Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (47 page)

“I say we do it,” Leera said. She tapped the table. “And I say we do it now.”

The trio exchanged excited looks before scrambling out of the Supper Hall.

* * *

“Hear ye, hear ye! The ninth bell tolls! The library is closing!”

“There’s the crier,” Leera whispered from the entrance hall after Bridget had sent a message by courier up to their room.

“What did you say?” Augum asked Bridget, worried about discretion.

“For them not to worry and we’ll see them soon, that’s all.”

They were watching the portal room from behind a pillar, blending in with the thinning crowd of people departing the library.

“The crier’s entering the portal room,” Leera said. “Come on.”

“Hey, you’re The Hood, ain’t you?” said a boy their age wearing a necrophyte robe. He extended his hand to Augum, who was forced to shake it quickly. “I could tell it’s you because no one else wears their hood up. I think it’s a neat visual, to be honest, and definitely an appropriate nickname. I saw your fight! How did you get so good so quickly? Advanced training methods or something? Oh and when are you dueling tomorrow?”

Augum was trying to keep the crier in view. “Uh, don’t remember.”

“There’s been a bit of talk about you, you know.” The boy was attempting to not-so-subtly peek into Augum’s hood, but Augum kept looking away. “Got some real talent.”

“Great,” Augum replied absently, seeing the crier disappear into the portal room. “Nice to meet you, but will you excuse us?”

“Oh. Sure, I guess. Nice to meet—” but Augum had already hurried away with Bridget and Leera, blending in with the crowd.

They passed the large double doors into the portal room as people exited one portal after another, nearly all of them attendants, necrophytes, or Legionnaires. Some of the attendants and necrophytes activated the portal to the General Quarters, disappearing a moment later in a whoosh of wind. The whole thing seemed chaotic yet ordered and routine at the same time. The crier appeared from one portal and smoothly summoned and ducked into another, spreading the news of the ninth bell and the closure of the library. But Augum realized something profound—there was little chance they were going to get by the perceptive Watts without her recognizing them, not in this open room.

He could think of only one thing he could do. “Psst, you two trust me?” he whispered quickly.

Bridget’s face turned serious. “Of course, but—”

“Then just go along with it, all right?” He spent a few moments taking in the details of the room—the smooth and polished walls; the sound of feet padding along the floor; the semi-predictable patterns people wove as they meandered tiredly from one portal to the next. He imagined some going to a tavern, and some to their families. He recalled dancing rhythmically with Mya in time to the shadow of a pillar …

The girls watched him with anxious unease.

Augum lowered his head, timing the spell words to when a group of guards loudly chortled about some woman they had met.

“Centeratoraye xao xen.”

Everything instantly sharpened—the hooded lanterns, hiding a dim but warm glow behind iron bars, seemed more angular, if not a bit more sinister; the arched ceiling, with its massive ancient beams, looked like a spiky spider web, ready to ensnare the hapless victims below.

Augum formulated a quick plan on how he was going to deal with the side effects of Centarro, then turned his attention to the crowd, watching their faces from within his dark hood. Watching and learning. At the opportune moment, he suddenly reached out and yanked Bridget and Leera’s hoods, much to their surprise. He tussled their hair before removing his own hood, turning his head strategically at all the right moments away from prying eyes, making it as difficult as possible for anyone to recognize him.

He waited until the portal beside the one to the Hall of Ancestry was not active. “This way,” he said, guiding Bridget and Leera to it, where he bid them stand and wait.

“Don’t look anyone in the eyes,” he whispered, tussling his own hair a bit more.

“Aug, what are we doing here,” Leera whispered. “It’s so exposed—”

“Just wait.”

They did not have to wait long—Secretary Watts soon appeared, heaving her bell-shaped body through the portal with a sigh. Her eyes wandered lazily over Bridget and Leera, but she did not seem to recognize them. Augum used that moment to slowly wipe his forehead as if he was really tired. He tapped his foot on the polished floor, sending the signal he was waiting for people to get out of the way—and he knew, instinctively, that Watts had seen these subtle but small gestures, that they had registered in her frog brain as things to dismiss.

Her two Legion guards followed her. Amongst the hustle and bustle, Augum picked up one muttering to the other, “Hate it when it tries to attack us, what a pain.”

