opened. In point of fact, no evidence whatsoever has turned up indicating the trio secretly possess the scions. Further, upon an exhaustive and cold examination of the facts, this author concludes that the scions have indeed been destroyed.
This author can only hang his head in shame for the part he played in the explosive accusation, for he accepted the claims of an anonymous, well-written letter, allowing a clever adversary to exploit his known bias against the trio. This author failed to do his duty to verify his source. Failings aside, one thing is abundantly clear: whoever sent the letter did it with the intent of flushing out the scions into the open.
At their own risk, the trio has bravely expressed their desire to remain ambiguous on the topic of whether they possessed the scions so that the Kingdom of Solia could use them as shields to ward against a possible Canterran invasion. But this author could not live with the shame that he took part in a ruse that nearly cost one of the heroes of this kingdom his life, and refuses to allow the trio’s honor to be further impugned. I thus conclude with grim alarm the following:
If Canterra wishes to war with Solia, let it be known once and for all that the famed trio do not have the scions and therefore cannot protect this kingdom. Solia must find another way to defend itself, for even as I write, word has reached this herald of Canterran troops amassing along the southern border.
This author begs the forgiveness of Lord Augum Stone, Lady Bridget Burns, and Lady Leera Jones for baselessly attacking their honor and failing to do his duty as a truth-seeking herald. Cry Slimwealth, Academy Herald.
“… it like to kill your own father, the very Lord of the Legion?” the young man pressed just as Augum finished reading.
“Harrowing,” Augum said, handing back the parchment. “Thank you.” And he ran off to find the girls. An invasion was coming, and he knew in his soul it would be an uncontested invasion, for the kingdom was too weak to mount a true defense.
Reveals
Augum was running through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Black Arena as the crowds were leaving, causing him incredible trouble, for people were clamoring to talk to him, touch him, and even curse at him. And there were no guards around to stop them.
As the mob closed in, Augum had to do something drastic. He made a whipping-the-ground gesture while shouting, “Grau!” The area tore with a thunderous roar amplified by the close quarters. Everybody cried out and ducked and jumped aside and cursed.
“Sorry, have to run!” Augum called and sped off, jumping over cowering bodies, only to run into the same situation in another tunnel. This time, however, he got lucky. The Grizzly happened to walk by with an entourage of heavily armed soldiers. The Lord High Commander barked a command and had Augum extricated.
“Sir, the heralds say that—”
“I am well aware of what they say, Stone.”
“I did not know Cry
was going to speak so freely.”
“It matters not. The Canterrans now know you don’t have the scions. They were already amassing at the border. It was only a matter of time. We can only hope they do not mean to butcher every soul in the kingdom for supposed historical grievances.”
Augum wanted to swallow, but his throat was too dry. So, it was as he had feared. The kingdom could not defend itself.
“We’re going to see if we can hold them at the border,” The Grizzly went on. “Make ourselves appear to be bigger than we really are. If we’re lucky, they’ll rattle their swords a while but lose interest in the end.”
A soldier ran up to The Grizzly. “Lord High Commander—” he wheezed, huffing from exertion while handing over a sealed parchment. “A note from the border, sir. Arrived by warlock courier.”
The Grizzly tore open the note. “Duty calls, Stone.” His black eyes returned to Augum and softened. “You did well, son. I did not think it possible, but the ancients have deemed you worthy. You have proved the Arcaner path can be resurrected. But it’s only a first step. I hope you’ll consider taking a second, more difficult one.”
“But sir, the course doesn’t even exist—”
“Then you’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?”
“Sir,” the soldier broke in. “A reply is urgently needed.”
“Yes, yes,” The Grizzly said, gaze remaining on Augum. “Pursue your studies. Watch your back. Apply what you’ve learned. And … good luck, Stone.”
“And good luck to you, Lord High Commander,” Augum said as the man rushed off with his entourage. “Good luck to us all …”
Augum departed in the opposite direction, wondering how in Sithesia he would find the girls in this mess of a crowd.
Unfortunately, he soon became lost in the labyrinth and found himself in an ancient arched brick tunnel as wide as a barn and painted with faded murals of warlocks locked in furious combat.
Suddenly there was a quick thwoot sound, and something hot jabbed into Augum’s back, which was unprotected by the breastplate.
He gasped from the bite, staggering as he turned around.
A man dressed in simple gray garb spit out a blowpipe that clattered on the ground. “We meet again,” he said in a delicate Canterran accent. He had dark hair and a plain face. Two curved daggers were firmly tied to his hands. But it was the russet eyes, with distinctive flecks of gold that made him recognizable.
“I’ve been expecting you, Deyon.”
“I am sure you have.”
The poison bit at Augum as it spread. It was like being gnawed on from the inside by a thousand angry ants. The hourglass had been turned over, and time had become supremely precious.
“I had this stupid idea you’d be honorable and face me head-on.”
Deyon adjusted a small shield secured to his arm. “Only a fool Arcaner thinks that way. But this I will grant you. Let us bow in the old way as traditional enemies.” He made a mocking bow.
For his part, Augum bowed as well, flaring seven lightning arm rings—though never taking his eyes off the assassin. He noted that the man’s arm, which he had broken in their last melee, was fully healed.
“Your beloved,” Augum said as he wincingly straightened. “I … I did not …” Did not what? Mean to kill her?
“My beloved.” Deyon spat the word venomously. He slowly pointed both daggers at Augum. “This I do for you, Nia,” and he shot forward like a viper.
Augum telekinetically yanked on the man’s leg, but Deyon smoothly sliced at the air with his daggers, cutting off the attack. Having expected that, Augum followed up by slamming his wrists together and shouting, “Annihilo bato!”
