Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  Leera waved a hand before Augum’s face. “Hey, you there? Hello?”

  “Huh?”

  “I asked you what the plan is.”

  “Right. The plan. We search for where the course material is hidden. We do a speed run through the course work, do whatever quest it requires for us to attain dragoon rank, and then we try for dragon rank.”

  “Dragon rank.”

  “Uh-huh.” Augum caught the skeptical look on her face. He stopped and turned to face her in the empty stone corridor. “You’re just indulging me, aren’t you?”

  “No, I—” She wobbled her head. “All right, maybe I’m indulging you a little bit—”

  “Just say it.”

  “Say what?”

  He glowered, his blood flowing hot in anger, but at precisely what, he did not know.

  “Say what!” she snapped, lips pressed together rebelliously, arms folded across her chest. Her voice dropped. “Say what, Augum Arinthian Stone? Huh? Say what?”

  “That I’m being utterly ridiculous in thinking we’re going to—” It was his turn to make a dramatic poof gesture. “—make dragons magically appear!” Adding the word magic was a nice touch, as it was reserved for parlor tricks and hat magicians. “Tell me how ridiculous it is to think that they will save us. Come on, I know you’ve been thinking it. I know Bridget has. I certainly know Jengo has. And Isaac. And Laud. And Cai. Even The Grizzly. Every single time I mention it you lot give me a certain look. A pathetic look of pity. Come on, just say it! Call me a daydreamer, a moron, a total damn fool of an idiot—” He stopped himself, abruptly aware he had been yelling.

  Leera was staring at him in a way that made him wonder if she was furious or pitying him.

  Augum dropped his head. He dug his nails into his sweaty palms, hating himself for bursting at her. There she was trying to help, and all he could do was—

  A cool hand pressed against his cheek. He raised his chin and saw her smiling gently. She tilted her head. “You are a damn fool sometimes, my love.”

  He swallowed. “I know.” He waved whimsically, about to ask how she put up with him, when she caught his hand and drew it around her waist. She leaned in close to kiss him.

  “Hey—!” a harsh voice shouted and the two of them leapt apart, sure an overseer had caught them.

  “Stupid fools,” Isaac sang, chortling as he strode closer. “Anyone could walk up on you and you’re about to make out in the corridor as if everything’s peachy. You drunk?”

  “Why does everybody keep saying that?” Augum asked.

  “Maybe because you’re still acting like a foreign power hasn’t taken over the kingdom? Maybe because all those hero-worship letters blew so much smoke up your robe that you’re floating above a pile of your own manure?”

  “Eloquent,” Augum muttered.

  “I’m from Tarington. It’s a dump.” Isaac held up a book. “Guess what this is. Go on.”

  Leera placed a finger to each of her temples and squinted. “Hold on. Holy Unnameables … is it … is it a book?”

  Isaac swatted at her but she deftly stepped back. “Shut up,” he said with a smile. He held up the old tome triumphantly. “This, this is what we’re looking for. Bridge found it. As usual, she did most of the work. I got back in time to catch her gleeful smile after I made five of these—” He dug into his pocket and showed off a golden crown depicting King Rupert’s boar-like head. “Rich client asked for a complex Repair of a family heirloom vase, combined with a Seal casting on two windows to make them thief-proof.” He shrugged while chortling. “Poor fool will regret it in summer when he’s baking up there, but he can hire me again to undo the Seal.” He scratched his chin and frowned. “Assuming my enchantment lasts, that is.”

  “ ‘Always keep them coming back,’ ” Augum said, quoting the old merchant proverb.

  “Now I just need two more and I’ve got tomorrow’s quota. Had to test myself—and I appreciate your offer, I do, it’s just that I refuse to be a charity case if I can help it. But yeah, at this rate, even the nobility will be bled dry in a tenday from all the warlocks laboring for them. It’s unsustainable. This whole thing stinks.”

  “Where is she, anyway?” Leera pressed.

  “You mean Bridget?” Isaac replied. “Getting ready to go to Arithmetic.”

