by Sever Bronny
“Only because you are so worthy of flattery, my lady Burns.” A slight flick of a finger quickly but surreptitiously brought another refill, during which Bowlander continued talking. “Now tell me, Miss Burns, how did the name Bridgey-poo come to pass? Don’t be shy, I am just curious, that is all. It is such an odd pet name for someone so … illustriously famous. Come, truth to truth.”
“It’s what her mother used to call her,” Leera chimed in, holding her glass, freckled cheeks aglow, “and if you knew what’s good for you, you’d stop calling her that. She might look innocent, but our Bridgey-poo can shove you through the wall in a heartbeat.”
Bridget’s lips pressed together in a half-joking, half-menacing manner that made everyone chortle. Her cheeks flared.
Bowlander ran a hand through his hair, beaming at her. “Then I dare not cross my lady.”
One of Bridget’s brows rose as she leaned closer to Bowlander. “All right, truth to truth, Lord Bowlander—I have heard certain … rumors.”
Bowlander’s smile slipped momentarily before he burst with a hearty laugh. “Rumors? Oh dear, what have I done this time?”
“There are two of note.” Bridget withdrew to play with the embroidered napkin Charles had set before her. “The first says you have hit your ceiling at the 4th degree.” She waited to see his reaction.
Bowlander pressed his lips together, mimicking her, and nodded. “And the second?”
“And the second rumor, my lord, is that you were expelled from the Academy of Arcane Arts.” Bridget slowly drummed the table with her nails while biting her lip in anticipation of his reply.
“The first is wholly true, I am afraid. I have lost the ambition to climb any higher on the warlock ladder. Alas, I also don’t give a damn!” and he laughed again. It was so infectious everyone joined in. Augum found it funny that someone was so brazenly open about hitting their ceiling, even proud of it.
“Charles, is that food about ready—”
Bridget giggled. “Do not evade, my lord. Let’s hear the rest of it.”
“Oh, all right.” Bowlander downed his second cup of mead and poured himself another. “It is a short story—”
“—good because we hate long ones,” Leera blurted, and the table burst with laughter.
“Cheers to that.” Bowlander raised his glass, making sure to clink each of theirs, making eye contact. Everyone, including Bridget, downed the chocolate immediately. “Now, as I was saying, it is a short story. The honest truth of the matter is that I fell deeply in love with a very pretty girl … who decided to secretly cavort with another, breaking my fragile heart.”
A hand shot to Bridget’s mouth. “Oh, my poor lord …”
“She then besmirched my name with awful accusations to cover her indiscretions. She was quite influential, and thus the student body looked upon me with villainous eyes from then on. I, being the naive lovesick fool that I was, could not bear seeing her in the halls or the classes. My reputation in tatters, I decided to leave the venerable institution for good.”
“Is this that warlock academy you all talk about?” Chaska asked.
“Shh, you!” Haylee hissed, slapping his wrist. “Have some sensitivity.”
A hurt look passed over Chaska’s face as he avoided their gaze. He poured himself another chocolate drink, snowy cheeks sparkling crimson.
Leera tilted her head as she softly spoke. “That’s why you quit arcanery, isn’t it?”
Bowlander nodded solemnly.
“What a tragic tale,” Haylee said.
Bowlander smiled and clapped Bridget and Leera’s backs. “But enough about me. Please, tell me a little about yourselves!”
“Oh, I got a good story!” Leera blurted. “Did you know that Haylee was once our enemy?”
Bowlander’s mouth fell open as his chiseled face registered pure scandal. “No!”
Haylee giggled. “Yes, it’s true!”
“I refuse to believe it and demand to hear every word—”
And so the tale was spun about Haylee’s origins and how she came to become part of the group. It wasn’t long before hot food arrived—brace of quail, hearty roast chicken, buttered potatoes, and sweetened fried asparagus. A true feast. Conversation ebbed and flowed, with much laughter and giggling, almost exclusively from the girls, who paid rapt attention to every word uttered by Bowlander. Chaska kept stone silent, mostly tending his drink, which he stopped partaking in after a while. Charles looked on silently, ever attentive to their needs. Augum, meanwhile, stared at his untouched third glass, thoughts drifting to the challenges they had faced, and have yet to face.
