Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (18 page)

Harvus’ jerky movements began slowing. His eyes eventually wandered up into his head and he went limp.

The boy kept his hands over Harvus’ mouth. “He pass out?”

Sal made an idle gesture and the boy removed his hand. Harvus’ head fell limply forward. Sal withdrew the hairpiece from his mouth, placing it in Harvus’ lap. “He done pass out, he did.”

The lute player leisurely tweaked his strings, checking their tuning. “Might be from the fight he was in. I says someone done caught him thiefin’.”

“Or he done fight that there Legion,” said the boy. “Had a Legion dagger stuck in ‘im, ain’t he?”

Sal massaged his neck. He flicked the arrow stuck in Harvus’ chest. “These here feathers say Henawa to me. They quarrel with the Legion nows and then. Fool done messed with the wrong savages. But it don’t matter none, he dying now. Bleed out soon.”

The lute player started a mournful tune before suddenly switching tact and playing something festive. Sal’s boots scuffed the plank floor in time to the rhythm of the song. The boy clapped along, sickle bouncing on his hip.

“How much you think we can sell that witch girl for?” the boy asked over the music. “She be feisty. Tried to hex me, she did.”

Augum briefly exchanged another look with Bridget.

Sal took a swig and threw the empty bottle aside. “She be a fiery one. Might be a good chunk o’ gold to the right buyer.”

“We is going to be rich,” the lute player howled, making a song of it. “We is a rich men yes we is, rich men, I says, rich men …”

Sal stopped dancing. “Get me another bottle, boy.”

Augum and Bridget ducked back down. “We have to do something,” he whispered. “She must be inside.” Yet the pair of them just stared at each other blankly. He had no idea how to go about this, especially with Harvus there. There were only two options—sit and wait to see where Leera was, possibly risking her life further; or attack and find out by questioning one of them.

“Attack them head on,” he whispered.

Bridget gave him a hard, appraising look. “Agreed.”

“Burn it?”

“Not enough time to get her. And she could get trapped.”

Then it came to him. “Confusion—”

“That’ll do it. Then Push, the First Offensive, Centarro if need be.”

The pair of them peeked over the windowsill. Sal was doing a two-step dance that the lute player accented with a double twang of notes.

This was it. Augum surreptitiously opened the window. The bandits were too busy watching Sal dance to notice. He raised his hand, readying the correct arcane energy, focus, and phrase. “Flustrato.” He felt the arcanery drain from him as his rings flared to life.

Sal, who was about to uncork the bottle the boy had given him, stumbled and fell, the bottle crashing to the floor. The lute player roared in laughter as Sal fumbled to get back up.

“The look on your face, Sal!” the lute player managed to gurgle between laughs. “You is looking like a hog in a trap! Woo-wee, look at you go!” He quickly cranked out a galloping melody on the lute.

Bridget raised her arm. “Flustrato,” she whispered, and the lute player’s hands jammed in the strings. He scratched at his head and glanced down at his instrument stupidly.

“What be the matter with you two, you done stiff drunk?” the boy asked.

Sal began licking the floorboards while the lute player tried to touch his nose with his tongue, making the boy snort with laughter.

“Flustrato!” Augum said, but he had mistimed his visualization with his arcane energy and the spell failed.

The boy seemed to feel something and whipped his head their way. He immediately drew his sickle. “We has intrud—”

“Voidus aurus!” Bridget cut in and the boy furiously rubbed his ear with his free hand.

“I can’t hear, I can’t hear! They is hexin’ me, Sal, do something!”

Augum jumped over the windowsill and raised his palm. “Dreadus terrablus!”

“Not that spell—” Bridget said, but it was too late. The boy dropped his sickle, eyes widening. His mouth slowly opened wide. In a delayed reaction, the scream finally followed. Then he scrambled frantically for the door, yanked it open, and shot outside, shrieking like a banshee.

“Shyneo!” Augum pointed his lit palm at Sal. “Where is she!” but the man had reverted to a fetal state, holding his toes while rocking back and forth.

“Shyneo.” Bridget pointed her lit palm threateningly at the lute player. “Where is she!” but he only gaped stupidly at her.

