Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (52 page)

“You three—!”

They looked up from their desk to see a Legion guard striding toward them, helmet tucked under his arm. He possessed high cheekbones and a shaved head. Augum’s stomach plummeted. This was it, they had been recognized. For a moment, he debated attacking him and just making a flat-out run for it—

“Why aren’t you at the meeting?” the Legionnaire snapped.

“Meeting?” Bridget asked. “What meeting?”

“All out-of-town necrophytes are to report to the training grounds for an official Legion meeting. Why aren’t you down there? Who is your commanding officer?”

“We just got back from the arena, sir, and he’s in the field.”

The guard stared at them with cool eyes that eventually settled on Augum. “You’re The Hood.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Been hearing about you. You’ve been elevating the Legion’s standing in the common folks’ hearts. Sign-ups have increased. Well done, soldier. Now follow me, you’re late.”

They exchanged a brief look but followed. Augum’s mind was in turmoil—the last thing he wanted to do was help the Legion. But then he smiled to himself—wait until they find out who he truly was! And if he could only somehow let people know a resistance existed, maybe it would spur others to join …

They arrived at the training grounds. A Legionnaire stood at the entrance, waving them along. Behind him sat the kind middle-aged attendant they previously met. But in place of his infectious smile was a face of melancholy. He did not raise his bald head, but instead quietly stitched a patch onto a padded practice vest.

They spotted a large crowd of necrophytes gathered in the obstacle field around a platform, on top of which stood a robed figure. Augum’s immediate thought was Robin and Temper will probably be there, and tightened his hood.

The Legionnaire with the shaved pate led them to the crowd, where more than a few heads turned their way. Necrophytes started whispering to each other and pointing at Augum. Unlike the trio, none of them had their hoods up. A good many of them were their age or younger. The much older kids, usually sixteen or older, tended to already be in the field, training at the art of war.

“And speaking of winning over hearts and minds,” said an ebony-skinned man with cropped gray hair and hawk-like eyes that immediately found Augum. He wore a shiny black robe fringed with crimson threading. The burning sword of the Legion was neatly embroidered over his heart. “We have been graced by The Hood.”

The rest of the necrophytes turned to look Augum’s way. Augum kept his face hidden in the shadowy folds of his hood.

“And I believe his cousins,” the man continued in a penetrating voice, extending two wide-sleeved arms toward the girls. “As you can see, appearances are important. They show a united front by having their hoods raised together. As most of you know, The Hood won over the hearts and minds of the people with a simple public gesture of chivalry the other day in the arena. That is the essence of what we are trying to accomplish together as an army.”

That’s a steaming pile of dung, Augum was thinking as the necrophytes slowly turned back to the man, clapping politely.

The distinguished-looking warlock slowly paced the platform. “Some of you will soon be undertaking the Torment Trials. I know you are afraid, I do know that. And it is true that failure of the trial may result in death.”

He let that thought sink in as he slowly eyed the crowd. “But that is why you shall work hard at impressing your commanders—at impressing me—with your diligence in studying the necromantic arts. You will be sacrificing your outdated pursuit of an element for the greater good of all. You will sacrifice for the security of a kingdom. You will sacrifice with the hopes of bringing glory to yourselves. And maybe, just maybe, you might find eternity along the way.”

The necrophytes clapped while the Legion guard with the shaved head nodded, flexing his jaw. Augum and the girls had to clap along in order to avoid raising suspicion.

“One day necrophytes will be cultivated from birth,” the man on the platform continued. “You are but the first generation. With starry eyes you stare into the horizon of destiny, awaiting the glory to come.” He raised his arm and stared past them. “Somewhere out there lay great enemies. They are to the south and to the north and to the west. They will be conquered. And one day, we shall find those who dare to commit treason against the cause of the mighty Legion!”

The crowd roared and saluted, chanting, “Hail to the Legion!”

He raised a hand to silence them. “Yes, the traitor Anna Atticus Stone is strong—”

“Not as strong as you, Commander Jordan,” one of the necrophytes piped in from somewhere up front, and the crowd chortled. Augum immediately recognized that grating voice.

