Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1) (6 page)

Soon he was able to count them—twelve black-armored knights in single file armed with swords, axes, war hammers and spears. The lead rider carried a large black banner that waved in the wind. Augum’s flesh prickled when he saw the emblem.

The burning sword of the Legion.

The knights had massive physiques and rough faces. Their breath escaped in powerful bursts of steam. Two riders at the back of the column were different though. One of these men wore a red robe, hood loosely draped over his head, obscuring his face. The other wore a sparkling black robe, heavily embroidered with what looked like silver tree branches, hood also drawn.

Augum cursed himself for not taking the trouble to hide his tracks.
He could almost hear Sir Westwood say, “Did I not teach you better?”

He calmed down a little as the column trotted forward. The riders seemed to be absorbed in the journey, not paying much attention to what was on the ground. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the black-robed rider, the very last one in the column, yelled “HALT—!”

Augum’s stomach lurched.

The Black Robe pointed in Augum’s direction. “Tracks, you fools—”

Augum ducked just in time as heads turned his way.

Think, think—!

Yet his mind went completely blank. He stared at the woods listening to the sound of a horse approach. A small chirp escaped his rucksack as a scene unfolded in his brain …

He was in a snow-covered forest on a hunting lesson with Sir Westwood, the pair wearing long rabbit-skin coats. It was the middle of winter and there was fresh snowfall underfoot.

“When you hunt, you must respect your prey,” Sir Westwood whispered as they stalked a deer. “Your real enemy is your mind. Master your mind and you master your adversary.”

Augum slunk around a large tree, spotting the deer no more than forty paces away. He raised his bow with trembling hands.

Sir Westwood crouched behind him. “Concentrate. Let loose when your breath has left your body. Be as still as the snow.”

Augum tried hard to still his nerves. The deer looked right at him, but in its place, he saw Meli, standing on wobbly legs, eyes watery.

The arrow slipped away. It impaled into a tree just behind the deer, which bolted immediately.

Augum expelled a long breath. “It … it just stared at me.”

Sir Westwood spat on the ground. “It is not the deer that froze, Augum …”

A horse’s snort brought Augum back to the present moment. A muscled steed had stopped beside him, black robe dangling by his head. He noticed the embroidered branches were not those of a tree at all, but of
lightning
. Moreover, just like Mrs. Stone’s robe, they appeared to flicker and flash.

He looked up at the rider. A pallid face stared back, framed by long night-black hair that fell down the man’s chest—but it was the
eyes
that drew Augum’s attention, crackling with miniature lightning.

“Why, it is just a boy!” The rider said back to his comrades. “What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere, boy? You an escaped prisoner? An insurgent?”

Augum heard the creak of leather as the man tightened his grip on the reins. “You better answer me, boy …”

“I’m neither—”

A twig snapped nearby. Augum and the Black Robe whipped their heads in the direction of the sound.

“You lie, boy. You behind the tree—show yourself!”

A very small boy with dimpled cheeks emerged. He wore a wolf pelt and held a miniature bow and arrow in his hands.

“Go away!” the boy said in a squeaky voice, aiming his little bow and arrow at the rider. “Or I’ll shoot!”

The rider’s horse neighed, but the Black Robe only laughed. “So brave for one so young. You shall make a fine commander one day.”

The tiny boy tried to make his face hard but came off looking like a wolf cub.

“Perhaps if you brought that kind of bravery to the academy, you might earn an arm of stripes.” The Black Robe made a show of flexing. The air crunched as his right arm flared with ten rings of crackling lightning. Augum felt an electric current pass through the area. The hair on his entire body stood on end; even the hair on the boy’s wolf pelt stiffened towards the rider.

The boy stood with his mouth open, limply holding his miniature bow and arrow.

“Wow … a lightning warlock! Those rings are amazing …”

The Black Robe burst in a booming laugh and extinguished his rings. “You have spirit, boy. If you trained at the academy, I have no doubt you’d earn your own one day.” He turned his attention back to Augum. “How old are you, son?”

Augum remembered the notice. “Twelve.”

“Twelve? Too bad. Soon as you turn thirteen, you are to report to a constabulary for testing.”

