Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  She’ll never change, he bemusedly thought as he carefully undid the silentium wrapping. But then he felt a prickle of shame, considering what Maxine was sacrificing.

  He pressed his ear to the orb and there was the quietest “Shh” from within, and then nothing. He re-wrapped the orb and tucked it away, deciding there was little point in reaching out right now.

  Leera gave him an inquiring look.

  “They were listening in, trying to glean information. Probably hoping for us to slip up.”

  She bit her lip. “Doesn’t exactly bode well.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Our task right now is to find the stones and study the ritual.” His gaze settled on Esha. “Which way, Ancient One?”

  Esha glanced up at the stars, visible through a great gaping hole in the clouds that was expanding by the hour. She pointed eastward with a graceful paw. “The Cairn Stones of the Midnight Moon are north of Crow’s Keep, close to the beach.”

  Augum made a circling motion with his hand. “Form up. Earth warlocks—you’re in the back on track-covering duty.”

  Brandon, Bridget and Maxine took the rear, where they would telekinetically hide their tracks, while the rest paired off.

  As they plodded along in the sand, Augum felt a prod from behind. “Guess whose birthday it is in two hours?” Leera sang.

  He shrugged and looked around, pretending to be mystified. “No idea.”

  “Oh, you.”

  “Did you get me something special?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The others threw up a teasing and raunchy, “Ooh!”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Leera said, gently shoving the shoulders near her. “Keep walking, you louts.”

  And walk they did along the slowly curving beach, inhaling the salty air while listening to the rhythmic crash of the waves and the quiet shwoom of the wind rustling the rugged trees. The sky soon cleared, revealing a brilliant and vast field of stars and the largest and brightest moon Augum had ever seen. It cast clear shadows and made the beach and waters of the Dragon Sea sparkle.

  Not long into the walk, Bridget got impatient and had Augum hand her the ritual scroll, saying that she didn’t want them “throwing it all together at the last moment” again. But after studying it awhile, she began to slow, until coming to a dead stop and looking up at Augum.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, approaching.

  “The uh, the recipe, uh, the recipe requires the caster—” The black parchment shook in her hands.

  “To what?” Spit it out already, Bridge.

  “—to sacrifice a piece of Dreadnought equipment the caster owned … for no less than one year.”

  Augum abruptly felt so dizzy he had to grab hold of Olaf’s shoulder to steady himself. “Come again?”

  Herzog’s quill scratched away as he muttered about what took place before him. “… the young champion asked Dragoon Burns to repeat herself, so distraught was he …”

  Bridget repeated herself, even showing him the part of the ancient text that specifically mentioned it.

  Brandon dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Aug. That’s awful news.”

  One by one, they gave their sympathies.

  “Which one will you choose?” Leera asked, slipping her arms from his shoulders after giving him a hug.

  “I … I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” How could he choose between two sacred artifacts gifted by Dreadnoughts themselves as a thanks for freeing them? He looked to Esha for guidance, but she only watched him with those tired lion eyes.

  Jengo withdrew the Dreadnought letter opener. “And that means this is useless.”

  Maxine snatched it from him. “A dagger is never useless to a soldier.”

  “Um, that’s not a dagger,” Jengo began, “it’s a letter—” only to wither under Maxine’s glare. “But it can be a dagger if you want, sure.”

  They resumed plodding along, demoralized, until Bridget, who continued studying the parchment, once more slowed to a standstill.

  Leera threw up her hands. “Oh, Fates, now what?”

  This time, Bridget’s gaze wandered to Cry, Brandon, Mary and Arthur—the non-Arcaners.

  Cry looked between himself and the three others. “We can’t come along to Ley, can we?”

  Their gazes fell upon a teary-eyed Bridget. When she did not respond, everyone knew the truth of it.

  “… and so their faces fell upon hearing the awful truth,” Herzog muttered, his quill scribbling away.

  Brandon slumped to the sand and hung his head between his knees, Cry’s shoulders fell and he wandered to stand off on his own, and Arthur kept rubbing his forehead.

