Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (21 page)

Robin pointed the sharp end of the spear at Leera’s stomach, firming his jaw. Something about the way he was looking at her told Augum he had less than a moment to decide.

“STOP!” Augum blurted, palms open. “Don’t hurt her. Mrs. Stone has gone to Canterra, to the land of knights and castles.”

Robin looked disappointed.

“He is lying, Apprentice. If there is one thing I excel at, Augum Stone, is discovering a lie. I advise you not to test me on it again.”

Robin’s face lit up like it was his birthday. He smashed the spear against the side of Leera’s head. She yelped before slumping to the ground in a silent heap.

That was too much for Augum, who roared and tackled an unprepared Robin, ramming his fist into his face like a battering ram while feeling the beginnings of a murderous electric rage. And just as suddenly, knowing the catastrophic outcome should he continue, he gave a scream of total frustration and went limp, as one of the guards plucked him off.

“I can’t do it. I can’t get that angry. You don’t understand …” They’d kill all his friends if he let his wild arcanery loose, that much he knew, and that’s assuming he could even control it.

Robin stood up with a moan, holding a bloody nose and touching a fat lip. Commander Tridian nodded and the guards threw Augum into the corner. He crashed into the wall and fell to the floor. Sharp explosions of pain came from his chest, which grated disgustingly. A fresh wave of nausea threatened to make him vomit. Blood from his own nose seemed to be everywhere.

Tridian handed Robin an embroidered cloth. “Never leave yourself unprotected, Apprentice, especially in the company of a warlock.”

Robin dabbed at his nose and lip while giving Augum a look of the purest loathing. “What should I have done instead, Commander?”

“Always secure the subject before applying pressure.”

A knock came at the door.

“WHAT!” the Blade of Sorrows barked with such violence everyone but Augum, who slowly raised himself off the floor, flinched again.

“M’lord, we brought the others,” came a stuttering voice from the other side.

“Fine. Lock them up, we shall deal with them later.”

“Pardon, m’lord, but the boy … the boy is very sick. Should we attend to him?”

“Fine, fine already! Have someone see to him, and stop pestering me!”

“As you say, m’lord.”

Well at least the prince would be taken care of, Augum thought. Their suffering better have been worth it. Then another part of him, perhaps the side that came from his great-grandparents, thought, ah, but that is sacrifice, is it not?

Leera stirred, rolled her head, exposing a raw welt. She watched Augum with glassy eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Augum mouthed. “You okay?”

She moaned with a nod.

Her guard gave her a violent shake. “Shut it!”

Robin strode over to a teetering Augum. He slapped him in the face again, daring him to do anything. Augum grit his teeth but chose to look away this time.

“You do know that if you weaseled out and went unconscious we’d just work on her, don’t you? Why don’t you save her the pain and tell us where the crone went.”

“Well done, Apprentice. The choice must always be laid out clearly, and that you have achieved.”

Robin smiled proudly.

“Aug, don’t you—”

“I said shut it!” The guard smacked her with the back of his mailed hand and she yelped again.

Robin leaned in even closer. Augum smelled the rotten stench of the grave off his robes and felt his stomach spasm.

“Well, gutterborn?”

Augum only stood there, fighting to stay conscious from all the blood loss and pain but refusing to speak. He couldn’t give Nana up, it’d be the end of them all. He bit his lower lip and glared defiantly at Robin. Blood continued to drip off his chin, splattering Robin’s boot.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Robin whispered. “Hold him!”

One of the guards grabbed Augum and slammed him against the wall as Robin marched over to Leera, who lay slumped on the ground, hands protecting her head. He punched her in the face, glancing back at Augum to make sure he saw. She whimpered and her hand shot to her cheek. Augum jerked in the guard’s grip. The man grabbed his jaw and held it firmly pointed at Leera.

“Are you going to tell us where the crone went or not?”

When Augum didn’t reply, Robin punched her again, even harder. Her head hit the back wall with a sickening thud. Her hands fell away from her bloody face and her eyes wandered the room in a daze. “Aug …”

“One. Final. Time, gutterborn. Where did the crone go?”

