Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  His castle steward, Mr. Haroun, was waiting for him in the hallway, holding a sack. “Lord Stone. Your mail.” The man’s dark skin was drawn, his face tired.

  Augum accepted the bag telekinetically, for he already carried a satchel, a bulging rucksack, and the Dreadnought equipment. “Thank you, Steward Haroun.” The two of them stood in awkward silence, neither looking into the other’s eyes.

  “They are keeping me on as a liaison between the village and the new owners—for now.”

  “I understand,” Augum said dully.

  “There’s a lot of mail.”

  Augum did not reply. He was supposed to ask the man for something, but he couldn’t think past the shock of what had transpired, as if his thoughts had been cleaved in two by a Canterran axe, leaving half opaque. He glanced around. “Will you take care of her, Mr. Haroun?”

  “To the very best of my ability, dear Augum,” Steward Haroun replied softly. “Try not to worry too much.” He then gave a single nod, silently telling him to hang in there, that they’d figure this out somehow.

  Augum walked past unable to suppress the anxious butterflies in his stomach, the sack of mail and equipment floating alongside him, the rucksack digging into his shoulders along with the strap of his overstuffed satchel. Mr. Haroun trailed him a ways down, until Augum stopped at the landing between the first and second floor, for there on the wall hung the many portraits of those who had sacrificed their lives in the Legion War. He was barely conscious of Bridget, Leera, Charles, Jez, twelve overseers and a slew of inquisitors watching him from the checkered floor of the foyer below.

  Augum was fixated on the portrait of him and the girls with Mrs. Stone. His venerable great-grandmother stood behind Augum wearing a glimmering white robe while leaning on her staff, face deeply wrinkled. Leera stood to Augum’s right, with her classic wry smile; Bridget stood to his left, face soft with compassion. All three wore emerald initiate robes, dating the painting to what felt like an eternity ago. He wondered if Mrs. Stone was watching him from the plane of Ley, where she had retired to live on as a Leyan. It was no heaven though. If anything, she was likely meditating for months on end in the great windy deserts of Ley, or perhaps studying books or scrolls in the library, trying to figure out a way to bring Leyan knowledge back to the world. He had not heard a peep from her since the end of the war. It took too much power, too much strength to reach across the planes like that.

  And what an odd thought. No one except the few around him would even venture to believe Mrs. Stone was still alive, up there in some unfathomably distant and ancient plane, cut off from the mortal world.

  Like the portrait of Mrs. Stone as a younger woman, Augum held an orb in his hand in this depiction. The Arinthian scion, the only object that could make the castle strong again. But it was destroyed during the vanquishing of the Lord of the Legion, and with it went any possible way to defend the castle. The place had fallen so far as to be at the wretched mercy of another kingdom’s writ of confiscation. Castle Arinthian had been defeated by parchment. He, Augum Arinthian Stone, had been defeated by nothing more than plain ink and parchment …

  “I swear on all that I hold dear that I will keep those safe,” Mr. Haroun said from the top stairs, voice cracking. “Please worry not, dear Augum.”

  Augum brushed his fingertips over the painting before numbly plodding on down the steps to join the others, his overseers trailing like sentinels.

  As Mr. Haroun watched from the top of the landing, the trio, Jez and Charles took one last long look around the home of Augum’s ancestors, their home. Bridget and Leera sniffled. Charles eventually lowered his head, and Jez nodded sorrowfully to herself. Augum closed his eyes and inhaled the ancient scent of stone and tallow candle and roast turkey, wondering if he would ever step foot in the old place again.

  A giggling Katrina skipped down the steps like a schoolgirl, stopping to stand by Steward Haroun. “Still here, are we? It’s a shame the Von Edgeworth scion was destroyed. Still, perhaps we will find a way to break into that vault of yours and raid the riches that now belong to us.” She shrugged. “No matter, for the castle is the prize.” She flicked a lazy wrist. “Now off with you, peasants. Shoo!”

  Leera, burdened with sacks while holding Sir Pawsalot, bundled snugly in a blanket, shook her head, muttering, “This isn’t over.”

