by Sever Bronny
Augum, Bridget and Leera exchanged curious looks. What could this be?
The chair floated down to them, soon revealing who sat in it—a shriveled and blackened-by-time old apple of a woman. Her cheeks were hollow pits, hair a tuft of wild cotton, hands completely closed in on themselves. Her skin was pockmarked and blotchy and nearly as dry as the old parchment she guarded. The veins were black tendrils snaking along her hands and face. But it was her eyes that demanded attention, for they were sunken and almond-shaped and entirely—unnervingly—black, as if diseased by time. With her came the faint scent of cloves and an air of judgment and wisdom. She wore the same plain-gray attendant robe as Klines, embroidered with a crimson gargoyle perched contentedly in its oval, reading a book, the pages slowly turning now and then. Her throne chair was intricately carved in the shape of a great castle.
The linen parcel floated before her, tied tightly with an old leather cord that had long dried out.
“Do you know what this is?” Ning asked, her voice now entering into their minds, evident by the knee-jerk reactions from those who had never experienced such a thing.
Her chair slowly rotated so that she could get a good look at each of their faces, for she could not move her dried-out neck. “Hmm?” Curled-back lips revealed rotten teeth and lips that remained still. “Try feeling out the arcane ether and making an educated guess.”
Mary chewed on a fingernail. “Some kind of old instructions to something?”
Maxine wasn’t the only one to wince, though the chair turned to her first. “How about you, Miss Matheson?”
“You read my surname from my thoughts,” Maxine blurted.
“Because those thoughts are louder than that scowl.”
“You have no right to—”
“Then stop your thoughts from screaming at me. And no, I will not judge you for them despite you craving that judgment.” Ning waited to see how Maxine would respond. When she only glared, Ning pressed, “Now try answering the question. What is inside this parcel?”
Maxine glanced up at it. “I have no idea whatsoever.”
“Cluelessness is a state a simple soldier ought to get used to. And the answer to your unasked question, the one lingering in the cobwebs of that cantankerous mind, is no.”
“No—?”
“As in, no, you would not pass the Arcaner trial. Best stick to the simple things, dear. And if you were a little easier on yourself, perhaps life would be easier on you.” Her chair turned to face Olaf while Maxine scowled anew. “Would Dragoon Hroljassen like to venture a guess, or is he too busy thinking about the subject of his infatuations?”
Olaf glanced furtively at a crimson-cheeked Bridget before swallowing. “A … a map?”
“Hardly much of a guess, my boy. A little effort, next time. And you, Mr. Summers? I dare say that perhaps that infamous pride has not been sufficiently humbled, for a detritus seems to remain. Perhaps that pride can step up to the mark and deliver an informed guess?”
Brandon was as stiff as a board when he answered, “A recipe …?”
“To a better brain? You only wish it were so, Mr. Summers. Dragoon Okeke—I believe it is your turn. Do not make us healers look foolish now.”
“I … I do not know, Senior Arcaneologist Ning.”
“I suppose that is the best answer you could supply given the swamp of fear your thoughts swim in. Mr. Cartwright …” Her chair shook back and forth instead of her head. “Scandalous thoughts, Mr. Cartwright. Scandalous thoughts indeed.” But her words held a playful tone.
Arthur’s face was redder than a sunset as his eyes flitted to Leera, making Augum’s blood steam.
“But all too teenage, I am afraid. And no, I will not implant false thoughts in you or twist your memory or turn you into a blasphemer, and I certainly will not ‘melt’ your mind, as you so eloquently put it.”
A few of the friends chortled but were quickly silenced by a fierce look from Klines.
“Your best effort now,” Ning went on, “and mind that the salt pouch can give you no assistance to the question at hand—what is in this parcel?”
Arthur winced. “Detailed instructions to defeating the Canterrans?”
“Not a bad effort indeed, if not wholly naive. Dragoon Tennyson, are we about done daydreaming about being swept off one’s feet by a dashing and obscenely rich noble, or are we ready to make an educated guess?”
“Are you some sort of oracle?”
“Hardly, dear. Stall not, lest I get impatient. An ancient siege engine dragon does, after all, circle this library, its source mind confused as to why it suddenly does not want to perch atop the very dome above our heads so that it may peer inside in search of you, even though it initially had that desire.”
“They can communicate?” Augum blurted, only to receive another reprimanding look from Klines.
“Using Hearing Orbs, no doubt,” Ning replied, “but you must wait your turn, Dragoon Stone. Unnameables know how much attention you’ve already received.”
Augum’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Wait, you can reach Katrina’s mind?” Haylee pressed. “Why not just kill her then?”
“Is that long blonde hair an impediment? May the Unnameables help you, for being daft and blonde is quite the curse indeed. Just be grateful intelligence was not a requisite for becoming a dragoon.”
“Wait, I never got to guess—”
But the chair had already turned away. “Miss Tenzay. Shall we even bother?”
“I … I …”
“That would be a no. And although your inability to control your emotions can perhaps be questioned, your dedication to the quest cannot. How about you, Mr. Slimwealth, care to add an insightful paragraph to the dramatized account you are penning, or would you prefer to continue forever hesitating about a certain infatuation you are caricaturing in the sketchbook of your mind?”
