Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) Page 3

  Bridget went redder than a summer apple.

  The imposter next turned to Augum, but the real prince intervened.

  “Wait—! Please, I beg of you, before you vote to replace me, hear me speak—”

  “Ah, the piglet wants to squeal.” The imposter crossed his arms. “This shall be amusing. Make it quick then. I have training to do with my new companions.”

  Sydo dropped to his knees. “Augum, I beg of you, I am … I am sorry for … for being a brat, I really am! Please do not vote for him, please …”

  The imposter shook his head. “They do not believe you, Your Royal Highness. Now stop groveling, it is beneath your station and you are making us both look quite beastly.”

  Sydo did not appear to hear. He crawled over to Bridget with clasped hands, further dirtying his pants. “Dear, beautiful, kind, merciful Bridget … I am so sorry, I … I did not know! I shall promise to treat you right from here on. Please, please—do not vote for this … imposter.”

  Bridget could only stand there, mouth hidden behind her fist. Finally, she reached out to help him stand, but he was already crawling over to Leera.

  “Still begging,” the imposter sang.

  This time Sydo seemed to realize what he was doing and quickly got up, trying to dust off his doublet and smooth his hair. “Leera—” he began, hands splayed in welcome.

  Leera raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. She looked like she was enjoying this.

  “Leera …” Sydo repeated, looking her square in the eye. “I apologize to you. I apologize for being a brat, and for the things I called you. I’m sorry for what I said about your parents, I know they didn’t deserve to die, I’m so sorry for that. If you give me a second chance, I promise I’ll do better.”

  Although he was saying the right things, Augum noted the tone sounded flat.

  After a long pause, Leera’s face softened and she unfolded her arms.

  “I would make this last plea impeccable,” the imposter said as Sydo moved on to Mya. “For they might be the last words you ever utter.”

  “Mya …” Sydo began, grasping her porcelain hands. She towered over him, blushing. The trees groaned in a particularly strong gust. “My loyal servant, I have treated you unkindly over the years. Of everyone here, I am least deserving of your vote. I should apologize—”

  “All right, enough of your whining,” the imposter said, stepping between them. “Hark! It is time to vote! Now who will it be—a better, smarter, wiser, kinder Prince, or a foul, useless, spoiled brat? Come now, step beside the one who wins your vote.”

  The two princes stood apart, one with a victorious grin, the other trembling.

  Mya was the first to the real prince’s side, placing a supple hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and stiffened. Bridget was next, standing beside Mya. Augum glanced at Thomas, who stood serenely by. What he felt from his great-grandfather was not judgment, but compassion. He stepped to Bridget’s side.

  “You can turn the tide, dear Leera,” the imposter said, hands outstretched as if ready to give a great hug. “All I need is one vote.”

  “One vote? Well then I hope the changes you promise are genuine.”

  “Oh, yes, they truly are,” the imposter replied, smile widening.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Leera said, stepping to the real prince’s side.

  When the imposter realized what she had done, he screamed and flailed like a little child. His cries soon morphed into loud cracking as the color drained from his face and clothing. He grayed and stiffened, until finally he was nothing more than a stone statue.

  Sydo fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Mya and Bridget attended to him as Leera fixed Augum with an impish grin.

  “He’s just lucky I didn’t vote first.”

  Prince Sydo wiped his face with a cloth, staring at the imposter now permanently frozen in a tantrum. Thomas stood beside him, studying the statue dispassionately. For a while, there was only the sound of swaying oaks, hissing braziers, and the gentle flapping of robes.

  “Witness before you a reflection of that which could have been,” Thomas said at last.

  Sydo felt the stone buttons of the imposter’s doublet. “Was … was the choice real?”

  “It was real, as is the karma we carry.”

  Sydo breathed a slow sigh of relief.

  Leera elbowed Augum, whispering, “Not even a thank you.”

  That was some spell, Augum thought. He bet it was off-the-books. Probably ancient and high degree too.

  After a time of quiet reflection, he decided to ask his great-grandfather a nagging question. “Um, Mr. Stone, what do you know of Dreadnoughts?”

