by Sever Bronny
Arthur shrank under her withering gaze, but then straightened and looked around at them all. “I have a right to believe what I believe. The Founding was created by the Unnameables, and they founded Sithesia and all lands and people and the calendar.” His breathing increased as did the speed of his speech. “I’m really sorry to say it but this is a hoax perpetrated by that floating woman back there I’m telling you we’re being manipulated here this is crazy and you’re all under a horrible spell and—”
Leera grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a shake. “Arthur! Stop it. Please, just … stop.”
Arthur’s breathing slowed until he swallowed and nodded. Leera let go and returned to Augum’s side, while the lot of them gaped at Arthur as if seeing him for the first time.
“Excuse me, Ancient One, but are the Unnameables even real?” Olaf asked, cringing.
“That is a matter of perspective. The knowledge I am about to impart, although old and more than ripe for this age, is still considered a great blasphemy to many.”
Arthur retreated a step and clutched his pouch harder.
“You can clamp your hands over your ears if you need to,” Mary said to him. “That’s what I used to do when I was little and my parents argued.”
Arthur gaped at her but notably did not follow her advice.
“An Ordinary is but a god to an ant,” Esha thus began. “But a 10th degree warlock seems a god to an Ordinary. And yet a 20th degree master appears a god to a 10th degree warlock.” She once more glanced toward the ceiling. “Now imagine a warlock so powerful they could teleport amongst the stars …”
Maxine scoffed. “I’m sorry, but for once I agree with Arthur, this is utterly ridiculous,” earning reproachful hisses from the others for her rudeness. “And really it was the ten thousand years that gave it away. I mean … come on! Don’t you all see it? It’s her in that chair using us like puppets for who knows what end. We don’t have time for such drivel.”
Esha raised a paw to the others, telling them that Maxine should be heard. “Ah, but time is all we have. Your perspective is limited by—”
“—the age I live in, yeah, yeah.” Maxine crossed her arms. “I still don’t believe it. Prove any of what you say.” Arthur nodded along.
“Ah, now we speak of truth. Truth has but one enemy—the lie. But so does the lie have a most mighty foe indeed—the truth. The challenge then becomes—”
“You speak in riddles,” Maxine hissed. “Your words mean nothing. With all due respect, I’ve seen enough illusory arcanery and heard too many frauds bluster about fanciful stories to be plenty skeptical of everything you say. In fact, I don’t even believe you’re a real Dreadnought, but merely a figment of that floating lunatic’s spellcraft.”
“Once we question everything, everything becomes a question.”
“More stupid riddles—”
“Enough, Maxine,” Augum snapped. “Fine, you and Arthur don’t believe any of it, we get it. Cling to your salt pouches and let the rest of us continue learning.”
Maxine scowled at Arthur’s salt pouch. “That’s just as stupid as any of this hogwash. Makes me sick how naive you all are,” and she stepped away from the group, muttering foully under her breath.
“There is truth to what was said,” Esha added. “The past is indeed illusion. History is approximation.”
The quills scratched away as a tense silence descended upon the group.
“I’m sorry, ancient lass,” Herzog abruptly said as his quill went still. “Kids don’t get to hold many a heavy old book like in the old days. They don’t get to feel, in their grubby wee hands, the weight of what they don’t rightly yet know. Precious wee snowflakes with precious dotin’ parents. These days, everyone is allowed to believe what pleases ’em. Look at the Lord of the Legion’s promises, and now The Path’s. Right indulgences, all of ’em. That’s why there be so few warlocks—people be daydreaming, indulging in the wrong things, instead o’ indulgin’ in curiosity.” He nodded to himself and returned to scribbling. “So says I, yes I do.”
The companions stirred at the condemnation of their generation but did not respond.
“Forgive the stupid question, Ancient One,” Mary squeaked, “but is Ley actually real? If so, where is it?”
