by Sever Bronny
“Eat it, Apprentice, or you will die.” Robin’s face went from green to purple to blue. His cheeks expanded, then contracted and expanded again. Tridian held the back of the boy’s head while pressing his mouth harder. Robin kicked and moaned, eyes watering.
“Eat it, boy!”
Meanwhile, every time Augum brought the squiggling maggot to his lips, his stomach would start writhing. The poison certainly wasn’t helping either.
“You can do it, Aug,” Leera said, wiping her mouth. “Think of it as a sweet but squishy treat.”
“Not … helping …” Augum managed to blubber. The dizziness increased and he dropped down to one knee, the maggot squished to juice in his fist.
Bridget yanked on Leera. “Help …” She shoved the maggot into her hand. “Force it in … I can’t …” Leera didn’t hesitate. She placed the maggot in Bridget’s mouth and helped her clamp down. Bridget’s face turned every shade of color. Her body shook.
“Come on, Bridge, you can do it, just swallow,” Leera was saying, voice edged with panic. “Swallow, damn it—!”
Augum glanced around. Everyone had managed to eat the maggot except for himself and Fatface.
Leera rushed to the basket and brought Augum another maggot. “Come on, Aug, I know you can do this. You have to do this.”
Fighting off a dizzy spell, he took the maggot from her and shoved it in his mouth, snarling and groaning to pump up his courage, much like Leera had.
“That’s it, Aug, you’re doing it, keep going …”
The texture was what made it most difficult—it was like eating crunchy snot. He fought through it though and immediately started to feel better. His stomach settled and his dizziness faded. Yet the repugnant nature of the ordeal still left him drained.
“Come on, Fatface!” the lieutenant was shouting, a hand over the soldier’s mouth. “Do you want your poor ma to get a letter from me? Hmm? How her own son couldn’t swallow one measly maggot!”
Fatface was on the floor, armor strewn with chunks of vomit, face purple and leg twitching.
“Come on, son!” but Fatface had gone still, and the doors rumbled open.
The Library
They sat recuperating for some time. Augum hoped to never have to endure something like that again. Maggots … even the thought of it made his stomach churn. His eyes travelled to the still form nearby. Fatface—another corpse for the ancient pile. The poor man. His poor mother …
“What was his real name?” Augum asked.
The soldiers glared at him. Only four remained now—bulbous Spiller, bored Boots, hard Raina, and the stubbled lieutenant.
“Mind your tongue, rebel,” Tridian said, “lest they carve it out of you. He wasn’t one of yours. Now, everyone up. Let’s move.”
“What about that thing?” Robin asked, nodding at Horrick.
The ancient suit of arcanely enchanted armor turned its skull helmet. “Wouldst thou care to duel, unworthy cur?”
Robin laughed. “Did you hear that? The little rust bucket called me a ‘cur’!” He brought his hands together, aiming them at Horrick. “Annihilo!” A jet of fire shot forth, plowing into the armor, but all it accomplished was a charcoal stain. “Damn. The iron goat is immune … Huh.”
“Thou canst do Horrick harm with such weak arcanery. Horrick thinks thou needst a smack in thy jaw from thy master.”
“You little—”
Tridian gave a grunt. “Leave it be.”
Augum exchanged looks with Bridget and Leera. Robin had caught up to them—looks like he was studying his 3rd degree too. Not to mention any necromantic spells he might know …
They entered the library, walking onto old ornate carpeting, encountering rows and rows of great black oak shelves that towered out of sight. Each was as wide as a man lying on his side, and exquisitely carved with serpents, snakes and demons. The spines of the tomes were ridged and had symbols or words written in a mysterious language. Some were plain, some ornate; some green or blue, but most were the color of blood or night. It smelled strongly of ancient parchment.
“There must be tens of thousands …” Garryk whispered, clutching his own tomes to his chest.
“An arcaneologists dream,” Mr. Spigot added.
Tridian looked up. “We will have to search it.”
“That will take some time with only the lot of us,” the lieutenant said.