  “Dreadnoughts are an ancient race of smiths and warriors. Legend says they are the lion children of Treyus, the God of War—”

  “—Mr. Stone!” Mya cried, a hand over her mouth. “You mustn’t speak the name of the Unnameables. It brings ill tidings.”

  “That is a belief shared by many, not just the common folk. Yet is it a true one?”

  Augum, who also had been brought up to never speak the names of the Unnameables, could hardly believe Thomas would risk being wrong. It must be because he was a Leyan, or perhaps Ley itself allowed him sanctuary from ill tidings.

  “As it is,” Thomas continued, “legend says the Dreadnoughts are the God of War’s children, and that it was He who trained them in the arts of war, as well as how to forge superior weapons and armor. One day, the children rose against the father, and so he cast a powerful curse on them—they were to serve a master, and when no master was there to be served, they were to sleep until a new one emerged to command them.”

  Leera’s brows rose. “Dreadnoughts are evil?”

  “They reflect their master, nothing more.”

  “So how do you become the Lord of Dreadnoughts anyway?” she pressed, quickly adding, “not that I’m interested in becoming their master, of course.”

  “Occulus slew the previous Dreadnought lord and took his place. The one before him did the same. It has been this way for eons. Once in a long while, however, the heir to the Dreadnought throne forsakes power for peace.”

  “My ancestor …” Augum whispered. The pieces were falling into place.

  “Atrius Arinthian was indeed such a man. He had the choice, upon slaying Occulus, of becoming the Lord of Dreadnoughts. He abdicated and they went to sleep. He was thus the last to see one for some time … until now.”

  “Until now?” Mya asked.

  “Yes. The Dreadnoughts are waking to a new lord.”

  “Unnameable gods,” Bridget murmured, placing her gaze on Augum.

  “What? What is it?” he asked, feeling a cold prickle. When she did not reply, it hit him. “Sparkstone …”

  “Yes,” Thomas said. “The Lord of the Legion has also become the Lord of Dreadnoughts.”

  Augum placed a hand to his forehead. He did not need to know much about the Dreadnoughts to know that Sparkstone becoming the master of a race of superior weapon and armor makers was dire news for Solia … for all of Sithesia.

  “Mr. Stone, forgive me, but, how do you know for sure?” Bridget asked.

  Thomas glanced skyward at the racing clouds. “Although we Leyans have withdrawn from your world, we nonetheless keep watch through arcane means.”

  Sydo’s brows furrowed. “What about Augum and Bridget’s Dreadnought blades, are they not evil then?”

  “A child is not born with the sins of its parents.”

  Bridget began pacing back and forth. “We have to tell Mrs. Stone.”

  “But I don’t understand something,” Augum said. A thousand things, really. “How could Sparkstone gain control of the Dreadnoughts?”

  “Through the bones of Atrius Arinthian.”

  Bridget stopped pacing as Augum gaped.

  “He’s going to raise my ancestor from the dead?”

  Firelight reflected in Thomas’ black eyes. “It has already been done.”

  “Gods …” Pri
nce Sydo mumbled, playing with the buttons on his doublet while staring at his statue.

  Augum remembered the beautiful tomb his ancestor rested in and shivered at the idea of it ripped open. “Does this mean he’ll raise more of my ancestors from the castle crypt?”

  “The future is as yet unwritten, Augum Stone.”

  Augum exchanged looks with Bridget and Leera. So his father’s ambitions were even greater than they had feared.

  “Let us move on to your training,” Thomas said after giving them time to digest this new information. “Mya Liaxh—certain herbs and plants are growing amongst the trees before you. Gather as many as you can and we shall then confer together.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Mya curtsied and walked off to the encircling forest, already searching the ground. Augum watched her depart with a tinge of disappointment.

  “Augum Stone, Sydo Ridian, Bridget Burns, Leera Jones—I am going to teach you the ancient forgotten spell of Centarro.”

  Augum felt a shiver race up his spine—they were going to study an off-the-books spell after all!

