Legend (The Arinthian Line Book 5) Read online

“Right. Right. I should help. Right.”

  “It’ll be all fine. But go, he needs you.”

  Jengo swallowed then nodded. “Okay. I can do this.” He turned on his heel and ran, arms out protectively as if expecting to be hit by flying debris.

  Bridget’s voice broke into Augum’s mind. “West side, hurry!”

  “This way,” he said, and sprinted west, Leera alongside. He brought the Exot ring to his lips as he ran. “Contact Bridget Burns. Is it the Legion? Are we evacuating?” but received no reply other than a grunt. Communicating through the ring had become second nature, like Telekinesis or Shine. He had gotten used to Bridget’s voice suddenly appearing in his head, phantom-like, and was equally at ease replying into the Dreadnought steel ring.

  “To the rally point!” Augum shouted at people. The rally point was the Haroun manor house, which was the largest and toughest structure in the village. It was the only defendable spot, and had been fortified with arcanery, weaponry, and additional provisions.

  “To the Harouns—!” Leera added. “You! What are you doing? No, not that way! Ugh!” She stopped a woman in peasant garb from running south, turned her around and gave her a light shove. “They’re panicking, Aug.”

  She was right, and it was evident people needed better training, for the villagers were running this way and that, some going to their own homes to grab belongings before finally heading to the Haroun house. Except they were supposed to race straight to the Harouns’ as soon as the alarm was raised, leaving all possessions behind.

  A group of two families with muddy-faced young children stumbled out of a nearby house. As soon as they saw Augum and Leera, they began thanking the Unnameables profusely, and ran toward them.

  “No, no, that way, that way!” Augum said, gesturing wildly at the manor. There was no time for this nonsense. Why weren’t they listening!

  “Please, save us, Your Worship!” bawled a middle-aged woman wearing a bonnet, plain dress and soiled apron. “Use that there magic!” She was holding a small child she suddenly thrust at Augum. “Save him!”

  “The end times have come, the end times have come!” cried her husband, a grizzled miner with eternally soot-stained skin.

  “No, no, I can’t help you right now, you must take everyone to the Harouns’—”

  The man dropped to his knees. “But Your Grandness, we’re safest with you. We know you’ll protect us, you will—”

  This was something he’d been unable to get used to and hated hearing. Your Worship. Our Savior. Grand Champion. Kingdom Hero. Your Mighty Highness—as if he was their king. Such utter nonsense. It made him feel awkward. Ever since that final fight against Robin in the Antioc warlock tournament, the Blackhaven and Antioc Heralds had been making him out to be some kind of grand villain of destiny, the most wanted person in all of Solia besides Mrs. Stone. Most now thought him The One, the person who was going to save the kingdom and bring it peace. Yet he was merely fifteen years old, and other than his hard training in arcanery, felt as ordinary as ever. The weight of expectation was crushing, magnifying his faults and fears and weaknesses. He wished they’d leave him alone. He knew what he had to do, and this wasn’t helping.

  “Oh come on already, stop that!” Leera was pleading. She too was being called “Good gentlewoman” and “Your Grand Ladyship”, among other titles. The girls had to put up with their fair share of ridiculous hero worship. Bridget would tell Augum and Leera to take it with poise, and at first, Leera quite enjoyed it, until the adulation became too much for even her to handle.

  “Please, go to the Haroun house, please!” Leera said.

  At last, after making prayer gestures at their feet and mumbling things like, “May the Unnameables protect you,” the two families hurried off to the Haroun household.

  Augum glimpsed a skirmish to the south of the village—two walkers were facing off against a slew of villagers which included Chaska, the snow-skinned Henawa warrior wielding a bow with fluid ease, twanging arrow after arrow at the enemy; his girlfriend Haylee, dressed in a burgundy apprentice robe and supporting her boyfriend with 2nd degree spells, her long blonde hair swinging wildly; and the trim-haired Sergeant Cobb, the other Legionnaire-turned-Resistance-fighter, wielding a battle axe. They were joined by villagers carrying pitchforks, pickaxes and swords. The group seemed to be holding their own so Augum and Leera kept going.

