Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (14 page)

“I suspect Harvus stashed our rucksack and the Agonex at the inn,” Augum blurted. “Must be where he’s gone now.”

“And I think I might have this counterspell almost figured out,” Bridget said, quickly skipping to the appropriate page in the blue book. “The tricky part is obviously the pronunciation, but I’ll work on that.”

“By the way,” Leera said, “can we not cast Object Track on a pinecone and drop it in Harvus’ pocket? Then we know when he’s near and stuff.”

“He probably knows the 11th degree spell
Reveal
,” Bridget replied. “Which means if he casts it on himself, he’d be able to discover any enchantments.”

“Wait, how do you know he’s gotten to his 11th degree?” Augum asked.

They paused.

“Come to think of it,” Bridget said slowly, “I’ve never seen him light up his rings.”

“Well he’s got to be at least 9th because he can teleport,” Leera said.

Augum glanced over his shoulder. “We need to find out what degree he is for sure. If he doesn’t know Reveal, we can track his movements.”

“Psst—he’s coming!” Jengo called, and everyone immediately scattered.

Harvus soon strolled into the valley holding the Orb of Orion and the burnt yellow book the trio had found in Evergray tower. He found them sitting in their places, with Bridget reading the blue book, brows crossed in deep in concentration. He gave a brief nod and returned to the log bench, where he began flipping through the yellow book.

“Mr. Harvus, sir, what are you doing?” Leera asked.

“Trying to find another way to contact Mrs. Stone, child. Now sit and be quiet.”

Augum shared a skeptical look with Leera. Harvus was definitely up to something. But what?

The sky steadily darkened to a deep shade of violet. Bridget diligently studied the arcaneology book, the others secretly casting spells behind Harvus’ back. Augum’s stomach began to growl just as someone came down the valley bank. Harvus closed the yellow book and stood up with an impatient sigh.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Okeke?”

Mr. Okeke’s gaze was sharp. “Mr. Harvus, are you aware the feast has started?”

“I am.”

“And may I ask why my son and his friends are not in attendance?”

“You may, Mr. Okeke, but the answer should not surprise you. Simply put, they have not comported themselves with enough skill. As you can see, they are studying at the moment.”

Mr. Okeke swept them all with his bloodshot eyes. “All I see are youths sitting in detention.”

“It is all part of their training.”

“I cannot see how punishing them with boredom can be considered training—”

“Nor would I expect you to, seeing as you are an
Ordinary
. Now will that be all, Mr. Okeke? I have work to do.”

“That will not be all. I am afraid I must insist on them being allowed to attend the feast.”

“They are under my jurisdiction, Mr. Okeke, and I decline your … ‘request’.”

Mr. Okeke’s jaw squared. “Although Mrs. Stone has left Augum, Bridget and Leera in your care, my son is still my son. Stand up, Jengo,” he said without taking his eyes off Harvus.

“If you take my pupil, he will not be allowed to benefit from my services again.”

“As far as I can tell, your services are hardly worth paying for, and when Mrs. Stone returns, I shall have a word with her on the matter.”

“
If
she returns, I am sure you will.”

“Father, please, I want to keep studying—”

“Hush, Jengo, and obey your father. Your betrothed is waiting. Come.”

Mention of Priya spurred Jengo to stand. He cast the trio a forlorn look before wordlessly departing with his father, head bowed, an oddly mismatched pair height-wise.

Harvus watched them go. “Good riddance,” he muttered, returning to studying the yellow book.

Bridget raised a meek hand. “Sir, is there something we can do to
earn
going to the feast?”

Harvus turned his gaze upon her. He strolled near. “So that you may desecrate yourselves again? I think
not
.” He reached out. “The book please, Bridget.”

“But sir, I haven’t finished—”

“Now, young lady.”

Bridget handed over the book, though as soon as he turned away from her, she began quietly practicing a spell incantation. Augum suspected it was the counterspell extension to Object Alarm, and wished her success.

Later, as the first stars began twinkling, another figure emerged from the forest.

Harvus, who had been busy flipping through both books while consulting the orb, sighed and stood. “Mr. Goss, what a pleasant surprise,” he said in a tone suggesting it was anything but.

Mr. Goss ambled over, carrying a basket full of goodies—Augum could see a couple pastries and two bottles of wine peeking out.

After a quick glance at the trio, Mr. Goss smiled. “Mr. Harvus, you have been working very hard, and because you have not had the time to attend a most glorious feast, I decided to bring it to you.”

