Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “You know they’re all addicted to the excitement anyway,” Leera said. “We all are, to some degree. Our studies, our classes, extracurriculars, proata mentora, the day-to-day toils … even fighting off twelve assassins—it all pales in excitement to what we did in the war, doesn’t it? It’s like we’re still back there, waiting for the undead to make their next move. It’s almost like we’re … like we’re locked in war, you know?”

  Bridget sat up to look at Leera seriously. “That was the most mature thing I have ever heard you say.”

  Leera sat up on her elbows, smiled … and sang, “Break out the ale …”

  Bridget flopped back down and threw more sand her way. “Gods help you, you really are incorrigible.”

  “You keep saying that and I’ll make out with Augum again.”

  “I say we do it,” Augum said, imagination ablaze at the prospect. “No, not that, Lee. Invite a small cabal at first. Restart the order, grow it, nurture it. Become its captains. Obviously our studies in the Arcaner course come first, but our friends can begin the process. The rest will follow.” A future blossomed before him, crystallizing and clarifying with each new thought, only to darken when he realized the implication. “We’d become targets. Greater targets, I mean. The nobility would see us as an even greater threat if our numbers increase. And that all assumes we survive the Canterrans. But the more I think about it, the more I think resurrecting the order will help us boot them out.”

  “I’ve thought about this,” Bridget said, her usually rigid straight brows softening to a somber arc. “You know me. I want to be the mother hen of a great big family and run a schoolhouse full of bustling kids. Teach the next generation the arcane craft. Maybe have a small farm. Chickens. Geese. A pig or two. A good man by my side. Get gray hair as I bronze in the sun, laugh wrinkles in the corners of my eyes. I’ve been trying to square the Arcaner craft with that vision. And I thought to myself, maybe I’ll do it for ten years then head off into the country. But then I realized … I realized the Arcaner order isn’t a city-only thing. I can have everything out in the country. And there’s already a place, a home, I can build it in.”

  Augum and Leera exchanged a bittersweet smile.

  “Arinthia,” Bridget said. “We need to win back our home.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “All of this matters so much. What we’re doing matters. And I think Mrs. Stone would be proud. I think Jez is proud. But we can’t let it die. You know where this is going. You know they won’t just up and leave when they get the Heart of the Colossus.” Her face hardened as she sniffled and wiped the tear from her cheek. “Someone has to kick them out.”

  Augum and Leera stared at their friend with devout pride. Years of prior hardship flashed before Augum’s mind, a parade of toil, suffering … and victory. Yet their greatest test was still ahead. In this coming tenday. In the days beyond. In the challenge of renewing an ancient and powerful order. In defeating the Canterrans.

  As was their tradition, Augum extended a hand between them. Bridget placed her hand on top. Leera did the same. They nodded at each other, knowing what they needed to do.

  The Cold Empty

  “Ah!” Augum cried out as his fingers fell from his hands, leaving dull stumps. Those fingers hit the stone and sprouted little legs and little arms and little mouths brimming with too many teeth. They scurried to Augum’s feet and bit at his toes. But those toes had gotten loose inside his shoes and were also gnawing at the flesh of his feet. He screamed and flailed, but more and more of him was falling apart, hitting the stone and coming alive—and every bit sprouted teeth and attacked him.

  “Fight it!” shouted a demonic woman with bulbous spider eyes and pinching mandibles. “Fight it, Aug! Breathe!”

  Augum closed his eyes and willed himself to calm down and breathe. Finally, he regained control. When he opened his eyes, he was whole again, and he collapsed to his knees on top of the sand dune. Its bone-white sand trickled down both sides, one of countless milky sand dunes that stretched into infinity. A cool setting sun kissed the horizon, coloring the empty sky with rich hues of violet and amber. The portal back to the Arcaner Studies room rippled at the bottom of the dune.

  Each lesson and each hour was held in a different location. They had already been to the top of a mountain; to a floating strip of land amongst the clouds; to a room that might as well have been in the depths of the Black Castle dungeons; to a bubble deep under the ocean, the water kept at bay by powerful and ancient arcanery.

  This was Fortitude class, and it was nothing but teeth-gritting Mind Armor training.

