by Sever Bronny
Augum held back a groan of disappointment. It was just as he had feared …
Leera pressed her hand to her eyes. “Wait, Mrs. Stone, are you saying we three are going to be the only Arcaners allowed to attempt the dragon trial? That we’re going to be the only ones allowed to summon dragons?”
“I do believe so, yes. Some knowledge is too powerful to unleash. Look to history and what happened the last time Arcaners had been allowed to summon dragons. Corruption took root, resulting in an apocalyptic massacre. This sort of knowledge must be carefully considered, the implications studied over years.”
Mrs. Stone looked to Bridget, Leera, and finally Augum. “Unless your enemy is successful, you will be the only living summoners of the dragon. The idea shall run its trial through you. History will be the judge as to whether or not allowing you to learn this powerful simul was wise.”
She looked past them. “But as you well know, your trials are not over. You must expunge the enemy from your kingdom and then destroy Orion. And in order to do so, you will likely have to go to war.”
Augum thought back to his friends in the academy, to all the suits of captured Dreadnought armor, to troops being trained by The Grizzly. For the first time in his life, he truly saw himself as commander of a squad and of the Arcaner order. He was ready.
“But as powerful as the Spirit of the Dragon simul is,” Mrs. Stone went on, “you can now see its limitations, and it is those limitations that your enemy will attack. The primary example being that once the spell lapses, you are left utterly defenseless. Your enemy will therefore goad you into using the spell prematurely. And they will goad you into casting spells simply to squander your stamina, hastening the end of the spell. The simul can be a paper tiger, and may lull you into a tragic sense of security.” She gazed at each of the trio in turn. “Never forget this.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone,” they mumbled.
Mrs. Stone nodded and took a deep breath. “Other challenges await you. To summon dragons is a feat beyond legend … it is a feat of myth. You will be worshipped, reviled, coveted, hunted. Take this from someone who spent a lifetime dodging attempts by people to gain her scion. The knowledge you carry is a burden. A burden. Think on that.”
Augum glanced down at Burden’s Edge, hanging from his hip once more. He had freed it from the dead dragon, cleaned it, carried it as he said the Final Valediction over enemy bodies.
“You will be heroes to many, villains to others,” Mrs. Stone continued. “Yet throughout, you will resurrect an order long thought extinct. You will bring back its customs and shepherd those customs to the next generation. Speaking of which …” She nodded at the sarcophagus.
Augum, who had been subconsciously glancing over at it the entire time, looked about at their expectant faces. He nodded, let go of Leera, and went to it, climbing the steps and rounding the altar. When he reached it, he realized that—perhaps fittingly—he was the only one to have approached.
He swallowed, lit his palm, and stepped up to the open sarcophagus of Isobel, Founder of the Arcaner Order.
And then he gasped, for there before him, surrounded by ancient trinkets and offerings and clay jars, lay a full suit of Dreadnought armor, inside of which were Isobel’s remains. Her gauntleted hands peacefully held an ornate sword, and at her feet rested a carved clay tablet in the shape of a crest.
But what caught Augum’s eye was the breastplate—whereas the rest of the armor was the classic Dreadnought steel, the breastplate was gold. Etched over the heart was the familiar dragon standing before a copse of trees, surrounded above and below by the motto Defendi au o dominia—defender of the kingdom. But this breastplate differed, for there were additional engravings in the center, including the words Isobel, Prima Arcana—Isobel, the first Arcaner … as well as a solitary rose.
* * *
“Graverobber,” a laughing Olaf sniped at Augum. He was sprawled on a cerulean cushion, squeezing Bridget to his side.
Bridget smacked his arm. “That’s not funny!” and then launched into a diatribe about how they had all agreed that it was fitting that Augum take the breastplate to replace the one he had sacrificed, not to mention what it signified for him to be wearing the founder’s armor into battle. Throughout, Olaf kept saying he had only been joking, but an annoyed Bridget simply barreled over him. “… and besides, we left the remaining items there in honor of her!”