It was strange to participate in an evening of pleasure. Yet as it went on, he found himself enjoying it less and less. The food, although grand, seemed to taste unusually sweet. Everything tasted sweet and … too rich. The knowledge that there was a famine while they gorged on a sumptuous feast did not sit well with him, nor did it sit well that Bowlander had the chocolate mead exchanged with a greenish concoction of unknown origins or strength, one neither Augum nor Chaska drank. On top of all that, the inn was tomb quiet, mourning the death of two village souls, and here they were being raucous. It was bordering on obscene.
“Oh, come, what is with the sullen look, Augum?” Bowlander asked. “Have a drink and all will be merry!”
Augum glanced up to see three rosy-cheeked girls staring at him with wide smiles. Their eyes were shiny and they were weaving in their chairs slightly.
“Uh, no, thanks, we have to get up early tomorrow. Long day—”
“—of training, I know, Augum, I know.” Bowlander made a mocking serious face at the girls and they all burst out laughing, though for the life of Augum he couldn’t find what was so funny. The jests had long ceased to claim his attention. The food had been eaten, the crystal decanter of chocolate mead emptied, and now this new greenish concoction stood half gone.
Bowlander flicked a lazy finger at Charles. “The special reserve. That will cheer our illustrious friend Augum up, I am sure.”
Charles swallowed as his eyes flitted to Augum. “My lord, it is quite late and they are not yet men and women, do you think it wise—”
Bowlander gave him a vicious look and Charles immediately dropped his eyes. “Very well, my lord.” The servant tottered to the cabinet and soon returned with a tray of crystal goblets and a bottle that instantly sent a shiver through Augum’s spine. As he read the Sierran label, he recalled receiving blasts of Mr. Penderson’s foul breath as the man screamed at him, something that usually preceded a flogging. The scars on his back started itching, and he broke out in a sweat. He began shifting in his chair, which suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.
“This is specially aged Titan wine,” Bowlander said, pouring each of them a liberal amount.
“We should go,” Chaska whispered. “We have that … thing to do.”
Augum suspected there was no “thing”, but Chaska merely wanted to get out of there. How had they all become such prisoners to this evening?
Haylee smacked Chaska’s arm languidly. “You’re such a spoil-sport. One glass and then we go, all right?”
Chaska swallowed but hesitantly nodded.
“Please, Augum, try it. Girls, let us encourage him. He seems to be battling some past demon.”
The girls giggled in a blithely silly fashion Augum had never seen before. He glanced at the goblet. What was there to fear? He had his wits about him. Maybe this was some trial for him to get over what had happened to him with Mr. Penderson.
“Live a little,” Bowlander whispered. “Rules are meant to be broken. No need to live such a stuffy life.”
Augum supposed he could try one sip. He raised the goblet.
“Cheers!” Bowlander said, and they each began to drink. Except the moment the wine touched Augum’s tongue, he recoiled so violently he broke the glass on the table, stopping the round from finishing.
Bowlander placed an arm around the back of Bridget and Leera’s chairs as they
all snickered.
“Poor Augum cannot seem to hold his drink like a man,” Bowlander said with a wink, eliciting more giggles. “Don’t worry, I can fix that for you later.”
Augum stared at the hand behind Leera’s chair and noticed it moved to her back. Something snapped inside him.
“Take your hand off her,” he said in a tombstone-cold voice.
Bowlander took his time sliding his hand away, making a wounded pouty face. “Aww, we’re just having a little fun, Augum, that’s all.”
Leera wobbled in her chair, seemingly unable to focus on either of them. Her face said she was trying to make sense of what was going on, but was lost. And Bridget, too, was squinting with a frown while weaving in her chair. Even Haylee’s eyes were half closed. It suddenly occurred to Augum none of them had been paying the slightest bit of attention to how much drink they had been consuming! What felt like a minor rebellious act against routine had turned into sheer foolishness.
Bowlander rubbed Bridget’s back, something she suddenly squirmed at uncomfortably, mumbling, “Please take your hand off me, my lord.” But Bowlander merely laughed, trying to solicit the other girls to laugh along.
