Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  Augum rested a hand on the plaque, whispering, “Miss you, Nana.”

  Leera placed a hand beside his. “Miss you, Mrs. Stone.”

  Bridget placed her hand on the plaque last, mouthing the same words, as if unable to speak them aloud lest her voice crack.

  A Distant Tune

  They backtracked to the first intersection. This time they took the hall across from the long row of twenty-foot statues, the whole way talking in quiet voices about what they had seen.

  After descending another long series of shallow steps, noting that the ceiling stretched upward, Augum spotted eerie tall shapes floating silently in the darkness ahead. As they neared, he heard a distant bagpipe melody playing a slow and mournful battlefield anthem.

  “Those are trees,” Bridget said.

  “They’re pines,” Augum noted as they neared, their lit palms creating long and sharp claw-like shadows from the branches. The pines floated in a ghostly manner, roots like hanging spiders, pruned to fit in close quarters.

  “What’s with the funereal music?” Leera pressed. “Where’s that coming from?”

  The music was like an echo between canyons.

  “It’s coming from the trees,” Augum noted.

  “What possible use does this serve?” Leera asked.

  “Solian pines,” Bridget whispered. “Combined with that music, I’d say it must mean something special, something … patriotic.”

  Augum glanced around and soon spotted what he had been looking for. “There’s a plaque.” He walked over and read it aloud. “ ‘For each so bold as they be, souls in love with their academy, fought to protect the right to live, gave the only thing they had left to give.’ ” He wiped off the dust at the bottom. “ ‘The Canterran Invasion of 2721.’ ”

  The trio went quiet, realizing what it meant. Each pine tree symbolized a student or teacher who had sacrificed their lives in the previous Canterran invasion—six hundred years ago! And here it was happening again.

  Augum looked up at the floating pines and a lump gathered in his throat. He wished he hadn’t read the plaque, for one of his greatest fears lay before him—that one of the girls would become one of those trees. It was a powerful fear he had last truly felt in the war, when Chappie Fungal’s bagpipes filled the castle with anthem melodies. The cowardly thoughts of running away squirmed back into his mind like maggots.

  A distant noise from ahead startled them. They extinguished their palms and froze, listening in the darkness. All they could hear was the mournful bagpipe music.

  “What was that?” Leera whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Augum replied, “but let’s keep our lights dim. Shyneo.” His palm lit up, as dim as he could make it. The girls didn’t light their palms, choosing to follow Augum as he quietly strode down the tunnel, past the floating pines.

  “Wait,” Bridget said. “This place is a labyrinth. Let’s cast Object Track on something in case we need help finding our way back here.”

  “Good idea,” Augum replied, glancing around. “That plaque. Let’s enchant that.” They paced over to the plaque and, one by one, splayed their hands over it, incanting, “Vestigio itemo discovaro.”

  The trio then continued. The farther in they went, the more sounds reached them, muted and echoed sounds like clanking and smacking and grinding, the kinds one heard at a work site. And voices too. Sharp commands followed by the crack of a whip, the occasional cry of pain, and plenty of angry shouts, making the trio hurry along.

  They turned down corridors, passing old iron-strapped doors that went who knew where, until they stumbled across a particularly long corridor that was the source of the noise. At the very end, a bright light emanated from a pit, silhouetting moving figures.

  Augum extinguished his palm. “We can sneak up on them using the doorway alcoves—” But he cut himself off, for two voices came from behind them. He yanked the girls into a nearby alcove just as two overseers strolled around an adjacent corner, their palms lit.

  “Meek as sheep,” said the first man. “I hear even the Tiberrans put up a fight.”

  “I don’t care so long as we find it for His Royal Highness,” replied a second voice. “Could be anywhere in this cursed kingdom.”

  “We need more manpower. Only so many warlocks around.”

  “Can’t those Path people make more rules to be broken?”

  “They’re on it, but the sheep are actually doing a good job following them. We might have to resort to snatching them at will.” The two figures chortled as the trio tensed in the darkness of the alcove. The Canterrans stopped halfway down the tunnel. The trio strained to hear them.