Augum tensed, fighting to keep the dark tunnel of unconsciousness at bay. This wasn’t worth it. Just tell them already, you fool!

Robin opened his palm and smiled. “Grab her!”

The other guard took Leera’s arms with one hand and bent them back, holding her head with the other.

“Why don’t I make that face truly ugly. Shyneo!” Robin’s palm burst with fire. Leera kicked out with her feet as his burning palm closed in, the leather of her turnshoes squealing against the iron floor. She unleashed a scream that rang Augum’s innards like a giant bell. He struggled violently against the guard’s grip, knowing Robin and the Blade of Sorrows would only keep escalating their brutality until he or Leera told them where Mrs. Stone went. He couldn’t stay conscious for much longer, and then what would they do to her?

Forgive me, Nana, he thought.

The commander, who had been carefully watching him, straightened a little. “Look, Apprentice.”

Robin glanced over, flaming palm near Leera’s face. His eyes were full of … could that be joy? Augum suddenly understood exactly what Tridian was really doing here. Leera was right—he was making a
monster
. The thought occurred to him that if he joined his father, it would be
him
standing there alongside the Lord of the Legion …

Tridian made an idle gesture and the guard let go of Augum’s jaw with a yank.

“I’m sorry, Lee, I can’t let them hurt you.” Leera moaned in protest but he returned his gaze to Robin. “Mrs. Stone has gone north to the mountain monks.”

It was over, they had won.

“You see there, Apprentice? How his body relaxed like that? The way the eyes fell to the floor in resignation? One, he is telling the truth, and two, now you must press.”

Robin was nodding along, absorbing every word like a dutiful son. He studied Augum carefully, no longer like a human being, but as a
thing,
or rather as a
nothing.

Augum felt as hollow as a cavern. He recalled the torture room in Castle Arinthian, constructed by Narsus, his father’s predecessor, and wondered if others folded as quickly as he did, just by the threat of torture of a friend or loved one.

Robin kept his burning palm near Leera as a barrage of questions followed.

“Does she have the scion?”

“Yes.”

“Has she trained you with it?”

“No.”

“Does she know where you are?”

“No.”

The answers came automatically now. Tridian would occasionally point something out to Robin, but Augum didn’t care. His only concern was for his suffering friend, whimpering on the floor. Tears rolled down Leera’s cheeks, and all he wanted to do was gently take her in his arms and dry them.

“ … what kind of opposition does the Legion face in Tiberra?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does the crone have an army?”

“No.”

“Does she have a following of warlocks with her?”

“No.”

The questions kept on, mostly about the coming war. He answered truthfully to them all, though he hardly knew much about anything. There weren’t many questions involving him and the others either, perhaps because they hadn’t suspected a bunch of fourteen-year-olds to have gone to a place called Ley, and Augum certainly wasn’t about to volunteer information like that. Though if they had asked him about it, he would have told them that too.

“And now you must reward your subject for being honest, Apprentice.”

A malicious smile crept across Robin’s face.

“Not that kind of reward.”

Robin’s face fell.

“Guard,” Tridian said. “Take her back to the cell and see that she is fed.”

The guard thumped the floor with his spear and dragged a limp Leera out.

Robin leaned in close. “Oh, we’re not done with you yet!” and he laughed before suddenly gripping Augum’s head and smashing it against the wall.

Augum saw innumerable white-hot lights sweep his vision, barely felt his body hit the floor. He heard Tridian sigh. “Learn when to show restraint, Apprentice,” before blacking out.

He came to on a cold stone floor amid cries from Bridget, Mya and Leera, just as the guards slammed his cell door shut and marched off. He couldn’t make any sound or move. He lay numb and spent. Well, at least he’d held out long enough. He hadn’t told them that should his father ever come to possess all seven scions, he’d be destroyed. Nor had he told them about Ley.

The girls kept trying to get him to say something, but he just couldn’t do it. Never had pain and exhaustion mingled in such a sweet brew. Mercy came quickly in the form of sleep.

Nerve

Augum woke once again to the butt end of a spear, this time having no illusions as to what it was or where he was. He was really starting to hate being woken up this way.

“Eat your slop, boy.”

