Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  Pedworth gaped like a pheasant that had had all its feathers plucked in one sudden go. But instead of addressing the highly punishable slight, he smoothed his arcanist robe. “Er … right. Did I assign homework last time?”

  The class shook their heads. Augum wasn’t surprised that Katrina had gotten away with that.

  Pedworth cleared his throat a few times. “Exams are coming up—if we even get that far as I’m convinced none of us will survive the quint—so I’d like to do a general review of what we’ve learned this term.”

  “But sir,” an older student in the front row asked, “isn’t that supposed to be left for the review quint in five days?” The review quint came before the cram quint, which came before exams. About the only thing fun about the whole process was that Endyear came after, and then a month off from classes altogether.

  “The bunch of you sound like my former wife, a gluttonous tornado who sucked the life out of me.” One of his eyes briefly strayed to Katrina. “So what will it be, a review, or shall I make you write a ten-parchment essay on Signs that You are Being Followed?”

  The class settled into their seats in resignation.

  “That’s what I thought,” Pedworth said as he ambled over to a wall stuffed with subheadings, neck bobbing back and forth. He girded his robe as if to recapture his swagger. Augum had to cover his mouth, for he couldn’t help but smile while recalling Jez’s ridiculous but accurate impression of the poor man.

  “Now, have we covered how to craft a rabbit trap?”

  “We did that one last month, sir,” Augum said, giving the man a supportive nod.

  “Ah, right. Wet-season fire making?”

  “Covered, sir.”

  “Cold-weather shelter building?”

  “Covered as well.”

  “Rapid skinning and drying of hide?”

  “Covered.”

  “Edible plants and mosses?”

  “Not yet—”

  “Edible plants and mosses it is,” Pedworth said, and launched into a long-winded spiel on the matter. Augum, who had studied the subject—not to mention had experienced his own harrowing ordeal surviving on moss in the war—found his mind drifting, and soon turned his attention to the bored overseers. Why would they waste their time following anyone? What were they looking for? Wait, they weren’t looking for anything specific, were they? They were waiting. But waiting for what? The insurrection they so feared to start?

  He turned the problem over and over in his head. Meanwhile, Pedworth flitted from subject to subject, covering none in detail but working in broad strokes. Only a couple students took notes, the rest surely worried about raising the requisite crowns for tomorrow morning’s tithe, something Augum worried about as well. The Butcher kept watch with folded arms, eyes almost exclusively set on Augum, as if he had been commanded to unnerve him, a task he was decidedly succeeding at.

  Still, the main problem dripped away in Augum’s brain, like ancient water torture. Drip, drip, drip … why did they bother following them around? What were they—

  And then it hit him. It had to do with the dig. It had to. They were missing something, or perhaps waiting for something to start so they could finish something else. Or maybe they thought Augum might reveal something. He wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but he was certain it was the reason why they hadn’t snatched him and the girls.

  Pedworth had a hand over his eyes and was turning in place while going on about orientating oneself. “And as we discussed last month,” he said, revealing his eyes and dramatically looking around as if seeing his surroundings anew, “the only thing we can rely on when lost is our memory, because one can only place so many signs—and this is assuming you forgot to cast Object Track, which happens now and then. Just remember, if you did as I trained you, you would have stopped to smell the lilies, so to speak. And what do I mean by that again?” He placed a hand to his ear.

  “That we would have studied every fork in the road,” a student replied dully.

  “Exactly!” Pedworth went on, speaking faster and faster as he got more excited. “Now let us once more go over the fascinating topic of winter survival …”

  Augum’s thoughts drifted from problem to problem, including how to throw the Canterrans out, how to turn the academy into a fortress, how to simultaneously take the Arcaner course, how to smuggle the Dreadnought armor into the academy, and then how to train a student army to use all that armor. The enormity of the challenge made him sweat, and the more he thought about it the more it seemed impossible.