  Leera gave Augum a wry Of course she is look.

  Isaac put away the gold coin, licked his thumb, and gingerly opened the book. “Now, let me see here,” he said in his snootiest voice, flipping pages. “Ah, here we are. ‘It is understood that Dreadnought-sworn equipment is impossible to activate in the event of the death of the receiver of the oath.’ ”

  Leera snorted. “Wow, so helpful.”

  Isaac raised an imperious eyebrow at her. “Wait for it, missy.” He returned his gaze to the book. “There’s an asterisk: ‘Arcaneologists have postulated that the oath may be transferred to the offspring of the original receiver of said oath using the ancient Oath Displacement spell, known formally as Oa Dismata Reincarna, and upon renewing the original oath, replacing the name of the original oath receiver with the name of said offspring.’ ” He slammed the book closed, a giant grin on his face.

  “Brilliant!” Augum said. “But, uh …” The Lord High Commander’s pessimistic words crowded into his mind.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Augum forced a smile, taking stock in remembering one of The Grizzly’s last lines before he stepped out of the office. Somebody had to keep hope alive. “Wait, there is something—” And he told Isaac all about Archives and the key and The Grizzly staring at a dandelion painting behind his tiny desk and how he wouldn’t look him in the eye and then before he knew it he blurted out that the man had resigned his post on the high council, and Isaac was left slowly opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

  “The Lord High Commander just … up and quit?”

  Augum and Leera nodded.

  “But he didn’t quit teaching.”

  Augum and Leera shook their heads.

  “Yet he nonetheless quit.”

  Again they nodded.

  “You two twins or something?”

  Augum and Leera glanced at each other in disgust.

  “Anyway, damn it.” Isaac pondered the news whilst chewing on the edge of his thumb. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.”

  “Is it good?” Leera asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Your thumb.”

  Isaac snorted and half-heartedly wiggled his wet thumb toward Leera.

  She slapped it aside. “Gross.”

  “That’s rich coming from someone who can’t get enough of this one’s drool.” He nodded at Augum.

  “It’s called making out,” Augum countered. “And it’s talk like that that’s the reason you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking of asking Cai out.”

  Leera’s brows rose. “Caireen?”

  “What? I think she’s cute, and those wild eyes are downright bewitching. All right, I also find her quiet, discerning intelligence alluring. Why, do you think she’ll say no?”

  “I have no idea. It’s just … unexpected, that’s all.” Leera gave Augum an incredulous look, mouthing, “Caireen!”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know how much time we all have left and I’m feeling bold. I don’t want to exit this life without, you know … giving it a go.”

  “Giving it a go?”

  “Shut up. Anyway, would you two listen already?”

  “Sorry,” Augum and Leera chorused.

  “Back to Bridget’s discovery. So the other girls—Laud, Haylee, Cai—are all skipping Arithmetic to research what this Oath Displacement spell is.” He forked his fingers between the two of them. “You two and I are supposed to find out what that oath was that your former father made necrophytes take. Should be easy-peasy.”

  Leera expelled a languid breath. “Oh, this’ll go well. ‘Hi, I’m the Lord of the Legion’s son, and I’d like to ask you what sort
of oath my former father made you take before you became a necrophyte.’ ” She flashed two sarcastic thumbs up.

  Isaac ran a hand through his curly red hair. “Hmm, you may have a point there. All right, new plan. I find that out and you two …” He began walking backward away from them. “… do whatever it is you do when not making out. Go to Arithmetic or something. Or Archives. Just … don’t be fools. Catch you at the worship meeting!”

  “We can’t wait,” Leera said dryly.

  Right, Augum had forgotten they had to attend a Path worship ceremony after class. But he was annoyed Isaac showed no enthusiasm whatsoever about the possibility of Arcaner course material still existing. But then, Isaac probably thought him a fool for even thinking it would make a difference and had only been humoring him.

  “That gives us two hours,” Augum said.

  “Ooh, want to find another classroom—”

  “No—! I mean, of course I do, but … come on, aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “About what?”

