Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (65 page)

Augum steeled himself before turning to Mrs. Stone, who stood on that distant hill, looking like the loneliest person in the world. His heart thundered—he was about to communicate with his great-grandmother again.

“Nana … it’s … it’s me, Augum,” he began as a test, voice vibrating his innards and rolling across the plain. He knew what he had to say. He simply had to do it. He thought of his friends—Bridget, Leera, Mya, Haylee and Ms. Jenkins—and prayed for their forgiveness.

He took the deepest breath of his life and shouted, “NANA, FINISH THEM—THEY’RE AFRAID!”

The Attack

The moment Augum ceased, his father struck him on the side of the head, sending him to the ground. He drew Burden’s Edge, its blade sparking.

This was it, his father was going to murder him …

All of a sudden, something smashed into a nearby tent, capturing the Lord of the Legion’s attention. It was the wraith, knocked off its feet by a wagon. Screams and shouts tore the air as ordinary objects began attacking people—a fork impaled a soldier’s eye; a trough knocked another off his horse; a wheelbarrow chased after a screaming man who ended up tripping and being repeatedly run over.

“What spell is that—!” someone shouted.

“Master level Telekinesis,” Corrigus replied, halting a hovering axe from cleaving a soldier in two.

Augum used the confusion to crawl away as fast as possible. To his right, he caught a glimpse of a Red Guard decapitating a Black Guardsmen, the Legionnaire apparently possessed, having raised his mace against the death knight. To his left, he witnessed his father shoot lightning at nearby tents, ripping them asunder. Ahead, just beyond the tower, he spotted Justinius drawing his blade, about to use it on his struggling, tied-up friends.

Suddenly the tower burst into flames. The watchman screamed and jumped, landing right before Augum in a burning heap. As he scrambled around the corpse, he glimpsed Corrigus levitate a tremendous boulder from the earth, overturning a tent in the process, before hurling it at what appeared to be a very speedy Mrs. Stone. A moment later, he spotted his father zoom by in a blur, equally as fast. He pictured them fighting against each other in that inflexible, slow-motion world he had experienced under the influence of the Slow Time scroll.

Explosions and bolts of lightning began striking the camp, some from the sky, and some from seemingly nowhere. Soldiers were thrown in the air; tents burst into flame; horses scattered. The ground never stopped shaking, making it hard to stand.

He kept crawling as fast as his tired body would let him. He made it around the burning tower just in time to see Leera performing several impressive feats of arcanery—she had somehow freed herself of the rope and disarmed not one but two Black guardsmen. Bridget, for her part, had Justinius on the ground in a headlock.

They’d cast Centarro, he realized, immediately understanding the implications. Then black smoke obscured his view of them.

The ground stopped shaking and he scrambled to his feet. Suddenly an intensely sharp pain stabbed at his right flank. He screamed and buckled.

“Die—!” Robin shouted, withdrawing his dagger in an attempt to strike again.

Augum wilted from the shock, raised his arm to cast Shield, forgetting he had been stripped of his arcanery. The blade caught his palm, piercing it, jolting him with more excruciating pain and robbing him of breath. Robin, his face lit with murderous zeal, yanked the dagger for a third and final strike.

A tremendous wooden cracking began. Augum thought it was the Slam spell until he looked up. He just barely managed to jump aside as the watchtower crashed onto the spot he had been occupying a moment before. He curled into a ball, shielding himself from the rush of flames. The air became white hot, burning his throat.

When he raised his head, fire engulfed everything, including both his sleeves and shoulder. He rolled in the mud to snuff it out. He ducked as a barrel zipped by, followed by a wagon and a spear. Soon more objects flew, aimed at a golden armored man artfully blocking them with a giant lightning shield. When his shield suddenly failed, he picked up the closest thing nearby—a broken trunk lid.

“My supreme lord, in here!” shouted a voice.

Augum looked about to see a disheveled Sydo holding up a tent flap. Half of the tent was on fire, but that didn’t seem to bother him.

One of Mrs. Stone’s furious telekinetic attacks tore the Lord of the Legion’s makeshift shield from his hands.