  “Centarro is a difficult spell. You must allow yourselves patience. It predates the Founding, its name and incantation unchanged for thousands of years. Many generations ago, we Leyans shared it with humans, its use now lost to time.”

  Leera crinkled her nose. “What does it do, Mr. Stone?”

  “It enhances focus.”

  Her face fell. “Oh, that’s all? So it’ll just help me study better?”

  “Centarro has many uses. It will sharpen your senses, your reflexes, your concentration, and heighten your perception, allowing a brief time of clarity. However, one must be prepared for the spell’s side effects—headaches, lack of concentration, sluggishness, confusion, nausea, and even memory loss. Thus, one must carefully choose the timing and place of casting, for the spell can be very dangerous if ill-timed. Let us begin with observation. Walk with me.”

  Thomas turned on his heel and led them to the forest, stopping at the base of one of the massive oaks. The foursome lined up to watch. Sydo was actually making a serious effort at paying attention, nodding his head whenever Thomas spoke, not interrupting or making faces.

  “Study the bark and tell me what you see.”

  They crowded around the oak.

  Leera shrugged. “It’s just bark.”

  Thomas stood unmoved.

  “It appears to have deep grooves,” the prince said, looking to Thomas for approval.

  Augum peeled off a long sliver. “It flakes.”

  Bridget glanced at a nearby brazier. “It would burn if we lit it on fire.”

  “All true indeed, and it is the application of said potential that we concern ourselves with. Depending on one’s mastery of the spell, Centarro allows a glimpse of the many hidden possibilities one is usually not privy to in everyday life.”

  Bridget and Sydo nodded along while Leera and Augum frowned, straining to understand.

  “Let us discuss potential. Bridget Burns—you have stated the bark could be lit on fire. This is potential.” Thomas fell silent, face as smooth as glass.

  “Oh, and you could make armor from it—” Leera blurted.

  Bridget gave her a look.

  “What, I’ve heard of druids making armor from bark.”

  “I beg to differ—there are no druids,” Sydo said in a strained tone. “Those are tales for children.”

  Leera glared at him a moment but swallowed what she was going to say.

  Bridget raised her hand. “You could make bark tea.—”

  “Or stew,” Augum added. It sounded plausible, though he hadn’t heard of such a concoction.

  “Yes, these are indeed examples of potential. Let us situation together.” Thomas peered beyond them and raised his arm. It flared with bands of fire. This time Augum was able to count seventeen rings in all—seventeen stripes to his one. Sydo’s lips moved as well. For a moment the two caught each other’s eyes before promptly looking away. It made Augum uncomfortable knowing he had done the same thing as the prince.

  Where Thomas pointed, a bark-covered wooden dummy appeared in the clearing. It had a tree trunk body, thin log legs, branch arms, and twig fingers. The dummy stood upright, reminding Augum of one Sir Tobias Westwood built for sword practice. How many hours had Augum hacked at that dummy with the wooden sword Sir Westwood had fashioned for him?

  Thomas turned back to the group.

  “That is absolutely astounding, sir,” the prince said. “Your powers are exceptional.”

  Leera rolled her eyes.

  “Let us situation an attack on our wooden friend,” Thomas continued. “Augum Stone—please demonstrate.”

  Augum looked to the group, hesitantly drew Burden’s Edge, and approached the dummy. He raised his blade and with one clean swoop sliced off an arm.

  Leera gave a snicker. “Aww, how could you?”

  “As you have witnessed, Augum Stone did what he thought best—he struck the arm. Augum Stone—please tell us in detail what you observed upon approach.”

  Augum felt the eyes of the group on him. “Um, what I observed …” He thought back to what he noticed when approaching the dummy and shrugged. “I think I looked at its feet, then maybe its head?”

  Thomas gave a brief nod. “Let us situation together anew.”

  “Hope this is going somewhere,” Leera muttered as Augum returned to the group, sheathing Burden’s Edge.

  Thomas looked to the dummy and raised his arm. It instantly sprang to life, picked up its hacked-off arm, and re-attached it. It then swayed in eager anticipation.

