Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  Leera snorted. “This whole thing is an excursion.”

  He raised a brow. “The ginger worked, I take it?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Then up you get. I’ll need your help. We can leave our satchels here.”

  He led them into the forest while following the deer tracks, whispering to watch their steps. After about an hour of diligent tracking, Augum spotted the deer grazing on a hilltop glade. He hunkered behind a bush with the girls.

  “You two stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll flush it out and make it run in your direction. Lee—once it’s near enough, you’ll need to telekinetically catch it or paralyze it.” He then placed his gaze on Bridget.

  “And you want me to shoot it with my bow?” Bridget said.

  “Exactly. Sound like a plan?”

  The girls nodded and wished him good luck. Augum crept away from them and prowled halfway around the hill before stealthily climbing it. The deer raised its head, spotting him. He took a few more steps and then rushed at it. Spooked, it bolted in the opposite direction—right for the girls.

  “Paralizo carcusa cemente!” Leera shouted from the bushes, and the deer froze and slammed into the ground, only for Bridget to strike it through the heart with an arrow, an arrow that disappeared shortly after, leaving a mortal wound.

  They crowded around the fallen deer, huffing from the exertion.

  “I feel like we should thank it or something,” Leera said, “since it will pretty much give us enough meat to survive … at least for a while still.”

  Not knowing what else to do, the trio bowed their heads for a solemn moment, then wordlessly—for they still needed to conserve their strength—dragged the carcass all the way back to the stream, where they collapsed, wheezing from the effort.

  After a short break, Augum let the girls rest while he gathered kindling and dug a pit. Then he sharpened one stick and notched a groove in another, before rubbing them over a nest of tinder, drawing enough heat to get a spark.

  “Impressive, mister,” Leera whispered, looking at him with admiration when the bundle of tinder caught fire.

  “I have my moments,” Augum said as he blew on the tiny flame, nestling it in the kindling.

  With the fire going, Augum carved off a few steaks and roasted them over a flat stone. Then, after eating his portion and while the girls feasted like starved lionesses, he telekinetically secured the deer up high in a tree so scavengers wouldn’t get it. Finally, overtaxed and drowsy from the rich food, and with the forest cooling, they fell asleep around the fire right where they lay.

  That night, Augum dreamed of wandering Castle Arinthian in its heyday.

  Away from it All

  Augum’s eyes drifted open in the morning to the tweet of birds and a gentle, misty sun. His breath fogged in the cold morning air. The grass glittered with dew, as did the blanket he rested under—one of the girls must have drawn it over him in the night. For a time, he listened to the birdsong, wondering what the warbling fuss was all about. When he moved, it was like a lumbering bear that had hibernated over the winter—his limbs were sore and he felt slow and thin and ravenously hungry. Luckily, the deer carcass was still in the tree where he had left it, a bit of frost stuck to its ears.

  As Augum fetched the carcass, the girls, also covered with dew-laden blankets, stirred awake. After mumbled “good mornings,” they washed up and rebuilt the fire, which had gone out overnight.

  Banter was light as their mood improved with the rising sun and the prospect of a big breakfast.

  “Yeah, that was me who covered you shivering lot,” Leera said. “I also stirred up the fire so it lasted longer, then went right back to bed.”

  Augum dragged the carcass over. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starved,” the girls chorused, then threw each other dirty looks before sniping, “Jinx!” and bursting with laughter.

  Everyone stripped to their undergarments so as not to get guts and blood all over their robes, having long gotten past the modesty of such a thing in the war. Working together and with Augum’s Survival Class directions, they used Burden’s Edge and sharpened sticks to dress and clean the deer by removing its internal organs, then began smoking and frying the meat, a process that would take all day.

  While the girls tended to the meat, Augum, chest bare after finding it easier to work that way, located a dried-out fallen tree trunk of good size, and used Burden’s Edge to chop off a one-and-a-half-foot section. He then set to hollowing it out with the blade, a project he would whittle away at throughout the day, the silver necklace of charms and the locket necklace bouncing off his chest. It would make a fine water barrel knapsack, albeit a small one.