“Ley is as real as the ground beneath our feet. As to where it is, that I do not know. The dominant theory, first uttered by the ancient historian Maryssa the Grand, who lived in the time of Attyla the Mighty, theorized it is a plane of existence much like Hell. Neo the Wise, a philosopher from after the time of The Founding and master earth warlock, proposed that it is a distant land inaccessible by ordinary teleportation and protected by powerful arcanery. And I recently read your Solian explorer, Codus Trazinius, who believes that ‘Ley rests among the stars, among countless other worlds unlike our own, yet certainly so very different indeed.’ I have no doubt the subject is as much of interest to today’s philosophers, arcaneologists and historians as it was throughout the ages—at least to those brave enough to believe in what they had seen with their own eyes.”
“Quite right, quite right I say,” Herzog muttered, head bobbing along like a straw ball bouncing down a cobbled street.
The group stiffened as the first of twelve gongs began to sound through the library. When they concluded, all eyes fell upon Augum.
“We have to assume the worst,” he said, looking around at them. “We go back to—” But he was cut off by a portal flaring to life. Out popped a pale Klines.
“Six Canterrans, two are warlocks,” she reported, face a little pale. “One is a white-robed Path Archon and the other crimson-robed, so let’s assume he’s 12th degree. The rest are guards. I spoke to them casually, otherwise I would have looked suspicious. But they got annoyed with my questions and told me to leave. It seems they are waiting on Canterran scholars and arcaneologists who are studying within the various rooms on behalf of Emperor Samuel.”
Augum’s brain buzzed. “Sepherin is a rabid student of history. Whatever those scholars are researching has to be important to him, otherwise he wouldn’t bother.” He had a bad feeling about this.
Jengo squeezed his hands together as if in prayer and glanced upward. “Oh, please don’t tell me they’re looking for another siege engine. Please …”
The group looked to Esha.
“The Rivicans only crafted three siege engines,” she said, allaying their fears.
“The scholars themselves have to be warlocks who gained entry by playing the labyrinth,” Klines said.
Mary clapped as she bounced on her heels. “Ooh, a labyrinth? What’s it for? Can we see it? I love labyrinths.”
Maxine only shook her head, muttering something about being surrounded by utter daftness.
“Just count us lucky we don’t have to gather coins this time,” Leera muttered.
“Why?” Mary pressed.
Leera elbowed Bridget. “You tell them, you’re better with this stuff anyway.”
“The library was converted from a castle and then founded by Theodorus Winkfield,” Bridget began in a scholarly fashion, “who wanted to reward students of all subjects access to tiers of knowledge based on how many gargoyle coins they found, which they had to earn by solving puzzles in the labyrinth—”
“Which we did in the war,” Leera threw in. “So fun.”
“Right. The Legion—”
“No, seriously, super fun but super terrifying too,” Leera interrupted, drawing an annoyed sigh from Bridget. “For example, there was this one invisible bridge that you had to cross—but it wasn’t really invisible, you know? Your hand could—” She punched the air. “—go right through it.” Her voice dropped to a ghost-story whisper. “The only way to get across was to believe that you could walk on thin air.”
A spooky moment of silence followed during which Leera nodded in an Uh-huh, how do you like that? way.
“Right, uh, thanks, Lee,” Bridget went on. “Anyway, as I was saying, the Legion had closed off the laby
rinth in an attempt to keep people from learning the arcane arts, but it’s since been reopened—”
“—to a limited few,” Klines interrupted, drawing a thin-lipped frown from Bridget. “Only to those who have shown to be competent, as we could not afford poor headlines about unnecessary warlock deaths, especially after the war, what with so many thinking warlocks are nothing more than evil witches.” She shrugged. “Not that there are many applicants these days … or any, really.”
“Usually the only way to get into those rooms,” Bridget went on with a sigh, “is to find the required amount of coins by solving all sorts of puzzles and challenges.”
“And there are supposedly loads of treasure rooms and stuff too,” Leera added, “but no one’s really gotten that far in ages because some of those challenges are, uh, dangerous, to say the least. Old way of training and all that.”