  Two columns of smoke rose in the west, where they were headed. Augum knew there were two farms in that direction, hastily erected and poorly maintained, for they were beyond the arcane protective enchantments. The famine was so severe now the village was trying anything to acquire food. Mrs. Stone, when she had precious energy, teleported away to retrieve some, but it was frightfully dangerous for her, prompting people to come up with crazy plans. Someone had even suggested a raid on the bandit camp to the southwest, the one Augum and Bridget rescued Leera from when crazy Harvus had kidnapped her. Others dared to venture beyond the protective enchantments to hunt for food, but some were never seen again. Hence the heavy reliance on the young trio, for only a handful could defend against arcanery and the undead.

  Augum and Leera finally broke through the trees—and saw a scene of utter devastation: two farms engulfed in towering flames, the meager crops withered and smoking from the heat. Nearby evergreens smoldered and burned. The body of a villager lay in the mud, while a group of them was beating on a walker. The creature flailed but was overcome by the sheer number of townspeople desperately hacking away.

  “Get back to the Haroun house!” Augum called to them just as the walker went still. The villagers glanced up and shrieked, pointing behind Augum before scattering.

  Augum and Leera whirled about to see a hulking mountain of a man at the forest edge, a man Augum thought he recognized.

  “Is … is that Beef?” He was someone they had encountered at the bandit camp during Leera’s rescue. Beef sported a great shaggy beard, was clad in thick, stained hide, and his grizzled face looked gaunt and dark. He was making elaborate gestures, his gaze focused on a body on the ground.

  Leera tilted her head. “What the—”

  Beef finished the gestures and the body slowly stood.

  “Gods,” Leera gasped.

  Augum shook his head. It made no sense. Last they met, Beef had no arcane powers, let alone the necromantic ability to raise the dead. What was going on here?

  “Where’s Bri—” but Leera stopped mid-sentence, placing a finger to her ear, evidently listening to an Exot message. “Behind the barn!”

  She and Augum sprinted on, ignoring Beef for the time being, though Augum’s thoughts raced. Something very strange was going on, something new and dangerous. It had to be connected to his father. But why wasn’t the Legion here supporting the undead? Or was this a random attack?

  The pair careened around the barn, shielding their faces from the heat of the blaze. There they found Bridget using a summoned bow— her version of the 5th degree Summon Weapon spell—to fire an earthen arrow into a sprinting walker wielding a burning blade. It pierced its neck but was slightly off target, thus the thing kept sprinting. She fluidly reached back into an arcane quiver and withdrew a second arrow, placed it to the arcane bowstring, pulled it back, took a breath, and fired when the walker was only feet away from her. This time, the arrow pierced its skull and the walker crashed into the mud, sliding right to her boots, arrow disappearing and its burning sword snuffing with a hiss. It was a spectacular show of patience and daring, one Bridget would not normally be capable of, unless—

  “Gods, I think she’s cast Centarro—” Leera said.

  Their most powerful spell, at least until they learned Annocronomus Tempusari—but one with a dangerous side effect as it faded: confused stupidity. Judging by the two other walker bodies near her, Bridget had obviously been in a desperate situation to have cast it, and Augum cursed himself for not getting there sooner.

  Two other sprinting walkers appeared out of nowhere behind her.

&nbs
p; “Behind you—!” Augum shouted, but she was slow to turn around.

  Augum and Leera slammed their wrists together, simultaneously shouting, “ANNIHILO!”

  A bolt of lightning struck one undead being just below its steel cuirass, blowing off its lower torso, while a sharp jet of water smashed into the other one’s skull, blowing it apart. A lucky shot from that distance. It fell to the ground, dead.

  The walker without the lower torso crawled after Bridget, whose bow and quiver had already disappeared. She tripped in the mud and was now trying to get away on all fours, indicating Centarro was fading and she only had moments before the fog descended upon her.

  Leera raised an arm. “Paralizo carcusa cemente,” but the walker merely slowed.

  “Range—” Augum blurted, meaning she was too far away to cast the spell at full strength. He sprinted forth while the walker sliced at Bridget with its fiery blade, barely missing her foot. If Leera hadn’t slowed it …

  Augum viciously yanked at the air with both hands, focusing on the walker’s skeletal torso, drawing on all his arcane Telekinetic might. The undead creature snapped backward as if hit by a battering ram.