  Augum raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Ah, you’re talking about Archives.” She shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I mean, what’s so exciting about finding course material? It’s just so …” She waved a floppy hand about while crinkling her nose. “Academic.”

  Augum stared at her.

  “Fine. Fine.” She gave him a roguish grin. “Think it’s possible to make out while walking?” but when she saw the look he gave her, “Ugh, I’m kidding, I might be a tad immature for my age, but I’m not a total degenerate.” She glanced down the hall. “Isaac and Caireen. Ha. Who would have thought. But you know, I think they’d make a good couple. Fiery, tempestuous, but adorable too. Anyway, where to first? Library or something?”

  Augum smiled at her as he held up the old iron key. “Right for the throat. Archives.”

  Flagon the Gully Wagon

  “Wait, where are we going?” Leera asked as they strode toward the giant portal that led to the snowy courtyard. “Archives are back in the Student Wing. I mean, not that I’ve ever been. Still—”

  “They are. But we need to rescue Bridget.” He had changed his mind and realized they worked better as a team.

  “From who?”

  “Herself. From her own brainiac mind.”

  Leera snorted. “You’re right. We need her more than she needs arithmetic. But you do realize class has already started, right?”

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  They stepped through the giant, windless and quiet portal that connected the Student Wing to the courtyard at the heart of the academy, emerging on the other side with a light reverse sucking sound, and immediately received a fierce blast of winter wind. Both had to raise their hoods and tuck their faces into the crook of their elbows.

  “Are the ice warlocks practicing out here again or something?” Leera muttered into her elbow. “Yeesh.”

  They soon stepped through the portal that led into the Hall of Rapture of the Lecture Wing. They passed two overseer guards in sapphire robes who glanced at them, faces hidden in the depths of their hoods.

  “So needlessly mysterious,” Leera whispered as they left them behind. “You’re not mysterious!” she shouted at them with a giggle.

  “What are you doing, are you crazy?” Augum hissed. He glanced back and saw the pair standing close together, talking. One nodded in Augum and Leera’s direction. He had the distinct impression the overseers knew who the trio were. It gave him a bad feeling. And her antagonism certainly didn’t help.

  “Surprised they’re not following us around at this point,” Leera added. “Especially since they probably know we should be in class.”

  “Give them time,” he muttered jokingly.

  An overseer exited a classroom roughly clutching an academy student by the arm. The student was a young woman of about twenty-five years of age and wore crimson adept robes with a single golden band around her shoulders, meaning she was 9th degree. The overseer placed two fingers into his mouth and whistled sharply, calling the attention of a pair of overseers standing idly by the portal. Augum flicked Leera’s arm to slow her down. They watched from a distance as the overseers strode over to the pupil, grabbed her, and began half dragging half marching her back to the portal.

  “But it’s my right to have a boyfriend!” the girl shouted. “How dare you! How dare—”

  “Voidus lingua!” an overseer snapped, silencing her.

  “She’s 9th degree and they’re dragging her like she’s a little kid,” Leera said. “You believe that?”

  “Considering what that vile—” But Augum, remembering The Grizzly’s advice about underestimation, stopped himself from making another derogatory statement about the Canterran prince. “Considering what Darby said about Canterran karmic vengeance, yes, I do believe it.”

  “Yeah, but that’s all made up.”

  “I know.” It better be.

  “Want to follow them?”

  “Tempting, but I believe this is more important.” For now. Besides, they’d likely teleport off anyway.

  “Right. Dragons.”

  “Don’t say the word like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “So sarcastically.”

  “Sorry.” She stole a glance back and, seeing that the coast was clear, planted a quick apologetic peck on his cheek, which Augum appreciated very much.

  “Ugh, guess we’ve got to face the stench too,” she muttered as they hurried along once more.

  Right. Gulliver Flagon’s body odor. The teacher never seemed to bathe. And he was a gambler and a drunk. Flagon the Gully Wagon.

  “You go in and get her,” Leera whispered when they got to the right door.