  Augum was so entrenched in his thoughts that he was barely cognizant of Pedworth looking at the Canterran overseers with wild eyes, voice rapid and low in pitch, almost gravelly. “Now listen to me this is important class look at those goons there you just know they’re up to no good they’re demons in dark hoods waiting to suck out your life force—”

  The overseers glanced at each other as Paranoid Pedworth railed on, eyes diverging chicken-like. “Look at them they’re completely relaxed that’s the sign of arrogance folks you mark my words—” He thrust a condemning finger beyond Augum, at Katrina. “—and there’s the viper who’s teamed up with them she’s a traitor all right I can see it in her scheming Von Edgeworth face and you heard the haughty and hollow witch defile my name earlier—”

  “How dare you—” Katrina hissed, standing from her seat as The Butcher’s arms uncrossed and Augum’s satchel fell to the floor.

  But Pedworth charged on. “—in league with the devil himself yes she is that young man was a fine young man and shouldn’t have hanged you vermin you stain on this fragile kingdom did you think we wouldn’t know we’re not stupid—”

  “You will shut your gutterborn mouth immediately!” Katrina snarled.

  As the students gasped, two overseers sprang off the wall and charged at Pedworth as if commanded to do so, while the third opened the door and whistled into the hall. Ethios Kamagant merely crossed his arms again and grinned, content to watch.

  Pedworth feebly ran from the Canterrans, for he was old and decrepit, all while shouting at the top of his lungs what he was thinking, but not casting a single spell in defense. “They’re turning you all into mindless fools but you shouldn’t listen you should rebel I’m telling you it’s a slow boil the writing’s on the wall—”

  The students stood, some calling for mercy, others out of shock. Augum stood as well, caught in uncertainty, for it was far too soon to do anything. But the moment to act quickly passed as three more people charged into the room—two overseers and Count Vintus Von Edgeworth.

  Augum gaped, curious why the man was at the academy.

  “Get him, Uncle!” Katrina cheered.

  “—you’ll all be enslaved in the end that’s what this is it’s grooming for slavery it’s happened before study your damn history people get away from me you bastards you can’t tame the dragon because you don’t have the heart to—”

  The Canterrans and Vintus Von Edgeworth cornered a frightened and gibbering Pedworth, muted him, and half dragged, half carried him to the door, all while Katrina laughed uproariously. Augum thought Pedworth wise not have cast a single spell, for they probably would have killed him. As the group passed through the doorway, Count Von Edgeworth nodded at The Butcher, who nodded in return.

  Augum and the class stood stunned. Pedworth, who was always a bit wound up, had cracked. And it wasn’t what the man had said about Katrina that shocked him, but rather everything else. What had he meant by taming the dragon? Was he referring to himself, or to Augum’s quest to secretly resurrect dragons and save his kingdom? Or was it simply a coincidence? And what was that part about studying history and enslavement? The man was known to fling crazy conspiracy theories, but what if this time he was right? And lastly, what in Sithesia was Count Vintus Von Edgeworth doing in the academy?

  It unnerved him so much that he plopped back down in his seat. The other students also sat back down with bewildered faces, probably wondering what they were su
pposed to do with no arcanist. The two Canterran overseers who had followed Augum returned to stand mutely by the wall once more.

  “Can we leave?” a meek male student asked. The overseers didn’t respond. “Maybe we should study for exams then,” the student muttered, and opened his lesson scroll. The others did the same, all the while eyeing the overseers and the Black Eagle.

  Augum glanced back to see Katrina watching him with cold eyes, the amusement gone from her face, replaced by boredom and, likely, thoughts of vengeance.

  That’s unnerving, he thought as he turned back around. He resumed floating his satchel under his desk and flicked his thumbnail against his teeth, deep in thought.

  Time passed as Augum’s mind worked away. Was Pedworth right? Were the Canterrans grooming warlocks for enslavement? And at what point in history had this happened before? And then he recalled Gonzalez mentioning something about enslavement, how even the Rivicans had done it—heck, even Solians, his own people. But that no one had mentioned that in class before. Was it a point of shame?

  If the Canterrans were grooming warlocks for enslavement, that would explain why they were letting everyone continue their studies. It was the most plausible theory so far, and the only one that explained their behavior. They wanted the academy to continue training warlocks, but didn’t want those warlocks to rebel. That meant the higher-degree warlocks had a higher value for their purposes. But what were those purposes?

