Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (37 page)

“Anna once tried having a go at it, you know,” One Eye said, gesturing at the Orb of Orion. “Believe it or not, I once
acquired
the orb myself, as a prank of course. Did we get in trouble for that one—almost got expelled, all three of us. Detention for a whole year. Broke an academy record. Anyway, when Anna saw it, after the tongue lashing she gave me, she simply had to try unlocking its secrets. Ambitious, that one, I tell you. Once she saw something she did not understand, she could not help but try to figure it out. She tried everything she could think of. Studied it for days on end …” He chuckled to himself, eyes focused on some distant adventure in the past.

“Well, sir, did she figure it out—?” Augum asked.

“Of course not, my dear boy! Warlocks and arcaneologists have been studying it for a thousand years.
No one
has cracked its secret. Jordan—bless his dark-skinned soul—thought the whole dragon thing was an ancient prank made up by the warlocks that gifted the object. After all, they were from a rival school. I know better though, and finding this tooth was the proof.”

Augum and Leera exchanged skeptical glances.

“Um, well, we’ll be sure to return the Orb of Orion to the academy as soon as the Legion is gone,” Augum said, thinking One Eye lost a few of his marbles in that mine. He made a mental note to ask Mrs. Stone about him when they next met—
if
they met—they had to beat Sparkstone to her first. The thought brought him back to their stuff, splayed out on the floor.

“Sir, is there not anything else we can trade for the scroll?”

One Eye blinked. “Oh, right, the scroll. Let us have a look. Hmm … I am sorry but I see nothing else here.”

The trio’s faces fell.

“Wait—what is that on your hip there, Grundvelda? Show it to me …”

Bridget looked around before realizing One Eye was addressing her. She hesitated a moment before handing Blackbite over.

“ ‘Grundvelda’?” Leera mouthed to Augum.

“If I did not know any better, I would swear this is a Dreadnought Blade,” One Eye muttered, inspecting the dagger with shaking hands. “Yes yes, it has the telltale signs of master forging—the steel, the weight … but is it arcane?” He looked to Bridget, expecting her to answer that very question.

“Its name is Blackbite, and it is a Dreadnought piercing blade.” She sounded hesitant. Augum realized she had probably become fond of the blade, as he had with Burden’s Edge.

One Eye gave a stiff nod. “Yes, I do believe this will more than suffice.”

“Is that all right with you, Bridge?” Leera asked.

Bridget gave the Dreadnought Blade a longing look then pursed her lips. “Of course it is. I’d give up a thousand of those to see Mrs. Stone safe.”

One Eye handed the jeweled blade over to Bartholomew. “Use this as barter and keep any profit for yourself for the risks.”

Bartholomew’s eyes lit up upon receiving the fine dagger. “Most kind of you, m’lord, most kind.” He turned the dagger over in his hands, smiling to himself.

“Be sure to give that to Jeremiah the merchant and no other. Tell him he owes me one.”

“Of course, m’lord. When should I depart?”

“Immediately. I want you to take the fastest horse and return as soon as you can.”

“As you wish, m’lord.”

“Good, Bartholomew—away with you then.” One Eye waved him off with his cane. The bells jingled as he stepped outside.

“If the job can be done, Bartholomew can do it. You can trust him.”

Bridget forced a smile as Augum placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks Bridge, that was noble.”

Leera gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you another one in some other castle, and you too, Aug. And then we can find me one.”

He waved the thought aside. “We’ve had our turn. Yours is next.”

One Eye yawned. “I do believe it is about time for my afternoon nap.” He poked at Augum’s robe with his cane. “I happen to have a fine bath wagon with a competent attendant. Perhaps you three would like to enjoy it?”

“Oh, that would be most grand, sir,” Bridget said.

One Eye filled out another piece of parchment. “It is settled then. Take this to Marta the bath attendant. Let us convene again for supper.”

The trio took the note, gathered their things, and trooped out of the colorful wagon, checking for any sign of the Legion. They did notice a guard stationed at the crest of the hill, acting as a scout. Satisfied, they trundled along in search of Marta the bath attendant.

Comforts

The bath wagon sported four side-by-side wooden tubs separated by elegant semi-translucent screens. Just like the shop wagon, it was far larger on the inside than seemed possible, an arcane room that perplexed the mind. In the center stood a series of stone hearths to keep the room warm. On the other side of the divide were booths fitted with sconce candles and vanity dressers.