Harvus’ face was blank. “How thoughtful of you.”

Mr. Goss placed the basket on one of the logs and began taking items out. “Let me see what we have here. Ah, yes, a bowl of fine Solian poached and caramelized pear; hot apple tart; honey-glazed cinnamon sticks; cream-dipped strawberries; and assorted Solian pastries. All very difficult to make and acquire in these hard times. As for wine, we have a bottle of stream-chilled Dramask spiced white and a bottle of Titan red.”

Mr. Harvus’ brows had been traveling ever higher up his pasty forehead with each description, until he licked his lips and picked up the bottle of white wine. “If there was one thing the Tiberrans mastered, it is spiced white.”

“And lastly—” Mr. Goss raised a linen-wrapped parcel and dangled it before Harvus’ nose. “We have the finest Canterran chocolate. A most … difficult acquisition.”

Mr. Harvus’ mouth parted slightly before he seemed to catch himself. He put the bottle of white back into the basket. “I really ought not to partake, Mr. Goss, there is much work to be done.” His eyes flicked to the Orb of Orion.

“Nonsense, Mr. Harvus, you have worked too hard and deserve a break. Just one drink. Please. Consider it a special occasion.” Mr. Goss uncorked the white wine with a pop. “The bottle is now open. Surely we cannot let such a fine wine go to waste, especially since Tiberran wine is going to become quite the rare and valuable commodity now that Dramask has fallen.”

Mr. Harvus’ gaze wandered to the bottle. “Valuable, you say? I suppose one glass cannot do any harm, though I must confess it has been some time.”

Mr. Goss’ face lit up and he immediately produced two crystal goblets, handing one to Harvus. “The finest hand-cut crystal, courtesy of the Harouns.” Mr. Goss began pouring liberally.

“That is quite enough, thank you,” Mr. Harvus said, but Mr. Goss filled the goblet more than halfway before ceasing.

“I really ought to get back to work. The children need much training—”

Mr. Goss waved nonchalantly. “The brats can wait.” He raised his goblet. “Cheers.”

Mr. Harvus’ brows rose in surprise, while the trio exchanged curious glances. Mr. Goss never spoke that way. What was he up to?

Harvus raised his goblet slightly and took a sip. As soon as he swallowed, his face relaxed. “That is … that is quite refreshing, I must say. Delectable, even.”

“It is, is it not?” Mr. Goss took a seat, offering Harvus the bowl of sugared pears.

Harvus, holding the stem of the goblet with two dainty fingers, took another sip of wine and helped himself to the bowl.

Mr. Goss glanced around uncertainly at the trio, as if forming his thoughts. “The young can be a touch lazy occasionally, can they not?”

“Oh, you have no idea, Mr. Goss. I am aghast that our future lies in the hands of these lethargic, inattentive miscreants.” Harvus swallowed a pear slice whole. “Only discipline and solid training will rectify their errant ways.” He took a third, longer swallow. His cheeks developed a rosy hue. “You know, I have not tasted a white in … well, in too long, if I may say so. I do believe, Mr. Goss, that an occasional glass of wine is said to be good for one’s health.”

Mr. Goss took a tiny sip. “The drink of the gods, as they say in Canterra.”

“Yes, they do, they certainly do indeed. Speaking of which, let us pour to the earth in acknowledgment of our humility before the Unnameables.” Harvus poured the last of his wine into the soil.

Mr. Goss hesitated but joined in. “To the gods,” he said in a somber voice, upending his goblet.

The pair sat in silence a moment while the trio looked on with slack faces.

“The gods are merciful,” Mr. Goss said at last. “ ‘For thine own sins, thy blessed believers’—”

“—‘shall see thy divine mercy’,” Mr. Harvus finished, looking at Mr. Goss as if seeing him for the first time. “I did not know you were a follower of the faith, Mr. Goss.”

“I confess it has been some time, but my father was Canterran and observed the rituals. I only wish he included me more.”

“I certainly miss the tenday services,” Harvus said wistfully.

Mr. Goss carefully refilled Harvus’ goblet. “I wish I had the opportunity to have gone.”

Harvus gazed skyward, seemingly unaware of his goblet being refilled. “Solians really are heathens. One day I shall spread the word of the gods to this godless kingdom.” He glanced down at his goblet. For a moment, Augum though he was going to upend it again. Instead, he turned in his seat excitedly, taking a sip. “But I shall do it in a way that includes warlocks—”

“—of course.” Mr. Goss was nodding along and smiling while pouring himself another glass. “Everyone shall have a chance to learn the true path—”

“—the
only
path.”