Augum cocked his head at Bowlander, seeing him truly for the first time. His voice took on a dangerous tone. “Did you not hear her? Take your hand off of my friend.”
Bowlander pretended not to hear him, laughing at some trivial thing while he kept his hand on her back. Augum leaned a little closer, hands balling into white-knuckled fists on the table. “Perhaps you mistake my tone, my lord. Unhand her or I’ll smash your face into the wall and you’ll lose all those pretty teeth.” His blood raged hot with violence as the walls of the Antioc arena flashed before his mind.
The table instantly fell silent.
Bowlander finally seemed to see Augum, also as if for the first time, and whatever he saw made him recoil his hand away from Bridget. “Sorry,” he stuttered, “I did not mean to offend.”
Augum tapped the table twice with a finger, staring Bowlander down. Had the seventeen-year-old persisted, Augum was certain he would have done something he would later have regretted, not that he already did not regret this entire evening. He stood up while still glaring at Bowlander, helping Leera stand.
“We leaving—?” she asked dazedly, stumbling on her chair, trying to find Augum’s hand. He took it gently in his own, entwining his fingers with hers.
“We are, my love.”
Chaska helped Haylee, while Charles helped Bridget.
“Leaving so soon?” Bowlander slurred, trying to restart the party with a wide smile.
“My lord,” Charles whispered. “Please.”
“Oh, all right.” Bowlander waved a languid arm in the air as he sighed deeply. “Off with you all then.”
Charles led Bridget to Augum’s side, allowing him to wrap an arm around her shoulder. It made Augum feel like a big brother. How he wished he hadn’t been so naive. How he wished he had been paying more attention …
They stumbled out without another word.
* * *
Chaska and Augum shook hands goodnight before Chaska led a wobbly and limping Haylee away. He looked as angry as Augum felt. How could they have let that smarmy bastard manipulate them like that? How could they have let the situation get so out of hand? How had what felt like a minor rebellion turned into that?
And the walk out of the inn had been particularly embarrassing, with all those hopeful people looking on in confusion as Augum practically carried the girls out. And he knew it was as much his fault as anyone else’s, and cursed himself thoroughly.
On the way back to their cabins, in the dark moonlit forest, Leera suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth, mumbling, “Think I’m going to be sick.” She veered off the path and vomited into a bush. Bridget promptly did the same beside her.
Augum, who mostly felt cognizant, having had far fewer drinks, sighed and attended to both girls. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to each of them, holding their hair. “I should have been more aware,” but the girls could barely make sense of him, only moaning in anguish. “We all should have,” he added in a mutter. Looking back, Augum realized Bowlander had been slipping the girls drinks while holding firm eye contact and telling jokes, obscuring how many drinks he was feeding them. The more Augum thought about it, the angrier he became. But it was a complicated issue. Were they each not responsible for their actions? At what point does someone get to step in on behalf of someone else?
He reprimanded himself repeatedly. Stupid, stupid, stupid! And tomorrow they had an early day ahead with Mrs. Stone, arguably their toughest yet. He felt queasy even thinking about facing her after this evening. And then of course she would be relying on Bowlander’s potion-making skills. Could they even trust him in that regard?
And what of the villagers? What would they make of them cavorting in such a manner on a day when they had been attacked, and two people had died? He almost wanted to vomit from the sheer shame of it. Or Unnameables forbid, what if they were attacked again that night? He felt a cold wave at the prospect.
He almost scoffed at the titles people called him. Hero of Heroes indeed. More like Fool of Fools, or better yet, Idiot of Idiots. Lord Irresponsible, at your service.
Chaska abruptly reappeared out of the pale night, evidently having tucked Haylee in. He glanced at the girls and shook his head. “I don’t like him.”
“That makes two of us,” Augum replied, adjusting Leera’s sleeve for her. “Haylee asleep?”
Chaska nodded. He hesitated a moment. “Hey, um …”
Augum glanced up and saw a look of concern in Chaska’s eyes. “You all right?”
“Yeah, fine.” He turned to go, but then stopped. “How … how do you two get along so well?”