  When taking breaks, he also foraged for herbs—sage, thyme and chives—to spice the meat with, snacking on freshly cooked venison throughout. Leera kept stealing glances at his lean muscles, something he took guilty pleasure in. Once the meat was dried, they wrapped it in oak leaves and twine, fashioned from plant fibers, making small bundles. Afterward, with his direction, they foraged some more, finding a veritable bounty of turnip root, spinach, squash, mushrooms, skookum grass and durden root, along with more crabapples, pears and blueberries.

  Supper was another feast, with Augum and the girls laughing and telling stories of their adventures and their friends and the academy. They chatted amiably with filthy faces and undergarments, having left their cares behind in the Hall of Rapture. Their satchels bulged with food. All the waterskins were full, as was the makeshift bucket made from a hollowed-out stump, complete with a lid and twine straps so Augum could carry it like a rucksack.

  “… and then I told him, ‘But it’s only a satchel, sir.’ ” Leera waved a well-roasted rib as Augum watched her soot-sprinkled face animate with expression after expression, highlighted by the firelight. “Like, who cares what’s on it, am I right? But The Grizzly was having none of it. So he told me—” Her voice turned into a growl. “ ‘—How you care for your satchel is how you care for your soul, Jones.’ ” She glanced between a rapt Augum and Bridget, sitting around the fire, holding fire-roasted cuts of venison between oak leaves. “You should have seen the look on his face. It would have curdled milk. So I replied, ‘But my soul has graffiti on it too, sir.’ ” She laughed, taking Augum and Bridget right along in her mirth. Then she made a heave-ho motion with her arms. “Practically threw me right out of his office. Let me tell you, that man does not appreciate quality cheek.” She pointed at herself, the lace of her undershirt muddy. “I’m, like, 10th degree in Cheek, thank you very much.”

  Augum and Bridget clenched their venison between their teeth and clapped, lauding, “Great story,” and resumed munching, smiles lingering on their lips as they gazed at the flames.

  Then Leera’s face soured. “Still can’t believe those two are an item. Gross. I mean … gross.”

  “Oh, leave them be,” Augum said.

  “Since when did you change your mind?”

  He shrugged. “Everybody deserves a chance at happiness.”

  Leera deflated with a long sigh but did not dispute the point.

  Bridget, face streaked with mud and soot, glanced at the crimson sky. “We should all wash up and get ready for tomorrow’s journey. There’s a small pool upstream. I’ll go first.” She picked up her robe and blanket, withdrew a comb from her satchel, and strode off.

  “She brought a comb,” Leera said, stunned. “Like, she actually brought a comb.”

  “Admit it, you want to use it, Ms. Like.”

  Leera grimaced at him. “ ‘Mislike’?” Then comprehension dawned and she threw her rib bone at him. He did not defend himself, allowing it to plunk off his bare chest. Her eyes lingered on the splotch it had left, on his muscles. “Show off.” Then she bobbed her head. “Not that I mind.”

  He smirked. “I noticed.”

  “Oh, and I know that you noticed, Mr. Show Off. And I also noticed you’re wearing your mother’s locket and the charm necklace we made you in the wa
r.” She held up her hand, jingling a silver bracelet he and Bridget had made her for her fifteenth birthday. “For luck?”

  “For luck.”

  “We have to take what we can get, don’t we?”

  “We have to take what we can get.” He glanced behind him to make sure Bridget was gone, then sidled over to Leera, whispering, “I find that wild forest look of yours strangely alluring, Jones.”

  She sat smiling mischievously, allowing him to get close. Her hair was a plume of chaos, face smeared with soot, hands and fingernails muddy. When they were nose to nose, he kissed her, feeling freer than ever at doing so without feeling like a bumbling fool. Perhaps it was because he had taken the lead at putting his knowledge to work and playing the classic provider role, or perhaps it was because, filthy, muddy, stinky and sweaty, all pretension was stripped away. Out here, they were not prince and princess nor lord and lady nor hero and heroine, just peasants in love trying to survive.