The red-robed rider cantered up. “Commander, everything all right—?”

“Perfectly fine, Lieutenant; we will be moving on now.”

“But sir, should we not investigate the wood? There might be an insurgent village near.”

The Black Robe eyed Augum and the boy. “No, Lieutenant, we do not have the time. They are too young anyway.” He turned his horse and the pair trotted back to the column.

“‘Wow, a lightning warlock!’” mocked a second boy, emerging from behind a nearby tree. He had a pinched face, mottled sandy hair and wore a red robe. A rusty short sword dangled by his side. Accompanying him was a girl with long cinnamon hair wearing a patched emerald robe, clutching a simple wooden staff. Both looked to be Augum’s age.

She swept her hair out of her eyes. “Oh shut it, Robin—he got them to go away, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but did he have to kiss up like that?”

“I did good, better than you would have!” the boy in the wolf pelt shouted.

Augum stood up and brushed snow off his bottom.

The little one’s cheeks puffed out in a smile as he waved with his bow, almost dropping it. “Hi, my name is Leland Goss.”

“Hi, uh … I’m Augum.” He tensed, not sure what to expect. All his interactions with other children had ended badly.

“I’m Bridget Burns,” the cinnamon-haired girl said. She had a pert nose and hazel eyes that closely matched her hair. She nodded at the boy with the pinched face. “And that’s Robin Scarson.”

Robin folded his arms across his chest.

She tilted her head slightly. “We’ve been following you all day, you know.”

Augum raised his brows. “You have?”

“Heh, wasn’t that difficult either,” Robin said. “A blind man could have followed you, walking in the open like that.”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Give it a break, Robin. Why always so cross?”

“Because I hate tending to the two of you babies!” He strode past them to watch the fading column of riders.

Bridget patted Leland on the head. “Don’t worry, you did very well,” adding in a whisper, “see how jealous you made Robin?”

Leland giggled and flashed a dimpled smile.

Bridget’s gaze returned to Augum. “So, Augum, where are you going?”

He flushed, unable to remember the last time a girl actually addressed him by his real name. “Um, to Hangman’s Rock.” He cringed. Any moment now, she would make some comment that gave her true motive away. Yet when he met her eyes, he was surprised to see only concerned warmth.

Robin rejoined the group. “All alone? You on some kind of quest or something?”

“Kind of … just delivering a parcel.”

“Don’t you know that place is haunted? Wait now, show your stripes—” Robin reached for Augum’s wrist, but Bridget caught his arm.

“Robin Scarson, that is nothing short of rude.”

Robin yanked his arm away. “What, going to tattletale to your older brother again?”

“Just ignore him, Augum. He’s been foul ever since we were forced to leave the academy. You don’t have to show your stripes to us.” She flashed Robin a sharp look. “Besides, none of
us
have a stripe yet.”

Augum only gaped.

Robin snorted a malignant laugh, the kind Dap or Garth Penderson unleashed when they thought Augum was being stupid. “He doesn’t even know what we’re talking about!”

Augum felt his skin go hot. “That’s not—” he was about to deny it but stopped himself. Now that Sir Westwood was gone, there was no one left to teach him to be a better person, to prepare him for being a man. Sir Westwood once told him, “Learn to control your emotions, Augum, and you can control the outcome of a confrontation.”

He gave a sidelong glance to Bridget and felt himself cool a little. “Um, I’m hoping to be accepted as an apprentice warlock. The parcel delivery is my last test.”

“So
that’s
what this is all about,” Bridget said. “Then you simply
must
let us accompany you.”

Leland began dancing and singing. “Yay, a quest, a quest … we’re going on a quest!”

Robin raised a hand. “Uh, excuse me, but you know we have to be back by nightfall.”

“What, and leave Augum to do this alone, in this weather—? I think our parents would approve this time. Besides,
you
don’t have to come; Leland and I will accompany him.”

Augum blushed, completely unaccustomed to receiving kindness from someone his age, let alone a girl.

Robin thought about it for a moment before making a dismissive gesture. “Nah, I’ll come. After all, somebody’s got to keep you fools alive.”

A tiny chirping began from Augum’s rucksack. “Oh, I forgot—he must be hungry.” He opened it up as the others leaned in for a closer look.

