Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (66 page)

“Squeeze him.”

Augum screamed. It was like being in the grip of a gigantic rotten vice. “Nan—” he tried to say, feeling like he was about to explode from the pressure. Suddenly there was another crack of thunder, this one even louder.

“I told you that wouldn’t work—” Robin paled. “No—!”

A giant lightning hand gripped the wraith’s arm. It shrieked and let Augum go. He fell to the ground, rolled away, and looked up—it was another lightning elemental. The electric monster gave the wraith a massive uppercut that sent it flying up into the air.

“Nana! Are you here? We’re in trouble!” but there was no sign of her.

Meanwhile, the two giants attacked each other like rabid dogs, the earth rumbling with each strike. Then the lightning elemental tackled the wraith and the two creatures rolled off into the flames.

“No, no, NO—!” Robin screamed, spittle shooting out of his mouth. He was breathing rapidly, knuckles white around the dagger at Mya’s throat. In his other hand, he held the destiny stone.

Augum stood up, palms spread wide before him. “Let her go, Robin, this is between you and I—”

“You shut up—” Robin pressed the blade against her throat.

Mya whimpered. “Augum …” The fear in her voice squeezed his heart tighter than the wraith had squeezed his body.

“I know you’re not a murderer, Robin, let her go and fight me, fight
me
—”

“Don’t you tell me who I am!” The hand that held the destiny stone curled into a fist. “You took Haylee away from me, remember? I swore to you I would take from you. You want her? Here, have her, you gutterborn swine—”

He shoved Mya forward, cutting her throat in the process.

“NO—!” Augum screamed, sprinting.

She stumbled to him, gurgling, porcelain hands at her throat. Blood gushed over them and down her Legion servant robe. She fell right into his arms. Behind her, several paces back, stood Robin, dagger covered in blood, eyes wide.

“What’ve you done—” Augum said, unable to keep the horror from his quivering voice. “What have you done …”

He laid Mya gently on the ground, holding her close. She was dying in his arms, staring at him with those almond eyes, the brilliant green light in them fading. He placed a trembling hand on top of both of hers, hoping it would somehow stop the bleeding. Her face grew whiter and whiter, the skin developing a blue sheen to it.

“Mya, it’ll be okay, everything’s going to be fine,” he mumbled absurdly.

“There. There! Now we’re even,” he heard Robin say in a shaky voice. “It was your fault anyway—you made me do it. You shouldn’t have taken Haylee from me!”

To Augum, the words were a thousand leagues away. Time slowed to a crawl. It was just him and Mya, together at last. She kept staring at him, her light now a sputtering candle.

Every moment he remembered of her swam before his mind—the first time he had laid eyes on her in Castle Arinthian, when she curtsied and smiled; seeing her unconscious on the stairs and shoving oxy into her mouth to save her life; her feverish form in the trapper’s cabin; feeling her porcelain hand touch his chest to survey the damage done by the walker; her hair whipping about as she ran to distract the guards, sacrificing herself so the trio could get away; the time he danced with her in the ancient Leyan city of Absalon, holding her close to him, a dance he would never forget as long as he lived …

A single tear rolled down her cheek. She smiled weakly, her hands going limp under his, the blood no longer gushing. Her eyes remained upon him even after that precious light had dimmed to total darkness.

“Mya …” he whispered, holding her gently. “Mya …”

Feats

Everything was in slow motion when hands began prying Augum from Mya. The voices were distant and muted. Flames leapt nearby, but they were dim, their heat feeble compared to the burning inside his heart.

“Come on, Aug, we have to go!” said a freckled girl he barely recognized.

“You monster!” shouted a cinnamon-haired girl. “What have you done!”

“He’s in shock,” said a blonde-haired girl. “Take him, go—go now!”

A great shadow appeared nearby, but he could only see it as a blurry figure in the flames.

“It’s back—!”

“I’ll stay and fight, I might be able to command it—what are you waiting for, take him and go—!”

He felt himself led away from Mya’s still form, unable to comprehend what was happening. Was he still holding her? Had he
ever
held her? Part of him was clear, the part that told him she should be saved—but he didn’t even have the fight to run back to her, to save her from the encroaching flames, to give her a proper burial.

Explosions boomed yet he could barely hear past the sound of rushing blood in his head. Fire roared as men moaned and died all around them.

