Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  “Don’t you get weak on me and let go now!” Maxine shrieked, legs kicking. Below her was the hungry mouth of an unknown black nothing.

  “Help!” Augum could only hiss through gritted teeth, blood now oozing from his ears and nose. He had blown past overdraw a second time within the space of half an hour, a dangerous prospect, and was now straining so hard he felt his vision going. “Help—!”

  The enemy kept lobbing spells. They hissed by, getting closer and closer—punches of vine, bolts of lightning, jets of water, balls of fire, swirling miniature tornadoes. Something cold and sharp finally pierced Augum’s calf and he howled out, letting go of Maxine. Her telekinesis was not strong enough to hold herself to him and she fell, only for Augum to witness Brandon, who had apparently been racing down the bridge, jump and slide on his stomach the last few feet, telekinetically catching Maxine in the process. His eyes immediately bulged at the strain of the pull, for his own telekinesis was nowhere near the strength of Augum’s. As she swung ten feet lower it was all Brandon could do to hang on to her.

  “Help,” he wheezed. “Help …”

  More friends joined, including Arthur and Mary, who desperately tried to help Maxine. Secretary Klines summoned an air elemental, only for it to fall clean through the bridge. She next tried summoning a wall, only for that to fall clean through as well. Beside her, Olaf methodically lobbed First Offensives back at the enemy, adjusting his aim with each casting.

  Augum rolled onto his back and summoned his shield in time to ward off a vine punch that would have knocked him clean off the bridge. His shield was so weak it disappeared from the blow. His vision was blurred but he could see and hear the shots coming at him. In addition, arrows began to fly, significantly worsening the situation. He tried to summon his shield against the incoming storm but all he heard was a fizzle. An arrow whizzed by his unprotected raised arm and hit his armor with a metallic thunk before careening off at a shallow angle. Another arrow zipped by his head. A third found a target—Mary’s thigh, lodging right to the feather and poking out the other side. She yelped in pain and nearly rolled off the bridge, only managing to stay on by grabbing Arthur’s robe.

  Somehow the group managed to continue dragging themselves along the bridge, blood raining down onto a frantic Maxine, whose telekinetic clawing had increased in fervor, her own nose now bleeding from the strain.

  Augum, internals boiling in acid and calf stinging something fierce, spotted a sharp glint coming directly at his face. He flicked a finger and managed to telekinetically divert the path of another arrow just enough to avoid his brains getting pierced.

  When they got to within twenty paces of the ledge, Klines and Olaf abandoned their First Offensive castings and ran over to help drag Maxine up while an injured Mary blocked incoming attacks with her airy shield. She kept grunting as thunk after thunk sounded, but she persevered.

  At long last they managed to reach the edge, where they hauled Maxine up the cliff. Then they stumbled through the doors and shut them with a clang, immediately collapsing in an exhausted heap.

  “What a mess,” Klines muttered, hauling her stubby body onto her feet. “Now link up so we can get you all out of here already.”

  A Splash of Snow

  Jengo winced, rubbed his temples, then gave Augum’s knee a double tap. “That’s all the stams I can spare for you right now. You’ll need to rest overnight.” He looked eastward at the night sky, which was lightening with the first blush of dawn. “Or what’s left of it.” Then he went to help the others.

  “Thanks,” Augum mumbled, letting his head fall back in the snow, enjoying the warmth of a nearby low fire. It had been one of the longest days of his life. His calf throbbed a little and the many cuts sustained in the battles stung, but all in all Jengo had done an excellent job healing his wounds.

  They were in a tiny wooded grove north of Crimson Tooth where Klines had once taken shelter from a Legion patrol. A full moon lit up bare birches and alders and maples and a few gnarled oaks, all swaying in a bitter wind. Nearby was a small frozen pond surrounded by deer and rabbit tracks. The snow glittered in the pale moonlight.