  “No, you do it. He likes you more.”

  “He hates everyone equally.”

  They playfully stared each other down. Augum crinkled his nose in a perfect imitation of her, and she cracked with a laugh.

  “You blinked first,” he said.

  “Cheater.” Then she took a deep breath and held it. “Here goes,” she squeaked in a nasal voice. She turned the handle and stepped through the door. Augum glimpsed the near-empty classroom. Everyone must be hunting coin, having come to the same conclusion, which was, What good was arithmetic at a time like this?

  Augum’s stomach flipped as he got a noxious whiff of Flagon. He slammed a hand over his nose, trying to concentrate on the conversation. Flagon the Gully Wagon was particularly bad today. He had to have gotten thoroughly drunk last night as the rancid stench of wine—combined with what smelled like a dead rat—squeezed through the crack in the door like a parched creature eager for water.

  “No, sir, I don’t know where Augum is at the moment,” Leera said in that nasal voice.

  “Somehow I do not believe you, Jones,” Arcanist Flagon croaked. “Very well. Join your sniveling friends, Burns. I suppose there are more important things to worry about. In fact, let us cancel class while we’re at it. Everyone out.” There was a stunned pause. “I mean it. Get the hell out of here. I’m, uh, not feeling too well anyway.”

  Augum couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Flagon was a stickler with classes. But there was a deep, sickly burp, followed by gagging noises from the students, who were suddenly in an awful rush to get out of there. And then Augum understood why Flagon was so eager to end class—he was hungover.

  Leera was first to emerge, pale and gasping. She took one look at the door and, with a mischievous grin, said, “Want to lock them all in there and see what happens?”

  “That is horribly cruel and unusual, Miss Jones.” Augum pictured students desperately banging on the door, the furiousness of their bleating ebbing until, one by one, they passed out from the rancid stench.

  A pronounced gagging came from the classroom.

  “Gods, I think he’s going to retch,” someone said from inside. Classmates poured out—all five of them, which included Katrina, Eric, Bridget, one of the adult students—Matilda—and a cackling Carp.<
br />
  Katrina bumped into Augum roughly. “Don’t stand in the middle like an oaf!” she snapped, even though Augum was nowhere near the middle of the doorway. He wanted to sarcastically ask her where Brandon was, but changed his mind upon seeing the calculating look on her face.

  Eric ignored Augum as he walked past, which was for the best, while Carp cupped a hand over his mouth and shouted back inside, “Augum was out here all along, sir!” Then the adult infant strolled off, still cackling.

  Bridget leaned back against the wall and rested her hands on her knees. She was pale as a sheet.

  The overseer burst out of there too, and for the first time, Augum saw what one looked like, for the person started coughing so violently that her hood slid back from her face. Surprisingly, she was an older woman of about forty, and she was even paler than Bridget. Her eyelids were accented with a soft tint of blue that matched her sapphire robe.

  “Gods, that is most foul, it is,” the overseer said in a Canterran accent so thick the words sounded like they were falling over themselves. “Cursed barbarian needs to be put down like a crippled mule.” Then she noticed Augum watching her and yanked her hood in place. “What are you looking at, barbarian?”

  “You’re a woman,” Augum blurted stupidly.

  “How perceptive,” and she strode off, muttering, “Idiot.”

  Augum watched her go, hoping she had been jesting about putting Flagon down. Interestingly, her voice had held no menace, only profound disgust, almost as if she considered this entire endeavor a waste of her time. He supposed he did not blame her—what high-degree warlock wanted to oversee a bunch of stupid teenagers? But how was a woman an overseer? Didn’t the Canterrans want women “in their place” in the kitchen or whatnot? It made no sense at all.

  Back inside the room, there was the sound of someone retching into a bucket.

  Leera pointed at the door and slammed it shut with a flick of her wrist. “There, now he can enjoy his own stench,” she wheezed. “You owe me one for saving you, Bridge. A big one.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Had we stayed any longer, they’d have only found our bodies.”