Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “Shyneo,” Augum whispered, lighting his palm as dimly as possible, and quickly helped the girls stuff Leera’s things back into her satchel, further mangling homework.

  “Go go go!” Leera whispered, waving for them to move.

  Augum snuffed out his palm and the trio hurriedly tiptoed around the statues while clutching their satchels tightly to prevent noise. They watched as Katrina stooped to pick up her enchanted pebble. She turned to glance back at them, but they were hidden in darkness and slipped around the corner, making a silent run for it, leaving angry voices behind.

  After a frantic dash through the halls of the Student Wing—and briefly getting lost—they found the right corridor and sprinted toward the old theater where the worship ceremony was being held. They could already hear chanting as they slowed to a hurried walk.

  Two Path Disciples in white robes guarded the entrance.

  “Eyes down,” Bridget said just as the disciples turned their heads in their direction. Bridget and Leera strode meekly forward behind Augum, hands clasped before them, eyes on their feet. Seeing them like that infuriated Augum. What a ridiculous thing to force on women.

  “You’re late,” hissed one of the Path Disciples, a stout man with an unkempt gray beard and shaved head.

  “Yes, we’re very sorry,” Augum said, quickly checking over his shoulder, expecting Katrina and three overseers to come shooting out from one of the corridors.

  “Sorry does not make amends for the grievous slight committed against The Path,” said the other in a Canterran accent, a skinny man with hollow cheeks and also with a shaved head. Deep pouches lay in crescent folds under his eyes, suggesting the man had chronic sleep problems.

  “How can we make amends then?” Augum asked impatiently.

  Pouch Eyes opened a palm. “A fine of three crowns. Per head.”

  Leera squeaked a small disbelieving noise that almost sounded like a duck sneezing.

  Augum could scarcely believe his ears. Nine crowns? Nine?

  Pouch Eyes looked the girls up and down. “Young women such as yourselves should be spinning wool or tending to chickens, not learning witchcraft. Barbaric. You are lucky we are not throwing the lot of you on pyres.”

  The girls wisely did not reply. Nor did Augum. This was no time to cause a fuss.

  “Pay up or face work detail,” Gray Beard drawled, bored.

  “We don’t have any money on us,” Augum replied, “but I can go to my castle and get it.” Mr. Haroun kept a stash of around five hundred crowns in his office for various purposes. The rest was in the Black Bank.

  The wide man shook his head. “If you cannot produce the gold this instant,” he patiently explained, “I am afraid you will have to work it off.”

  “Be taken away? To where?” It was bizarre how money-oriented The Path was. Augum wondered if it had anything to do with that secret Canterran project The Grizzly had mentioned.

  “You will find out,” Pouch Eyes said. He was about to signal to someone inside the theater, likely an overseer, when Augum spotted The Grizzly standing near the back row of seats.

  “Sir!” he hissed. “Sir—!” He was about to call him Lord High Commander, but remembered the man had resigned his post on the high council. It took him a frantic moment to recall his real name. “Arcanist Brewerson!”

  The Grizzly turned his bulky frame and his bushy brows rose upon seeing the trio standing by the entrance. He immediately strode over.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The Grizzly growled, towering over the two Path Disciples, who shrank in his shadow.

  “I am afraid these three here are late and are required to pay a fine of nine crowns,” Pouch Eyes explained, tempering his tone.

  “Nonsense, they were instructed to go to my office and fetch my work.”

  Gray Beard meekly opened his mouth to interrupt but The Grizzly shot a huge hand out that made the man flinch, yet the hand opened before Augum harmlessly. “Well, hand it over, son. We don’t have all day here.”

  Augum hesitated before opening his satchel and withdrawing the first thing he found—his rolled-up parchment essay for tomorrow morning’s class, The Written Word. He handed it over.

  “About time. Now stop dawdling and get in there,” The Grizzly growled, his forceful voice barreling right over the timid objections of The Path Disciples.

  The trio risked it and strode off, leaving The Grizzly to distract the disciples with his intimidating tone and bearing. They hurried to the darkest part of the theater. After taking their seats, they glanced back at the entrance and saw fierce gestures coming from The Grizzly, until the man turned his back on the disciples to reclaim his place, leaving the disciples with open mouths but angry expressions.

  “Looks like we got away with one there,” Leera whispered.

  Bridget nodded. “Hope he doesn’t get into trouble for that.”

  Augum hoped so as well.