Olaf winced, mumbling, “Well, except for the tablet.”
“Which details Isobel’s achievements! Important achievements!”
Leera, who rested in Augum’s arms, finally had to telekinetically pelt Bridget with a pillow. “Oh, lay off your boyfriend, he was just needling Augum.”
“Yeah, but we can’t have anyone thinking we were graverobbing,” Bridget countered. “These items were removed in honor. There’s a massive difference.”
Leera rolled her eyes. “All right, we get it, Bridge, yeesh.”
Olaf adjusted a miffed Bridget to sit in his lap, which she miraculously let him do. “Do you know how cute your ears are?”
Bridget crossed her arms. “Don’t you patronize me, Olaf Hroljassen.”
“No, really. Look how small and adorable they are!” He twirled a finger toward one of her ears. “Here, let me just—”
She smacked his hand away, grumbled something about him being incorrigible, but finally surrendered a smile, and soon let him cuddle her while everyone else beamed.
The companions had had no trouble getting back to the portal, though it took some time for Mrs. Stone to disable all the traps around it. She had then told them to go ahead and step into Ley without her, promising that she would join them in the morn. No one had greeted them in Ley, which was as silent as a tomb, a stark contrast to the windy jungle. The group had dazedly trooped back to their dorm, where they had washed up, repaired and cleaned their robes, then gone straight to bed. Augum had slept the night in Leera’s room, and the pair of them suspected Olaf had stayed with Bridget.
Now it was morning and they lounged about on the vibrant cushions, feet sprawled on the plush Tiberran-style carpet while they jested and reminisced, knowing that they would soon embark on a return quest to Solia. Everyone was fresh and ready but still a little dazed as to what had happened.
Isobel’s ancient golden breastplate sat amongst them, and beside it, Isobel’s crest-shaped stone tablet. Mrs. Stone suspected the tablet detailed Isobel’s story, though she could not read the ancient language it was written in, and said they would need an expert arcaneologist to translate it, or perhaps a knowledgeable historian.
Augum couldn’t help but ponder what Isobel had done for the Dreadnoughts to warrant being gifted a full suit of Dreadnought armor. Had she too given the old lions a reprieve from their enslavement? He wondered if records of what had happened even existed.
Leera elbowed Augum. “You’re just lucky these breastplates hadn’t been customized to the wearer’s shape,” adding in a mutter, “because I can tell you Bridge and I sure wish they had been,” which caused some snorts of laughter from the girls while the boys’ cheeks flared.
“Aww, but Augum would look so cute,” Olaf teased, promptly receiving a pillow to the face from Augum.
“You think Esha knew there was a golden Dreadnought breastplate waiting for you at the end of the quest?” Leera pressed when they settled down.
“I don’t think so. She would have said something.”
“Well I’m starting to think the Fates might be real because that’s one heck of a coincidence. You sacrifice your breastplate and poof, get one right back—and not just any breastplate either, but one once belonging to the founder of our order! If that’s not fate then I don’t know what is.”
He gave her a gentle shake. “Does this mean we have to get you a salt pouch of your own now?”
She only scoffed.
Olaf nodded at the tablet. “What are you going to do with it after we get it translated? Hang it somewhere important?”
“Ev
entually. In the meantime, I was rather thinking that we could use it as proof that the first Arcaner was a woman. We can build the order back up around that proof and use it as a call to arms against the emperor’s wish to equalize women’s deaths with men’s.” Augum reached for his nearby tankard of water and raised it while squeezing Leera’s midriff. “Use it as a call for men and women to work together.”
Everyone reached for their tankards and raised them as well, shouting, “Hear, hear!”
Everyone but Edwin, who sat limply holding Haylee, pale eyes glazed over.
Haylee turned her head and squeezed his hands. “Anything the matter?”
Edwin did not respond, just kept staring.
