Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1) (13 page)

The throng of soldiers gave way. A massive horse with weeping bloody eyes and hanging skin emerged from behind the Red Guards. Tendrils hung like wet noodles from an exposed ribcage. Bleached skulls accented a spiked saddle. The man that rode this deathly stallion wore golden plate, chest marked with the burning sword emblem. A great crimson plume bobbed from his helm. His cloak, made from pure lightning, crackled. His gauntleted hands clutched the reins, prodding the horse forward until stopping beside the cluster of villagers. He ignored them as if they posed no threat, keeping his gaze fixed on Mrs. Stone, who calmly stood between him and the shimmering bubble.

“You know why I have come,” the golden-armored man said. “I should have known better than to have taken your word.”

Mrs. Stone extinguished the lightning that crackled around her body. “Oh, but he came to me, Lividius.”

“I have a new name now,
Grandmother
,” he said, voice full of spite. “Lord Sparkstone.”

Quiet gasps and murmurs from the crowd.

“The nickname you adopted when we began your training.”

“Most correct, great teacher. Now I am Lord of the Legion.”

A hot prickle crawled up Augum’s spine; Unnameable gods, Mrs. Stone’s grandson was the
Lord of The Legion
!

“I have changed much since then, Grandmother.”

“At the expense of many others, I daresay.”

“You do not know me; you
never
knew me!”

“But I did know you, Lividius. A boy who spent hours before a mirror; a boy who used his friends like toys to be thrown away; a boy who lied, cheated, stole and m—”

“ENOUGH—!”

Horses whinnied; soldiers and villagers alike stirred. Only the Red Guard stood still, burning swords hissing.

Mrs. Stone’s voice was heavy and laced with sorrow. “I am ashamed of you, Lividius.”

Lord Sparkstone slowly raised his chin. “Show me my stolen heir. Show me the son of my beloved, you wretched old thief.”

Mrs. Stone expelled a long breath and stepped aside.

Augum felt the hairs on his neck stand up as the Lord of the Legion’s eyes found him, still trapped inside the bubble with Bridget and Leera.

“I reveal him to you only for his sake,” Mrs. Stone said.

Augum took a step back, shaking his head. “No, it can’t be … it just can’t be …”

Mrs. Stone’s voice was soft. “I fear it true, Augum. The Lord of the Legion is your father. He is my grandson, and you are my great-grandson …”

Bridget and Leera’s hands shot to their mouths. The crowd stood absolutely still, watching. Even the soldiers stood quiet.

Sparkstone, the Lord of the Legion—
his father!
—jumped off his horse and approached the electrified bubble, crouching before it. He removed his plumed helm.

Augum could hardly breathe. It was almost like a mirror image staring back at him, older but with the same wiry frame, strong chin, arched brows and umber hair, though longer and darker and streaked with gray. The face had a maniacal twist to it, however, like an evil twin that had grown up all wrong;
and the eyes
—
they crackled lightning just like the Black Robe’s.

Looking at that face, he knew it was true—this was his father, the man responsible for the burning of Willowbrook, for the death of Sir Westwood, for the death of so many others. Why had she not told him?
Why!
He fell to his knees, barely feeling Leera and Bridget each rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He kept shaking his head. “No … no …”

The voice was quiet. “Yes. You are my son, and I have come to take you home.”

Augum’s lip quivered. “Home …?”

“Yes, home, to the place of your birth—the Black Castle. I have so much to teach you. You are my rightful heir. You should be here by my side.” Without averting his lightning gaze, Lord Sparkstone addressed Mrs. Stone. “Does he still carry the name, or did you change it in your arrogance?”

“Augum Stone, after his great, great, great-grandfather, bestowed upon him by you
and
your wife.”

His father winced before his expression turned to granite. “You
dare
talk about her—”

“What is left of your conscience betrays you,” Mrs. Stone said.

Lord Sparkstone continued as if he had not heard. “Same name … good.” His gaze softened as pain passed through his face like a wave. “You have your mother’s eyes and nose. How I wish—”

“We cannot change the past, Lividius,” Mrs. Stone said, pacing near.

The Lord of the Legion flexed his jaw. “I am speaking with my son.”

“We must face our regrets. I can name a few—I regret training you despite reservations. I regret showing you the family inheritance. I regret not paying more attention to your …
exploits
.”