  “That was hell,” Augum wheezed to the girls, who gripped his shoulders in support. “Absolute hell.”

  Trintus Bladeofbright stood before them, ebony face impassive and unforgiving, body aflame. “Squire Stone, your failure point is four successive Fear castings at the 12th degree,” he said in a voice that gurgled with fire. “Your Mind Armor is war-honed for your degree.”

  Augum, trying to forget what he had witnessed and swallowing down bile, only nodded.

  Trintus brought his hands together and inclined his head. “This concludes the hour. Semperis vorto honos,” and he vanished.

  The girls helped Augum stand. “Give me a moment,” he croaked, leaning on their shoulders to steady his shaky legs. The old way of training brought back memories of Mrs. Stone, who had used similar methods. This was just as grueling. And Trintus was a 20th degree master Arcaner, and could thus precisely temper the strength of his spells, notching them to the required degree.

  Having regained control of his shaking body, Augum nodded that he was good to go. “What’s next?”

  “Well, we completed the first hour of all six virtues classes,” Bridget said. “Which leaves one hour of Combat Reflex and one hour each of our chosen simuls.”

  They stopped before the portal, rubbing their faces and sore bodies.

  “I don’t know if I can make it,” Leera said, massaging her forearm. “This is exhausting. You know, I think our friends will hate us if they try this.”

  “That’s why we have to warn them,” Augum said. “Be fair and honest about it.”

  They stepped through the portal, which disappeared behind them, and slumped where they stood in the sand of the arena floor.

  There they sat for a quarter of an hour, not moving, just breathing and recuperating. Then they shared and ate bread, water, a banana, and some dried and salted strips of beef. They shuffled like old people to the desk to ask for the Combat Class portal.

  A distant academy bell struck eleven times, indicating the eleventh hour of the evening had come.

  Bridget shook her head. “We’re too slow. We’ve made a good start for our first day, but we need to sleep if we’re going to last through the rest. Shall we adjourn?”

  “Oh please mercy yes,” Leera wheezed. “Need sleep. I’d sleep right here if Jez wouldn’t panic.”

  “We should figure out a way to sleep here,” Augum said. “It’d save us loads of time, not to mention Teleport ring charges. Hmm, I wonder if … Dragoon Pelagia, are there sleeping quarters here?”

  “Yes, Squire Stone, there are Arcaner dorms. Shall I summon the portal?”

  “Not tonight, but thank you.”

  The trio exchanged relieved looks.

  “Tomorrow we’ll stay here,” Bridget wheezed. “Tomorrow’s a study day. We’ll stock up, come in first thing in the morn, and train.”

  Augum nodded. Then he had another idea. “Dragoon Pelagia, there wouldn’t happen to be a kitchen here too, would there?”

  “There is a kitchen in the academy Supper Hall, Squire Stone.”

  “Worth a shot anyway.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, Dragoon Pelagia,” Leera said.

  “Good evening, Squire Jones, Squire Burns, Squire Stone.”

  “Six hours down, seventy-four to go,” Augum muttered as they shuffled out of the room.

  Leera glanced back one more time. “Anyone else excited to find o
ut what an ancient Arcaner dorm looks like?”

  * * *

  They returned to a dark and snowed-in Arinthia, donning their arcane fur coats and hoods and noting that a line of warlocks stood outside Castle Von Edgeworth, waiting to get in. Half wore Canterran robes, but the other half looked like they were from all over. Some were grizzled, some wore elegant gold-fringed robes, others looked young and ambitious and rich. All had come to use the now probably famous Arinthian Trainers. A few of them turned to glance their way, but did not recognize them, and instead returned to stamping their feet and rubbing themselves to ward off the cold. At the head of the line, four overseers were checking documentation and sleeves before allowing entry.

  Augum couldn’t look at the castle without feeling a pang of loss. How he missed his ancestral home, their home. He sighed and shuffled along in the snow, supporting Leera and Bridget, for they were all utterly exhausted and too tired to even discuss the line of warlocks. Gods help them if assassins struck, they’d be defenseless. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but it would be a difficult fight.

  They returned to Haylee’s house only for their hearts to sink. It was dark and cold, as if no one had attended to it all day. There was no warm supper, no fire, nothing.