  The companions huddled near the fire, rifling through their things and setting up crude tents for bed. Everyone was utterly exhausted. Klines had cast protective enchantments on the little glade before handing the dragon bone to Augum and teleporting back to the library to hopefully—and secretly—repair the Planes room, face Senior Arcaneologist Ning, not to mention somehow track down as many of the other ingredients as she could—all without getting caught. Before she left, she instructed the group to continue on without her if she did not return by the second afternoon bell of the coming day, which they’d have to judge via the sun.

  At Mr. Goss’s insistence, Klines had taken Leland, his ghoul and his father with her, for they were not prepared for the elements, nor was Mr. Goss happy about taking such great risks with his son. The man had apologized profusely for abandoning them and wished them all luck while trying to calm a distraught Leland, who had really wanted to stay with the companions.

  Although everybody would have preferred to have Leland around for his unique abilities, they also understood a father’s need to shield his only child. Everyone had given Leland a gentle hug and shaken his father’s hand, thanking them for their aid.

  “Hello, what’s this?” Leera said. She was rooting through Augum’s stuff for him and neatly placing everything in the snow—his bedroll, some provisions, and a tent.

  Augum opened a groggy eye and saw that she had withdrawn his mother’s locket. “That, Dragoon Jones, is my privacy that you’ve just invaded.”

  She smirked at the jest, for he had requested her help. “I know,” she said, and put the locket back. “Here, have some salmon,” and she tossed a linen-wrapped chunk at him he was too tired to catch. It bounced off his forehead and rolled into the fire, annoying him.

  “Mmm, extra crispy,” she said, telekinetically fetching it out and offering it to him again. “Can you unwrap it yourself or do you want me to do it for you?”

  “I can do it myself,” he muttered, reaching for it, only for it to float just out of reach.

  The smirk widened. “You sure?”

  He snatched it from the air, grumpy from sheer hunger and exhaustion and in no mood for games. He took a bite, savoring the taste, and watched as Herzog finished putting up a tent for Esha that Brandon had lent him, mentioning he’d been ordered by Maxine to take first watch. The old man bowed and opened the flap in a reverential manner. Esha thanked him and crawled inside. Herzog had insisted on staying to chronicle the events, especially anything Esha had to say.

  “You’d think she’d give us more hints about what we’re supposed to do and stuff,” Leera said, rolling up the top of his rucksack.

  “Esha?”

  “Yeah. You know, like, she should be all-knowing, shouldn’t she? I mean, she doesn’t talk like someone who’s been around ten thousand years.”

  “But she hasn’t been around that long. She said herself that she’s been asleep through most of it. And she talks like us because she watches and studies us all. You’ve seen the way she listens.”

  Leera shrugged. “I guess. Maybe I’m just exhausted.” She nodded to herself. “More than exhausted—could sleep for a whole year.” She began assembling the tent, which had a canvas fabric that was once a theatrical curtain of some sort for it had a castle wall painted onto it. The other tents were the same, all cut from used cloth by an Ordinary sewing woman from Arinthia who had been trapped in the academy along with them. As for the pegs and poles, they had been expertly fashioned out of leftover academy timber by an Ordinary woodworker. Everybody had pitched in, something that warmed Augum’s heart every time he thought about it.

  Maxine punched the canvas of her own tent into submission, perhaps hoping to iron out its kinks and creases. It was decorated with silly pink and lavender flowers.

  Leera glanced over at her while she assembled the tent poles
. “Did she even thank you for saving her under the bridge?”

  Augum took a bite of the salmon. As dried out and salty as it was, it was absolutely delicious. “She doesn’t have to.”

  “Pfft.”

  “I think she loathes the idea of relying on others.”

  “Yeah, well, we hate relying on her too.”

  “You are grumpy. She did a good job.” Not to mention wants to sacrifice herself for us. He suspected Leera had forgotten that and was about to politely remind her of that fact when—

  “Don’t defend her attitude.”

  An exhausted Augum blinked at her. “I’m defending her actions—”

  “Haylee told me that she called you a bastard while she dangled underneath that bridge, holding on for dear life. You were trying to save her and all she could do was insult you.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean it. She’s just a complicated, conflicted person.”