Sydo gestured inside the tent. “Great One, it’s safe in here—” but the Lord of the Legion, suddenly finding himself defenseless against a rabid onslaught, simply picked Sydo up and blocked a broken broom that would have otherwise impaled his face. The broom sliced through Sydo, jamming at the bristles. Sparkstone discarded him without notice, continuing to block Mrs. Stone’s advances with other objects until he backed out of sight. Sydo was left twitching on the ground, soon going still.

Augum felt pity for the boy. A sad end to a miserable existence. If he’d only had the courage to change instead of taking the dark path. If he’d only been able to see his own arrogance, his own failings, to appreciate what he had, he might not have lost it all.

“I see you—!” Robin sang from the other side of a burning truss, searching for a way to get at Augum.

Augum tried to scramble to his feet but slipped from the pain. His vision dimmed in time with waves of nausea, like a rough ocean swell. The stabbing had weakened him more than he thought. He needed to get to his friends, but lay bleeding and coughing, the smoke and heat slowly extinguishing his life.

“Augum—!” Leera suddenly leapt from out of the flames, robe ablaze. She grabbed onto him, and with a strength summoned from the arcane unknown, began dragging him.

He blearily saw soldiers rolling and screaming. Horses flailed and galloped nearby. Tents burned, the fires joining together to create miniature flaming tornadoes.

Leera concentrated on the path ahead, completely confident, ignoring her blazing robe. A soldier rushed them but she deftly flung muddy snow into his eyes. He stumbled right by them and into the flames, screaming.

Augum held on with all his remaining strength, feeling his life drain with every drop of blood that stained the muddy slush, melted from the heat.

Another explosion tore the air nearby, sending Leera sprawling—she recovered quickly, and used the roll on the ground to smother the flames that stubbornly clung to her robe. Soot-stained yet determined, she dragged him onward. It was only when she began to slow that he realized the effects of Centarro were wearing off.

“Help!” he called feebly. It was the only thing he could think of—he couldn’t cast spells anymore and was too weak to do anything. “Help, please, somebody …”

But there was only the roar of fire.

Leera let go of him and stared down at her hands, a lost child in an inferno. She’d wander off any moment, never to be seen again, and he didn’t have the strength to stop her.

“Leera …”

She gave him a blank look before focusing on the flames.

He winced. “Leera, stay with me … Please, look at me …”

She cocked her head, a vacant expression on her face, and took a step toward the fire. She was about to step to her death when someone snagged her hand.

“Gotcha!” Haylee said, her face and hair blackened with soot. She turned away only a moment, keeping a firm grip. “They’re over here—Leera and Augum are here!”

Augum coughed, desperately trying to stay conscious, wincing from the sharp pain in his side and hand.

“I got her!” Mya said, emerging from the smoke and taking Leera by the hand.

“And I’ll get Augum.” Haylee furrowed her blonde brows, grabbed his hands, and dragged him through a haze of black smoke, keeping her eyes tightly shut.

They emerged before a torn tent, coughing. Mya stood in front of it holding a confused Leera. Ms. Jenkins held Bridget nearby. Justinius lay back over a barrel, pierced by his own blade.

“Ms. Jenkins, help—!” Haylee said, collapsing to the ground, gasping.

“I’m okay now,” Bridget said, sitting down. “Help them …”

More explosions and sounds of arcane warfare came from within the camp, punctuated by the occasional scream, or shout of command. Augum dazedly wondered how long Mrs. Stone could hold out.

Ms. Jenkins hovered over his form, holding a hand over her mouth to suppress the coughing. Her brow was sweaty, her skin pale. He closed his eyes, about ready to let go—it was just too difficult to stay conscious. He heard soothing words and a cold hand on his forehead, over his heart, then over his wounds—first his side, then his pierced palm. He felt a warm light shining through him, his strength slowly returning.

When Ms. Jenkins finished, she collapsed beside him, wheezing shallow breaths. Bridget stumbled into the tent, emerging a moment later carrying the rucksack. “We have to get out of here,
now
!”

Leera, who seemed to have finally come out of her daze, dropped to her knees by Augum. “Aug, you have to get up and help us. We’re spent … you’re the … you’re the only one that can still cast spells—”

“I can’t …” he mumbled between coughs. “Witch … cursed me … can’t cast spells …”

Leera, Bridget, Mya and Haylee gaped at him, but it was Ms. Jenkins that caught his eye. She fixed him with a particular look that sent a shiver up his spine. Somehow, perhaps unconsciously, he knew what she was going to do.