  The worship ceremony was hosted by Darby the Diamond, who had his hands raised skyward as he chanted in an arcanely amplified voice. Augum estimated that around ten percent fewer students from that morning’s gathering sat in the theater. He wondered if The Path had taken them, or if they were simply out hunting for gold and had forgotten about the ceremony.

  “This whole thing is suspicious,” Bridget whispered, being sure to keep her eyes low.

  “Tell me about it,” Augum muttered.

  “It seems … forgive me, but it seems almost farcical. Contrived, even.”

  “Agreed. I swear they have ulterior motives. I just don’t know what they are yet.”

  The chanting soon stopped and Darby launched into a long speech about the history of The Path, how it had been around for thousands of years but oppressed by barbaric traditions and beliefs, and how it had slowly risen to power only recently in Canterra, suppressing the baser desires of humanity while enriching the kingdom with clarity and purpose. It all quickly became so boring that Augum caught himself drooling.

  Katrina appeared halfway through, face cross. When she spotted the trio sitting in their seats, her angular face went purple with rage. But perhaps calculating that it would only make her look worse if she pointed out that they had been sitting in the theater the entire time, she strode off to find a seat, probably near Brandon. Leera muttered something about being a traitor while Bridget resumed listening to Darby, who Leera and Augum had long ago tuned out. Augum was thankful one of them was paying attention, just in case any of it was important. He contemplated taking another short nap.

  Darby droned on and on about propriety, marriage, service, loyalty, Path history, and worshipping the Unnameables. The funny thing was, Augum couldn’t figure out what was so different between The Path and Solia’s quiet worship of the Unnameables. Sure, there was the oppression of women and the rooting out of undesirables, but other than that, it was basically the same, just louder and more … he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It just felt like there wasn’t much there, as if Darby himself didn’t quite believe what he was saying.

  By the time the sermon concluded, Augum and Leera, protected by the dimness of their location, were snoozing.

  Hands in the Middle

  “Did you hear that?” Bridget hissed, startling Augum and Leera awake from their nap.

  “Hear what?” a groggy Augum asked.

  “Stupid thing finished?” Leera croaked. “I’m starving.”

  “Warlocks can apply to become Path Disciples!”

  “What—!” Augum and Leera blurted in unison, bolting upright.

  “There are supposed leadership benefits, and you don’t have to pay money every morning. But they’re only accepting a few people. Look, there’s a small line forming right now.” She nodded toward the front of the theater where a small line of traitors—for that’s exactly how Augum saw them—waited for a group of Path Disciples to interview them.

  “This is ridiculous,” Leera said. “What are they thinking?”

  “They’re thinking they can p
rolong the inevitable is what they’re thinking,” Bridget said. “Just like when students decided not to run but to become necrophytes when the Lord of the Legion seized power. We need to be more compassionate. They’re trying to survive the best way they know how.”

  “Traitors is what they are,” Leera said. “There any girls in the line?”

  “All males,” Augum replied.

  “No surprise there,” Leera muttered.

  “I don’t think they allow women to become Path Disciples anyway,” Bridget said.

  A chill zipped down Augum’s spine as he saw a familiar person standing in line. “Is that … is that Brandon?”

  Bridget gasped. “Unnameables be good, it is.”

  Leera squinted, only to shake her head in frustration when she evidently couldn’t make out the blur. “Bastard. Traitorous bastard. I can’t believe the level he’ll stoop to.”

  “Carp is in line too,” Augum said.

  Leera made a disgusted face. “Of course he is. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t.” Then she saw the look on Bridget’s face. “You all right?”

  Bridget said nothing, merely stared coldly at the line.

  Everyone who wasn’t in line filed out of the theater. The trio joined them, finding their friends in the crowd. After muttering about the traitors, they quietly exchanged stories of what had happened. The trio told their friends about their short adventure in the catacombs, while Haylee explained what she and the others had learned about the Oath Displacement spell. Apparently it was a 15th degree—and thus illegal for them—spell. And it was rare. Very rare. She speculated there might only be one warlock in the entire kingdom who maybe knew it, though she knew of an old arcaneologist who might have a scroll of it.

  Isaac had recovered the exact oath the Lord of the Legion had required of his subjects from a former necrophyte student who had written down the phrasing.

  “Hark! A worthy plan we doth now need for a scroll to be acquired,” Laudine whispered theatrically once they were out of earshot and in the corridors.

  “I have money back at the castle,” Augum said. “How much will it cost?”

  Haylee pondered the question. “Well, seeing as it’s a rare 15th degree off-the-books scroll, I’d say somewhere around two thousand crowns.”

  Augum’s stomach dropped. “That’ll drain the coffers. We’ll have to pilfer the Black Bank loan.”