  “You have your key?”

  “Right here.”

  One of them mumbled something indistinct and they continued walking, but their voices were too distant to make out.

  “Gods, did you hear that?” Leera whispered. “All those stupid Path rules are meant to be broken so the bastards can snag more slaves for their project.”

  “It’s all starting to make sense,” Augum said. “Yesterday when they introduced Darby, I had the impression he didn’t quite … I don’t know, believe in what he was saying?”

  “They’re looking for something specific,” Leera said. “Let’s find out what.”

  “I believe there’s an arcane barrier ahead,” Bridget said. “We need to be careful.”

  “Triple Reveal?” Leera asked.

  “Good idea.”

  They kept to the wall and crept up to where the overseers had stopped. Augum spread the fingers of his right hand and concentrated. “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus.” A previously invisible arcane barrier lit up before him. But upon further examination, he noticed the arcanery was woven in a way he had never seen before, almost as if—

  “The spell is designed to be extremely difficult to disenchant,” Bridget whispered, studying the intricate casting. “I see multiple variations on the Object Alarm spell and numerous trap spells woven into the arcane fabric of the main spell. I’d say it’d be near impossible for us to get through without getting caught or blowing ourselves up. It’s just too complicated.”

  Two distant gongs sounded.

  “Second afternoon bell,” Augum said. “One hour left. We can’t help them right now. Let’s find Archives.”

  An Ancient Scent

  They backtracked and delved deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels, discussing what they had seen and overheard, drawing a few conclusions. One, it was imperative they find out what the Canterrans were looking for. Two, they had to prepare for when the Canterrans started snatching people at random to fill their labor needs. And three, they needed a plan for when the Solian insurrection gained ground, and part of that plan still involved appropriating war-recovered Dreadnought armor.

  At last they turned down a random corridor and found a hulking pair of ancient doors. They were carved with scrolls, books, quills, stoppered bottles, orbs on tasseled pillows, and various odds and ends. Two clunky iron rings hung on the lower portion of the doors, a large keyhole underneath one.

  Augum withdrew the ancient key from his satchel. “Well, here goes …” He slipped the key into the hole and had to use both hands to turn it. The old mechanism clanked as the lock sprung open. Augum withdrew the key and pushed on the doors. They squealed in protest like piglets yearning for their momma.

  The trio raised their lit palms to find towering wooden bookshelves carved with scenes of pupils sitting at their desks. The shelves went higher than the light of their palms reached.

  “How do you even get up there?” Leera asked.

  They solemnly walked the aisles, getting a sense of the place. It was silent and musty like a mausoleum. Entire shelves were devoted to scrolls packed tightly in precisely labeled cubbies.

  Bridget read the tag of one cubby aloud. “ ‘A Detailed Summation of Accounts of Academy Servant Staff, the thirtieth day of the tenth month, year 3133.’ ”

  “Exciting read,” Leera muttered. “Who woul
dn’t want to catch up on how much Bradley the Broomkeeper was paid two hundred years ago?”

  Wanting to connect to the history of the academy, Augum touched a scroll—and immediately heard a distant metallic shuffling noise.

  The trio froze. The shuffling neared rapidly. Leera made to run, only for Bridget to catch her. “Wait, I think I know what that is,” Bridget said, smiling.

  Leera searched her eyes and joined her smile. “And now I do too.”

  It dawned on Augum what they were talking about. These old institutions often had an ancient guardian. And sure enough, a suit of armor appeared from the shadows and clanked over to them. The armor was of an ancient design, with intricate scrolling engraved along the edges of the battered steel plates, and the academy crest on the chest. A broad sword hung from the right hip and a crest shield from its back. It was a complete set of armor, including a slotted helm, so no skin showed—not that such a thing mattered, for Augum knew the suit was empty, animated to eternally serve Archives. Such was the power of ancient arcanery.

  “What do ye feckless wanderers think ye art doing?” the armor shouted in a metallic and screechy voice. “’Tis none a place for doe-eyed knaves!”

