Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

“Pftt, marry him?” Leera playfully declared with rosy cheeks, stick poking Augum’s stomach. “Marry him? This creature here? Why would anyone want to marry this … this … I mean, look at him. He’s so …” But she couldn’t bring herself to say whatever she wanted to say and the others cracked up.

  “He’s what, Jones?” Olaf pressed. “Huh? He’s what?”

  “Look at her,” Haylee said, hobbling to stand behind Leera. “She wanted to say something mean but the only word that came to her noodle brain was handsome, wasn’t it, Lee? Wasn’t it? Say it.” She grabbed Leera’s cheeks from behind and made her mouth move. “Hand-some. Or how about cute.” The others howled with laughter. “My name is Leera and I find my boyfriend cute and handsome and I like embarrassing both of us by making out with him in front of—”

  Leera whapped Haylee’s hands away and returned to jabbing Augum’s stomach while he defended his belly button. “No, no, it’s this one’s birthday, this one’s!” she called. “Ye filthy beasts shall needle and jostle him!”

  And needle and jostle him they did, calling him Three Toes and Old Man Stone and asking him when one of the lovebirds would put everyone out of their misery by proposing to the other and when the wedding was and what they’d name their kids and when would Augum finally put the rumors to rest and spill the ale on whether or not they had scandalously shared an overnight bed together—

  “Hey, that’s none of your business, missy!” Augum jovially snapped at Haylee, who dodged his juvenile attempt to give her long hair a pull.

  This went on until Olaf, overcome by the girls trying to simultaneously tickle-torture and prod Augum, tripped, and the whole gang tumbled to the ground in a big old heap. There they rolled, holding their bellies and laughing uproariously, kids anew, as if their childhoods had not been marred by war.

  Leera wheezily got up and plodded over to her rucksack, hiding whatever she withdrew behind her back. She trundled over and the friends got up to gather around her, leaving Augum to pick himself up.

  Leera cleared her throat. “On behalf of all of us, including Jez and the others and even Maxine—” Mention of Maxine caused the faces to sober a little. “—we present you with this gift, meticulously crafted by each of us.” She stuck out a small wooden heart.

  Augum reverently accepted it with both hands. Rather crudely carved into the front of the heart was the word Special. He flipped it over and on the back was the word fool. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, wondering if it was arcane. “Erm … I don’t know what to say.” He looked up at them and noticed they were all hiding their mouths behind their hands—and promptly cracked with snorts and guffaws.

  “It’s a jest, you goof,” Leera said, and she brought her other hand forward, revealing a small solid black cube in her palm. “This is the real gift.”

  Augum pocketed the heart, for it still represented his friends, and hesitantly accepted the cube. It was remarkably light for something made from cold metal. “What sort of prank does it pull on me?”

  “This one isn’t a prank,” Bridget said. “Honest.”

  “We racked our brains on what to get you,” Haylee said, “until Olaf suggested we get you something that actually helps your training. Except nothing like it exists, so we, uh, we had it made.”

  “We call it a Telekinesis training cube,” Olaf said proudly, “and it’s the first of its kind.”

  Augum was intrigued. “What’s it do?”

  “Oh, it’s the neatest thing,” Leera began, sweeping hair away from her face. “All you have to do is say Telekio vaga cuba au to it and then the weight class you want it set to. Which means you’ll need this—” She withdrew a small parchment from her pocket and handed it to him. “It’s a list of all the weights you can set the cube to. And there’s a binding phrase at the bottom you have to say first so that it binds itself to you.”

  “The way the arcanery had to be structured,” Bridget explained, “meant that we had to have items—and people—on a giant hastily made scale opposite the cube before enchanting each pairing.”

  Jengo crossed his arms and smiled. “You will see what she means by that.”

  Augum read the list aloud. “ ‘Quill, inkwell, fat book—’ ”

  “We used the book A Pupil’s Encyclopedia of the Arcane Arts for that one,” Leera interjected, flashing an ingratiating smile at Mrs. Stone.

  “And I hope that book has seen much use since I left it with you all,” Mrs. Stone replied.

  Leera hesitated. “We, uh, we’ve been a little busy with academy work, Mrs. Stone, but we’ve gotten to it often,” then she pretended to adjust her spectacles while spinning her hand in a hurried Move it along motion at Augum, who read out the next item.

