Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (62 page)

“You told us all this yesterday!” Leera said.

“Yeah, well, she’s also really pretty, in a wild kind of way.”

Leera spoke through gritted teeth. “We don’t care how pretty she is, we need to know how she fights—”

“That’s because she’s prettier than you—”

“Please stop playing games,” Bridget said in a weary voice, still holding onto Leera’s arm, which now had four watery rings circling it.

Malaika smirked. “Oh, going to attack me?”

“You keep talking nonsense and I’ll shove your bosom buddy through that pie hole of yours!”

Charissa cringed. “How beastly …”

“Can we please hear how she fights?” Augum asked impatiently.

Malaika smiled at him. “Certainly. You’ll be interested to know she’s a lightning warlock, and her style is … well, she’s into using Shove—”

“You mean
Push
,” Leera said.

“Whatever. Anyway, she’s also really good with those—” She gestured at her temple, “—mind thingy spells.”

Right, the only other lightning warlock in his tournament bracket! Augum had forgotten about that. This will be interesting …

Charissa made a show of glancing around as if readying to impart a scandalous secret. “And as far as the Legion, we’ve got an
exact
count of how many guards there are, where they go—and, get this—what entrances and exits there are from the arena.”

“That’s … that’s actually useful,” Bridget said. “Can you see if you can find out how tomorrow’s trophy ceremony is going to go? We need as much information as possible—”

“Especially anything about Erika,” Augum chimed in.

Malaika and Charissa nodded gravely.

“We’ll be excellent spies, promise,” Malaika whispered. “You’ll see.”

“We’re
very
good at it,” Charissa added, holding onto Malaika’s elbow.

“Oh, before we forget,” Malaika said, “there was a woman who came looking for you in the morning.”

Augum gestured at his eyes. “Did she have really pointed spectacles and look like a toad?”

“And a really annoying voice? Yeah, that’s her.”

“What did she want?” Leera asked.

Malaika shrugged. “Just asked where you three were.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The trio exchanged looks. Great, Watts was after them. What was it this time?

Bridget suddenly spied something in the back of the Antioc Herald. “Listen to this. ‘Rumors abound of strange goings on in Bahbell. One particularly stubborn rumor—which the Antioc Herald unequivocally decries as false—is that the Lord of the Legion has been frustrated in certain endeavors in Bahbell. Legion authorities are refusing to comment on the subject, however, perhaps further inflaming gossip. Meanwhile, the search for the stolen Agonex and scion continues. The good citizens of Solia are asked to keep a wary eye out for the villainous Anna Atticus Stone and her young brainwashed cohorts, including Augum Stone, the Lord of the Legion’s own son. “The Great Quest lives on,” Commander Jordan has been quoted as saying, “and there shall be eternal glory and life bestowed upon any soul capturing Anna Stone or her insurgent gang.” Commander Jordan has declined to comment further, citing his eagerness to watch today’s tournament semi-finals. Word has it he will be recruiting some of this year’s crop of winners …’ ”

Bridget stopped reading there. “We need to find out what’s going on in Bahbell. Someone’s got to know something around here.”

“Hear ye, hear ye!” shouted a crier’s voice in the hall. “The first afternoon bell tolls!”

“We should go soon if we want to catch Robin’s fight,” Malaika said.

They finished lunch and cleaned up after themselves. Just as Augum turned away from the table, he bumped into a hulking boy. He looked up to see a wide neck and a gap-toothed smirk.

“Ain’t going to weasel your way out of this again,” Brutus said.

Nearby tables began to gape and people stopped eating.

Brutus’ voice got louder. “This here’s The Hood, everyone. He caught me off-guard at the arena. Ain’t going to happen again though.”

A hush fell over the hall.

Whispers of “Fight!” began circling.

“We don’t have time for this,” Augum said. He tried to get by but Brutus stepped in his way.

Augum sighed. “Fine, you really want to do this here?”

“You bet—” Brutus shot a hammy arm out, quickly saying, “Dreadus Terrablus!” but his Fear spell was the weakest Augum had faced—he barely had to give it any energy to block, and so was doubly fast on the reply.

“BAKA!” Augum said as he shoved violently at the boy. Brutus was once again sent flying, slamming into a wall.

Leera took a step forward. “Did … did you just knock him out a second time?”