He sat up, wincing from the grating in his chest and the countless other aches and throbs, cuts and bruises. The movement immediately caused the tunnel of darkness and nausea to return. When he placed his hand to his blood-caked face, it felt gritty and foreign.

“Eat your slop, I say.”

He glanced up at the blurred outline of a guard.

“They sure worked you over good, boy. You as blue as a berry.”

Augum dragged himself over to a bowl of congealed soup and a piece of hard bread. The sight of the soup skin turned his stomach. He picked up the wooden spoon and pretended to eat.

The guard grunted and walked on, followed by a man with a cart. A pair of bony hands extended from the cell opposite. “M’lords … please.”

The guard scowled, threatening Cled with a spear. Cled withdrew, though his eyes soon travelled to Augum’s bowl. He smacked toothless lips, waiting for the guards to walk a bit further.

“They only feeds me once a day. They says I be too old for more.”

Augum wordlessly tossed him the piece of bread and shoved the bowl of soup between them in the corridor. He then collapsed, the effort draining his energy.

Cled snatched the bowl. “Bless your heart, boy.”

“Augum—” Leera whispered, her hand extending from her cell and reaching to his. “Are you all right? Oh, Aug … please, say something!”

He tried to speak but only gasps came out. His tongue felt like a large slug.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You held out as best you could.”

He stared at her grasping hand.

“Hold my hand, just for a little bit …
please.
”

He moved towards it but a wave of nausea stopped him. Perhaps he should have eaten after all.

“Are you listening to me—? Say something!”

“I’m … all … right,” he managed to croak finally, barely able to recognize his own voice.

Leera’s hand disappeared as she whimpered. “You sound awful,” she said, voice shaking. “But I’m glad you’re all right—and you don’t have to worry about the others. Everyone’s okay—Bridget, Mya, the prince, though they took him away somewhere and haven’t brought him back since. Mya’s in the cell to my right and Bridget’s to her right.”

Her hand stretched out again, her voice soft. “Please, take my hand, Aug.”

He winced reaching for it. When they connected, she squeezed and refused to let go.

“Aug … I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing … to … apologize … for …”

“You need a healer. You lost a lot of blood. You—”

“I’m … fine,” he lied. “How’s … your … head?”

“It smarts, but I’ve taken worse knocks falling from trees.” She tugged him forward a little, voice dropping to an almost inaudible murmur. “Listen, we have to figure something out. We have to get out of here and warn Mrs. Stone.”

Warn her? They don’t even know how get to her.

The blackness returned. Sitting up was too difficult. His grip loosened but she refused to let go.

“Aug?”

“Mmm?”

“Do this with me. Let’s come up with a plan.”

He grunted, doubting he could put together any coherent thought right now.

She gave his hand a final squeeze before letting go, allowing him to slump. “Great—I’ll pass on the word.”

He lay there until realizing Cled had been watching him the entire time, and probably had heard every word. The old man leaned forward, smiling toothlessly, still holding the bowl of soup, now licked clean.

“I know that look, boy. Ye done want to escape. Well put it out o’ your mind ‘cause it be barking mad to try. You’d only be killing yourself and your friends. The Blade of Sorrows is no fool, he has them guards posted everywhere like flies on this here soup they be serving—” Cled hushed up as two guards walked by in the relatively narrow corridor, laughing at a jape one of them told.

Leera’s hand reappeared when the guards had passed. “Aug—listen,” she whispered as Cled retreated to a dark corner of his cell, eyes glinting. “We’ve been keeping track. The guards patrol steadily, but they take their time during meal breaks. We could use, you know … see.”

He blinked, trying to figure out what she meant, before realizing it was the letter C, as in
Centarro
.

“Rest … first.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry. Don’t rush it. You rest and I’ll be right here, all right?”

He groaned, closed his eyes. He lay in that exact position for a long time, drifting in and out of consciousness, until another bowl was shoved in the cell. This time, he dragged himself over and painstakingly ate every last bit of the bitter soup and stale bread.

The effect was like drinking from the Arinthian fountain. He sat up, trying to avoid scratching at his itchy face.

“Lee …”

“I’m right here—”

“Let’s use C, but we’ll have to practice for the after effects.”