  “ ‘Sir Pawsalot?’ ” He looked up with a grin. “You used the cat?”

  “And the little scamp didn’t want to stay on the scale,” Leera said, “so I steadily dribbled out a handful of treats to keep him there while an arcanist cast the enchantment. Keep going, special fool.”

  “ ‘Augum’s Defender’—” He felt a pang reading what he had lost forever.

  “Sorry, we didn’t know anything was going to happen to it,” Bridget said.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said with a sigh, and continued reading. “ ‘Cask of water.’ ” He stopped to look questioningly at his girlfriend prior to reading the next word. “ ‘Leera—?’ ”

  She wobbled her head smartly. “Uh-huh. Me. Read on.”

  “ ‘Olaf, The Grizzly, iron stove, two iron stoves, four iron stoves’—” He snorted a laugh at that.

  “Read the last one,” Haylee prodded.

  “ ‘The entire Sword and Sorcery class of 3342.’ ” He looked up, laughing. “You used last term’s entire Sword and Sorcery class?”

  “It was hilarious trying to fit everyone on the scale,” Leera replied. “The arcanists kept adding arcane weight to the cube until the scale balanced. Oh, and you only have to say ‘Sword and Sorcery class,’ not the rest of it.”

  “It was my idea to use people as weights,” Olaf said. “Kind of as a jest, but also because it was practical and easy to remember. But just imagine trying to cajole a skeptical Grizzly to do it.”

  “Not to mention getting the Supper Hall ovens on there,” Haylee said. “Ugh, so tedious. I can still hear those things squealing as we dragged them along the floor.”

  “We were all jesting, ‘Where’s Augum when you need him?’ ” Olaf noted with a chortle. “Nobody wanted to lift them telekinetically for fear they’d break their brains.” He elbowed Bridget. “We have brains of mush. Mush!”

  “We completed the entire project back in the academy while under the dome,” Leera chimed in. “Had all the top tier warlocks weigh in—hey, get it? Weigh in?” She snorted at her own cleverness. “Anyway, we had all the best warlocks weigh in on how to craft it, what to make it out of, and so on. It was surprisingly complicated arcanery too. So once we got the ingredients together and stuff, they went ahead and enchanted it. The biggest challenge was doing it behind your back—and you didn’t suspect a thing, did you?”

  “Nope.” Augum recalled a few times his friends had made meaningful eyes at each other or abruptly changed topics mid-conversation, but he hadn’t given it much thought at the time.

  “The Grizzly and Jez put in the final touches,” Jengo said. “And obviously no one expects you to get all the way up to the top tiers, but we thought it’d be fun to see how far we could push the thing.”

  “And right now it’s set to quill,” Bridget said.

  “Hence the light weight,” Augum replied, weighing it in his hand. He glanced over his shoulder at a beaming Dragoon Myrymydion and Mrs. Stone before returning his attention to the cube. “I’m going to try it. Binding phrase first, right?” They nodded and he gripped the cube firmly and pressed his lips to the cool metal, then read the phrase at the bottom of the list while the friends excitedly looked on. “Binda Telekio vaga cuba au Augum Arinthian Stone.”

  “Now it
’s bound to you forever,” Bridget said. “I suggest you rip the phrase off the bottom of the list so that no one can use it but you—or against you.”

  “Yeah, imagine someone blocking your door with it or something,” Olaf added, miming Augum pounding against his own door.

  Augum smiled and tore the bottom of the note off, then used a candle to burn it. He held the cube before him. “Telekio vaga cuba au Sir Pawsalot.” His hand dropped as the weight instantly shot to that of their cat. “Whoa.”

  “Try going higher,” Haylee suggested.

  “Just be careful,” Bridget said. “Don’t want to hurt yourself.”

  Olaf chortled. “Yeah, we accidentally dropped it once after setting it too high—” He smacked his hands together. “—Bam! Right through the floor. Arcanists were not pleased. Could have killed someone.”

  Augum let the cube float using his Telekinesis. “Telekio vaga cuba au cask of water,” and had to snap his Telekinesis lest the thing fall through his arcane grip. It wavered before them.