  They left the foyer, trailed by the Lady High Inquisitor and her inquisitors.

  “A word, Lord Stone,” the Lady High Inquisitor said in the vestibule. Her retinue readied their quills over parchments fastened onto clay tablets while the overseers waited just outside the vestibule. “What do you know about three bodies left lying around the city, Lord Stone?” The quills began taking notes. “Bodies that were in possession of distinctive curved daggers.”

  Jez glanced between Augum and the inquisitor. “What are you going on about, Melinda?”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you will mind your business, Ms. Terse,” the Lady High Inquisitor hissed without looking at her. “Lord Stone is a man grown and can answer a simple question, and he does not need to be reminded that he can be asked to swear on his shield.”

  Augum, still numb from what had just happened to his beloved castle, ran a tired hand through his hair. There was no escaping the truth, not unless he wanted to lose his honor, and perhaps even dim his shield. Though by telling the truth, he also risked losing his freedom, not just from the inquisition committee which had the power to detain him, but from the Canterrans who were listening in.

  “So this is how Arcaners were undermined throughout history,” Augum murmured under his breath. “By having their own shields used against them.”

  “One need not fear the truth, Lord Stone. One need only provide it.”

  Augum stared at her. Was it him, or did her voice hold genuine earnestness? He sighed. “Very well then.”

  “Aug, don’t—” Leera said, but he raised a staying hand.

  “This is part of the path of the Arcaner,” he said.

  Leera closed her eyes in surrender and cuddled Sir Pawsalot.

  “I … I had no choice, Lady High Inquisitor,” Augum said. “I had to defend myself against assassins, who were hired by a noble.”

  “How do you know they were hired by a noble?”

  “I told you all this before. The assassin I dispatched in the Black Arena told me so with his dying words.”

  “But you did not swear on your shield.”

  “Oh, so suddenly you believe in the shield, do you, Melinda?” Jez snarled.

  The Lady High Inquisitor ignored her. “Swear to this inquisition committee that everything you have told me thus far, in terms of this investigation, is true.”

  Augum raised his left arm and flared his lightning shield so they could see the inscribed golden words Semperis vorto honos. Courage, fortitude, honor. “I so do swear upon my shield as an Arcaner Squire that everything I have told you regarding the investigation is true.”

  The Lady High Inquisitor watched the inscription carefully. “The words did not dim. You have told the truth.”

  Jez was watching Augum, but instead of anger, her face showed only despondency and disappointment. He hadn’t told her about the assassins, and she seemed hurt.

  Augum disappeared his shield. “Does this mean you’re going to take the assassins seriously now?”

  “We take every matter before us seriously, Lord Stone. You may go. We will be in touch.”

  “So … I’m not under arrest?”

  “You defended yourself lawfully. And although you have failed to report the attacks, this committee has taken into account—” She glanced back at the Canterrans. “—the involved circumstances.”

  Augum gaped. The circumstances being that the Whisper Blade assassins were from the invading kingdom. So the Lady High Inquisitor, as cold and detached as she could be, worked for Solia after all. It seemed the occupation had forced her to reexamine her loyalties.

  Jez wore the same slack expr
ession as Augum.

  The Lady High Inquisitor, somehow sensing Jez’s disbelief at hearing such fairness come from her enemy, said, “We follow the investigation wherever it takes us, Ms. Terse, regardless of biases.” She and her retinue then departed.

  “Well that was strange,” Jez muttered. “But don’t bet on them nabbing the person responsible for hiring the assassins. Bribery’s still a thing.” She shook her head at Augum. “Three others, huh?”

  “I had to defend myself, and I …” He glanced over at the girls. “I didn’t want to worry you all.”

  Jez sighed. “What am I ever going to do with you, Stone? Come on, my little monkeys, let’s get out of here.”

  As she and the girls went outside, Augum paused at the great double doors inside the old vestibule, conscious of overseers standing by, waiting to shut the doors. He placed a hand on the cool stone, finding a small letter A, for Arinthian. He brought his face close and gently kissed the ancient letter, murmuring, “I promise I will be back, ancestors.” He would have liked to clean Arinthian’s tomb first, as was his sacred duty. But so be it.