He didn’t care. Nothing mattered.

All at once, they were free of it, emerging just west of the camp, stepping over scalded soldiers with bizarre lightning patterns on their flesh, none of whom seemed willing or able to fight. He was dragged to the woods, suddenly hearing an implosive sucking sound.

He turned to his right only to find Corrigus standing there, splattered with blood from his beard to his boots. His gold-fringed robe was torn and his left arm hung limp at his side. A giant gash streaked across his face.

“No, I won’t let you, not again—” Augum said through gritted teeth, barely conscious of what he was saying. He broke away from the girls’ grip and charged the old warlock, every fiber of his being alive with anger. The girls were screaming behind him but he didn’t care—he wouldn’t let them kill another of his friends, even if he had to die to prevent it.

Corrigus gurgled a laugh, making a beckoning motion with his good hand, before deteriorating into a bloody coughing fit.

“Centeratoraye xao xen!” Augum spat, never meaning a spell more. The world instantly became profoundly simple. There were less than seven paces between himself and Corrigus. The old man was choking but regaining his composure quickly—too quickly in fact. Augum noticed he wore an ornate dagger at his belt. That was his chance. He was aware Corrigus didn’t fear him and would strike him down quicker than he could run. He decided to resort to plain trickery.

Knowing it was Mrs. Stone Corrigus truly feared, he glanced a little past the man and made a grateful face as if seeing a familiar savior.

“The oldest trick in the book,” he could hear Sir Westwood say, a straw dangling from his mouth.

This maneuver may not have worked on the Blade of Sorrows, but Corrigus fell for it, turning his head to what he perceived to be the true threat—Mrs. Stone. Augum increased his charge to a full-on sprint, using, with the aid of Centarro, certain pockets in the snow for better footing. As Corrigus’ head turned back to him, pronouncing the first words of an incantation, Augum’s hand was on the man’s dagger. Just as Corrigus finished the spell, Augum buried the dagger in his temple with one graceful motion.

One of the Legion’s most powerful warlocks stood gaping, jaw clacking as if stuck on a word, before falling dead.

But Augum’s Centarro-laced mind was solely on Mya. Plans formed on how to save her, how to rush back into the flames, pick her up, and somehow bring her back to life. Everything seemed possible in that moment,
everything
.

Yet he just stood there, staring at the bloody corpse of this old man. He wondered what kind of life Corrigus had lived. Did he have friends that would miss him? Did someone love him? Did he ever care about others, or was he just … evil? Did he have sons, daughters, nephews, cousins? Was there a Mya out there somewhere without a father now?

“Aug … I can’t believe what you just did,” someone said as the fog began to cloud his mind. “What a feat …”

He dully felt himself led away. The stupidity that came along with the side effects of Centarro forbade comprehension. All that he experienced was a series of basic sensations. Hands kept at his back and shoulders, pushing him onwards. He didn’t understand what the big rush was. A harsh smell burned his throat. Shapes moved in ways far too complex for his mind. He recognized the basic outlines of trees. They were kind of pretty in the dull darkness, lit by something orange and hot.

When his sense began returning, he found himself sitting in the snow, back against a trunk, hands bloody and shaking. Bridget and Leera conversed in low voices beside him, trying to decide which direction to go next. The smell of wood smoke was in the air. Was there a hearth nearby? Could he sit before it and warm up?

“Where are we?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s Mya? Is she all right?” He knew where she was, he had left her to the flames …

Bridget and Leera exchanged looks before each embraced him.

“Mya’s gone,” Bridget whispered, refusing to let go even when he tried pushing her away.

“No she’s not,” he said, haunted by Mya’s final smile. “We have to go back and get her.” He recalled how cold her hands were. “She’s waiting for us right now.” The blood from her throat had been warm though … “Why aren’t we moving to get her already?” He left her all alone back there.

Leera squeezed harder. “Oh, Aug …”

Why weren’t they going back to get Mya? He swallowed, envisioning her lying on the ground, alone, surrounded by flames and a looming shadow that moved.

“I think Mya’s in trouble, we should get her,” he mumbled through Bridget’s hair. Her shoulders were heaving, as were Leera’s, and neither of them would let go for some reason. Why wouldn’t they let go—didn’t they realize they had work to do? What was wrong with them! He tried to pry them off again, but it was in vain—their grip was stronger than his trembling hands.