“Thing is speedier than lightning,” replied the second Legionnaire. “At least she holds it at bay.” It was then Augum realized they left some other kind of guard behind, but what? He watched Secretary Watts waddle off and realized it had to be a walker. It’s the only necromantic thing that was that fast.

“Prepare yourselves,” he said to Bridget and Leera. “There’s a walker in there.”

The girls exchanged looks.

Bridget swallowed. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Just don’t kill it,” he cut in. “And watch out for me. Ready?” The spell was starting to fade. They had to go
now
. Just as the girls nodded, he placed his hand on the portal engraving. “Shyneo.” His palm crackled to life. “Augustus Westwood.” The portal activated with a burst of wind, but his awareness was dimming; he could no longer sense if people were looking at him. He yanked on Bridget and Leera’s sleeves to quickly go first, and the three of them disappeared into the portal.

Hall of Ancestry

There was a clacking hiss in the near total darkness, lit only by Augum’s waning blue palm light. It was the sole warning they received before a thin skeleton wearing ragged armor and wielding a rusty sword launched a rabid attack.

“BAKA!” Leera shouted, violently shoving the thing into a fragile statue that immediately shattered.

Augum scrambled to get out of the way, trying to make sense of what was going on. Centarro was fading fast and everything was fogging up. “Don’t kill it,” he remembered to remind them, but he forgot why that had been important. He forgot his plan, too, of what he was supposed to do once the powerful side effects of Centarro kicked in. His palm blinked out, but Bridget cast hers, enveloping the ancient room in a greenish glow.

“How are we supposed to
not
kill it!” Leera yelled as the skeleton scrambled to stand amidst the rubble of the statue.

“Disablo!” Bridget said, pointing at the walker’s sword. It twirled away, clanging to the stone ground. The sound hurt Augum’s ears. He covered them, wincing, unable to think past the heavy fog that had descended on his reptile brain.

There were shots and cries and a lot of noise. At one point he was shoved, yet his childlike mind focused on simple things—the green light that faded in and out, eventually replaced by a watery one; the carved marble hoof of a horse; the dusty and cold stone floor.

When Augum finally started coming to, it was to the sound of the girls desperately calling for him. He was lying on the floor gazing at the statue of a horse.

“Get up, Aug, help us! We can’t hold it much longer!” one of the girls was shouting, but he had a hard time figuring out what all the fuss was about—until he looked behind him and saw Bridget and Leera sitting on a block of stone, underneath which was the walker, flailing. One of its arms was tangled in a short vine attached to Bridget’s glowing hand.

Augum scrambled to his feet. “What the—”

“Help, Aug!” Leera screamed, voice echoing throughout the hall. She had a bleeding cut on her forehead. Both girls were drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

Augum jolted into action—he quickly used every ounce of his telekinetic arcane strength to lift another nearby block of stone, which had been some kind of prop in a diorama, and strategically set it on top of the rest of the walker. The girls immediately rolled off, panting on the floor, their spells extinguished.

“Thank the Unnameables …” Bridget gasped.

“Thank the Fates too,” Leera added, equally out of breath.

Jaw clacking, the walker rabidly struggled under the stone blocks, but was no match for their combined weight.

Augum stumbled over to the girls. “You two all right?”

They nodded.

He snagged a cloth from Secretary Watts’ desk and dabbed at Leera’s forehead. “Just a minor cut,” he said, tenderly holding her head in his lap.

“Thanks for the help, doorknob,” she said with a wry grin.

“But I was busy with the side effects of—”

“—I was jesting, silly.”

Bridget eventually sat up. “We’ll have to get back before the library opens to release that thing.”

Augum placed his hands over the shattered remains of the delicate statue the walker had been shoved into. “Apreyo.” The pieces reformed with a final glow. “Good as new.” He then went on to repair other things damaged in the struggle. After finishing, he eyed the walker. “Let’s find that tomb, we’ll worry about this thing later.”

Hand lit, he led the way past the dark and silent statues, dioramas, and old paintings. High above them, stained glass windows featuring historical scenes rattled in the wind and rain, occasionally flashing with lightning that would light up the entire room. Distant thunder shook the windows, a noise that combined oddly with the desperate scratching of the walker.