  To an outsider, a fifteen-year-old wielding such arcane power might have come as quite a shock—and often did to anyone watching them practice. But the trio, under the fierce tutelage of the only known living master warlock—Anna Atticus Stone—had been mercilessly training in every single one of their spells, so much so that Augum hadn’t even developed a headache yet, even after all this casting. It was a far cry from the days when a few weak spells resulted in pounding headaches, nosebleeds, and gut-churning nausea.

  The yanked walker slammed into the ground paces away, only to be shoved so violently by Leera’s Push spell that it lost its grip on the buckler, the shield twirling aside like discarded rubbish. The walker flew into the burning barn, plowing through the charred timbers and disappearing in a whoosh of flame.

  Augum and Leera hurried to Bridget.

  “I called Mrs. Stone …” Bridget was saying, still scrambling away, royal blue robe muddy at the knees. She was glancing about with a lost look. “There were too many. Had no choice. Had to cast Centarro. But I called to her with the Exot orb. She’s out there somewhere … I … I called …”

  “Just relax, Bridge,” Leera said, kneeling and drawing her close while keeping watch. The side effects of Centarro lengthened when one fought it, as the trio had discovered over numerous castings.

  Bridget’s brow was sweaty. Her cheeks, usually so full of color and softness, were slightly hollow and pale. Her pert nose had a smudge of mud, and her long cinnamon hair was thin and stringy. Her hazel eyes, normally wide and alert, were unfocused and dull.

  None of them were eating well. Even though they received extra portions, the stress of training was keeping them thin.

  A smashing sound drew Augum’s attention away. Beef was headed toward them, wielding a giant club. The behemoth brazenly strode through the burning farm. His entire body was engulfed in fire, but he just kept advancing. The flames quickly dissipated, and the skin began repairing itself. Only then did Augum realize what Beef had become—a revenant. And that might also explain the walker that cast Summon Weapon. There was only one person Augum knew of that could create such powerful necromantic abominations … Sparkstone, the Lord of the Legion, his father. And if he was doing this to people mere leagues away, that meant he was close, very close. Unfortunately, the divining rod could sense his direction, but not distance.

  The village had to evacuate immediately.

  But first, the trio had to survive Beef. The man raised his club and began jogging toward them. Behind him, two walkers appeared from the forest, while to the left, the walker Leera had shoved clambered out of the barn. These walkers were different—stronger, smarter, and could cast a spell.

  Three super walkers with burning blades, and a giant revenant with a club.

  “We’re in serious trouble here,” Leera said, dragging a listless Bridget to her feet.

  “No, keep her down,” Augum replied. “Can’t outrun them with her like that.”

  “Stay here, Bridge,” Leera said in a slightly wavering voice.

  Could use your help right about now, Nana, Augum thought.

  “What do we do?” Leera asked.

  Augum grit his teeth. “Smash them.” He slammed his wrists together at the closest walker. “ANNIHILO!” The bolt of lightning blasted it apart into fiery smithereens.

  “ANNIHILO!” Leera echoed, aiming at another walker, yet it anticipated her attack and made a cat-like dodge.

  Meanwhile, Augum carefully drew a five-pointed star, finishing with the words, “Summano elementus minimus.” A chunky waist-high lightning elemental crackled to life. Augum pointed at one of the walkers. “Elementus—attack!” It charged, barreling into the creature. Leera cast the spell too, focusing her elemental on the walker that had dodged her attack.

  That left them with Beef, who was now only a few heartbeats away.

  “Keep her safe,” Augum said as he raced away. He headed toward the evergreens beyond the muddy farm field, hoping to draw Beef away from the girls. Luckily, Beef, whose coal black eyes had been on him the entire time, followed. As Augum sprinted, he focused on the way the mud squished underfoot, its stickiness and, when struck at the right angle, its slipperiness. He reminded himself of the slightly reduced range of his left elbow; became acutely conscious of his sweaty palms, sharp inhalations of breath, the dull headache caused by arcane stamina loss. At the right moment he turned and dropped to his knees, sliding through a muddy puddle while evoking, “Centeratoraye xao xen.”

  The powerful effects of Centarro hit instantly, sharpening his concentration and allowing him to tap into its most powerful quality: pure ingenuity.