Tridian glanced around at them all. “Spigot, you will mind the traitors here. Kill them if they try to escape. Everyone else, join one of the youngling warlocks. We will need their light to search by. And see if you can find some working torches. Blast this infernal darkness.”
Those that were leaving dropped their rucksacks and books by the doors, while the trio settled against the stone walls, near an immense tapestry depicting a swarm of dark soldiers taking a fortified hill. Beside the tapestry, Augum spied a small bronze plaque with a torch emblem and a rune underneath. He leaned up against it, obscuring it from view. No sense helping the enemy with light …
Mr. Spigot pulled up a rickety old chair.
“Where’s Horrick, Mr. Spigot?” Augum asked, hoping to strike up amiable conversation with the man.
Mr. Spigot’s chair creaked as he shone his palm through the doors. “He’s standing in the same place.” He nervously glanced around. Three lights wavered distantly. “Look,” he began in a whisper, “I’m awfully sorry about all this. I wish I could help in some way, I really do, but they have my wife and daughters—”
“Mr. Spigot, we understand,” Bridget said. “It’s all right.”
They nodded along. Hostage taking was a favored Legion strategy.
“Robin killed …” Augum swallowed, recalling Mya. “He murdered a friend of ours.”
“But … no, he is just a boy! He could never—”
“I saw it with my own eyes, sir.”
Mr. Spigot tugged on his empty sleeve, refusing to meet their gaze.
“Sir, can I ask …” Bridget glanced at the missing arm.
“Oh, this—a most awful thing it was. A messenger was apprehended carrying a letter to my wife and daughters. We were supposed to run off together to a secret village of refugees in the woods near Blackhaven. Many others were outright slaughtered for such intransigence, but because I was a teacher at the academy …”
“We came from a village like that,” Bridget whispered. “The Lord of the Legion razed it to the ground and murdered almost everyone there.”
Mr. Spigot kept absently playing with his hollow sleeve. “Yes, I have heard … stories. Sometimes I think it may have been worse for us had we actually escaped.” He raised his round chin and looked at Augum. “It seems the Lord of the Legion’s son is not like the father at all.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I am so very glad. There is a hope in you, my boy, a daring hope …”
Augum thought to take the chance that presented itself. “Mr. Spigot, we need to find that recipe before they do … and destroy it. If my father gets a hold of it, he will open a gateway to Ley. He will conquer it and his power will grow. He’d become unstoppable. Please, I know there’s nothing … obvious … that you can do, but …”
The color seemed to have drained from Mr. Spigot’s face as he quickly checked about. “I … I really shouldn’t, I oughtn’t … If they—”
“Mr. Spigot, please—” It was Bridget this time. “At least some food. Please …”
The ale-bellied man’s brows softened as he looked at the girls. “You remind me of my daughters.” He glanced over his shoulder. The lights could hardly be seen among the mass of shelving and books. “All right, all right, perhaps a bit of food, yes, it’s the decent thing to do. But please, please don’t try anything. I cannot permit you to—”
“Of course, Mr. Spigot,” Bridget replied quickly, “we’d never risk your wife and daughters.”
Mr. Spigot left them in the cool darkness as he tiptoed off to the rucksacks.
Bridget sighed. “Poor Mr. Spigot. If it wasn’t
for his family, I’d say we should run.”
“Even so, where would we go?” Leera said. “Nefra would pick us off one by one with her dumb puzzles and games—if those morons didn’t find us first.”
“Maybe we can somehow use the Orb of Orion,” Augum said, “get a message out to Nana—” He stopped talking as Mr. Spigot made his way back, holding a small bundle.
“I brought you some food, but you must be quick and quiet. Oh, and also this …” He handed them one of Garryk’s books, the one titled The Mad Necromancer, A Tale of Horror. “In case they take a long time, perhaps you could find some way to the recipe in here …”
Bridget accepted the book. Leera took the food. “Thank you,” they all said.
It was nothing but journey bread, bars of nuts and dried berries, and some stiff dried salted beef—but it went a long way into combating the leftover acid in their stomachs. Augum was hungry for more.