“First you stole my inheritance, and now I find out you stole my son!” Lord Sparkstone reached out to the bubble but Mrs. Stone caught his wrist. Both of their arms instantly lit up with electric blue rings. The Lord of the Legion’s arm had a full complement right up to his shoulder, but Mrs. Stone’s arm was a solid blue sleeve, as if all the rings had merged.

For a brief moment, the two of them locked eyes. Then Lord Sparkstone exploded backwards.

The crowd gasped as every single soldier surged forward.

Sparkstone threw up a hand, instantly staying his troops. He slowly got to his feet, picking up his plumed helm and brushing it off. “You will pay dearly for that, Grandmother. I will not be denied again.”

Mrs. Stone’s chin dropped a little as the space around her warped and crackled.

A commotion began behind the Lord of the Legion.

“My lord, this old bag of cabbage wants a word,” said a man obscured from view.

“Bring him forth, Commander Rames.”

Augum felt his blood run hot. Commander Vion Rames was Mrs. Stone’s former apprentice and the man directly responsible for Sir Westwood’s murder!

Rames stepped forward wearing a lightning-embroidered black robe. Augum instantly recognized him as the black-robed rider he had encountered on the way to Hangman’s Rock. They had met face-to-face, and neither had known the other …

Rames’ electric eyes briefly met Augum’s before flicking over to Mrs. Stone; but if his presence affected her, she did not show it. He kicked Lord Tennyson forward. The old man landed face-first in the muddy snow.

“Grandpa—!” Haylee rushed forward, quickly caught by Robin. “Let me go—!”

“No, Hayles, wait, trust me—”

Tennyson coughed and raised a hand staying his granddaughter. “Great lord … our arrangement …”

“Yes, yes.” Lord Sparkstone waved lazily. “The Legion is grateful for the information you have provided. You, your family and fellow loyalists may go. Consider your nobility and estates restored. Commander—pay the man.”

Tennyson repeatedly bowed. “Oh, thank you, my lord, thank you …”

Rames removed a bag of coins from his belt and threw it at Lord Tennyson’s feet. Tennyson picked it up and beckoned to his family and at the Scarson family, some of whom seemed genuinely surprised. Haylee’s face contorted in confusion, Robin’s in triumph. The crowd
hissed as they passed.

Lord Sparkstone watched the group depart with a sneer before donning his helm and mounting his deathly stallion. His crackling eyes settled on Mrs. Stone. “You still have it, that which rightfully belongs to me?”

Mrs. Stone only straightened.

Lord Sparkstone nodded slowly. “So, since you do not want to return my son, nor that which belongs to me, you really do leave me no choice, Grandmother.” He smugly reached into a pouch and removed a small crystal orb.

Mrs. Stone’s face visibly fell. “A scion … how did you get it?”

Lord Sparkstone smiled. “A most difficult acquisition, Grandmother.” He held the orb for another moment, letting Mrs. Stone fully appreciate the situation, before releasing it to hover. The crowd took a step back, many looking about uncertainly.

The orb began glowing; in a ripple effect starting from its position, the villager’s arms fell dark, one by one.

Pandemonium broke out.

The Red Guard reared up on their deathly horses and came crashing down on panicking people. Some villagers tried to cast spells that did not come, some tried to run, while others dropped to the ground trying to shield family members. The soldiers’ burning blades found them, slashing men, women and children without mercy, setting some ablaze.

Tyeon jumped before his grandfather, taking a spear through the gut. He crumpled at the man’s feet. His blind grandfather tried to scoop the boy up, but a blow to the head from a mace felled him. He fell onto his grandson.

While Mrs. Stone put a dozen black-armored soldiers to sleep at once, Sparkstone pointed his arms at the crowd, unleashing a ripping bolt of lightning. It spread from the first person to the next, linking them in a chain. They rose in the air en masse, convulsing, feet losing shoes and slippers. They began smoking before bursting into flames.

Bridget and Leera were beside themselves, frantically pounding the bubble with their fists, crying hysterically; but it was the screams from the villagers that made Augum’s blood curdle.

Some of the riders stopped their butchery to watch, faces hidden behind steel helms. Meanwhile, the Red Guard, Rames, and his red-robed lieutenant raced towards Mrs. Stone.