  They kissed until they heard Bridget’s loud approach—no doubt because she knew what they were up to.

  “Fiends,” is all she said as she hung up her robe and undergarments to dry whilst wrapped in her blanket.

  “You know we can’t help ourselves,” Leera said. “But you forgive us, right?”

  “Most of the time. But yes, I forgive you.”

  “As you should,” Leera said. “Okay, Mr. Show Off, time to go wash off so us girls can chat.” She shoved him playfully. “Off you get, you filthy beast.”

  Chuckling, Augum grabbed Burden’s Edge, his robe and his blanket and took his turn, enjoying the simple act of washing his clothes in the pool, feeling primitive in his nakedness, but also strong and capable, for he knew he could take down any threat—whether it be a lion or a demon—with his lethal reflexes and mighty lightning. His Mind Armor felt tough as steel and his muscles honed and solid—if not scrawnier than he’d like. His scarred back was a warning flag to anyone trying to sneak up on him. It told opponents, I survived harrowing ordeals … and I will survive you. He was also making progress in taking calculated risks as opposed to reckless ones, and he no longer craved battle in order to feel alive. The stream, the hunted meat, the quest, the company of a dear friend, the company of his beloved—these things made him feel just as alive. He felt in balance, a balance that meshed the peace of the wood with his training as finely as the Dreadnoughts fused arcanery with steel.

  Thus, there in that wild forest pool, he felt like a warlock locked in war.

  He felt like a warrior.

  He stood waist-deep in the pool, scrubbing his undergarments with sand, listening and watching the mystical wood. He wondered if it was real, perhaps a hidden place in the south somewhere, or if it was a fabrication of ancient arcanery. Whatever it was, it certainly felt real in every possible sense. Real and wild. But he had been fooled before, for such was the power of ancient arcanery.

  With his robe and undergarments washed, he squeezed out the water, wrapped himself in his blanket, and strode back to the girls, who were chatting about this and that. His bare feet stung plenty, but he would wrap them later.

  Leera smirked as she strode by to take her turn.

  “You two are really coming along nicely,” Bridget said warmly after Leera had gone. “Not that it surprises me in the least.”

  Augum hung up his robe and undergarments near the fire, sat beside her and opened his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Cough it up.” She put the comb into his hand and he combed his unruly hair. “I’m going to marry her one day—when all this is over with.”

  She smiled. “I know. It’ll be the biggest wedding the kingdom has ever seen.”

  Augum handed the comb back and froze. “On second thought, maybe we’ll do it in secret.”

  “You can’t do that. The kingdom will need an abundance of hope and love after this. You two can give them that.”

  Augum prodded the fire with a stick. “I suppose you’re right. Luckily Lee said we don’t have to rush. Maybe when we graduate. Maybe sooner. Maybe later.”

  “Did you feel like you needed to rush?”

  He shrugged. “A bit. What with those pieces in the heralds and all. Not to mention princely expectations …”

  She stared into the fire. “We’re no longer royalty.” She examined her hands and picked at a broken fingernail. “We are a hope. A bold hope. A hope we crafted with our own hands.” Then she smiled to herself. “Although I very much look forward to being her bridesmaid.”

  “One of plenty, I suspect.”

  “A kingdom’s worth, if it all works out.”

  “And I suppose I’ll have to pick out some best men.”

  “That won’t be hard.” Bridget used a rock to smooth out her fingernail.

  “Look at you roughing it.”

  “Have to work with what we’ve got.”

  He watched her work. “You miss Olaf, don’t you?”

  She briefly ceased her nail sculpting to nod.

  He returned his gaze to the fire. “I miss that short window after the war when we didn’t have to worry about anything. And … and I miss the castle.” Gods how it pained him to even think of the castle. “I miss lounging by the fire on a rainy study day, book in hand. I miss training with Jez. I miss the academy. I miss Caireen and Isaac. I … I miss everyone.”

  “Me too,” Bridget murmured. “Me too …” She looked at him, face clean and serious, cinnamon hair neat. “Do you realize what could be happening back in Solia as we speak?”