  “Shyneo,” the trio said, lighting their palms. And that was when they discovered the furniture was gone too.

  “Gods, what happened?” Leera asked in a small voice. Then she gasped. “Sir Pawsalot! Sir Pawsalot—!” Mercifully, there was a small meow as Sir Pawsalot scuttled down the stairs. Leera scooped him up and cuddled him close. “Oh thank the Fates they’re not completely heartless.” She showered him with kisses and pets and cuddles. “You’re such an adorable little creature! And I bet you’re hungry too. Did you find any mice? Hmm? Come on, we’ll get you some grub.” She went to the pantry, but discovered it was empty too. “Are you kidding me? The damn fiends. It looks like they even snatched the servants. Poor Charles and Billy.”

  “Haylee still hasn’t returned,” Augum said, stomach feeling like acid. “For that matter, where’s Jez?” And where would they sleep? What would they eat? He rushed upstairs, legs aching, to find three sacks of their stuff, which included his ancestral blade, Burden’s Edge, as well as their golden Dreadnought breastplates. It was almost a taunt, leaving their stuff like this in the center of Haylee’s bedroom.

  He withdrew Augum’s Defender and lovingly gave the golden breastplate a polish with the sleeve of his robe. Over the heart was a crest depicting a ferocious dragon standing before a copse of trees. Surrounding the crest was the inscription, Defendi au o dominia—Defender of the Kingdom.

  “What kingdom?” Augum muttered derisively. Then he felt a prick of deep shame. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he whispered to the silent room, and telekinetically hefted the three sacks and hovered them downstairs.

  “They left our stuff at least,” he reported.

  “How nice of them,” Leera muttered.

  Bridget had found a scrap of burlap and helped wrap it around Sir Pawsalot to keep him warm. “Come on, let’s go to the Okekes’.”

  But when they got to the Okekes, the door was barred. And that’s when Bridget burst into quiet tears. “I’m sorry, I’m just so exhausted and worried sick about everyone.”

  “They snatched a full third of the village for work detail,” said someone behind them. They turned to see a mournful Jez wearing her winter coat over her turquoise robe, hood drawn. “They forced Haylee to work in the castle for the day. Slaving, rather, for that evil little friend of yours.”

  “Katrina isn’t our friend,” Leera said.

  “I know. Haylee’s exhausted. She and I are hiding out at Ms. Singh’s place, though as you can imagine, the woman is awfully upset that they took her daughter.” Ms. Singh was the mother of Priya Singh, Jengo’s betrothed.

  “Jengo’s staying with us too, which is making things worse as she still thinks he’s trying to corrupt her daughter—probably faults him for what happened, knowing her. Then there’s the whole Tiberran-Sierran culture clash.”

  “Is Jengo all right?” Leera asked.

  “Spent all evening at the academy library trying to keep his mind off his beloved’s kidnapping.” Jez sighed. “Guess you saw they confiscated everything in the house, huh? Charles reports they gave it to their Canterran servants. I see you got your stuff and Sir Pawsalot though, which is a mercy.”

  “They didn’t get you either,” Augum said.

  “They’d have taken me had I been around. They reported me to the constabulary as missing and now they have a gang of overseers looking for me.” She wandered up the steps and embraced them, then hung on to Bridget, who was particularly weak, rubbing her arm as she cradled her like a mother. “It isn’t safe here. Come on, there’s lots to discuss.”

  They walked to Ms. Singh’s house and scampered inside. Jez warned them to be quiet as Ms. Singh was a light sleeper. Haylee and Jengo had long gone to bed too.

  As they gathered blankets and filled two bowls of food and water for Sir Pawsalot, who was busy sniffing all the furniture, Jez whispered that she’d heard the Canterrans’ work had grown in scope. People were being sent to the mines to mine raw metals, or made to craft weaponry and armor, or sew garments, or put together rations for soldiers, and who knew what else.

  “People are terrified of being snatched,” she continued as she boiled a pot of Solian pine needle tea and arranged a tray of grapes, peeled oranges, sliced pear, various cheeses, meats, and bread for a late-night snack—even though the trio insisted all they wanted was sleep.