“Oh, and here’s a waterskin.” Mr. Spigot detached a leather bladder and handed it over. Everyone had a greedy fill. When they finished, they moved on to the book.
“Seems it was written by visitors only,” Bridget said as she riffled the pages.
“More like written by other people who heard stories from visitors,” Leera chimed in.
Indeed, the writing was long-winded and somewhat melodramatic, citing demons and the walking dead at every turn. There were entire chapters devoted to what Occulus’ armies had done to the countryside, not to mention castles and their defenders. Whole cities were laid to waste by his armies of Dreadnought-armored soldiers. It made Augum wonder where all that armor and weaponry went.
“Wait, there—” Leera’s hand shot to a section titled Servitude in Bahbell, a Most Unfortunate Occupation. She discretely tapped at a particular passage further down the page. They read in silence.
The castle had its typical minders and servants, all tortured souls, though one is worthy of a note in history. Horrick, they called him, was a suit of armor arcanely enchanted. This suit was particularly interesting because it had the ability to talk. It was used primarily to train the young princes and princesses of the castle—Occulus’ children—in the art of the blade, but could also be commanded to defend them, lift heavy objects, open doors, and act as a frightful guide to visitors. Many kings and queens …
Leera circled the part that said “open doors” with her finger.
“Have you found something there?” Mr. Spigot asked, removing the Orb of Orion from his rucksack. Augum was disappointed to see it was still enclosed within its green sphere of protection.
“Nothing much, sir,” Leera lied. “Just some historical stuff.”
“Ah.” Mr. Spigot went on to recast Sphere of Protection. “There, that should do it for another few hours.”
“Will you have to keep that up all night, Mr. Spigot?” Augum asked.
“I am afraid so. Can’t have the crone—err, excuse me, Anna Stone—teleporting in now, can we?” He smiled at them. Seeing that no one returned the gesture, he cleared his throat and put away the orb.
“What’s going to happen to us?” Bridget asked quietly.
“I … well, my dear, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t given it any thought. I’m sure, being so young …” But then he stopped and ran a sweaty hand over his balding head. “I just don’t know …”
“Mr. Spigot, you can’t let them murder us,” Bridget pressed in a pleading whisper. “Mr. Spigot—”
“Hush, girl! We shouldn’t even be talking. Please, all of you, return to the book and keep occupied. I’m sure everything will turn out just fine. In fact, if you find out where the recipe is, it’ll come to an end quicker.”
They exchanged knowing looks but went back to the book. Augum stared past the page though, mind buzzing with thoughts. He concluded they eventually had to escape, and sooner than later, lest Nefra whittled them down to nothing, or the Legion murdered them. They needed a break, and when it happened, they had to be ready. An idea occurred to him, but he had to wait to voice it for another hour, when Mr. Spigot got up to stretch his legs. The others still hadn’t returned, but that wasn’t surprising considering the immensity of their task.
“Shyneo,” Augum said. “It’s so we can see, Mr. Spigot. You don’t mind, do you?”
Mr. Spigot surrendered a reluctant nod before wandering about, stretching his stubby legs and only arm. The moment he turned his back, Augum began talking in a soft whisper.
“After they get back, soon as we get the chance, we take Horrick and run, using him to open and close the doors behind us. Agreed?” They had to do it without Spigot taking the blame.
The girls subtly nodded their heads, all the while pretending to be immersed in the book.
“Wasn’t there a map in one of these books?” Leera whispered.
Bridget gave a slight shake of her head. “Yes, but it’s not in this one.”
“Well we need that map too.”
“And we’ll have to choose our moment wisely—” but Bridget was cut off by Mr. Spigot’s return. They resumed perusing the book.