  Leera snorted. “Doe-eyed knaves. Laud would love that one.”

  “You must be Mildred,” Augum said. “The Grizzly told me about her,” he told the girls.

  The armor gave a stiff bow. “Mildred at thy service, young academy pupils. Now leave for ye art soiling the peace of the sacred Archives.”

  Augum retrieved the key from his satchel and held it up. “We have permission.”

  “I’ll smack thy face if thou giveth me cheek. What dost thou want, ye churlish boors?”

  “You’re left-handed,” Leera noted in surprise, nodding at the sword hanging on the right side.

  “Thou shalt not pester Mildred with vapid inanities! Thou shalt state thy purpose or be carried out by the scruff, ye sour mashes of mutt.”

  Leera had a hard time keeping a straight face as she raised her hands in surrender. “All right, all right, Mildred, stop getting your plates all bent out of shape. We’re here to retrieve the Arcaner course material.”

  “Speaketh plainly for what it is thou searcheth or return to thy rotten vagrant hovel.”

  Leera spoke slowly and loudly. “We are looking for where you store all the Arcaner things … and stuff. Take us to the Arcaner cubby.”

  “Lee, really now, she’s not deaf,” Bridget whispered.

  “Follow me, ye crooked-nosed skamelars.”

  “Colorful,” Leera noted as they tailed the shuffling armor. “See?” she said to Bridget. “Sometimes one needs to make oneself clear to get results. Easy-peasy.”

  “And don’t think of touching the edge of none a parchment either, ye baseborn brood.”

  “This one’s vocabulary is, uh, quite refined,” Bridget whispered, her ears pink from the cursing.

  Augum smiled to himself. He always found something strangely comforting about these ancient guardians, as grumpy as they oft were.

  Mildred stopped before a large empty cubby. “There she be, ye beasts of burden.”

  “Shoot, I knew it wouldn’t be that simple,” Leera muttered.

  Bridget flipped her hand skeptically. “But you just said it was easy-peasy—”

  “I may or may not have,” Leera interrupted, and opened her hands at Augum and Bridget. “Though the floor is open to ideas, geniuses.”

  “Hurry thy snail minds, ye misaligned axles.”

  Augum and Bridget stared at each other, perhaps hoping to dig out the answer from each other’s thoughts.

  Augum began. “The last generation to learn the way of the Arcaner—”

  “—was Mrs. Stone’s generation,” Bridget finished. “William Smith the Plotter.”

  “Otherwise known as One Eye. But who was the headmaster of the day?”

  They turned to Mildred and asked her that very question.

  “Thee art lazy as a summer sheepdog if thou art asking Mildred such a query! None an answer can I giveth, ye bulbous zit boils.”

  Bridget’s face scrunched with disgust before she tried a different tack. “Take us to the academy history section please, Mildred.”

  “Follow me, ye cross-eyed brigands.”

  “I should be writing this stuff down,” Leera muttered. “It’s gold.”

  “Shouldn’t you be trying to become more mature?” Bridget asked.

  “You kidding me? I’m only, like, 9th degree in immaturity. I’ve got a long way to go to mastery, thank you very much.”

  Mildred took them to a monstrously large section of cubbies stuffed with parchments, tomes, scrolls and historical knickknacks such as rolled-up pennants and crests stuck to boards.

  “There ye be, ye curdled lumps of milk.”

  Leera finally had enough and cracked up with laughter. “Curdled lumps of milk …” She had to rest her hands on her knees as she calmed down. Meanwhile, Augum and Bridget scanned the shelves.

  “Thee will have to sign with thy blood on the sacred text if thou are want to borrow a single sheaf of parchment, ye unpolished doorknobs of dullness.”

  “Right, thank you, Mildred,” Augum said while scanning the shelves. All places like this worked the same way—the items were enchanted so if they were taken without permission, destroyed or brought back late, the offender would come down with a horrible curse that only the administration could lift. Such measures ensured the valuable inventory was not lost over time. Some places even had ancient teleport enchantments, so the items returned after a set time.