  Haylee folded her arms. “Not impressive enough, Three Toes. Up the ante. Up the ante, I say!”

  “How high can he go?” Olaf sang.

  “Don’t hurt him, you bullying fiends,” Bridget said.

  But Augum loved the challenge and was curious himself. He consulted the list while maintaining his focus, conscious of everyone—including Dragoon Myrymydion and Mrs. Stone—looking on. This time, he went for it.

  “Telekio vaga cuba au The Grizzly,” and the cube fell. His friends gasped, only for him to regain telekinetic control, stopping it just short of the floor. He strained with an outstretched hand as the cube steadily lifted.

  Haylee, still enjoying tormenting him, pressed her hands on her knees as she ducked to looked between him and the cube. “Ooh, Three Toes is right on the border of his limit! But can Three Toes go higher …?”

  “You keep that up and you could replace Giovanni,” Jengo said, referring to the famous arena announcer who tended to wear colorful costumes and dance around combatants like a hummingbird.

  Augum tried not to laugh or let the strain show as he snapped off the next tier. “Telekio vaga cuba au iron stove!” But he was unprepared for the instant and serious weight increase and the thing smashed into the ground, cracking the stone floor and lodging itself in place and causing everyone to laugh or clap or snort.

  “Yeah, good luck prying it out of there, Three Toes,” Olaf cajoled.

  Augum reset the cube back to quill weight and managed to pry it from the ground with his iron supper knife before arcanely repairing the floor. “This is the neatest gift ever,” he said, examining it. “I … I really don’t know what to say.”

  “Thanks would be polite,” Olaf chirped, and raised a beefy arm to ward off a half-hearted and back-handed whap from a smiling Augum.

  “Thank you,” Augum said. “I mean that,” and he drew his friends into a group hug, which they heartily accepted, squeezing him with love.

  When they let go, Leera reached into a pocket and withdrew something else, clasping it between her hands. “Um …” She swallowed. “This one is from me.” She opened her hands, revealing a small oval portrait of herself.

  As everyone else fell silent, Augum gently picked it up, heart constricting. Leera was depicted smiling, one corner of her mouth raised mischievously. Her raven hair fell to her shoulders, her spectacles sat quaintly on her nose, bringing out her dark eyes, and there was even a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. It was a beautiful painting—she looked radiant and divine.

  He looked up at her, unable to speak.

  “I thought you’d like it,” she blurted, staring at her wringing hands. “I mentioned the idea to Bridge who’d heard Laudine could paint so I approached Laudine and she said yes and then I sat like a dork while she painted it and she made me look way prettier than I really am and I wanted to pay her but she got so insulted you should have seen her I mean who would have thought she was such a good painter—” She cringed and finally looked up at him with those voluminous eyes. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Do you … do you like it?”

  Augum gaped at her.

  Olaf snorted. “Like it? Look at him. He wants to pick you up right now and carry you to—”

  A red-faced Augum smacked Olaf’s chest with the back of his hand again without taking his gaze off Leera. “Shaddup, you.”

  Olaf saluted. “Aye, aye, Cap!”

  Augum twirled a finger. “Turn away, all of you.”

  They grinned at each other and said as one, “Yes, sir,” and did as he commanded—even Mrs. Stone and Dragoon Myrymydion.

  Augum seized the moment. He slipped the portrait into a pocket, placed one hand around Leera’s waist, the other behind her neck, then tilted her head up a little and brought her to him, pressing his lips to hers.

  They closed their eyes and shared a long and sweet and tender kiss.

  When he drew her back, her gaze held nothing but love, a love he shared. For one precious moment, they simply stared at each other in serenity.

  Until, that is, one of their friends gently cleared their throat.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Augum muttered, “you fiends can turn around now.”

  When they did, he twirled Leera about and sang, “Now let’s feast! I’m officially seventeeeeeen!”

  While the friends hooted and whistled and clapped, Augum overheard Mrs. Stone say to Dragoon Myrymydion, “What a merry thing it is to see the traditions of old continue.”