Augum smiled. “We don’t always.” It was true. They bickered now and then, a little more of late from all the stress of training and expectations. But there always remained that solid undercurrent of trust and love. He shrugged. “Guess we just accept each other as who we are.”
Chaska nodded. “Okay then,” and strode home to his father’s, where he still lived.
The girls eventually recovered enough for him to gently lead them back to their cabin, where he fed them water, hand softly aglow with Shine. Then he tucked them in, kissing Leera on the forehead goodnight. Both went to sleep straight away.
He quietly closed the door and walked over to his cabin. There were now four cabins in the small clearing—one for Bridget and Leera, one for Augum, one for Haylee who insisted on having her own, and one for Mrs. Stone, which was the largest of all. Mrs. Stone slept there now, and would wake in mere hours.
Augum glanced up at the pale moon. Gods, it was late. They’d screwed up good this time. He sighed and slipped into his cabin.
Dawn
Augum woke to something he had not felt in a very long time—the hard prodding of Mrs. Stone’s staff.
“Up, up!” she wheezed. “You are late. Up!”
Augum bolted off his cot as Mrs. Stone shuffled out, slamming the door behind her. He almost groaned. She had not needed to do that even once in Milham. They always got up on time. Always. And now they were late for the Resistance meeting. He rubbed his eyes, feeling horrendously sleep-deprived. This was going to be a long day.
He threw on his robe, feverishly cleaned off a splotch of chocolate mead, and scampered outside.
It was a stifling hot morning. The sun felt harsh on his face, making him squint. Mrs. Stone leaned on her scion-tipped staff outside the girls’ cabin, dressed in a shimmering white robe. Her gaze steadily watched him as she suppressed a deep cough and then patted her lips with a cloth. Augum dropped his eyes. He wondered how much she knew.
The girls bustled about as they hurriedly got ready, eliciting more than one tortured groan. Haylee’s cabin appeared empty—she must have already departed for the watch or the meeting.
At long last, the girls spilled out of the cabin, shielding their eyes from the sun, hai
r completely askew, eyes underlined with dark circles. Even disheveled, Augum still found Leera completely adorable, with her puffy freckled cheeks and bird-nest raven hair. As grumpy as she looked, he wished he could give her a squeeze and make her feel better.
Bridget gathered her robe close as she looked at Augum with a confused look on her weary face, croaking, “Where’s Mrs. Stone?”
Before Augum could send a warning look, Mrs. Stone, who was standing directly behind them, cleared her throat. The girls immediately froze.
Mrs. Stone shuffled around to stand in the clearing before them. Her form was shriveled and hair wispy thin, but there was still an unmistakable poise and grace in her stance, reflecting thirty-five years as Headmistress of the Academy of Arcane Arts. She pointedly examined each of them, her breathing shallow and raspy. There was the slightest perpetual tremor to her limbs and jaw.
“You are late.”
The trio said nothing. Bridget fidgeted with her robe while Leera swallowed.
Augum thought for sure they were about to receive the tongue-lashing of their lives, but instead, Mrs. Stone began walking toward the path, staff shakily thumping the ground with each stride.
The trio exchanged cagey looks before quickly filing in behind her, not daring to utter a peep. They slowly strode all the way through the village and into the Haroun home, keeping their heads low, meek as lambs behind the aged legend. As they filed into the dining room, all in attendance ceased discussion and stood to welcome them. Many greeted Mrs. Stone good morning, along with a respectful bow. More than a few eyes lingered on him and the girls. It was … unsettling.
The trio quietly padded around the table to stand at their usual places. It did not escape Augum’s notice that Bowlander’s chair was empty. Probably sleeping through a massive hangover, the bastard.
Mrs. Stone sat down with a groan, allowing the assembly to take their seats.
“Let us continue with the first order of business while we wait for this morning’s Herald to arrive,” Constable Clouds said, scanning the table with a hard gaze. “The doubling of the watch has been successful thus far …” and he went on to talk about how there had been no additional attacks and how everyone did their duty for the Resistance with great poise. Augum was so tired he could barely pay attention and prayed that no one called on him for an opinion.