  Augum waited a heartbeat, just long enough for one of Beef’s booted feet to move forward another step, before telekinetically yanking at the giant’s heel. The force of the pull was such that it brought Augum sliding toward the man as if he had jerked on a rope. Augum had been expecting this, and used the momentum to shove at the air, “BAKA!” bringing him to a halt. Beef, who was already falling backward as if having slipped on a pile of manure, now had his chest shoved, causing him to slam the earth so hard the knockdown sent tremor waves through nearby puddles. There was a great crack as the man’s neck snapped under his hulking weight. The bulk of him tumbled in a great flop … and was still. A reprieve, albeit a temporary one.

  “He’ll regenerate!” Augum called to Leera, but she was busy finishing off the remaining pair of walkers who were still wrestling with Augum and Leera’s summoned elementals.

  Based on the subtle arcane sensations involved in Centarro, Augum could estimate he had ten heartbeats to free Beef from the burden of carrying around that giant head of his.

  “Summano arma,” Augum spat, already sprinting at the giant man.

  Eight heartbeats left.

  “He’s starting to move, Aug!” Leera shouted after annihilating the final walker. Augum’s focused Centarro-infused mind processed this information, and accounted for his sprint speed, the slipperiness of the mud, and how quickly the man was regenerating.

  Six.

  Mere paces away, Augum summoned a shield made of hard black lightning, anticipating a strike from the revenant. He was acutely aware of four lightning rings rippling to life around his right arm; of the drops splashing away from his feet as he stomped into the mud; of Beef’s black skin being repaired by fat white maggots.

  Four.

  Beef moaned and made a clumsy swipe at him. Augum slid underneath the log-sized arm, pushing his shield up, his crooked left elbow spasming with the effort. For one simple heartbeat he enjoyed feeling his hard lightning shield protecting him from that massive arm; the childlike joy of sliding in the mud; the wind flowing through his dingy hair.

  Two.

  The moment Beef’s arm passed, Augum jammed both feet into the mud, causing him to rise. He used the mo
mentum to spin his long sword, slicing through Beef’s black-veined neck. The head cleanly separated from the body with a crackling sizzle, falling to the muddy field like a potato dunking into thick soup.

  Zero.

  His lightning sword, shield and arm rings disappeared all at once, leaving his chest heaving for breath. For a moment, the only sound was a victorious cry from Leera. Unfortunately the post-casting fog was already setting in. Augum jogged over to Bridget, who was coming out of her own Centarric stupor and was ready to receive him with open arms, to protect him, while Leera kept watch. That was the strength of their friendship and testament to their hard-fought training, for they could anticipate each other’s moves even while fading out of Centarro.

  Through his daze, Augum sensed the battle was over. It had been a random attack. The Legion had not come … this time.

  Meeting

  “I don’t think those were walkers,” Augum said to the assembled throng. He was standing before the Harouns’ grand supper table, apprentice robe clean of mud. He turned to Leera. “They were something we haven’t seen before.” His gaze wandered down the rest of the table. Almost everyone important to the Resistance was here, watching him solemnly. An emergency meeting had been called. It was hot and stuffy in the room. A spike of crimson sunlight filtered in through a tall window, the last vestige of sunset.

  “They were able to summon burning blades,” Augum continued. “That’s a 5th degree elemental spell. They also survived fire and anticipated our attacks. Way more advanced than a typical walker.” Augum paused. “Further, we encountered a man that had been turned into a revenant from a bandit camp only a days’ ride from here. If it was done by my father, than he’s close … too close. Things are getting dangerous. I really think we should evacuate.”

  As Augum sat back down, those gathered shifted uneasily. Constable Clouds leaned forward, adjusting his great girth. He wiped his sweaty forehead. His face was quite pale of late and he always seemed tired.

  “Although I do not deny that things are getting dangerous, I find it highly unlikely that the Lord of the Legion bothered with a measly bandit camp. From my understanding, there are necromancers powerful enough to create revenants. Therefore my assessment is that it was a random attack and we need not evacuate … yet.” He began folding and unfolding the cloth in his hands. “And those undead are called Reavers. Sergeant Briggs received a whispered word from a herald while on a constabulary run to Eastspear this morning. I was going to bring it up during tomorrow morning’s meeting.”