They met Marta, a heavyset woman with tan skin. She took one look at the note, nodded, and told them to undress in the private booths, assigning each a soft white robe. Soon they were relaxing in steaming tubs while she washed their clothing and blankets. The scars on Augum’s back from the Penderson farm tingled in the hot water.

“You very lucky,” Marta said in her thick eastern accent. “Youth is best time to be warlock. Before joining caravan, I go Dramask academy. Stop at 3rd degree.”

“What’s your element?” Bridget asked.

“Fire. I go back to Tiberra when make money for family.” She squeezed their laundry through a drying roller.

“What’s Tiberra like? I’ve never been there.”

“Is beautiful place. You see blankets? Is that beautiful. Bright color everywhere. Color, color, color. You come visit. Then you taste spices, have tea ceremony, buy from market. I miss Tiberran men. I miss dance. Husband die sick. Solia no place for me. People too cold, think war too much. Caravan dancers and singers here no good. And it not smell right here. Smell like tree and fire and snow. There, it smell like food and spices and laughter and family.”

“But it’s north enough you get snow too, don’t you?”

“Oh, ya, we have snow too. But it … different. Me know not how explain.”

Augum quickly averted his eyes from Leera’s vague form in the booth next door as she began lathering her hair. “How did One Eye get these wagons to be so big inside?”

“He hire great warlock.” Marta squeezed their robes through a drying roller. “They work on wagons long time. Cost too much gold.”

“Is there any news about the coming war?”

“Please you no talk about war here. I sick of war.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Of course she didn’t want to talk about it—her family was there! He decided to ask about something light-hearted. “So this caravan has dancers and singers too?”

“Oh, ya ya ya. But they no good. Tiberran better. Much better. Full of soul. Here they weep. One Eye come to villages and put on arcane show, sell trinkets. He good man. We happy have jobs. We safe. He barter to keep us safe. But he old man. Very, very old man. I worry he sick. I worry he die. Too many people hungry. Legion take too many for war. Is no good. Solia hungry and sick.”

Yes it is, Augum thought, it certainly is …

“So what’s with the name thing?” Leera asked. “Why does One Eye get our names wrong?”

“If look like someone he know from when he young, he think name is same.” Marta’s forearm lit up with three rings of fire. “Shyneo,” and began drying their laundry with her fiery palm. “He remember some people names, but people must be … how you say … memorable? Ya, memorable. This is because that old fool try new memory spell but it not work. He hurt his brain. Shop was clean, now mess. He no want help. He fussy old man.”

Marta finished drying their things and instructed them to rinse off. They stepped out of the tubs, wrapping themselves in soft bathrobes, while Marta wiped her hands on her apron and excused herself.

Leera turned to Bridget. “Hair?”

“Definitely.”

In no time at all the girls were in one of the booths braiding each other’s hair and trying the many exotic scented oils and powders. They giggled and shared stories and babbled on about the caravan. Augum, meanwhile, sniffed Dramask, Iron Feather, Sweetbow, and Heartfire scents in a separate booth. He found most to be too strange or strong for him, but did enjoy the Heartfire, which had a subtle cedar aroma to it, reminding him of a cozy fire.

Staring into the mirror, he noticed his hair had reached his brows, and decided to give it a trim. He found a silver knife in a drawer and began slicing away.

After some time, the trio met in the central divide, ready to put on their now dry and freshly washed robes. When Augum spotted the girls, his mouth fell open—they looked stunning, particularly Leera, with her raven braids, shiny freckles, and dark eyes. Yet when she spotted him, her face went slack.

“Aug, what have you done!”

“What? What do you mean—?”

“Your hair! Ugh, here, let me fix it—” She grabbed his hand and dragged him back into his booth, pushing him down on the seat before the mirror. “You’re not allowed to cut your own hair ever again.”

“But I’ve always cut it myself—”

“Yeah, well, it’s a wonder you didn’t get flogged for it.”

He made no comment. He
did
get flogged—by Mr. Penderson and Dap and his cronies multiple times. He wondered how much his appearance had to do with it. No, it was probably the whole gutterborn thing. There was only one thing worse than being lowborn—being gutterborn, and Dap loved having someone worse off than him.

As Leera worked away, twisting his head this way and that, he felt his stomach go very light and tingly. A girl had never done anything like this for him.

“Oh my, somebody found a pleasant scent.” She sniffed his collar.

