Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (50 page)

“Okay.” He strolled by her. “Come on then, it can’t be far now.”

Leera followed close behind as the trio marched on. The day grew darker, even though it was still morning. A small but ever-strengthening wind picked up, reminding him of his struggles trying to cross the Tallows.

As the excitement of their encounter with the wraith wore off, the exhaustion from lack of sleep renewed its grip. His chest began hurting even more. He wondered if the healer could help him too. Then he found himself dreaming of a warm bed and a fire once again, wishing this cursed adventure, which turned out to be a lot more miserable than he thought, would end soon. What lacked here was Bridget’s voice of compassion and reason. He was sure that by now she would have already convinced Leera she was being overly dramatic, and would have probably even had her forgiving Haylee, maybe even become good friends. Well, maybe not good friends, that might be pushing it …

As they trundled along in the snow, ever more tired, his thoughts drifted to necromancy. He hoped Leera wouldn’t take offence to him asking some questions that had been on his mind for a while now.

“So Haylee, do you actually know any necromantic spells?”

“Yeah, I do, but only one—Feign Death. Want to see it?”

He glanced to Leera. She pursed her lips but raised no objection.

“Definitely,” he said.

Haylee made a dramatic show of a fair maiden falling to the snow. A moment passed. He was about to say that anyone could do that when Haylee’s face suddenly turned blue, then black, then rotted away, along with her hands. He and Leera gasped and took a step back. Haylee giggled and the effect instantly disappeared.

“All right, I have to say, that was awesome,” he said.

Even Leera seemed impressed, begrudging a nod.

“So what happens to your normal element of ice, do you ignore that, or—?”

“Well, the more energy you spend on your old element the less you have for necromancy, so most necrophytes stop training in their old element all together. They’re kind of forced to anyway.”

She stretched out a hand to him. He took it and helped her up, conscious of Leera looking on. Haylee brushed snow off her robe. “Necromancy’s more difficult than ordinary spell casting though. I wasn’t very good at it even. I kind of prefer ordinary spell casting.”

“You weren’t very good at ordinary spell casting at the academy either—” Leera said, trying to make a joke of it and laughing.

Haylee’s eyes flashed but she forced a smile. “I’m not planning on learning any more necromancy. I’m going to focus on my element of ice. I just have to find a new mentor.”

Leera gave Augum a look that said
no way is it going to be Mrs. Stone.

Haylee dropped her head. “All I wanted to do was make my mother proud and hang out with—” She gave a furtive glance at Leera. “I need to send my family a message I’m all right and … and to be careful.”

“At least you
have
a family to message,” Leera muttered, though mercifully, Haylee didn’t appear to have heard, and if she had, she pretended otherwise. Augum was tired of seeing them fight, or more accurately, seeing Leera pounce on Haylee at every opportunity.

“Think they’ll go after your family?” he asked.

Haylee chewed on a fingernail, a worried look on her face.

He unslung the rucksack. “They in Blackhaven?”

“Near the academy at our old house. I can’t ever go back there, not now.”

After a sullen silence, they continued following Mr. Bawdings’ tracks. It wasn’t long until they spotted a dark mass lying in the snow. Augum exchanged ominous looks with Leera as the trio wearily approached.

“It’s Mr. Bawdings,” Haylee whispered.

Augum took a moment to inspect the tracks. “The walkers caught up to him. Horse must have run off. We have to keep going.” He was surprised at how matter-of-fact he sounded around a dead body. Maybe it was because of the sleep deprivation, or maybe because this was what he had expected to find.

“We’re just going to leave him?” Haylee asked.

Leera withdrew Mr. Bawdings’ flask and some of the other belongings he had dropped along the way. “Well, what do you want to do, bury him? The ground’s frozen and he’s too heavy to carry. We
have
to leave him.” She placed the items on his body, all but his coin purse.

Not even a proper burial, Augum thought, staring at the man’s broad back. The blood combining with the cold had stiffened the tunic like frozen ripples in a pond.

“Let’s go,” he said, and so they left poor Mr. Bawdings behind. For a long time, no one spoke during the walk, until they heard the sound of horses in the distance.

“Must be the outpost,” Augum said, changing direction towards the boundary between the forest and the Tallows.

