Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (23 page)

Mutterings circled the table.

“That’s not all,” Augum said. “The entire army is undead.”

The table immediately broke out into argumentative chatter. Ms. Singh pointed at the ceiling with one hand while gesticulating accusingly at the assembled throng with the other. Mrs. Haroun shook her head and loudly complained about the devilry of it all. Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke exchanged quiet and quick words on what to do next. Mr. Haroun and Constable Clouds sat back with a sigh. Malaika stared intently at Augum.

“I thought Bahbell was a myth,” Charissa said.

“I am afraid, young lady,” Constable Clouds replied, adjusting his great girth in his chair so he may see her, “that it is quite real. The Legion revealed its existence to the public in yesterday’s Blackhaven Herald. I confess, however, that I have known of its existence through my superiors for some time now.”

“We are fortunate to have you on our side, Constable,” Mr. Haroun said. “You are an invaluable asset to the Resistance.”

Resistance indeed, Augum thought morosely. It made him nervous. One word of it to the Legion—one loose, gossipy word from anyone in the entire town—and the place burns.

“Where is this legendary Mrs. Stone?” Charissa pressed. “Why can’t she just kill Lord Sparkstone?”

“She already tried,” Augum replied.

“The Battle at Hangman’s Rock,” Bridget added.

“And because he’s got six scions and she only one,” Leera said, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Because he’s got Dreadnoughts on his side making weapons and armor day and night. Because he’s got an army and she doesn’t. Because he’s in charge of an entire kingdom and she isn’t. Because he’s a necromancer. Because, because,
because
.” Her lip curled at Charissa and Malaika. “Not to mention he’s got warlocks who track her day and night with some witch artifact, so she’s always on the move. And somehow she’s supposed to train us at the same time. It’s not easy—”

“—enough, Lee,” Bridget said, placing a gentle hand on her arm. She sighed and turned back to the table. “Thing is, we haven’t heard from Mrs. Stone in days.”

Mr. Haroun’s face was grave. “So you are saying it could very well be just us.”

Bridget hesitated, but surrendered a slight nod, enough to cast a pall over the table.

Constable Clouds accepted a glass of wine from Clayborne. “Anna Atticus Stone is a symbol of resistance to many out there. An important symbol.” His eyes travelled the room, landing on the trio. “As are these three young people before us. Anna Stone has entrusted them with a quest. We must do everything we can to carry out her wishes.”

Many at the table nodded.

“But without arcane support,” Mr. Haroun countered, “it would be difficult for them to access the ancient library.”

“Father can help,” Devon said. “Can’t you, Father?”

Clouds idly rubbed his triple chins. “What about sending them by horse with one of my men acting as their guide? For disguise, I may be able to acquire necrophyte robes through a formal requisition. Of course, a believable story would have to be contrived for the trip—though I imagine three necrophytes visiting the ancient library would not raise much concern.” He raised his head. “It will all take time to organize, but it can be done.”

Devon raised his palms dramatically. “Wait, the Herald said there’s a warlock tournament!”

Haylee gave a brief nod. “The Antioc Classic.” She noticed some blank faces. “It’s a yearly warlock tournament, one I would have liked to participate in. As it is …” She glanced disdainfully at her cane.

“An ideal time to blend in then,” Constable Clouds said.

Mr. Goss cleared his throat. “Forgive me, but, would the journey not be easier with the help of a high-degree warlock?”

“All warlocks who have not fled have been forced to serve the Legion,” Clouds replied. “However, I am sure a small handful would risk everything to secretly help the Resistance. In fact, some time ago a colleague stationed in Antioc told me about just such a warlock, a woman by the name of Miralda Jenkins—”

The trio exchanged a sudden look.

“Constable,” Bridget began in somber tones, “Ms. Jenkins died helping us at the Battle at Hangman’s Rock.”

Clouds slowly exhaled. “I see.”

Clayborne brought two plates out, his children in tow with more. He placed one before Mr. Haroun and the other before Augum, who stared dumbfounded at a single armored oval shell.

Leera leaned over, whispering, “What the hell is that?”

Augum, half expecting the object to sprout legs and scuttle away, was wondering the same thing.

Malaika giggled. “That’s an oyster, Augum. They’re really quite divine.”

“We consider it an honor to shuck one’s own oyster,” Charissa threw in, picking hers up.

“Indeed,” Malaika added. “It’s just a shame we get so few. Keeping them cold and fresh is a tremendous challenge. Mother even had to pay for arcane delivery.”