“Gah—Leera!” He laughed and wriggled away, but the truth was he wanted to say she wore a very nice scent as well, some kind of exotic berry. He avoided looking at her in the mirror, his cheeks burning.

“Stop squirming or I’ll cut off your ear!”

“What’s all this giggling about?” Bridget made an appearance holding a jar of cream. “What are you doing to our poor boy, Lee?”

“Fixing. He’s not allowed to cut his own hair anymore.”

Bridget laughed. “You’re acting like my mother.” She pinched his cheek, voice suddenly deep. “So handsome.”

“All right, that’s enough already,” he said, trying to stand, but Leera immediately shoved him back down.

“Wait, you little worm,” she said, biting her lower lip in concentration. ”Just … one … more … there! Done! Take a peek.”

He looked in the mirror, feeling his well-groomed hair. “Wow, that’s actually … nice, thanks.”

Leera did a kind of curtsy. “You’re welcome.”

He stood up and gestured at the chair. “All right, my turn to do some cutting—” but before he was even able to finish, the girls squealed and scurried out of there, giggling.

“Ah, such beautiful girls!” Marta said upon re-entering. “Make boys very jealous.”

The girls giggled some more.

“And such a handsome boy! Will make ladies swoon.”

Augum shuffled his feet.

“Okay, you clean, blankets clean, robes clean. Happy?”

“Very,” they said, nodding.

“Good. You change and have fun.”

They finished up and reluctantly departed, still teasing each other, wearing freshly-washed robes and carrying freshly-washed Dramask blankets.

They soon joined One Eye in the red and orange supper wagon. The inside was grand, with elaborate gilt-accents and a long empire table down the middle. There were enough seats to entertain a king’s host, reminding Augum of Castle Arinthian’s dining room. It was just the four of them, attended to by three plain-dressed servants running back and forth from a partitioned section in the back of the wagon, which Augum assumed was some sort of arcane kitchen.

One Eye greeted them by names from his past—Brett for Augum, Stephanie for Leera, and Grundvelda for Bridget. Leera definitely didn’t think she looked anything like a Stephanie, though jokingly said Grundvelda was a most appropriate name for Bridget, who promptly flashed a sour look.

The food was simply divine—assorted exotic cheeses, smoked oysters, boar’s ribs, slow-roast chicken breast, hot-buttered garlic soft bread, salted salmon steak seasoned with dill and lime, creamed potato, and a wide array of vegetables and even some fruit. Beverages consisted of freshly squeezed sugared root juice for the trio and exotic Odemai red wine for One Eye.

Bridget cleared her throat politely. “Sir, I’m having trouble with the extension to the Shine spell.”

“Is that so, my dear? Do tell.”

“I’m unable to figure out how to grab things with my vine.”

“That spell is a peach of a thing. You must concentrate on …” One Eye frowned.

“Sir …?”

“Huh?”

“Concentrate on what, sir?”

“What?”

“We were talking about my Shine extension.”

“Right, of course we were, you think me daft?”

“No, sir, I just—”

“Right, well, make an effort to pay attention, Grundvelda.”

They sat there, One Eye smacking his lips, until Bridget again cleared her throat politely.

“What!”

“The extension, sir—?”

“Right!” He squeezed two bony fingers together and drew a line in midair. “The spell requires finesse. Watch.” He made a graceful motion with his hand and entwined a wine glass, then an entire chair.

“Wouldn’t he make the perfect mentor for her?” Augum whispered into Leera’s ear as One Eye lectured on the details.

Leera hid her grin behind her hand. “It’s the only chance she’s got of him ever getting her name right.”

“Now you try it,” the old man said.

It took Bridget many failed attempts, One Eye commentating on what she was doing wrong, before she was able to entwine a spoon.

Bridget’s face brightened. “Did you see that?”

Augum and Leera nodded dutifully.

“So what kind of uses does the extension have?” Bridget asked, beaming.

One Eye set a crystal goblet of wine down onto the table with a shaking hand. “Why Grundvelda, I would have thought you could figure that out. It is in fact useful for many a thing. On more than one occasion, I found myself entwining an attacker’s arm, or climbing up a difficult surface. It is also perfect for reaching into tight spaces. Eventually you will learn how to extend and manipulate your vine as if it were your own hand. Granted, there are higher degrees involved, what with other spells that further build on the extension, but I have no doubt a clever young lady such as yourself will eventually get there.”