Laughter began in the hall as people realized what had happened.

“Hood just knocked him out again!” a giddy necrophyte girl squealed nearby.

Augum saw a gray-robed official hurrying in their direction.

“Let’s get out of here,” Leera said, yanking on Augum’s sleeve. They scurried out of the hall amidst all the energetic chatter and clapping.

Robin’s Semi-final

“I’ll be glad to be out of here tomorrow,” Augum said as they quickly strode through the busy streets of Antioc. The sun shone from behind a bank of clouds, occasionally peeking through with its warm brilliance.

“Too many close calls,” Bridget said.

They soon arrived at the arena, which had a line trying to get in.

“Oh, forget this, we’re not waiting,” Leera said, and began shoving through the crowd. “Contender here, move aside! Contender coming through, got a match to fight—”

Surprisingly, people allowed them to pass, though Augum suspected it was more the necrophyte robes than anything else. The common folk had an obvious fear of necrophytes. It showed in the anxious looks they gave and how they quickly glanced away when noticed. More than once the trio had heard someone anonymously whisper, “Demon worshipers” in the bustling crowd, or “Brainwashed hellspawn.” It was good to hear there were secret pockets of resistance.

Bridget rooted through her snakeskin pouch. “Slowly running out of money.”

“Need to borrow some?” Malaika asked, stopping and making a show of reaching into her pouch.

“Actually, yes, thank you.”

“You … you do?”

“Just a few silver should get us by, yes.”

“What, Father’s money wasn’t enough?”

Bridget gave her a surprised look.

“Fine, here.” Malaika thrust a handful of coin into Bridget’s hand. “There, happy?”

Bridget sighed. “Thank you.”

“We’ll find our own way in,” Charissa said with a smug smile, taking Malaika’s elbow and guiding her away.

“Snobs,” Leera muttered, watching them go. “Did you really have to do that? We could have earned it.”

“Don’t have the time.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

They paid the entrance fee and Augum signed in at the registration booth. They told him to report to the dressing room after the next fight. The trio then began the arduous search for empty seats. In the arena, a troupe of actors mimed out King Brimal Pradeep’s final moments, much to the amusement of those in attendance.

Augum recognized a hawk-like face in the crowd—an ebony-skinned man with gray hair and a shiny black robe fringed with crimson. “Look, it’s the commander we saw in the Training Room, the one quoted in the Herald today.” He was with that shaved Legion guardsman, the fanatical-looking one.

“Let’s follow him, see where he sits,” Bridget said.

They cautiously made their way after the pair, shoving through the throng, getting lucky and settling just behind them in the stands. Augum leaned forward to listen, pretending to be watching the actors.

“… received it today,” the Legionnaire with the shaved head was saying. “We
Ordinaries
finally have something to be proud of. Have you seen it?”

“I’m sure it’s a fine blade, Lieutenant,” Commander Jordan replied in bored tones.

“A fine blade? It can slice through the edge of parchment.” The lieutenant appeared to wait for a better reaction, but the commander was busy watching the troupe. He demonstrated with his hands. “That means that when you hold the parchment this way, the blade could slice—”

“—thank you, Lieutenant, I think I understand how sharp a Dreadnought blade is.”

The lieutenant scratched his nose. Augum had the impression he was trying to find a new way to tell the commander how sharp his blade was. “When will we be receiving the armor?” the lieutenant asked instead, proud shoulders drooping.

“Dreadnought armor takes time to forge,” Commander Jordan replied distractedly, chortling at the stunted actor playing the Tiberran king, who had taken a dramatic tumble. “Relax and enjoy the show, Lieutenant, there will be time enough for battle.”

“Yes sir, it’s just … it’s hard to relax when there’s so much going on.” He seemed to make an attempt at watching the show, but after a pause, leaned over to the commander again. “What do you think is going on with that army?”

“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

“Well I keep hearing it’s been behaving real odd. Not taking his Lordship’s commands and all that. Do you think those criminals have figured out how to use it?”

“Just part of gaining control, that’s all, Lieutenant. Let’s not give it anymore—”

“—but it’s killed a bunch of our men. That doesn’t sound like—”

“—
enough
, Lieutenant.” The commander had turned his hawk-like gaze on the man, but steadily returned his attention to the performance. The stunted King Pradeep was squirming in his death throes.