Augum and Leera exchanged a secret look. Leera had told him in confidence that she did not see what Haylee saw in the young man, that he did not seem like her type at all, what with the muskrat face and weak chin and generally lanky frame. “Might as well date Cry,” she had jested.
But Augum mused that there was a bad boy darkness in him, perhaps reminding Haylee of her time as a necrophyte when she had fallen for a boy with sharp edges. Except this one was a hero who had saved her, whereas the other boy had turned sour—and frightfully evil.
Edwin startled and looked about as if only then noticing them. “For the first time in my life I felt like I was part of something,” he began in his Canterran lilt. “Part of a cabal of warlocks who will make a difference for our kingdom. But now … now I’m the traitor. I’m the traitor.”
“You’re not a traitor at all,” Haylee said. “You’re—”
But Edwin let her go and shot to his feet. “I am a traitor. Look!” He flashed his rings—all six of them—and they were black, making some of the friends recoil out of habit. Then he firmed his lips, looked past them all, and summoned his shield. It was still as black as pitch, except the crimson castle and crimson motto were half as bright.
The friends gaped, for not only was it plain to them now who exactly they had allowed in their midst—a necromantic Path Archon—but that the young man had dimmed his shield because of his loyalty pledge to his emperor.
Edwin’s weak chin trembled. “Now do you understand?”
Augum unwrapped himself from Leera to stand and face the young Canterran. “I told you I would make you a promise on my shield,” he said, flaring his own shield, which was as bright and whole as Edwin’s was dark and diminished. “Edwin Baker, I, Augum Arinthian Stone, promise we will do everything in our power to bring your mother from Canterra and give her a new home in Solia, and that you will be treated as an equal among us.” Augum extended his hand. “Thank you for saving our lives. For giving Sithesia a chance.”
The friends stood in support as Edwin stared at Augum’s hand. At last, he took it and the pair shook.
They got to know Edwin as they waited for Mrs. Stone, asking him all sorts of questions about Canterra and The Path and what it had been like to be a Path Archon—and they went further, asking him about his upbringing—“I was brought up to take over the family baking business”—his schooling in the Academy of Iron—“I will forever love my academy”—and what he thought of Solia.
“They really began vilifying Solians after the Lord of the Legion slaughtered a whole bunch of Canterrans at the border a while back,” he explained, Haylee once more nesting within his arms. “But I suppose it began long before that—historically speaking, that is.”
Time went on and the conversation eventually drifted to the subject of Olaf’s joke, the one that had saved his life.
“What was it, Ollie?” Augum pressed, grinning. “What did you say that was so funny it spoiled a critically important necromantic ritual?”
All eyes turned to Olaf, who gingerly sipped his water before properly clearing his throat. “It was rather crude,” he began with a sidelong look at Bridget, as if unsure what she’d think of him. “One of the meeker Path Archons slipped by Tyranecron, mumbling, ‘Excuse me.’ So I blurted out, ‘Why, d’you fart?’ ”
The group laughed uproariously. Even Bridget couldn’t help but grin.
Olaf smacked his hands together. “Had a bunch of them trying to hold grins back, saying I had gumption. Totally ruined the ritual.”
A knock came at the door, interrupting their mirth, and the group shot to their feet. Bridget went to the door and opened it, revealing Mrs. Stone dressed in a fine opalescent robe, the embroidered lightning flashing now and then. She had rings under her eyes and was cupping something in her hands, yet she still managed to look as young and radiant as ever.
“Ah, I see you have all freshened up for your return journey. But you are not leaving just yet.”
“We … we aren’t, Nana?”
She strolled by and took a seat on the stiffest cushion. “Have a seat.” She watched, somewhat amused, as they hesitantly sat, though this time the couples did not intertwine as before, choosing instead to sit side-by-side.
“I searched about for Tyranecron but found no trace of him nor those who remained alive with him. But it does not matter, for I have met with Akeya, and we believe we may be able to prove that he stole key documents from the library.”
“What will happen to him?” Leera asked.