Two vicious, thick ropes of lightning blasted through the spot Deyon had been standing in. Unfortunately, the man had rolled aside with uncanny speed, meaning Augum had wasted precious stamina on his most potent physical attack. He instantly realized he had to cast his emergency spell to stand a chance of surviving the encounter.
As the assassin fluidly jumped to his feet, Augum, to buy himself time, swept his arm in a wide circle and shouted, “Voidus vis!”
A dense black cloud burst into existence in the corridor with a poof, blocking all vision.
Augum sensed the man expected him to retreat backward out of the cloud, so he ran forward on the tips of his toes to muffle the sound, emerging from the cloud on the other side, alone. In preparation for the Centarro casting, he took a precious moment to appreciate the nuances of his surroundings as the spell demanded acute awareness for a successful casting.
He observed the way the dust had been kicked up, the dim light from rusted iron braziers that hung on flaking chains, the mural of a young woman’s fire strike impaling an old man. And he felt the frantic thump of his heart as it clamored to stay alive by fighting back the black poison that corrupted his veins. But that’s all he had time for; he could not prepare for the foggy side effects. It was all or nothing on this one.
“Centeratoraye xao xen!” His blood further quickened as the ancient off-the-books Leyan spell sharpened his focus and amplified his creativity.
Existence became a fluid poem.
Deyon burst out of the black cloud, somersaulting like a spinning sword. Augum was far enough away from the cloud to unsheathe Burden’s Edge while shouting, “Summano arma!” The tapered Dreadnought short sword lengthened and united with his summoned long sword, the pair becoming one crackling, vicious blade of lightning steel.
Deyon’s curved daggers came at him like a flurry of angry wasps. Steel clanged against electrified steel as Augum parried, thrust and counter swung, somehow flaring his shield in time to block a deadly kidney jab. The sounds became a song of life and death. Each note brought Augum closer to a morbid end, for out of the two of them, he did not have time to indulge in the song’s dark beauty.
Augum found a small opening in the action and jumped back, simultaneously letting go of his sword and disappearing his shield while he violently shoved the air before him. “Baka!” he roared. Deyon was sent flying into the black cloud, limbs flailing. Burden’s Edge clattered to the ground, a short sword once more.
The poison became hot acid, but Augum gritted his teeth and bore it, knowing he had to take advantage of the precious time afforded. He marshaled his focus, hyper enhanced by Centarro.
“Armari elementus totalus.” A thick plating of hard lightning, amplified by his golden breastplate, ripped to life around his body, cocooning him. Then Augum incanted, “Virtus vis viray,” triggering Strength, an 8th degree spell he had not quite mastered, but one that would aid in what he boldly had to do next.
Deyon erupted out of the cloud with blades flashing. Augum followed their hypnotic movements and shot both hands out, telekinetically tapping at the zipping blades in such a way so as to try to get the assassin to stab himself, a feat that would have been impossible without Centarro.
And it almost worked. Unfortunately, the man quickly caught on and rolled forward, sweeping his leg out. In response, Augum back flipped for the first time in his life—Centarro had given him the confidence to accomplish such a crazy maneuver. But then, at the half way point in midair, he shoved at the ground, shouting, “Baka!” and launched himself backward over the assassin, who just missed him with a vicious double slice.
Augum elegantly rolled to the ground and jumped back to his feet in such a way that he faced the assassin again, who had already charged. He yearned to yank Burden’s Edge to him, but there simply wasn’t the opportunity. Instead, he flared his shield, conscious that the poison, the duel with Katrina and his quick spell casting had sapped most of his arcane stamina. He was rapidly running out of time.
Augum retreated as he frantically blocked the wicked dagger stabs. Some landed, thunking into his crystalline armor, but one somehow penetrated his left arm, injecting a fresh dose of poison into his system. Augum gasped and staggered back from the hot pain, shield disappearing out of unconscious reflex. Deyon’s eyes flared as he lunged
forward with a double strike meant to impale the daggers into Augum’s skull. Augum roared as he gave a mighty Strength-amplified uppercut that plowed through the daggers and connected with Deyon’s chin. It was such a strong punch that Deyon was sent twirling like a doll. He slammed into the ground on his back with a groan.
Augum wasted no time. He thrust an arm out and with a mighty grunt telekinetically flung Burden’s Edge, shooting it toward the assassin. He adjusted the angle of the blade’s tip just in time to have the blade line up with the man’s body. The man rolled aside, but not fast enough. The blade lodged into his stomach with a wet sloop.
Deyon gasped at the surprise intrusion.
But instead of pressing his attack, Augum cried out from the roaring poison, the pain amplified by Centarro. He clutched at his armored chest, wheezing.
The assassin, blood seeping from his wound and eyes burning with determination, staggered toward Augum to finish him off.
Augum fell to his knees, gasping. The poison felt like it was liquefying his internal organs. His lightning arm rings as well as his amplified elemental armor flickered and disappeared, leaving him completely vulnerable. He only had enough time to perform one action. And it had to be perfect.
Augum shot both arms out and telekinetically grasped the man’s chest and lower torso in a vise-like grip. Then, with a mighty roar, he used every scrap of his remaining arcane strength—every conditioned muscle from all those telekinetic exercises—and combined that with Strength and Centarro to make a bending motion as if he were bending steel.
The assassin screamed as his body bent back on itself. His scream and Augum’s furious roar combined into a single wavering, fragile note like the bagpipe melody, a note that promised the end for one or both of them.
Augum’s vision tunneled and bent. For a moment, he feared the entire hallway was collapsing in on itself, only to realize it was the very space around him that was warping like a fishbowl.