  Mary shrugged. “That’s all right. Would have been nice to see Ley, but this was fun.”

  Maxine looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

  “I’m sorry,” Bridget whispered.

  “Don’t be,” Brandon blurted, raising his head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He stood up, dusted himself off, and gave Bridget a firm nod. “I was honored to get you this far. And I mean that.”

  “Arthur?” Leera pressed. “You all right?”

  “Yeah,” he sniffed, wiping his nose with a cloth. “Fine. I just … I really wanted to see if Ley was real. I wanted to see it with my own eyes.”

  “We’ll be your eyes,” Olaf replied, clapping him on the back with a beefy hand. “We’ll do the seeing for you.”

  Maxine stepped away from them and once more withdrew a small parchment note from a pocket. She read it, tucked it away, and looked to the sea, swallowing and nodding firmly to herself.

  Augum let her be and wandered over to Cry, who still stood apart, watching the waves rhythmically wash ashore. When Herzog followed, Augum gave a jerk of his head at him and the man took the hint and wandered back to the group.

  “I really wanted to come,” Cry whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Never wanted anything more. I wanted to write about the ‘shores of eternity,’ as Trazinius once said after supposedly laying eyes on a Leyan ocean of stars. I wanted to meet Leyans. I wanted to see their library, walk their deserts, speak to the ancient ones.”

  Augum stared out at the waves. “Guess you’ll just have to sharpen up those interview skills for when we return.”

  Cry snorted, wiped his face. “If we survive.”

  “If we all survive.” He patted Cry’s bony shoulder. “Come on,” and led him back to the somber others.

  “We’ll give you our last two Group Teleport scrolls,” Augum said upon returning, laying eyes on those who could not come. “That’ll get you back to Antioc, or wherever you want to go.”

  “What about the body of an enemy?” Brandon pressed.

  Augum looked to the sea, toward Crimson Tooth.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of teleporting that far, are you?” Haylee asked. “That’s way beyond what you’re supposed to be training on.”

  “If only I was better at Teleport,” Arthur muttered. “I’d jump back over, kidnap some villainous Canterran—” He paused to frown and fiddle with his salt pouch. “But then I don’t know how to use the Group Teleport scroll so, uh, never mind. I’m useless here, sorry.”

  Augum sighed. “We’ll figure something out. Let’s go find those cairn stones first. And in the mean, Bridge, let’s you and I go over that scroll, line by line, make sure I’m ready.”

  “Or that there aren’t any more blasted surprises,” Leera muttered.

  And so the group walked on, saying little, with Augum and Bridget putting their heads together to learn the ritual, which needed to be completed between midnight and the first hour of the morn. When they finished, Augum felt that he’d only need a reread to be ready. Then he took the lead again at the fore of the group and ruminated on his dilemma, but couldn’t come to a decision on which Dreadnought item to sacrifice. Even the thought felt sacrilegious.

  A ways down the beach, Augum heard something and immediately high-tailed it to the forest, where he hunke
red by a tree. Everyone else promptly did the same, with Maxine rushing up to crouch by him, hands in attack posture.

  “What is it?” Arthur whispered, crouching by Leera just behind.

  Augum raised a finger. “Listen.” For a moment he thought he had been hearing things, but then the wind shifted and they could hear something faint and melodious and high-pitched.

  “Is that … is that a bagpipe?” Jengo whispered to Haylee, who was beside him.

  She shook her head in confusion. “Ancient One, is there any reason why we’re hearing a ceremonial bagpipe sound coming from the cairn stones?”

  Esha, hood still drawn, considered the matter. “The Cairn Stones of the Midnight Moon have traditionally been a place of ritual worship. It is possible local folk have gathered to pay tribute to the Unnameables on this eve, seeing as it is a full moon.”

  “Locals,” Augum repeated, looking up at the big moon. “Huh. Locals we could deal with. All right, listen up. We’re going to walk through the woods along the forest line. I want cat-like silence and total alertness. Have to be prepared in case it’s a trap.”