  His fingers slipped off the stone as he stepped through the open door and into the winter evening. The doors clanged shut behind him like a sarcophagus, and there was the distinctive sound of enchantments being cast.

  They stood out there in the bitter wind, robes fluttering, allowing snow to accumulate on themselves and their stuff.

  Linen Sack

  It was a long walk through the village. The trio, after donning their arcane coats, decided to stay at Haylee’s house, for she would be the least impacted by their presence, while Jez would stay with their mutual friends, the Okekes. Half the village was empty as people had trekked to the distant cities of Antioc and Blackhaven for Market Day. The other half were eating supper. It was a blessed mercy, as the last thing Augum felt like doing was explaining that their quaint little village was now under the thumb of the cursed Von Edgeworths and that fanatic, Gritchards. He would not have been able to explain how he had let everyone down. He hadn’t even been able to put up a fight either, for that would have placed everyone in grave danger.

  He watched his feet plow through the snow, barely conscious of his surroundings, a hollow feeling in his stomach. He had broken his vow to protect the castle. He had let his ancestors down. He knew the situation had to be particularly hopeless because the usually cheery Jez was stone silent. Usually, she brimmed with ideas on how to overcome a challenge, especially as a mentor.

  “The kingdom got its head kicked in,” Jez blurted. “Without anyone so much as lifting a finger. I never thought I’d see the day. And now they took the castle. We can’t even use the Trainers.” Then her eyes narrowed at Augum. “You sure it was only three other assassins?”

  “I’m sure, Jez.”

  “So they’re after you, and you dispatch them in your spare time, is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Gods, I need a drink.”

  “I’m … I’m sorry.”

  “I know. And you two, you knew about him gallivanting about like that?”

  “We just found out about it this morning,” Bridget replied. “You know Augum, he can be … stubborn.” She flashed him a sisterly look which he greatly appreciated.

  “Like a mule defending a cob of corn,” Jez muttered. “I like the new coats. Nifty arcanery, but they make you look like gorillas.”

  “Never seen a gorilla,” Leera said despondently. “Except in books. Are they even real?”

  “Yeah, well, neither have I. And yes, they are real … I think.”

  They trundled on. Augum was having a hard time telekinetically holding up the heavy sack of mail. He refocused on it and held his concentration, which was a relief as it kept his mind off his failures.

  “Supper at Haylee’s,” Jez said heavily. “But settle in first. Charles, you go with them. I’ll join you all soon.”

  “Yes, Ms. Terse.”

  The trio and Charles parted ways with Jez, who went on to the Okeke home, while they continued on to Haylee’s, who lived a few doors down. In summer the streets were nothing more than mud paths, but in winter they were merely two dips in the snow from wagon tracks. Peasants and laborers lived in houses made of earth or wood with thatched roofs. Those who were better off lived in brick homes with clay-tiled roofs, while everyone else lived in log cabins made from the surrounding Ravenwood.

  They stepped onto Haylee’s porch. She lived in an unassuming stone and wood cabin near their other village friends. Bridget wordlessly stared at the door. She was closest to it yet she did not knock.

  “Bridge?” Leera’s voice was gentle. “You okay?”

  “Huh?”

  “You okay?”

  “Oh, just … thinking too much.” Bridget numbly raised a hand and knocked on the door. A moment later, Haylee opened it.

  “Well you three look a sorry sight,” she said, gesturing for them to enter. “You packing for a trip I should know about? Hi, Sir Pawsalot!” She gave the tabby a chin scratching. Then she brightened. “Does all that stuff have something to do with my womanhood ceremony? Ooh, is it … presents?”

  “We wish. We’ve a lot to tell you about,” Leera said with a sigh, and as they dropped their stuff, she wearily told her what had happened.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” Haylee whispered when Leera finished, giving each of them—except Charles, for it would not be proper seeing as he was a servant—a gentle hug. “No one had earned a castle more than you three. No one. To have it confiscated by vile Von Edgeworths is just …” She shook her head, her long blonde hair waving like a curtain. “And on top of that, to have Brandon there trumpeting his glee …” She pressed a slender finger to the corner of each eye, brushing away the tears. “You did not deserve that,” she whispered. “Stay as long as you like.”