  Leera stopped what she was doing to glare at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She jammed the pole into the ground.

  “Fine, stay bitter.” He immediately regretted the words.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Er—”

  She slapped the top of a snowdrift, splashing snow into his face. “You can raise your own tent, mister,” and she grabbed her rucksack and stormed off. She was heading toward Bridget but, seeing her chatting amiably with Olaf, slumped down beside Haylee and Cry instead, and immediately began rifling through her stuff as if it had done her wrong.

  Augum, feeling awful for being such a short-tempered jerk, cleaned the snow from his face and groggily continued hitching up his tent. He had been looking forward to her sneaking in later and cuddling with him, but no, he had to act like an oafish fool instead.

  “Idiot,” he said while holding the salmon between his teeth. “Stupid idiot.” To top it all off, he couldn’t seem to fit the two parts of one tent pole together. He tried jamming one side in only to break the fragile prong. “Well deserved, you moron,” he said to himself.

  “It doesn’t go in like that.”

  Augum looked up to find Mary standing near, her tent already erected behind her. It was decorated with horses carrying knights that looked suspiciously like Arcaners, for they wore traditional warlock garb yet they also had gleaming breastplates and carried long lances and tall shields.

  “It doesn’t go in like that,” Mary repeated, taking the broken end from him. She dumped it in the snow, placed her hands over it, and said, “Apreyo.” The broken end reformed with a sealing light. “Here, watch.” She took the other end from his frozen fingers and expertly joined the two parts, creating a tall tent pole. “And this is where you attach the rope. Are you paying attention?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because it looks like you’re eating.”

  “Sorry. I’m a little hungry.” He was absolutely famished, and every bite brought him back from the swamp of grumpiness.

  “Didn’t you pay attention to the lesson on how to put this together?”

  “Er …” He had been watching Leera at the time, admiring how beautiful she looked with her new spectacles, how cute and smart.

  “Maybe you should have paid attention.”

  “Maybe I should have,” he admitted sheepishly.

  Mary sighed. “Maybe you should apologize to her too.”

  “You … you heard us?” Maybe there was a rock nearby he could crawl under.

  She offered the pole back. “I heard you being a jerk is what I heard.”

  Augum accepted it. “Ah. Thanks.” He groaned as he stood, only to twist his ankle and nearly fall in the fire.

  “Can I help?” Mary asked.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Uh … thanks.”

  Mary stared at him another moment before sauntering back to her tent. Augum, meanwhile, set to working on the other pole, this time being more careful. He watched as Arthur finished erecting his tent, then looked around as if searching for someone. When he spotted Leera, he lit up as if it were his birthday and trotted over to her.

  “Not that look again,” Olaf said, wandering over to Augum, leaving Bridget to fuss with her tent.

  “What look?”

  “That I want to kill the guy flirting with my girlfriend look.” Olaf plopped down beside him, picked up one end of the canvas, and began entwining the rope to the end of one pole. “Your face is like a painting of bitterness.” Olaf exaggerated a loathsome facial expression complete with curled lip. “See that?” He did it again. “Wait, maybe more like this—” He stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth, giving him the appearance of a toad.

  “Yeah, I’m a real ass, I know.”

  “Whoa, whoa, no one said anything like that.”

  Augum sighed as he twirled a rope around the other pole. “I, uh, accidentally insulted Leera.”

  “ ‘Accidentally?’ ”

  Augum paused. Why had he used that word? “I was hungry and angry. Hangry, as Leera would say. And I took it out on her like an idiot.”

  “There’s this great invention I know of. This awesome thing that could fix it.”

  Augum perked up. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, you want to know what it is?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure, ’cause it’s a difficult thing to pull off—”

  “Stop horsing around and spill it already.”

  “An apology.”

  Augum stared at him.

  “Slap me fats, Three Toes has lost his sense of humor.”