  He turned, took a breath, and began prowling toward the bagpipe melody, which steadily grew louder and was soon joined by solemn singing, the tune warbling in the wind, distorting it. It wasn’t long until they could see flickering torchlight on the beach. And as they drew closer still, the silhouettes of four guards appeared, their shields embedded in the sand beside them. Behind them a double line of torches created a beach pathway leading toward three bonfires in triangular formation surrounded by dancing figures. The song ended and a new one began. This one, bizarrely, was filled with joy, and the occasional shout of merriment pierced the singing, a strange juxtaposition against the guards. But the melody was unfamiliar to Augum, almost foreign.

  They crept a little closer before Leera hissed, “Canterrans!” and everyone hunkered again. “Look at the crest on the shield,” she added, eyes narrowed behind her spectacles.

  Augum squinted. Sure enough, he could just make out the Canterran crest in the moonlight, depicting an imposing castle known as Castle Iron, Emperor Samuel Sepherin’s stronghold in the capital city of Iron Feather. The castle was flanked by two Canterran Dobermans. Three feathers floated above the castle and the kingdom’s motto was written below—Migoth masteros martyros. Might, mastery, martyrdom.

  He silently unsheathed Burden’s Edge, ready for a fight.

  “Has to be a trap,” Maxine whispered. “Our quest has been discovered somehow.” She turned an angry gaze on Augum. “What the hell else did you two do in that town? Who did you talk to? What did you say?”

  “Nobody knew where we were going,” Augum replied. “Not even the pirates as we told them just prior to getting underway.”

  “Well, obviously one of you screwed up,” she retorted, glaring back at Bridget, who suddenly looked worried.

  Augum sighed, disappointed at the turn of events. “Let’s see what they do.”

  As they watched and listened to the merriment, Augum carefully studied the enemy, soon spotting a moonlit glint in the sand at one of the soldier’s feet. When Augum shifted slightly, he noticed the glint before each of the soldiers. When he saw that their scabbards were empty, he put it all together.

  “I know what’s going on.” He looked from face to face. “It’s an advancement ceremony.”

  They gaped at him, forcing Augum to explain himself, citing the merry but ceremonial music and the swords at the soldiers’ feet as evidence. All of it added up to an advancement ceremony, which meant that—

  “The Hallowed Trust is in effect,” Bridget finished for him, one hand pressing on Olaf’s shoulder as she crouched behind him, her face grave. “They want to parlay.”

  In warlock culture, the Hallowed Trust meant that even bitter enemies had to cease fighting for the day to celebrate a warlock’s advancement. It was the most sacred ritual in all of arcanery, drilled into the minds of warlocks since the 1st degree. It was often used as a means to parlay, giving enemies a chance to sit down, converse, and share bread and wine.

  Warlock culture took the matter so seriously that it was also absolutely forbidden to fake an advancement ceremony—even necromancers of old respected it. In fact, no warlock leader in their right mind dared to break the code of honor that came with the Hallowed Trust, not since the early days after The Founding, from whence came plenty of stories of haughty leaders who had attempted such things only to be quartered by their own warlock troops for such treachery.

  And so the group relaxed. Not even Maxine dared to utter that it was a trap. “But how did they know we were coming here?” she asked instead. “Huh? How did they know? One of you must have—”

  “Maxine,” Augum interrupted. “Enough.”

  “Bah.”

  “They want to negotiate something,” Haylee said, glancing around at them with an ominous expression. “Which means we have something they want. Maybe something besides Prince Darby and Count Von Edgeworth.”

  That thought drifted among them like bonfire ember.

  “And they have something we want,” Arthur said. “Control over the cairn stones. Access to Ley. Somehow they found out about it.”

  Maxine’s gaze went to Augum’s pocket, but before she even opened her mouth, he said, “No, no way. I took all the precautions. Unless the silentium fabric failed, there was no chance of them hearing anything.” He had handled the orb like a prized egg.

  Maxine nodded, accepting his response to her unaired accusation.

  The wind gusted, swaying the trees around them, and Augum caught the delicious scent of spiced meat. His stomach, empty after a long and tedious voyage, rumbled. Many of the others began inhaling deeply.