  And then another thought came to him. If higher-degree warlocks were valuable, then—

  The hair on his arms rose. Augum looked back at Katrina. She was frowning, looking at nothing in particular, the slender fingers of one hand rubbing against her palm. Like him, she was deep in thought, plotting, strategizing.

  This time it was he who moved to plop into a seat beside her. Her ash-gray eyes narrowed to slits of malice. He merely sat back, interlocked his fingers over his stomach, and levitated his satchel under the desk, continually working his telekinetic muscle. The other students ignored them as if their lives depended on it. The two overseers watched within their hoods, as did The Butcher.

  “How much are you charging per degree?” he asked simply.

  She stared mutinously at him as she gripped the desk once more.

  “If I were to guess,” Augum went on amiably, “I’d say you aren’t charging Canterran military warlocks—” He nodded at the pair of sapphire-robed enemies standing by the wall. “—who they call overseers, a single copper. Am I right? That’s why the castle was put under such heavy guard.” He waited for her to respond. Her knuckles only whitened. “I mean, that would certainly ensure you remain in their good graces. Like you said, you Von Edgeworths are ambitious. And you charge other non-Canterran warlocks a fortune, don’t you?”

  He reverse-stretched his folded fingers, cracking them. “But it wasn’t your idea, was it? It was your aunt’s. She’s the brains behind the endeavor, isn’t she? She probably sat around back home in Canterra, and said to herself, ‘My niece wants the Arinthian castle. But she doesn’t realize that castle has a special quality to it.’ ”

  He smiled. “A training cavern that can train warlocks all the way to the 20th degree, one that only became accessible during the war because I unlocked it using the scion.” He gave a whimsical shrug. “Or perhaps you told her what the castle can do, and she concocted the plan to seize it. Doesn’t matter, I guess. What matters to you lot is prestige, and now—” He swept a hand across the infinite ceiling. “—a vast fortune of incomes that, when amassed, might make the Von Edgeworths one of the richest, most powerful families in all of Sithesia.”

  He was playing a dangerous game, but The Grizzly always taught that the best defense was a good offense. And Augum was tired of playing defense. He had also learned a thing or two when dealing with snobby nobility. She had revealed enough of herself to allow him to penetrate her carefully constructed facade and uncover things she did not want him to know, things he could use against her.

  “And now you’re a princess,” he added quietly. “The king’s only daughter and heir. He must really fear you Von Edgeworths.”

  Katrina slowly leaned closer, voice a barely audible hiss as she said, “He ought to. He ought to. And so should you. One day, you will grovel at my feet, and with that one pitiful grovel, you will undo everything your cursed lineage has done to mine. Your line murdered my grandfather and my father, and you besmirched me in the cruelest way in front of a whole arena. A Von Edgeworth never forgets, never forgives. Fool, you should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  “You know what they’re searching for, don’t you?” Augum pressed, trying his luck. “That’s why your uncle is here, to help with that effort.”

  Katrina raised a finger and swiped it across Augum’s cheek like a knife, making him recoil. “You think you can read me? Hmm? You can’t read me.”

  “I see. You don’t know, do you? But you’re curious. You wish you did know, just so you could feel privy to secret information, and then you could use that information to your advantage.”

  Her eye twitched, indicating he was right. He was getting good at this.

  “So what’s next?” Augum pressed. “Going to cozy up to Darby, and then his father, the man who wants to become emperor of all Sithesia?”

  “I would be careful, Augum, lest you come home to find your dear beloved hanging from a rope.” She made a soft pop sound on the final syllable of rope. She watched his reaction and smiled. “See, that’s your weakness. You care about people. Even love them. It will be your downfall.”

  “And the fact you don’t care about anyone will be yours.”

  “Ah, but a new era is upon us, honey. You have no idea. Enjoy the stuffy traditions of the past while you can.”

  The tenth morning bell sounded the first of ten gongs. Class was over.