They crept up to some winter shrubbery and peeked over. The wind here was a little stronger, riffling yellow grass that peeked out from the snowy Tallows. A great wave of dark cloud slowly rolled in from the horizon.

A storm was coming.

Nearby, the giant black egg of Hangman’s Rock stood stark against the snow, augmented by a wooden watchtower built upon it. Tents, both large and small, fanned out around it. There was a makeshift stable and even a travelling smithy. Men were securing the camp against the increasing winds. Most dressed in thick winter coats, black armor peeking out.

“This is it,” Leera said. “What’s the plan?”

“You two stay here,” Haylee replied, raising her hood. “I have an idea. I’ll need the coin.”

Leera hesitated before handing the pouch over.

Haylee hid it inside her robes and glanced at Augum, her eyes sunken from lack of sleep. “I promise I’ll do my best.” She paused. “If something should happen … never mind, just wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” he said.

She glanced to Leera, hoping for the same, but Leera pretended to be busy with the rucksack. Haylee put on a determined expression and walked to the Legion camp.

“Hope this works,” he muttered, watching Haylee’s necrophyte robe billow in the wind like forgotten clothes on a drying line.

“She
better
succeed,” Leera said.

Haylee walked up to a guard. The pair conversed briefly before disappearing from sight behind a tent. Augum took the opportunity to withdraw the blankets, handing one over to Leera. She grabbed it without a word.

It was difficult sitting there in the snowy shrub, slowly freezing, wondering what was happening in the camp. Was Haylee successful? How would she convince the commander to lend her a healer without raising suspicion? What if the camp had received news of her betrayal and took her prisoner? What if, what if, what if—?

The questions swirled around his head like snowdrift. Leera sat beside him, wrapped up in her blanket, ignoring him with silence colder than the frost. He glanced at her from within his own nest. He could just see her freckled nose peeking out of her hood, occasionally brushed by tangled raven hair blowing around. He had this strange longing to hug her and tell her everything was going to work out somehow. Instead, he couldn’t get his mind off Mr. Bawdings’ lonely body.

Snow had begun to fall, the flakes adding to the winter accumulation. It became difficult to see the camp except for ever-present wisps of cooking smoke that revealed the strength of the winds. Sometimes he picked up the scent of roasting meat. It made his stomach pang with hunger.

The day darkened by the hour with the oncoming storm. He snacked on some biscuit beef and nuts, hoping this would work, that somehow, through some miracle, Haylee would be successful and they could return to Bridget with help. Leera eventually fell asleep. He thought it best to let her be and maintain watch himself. As time passed though, his eyelids became heavier and heavier. He let them rest just a little bit …

Miralda Jenkins

It was late afternoon when Augum felt an urgent shaking. He jerked into consciousness, peeking out from within his blanket nest.

“Who are you?” he asked, alarmed and struggling to ready himself for the unknown.

“Miralda Jenkins,” the woman whispered, eyes darting about. “And you must be quiet. We need to move fast, I have horses waiting in the forest.”

Right … she was the healer. He oriented himself as they quickly gathered themselves, Leera already up, stuffing her blanket into the rucksack. The weather had worsened since he was last awake, the wind howling, jamming snow into his face.

He brushed himself off and folded his own blanket, getting his first good look at the woman. She was very large, perhaps obese even, with short legs and arms, a kind, wide face with multiple chins, and hard but attentive eyes. She was dressed in a black sheepskin robe trimmed with fur, marked on the breast with the Legion emblem of a burning sword.

“Hurry now,” she said, gesturing for them to follow her quick waddling steps.

They reached two brown mares so large he guessed them former plow horses. Ms. Jenkins mounted one while Leera mounted the other, keeping her hood closely drawn. It was only in that moment that he suddenly realized that Haylee was nowhere to be seen.

“Ms. Jenkins, where’s—”

“There’s no time. Get on the horse and follow me. I’ll explain when I can.”

Augum, fearing someone may give chase at any moment, mounted Leera’s horse, gripping her waist, which stiffened at his touch.

They quickly got underway. After a time, Ms. Jenkins slowed her pace from an easy gallop to a canter. She lit up her palm in a dim white glow, routinely scanning the trees.

“Would you mind riding beside Ms. Jenkins?” Augum asked. Leera wordlessly complied.