She only had a moment, which she used to swing her staff at the bubble. Their eyes briefly met and Augum thought he saw fear there. Then her arm, sleeved in a mass of dense blue energy, went dark. That very instant, the crystal tip made contact with the bubble, shattering the wooden portion of the staff. Augum, Bridget and Leera smashed against the inner wall as the bubble soared into the air.

The last thing Augum saw was Mrs. Stone being overwhelmed.

Escape

When Augum opened his eyes, he was laying face down in a thorny bush, the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. His head throbbed, as if somebody had slammed it against a stone wall. He was disoriented and nauseous.

Someone moaned nearby.

He began wrestling with the thorn bush. “Bridget, Leera—that you?”

Bridget’s voice was shaky. “Augum … I can’t wake Leera up—”

Those words muted the pain and sharpened his senses. “I’m coming!” He struggled with the thorn bush, the branches raking his flesh and snagging his robe. The bush finally released him onto snowy ground. There he found Bridget sitting against a frosted boulder, face wet with tears, left arm limp by her side. Leera’s head lay in her lap. Blood covered both girls.

“They’re all gone …” Bridget whispered, rocking back and forth while absently sweeping raven hair from Leera’s pale forehead.

Augum glanced around. The clouds had cleared, revealing a vast sky filled with brilliant stars, partially obscured by a gargantuan shape above them. “I think we’re on Mt. Barrow.”

Bridget only kept rocking. “They’re all gone …”

“Come on, we’ll take her to Mrs. Stone’s cave.” He nodded at the mountain. “It’s up there. Can you walk?” He paused, gentling his voice. “Look at me, Bridget. Can you walk?”

Her eyes wandered over to him. She winced. “Yeah, but I think my arm is broken.”

Horses whinnied in the distance. Bridget began to breathe rapidly. “We have to go—” She gritted her teeth as they hooked Leera’s arms around their necks.

A general hollow feeling began as they climbed. Was this somehow all his fault? Were they all dead because his father, the Lord of the Legion, had come for him? Stomach-churning guilt and prickling shame gnawed at him until he stumbled, causing Bridget to cry out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he said, hoisting Leera’s weight onto himself while Bridget recovered. Thereafter he resolved to concentrate on the climb.

Bridget’s face hardened with determination. “I’ll be fine …”

Augum glanced back at the forest, spotting the occasional flicker of torchlight.

“They’re looking for us, aren’t they?” she asked.

He did not reply.

The ascent was grueling, magnifying every scratch and ache. They finally managed to slip over the lip of the cave, the sound of distant commands echoing through the crisp night.

Bridget peered around the hollow, panting. “There’s … nothing … here.”

Augum stared at the door and windows before grasping the problem. “Bridget Burns, Leera Jones—I formally invite you to my home.”

Bridget exhaled. “I see it.”

He wondered if the enchantment would protect them from his father and the Legion. Hadn’t protected Sparrow’s Perch though, had it?

They opened the door and shuffled in sideways, Leera flopping between them. Augum searched for any sign of Mrs. Stone. The coals hissed; otherwise, the place was silent. “Mrs. Stone—?”

No response.

They lay Leera on the old settee. Wincing, Bridget sat down beside her, nursing her arm.

He scanned the room for ideas. “We’ve got to revive her somehow.”

“Boil some water,” Bridget said through gritted teeth.

Augum quickly built up the fire, filled the kettle, and skewered it over the flames.

“Have any Stinkroot?” Bridget asked.

“What’s that?”

“Check your stores; you’re looking for brown and lumpy roots with small red welts all over.”

He shot over to Mrs. Stone’s pantry and started rummaging. At last, he found a jar of roots that seemed to fit the description.

“This it—?”

“Yes, grab one and grind it up.”

Augum found Mrs. Stone’s mortar and pestle and began grinding. He worked as fast as he could, expecting the door to be broken down any moment. The water was boiling when he finished.

“Okay, now what?”

Bridget’s voice trembled with pain and sorrow. “Put the stinkroot in a mug, pour water in, and place it under Leera’s nose.”

He did as she asked, almost gagging when he poured the water. It smelled worse than rotten meat left out in the sun for days. He carefully walked over, holding it at arm’s length. The instant he placed it near Leera’s nose, she gasped and nearly vomited.

“Damn … what is that!”

“Stinkroot,” Bridget said, pinching her nose.

Leera collapsed back onto the settee. “Ugh … disgusting …”

Bridget gestured to the hearth. “Pour the rest in the fire.”