Bridget’s face melted. “Aww … it’s a wittle birdie. It’s so cute …”

Leland reached out with a grubby paw. “Can I hold it?”

Augum gently enclosed the bird in his hands. “You’d better not; it’s hurt. I’m going to bring it home with me and nurse it back to health.”

Robin hissed, a putrid look on his face. “That bird is broken and all this lovey-dovey dung makes me sick. I’d have just let it be.”

Bridget’s brows crossed. “Of course
you
would have. You disgust me, Robin Scarson.”

“Whatever,
Broken Bridget
.” Robin went to grab his rucksack from behind a tree.

Bridget closed her eyes and sighed.

Augum gave her and Leland some seeds to feed the bird. “Why did he call you that?”

She gave a pained smile. “I once fell from an embankment after trying to reach a stranded baby goat. Broke my leg and collarbone, but I guess it could have been worse. Anyway, Robin and a bunch of his friends found me unconscious and seemed to think it was funny.”

“I don’t think that’s funny at all.”

She fed the bird a seed. “They took their time calling for the healers too. Robin made sure everyone saw first. Wasn’t even him that brought them, but some stranger.”

It was Augum’s turn to give her a pained smile. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

The little creature gave a contented chirp.

“Think he wants to go back inside,” she said.

Augum scooped him up and gently placed him in the rucksack, minding his little wings.

They gathered their things and joined Robin on the Tallows.

“Take your time, no one is waiting,” Robin said with a scowl.

Bridget gave Augum a
see what I have to put up with?
look.

They marched northward in single file, Augum leading the way. Bridget followed, prodding the snow with her staff, emerald robe fluttering in the wind. Leland crunched along after in his little wolf pelt, bow tucked behind his back. Robin ambled in the rear, rusty sword dangling, a sour expression on his face.

As the day wore on, the clouds darkened and a shrill wind picked up.

“We should arrive at the rock before nightfall,” Bridget said. “My father and I passed through there just last month. We were on our way to Antioc for school supplies, but had to turn back when we spotted knights.”

Augum adjusted his rucksack. “Was it the Legion?”

“We think so, they patrol the forest edge. Thankfully it was the Black Guard, if it had been the Red …”

“The Red—?”

“Yeah. Rumor has it you see one you’re not going to live to tell about it. Easy to identify though seeing as they’re named for the color of their armor.”

Augum wondered if the last thing Sir Westwood saw was red armor. “So where do you all live then?”

“Just northwest of Mt. Barrow. We’re a village of refugees from Blackhaven. The community is all parents and youths from the same class, with some relatives and friends of course.”

“So you’re all from the same school?”

“Our parents thought it best to escape together. We ran when the insurrection broke out and all the Legion supporters rallied in the streets. It was total chaos, an awful situation. So sad about the school too, and we just started there. Now it’s in the hands of a bunch of hooligans.” She sighed. “So what about you? Where are you from?”

“I’m kind of from Willowbrook, a village three days’ walk east of here.”

“Kind of—?”

“The Legion burnt it to the ground.” Flames engulfing willows flashed across his mind.

“Is your family all right?”

“I’m an orphan.” That was stupid; he shouldn’t have exposed himself like that.

Bridget’s voice was quiet. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known.” He felt the weight of his disclosure lighten a little. “I don’t know much about warlocks …”

“It’s all right, most people fear or ignore them. A lot of villages pretend they don’t even exist, and some … well, some try to burn them at the stake.”

“Yeah, I thought it was witchery at first …”

“That’s common. So you’re from one of
those
villages then?”

“Wish I wasn’t. So, um, about stripes—why do you need them?” He kept his voice low, hoping these weren’t stupid questions.

“Stripes have been around for thousands of years, dating back to the Founding. They’re a major point of honor for warlocks. They not only serve as a warning, but tradition says it’s proper to show them in battle. A high-degree warlock would generally not duel a low-degree one. That would be beneath her.”

“How do you get them?”

“You have to be enrolled in an arcane school or become the apprentice of a warlock. You also have to choose an element, though many say the element chooses you. I suppose you can learn wild too—without ever meeting another warlock that is. It’s rare but does happen.”