“Haylee stayed behind to hold off the wraith,” Bridget said, finally withdrawing, hands remaining on his shoulders. Her eyes were red, cheeks soot-stained.

“It’s just us now,” Leera said quietly.

“Just us?”

Leera nodded. “Just us …”

“Where’s Nana?”

“I don’t know. There was a really big explosion—”

He finally tore away from them to peer around the trunk. The entire Legion camp burned. Black armored bodies lay smoking in the slush. Some figures still hobbled or crawled within the flames, crying out. Horses roamed riderless.

“We have to find Nana—” he said, repeatedly straightening his stained and charred robe.

Bridget’s brows knit together as she stood. “Augum, what can we do? We have to get out of here. We have to save ourselves. That’s what Mrs. Stone wants.”

He looked her in the eye. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I have to try to find her.” She was the only one who could save Mya. “Find some horses and stay here, I’ll be right back—” and without waiting for a response, he raced toward the flames, the girls desperately calling after him.

Find Nana. Save Mya. Find Nana. Save Mya …
The mantra repeated in his frantic brain.

He soon reached the outskirts of the burning camp, strewn with bodies. Flames licked around Hangman’s Rock, a giant black egg baking in the inferno. He envisioned it cracking and that witch spilling out.

“Nana!” he called, searching the bodies. “Nana—!”

Suddenly a stick shot out from the fires and tumbled in the snow, coming to rest only feet away, smoking and melting through the top layer of frost. Something else, maybe a sack of some sort, also rolled out of the fire.

He gaped stupidly before realizing what the object really was. “Nana—!”

He ran to her, falling by her side, tenderly holding up her bloody head. Her eyes barely opened into weak slits. Her once pristine white robe was charred, torn and frayed.

He felt a nauseating weakness and had to steady himself. “Not you too, Nana, not you too …”

“My … staff …” she said in a barely audible voice. He laid her down gently, turning to the raging fire. Sparkstone laughed triumphantly from within, the sound amplified arcanely, visually reverberating the flames and shaking the ground.

“I’ll find it, Nana—” he said, running off to where he saw it sink into the snow.

He stopped as the laughter suddenly sharpened. Without turning around, he knew the Lord of the Legion had emerged from the fire.

“Leaving her behind already, Son?” boomed his father, sounding out of breath.

Augum turned, conscious of the staff only paces away. He pretended not to have seen it and faced his father. Mrs. Stone lay between the two of them.

“Shyneo,” Augum said, lighting up his palm and flaring his arm with his only stripe.

Sparkstone smiled. A melted gash tore across his golden chest plate. Besides that, there were only scratches and occasional char marks. The plume of his helmet had burned completely off, as had his cloak and leather pouches, though he himself seemed immune to the flames. The three scions slowly revolved around his head, glinting sentinels humming faintly.

“Congratulations, Son, you have achieved your 1st degree. I am proud of you. Your mother would be proud too, I know it.”

“My mother …” Augum said mockingly.

“You have to understand, Son, things were never supposed to happen that way. If I could go back … one day …” Sparkstone stiffened and raised his chin. “You know, I think I am finally getting the feel of these scions. They extend arcane powers and strengthen them, but they can do so much more, I can sense that now. As you are a beginner in the arcane ways, so, too, am I a beginner with these ancient artifacts.”

Augum squared his body, splaying his hands in a gesture as if readying to fight. His father didn’t seem to care, sighing and pacing toward Mrs. Stone.

He thinks she has the scion in her possession! Augum realized, senses sharpening. He concentrated on the one task he knew he could do at that moment.

“Feel the attraction of the stones”, he remembered Mrs. Stone say to him at the beginning of his training. Without another moment’s hesitation, he reached out, using Telekinesis to summon her staff. As soon as he felt its sleekness in his shining palm, a powerful surge shot through his heart, quickening it.

“Centeratoraye xao xen!”

The effect of Centarro while holding Mrs. Stone’s staff, topped with the family scion, was like being transformed into an arcane bull. The first thing he felt was a fountain of new arcane strength, instantly accessible. He knew the power and duration of his spells were extended by unknown amounts. Additionally, for the first time in his life, he felt certain he could completely control his arcanery.