“What happened to Haylee, Ms. Jenkins?” he asked when the horses were side-by side.

“Miss Tennyson was taken captive, I’m afraid,” she replied, eyes never leaving the forest. “Word had reached the camp through the commander’s speaking orb. They seized her, but not before she slipped me a note. I read it and quickly burned it.”

“What’s going to happen to her?”

“She’ll face a trial, if that’s what you could call it. If found guilty, with luck she’ll only be excommunicated, denounced, and made to do forced labor.”

“And if unlucky—?”

Ms. Jenkins’ lack of reply sent a shiver up his spine.

“So what about this speaking orb?” Leera asked. “Can they communicate freely with each other?”

“They can with another speaking orb, but the orbs have to be tuned together. They’re quite rare, only the commanders receive them, mostly to communicate with each other and the Lord of the Legion.”

“So do they know about us?” Leera pressed.

“They received word about your escape, though they weren’t expecting any of you to show up here. Upon spotting Miss Tennyson, they knew you must be near. Commander Canes’ first guess was Sparrow’s Perch, so they’ll be mounting a party right away—”

“Commander Canes?” He could hardly believe it. “As in, Dollard Canes?”

“Yes, the Knight of Disgrace—”

“But he’s the one—!” He could barely keep from sputtering. “He’s the one who—”

“—betrayed you all to the Legion? For that feat, he was rewarded with command of Venga company, all two hundred men, who once took orders from Commander Rames.”

So
that’s
who he thought looked familiar back in Sparrow’s Perch—it was Canes! Even remembering that bulbous nose of his made Augum tense up with loathing.

“We must beat them back to Sparrow’s Perch. I may be able to obscure your presence from them, depending on if they send Corrigus along.”

“Corrigus—?” Leera said.

“Corrigus is a very high degree Legion sorcerer they’re expecting to arrive with a supply caravan. He has the arcane ability to discover enchantments. We can only hope he is delayed by the weather.”

“Won’t they be looking for you?”

“I told them I was not feeling well, and to let me rest in my tent. When I heard who you were, I knew I had to do everything in my power to help the resistance.”

“The resistance?” Augum blurted. “But we’re only apprentices!”

“Yes, well, if you’ll forgive me, I more meant Mrs. Stone. Though perhaps one day, should you grow strong enough … after all, you are
his
son—”

“Wait, I don’t understand—”

“Perhaps you will in due time.”

He wanted to ask more questions but Leera was forced to fall in behind Ms. Jenkins’ horse as the trees grew denser. They rode on, shivering in the cold wind, trying to stay warm.

“I think she meant for you to become the leader of the resistance or something,” Leera said.

“Oh.” He was disappointed if that was the case. How could he, a commoner with little arcane knowledge, possibly lead anyone? He wanted to laugh derisively at the idea, but there was something more pressing at the moment—Leera had spoken to him for the first time in hours! “So … you still mad at me?” he asked.

Her reply was as sharp as the cold. “No,” and he instinctively knew she was still mad.

“But … I don’t understand, what did I—”

“Because …” she cut in, taking time to form the right words. “Because
she
likes you.”

He almost fell of the horse. “Um … what?”

“I didn’t want her … stealing you from us. What with her pretty golden locks and her evil charms … I know what she’s capable of. I know what she’s doing.”

He just gaped. Part of him was embarrassed yet another part flattered that Leera was so protective of him. “I … I would never leave you two,” he managed to finally stammer. “You’re my closest and best friends, and … and I don’t
like
her like that anyway. She was just a friend, someone who helped us, who I thought had changed and needed …” What was the right word? “Compassion.” To accent the point he squeezed Leera’s midriff in the manner of a quick hug. She didn’t reply but he could tell she was happy to hear it.

“Look, I’m … I’m sorry for being so mean to her,” she said. “I hope … I guess I hope things turn out well for her in the end, you know?” Then she snorted a laugh. “But don’t worry too much, I bet her parents will buy their way out of this mess—they’re rich.”

“Yeah,” he said half-heartedly, pondering on the fact yet another person had made a sacrifice on their behalf, a recurring pattern he viewed as a curse. He hoped that, wherever she was, Haylee was not in any pain and that for once Leera was right about her—maybe her parents
would
buy her way out of this mess. The thought seemed vain and pathetic somehow.