  “It is indeed, Anna. It is indeed …”

  Into the Evening

  As the friends feasted on Ley’s divine fare, Dragoon Myrymydion told stories of his days serving the order, only to suddenly stop. He leaned closer, his plate empty, for Leyans did not need to eat. “Tell me not which three of you are the secret-keepers,” he whispered.

  Leera waved the roasted leg of a chicken-like creature. “It’s no secret amongst ourselves, Dragoon Myrymydion.”

  “Then make it one you must. And this I know for a secret-keeper I had once been. You have much to learn, young saplings, for the future of the order will rest upon a disciplined tongue.”

  “Alas,” Mrs. Stone began wearily, “to an enemy who discovers the secrets of the order from ancient stolen records, I fear it will not be difficult to guess the three.”

  Augum immediately thought of the emperor and his nosy scholars. The man already knew far too much about the order.

  “Thou art perhaps right, Anna. And their fame will add much consternation in that regard. Many a rock shall be upturned seeking fissures in their armor.”

  “Mmm.”

  “May we hope to be wrong, Anna, for new these times be. But let us wander back to the matter of tradition and speak of birthdays, which think I our young brave-hearts will find not too unsimilar.”

  He went on to recount how Arcaners celebrated each other’s birthdays in his day, which always entailed a feast wherein every person would deliver a short speech about the honoree. Jests and ribbing were certainly part of such an affair—and heartily encouraged. And it was one of the few occasions one could get away with harassing one’s superiors. He also explained that such events often got rowdy, adding, “Surprised you would be to hear of the creative mischiefs Arcaners unleashed upon their brethren.”

  He then invited them to renew the tradition. And so they did, with each person taking a turn to stand with a cup of strange Leyan berry juice and say something kind about Augum—the challenge being how to rib him while doing it.

  Jengo went first and gave nothing but platitudes, which only solicited a hard eye roll from Haylee, who insisted on going next. “Let me show you how it’s done, Dragoon Okeke,” she said, standing and fixing her hair.

  “Here we go,” Augum muttered, girding himself, the training cube floating nearby. It was set to inkwell weight as he didn’t want to strain himself too hard, recognizing that sometimes length of time spent holding an object aloft mattered more than weight.

  Haylee
raised her cup of berry juice. “To sweet, kind, thoughtful Augum, who, as we well know, has recently misplaced a couple of his toes.” She paused for dramatic effect as the others chortled, and Augum felt his cheeks prickle with heat. “Perhaps he should look for them in Leera’s dresser box—”

  This resulted in a chorus of scandalized Ooh’s and snorts of laughter. Augum and Leera sat side-by-side with crimson faces and pursed lips, pretending to be offended.

  “—though since that box is probably beside her bed, we all know he won’t be nearing it any time in the next, oh, century.”

  The laughter strengthened to outright howling now.

  “Ouch,” Augum said, ears aflame, for that one actually stung. But his heart was bolstered by Leera’s hand slipping into his underneath the table, something only Bridget, who sat beside her, noticed, and she gave the pair of them a warm and almost apologetic smile. Leera squeezed his hand and flashed him a reassuring—and downright mischievous—smirk, before leaning close and whispering, “Too bad for her I don’t have a dresser box.”

  “That counted for a few shots, didn’t it?” Haylee said. “But ribbing aside, look at where we are. Look at who we have met and what we have seen with our own eyes. This is all because a dear friend of ours believed in a children’s fairytale about dragons … and made it come true.” She raised her cup higher. “To Augum.”

  The others rose—including Dragoon Myrymydion and Mrs. Stone— and raised their cups. “To Augum,” they chorused, and took a sip.

  “Thank you,” Augum mouthed, chest tight with gratitude.

  And so it went. The others poked gentle fun at his dimmed shield, at his occasional overconfidence, at his flashes of anger, at his past poor decisions, yet balanced them with genuine words of praise followed with a heartfelt toast. Bridget ribbed him a little about not believing in himself enough, but went on to say how proud she was that he was her brother-in-war and how she looked forward to together overcoming the challenges ahead. Leera threw a few elbows as she jestingly complained that they weren’t snogging enough in front of people—and promptly received a pelting of bread chunks. Then she froze, cup in hand, and said in a gentle voice, “I love him. He completes me,” and as the others melted, she turned to face him and raised her cup. “To Augum, the love of my life.”