“Arcane delivery?” Augum asked. “How does that work?”

Malaika flushed from his gaze. “Oh, but you’re a warlock, Augum, how do you not know this?” When he gave no response, she quickly continued. “All right, so you send a letter to an arcane delivery service and a warlock shows up. You tell him what you want, pay him, and he delivers your letter or fetches something for you. That kind of thing. Mind you it’s very expensive, really only for the well-off. Of course, couriers are very difficult to acquire these days. Mother had to pay a fortune for the one that delivered these oysters.”

“You mean bribe,” Leera muttered under her breath.

Charissa leaned near Malaika. “I don’t think they know anything about deliveries, they’re all too poor.”

Leera cocked her head and raised a finger. Charissa’s oyster began moving toward her. The girl immediately recoiled with a squeal, nearly falling out of her chair.

“Young lady,” Mr. Haroun said with the faintest smile, “please, no arcanery at the table.”

“Sorry,” Leera muttered.

“Well I never,” Charissa said to Malaika, hand clutching her chest. “What an awful thing to do. She’s utterly uncivilized.”

“Really doesn’t deserve him,” Malaika said.

Leera’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you just say?”

“Ladies, please,” Mr. Haroun said. “Daughter, mind your tongue, you forget yourself.”

Malaika dropped her gaze. “Father.”

“Wait, about that arcane delivery service,” Augum cut in, not wanting to let the matter go. “How large can the object be?”

“As large as you like,” Malaika replied.

“That might work,” Bridget suddenly said, catching Leera’s hand before she could cast any more arcanery.

Malaika raised her brows. “What might work?”

Bridget was staring at Augum. “It’ll have to be a sealed crate of some kind.”

“A large donation to the library, perhaps,” Mr. Haroun said with a smile.

“Donation? What are you going on about, Father? Has everyone lost their minds?”

Haylee suddenly sat up straighter. “It should ideally be something the Legion confiscates.”

“Something heavy,” Devon threw in, grinning excitedly, “like books!”

“Yes, of course!” Constable Clouds said, catching wind of their conversation. “I can even arrange for it to be shipped officially by the Legion, ensuring there will be no tampering of the box.”

“Will someone please explain to me what is going on?” Mrs. Haroun asked from across the table.

Mr. Haroun leaned forward. “Selma, my dear, we are going to arcanely deliver our heroic trio in a box.”

Ebb and Flow

Augum finally got around to trying the oyster, something he found revolting but pretended to like. Leera, on the other hand, promptly declared it “armored snot,” and shoved it away, drawing condemning whispers from Malaika and Charissa. Haylee grudgingly taught Chaska how to properly eat his, though he showed nothing but discomfort with the many protocols required in fine dining. Ms. Singh flung her oyster at the elder servant, declaring it too oval. Before the entire household came down on her for throwing yet another dish, Mr. Okeke diplomatically offered to take her home, which she—much to everyone’s surprise and relief—accepted. She tottered out with him, grumbling all the while about poor food and worse service.

As the second round was served (brace of quail, spiced leek broth, and some kind of roasted small fish), the table was alight with ideas on just how to accomplish the task of mailing the trio using a Legion warlock courier. Everyone eagerly offered an opinion on the daring plot, though not all were supportive—Mrs. Haroun, sitting regally at the far end, repeatedly stated how foolish she thought such an endeavor was to anyone who would listen.

“Where do you think we can find a map?” Augum asked Leera amongst the gaggle of conversation.

Leera, who had her arms crossed and was glaring at Malaika, shrugged.

“Maybe I can be of service.” Malaika, ignoring Leera, snapped her fingers. “Annelise, fetch my book on the kingdoms. You know the one.”

Annelise curtsied. “My lady.” She disappeared, soon returning burdened with a large leather-bound tome.

Malaika took it from her and opened it, receiving help with the oversized pages from Charissa. “There it is.” She removed a folded parchment and handed it to Annelise. “Deliver this to Augum Stone.” Malaika gave him a fawning smile.

Annelise placed the parchment on a silver tray, tromped around the table, and extended the tray to Augum with downcast eyes. “My lord. From Miss Haroun.”

Leera snatched the parchment from the tray, promptly unfolding it.

“How rude,” Charissa said to Malaika, but Malaika merely held her head high, a slight smile curving her lips.

Leera grimaced, as if hoping she would have found something other than what was there. “It’s a map,” she said, handing it to Augum.