  A quarter million lives. “It’s crossed my mind.” More than a few times. It was a shadow stalking his thoughts, ever on the periphery, waiting, watching, knowing. “There’s nothing we can do about it out here. The deadline’s long passed. If we rushed out now, we could easily starve in that hall. We have to prepare our minds and bodies for what’s to come. This whole thing is testing every bit of us, every bit of what we know. Well, at least the parts pertinent to the Arcaner ethos, to the Arcaner life.”

  A sly smile crossed Bridget’s lips. “Flexing our vocabulary, are we?”

  “I take my cue from you in that regard, Sister-in-war.”

  “As I’ve learned a survival trick or two from you, Brother-in-war.”

  He smiled back and a relaxed silence fell between them.

  Bridget drew her legs in, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees. “Many things haunt me, Aug. The war haunts me. My decisions with men. Choices I’ve made regarding my studies. Faces of departed friends. And now … Mr. Fleiszmann’s words. Those words were meant for me as much as they were for you. I … I just wanted you to know that. You do not carry that burden alone. We all encouraged our friends to join. And although we warned them as best we could, we still made that decision, and we’ll have to live with that decision for the rest of our lives.”

  Augum swallowed the lump in his throat. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”

  She smiled bittersweetly at him.

  They watched the fire as the sun set, Augum occasionally prodding it. Leera soon returned wrapped tightly in a blanket, hung up her clothes, and plopped down beside Augum. She jutted out an arm, accidentally smacking him on the nose, and said, “Comb.”

  Bridget handed it over and Leera combed back her wet raven hair. “I’ve never felt so refreshed,” she said, sighing contentedly. “You two ready for the morrow?”

  “As ready as we’ll ever be,” Bridget replied.

  Leera telekinetically floated back the comb. “Sixth day, here we come,” and she cuddled against Augum.

  With their strength returned and feeling reinvigorated, they took turns sleeping, keeping the fire going all night to dry their clothes out. In the morning, they had roast venison and stream water, dressed, strapped on their golden Dreadnought chest plates, topped up their waterskins and filled the lumbering water barrel, strapping the latter onto Augum’s back, snuffed out the fire and, satchels bulging with food, began the trek back to the door.

  Except there was one little
problem.

  “I’ve lost the connection,” Bridget reported, hand splayed before her.

  Augum and Leera stuck out their hands, trying to catch the subtle arcane tether of Object Track that would guide them back to the door, but it was not there.

  “No way should the spells have timed out,” Bridget said. “Way too soon.”

  Leera kept her hand splayed before her. “Uh, anyone else panicking right about now?”

  Augum surveyed the forest across the stream, recognizing a gnarled oak. “This way.” He led the girls, stopping at every fork in the path of memory, smelling the air and analyzing the shrubs, ground, rocks, trunks and branches. “This way,” he kept saying after making a determination. A clump of earth. Three crossed branches he had placed on the way, making an arrow. A twin pair of pines. A depression by a boulder. An orange bush.

  “Well, look at you, Mr. Forest Ranger,” Leera said. “I’m impressed.”

  He smiled as he recognized a branch formation he had memorized as a trifecta. “This way.” At last, they came upon the same glade, only to discover the door was gone.

  “Well that explains why the spell failed,” Leera muttered, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. “Great, now what?”

  “The usual,” Augum said, trying to sound unconcerned. “Unconceal, Reveal.”

  They cast both spells—and got lucky. Just as they stepped near, the door burst into existence, indicating all they’d had to do was walk to it for it to appear.

  “Wow, something went easy for us for a change,” Bridget said, opening the door. Cold air blasted their faces, for the Hall of Rapture was still in the grip of winter.

  Leera stepped through, muttering, “Back to the slog.”

  They walked on, taking measured breaks and minding their provisions. But they were stronger now and knew what to expect. They did not rush, argue, or waste unnecessary energy, though they did cycle through their spells to stay sharp, focusing on Arcaner simuls. Meanwhile, the black line that indicated where the hall plunged into darkness thickened, and with each passing hour, their hopes that they might avoid it dimmed along with the diffused light from the infinite ceiling.