Harvus suddenly moaned. Augum and Bridget immediately turned their attention to the man, hands forward, ready to cast a spell should they need to. But Harvus was as pale as parchment, and his lips were barely moving.

“Where is Leera?” Augum yelled, taking a step closer. “Where is she!”

Harvus’ lips were moving, but no sound came out. His head hung limp.

Augum took a risk and leaned forward to hear better. “You try anything and I’ll shock you. Now, where is she!” Outside, a commotion was beginning to stir up.

“Trap … door …” His breathing was slowing. He was staring at the hairpiece in his lap. “Under …”

Augum shook the man. “Under what …? Under what!” but Harvus let out a final wheezing breath before going still. For a moment, Augum only gaped. Their former mentor had died, and the last thing the man had seen was his own hairpiece in his lap.

Bridget suddenly began tearing at the place and Augum immediately joined her, the pair kicking and shoving everything on the floor in an effort to locate Leera, all while shouting her name. Then they froze, both spying the sack in the corner at the same moment, before using Telekinesis to shove it aside, revealing a trap door.

Augum made a yanking motion and the trap door flew open. He and Bridget dropped to their knees, searching the darkness with lit palms.

And there, lying at the bottom on a straw-covered floor, was Leera.

“Leera!” they yelled in unison, but she did not respond.

“She’s unconscious,” Bridget said.

“Telekinesis,” Augum quickly countered, trying to ignore the voices outside that were rapidly getting closer. “Ready? One. Two. Three—!”

The pair of them concentrated on arcanely lifting her body. Despite their hunger and exhaustion, it worked—soon as she was in reaching distance, they stretched down and hauled her over the lip.

“Aug, that you?” Leera mumbled in a weak daze.

“I think she’s been drugged—” Augum said, heart racing. How were they going to get her out of there now?

They hoisted her to their shoulders.

Leera’s words slurred. “We going somewhere?”

“We are, Lee,” Bridget said. “Hang in there—”

Suddenly the door flew open, revealing a huge man the size of a bear, wielding a spiked club. The bearded behemoth swept the scene with giant owl-like eyes, stopping to stare at Harvus’ form.

“You!” he said in a deep guttural voice. His black eyes settled on Sal and the lute player. “What in damnation be goin’ on here—?”

Sal and the lute player both squinted in concentration, the gesture taking some effort. If they had been warlocks, they probably would have fought off the spell effects by now.

“Stay back!” Augum warned, arm unconsciously rippling to life with three lightning rings. “Or we’ll hex you! We’re warlocks, and we’re getting out of here whether you like it or not—”

The huge bearded man took a step forward. “You be nothing but young—”

Augum pointed at the sickle and it flew into the air, hovering dangerously between them. The man stopped, raising his club. Augum could see doubt and suspicion on his brutish face. Behind him, other men closed in, all brandishing weapons.

“We can do things you can’t even dream of,” Bridget said in the iciest tone Augum had ever heard her utter. To demonstrate, she threw at the ground with her free hand, the word out of her mouth barbaric. “GRAU!” The cabin shook with the sound of cracking trees and timber. All of the bandits flinched, most ducking to the ground or jumping aside. The rest took a few steps back—even the large man had exited the cabin, though his club was still raised before him.

Augum, well experienced in hearing and feeling her spell by now, did not even allow his sickle to drop. “Keep back, or I’ll bury this between your eyes!”

They edged out of the cabin step by weary step, Leera between them. Suddenly there was a slicing sound and Augum felt hot fire in his back. The sickle dropped to the ground as he turned, reflexively summoning his shield just in time to block the second blow of a cleaver, this time meant to have removed his head from his neck. A third would certainly kill him. He instantly let go of Leera and slammed his wrists together.

“ANNIHILO!” A thick bolt of lightning connected between his hands and Sal’s head, exploding it into a cloud of blood and brain matter.

Men cursed and screamed. All but a few backed away as the body fell in a heap. The lute player, who had obviously been thinking of charging next, dropped his knife and ran back inside the cabin, begging for mercy from the gods.

Augum winced, trying not to think of the painful wound in his back. He wrapped Leera’s arm around his neck again, staring that giant mountain of a man dead in the eyes. “You will move or suffer the same fate,” he spat, never meaning anything more.