The warlock commander smiled. “If only that were true, Robin,” then raised a finger. “Never underestimate your enemy. Yes, she is strong, but together, we are stronger. Together, we will find her. Together, we shall complete the Great Quest. Together we will claim eternity. Every day brings us one step closer to that goal”

The necrophytes clapped and whistled.

“Yes, but my aunt really will find her, Commander. I guarantee it.”

“I am sure she will indeed.” Commander Jordan swept the crowd with his hawk eyes. “As you progress in your training, you will be drafted into the army. Some of you are already part of a company.” He nodded at some of the older boys and girls in the crowd. “I know Malfease is represented, as well as Wolfpack—” A few of the necrophytes hooted their particular company call, “Comborai, Axon … and so on. This is a time of celebration. You are here to watch the tournament, but also to continue your training. This is a special event, and many of you—those not drafted—will return to the Academy after it is over. But rest assured, the remainder will be placed when you are needed, and the time is coming. Train hard and earn your place in history. Duty unto death!”

“Duty unto death!” the crowd echoed as one. Augum pretended to say it, but no sound came from his lips.

“Now I have a special surprise for you all. Our Dreadnoughts, whom very few of you have seen thus far, have been hard at work indeed. You have all heard of speaking orbs, is that not so?”

The crowd nodded their heads in a vague fashion. Augum recalled his father using one of the palm-sized orbs to communicate with the Blade of Sorrows. Speaking orbs are similar in appearance to a scion at first glance.

“Well, for the first time in history, the Legion has developed a unique communication system. Each necrophyte will be receiving a special Dreadnought ring tuned to a specially-designed Dreadnought speaking orb, that only their commander will possess. This will allow direct communication between necrophytes and their superior officers.”

The necrophytes clapped.

“When do we receive these rings, sir?” Robin asked.

“Your commanding officers will be receiving the packages as we speak. They are only for necrophytes, and only for those who have passed their 2nd degree.”

There were some groans.

“Those who receive them will commence training with them immediately. The rings will an incredible boon in battle, especially because you are warlocks. Imagine trying to conquer a city otherwise. No enemy will possess such a system of communication. That is why we will be victorious.”

Augum exchanged a look with the girls. Not only were these orbs and rings bad news, they were talking about conquering cities …

“All right, let us do some training! Now, who would like to demonstrate how to properly summon a walker? How about … The Hood!”

The necrophytes all clapped and made an alley, but Augum did not step forward. He had to think fast.

“Uh, I’m sorry, sir, but I hurt my wrist today at the arena.” Augum made a show of rubbing his wrist while Leera pointed to it, making exaggerated apologetic gestures. Augum thought it was overkill but luckily the commander nodded.

“Of course, I understand. We need you in top form tomorrow to face that Tiberran brat, to show the Tiberrans the might of the Legion, and to have them bend the knee not only on the battle field, but on the arena floor as well.”

The crowd snickered and clapped as Augum mouthed “Tiberran brat?” at Leera. She only shrugged. For once, he looked forward to hearing a report from Malaika and Charissa on who he was facing next.

“I’ll do it,” Robin said, jumping onto the platform, slicking back his hair, pinched face glowing. “Where’s the body?”

“Death is a natural part of life. We want you to be comfortable with death. Allow it to be a friend, not an enemy. Some of you have already taken life—”

Robin folded his arms and sneered while giving a proud nod.

“—others have yet to experience the honor of their first kill. A true necromancer will be as familiar with death as they are with their own rings. Look forward to that moment, for it is truly special. You must be cold. You must be pitiless. For that is how you conquer death.”

The necrophytes clapped politely while bumps rose on Augum’s arms. Oh no, they were planning on killing someone on that platform!

“I know you are excited, but we will not be taking a life today—” The crowd made a disappointed
aww
sound, and the commander raised a hand. “But rest assured, as we become more organized, every necrophyte will have ample opportunity to harden themselves and show their commitment to the Legion.”

The necrophytes again clapped, some even whistling.