“Spookier without the braziers lit,” Leera whispered from the rear.

They cautiously found their way to the tomb. It was beside Occulus and the incomplete statue of Augum’s father, the Lord of the Legion, who stood proud and regal and strong. Even though the stance was exaggerated, Augum thought the statue a little too life-like, almost expecting it to move and attack them. He recognized the sleek contours of the sword by his father’s side—Burden’s Edge. How he missed that awesome Dreadnought blade.

Bridget, who was studying the founder’s tomb, began reading the inscription. “ ‘Here lieth Theodorus Winkfield, founder of thy Antioc Library. In his hand he doth hold ye Sword of Knowledge.’ ”

They glanced up at the statue behind the tomb. It was of a bald, stern-faced man wearing a scholar’s robe. Much like the attendants they had seen, there was a gargoyle emblem over his breast. His hand was raised, except where there should have been a sword, there was only empty air.

“Someone stole the Sword of Knowledge,” Leera said in a deadpan manner. “Why am I not surprised …” She hovered a hand over the stone sarcophagus. “Un vun deo,” but soon dropped it. “Nothing.”

Augum inspected the sides of the tomb, but found no gaps—by all appearances it looked like a solidly carved and unmovable block of stone.

“Hmm,” Bridget toned, slowly tapping a thumb against her chin.

Leera crouched before the engraved words, smoothing her necrophyte robe beneath her. “What did you say about the Sword of Knowledge again?’

“That it represents light.”

Leera glanced between the outstretched arm and Bridget. “Light, huh? Could it be as simple as—”

“—a candle?” Bridget finished, grinning. “Brilliant.”

“Like I said, I have my moments.”

Augum gestured between them. “You two have, like, some kind of mind meld or something.”

Leera flashed him a deviant smile. “You can call us The Sparrow Sisters.”

“Witches to the core,” Augum said, shaking his head but smiling. “Hey, wait, there was a candle on Watts’ desk, wasn’t there?” and they hurried back to retrieve it, finding a flint and steel in the drawer. They lit the candle, put back the flint and steel, and strode off, hardly paying attention to the struggling walker.

“Now what?” Leera asked after returning to the tomb.

“This, I think.” Augum let go of the candle, using Telekinesis to float it up into the founder’s outstretched fist. As soon as the candle settled, the tomb began to grind open, blowing a cold draft that smelled of ancient mildew. The trio instinctively stepped back.

“Cool,” Augum whispered.

Leera glanced over at him and cracked a grin. “There you go.”

Augum brightened his palm, revealing a tight-fitting spiral staircase. He hopped down, leading with outstretched palm.

“Wait.” Bridget reached behind her and telekinetically removed the candle. She snatched it out of the air as the tomb began to close. The draft disappeared as it shut completely. She placed the candle on the steps, spotting a small gargoyle engraved into the stone wall, which she nodded at. “That must be how we open it if we come back this way.”

The trio exchanged an adventurous look and continued down the steps, lit only by their palms.

“Reminds me of Castle Arinthian,” Augum whispered, blood quickened by the excitement of solving such a complicated riddle, and being rewarded with this ancient secret passage. Not even the Legion had found it!

The spiral went on for what felt like ten floors. By the end of it, Augum was a little dizzy and had to sit down in a small cellar-like room. The walls were cracked masonry—ancient fitted stone, on which grew mildew and rugged moss. The floors were uneven flagstone. At the fore of the room was an iron-bound wooden door. A gargoyle crest was burned into it.

“No torch sconces,” Leera remarked.

Bridget approached the large door. “I think they expect you to light your own way, seeing as this place is intended for warlocks. There’s no handle here either.” She placed her lit palm against the gargoyle but nothing happened.

Leera blew at a carved wooden plaque, generating a small cloud of dust. “Hey, we know this word—‘Entarro’.”

Bridget placed her hand over the gargoyle again. “Be ready, you two, we don’t know what’s behind here.”

Augum got up off the steps and drew close, ready to cast his First Offensive.

Bridget locked eyes with each of them before placing her lit palm on the oval. “Entarro.” The door unlocked and creaked open as if pulled by a ghost. The trio stood frozen, listening. And somewhere, in that deep darkness beyond, they could hear a hiss.