Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) by Sever Bronny

armor.
    Do something different, Bridget had said. Do something different …
    A new thought occurred to him, an ordinarily impossible thought— what if he could teleport? After all, casting beyond one’s level was possible and sometimes encouraged!
    His mind raced under the influence of Centarro unlike ever before, applying the patterns he had learned from every single spell, as well as the gestures he had seen other warlocks perform. Like a word on the tip of his tongue, he knew there was something to it; all he needed to do was—
    “Augum?” Bridget said, concern written on her face.
    Too slow. They were too slow with their thoughts and he did not have the time to explain. Yes, he appeared to just be standing there, but his mind … his mind was alive .
    The thoughts slammed on top of one another as his arcane energies built up with each new understanding, each new connection. Yes, it was wild casting. So what if he did not know the trigger word or the gesture or the exact series of cognitive functions? All he had to do was start small . The important thing was that he believed. That he knew it was possible!
    Centarro would soon expire, but his arcane energies were peaking. He reached for a spot across the shallow stream, already envisioning himself there. The wild arcanery exploded over his senses like a wildfire, rupturing his very being. His vision and body suddenly yanked forward with such violence he instantly blacked out.
    * * *
    “Fates and damnation, Aug, what did you do?” Leera asked in a shaky voice when Augum opened his eyes. His throbbing head was in her lap, every part of him aching.
    “Apreyo,” a pale Bridget said, hands folded over his robe. He saw it stitch back together seamlessly—apparently he had torn it somehow.
    Leera wiped his nose with a cloth. There was blood on it when she took it away.
    “Augum, what did you do?” It was Bridget that asked this time. Her face looked as stern as Mrs. Stone’s.
    He sat up a little too quickly, wincing from the sharp stabbing in his head. When he saw where he was, his face lit up with a victorious grin. “I’m on the other side of the stream!” All right, maybe not at the exact spot where he had intended, but still—
    Bridget’s brows crossed. “Augum Stone, did you just try casting Teleport ?”
    He swallowed, suddenly realizing the absolute stupidity of it. “Um, seemed like a good idea at the time …”
    Leera threw her hands up. “I can’t believe how dumb that was! Teleport’s a what—” and she looked to Bridget with exasperation.
    “—a 9th degree spell, Augum Stone,” Bridget said. “Let me repeat myself. That was a 9th. Degree. Spell. You could have ripped yourself to pieces, or appeared in a tree, or—”
    “—I know, I know, I’m sorry. It was dumb. I … I don’t know what I was thinking.” It really did seem like a good idea at the time.
    “Downright stupid is what it was.” Bridget was glaring at him while stabbing a finger at his chest. “Stupid and unlike you. You should have known better. We’ve got enough on our plate with Reflect, Cron, and the entire 4th degree, and you go and do something so—”
    “—stupid, I know. Sorry.” She was right, as usual.
    Leera dropped him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. “Sorry? Sorry? That’s instant death, Aug. There’s no coming back from that. Don’t you ever—” She was punching him on the shoulder with each word. “Do. That. Again!”
    “I won’t, I won’t!” He rubbed his battered arm. It hurt to see their scared faces. He felt his insides curdle with shame. It was the dumbest thing he had ever attempted.
    Another punch. “Ever!” Leera shook her head at him, eyes moist. “No wonder you lightning warlocks die so much—you’re all crazy, stupid fools.” She jabbed at his chest, something that’s been happening a lot lately. “Never. Again.”
    “All right, never again, I’m sorry!”
    She gave him a sorrowful look before scoffing,