The Lieutenant flexed his sharp jaw. “So is he coming?”

“Tomorrow.” The commander suddenly stood, clapping along with the rest of the crowd.

“And wasn’t that a fantastic performance?” Giovanni boomed with his arcanely amplified voice, striding into the arena, arms spread wide. He was wearing a shimmering multi-colored robe and his hair was slicked back. “Give it up for the Blackhaven acting troupe,
The Tumbling Rapscallions
—!”

As the crowd clapped politely and the troupe bowed, Bridget whispered into Augum’s ear, “I think I know what’s going on with
that
army. I’ll explain it to you later.”

“And now, let us get to what you’ve been waiting for … the first of two semi-final matches in the 4th degree!”

The crowd clapped louder as gray-robed attendants pushed forward six wheeled stands brimming with practice weapons.

“A reminder there are several ways to claim victory—have the most points when the hourglass runs out—” He pointed at an attendant manning a giant swiveling hourglass. “Or be the first to five points—” He pointed at the wooden scoreboard above the judges. Augum saw Erika’s overly-painted brows rise in smug satisfaction. “And of course, an automatic victory is scored with a knockout or when the opponent is forced to—” He cupped his ears with his hands and the crowd shouted, “BEND THE KNEE!” An attendant began banging a giant drum and the crowd took up the chant, “LO-SERS SHALL! BEND THE KNEE! WI-NNERS FIND! ETER-NI-TY!”

Giovanni was nodding his head theatrically with the beat until the chant devolved into cheering and whistles. Then he raised his arms indicating the moment had arrived.

“Allow me to introduce our valiant combatants! First, hailing from the cold northern kingdom of Ohm … this seventeen-year-old trained in the scenic Semadon Academy at the top of the world … representing the air element … she runs up and down the Cloud Scrapers for fun and could blow your shack down with a single puff … introducing … Fung ‘The Hurricane’ Zheng—!”

There was a mix of cheers and boos as a light-skinned girl with almond eyes trotted out. She wore a turquoise robe embroidered with birds and snow-covered mountains. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail with a colorful ribbon. She bowed to the judges, the crowd, and lastly to a small segment within the crowd that Augum guessed, judging by the traditional look of their colorful robes, were her relatives and friends from Ohm, at least one of whom was a monk. Then she resumed bouncing and stretching.

“What are the Cloud Scrapers?” Augum asked Leera, who sat to his right. She only shrugged as she clapped for the girl.

“That’s the name of the tallest mountain range in Ohm,” Bridget said from his left while clapping.

Giovanni raised his arms indicating he was about to say something important. The crowd, including the lieutenant and the commander, got to their feet and began cheering loudly.

“The next opponent hardly needs an introduction … he trained in the Academy of Arcane Arts and mentored under Lord Sparkstone himself … representing the fire element as well as the future heart and soul of the Legion—”

“I love you, Robin Scarson!” screamed a girl not too far behind them.

“Marry me—!” screamed another.

Leera made a face like she was going to vomit.

“That’s right, girls,” Giovanni said with a chortle, “not only is he a dream, but he can raise grandma from the grave as a wraith … soon to join our brave troops in the field … stand up and give a bow to … Robin ‘The Tormentor’ Scarsoooooooooon—!”

The drum pounded and the mob roared as Robin swaggered out, nodding his head in a
Yeah, you know who it is
style. His necrophyte robe swayed as he played up the crowd with beckoning hand gestures. Girls hollered as boys gave throaty academy chants. Robin stopped to theatrically point at his opponent before giving two thumbs down. The crowd cheered even louder.

“Hope you lose, you pathetic evil little—” Leera shouted but Augum immediately clamped her mouth just as the commander and lieutenant in front of them turned to look at her with deadly serious expressions.

“She meant the girl,” Augum blurted. Much to his relief, the two Legion soldiers returned to cheering for Robin.

Giovanni brought the two opponents together to quietly go over the rules, a hand on each of their shoulders. Fung Zheng was bouncing, trying to stay loose, while Robin glared at her with a menacing expression. Giovanni had each of them confirm they understood with a nod before giving them space.

“In the ancient Arcaner traditions … opponents … bow and show your stripes!”

Robin snarled and four fiery rings burst around his arm, while Fung bowed politely, calling forth four barely visible rings of air.