Augum glanced at the girls. Both looked pale. He subtly looked around at the crowd, noting the fervor on many of the faces, the absolute zeal and belief in the Legion. But he also spotted more than one anxious face. A young girl with olive skin and clumpy hair sniffed into her sleeve. A boy near her, maybe her brother, swallowed hard, and seemed to want to comfort her but was probably afraid of being called out as weak or afraid.

Augum felt terrible for them and couldn’t imagine what they must be feeling. What were the odds of stopping the Legion before these young people were forced to do something that would haunt them forever? Every day that passed caused so much harm. How much of it was irreversible?

“We happen to have brought a few traitors who have not survived questioning.” Commander Jordan opened his palm to an area behind the platform, and a wrapped-up body soon lifted into view, landing on the planks. The commander turned back to the assembled crowd. “Now let us go through the proper way to quickly and efficiently raise a walker.

The trio kept their gazes averted as Robin performed the ghastly ritual, transforming the body into a walker. Instead, Augum watched that unfortunate boy and girl as they obviously squirmed. When they tried to look away, the Legionnaire with the shaved head noticed, and stood close, glaring at them. The pair stiffened and watched the spectacle with wide eyes and colorless faces.

Augum felt his nails dig into his palms. This was indoctrination of the first order. This was how they won the young. It had to be stopped.

The commander thanked Robin as the crowd clapped, then proceeded to lecture them on the finer points of walker summoning. After every topic he would make a speech about the glory of the Legion and how important they all were and blah, blah, blah. The clapping tended to last longer than it should, and was usually followed by three successive chants of “Hail the Legion!” It was tedious and repetitive and eventually made Augum’s eyes glaze over.

“Ugh, how much more of this do we have to put up with?” Leera whispered into his ear during the umpteenth clapping round. Although it was sort of interesting to see how they bullied and brainwashed necrophytes into obedience, he hoped it would end soon. They had things to do, namely to train on their own somewhere away from prying eyes, somewhere like … he craned his neck at the ceiling sky bridges … somewhere like up there.

Commander Jordan ended up going through a bunch of rudimentary necromancer spells, spending no time at all on standard spellcraft. He jabbered on about Feign Death, Rot, Pestilence, Ghost Light, and various other minor spells, like Raise Animal, which was supposed to be great practice for raising people. The trio wasted almost two hours listening to him, with no way to excuse themselves, until at last the man allowed them to go off on their own to train for the evening, as he had duties to attend to.

Augum tried to creep away with the girls but was immediately stopped by a gaggle of necrophytes, all his age or younger, and all trying to peek into his hood. Nearby hovered Robin and Temper, further complicating the situation. Robin seemed to enjoy the attention, making extravagant gestures and telling everyone how he was going to be the winner of his degree. He flashed superior looks toward Augum, who had to be very careful to keep his head averted and speak very little.

There was a barrage of questions.

“Can you teach me how to get a strong Push spell like that?”

“What’s it feel like to compete in the arena?”

“How are you only fifteen yet already at the 4th degree?”

“How come you haven’t cast any necromancy spells yet? Saving them for the finals against Robin?”

“He must be really good then.”

Augum got away with nods or grunts mostly. When he did reply, it was in a whisper and with one-word answers. When the crowd saw he was no fun, they migrated to Robin, who took particular pleasure in seeing himself as the more popular one.

Augum, meanwhile, skulked away with the girls, each breathing a massive sigh of relief when they finally got completely clear.

“That was disturbing on so many levels,” Bridget whispered from behind her sleeve.

“That brainwashing though,” Leera said with a shake of her head. “See the looks on their faces? They worship that fiendish commander.”

Augum recalled the unfortunate boy and girl. “Not all of them, thankfully.” But still far too many.

“Not to mention they’re openly talking about conquering cities now,” Bridget added. “Nodia’s next. Then who knows what kingdom.”

“Probably all of them.” Leera cleared her throat in warning and they fell silent. A group of giggling necrophyte girls crossed their path, on their way to the pond leaf obstacle course. “Ugh, the Legion sure love making boring speeches,” Leera muttered when they had gone.