  Augum recalled falling toward a bed of clouds, Katrina’s ancient dragon giving chase; witnessing Naoki’s form get pulverized by that diving dragon; slicing his own toes off with Burden’s Edge; holding a Canterran soldier’s hand before dispensing the Final Valediction—and these were only the things that had happened recently.

  Sense of humor—ha!

  “Aug?”

  “Hmm?”

  Now it was Olaf who sighed. He jabbed one end of Augum’s tent pole deep into the snow. “Just go apologize to her.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. Thank you. You’re … you’re a good friend.”

  Olaf nodded and Augum got up and strode over to Arthur, Haylee, Cry and Leera, who were conversing amiably. When Leera saw him coming, she pretended not to notice and suddenly seemed very engaged in their conversation.

  “No, roast chicken with buttered potatoes and classic Solian gravy is currently my dream dish,” Leera said to Arthur with an exaggerated head bob. “And then after, I’d want the finest dessert, something like pecan pie or pumpkin tart, yeah.”

  Arthur closed his eyes and fell back against the snow while rubbing his stomach. “Unnameables help me that sounds absolutely divine.”

  She chortled. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Augum hovered nearby feeling like a mule.

  Haylee elbowed Leera. When Leera didn’t respond, she elbowed her again, harder this time.

  “What!” Leera snapped.

  Haylee nodded up at Augum, flashing her a What’s with you? look.

  “Oh. He’s here to apologize.”

  Augum had had enough. “No, I’m not,” and turned right back around, feeling spitefully immature.

  He heard Leera shoot to her feet. “Oh, too big to apologize, are we?”

  Augum whirled about in place. Everyone had taken notice and was staring, some popping their heads out from their tents.

  Leera folded her arms. “Go ahead, say it. Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Say something spiteful. I know you want to.”

  Augum’s mouth hung open.

  Seeing his face, Leera unfolded her arms and looked around, hesitating once she noticed all the watching eyes, including Herzog, who was immortalizing the moment in his book.

  Bridget, who had witnessed all this, marched over. She snapped her fingers at the companions. “Don’t you have better things to do?” and they guiltily went back to
their tasks. She glanced between Augum and Leera, then grabbed the cuff of Leera’s robe and began dragging her over to Augum. When Leera squealed in protest, Bridget flashed her a fierce glare. After marching up on Augum, Bridget grabbed his cuff as well. She dragged the pair of them past Olaf, who suddenly seemed utterly fixated on erecting Augum’s tent and didn’t dare to look up to meet his girlfriend’s fearsome gaze. She didn’t stop until they were all the way behind a copse of birches, well out of hearing range. Then she placed her hands on her hips as she looked between the pair of them.

  Leera dawdled with her fingers while Augum stabbed the snow with his three-toed foot.

  “Well, have it out already,” Bridget snapped, waiting. “Oh, don’t have anything to say to each other now? But you did back there, didn’t you? In front of everyone. In front of everyone. Like bickering jackals.” She kept looking between them in a way that made Augum feel thoroughly ashamed of himself.

  “Couples fight, I get it. That’s normal. But for the love of our shattered kingdom, do it in private. Everybody looks up to the two of you. Hell … I look up to the two of you.”

  This made Augum’s and Leera’s faces redden further. Bridget never swore unless it was serious. Nor had she ever said she looked up to them, at least in this context.

  “You two are a hope even I didn’t have before,” Bridget admitted, holding herself while kicking the snow. “A hope a lot of people have. Even amongst our group.” She jabbed a finger into each of their chests. “Remember that.” She turned and strode off.

  “Bridge—” Augum and Leera blurted at the same time, and cringed when they realized that they’d had the same thought.

  Bridget stopped but did not turn around.

  “You’re right, Bridge,” Augum said first. “We’ll do better.”

  “I feel awful to have disappointed you,” Leera added.

  “I love you both as I would a brother and a sister,” was all Bridget said before striding off, leaving the pair of them to stare stupidly after her.

  “How’d we get so lucky to have such a wise friend like her?” Leera asked, still refusing to look at him.