“In the old days anyone who wanted to could attempt them,” Klines explained. “Which unfortunately resulted in many deaths and enraged parents. Right now, we need to focus on solving the enemy problem.”
“Violence may not be necessary,” Esha said, turning to Mr. Goss. “With your permission and your son’s help, I may be able to assist.”
Mr. Goss swallowed. “Er … I suppose it would be all right to hear your idea, Ancient One.”
Esha turned to Leland. “I shall concoct a vision, which you will be able to see with your mind’s eye.” She closed her eyes. “Examine it carefully.”
Leland’s head tilted as he concentrated. Herzog’s quill worked feverishly. After a long pause Leland moaned with delight. “That’s, like, super advanced.”
“Do you believe yourself ready for such a trial, young one?”
Leland did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“It will not be easy. You will have to be assertive. Do you know what assertive means in this context?”
Leland nervously shifted from foot to foot, hands rubbing together while his ghoul mimicked the motion. “I … I think so.”
“It is important that you know so.”
Leland and his ghoul stopped fidgeting. Esha watched him patiently until he finally nodded. “I know so,” the ghoul said on his behalf.
“It is also important for you to project nuance to multiple minds. Do you understand?”
“Er … can you give me some examples?”
“Lint on an otherwise pristine white robe. Bad breath. Precision in speech and accent. An unblinking stare. Hands behind your back. Brevity, calm and patience, with bursts of anger. An entitled sense of authority.”
Leland thought about it before nodding. “I understand.”
Augum wanted to ask what Esha was doing but was afraid of breaking their concentration. The pair seemed to be in a trance.
Esha placed her gaze on Mr. Goss, who in turn squeezed Leland’s shoulder and asked, “Do you think you can do this, Son?”
“Yes, Father,” the ghoul replied. “I can.”
“Then I give you my permission.”
“We may not succeed,” Esha said to Augum. “You will have to be ready.”
Augum glanced around meaningfully at his tense group. “We will be.” He lifted Augum’s Defender and nodded at Bridget and Leera. “Strap up,” then turned back to Esha as he began strapping on the golden Dreadnought breastplate. “Tell us how to proceed, Ancient One.”
Lying Eyes
One at a time, the group stepped through the portal held open by Secretary Klines. Leland and his ghoul led, followed by Esha, Herzog, and everyone else. They had been instructed to act natural, say nothing, but hold a double line formation. Those with hoods had drawn them.
They entered a long room with a high ceiling, a set of wide marble steps at the far end. A row of double doors on the left wall towered all the way to the ceiling, making them appear thin and elongated. Each set was carved with finely detailed scrollwork and lacked handles. A statue of a muscled gargoyle stood before each pair of doors, wings folded neatly, an open palm outstretched, awaiting payment in exchange for entry to a special room filled with knowledge on a particular subject. The floor was marble, as was the entire right-hand wall, which was carved to look like bookshelves filled with tomes and scrolls. But in the center of that right-hand wall was a pair of enormous black oak doors Augum would never forget, for they led to the invisible bridge that required sheer belief to cross.
The Canterrans milled about in the distance, chatting idly before one set of tall doors. But there were three enemy warlocks instead of two, in addition to the four expected soldiers. The third warlock was also a Path Archon. Augum guessed he had exited from the room they guarded.
As instructed, the large group confidently strode toward the enemy, who upon laying eyes on Leland’s ghoul immediately took a knee and bent their heads.
“Prince Gavinius,” one of The Path Archons stated. He was a waifish man in his mid-thirties with a shaved pate and thin spectacles.
“Rise,” Leland’s ghoul replied as the companions spread out into a military formation.
The enemy rose back to their feet. Behind the waifish man stood a bullish Path Archon, also with a shaved pate; a blonde woman wearing a crimson robe; and four Canterran soldiers wearing boiled leather armor and pointed helms. The soldiers held tall spears, indicating they were likely trained to combat warlocks.
“We thought you were attending to city business, Your Highness,” the waifish Path Archon said. “Did His Highness tire of the barbarians?” A crooked smile graced his lips.