  As Jez rambled on about the ever-declining state of the kingdom, Augum, Bridget and Leera huddled by the fire under two layers of blankets, Sir Pawsalot curled in Leera’s lap, receiving a gentle brushing. Leera’s head rested on Bridget’s shoulder, and Bridget’s head rested on Leera’s head. Both girls had their eyes closed.

  “And King Rupert is obviously just going along with everything the Canterrans want,” Jez continued, placing the tray of snacks before them. Despite their exhaustion, the trio dug in. “The fool is giving away the kingdom piece by piece.” She poured them each a steaming cup of tea and sat crossed-legged beside them. “Now tell me how it went today—and don’t ask me about the Royal Armory, we’re still working on that.”

  The trio quietly did while stuffing themselves. Near the end of their retelling, with the tray practically licked clean, a rackety sound came from upstairs.

  “Panjita is most annoyed with Ms. Terse for waking her!” screeched a voice. “How ungrateful of Ms. Terse to yak to herself out loud like a lunatic.” There was the sound of a cane tapping the steps.

  “Gods help us, here we go,” Jez muttered.

  Ms. Panjita Singh soon appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She was an old and stooped woman with thick spectacles, shoulders covered with a tan shawl. She had deep chocolate-crimson skin and a face bejeweled with tiny traditional Tiberran stud piercings. She was an elder of the village and the town scribe.

  “Word of the Fates! What Unsuitable demons has the middle-aged spinster brought to Panjita’s precious abode this time? Shoo! Shoo, I say! Like rats they gather, these warlocks. Like rats. And the little thieves have pilfered Panjita’s food!”

  “Ms. Singh, I’m sorry to impose, but this was a small emergency. Augum, Bridget and Leera—whom you know well, for they are Priya and Jengo’s friends—do not have a place to stay.”

  “Hello, Ms. Singh,” the trio sheepishly croaked.

  “The lecherous spinster and her witch brood will stand when addressing Panjita in her own house!” Ms. Singh tottered forward and smacked the trio on their backs with her cane. “Up! Up! You will stand and show respect to your elders, you ungrateful little foxes. Yes, like foxes in the henhouse thinking Panjita is a hen. Oh, how the foxes itch to craft their cheap magic and confuse poor Panjita. Daughter! Daughter, you come here this instant and help your poor mother, who is under attack!”

  Jez stayed Ms. Singh�
�s cane with a flick of her wrist. “Ms. Singh, please, they’re exhausted and need rest. And Priya is gone, you know that.”

  Ms. Singh gasped. “What has the street-walking Solian strumpet done with Panjita’s beloved daughter! The fiend will let go of Panjita’s cane so Panjita may deliver a most sound thrashing! The devil has made a mockery of Panjita’s house! I am not to be trifled with, you mischief-making misfit!”

  “More quality alliteration,” Leera muttered under her breath to Augum.

  A sleepy Jengo and Haylee wandered out. But the trio gasped upon seeing Haylee. She had a black eye and a swollen lip and once more rested her weight on the cane she loathed and swore she’d never use again. Whatever she had gone through must have been especially tough.

  Ms. Singh glanced around at them all, breathing heavily. “You have soiled Panjita’s home and honor and stolen her precious daughter.” She pointed a shaking finger at Jengo. “This gangly demon-skinned usurping Unsuitable has cursed this house by not marrying Panjita’s daughter yet. He has sullied the good reputation of this house and brought ill will from the blessed Unnameables.”

  Augum, too emotionally exhausted to speak, nonetheless mustered up the courage to step in and help. “Ms. Singh, please, we are so very sorry about Priya and we’ll try to—”

  “The vapid warlock lordling will not condescend to Panjita by heaping cheap words upon her misery!” Ms. Singh howled, turning on him. “None of this would have happened had His Royal Majesty stayed on the humble Path and kept to himself! But no, he had to raise his fist against the gods and strive on the path of darkness. What did he think would happen by declaring as an Arcaner? Hmm? This stupid man-child standing before Panjita thinking himself above her has damned the entire kingdom! How many has he already condemned to death with his poor decisions? Hmm? The insipid lordling will answer Panjita!”

  “I’ve heard you say some awful things before, Ms. Singh,” Haylee said, swollen lip quivering. “But that was low even for you.”