Cry looked to Haylee and went beet red. Catching this, she looked to Ning, then back to Cry, and her face twisted with revulsion. “Gah, ew!” she blurted, only to slap a hand over her mouth. Cry’s hue faded to the color of parchment.
“Ah, the cringeworthy dramatics of unrealized teenage infatuation. The history of the stage encapsulated in but a few moments. How does that old proverb go, ‘The cure for love can be a broken heart.’ I do not agree with it, for the unlikeliest of matches can sometimes turn out to be … idyllic.”
As the chair turned to Bridget, the shade of Cry’s face improved and Haylee’s blonde brows rose in confusion.
“And how about you, Dragoon Burns, are we done with trying to obscure our insecurities about becoming an Arcaner?”
“I … I’m not sure, Your Brilliance.”
“What is it you truly fear, child?”
“That I will not live long enough to have a family.”
“Then you should mind your step as life is a delicate dance. And I hope you will persevere and lay claim to your dreams, for if you lose hope, what hope will there be for those with less courage than you, for those with less compassion, for those pitiful creatures deeming themselves unworthy? Now your best guess, if you please. Being a darling Hero of the Resistance does not preclude you from giving it an honest effort.”
Bridget stared at her a long moment, mouth hanging open, before straightening and studying the floating parcel. “A way to get to Semadon safely.”
“Beetlebreath, snap your fingers on my behalf.”
Klines snapped her fingers, to which Ning said, “I am afraid that is incorrect, Dragoon Burns. Dragoon Jones—” A pause was followed by a double tsking sound. “Dragoon Jones … my favorite mischief-maker of the lot. Is the sweet tooth as demanding as ever?”
“Y-yes, Senior Arcaneologist Ning.”
“Alas, a bowl of candy I have not. How about a piece of chocolate?”
“That would be marvelous. We’ve been stuck in the academy for ages with nothing to eat but goop and slop and I’d love—”
“I do not have chocolate
either.”
Leera deflated.
“You do not care for my little prank?”
“It was a little funny, I guess.”
“I thought it was delightful, but we agree, cruel as well. Shall we comment on those scandalous thoughts of yours?”
“Eep. Please no.”
Augum couldn’t help but crack a small grin.
“A shame. So much to discuss. Very well then, my dear Dragoon Jones—what is in this parcel?”
Leera narrowed her eyes at it. “A way to safely get to Ley.”
“Bold, but as wrong as your idea that you are safe here.” The chair swiveled about. “Who do we have left amongst our gallant group? Ah, yes, Dragoon Stone.”
Augum stiffened. Here we go.
“Here we go indeed. Still trying to carry the entire weight of the endeavor, are we? Have we not learned to delegate yet?”
“Er, I guess not, Senior Arcaneologist Ning.”
“Is it a fear of leadership?”
“I … I don’t know.” Maybe?
“Maybe. I see. But you are cognizant of how dangerous this quest is, and how much more dangerous it will get. You fear for your friends, for your beloved, for your kingdom. My rhetorical question to you, young champion, is will you let that cloud your judgment?”
Augum swallowed dryly. I certainly hope not.
“Mmm. You carry a means to communicate with the enemy.”
“A repaired Orb of Hearing.”
“But they are not listening. Interesting. And you seem to be having trouble with Teleport.”
“Yes …”
“Looks like you might have hit your ceiling.”
Augum felt a cold wave of dread. But then his eyes narrowed. “You’re jesting again.”
“Am I now?” She let the thought hang between them, no doubt to teach him a lesson, although he felt too obtuse at the moment to understand what that lesson might be. “We could ruminate on why you have made certain decisions until the skies turn blue, wax on about your thoughts and the myriad dilemmas that circle reluctant leaders, examine the graveyard of horrors that you had to witness in the pursuit of your goals … yes, there are many things worthy of discussion, but time is a precious resource, and I would prefer to let your decisions speak on your behalf. The parcel, Dragoon Stone. Surely you of all people would have an idea of what is in it.”
Augum studied the parcel, then looked to Ning, who he sensed had given him a subtle clue in that last sentence. “It has something to do with Arcaners, doesn’t it?”
“Almost hit the mark, but unspecific, not to mention nothing more than a clever deduction at best, a mere guess at worst.” She gave a melancholy sigh. “It seems none of you have that particular gift, though why I should have expected otherwise escapes me at the moment. These are trying times that could use all the—”
“Can I take a guess, Senior Arcaneologist Ning?” Leland’s ghoul asked.
“You sure can, war darling.”
Mr. Goss winced at that nickname but said nothing.
“It is a codex …”
“Continue.”
“A codex filled with … with detailed instructions on how to …”
“Yes, my child …?”
“How to properly run the Arcaner order!”
“Excellent.”
The ghoul did a little two-step and click of its heels while Augum exchanged wondrous looks with his friends.
“And how exactly did you come to that deduction?”
The ghoul sheepishly wrung its hands. “I cheated.”
“You did indeed, didn’t you? And how?”
“I read your mind.”