  “It moves like that dented scrap heap from the castle,” Sydo said, cocking his head.

  Leera grimaced. “You mean Fentwick.”

  Sydo’s nose rose a little. “Quite correct, my lady.”

  “Gods,” Leera mumbled, turning away from the prince.

  Thomas placed his gaze upon Bridget. “Bridget Burns—please attack our wooden friend.”

  Bridget withdrew Blackbite and charged at the dummy. It easily dodged out of the way.

  “Bridget Burns—please describe what you focused on upon approach.”

  “Oh, that’s easy—its torso,” Bridget replied, sheathing Blackbite and returning to the group.

  “We shall now example Centarro. In this circumstance, I will cast the spell on one of you so that you may see the effect for yourselves. Later, each of you will have a turn.”

  Augum rubbed his hands together. What will it be like to try an ancient spell?

  “The word for Centarro is, like the spell, quite old and may be difficult to pronounce at first.” Thomas raised his arm at the prince and rings of flame once again leapt to life, curling around his bronze skin. “Centeratoraye xao xen.”

  Sydo immediately took one long look around, as if seeing everything for the first time. “Beautiful,” he whispered, staring up at the clouds.

  “How does it feel?” Bridget asked.

  Sydo looked at her, eyes wide. He did not respond, instead looking at his hands and tracing the lines of his palm with a finger. He then dropped to his knees and began inspecting the grass.

  “Sydo Ridian—if I may direct you to attack our wooden friend.”

  Sydo glanced up at the swaying dummy. Augum wondered what in the world was going through his brain. He was behaving like some sort of wild animal. Maybe the spell wasn’t working as it should—

  Suddenly the prince sprinted forward and to the right, close to the ground. As the dummy turned along with the prince, Sydo tacked left. Just as the two were at arm’s length, Sydo rolled underneath the dummy’s flailing arms and tore off the bark from one of the legs. As the dummy twisted around, Sydo, still on the ground, whipped about and kicked the bare leg. Weakened from the lack of bark, the leg broke and the dummy fell.

  “Sydo Ridian, please describe your focus upon approach.”

  The prince gracefully stood up, the dummy motionless at his feet. “First I examined my hands and realized th
eir potential,” he said in an awed voice, “I then witnessed the slipperiness of the grass and its particular texture.”

  Even the way he spoke sounded different.

  “As I approached, I watched the movement of my adversary, who tended to keep his arms at a certain height. Remembering the texture and feel of the bark of the tree, I calculated the weakest point to be its leg. I came up with the idea of stripping the bark off the leg, which needed to be done with speed and direction—and then breaking it with a kick, which relied on the particular texture of the grass and my momentum. I also needed my adversary to be off balance to minimize its reach. I therefore changed my approach near the end. From then on it was a matter of following through with the motions.”

  Augum and Leera stood gaping while Bridget smiled and gave a proud nod.

  “Nuance, awareness, assertiveness, forethought, creativity. Let us situation together again and witness the side effects. Sydo Ridian—please prepare to attack once more.”

  Sydo strolled back to the group, eyes still roving about as if reborn. The dummy got up off the ground, re-attached its leg and the torn-off bark, and resumed its defensive dance.

  “I shall now discard the enchantment.” Thomas raised his arm, rings of fire bursting to life. A glazed look came over Sydo’s face. Thomas made a graceful gesture towards the dummy and Sydo ambled forth. As he came within striking distance, he raised his fist and went for a straight-on punch. It was clumsy and the dummy effortlessly dodged out of the way, raising its own stumpy hands in a move to smack the prince on the back of the head. Thomas, however, raised a palm and the dummy froze.

  “Sydo Ridian—please recount your thoughts upon approach.”

  Sydo’s eyes crossed a little. “Uh …” but his brain seemed to have slowed down to the pace of a snail. Eventually he just stumbled back to the group, completely forgetting about the question. He stood with a simple look on his face, staring off into the distance.

  Leera waved a hand before his eyes. He didn’t even blink. “I think you’ve improved him.”

  “Leera—” Bridget said as Augum suppressed a snicker.