Oh no, these two know each other on friendly terms, Augum realized.
Leland’s ghoul sauntered forth, hands clasped behind its back. “Soldiers,” it boomed, nodding once at them while Leland controlled its exact movements mere feet behind. “Something has come up, so I will be taking command here.” The enemy exchanged confused glances as Leland continued. “You will be taking posts at the entrance to the library until, um … relieved.” The ghoul winced but the enemy happened to have bowed their heads in that moment and did not seem to catch the misstep.
The smile slipped from the waifish Path Archon. “As you command, My Liege. Shall we commence the task now?”
“In a moment.” Leland’s ghoul swept an arm grandly toward the line of friends. “I have brought reinforcements.”
“Are we to expect battle, Your Highness?”
Leland’s ghoul fiddled with its hands. “Er … maybe. How goes the research of my father’s scholars?”
“Excellent, Your Highness. I dispatched you a report this afternoon.”
“I didn’t receive it. I’ll hear it now.”
Augum winced at the contractions, hoping Gavinius used them occasionally with his troops.
The waifish Path Archon nodded. “As you wish.” He had intelligent, discerning eyes that worried Augum, for they roamed, examining and taking in all that they saw. Augum watched the man carefully as he spoke.
“You will be pleased, Your Highness, as we have continued expanding on our marriage of necromancy and Path Archon arcanery by studying records on the Lord of the Legion, as well as other Solian necromancers, knowledge which had previously been locked to us.”
There was a moment of stunned silence during which some of the companions could not help but exchange looks.
For Augum, the emperor dabbling in necromancy only confirmed that he was a true tyrant.
Leland’s ghoul stood gawking, mouth hanging open like a trout. Interestingly, Herzog’s quill continued to quietly scribble away, as if the enemy could not hear it.
“Have we displeased you, Your Highness?”
“Of course not. Uh … good work.”
“Pardon, Your Grace, but is His Highness feeling all right?”
“I’m great.”
Augum winced again.
“Shall we attend to the task of guarding the entrance then, Your Highness?”
Ask him which room the scholars are in! Augum found himself thinking, urging Leland to read his mind.
“Yeah. Yo
u may go now.” Leland’s ghoul made an imperious Off with you motion with its arm.
The bespectacled Path Archon bowed deeply. “Your Highness.” Then he and his compatriots turned around and marched off, climbing the set of distant steps before disappearing through a pair of mammoth doors. The moment they clanged shut, the group exploded into chatter.
“Quiet down, everyone,” Augum said, turning to Esha. “What do you think he meant by necromancy, Ancient One?”
“I am afraid I do not know. Necromancy is an old craft with many possible uses. Like all arcanery, it must adhere to the laws of the craft, yet it is nonetheless malleable and subject to manipulation, and in that sense, its possibilities are limited only by the imagination.”
“Couldn’t you read their minds?” Maxine snapped.
“I have no arcane powers whatsoever.”
The group gaped at her.
“I am sorry, Ancient One, but what do you mean you have no arcane powers?” Mary squeaked.
“We Dreadnoughts only ever had knowledge, knowledge that we used to craft weapons and armor for our masters. Now that I have been made mortal, I am nothing more than an Ordinary. And I do not possess the knowledge of my deceased brethren on crafting Dreadnought steel.”
“Then how did you stop the senior arcaneologist from reading your mind?” Maxine asked.
“Long practice. The mind is far more powerful than we give it credit.” She glanced to Leland. “But one may also allow another to witness thoughts, thoughts that envision what they are already capable of doing.”
Nonetheless, the disappointment in the air was as thick as molasses. They had believed that Esha could perform extraordinary feats of arcanery, yet with the exception of having a long memory, she was as mortal as mortal could be.
Bridget turned to Leland. “Do you recall anything from their thoughts that could help us understand what the Canterrans were talking about regarding a marriage of necromancy and Path Archons?”
“I … I was totally focused on maintaining the illusion,” his ghoul answered. “I couldn’t read a single thought from them.”