The giant man’s eyes flicked to Sal’s body. His great club wavered only slightly before he slowly backed away, but he did not step aside, and behind him, some brave bandits gathered.

“They is only two of them, Beef!” called one. “We can take ‘em!”

“Don’t let no kids get the best of us, Beef!” called another. “Look what the demon witches done to Sal—”

“Hold on to her,” Bridget said quickly, letting go of Leera. Augum brought Leera close as Bridget drew a five-pointed figure in midair.

“Summano elementus minimus.” A chunky elemental made of rock and earthen debris crunched to life and jumped to the ground before them.

“Unholy gods, what is that—” a bandit squealed.

“It’s a demon!” Bridget said. “And if you don’t want to get dragged to hell with it, you best stand out of our way!”

Augum couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Bridget was shaking, but it wasn’t from fear, but rather
determination
. And she made their first successful casting of Summon Minor Elemental! A thought that seemed ludicrous considering the danger they were in.

They slowly moved along, careful to keep a lookout from all sides, as the men shadowed them with hesitant retreating steps, eyes firmly trained on the trio, weapons wavering in front. When one bandit got too close, Augum briefly let go of Leera to throw at the ground, shouting “GRAU!” and the loudest crack of thunder he had yet managed ripped through the camp, sending nearly everyone scampering for shelter.

“If any of you come too close, the next bolt will rip through you all!” Augum said, staring down every single man before him. When that still was not enough to move Beef from their path, Augum turned and pointed at Sal’s dead body. He knew it was beyond his arcane limit, but he went for it nonetheless—a moment of epic concentration later, Sal’s headless corpse rose into the air and began hovering forward, feet dragging along the dirt.

Men screamed and shouted for mercy and dove for cover. As soon as Beef realized the headless body was coming for him, he retreated so quickly he tripped and fell, rolling on the earth like a great log. That broke any remaining morale, and the trio was allowed to escape the bandit camp, leaving behind cries of anguish, prayers to the gods, and curses that the trio never return, damn witches that they be.

Old Jory

Bridget had the reins on the ride back, with Leera sitting right behind, tenderly held by Augum, who sat in the rear. The horse cantered along, the trio bobbing to its rhythmic trot. Augum, head nuzzled into Leera’s neck and arms wrapped around her torso, had a giant smile on his face. All was well again.

That is, all except for the stinging wound in his back from Sal’s cleaver, which was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. Every bounce made him feel weaker, more light-headed, more thirsty. And wow did it sting!

Augum’s smile faded. There was also the dark knowledge he had ended another life, and in such a violent way. The memory of the man’s head exploding was seared into his brain forever. Just like the memory of killing Corrigus, back at Hangman’s Rock. Taking life was such a difficult thing to fathom, and it bothered him on a level that subtly poisoned everything. He supposed his anxiety over the matter should be tempered by the knowledge they were at war with cruel people. But justifications only felt like he was lying to himself, and the memories of what he had done would haunt him like ghosts.

Life was cheap in war. That’s what Sir Westwood had always said. Life was cheap in war.

His back suddenly twinged with searing pain after a particularly hard bounce. He winced and raised his head from Leera’s shoulder, trying to will the pain to go away. High above the dark trees was a vast field of bright stars, and the largest, most beautiful silver moon he had ever seen. At least they were alive to witness it, to enjoy each other’s company once more. At least she was safe in his arms. At least, that is, for a little while longer, for life to him now seemed a harrowing existence, a delicate dance on the sharpest blade, of which falling meant the nothingness that was death.

His head swam from staring at the heavens. He nuzzled his face again into Leera’s raven hair and gently gave her a squeeze. Her hands closed over his. But he wasn’t feeling that good now, what with the horse’s canter. He might need to lie down soon, else throw up. He should have dressed the wound … or even told Bridget about it. What was the matter with him?

“We need to stop,” he gurgled, feeling thoroughly queasy now, as if he was swimming through an ocean of bile.

“Huh?” Bridget said.

“We need to …” but then he felt all the fight go out of him. The long and stressful day, combined with lack of food and blood loss, had triumphed. He slipped from the horse and smashed into the soggy earth.

He woke up to Leera’s panicked face staring at him. She was slowly stroking his forehead. “Oh, Aug … why didn’t you say something?”