  Theory of Standard Spellcraft Class

  “So you two are just going to follow me everywhere now?” Augum asked the two overseers while he strolled down the wide Hall of Rapture to his next class. He was walking backward and they were keeping their distance at about twenty feet. He’d gotten a good look at their faces. One was bloated, the other sallow. Bloaty and Sallow, that would be their nicknames.

  “They commanded you not to speak to me, is that it?” he pressed, noting other students gave them a wide berth. “Well, prepare to be bored out of your minds.” He turned back around and walked normally. But the truth was, he was annoyed. These two were certainly more experienced than the last pair, so he wouldn’t be able to shake them as easily.

  He entered Theory of Standard Spellcraft and saw that his friends hadn’t arrived yet. They are late, that’s all. There really isn’t any need to panic, he told himself as he made his way to his usual seat. Most of the other students had already arrived though: Katrina, Elizabeth, Carp—even Brandon, who sat apart, eyes boring into the back of Katrina’s skull. She sat in the front, hair tied in a ponytail which bounced with each exaggerated smile or nod or jest she made with Elizabeth, giving no hint about what had happened in Survival class. Carp sat beside Katrina, looking at her with adoration, completely smitten and seemingly unaware he was wearing a Path Disciple’s robe and was expected to enforce subservience in women. The Butcher looked on with his brutish face.

  Augum kept glancing at the doorway, trying not to count heartbeats. Where were they? Had something happened? He withdrew his lesson scrolls, quill and ink and levitated his satchel to keep himself occupied.

  Arcanist Flagon strode in, bringing with him the usual stench of drink. He was followed by an overseer and Path Disciple Watson, who Augum still preferred to call Gray Beard. Flagon nervously glanced at them, wringing his hands.

  The women dropped their eyes upon the entrance of The Path Disciple—except Katrina, who blatantly stared at the man, a smirk on her face. She had to be showing off her newfound power as a royal. And sure enough, The Path Disciple pretended not to see her.

  Flagon rubbed his bleary eyes and fl
icked two fingers at the door, shutting it. To Augum, that sound was a guillotine. His breathing increased as he contemplated what to do. But just as Flagon was about to start the class, the door opened, and in strode Laudine, Caireen, Isaac, Bridget and Leera. And hanging between Bridget and Leera, with his arms draped around their necks for support, was Cry Slimwealth.

  Augum and most of the students reflexively shot to their feet.

  Cry was gaunt and there was mud in his disheveled hair. His eyes were red, but otherwise as droopy as ever. A hush descended on the class as the girls led Cry up to Augum’s tier of desks.

  “No touching between sexes, you know the rules,” Gray Beard said. “Put him down.”

  At least the man forgot to fine them for being late, Augum thought in relief.

  Bridget and Leera seated Cry between them and quietly helped him with his satchel, withdrawing the requisite lesson scroll, quill and inkwell. Flagon watched from the front, a deeply concerned look on his face. The two younger overseers who followed the girls took their places beside the older overseers who followed Augum.

  Flagon glanced at the overseers, to the Black Eagle, up at Augum, to The Path Disciple, and to his lesson scrolls. “I was going to start by walking you through some introductory principles to the invaluable Teleport spell,” he began in his weary voice, “which you will learn next term, but I think it best to give our returned student time to catch his breath. Seeing as exams are coming up, let’s begin instead with a review of all three standard 8th degree spells you have learned thus far this term. Please open your textbooks to the chapter on Sleep, and withdraw the accompanying lesson scroll.”

  Students riffled through their satchels as Flagon started on his lecture. Meanwhile, Augum squeezed Leera’s hand between their seats and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “A whole bunch of students returned,” Leera replied, throwing her book and scroll onto her desk. “They’re in rough shape and can barely speak. Seems they slaved away the entire time with little sleep or food. Before you ask, they were mostly doing two things—arcanely digging holes using Telekinesis, which can be way more efficient than manual labor, and casting Unconceal, searching for something hidden. Way underground, obviously. They sent warlocks to different locations depending on need. Cry was forced to work under the Black Arena, for example. The Canterrans had fifty Ordinaries for every warlock.”