  While the girls chatted in low voices, Charles took their belongings and put them away upstairs. Augum was to take one bedroom, Bridget and Leera another, while Haylee would remain in the master, despite her insistence otherwise, for the trio refused to deprive her of her room. Her home was one of the few ancient structures that had been arcanely repaired. Everyone who had been part of the Resistance in the Legion War had received one of these dwellings, including the Okekes. It had two floors with multiple brick hearths. The lower level had a parlor, a storeroom, a kitchen, and a bedroom for the servant, while the bedrooms were upstairs.

  The place was furnished sparsely, though everything in it was of the highest quality as Haylee was a sucker for “beautiful things,” as she liked to call them. There was a mahogany dining table and two trestle benches; a gilded desk in the corner piled neatly with schoolwork and books; two gilded settees, matching armchairs, and a fine mahogany triple wardrobe—all gifted by the same grateful rich merchant who had showered the trio with furniture. Haylee being Haylee had played up her suffering to the merchant, squeezing a few extra goodies from his guilt-ridden conscience. Disgruntled, he hadn’t returned since.

  Augum and the girls had spent many suppers here laughing over trivialities and sharing stories of the war. It was an ancient noble’s house, one Haylee deserved for her sacrifices fighting the Legion. She had lost nearly her entire family and put her life on the line countless times. Now she walked with a pronounced limp, a memento from a high-mountain ordeal. Her on-again, off-again boyfriend was a young Henawa man named Chaska. At the moment they weren’t speaking. Augum couldn’t recall if this latest tiff was about her insistence on gilding the upstairs dresser at their mutual expense, or her demanding he marry her and move in or “stop messing with my feelings.”

  Augum sat looking at the parlor with a distant expression, barely paying attention to what the girls were discussing. Haylee’s servant, a girl of about thirteen years of age, was busy setting the table with fine porcelain. Augum thought her name was Billy. A boy’s name as her peasant father had apparently refused to believe she had been born a girl.

 
Leaded glass windows rattled from a strong gust of wind. Small snowdrifts were piled up on each of the four panes. The hearth roared as Charles fed it logs. Sir Pawsalot circled the place, sniffing each corner, brushing up against the legs of people and furniture alike.

  The conversation eventually caught up to Augum.

  “We should just burn it,” Leera snapped. “You know most of it is hate mail.”

  “How could you say such a thing?” Bridget said, snatching the sack of mail and opening it. “It’s our duty to read and reply to what we can. Augum will help, won’t you, Augum?” When Augum only stared at her dully, she added, “Come on, it will do us good to get our minds off things.”

  “Oh, I’m sure this will help greatly,” Leera said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She glared at Bridget, stuffed a hand into the linen bag of mail, and withdrew three random letters, each sealed with wax. She continued to glare as she roughly opened the first, then began reading.

  “ ‘You three are abominations. You let my daughter down. You let all of us down. Why didn’t Lord Stone take the throne when he had the chance? Greedy opportunistic cowards, the lot of you. Protectors defend their kingdom until their dying breath. They do not capitulate when the going gets rough. Sincerely, a hurt Solian.’ ”

  Leera glanced at Bridget while idly tossing that letter aside and roughly opening the second. “ ‘Like father, like son. Ye done sold the kingdom off to the highest bidder, didn’t ya? I hear you is broke and needed the money for that there bleedin’ castle. Rot in hell, the lot of ye.’ ”

  Bridget opened her mouth to protest but Leera cut her off with the third letter. “ ‘You should be spending all your time helping the sick and poor to atone for being so selfish. And what the hell are you doing wasting time becoming Arcaners? It’s a decrepit order with stuffy and dated traditions that died out for a reason. If you really vanquished the Lord of the Legion like you said, you should have no trouble kicking out the Canterrans. We relied on you and you did nothing. The king did nothing. Weaklings and cowards, all of you. Rot in hell.’ ”