The pair of them chuckled, Harvus looking heavenward with dreamy eyes. “I am going to build my own monastery one day, Albert, you mark my words.”

“That is quite an expensive proposition, Leopold. And in these times, with such grave danger from the Legion—”

Harvus’ face soured. “Yes, yes indeed, that will have to be rectified. First, the money, but that should not be entirely too difficult.” His eyes flicked to the Orb of Orion, and in that moment, Augum knew Harvus’ ambition—he was going to sell the orb, and maybe the Agonex too. The artifacts, to the right buyer, would be invaluable. Something was obviously stopping him from having done it already—but what?

Harvus took a liberal sip and helped himself to a strawberry. “I have to tell you, Albert, I came from nothing—less than nothing even. When my parents died of the necrotic plague—may the gods bless their souls—I saw it as a sign. They spared me. I was a beggar, you know, even …” His voice lowered, but Augum nonetheless caught the word “thief” escape his lips.

Now Augum was convinced the man had stolen that golden flatware.

Mr. Goss gasped. “Oh my, that must have been awfully difficult.”

“It was … contemptible. I was captured by bandits and beaten cruelly … enslaved, I dare say.” He whispered the last part. “I got to know their ways all too well. But I persevered, learning to trade services with them … bartering even. One might say I was … quite observant.” His voice developed a momentary twang. “I reckon I could always return to their midst and thrive if I ever needed to.” He finished his goblet in one gulp. “Now that I am a force not to be trifled with, that is. They would respect me. They would have to, of course,” and he chortled.

Mr. Goss chuckled supportively while refilling his glass. “Do go on, Leopold, dear me, do go on, my poor man.”

Harvus watched the glass fill greedily. “I was a bright warlock, you know. Truly possessed the gift. After living a bandit life, I begged and sold myself to the lowest of masters, secretly saving enough for a mentor. But the gods were not done with teaching me humility, Albert. My mentor turned out to be a cruel, selfish and uncaring man. Can you fathom what his favorite punishment was?”

“My word, I can scarcely guess, Leopold.”

“He enjoyed sticking my face into manure.” Harvus carefully adjusted his hairpiece while nodding. “Manure, do you believe that? What kind of sick man sticks a fifteen-year-old’s head into manure, all for mispronouncing a spell?”

The shock on Mr. Goss’ face was genuine. “That is a reprehensible and revolting thing to do! Tell me he did not get away with it—”

“I am afraid he did get away with it … for years.” Harvus suddenly smiled, a gesture that looked unpracticed and awkward. “But I got him in the end, Albert, I got him in the end. Once my studies with him had completed, I sent an anonymous note to the witch hunters.”

“You did—?”

Harvus took a sip, smiling throughout. “One of the highest pleasures in life, Albert, is seeing your greatest foe’s feet helplessly kick at the air as he dangles on the end of a noose.”

Mr. Goss paled a little. “I … I am sure it was an important day for you.”

“That it was, oh, that it was indeed. A sweet, sweet day. I fled of course, leaving my home forever. I truly became a man then. With my diligent attention to academic arcane detail, I ascended the degrees, and I ascend still.” Harvus’ eyes sparkled proudly as he took a sip. “I have yet to hit my ceiling.”

“Really? Now that is very impressive, Leopold, very impressive indeed. I confess I have no arcane talent whatsoever. But you, you must be, what, on your sixth degree by now?”

Harvus cackled. “Oh, heavens no, my dear man, heavens no. I have earned my 9th degree.”

Augum instantly shared an important look with the girls—Harvus was only 9th degree, and therefore probably did not know the 11th degree spell Reveal! This meant they could enchant a piece of his clothing with Object Track without him knowing! Or even his hairpiece—! The idea of it almost made Augum burst with laughter.

Mr. Goss’ eyes flicked to the trio as if in acknowledgment of this fact, and it was then Augum knew that Jengo must have talked to Mr. Goss.

“That is very impressive,” Mr. Goss said.

“Is it not?” Harvus replied while helping himself to a piece of chocolate. “I pride myself on having what few have achieved. I
am
somebody. I am even employed by the most powerful living archmage.”

“Mrs. Stone is a legend.”