“Little scamp. You certainly did, and I wanted you to. Well done indeed, prodigal child, although I fear your friends cannot pick up the gift. To be fair, it is most rare.”
Leera beamed over at the little tyke. “Leland, that’s so impressive,” she whispered. “You better not take unfair advantage against all the swooning ladies.”
But Leland’s face, twisted with glee a moment ago, now fell.
“Ah, the young man feels himself unlovable in his … condition. Alas, he is young and has much to learn, for there are many scarred women out in the world who will not be able to see past their own scars to notice his.” The chair abruptly rose a few feet. “Come in, Prince Gavinius Sepherin,” Ning boomed, and the doors opened to reveal a man with a hand raised as if readying to knock. He wore a fur coat over a white robe. A dozen Path Disciple warlocks with shaved pates stood behind him, regaled in full white robes and the same divided red-and-white shield crest the companions had encountered underground. And still further behind them stood a squad of twenty well-armed Canterran soldiers with hard faces.
Augum froze and held his breath—and he wasn’t the only one. He knew from his Military Strategy class studies with The Grizzly that Prince Gavinius Sepherin was the oldest son of Emperor Samuel Sepherin … and thus the heir to the entire Canterran empire.
Sons and Daughters of a God
Everyone in Augum’s group stood like statues while the Canterran prince sauntered in as if he owned the place, leaving his little army standing at attention. He stopped before Ning’s chair, pressing thick fists to his waist, oblivious to the group around him. Augum knew the man was twenty-six years of age, 13th degree ice, and carried the reputation of a brute—and looked it too. His head was completely shaved, but he possessed a perfectly trimmed bulldog goatee. His frame was stocky and muscled, and he had the calculating golden eyes of his bloodline. He wondered if he too was a Path Disciple who could turn himself into a demon.
The heir to the empire began pacing in front of Ning’s chair, fists still pressed to his waist. “I have come to inform you that we believe the criminals from the academy may attempt to break into the library.”
Augum’s heart jammed into his throat as the enemy prince walked within a hairsbreadth of the floating parcel—without noticing it.
The chair floated skyward, making Augum’s stomach lurch, for he felt exposed being left to stand gawking at the enemy like this, even if that enemy apparently could not see the group.
Gavinius ceased pacing as he followed the chair with his golden-eyed gaze. “Where do you think you are going?”
He barks like a schoolyard bully, Augum thought.
He does indeed, Ning replied in his mind, startling him. But a man’s mind is more than his bark.
“Answer me! Where do you think you are going, you old potato?”
But Ning ignored that particular query and addressed the former statement. “And why would they attempt to do such a foolish thing?” A cabinet door opened and out floated a wrinkled scroll. Far above the dome, turbulent black clouds marched by like an army going to war.
Gavinius sighed and resumed pacing. “Father has informed me of your particular sorcery.”
He carries himself like his father, Augum thought. But with a temper.
And aspires to take his place in due time, Ning replied.
Did you orchestrate this? Augum countered.
I have done my very best to tweak the circumstances, though it was not easy, especially considering such short notice. Your duty now is to watch and listen and learn. Do not make me regret my meddling.
I will watch carefully. Thank you. They needed all the help they could get.
Above, the scroll unfurled, hanging down like a long tablecloth. It moved past her eyes at a steady pace as she spoke. “The emperor has given you carefully worded instructions not to defile this institution.”
Gavinius merely continued pacing, head low. Augum wondered if the pair were conversing in thought as well.
“And yet that flying metal bucket of yours considered destroying this invaluable abode of knowledge,” Ning went on. “Who do you think your father, a scholar among scholars, would have held accountable for such a defilement? Now what is it you need from me, dear Prince Gavinius? I am a busy woman. Come, come, unfurl that brutish tongue that yearns to be set free.”
“Enough with your games, you already know what I am going to say.”
“That you believe the fugitives may try to find an alternate way into the Leyan plane? I do indeed. The parchment of your mind is written in blocky letters, like a child trying mightily to impress his father.”
Gavinius stopped to stare at his troops. “You dare insult me as if you wear a cloak of immunity!” he boomed, voice echoing around the tall room. He whirled in place to look up at her. “I am more than my thoughts.”
“Ah, very good. He has taught you well indeed.”
This one is dangerous, Augum thought, watching the brute. Confidence billowed off the man like smoke. The prince stood defiant, knowing he could be manipulated yet trusting he could somehow guard his thoughts.
Wise of you not to underestimate him, young champion, came Ning’s reply.
Far above, the scroll furled and returned to its place. The door of the cabinet closed as another one opened and an old leather-bound tome floated out toward the chair. Lightning flashed outside the dome, briefly lighting up the room, followed by a dulled crack of thunder that resonated through the complex like the growl of an ancient dragon.
“Your father regards me in high esteem,” Ning continued as the book opened before her and pages slowly flipped. “Had he had it his way, I would have been your tutor.”
The heir to the empire hesitated. “Shall I put everyone in this cursed hovel to the question? Would you like that on your shriveled conscience, old woman?”
“You value knowledge differently than your father.”
“Might, in the end, is always right.”
“ ‘A knight who cannot read is at the mercy of one who can.’ ”