  Haylee closed her eyes. “You smell that? Mmm. Mmm!”

  “You don’t have to come,” Augum blurted to the protectors. “You can teleport out now using one of the scrolls. We can keep the other one for emergency purposes.”

  The protectors exchanged looks.

  “No way,” Brandon said. “I’m staying. Besides, smell that. I’d rather die with that in my stomach than on the run hungry like a fool.”

  This caused quiet chortling.

  “The quest for us ends when you lot step into Ley,” Arthur said. “I stay.”

  “Me too,” Mary squeaked.

  “Don’t you dare even insinuate I’d abandon my duty,” Maxine hissed.

  All eyes fell upon Cry. “Definitely stay,” he said with a firm nod.

  Augum, heart bursting with pride at his group, sheathed Burden’s Edge and stood up. “Well then, shall we go see what they want?” It was a testament to the strength of the Hallowed Trust that no one disputed this suggestion—or perhaps it was simply the lure of food.

  “But right now, we look like vagrants,” he added. “We’re going to make ourselves presentable before forming up, then we’re going to walk in there with our heads held high, for we will be representing our kingdom.”

  “What if there are Path Disciples present?” Mary countered meekly. “Do the girls have to keep their eyes low?”

  “No, you stare them down like the dogs they are,” Bridget replied, bringing a smile to their faces. “It’s the Hallowed Trust. Worst they’ll do is berate you.”

  Everyone set to primping and preening, with the girls fixing each other’s hair and the boys brushing dirt off clothes and straightening hoods. They tied their coats to their rucksacks and adjusted their traditional mustard-yellow hemp rope belts. Herzog even attended to Esha, who stood serene and patient, gently wiping her shoulders with a cloth and adjusting her hood, although she ended up lowering it, mentioning something about walking with pride to meet one’s destiny. As for Augum, he tenderly polished up his blade and golden breastplate, knowing that he may soon have to say goodbye to one of these sacred items.

  When they were all ready, Augum took a deep breath and stood before the group. “Whatever happens, I want you all to know how proud I am of you.” He placed a gaze
on each of them. “All of you.”

  One by one they nodded at him, many muttering that they were proud to be part of this historic quest.

  Augum carefully chose a new ceremonial formation to present themselves in. Then he took another deep breath, shook out his shoulders, and turned toward the enemy. “Now let’s show them that although they might have invaded our kingdom, we’re still proud to call ourselves Solians.”

  The Canterrans

  As soon as the companions emerged from the wind-scoured forest, the guards snapped to attention and brought horns to their mouths, trumpeting a loud and long note that was quickly joined by distant others, until a chorus of horn blasts rang out into the night. Figures hurried to assemble in the distance, shouting, “The Solians are here! The Solians are here!” But the guards respected the Hallowed Trust and did not pick up their swords.

  Augum walked alone in the lead, chin resolute and level. Leera and Maxine marched behind, followed by Bridget and Olaf, Haylee and Cry—Augum had winked at him when assigning the pair—Brandon and Mary, and Herzog and Esha, with Arthur and Jengo proudly bringing up the rear.

  “Shields up!” Augum called from the front as they neared the four guards still blasting on their horns. Everyone but Esha summoned their shield, including Rafael Herzog, whose shield was made of ice. Augum held his shield proudly before him, aware that Arcaner shields stood out like beacon fires with their golden castles and sacred golden motto, Semperis vorto honos—courage, fortitude, honor.

  Augum stopped the formation before the guards, who abruptly ended the horn call and saluted. Although he recalled the ceremonial sequence from his academy studies, he couldn’t quite remember the exact phrasing, and so would have to wing it a little.

  “I, Dragoon Augum Arinthian Stone, 8th lightning, hereby recognize the Hallowed Trust. On behalf of my companions, I ask that we be allowed a parlay.”

  “Emperor Samuel Sepherin bids thee welcome!” shouted one of the guards in a formal manner.

  Augum wanted to exchange surprised looks with the others, but did not dare show hesitation, wanting to keep the presentation intact. Still, Sepherin was here, in the flesh! It was an ominous sign.