  Augum hoped it also meant the Arcaner course material was in here, though hidden arcanely. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as casting the Unconceal spell, for that could only find things hidden without the use of arcanery. As for Reveal, which could uncover arcane enchantments, that would require them to accidentally stumble upon the texts, a near impossibility considering the vastness of the place. No, what was required here was good old-fashioned detective work.

  “Here we go,” Bridget said, withdrawing a relatively new tome about the size of a school desktop. She struggled with it until Augum helped her hold it while Leera flipped the monstrous pages.

  “Careful with that, ye degenerate crooners!”

  “There’s the index,” Bridget said as Leera squinted to read the minuscule upside-down writing while trying not to crack up again from Mildred’s protests. The margins flowed with illustrious hand-painted historical depictions.

  “Mind if I transfer the weight more to you, Aug?” Bridget asked, letting one hand go, freeing the other to scroll past the headings and subheadings.

  He took the weight and telekinetically lifted his satchel off his shoulders, for doing something physical while practicing Telekinesis was a great way to build his telekinetic muscle.

  Bridget closed her eyes as she murmured, “Now if I recall correctly, Mrs. Stone was around sixteen years of age when the last Arcaner course was held, therefore the year was …” Her lips moved silently as she counted to herself. She opened her eyes. “3255.” Her finger went back to the text. “Here we are, ‘Faculty of the Year 3255. Page eight hundred twelve.’ ”

  Leera heaved the massive pages whole chunks at a time as Mildred looked on, still as a statue.

  Bridget counted for her. “Eight hundred eight … eight hundred ten … stop there, eight hundred twelve.”

  The page contained a long list of arcanists and faculty staff and the courses they had taught. It was an enormous amount of people.

  “Like ten times the staff of today,” Augum noted. “Depressing, if you think about it.”

  “Remember this was just before the Necrotic Plague,” Bridget said as her finger trawled the page. “And before a series of wars.” She looked up at them. “Don’t you two pay any attention in History class?”

  “Why should we? We got you,” Leera said, adding in a murmur, “and your notes.”

  Bridget stared at her, unimpressed. Sh
e opened her mouth to reply but instead gave a small jerk of the head, as if realizing it wasn’t worth it, and continued browsing. “Here. ‘Headmaster Charles Chauncey the Third, 18th degree ice, Arcanist of Arcaneology, Arithmetic, Cryptography, Runes, Dance Club. Found murdered in the Hall of Rapture.’ ”

  The trio exchanged a dark look before putting the heavy book away. They then turned to Mildred.

  “Mildred, please take us to Headmaster Charles Chauncey the Third’s cubby,” Bridget said.

  “Follow me, ye misanthropic munchers of maize.”

  “Ooh, quality alliteration there, Mildred,” Leera noted, elbowing Augum proudly. “I know what that word means now.”

  “You’re fishing for a condescending head pat,” he said. And she was so adorable doing it too.

  She flashed a clever smile.

  Mildred stopped before a thoroughly stuffed closet-sized cubby and articulated a few more insults.

  “Great, this’ll take a month to sort through,” Leera muttered, eyeing the mess.

  Bridget tapped her lips, one arm folded across her chest. “I’ve got an idea.” She placed her satchel on the ground. “Help me arrange it—neatly, mind—on the floor here.”

  “Are you crazy?” Leera thumbed at Mildred, mouthing, “She’ll murder us.”

  “Not if we’re careful. Just do it. We’re running out of time.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Leera muttered and telekinetically got to work.

  Sure enough, Mildred didn’t like it, routinely shouting things like, “Be careful, ye reeking codpieces!” But she didn’t stop them either. Papers, scrolls, books and ornaments soon lay on the ground before them, lining the aisle for ten feet in both directions.

  “What’s your plan?” Augum asked, maneuvering around a parchment. They had strategically placed the parchments so they could walk from one end to the other without stepping on them.

  “Well, seeing as I’ve studied history a bit more than you two—”

  Leera folded her arms. “Just a bit?”

  “Okay, quite a bit more. Anyway, I’ll tap into that well of knowledge and see if I can make something out of this lot.”