“Wait, go back one,” Leera said. “Thought I saw something. There …”
“ ‘The laboratorium is a place of great mystery’,” Bridget began reading aloud, “ ‘a room where Occulus conducted many horrifying experiments in the obscure element of necromancy. It was even rumored that, in the months before his death, he worked on something grand that would have changed the face of Sithesia. Unfortunately, the author of this glorious compendium has been unable to track down anyone actually having gained entry into this shadowy room to confirm such a story, for Occulus forbade access even to his servants. Further attempts after his vanquishing have also proven futile, for, as discussed in previous chapters, the castle closed itself to the outside world, perhaps succumbing to some strange curse.’ ”
“ ‘Strangely,’ ” Bridget read on, “ ‘soldiers and wanderers continue to disappear whilst trekking near its grounds. Stories of cannibalism, witchery and demon worshipping have become entrenched in local folklore. Few wish to speak of what transpires in those mountains. Fewer still actually know. As time passes, it is the opinion of this author that the castle’s location will slip from living memory, for the weight of its curse is great and dark’.”
They sat in silence for a bit, contemplating those words. Could the recipe be in there?
“Where is the laboratorium?” Mr. Spigot finally asked.
“We don’t have the map, sir,” Bridget replied. “It’s in one of the other books. May I get it please?”
“I suppose so, but please don’t try anything.”
“Thank you, sir, I won’t. Shyneo.”
Bridget padded off to where the Legion stashed the rucksacks. Mr. Spigot tried to eye her and Augum and Leera at the same time. After she had been gone a while, he made to stand.
“Mr. Spigot—sir—” Augum began quickly, trying to stall him. “Is there, uh, any news from the front? From Tiberra?”
Mr. Spigot craned his neck toward Bridget whilst trying to answer. “Yes, well, you know, I don’t rightly … excuse me a moment I have to—” but Bridget wandered back just then.
“I found it here, sir.” She splayed the map out before them on the old carpet. It was neatly drawn in ink on old wrinkled vellum.
“I really don’t think it a wise idea to let you look at that,” Mr. Spigot said, nervously glancing around.
Meanwhile, Augum concentrated, committing as much of the map to memory as possible.
“Laboratorium is here,” Bridget said, ignoring Mr. Spigot. “The entrance is from the Hall of Ceremony.”
“And the spawnery is right behind the laboratorium,” Leera pointed out with a forced laugh. “Not that we need to see anything there.” Obviously, the girls were stalling too.
“Really now,” Mr. Spigot continued, “perhaps you should give that back before—”
“Do you think the Occi queen will let us out alive, Mr. Spigot?” Bridget asked.
&nb
sp; “I … I really don’t—”
Augum sensed they were running out of time and focused entirely on the map. What to do, where to go? There was a dungeon in the training yard by the arena—who knew where that went. No, what they needed was … an emergency escape portal! Of course … Bahbell had to have one just like Castle Arinthian—all arcane castles had one, didn’t they? But where would it be? Occulus wasn’t the kind of man to allow anyone else out, except for himself …
Augum glanced down the map to a spot on the very end, beyond the throne room, titled Occulus’ Royal Quarters. There. If there were any escape portals in the castle, they’d surely be in his personal quarters, deep in the mountain. It only made sense—
“Really now, this is most inappropriate—” Mr. Spigot suddenly yanked the map from under their noses. He took the book too. “I don’t know what I was thinking … so dangerous … if they should …” he kept muttering to himself as he waddled back to return the items.
“I memorized it,” Augum whispered quickly.
“I think I did too,” Bridget said.
“We have to find an emergency escape portal. I think Occulus might have one in his quarters—”
Leera gripped his arm. “Augum, that’s brilliant—”
“But it’s all the way at the other end of the castle, deep in the mountain—”
Bridget adjusted something within her robe. “I also grabbed—”
“What are you lot conspiring about over there?” Mr. Spigot asked, returning in a huff. “I heard you whispering.”
“Nothing, Mr. Spigot,” Bridget replied. “We’re just hoping to survive this, that’s all.”
“But you want the recipe too. That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”
“We have to destroy it, Mr. Spigot—”
“Don’t talk about that! It’s high treason to even suggest it—”
“But Mr. Spigot—”
“Enough!” Mr. Spigot’s face had reddened and sweat formed on his brow. He wiped it with the back of his good arm. “Just sit there and be quiet! And extinguish that damn hand, boy.”