“He will be allowed to defend himself of the accusation. A council judgment will be made and karmic punishment assigned. If we are lucky, his mind will be wiped. If we are unlucky, he will merely be forced to meditate for a time. Alas, I fear the man has ambitions as yet unrealized, so we will have to be on our guard.”
They thought about this in silence, before Mrs. Stone turned her gaze to Edwin, who immediately dropped his eyes. She raised her chin. “You need never drop your eyes again, young man.”
Edwin looked up and swallowed.
“You have quite the trial ahead of you,” she continued, “for to untwine oneself of core beliefs that have been etched upon the flesh and soul is a most difficult thing to do indeed. Pray I that you find the true path that leads to the peace we all search for.”
“Thank you, Archmage,” Edwin mumbled.
Mrs. Stone next turned her attention to Augum and smiled—and kept smiling, until the group of friends exchanged giddy looks, for it was most unusual for her to be so … happy.
“What is it, Nana?” Augum finally had to ask, smiling himself.
“You shall experience wonders not experienced in thousands of years. I speak, of course, of the dream of flight. To see the ground from above the clouds is a thing mentioned only in children’s tales and songs around the fire.” She looked to Bridget and Leera. “And you shall experience that together. Yes, war is on the horizon, and you will have much difficulty in the mean, but I know that there will also be joy, if not fleeting.” She placed her gaze once more on Augum. “It will be a wonderful thing to behold, and I look forward to one day hearing about you all frolicking in the clouds, free as birds.”
The trio beamed at each other.
Mrs. Stone at last opened her hand, revealing the black training cube.
Augum shot to his feet. “Nana … how did you … how did you find it?”
“With some difficulty, Great-grandson. It was lodged deep underground, but I managed to dig it out.” She shrugged. “After handling a few beasts, of course.”
When the giggling settled down, she floated the cube over to him, but just as he was about to accept it with reverent hands, she wagged a finger.
“Ah-ah, are we forgetting something?”
Augum blinked, confused.
“Very well. Take it.”
He grasped the cube but it did not budge. He flexed his telekinetic muscle and the space around him warped—and still, it did not budge. And then it dawned on him. “It’s still set to the entire class, isn’t it?”
She smiled and everyone let out an appreciative “Ooh,” for Mrs. Stone’s own Telekinesis was so powerful she could easily carry the cube around without showing any strain.
Augum shook his head in amazement, leaned close to the cube, and whispere
d, “Telekio vaga cuba au inkwell,” and the cube sprang up a little before settling in his hands. “Thank you, Nana.”
Mrs. Stone curled a long lock of brown hair around an ear. “You’re welcome, Great-grandson.”
Augum nodded at Isobel’s tablet. “Do you think Akeya will have time to translate it for us, Nana?”
“Akeya is busy with other matters, including forming our arguments against Tyranecron. And I am sure you will be able to find someone in Solia to aid you with the tablet. Besides, we do not have time for translations as I have something important to teach you on behalf of Ley.”
The group perked up, exchanging mysterious What could this be? looks.
“I once told you that I wish to begin bridging the gap of knowledge between Ley and Sithesia. I believe I have found how to start this long process. You are aware that the full knowledge of how to correctly cast the 9th degree Shrink spell and 9th degree Frenzy spell has been lost to time.”
“You uncovered the rest of the knowledge!” Leera blurted, only to slam a hand over her mouth, mumbling, “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”
“Correct, young lady—or shall I say, Dragon Jones.” She smiled and Leera relaxed. “I shall withdraw the knowledge from the library and we will review it together. I already tasked Akeya in making you a full copy of that knowledge so that you can take it with you and study it at length.” She raised a stern finger. “You may use it to your own purposes, but when the war is over, I expect you to share that knowledge with all of the academies, acting as ambassadors on behalf of Ley. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone,” the friends chorused, beaming at each other.
“I will teach you what I can after a memorial ceremony for Dragoon Myrymydion, and then we must hasten you back to Sithesia.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone.”