“No,” he said, “I won’t let you. Your son—”

“He will … understand. Let me … do this.” She coughed blood, gesturing for the girls to help her sit up. They did so, and she palmed Augum’s forehead and heart, beginning a complex arcane recitation that increased in volume as she spoke. He was going to fight her off and cancel the spell, yet it was her face that stopped him—it radiated love and compassion, mercy and joy.

He felt the most bizarre buzzing sensation, as if being filled up with a long-forgotten energy, re-awakening and renewing his strength and vitality.

At the end of the spell, her face was purple. Her eyes steadily closed as she spoke in a fragile whisper. “I know … you won’t … waste this.” She gave the faintest smile before dying where she sat, in the hands of the girls.

“Oh, Ms. Jenkins …” Bridget whispered.

They were a leaf floating amongst a flaming ocean of chaos—soldiers screamed as they burned; explosions boomed, punctuated by rumblings; arcane missiles tore through the air, maiming anything in their path. Yet all five of them just stared at her still form.

At last, the girls gently laid her down, covering her peaceful face with her own robe.

Watching the body of Miralda Jenkins the healer, now forever at rest and free of her torments, Augum thought of the Lord of the Legion’s speech.

We, too, have our glory, father …

A huge ball of electric fire slammed into a nearby tent, forcing them to hit the ground. It exploded, shooting objects past their heads.

“We have to get out of here!” Augum yelled. “Everybody hold on! We have to run through the fire!” He snatched Mya’s hand.

As soon as all five grabbed hold in a chain, he began navigating the maze of fire. He covered his mouth with his sleeve, trying not to breathe in the acrid smoke. The flames seemed to rage everywhere now, consuming every tent, even horses and bodies. The stench was enough to roil his gut and send bile into his throat.

The moment after exiting a cloud of smoke, a looming shadow slammed into him so hard he thought a charging bull had hit him. He flew through the air, plowing into a burning tent and emerging out the other side, rolling in the muddy snow.

He stood up, dazed, seeing a giant black form emerge from the fire. The wet rags on its limbs, hanging in strips, hissed and bubbled in the heat.

“Kill him!” Robin shouted from somewhere. “Kill him now!”

The wraith lowered its skull-like head, vacant eyes watching him. It cooed, growled, and charged.

There was nowhere to go and he wasn’t quick enough to move out of its way.

“Nana, help—!” but there simply was no time. He had to save himself.

The wraith reared back, readying to perform some kind of charging claw-punch, a move that would surely end his life.

There was only one possible thing that might work … he placed both forearms before him in a blocking gesture and focused on making a giant shield of hard lightning.

The clawed fist whistled forth just as he felt a white heat on his arms. It smashed into a shied that actually curved over his head slightly. The force of the blow sent him tumbling backward through the mud until he slammed against an overturned barrel of ale. It ruptured, its hoppy smell mingling with the scent of burning flesh and pine.

The wraith threw its head back, snorted, and flexed.

He arcanely shoved the barrel out of his way and stood up, panting.

Damn it was good to have his arcanery back.

“Nana! Can you hear me?” He glanced around, hoping for any sign of her. Black smoke curled into the air in every direction. “Bridget! Leera!” A distant explosion sounded; muffled screams.

The wraith made a guttural roar, lowered its head, and charged, its great claws spanning the length of five men, tearing at burning tents along the way.

If he timed it right, it might work …

Just as it was upon him, he shouted, “Grau!” making a fierce throwing gesture at the ground. A tremendous crack of thunder rumbled the earth, waving the flames and pulsing his bones.

The wraith flinched. Augum used that split moment to jump out of the way of its claws, tumbling aside as it blew past.

“That won’t work again!” Robin yelled, emerging from the flames holding Mya, a dagger to her throat. “You move and I give her a Nodian smile.”

“Bridget, Leera, Nana—he’s got Mya!” Augum called, hoping to get help.

A crooked smile lit up Robin’s face. “They’re busy fighting. Don’t worry, they won’t last …” The wraith emerged from the flames beside him, smoking, watching its master.

“Pick him up.”

Augum tried to crawl away from it, but he was too slow. It grabbed him like a doll, holding him by his midriff, cooing as if about to pet a cat.