“A map, who would have dared to think,” Malaika sang to Charissa. She then gave Annelise a sharp look and the girl promptly curtsied and walked off, taking the book with her.

“Uh, thank you, Annelise,” Augum said, flattening the parchment on the table. The girls were playing mind games, that much he could tell. He hated mind games. He pored over the map of Sithesia, which depicted Solia and the surrounding kingdoms.

Malaika gently bit her lip. “What are you looking for, Augum?”

“Velmara,” he replied absently.

“Is that some kind of lake, Mal?” Charissa whispered to Malaika.

“It is a town in south western Tiberra,” Mr. Haroun said. “But what is the significance of it, Augum?”

Augum soon found it on the map. “That’s where Nana lost the pearl, Mr. Haroun, which she uses to communicate with us.”

Bridget leaned over to glance at it. “Why would she lose it there?”

“Velmara is a strategic location,” Constable Clouds said. “It is situated at the meeting of three rivers, allowing for the easy movement of troops. The Legion uses it as an eastern base camp. Perhaps she was watching them, gathering information.”

“Could be an undead spawning ground,” Haylee said. The table fell silent.

“And how would you know this?” Malaika asked.

Haylee raised an eyebrow. “Because I was once a necrophyte—”

There were some mutterings around the table, most notably from Mrs. Haroun, who was heard to hiss, “How demonic!”

Constable Clouds winced at his injured shoulder as he leaned forward. “Perhaps you can help me fill out my knowledge of the necrophyte ways, young lady.”

Haylee gaped a moment. “I … I would be honored.”

“Good, because I could certainly use it.”

“What is a necromancer spawning ground?” Devon asked.

Haylee hesitated. “Perhaps it should not be discussed at the table.”

“Please go on, dear child,” Mr. Haroun said, “these are dark times needing the light of honesty.”

Mrs. Haroun opened her mouth to protest only to be silenced by a hard look from her husband.

Haylee chose her words carefully. “Very well. Uh, a spawning ground is usually a cemetery.”

There were gasps from the table.

“Well that certainly leaves little to the imagination,” Malaika muttered to her friend.

“How ghastly,” Mrs. Haroun whispered.

Augum held up the map. “May we have this?”

Malaika flashed Leera a smug smile. “Of course you may.”

Augum folded and slipped the map into his robe. “Thanks.”

Malaika turned to her friend, the two exchanging a blushing look. Meanwhile, Leera smoldered. Augum was just about to reach for her hand when Gabe appeared between him and Leera, offering something yellow on a silver platter.

“My lady, fine Canterran lemon tart garnished with a sprig of mint and powdered sugar. I made it myself.” His voice, so soft yet controlled, infuriated Augum.

Leera’s eyes briefly flicked to Augum. “Why, thank you, Gabe.”

Augum made a show of leaning over, making the same face Leera made when she spotted the oyster. “Is something growing out of that?”

“Looks sweet.” Leera snatched the tart, scarfing it down in one gulp, promptly choking on it. Malaika and Charissa broke into chuckles, hands hiding their mouths. Augum, for his part, cleared his throat, refusing to look at her. It was hard to hold back a smug grin.

“I’ll fetch you some water, my lady,” Gabe quickly said, gliding away. Augum tried not to glare at him as he gracefully poured a glass of water from a fine crystal pitcher. He tried not to watch, out of the corner of his eye, as Gabe returned to the table with a doting, smarmy smile. He also tried not to notice how Gabe made sure to place the water just so, and how he effortlessly rearranged Leera’s plate and flatware to appear more tidy, and how he—he finally had to look away if he was to prevent himself from suddenly throttling the boy.

“Augum?” It was Malaika, and she was smiling pleasantly. “Would you like me to have Annelise prepare you my favorite sweet?”

“No—! I mean, no, thank you.” Stupid mind games.

Malaika’s face fell, but she braved a smile. “As you wish.”

Soon a third course was brought out consisting of venison, hot buttered bread, and sweet potatoes.

“Finally, some real food,” Leera said. Much to Bridget’s chagrin, she dug in without waiting for the host.

Conversation ebbed and flowed. Devon managed to coax the story of what happened at the bandit camp from Bridget, though she only shared certain details, omitting the gruesome parts. Nonetheless, the table hung on to her every word. Soon Mr. Goss was sharing stories about their training. Before Augum knew it, the trio were once again the center of discussion, with tales about their supposed heroics gathering momentum like a boulder tumbling down a mountain, supposed heroics that sickened him with every fanciful retelling.