  “It’ll put the castle in danger of seizure again,” Leera said. “Is all this really worth it? What if the scroll doesn’t work, or we can’t acquire the armor?”

  Her point echoed The Grizzly’s sentiment, which went even further, well into deep doubt that anything useful could come of the endeavor simply because there weren’t enough military warlocks to train in the equipment’s use. But that’s what Augum’s slowly germinating plan would strike at.

  “That’s a lot of money,” Caireen said, standing suspiciously close to Isaac. “It’ll be a gamble, but I feel like it’s the right thing to do. I might not have been born in this kingdom, but it’s my home now, my only home. I do not want to see it pillaged.” The Tiberran girl sighed. “I have a terrible feeling about where all this is going. And I do not like everyone’s docility, their … apathy. This is how it happened in Tiberra too, before the Legion simply …” She shook her head as her eyes misted over with dark memories.

  “At least we have each other,” Isaac said before quickly adding, “I mean all of us. Together. As a group. And stuff.”

  As if fate were determined to accentuate Caireen’s point, no less than five Canterran warlocks forcefully marched yet another student down the corridor.

  “No! I swear I didn’t look at His Worship!” the young woman warlock protested.

  One of the overseers grabbed her long ponytail and yanked sharply. “Shut up, barbarian wench.”

  Caireen leaned forward while dropping her voice, her wild amber eyes flicking around anxiously. “If we don’t do something, there won’t be any of us left. You see what they’re doing—snatching us one at a time.”

  “Darby did promise we’d be returned once we paid off any debts or fines with work,” Isaac said. “But I don’t want to find out what kind of work they’re talking about. It’s obviously arcane. And I bet it’s ridiculously laborious work, like quarrying rock or farming or who knows what. Historically, warlock slaves are the most prized. Why use five Ordinaries when you can get the same job done with one warlock? The trick is binding warlocks to the work and not letting them escape. I think that’s why they brought so many overseers here—to keep order. And if they brought this many here, think about how many they have—” He wildly flipped a hand out. “—scattered about the kingdoms. The tragedy is no one seems to realize how dangerous the Canterrans really are. I agree with Cai—too much apathy.” He nodded vigorously at her and she blushed.

  “Except they haven’t returned a single student yet,” Leera said. “I mean, yeah, a day hasn’t even passed, but still. And you’re right, no one has any clue what type of work is involved.” She waved vaguely at Augum. “Well, except for what The Grizzly told Aug, that they’re working on a secret project. But who knows for sure.”

  “Time’s running out regardless,” Augum said, chewing on a knuckle in thought. The others all watched him patiently. The money was a huge sum, and it was his decision to make as it was technically his castle and his funds, even though he considered the place his and the girls’, for all three of them had earned it by vanquishing the Lord of the Legion together.

  “ ‘Ye don’t win a battle sittin’ in ye castle,’ ” Laudine hinted hopefully, quoting the old proverb.

  “Actually, Laud, we proved that one untrue in the Legion War,” Haylee said. “That brilliant siege trap of Augum’s. And look at him, you know he’s cooking something up again.”

  They all settled hopeful gazes on him.

  Augum’s mind whirred away. After some critical strategic thinking, he figured the probability of success, albeit small, was worth the risk. “Let’s do it,” he said at last, to sighs of relief.

  Haylee pumped her fist. “I knew he had a plan. Count us in.”

  “I do, but there are many moving parts. First things first. I’ll have Steward Haroun secure the funds for the scroll before classes begin tomorrow, as well as extra funds so we can help other students pay tithes. All we need now is one piece of Dreadnought armor intended for Legion use to test if the plan will even work.”

  “Leave that to me,” Isaac said. “A certain mutual friend of ours who graduated last year happens to now work for the Royal Armory.”

  “You’re not talking about Olaf Hroljassen, are you?” Laudine asked.

  “The very one. I can go see him tonight. I am certain that, with the right combination of context and heroic motivation, he’ll provide us with a full suit of armor … or at least a breastplate. I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind over there anyway, and super worried about the kingdom.” Isaac pressed the tips of his fingers together, a wild gleam in his eye. “I’ll get that suit of armor if I have to beg for it. We’ll stash it at his house. And if we get the scroll, we can perform the transference ritual at lunch.”

  “Excellent,” Bridget said. “We’ll all meet in the morning before class at the Steps of the Crescent Moon then.”

  It was a testament to their faith in Augum that they didn’t ask him to lay out the entire plan. And he was glad, because it still needed tweaking. Nonetheless, he saw an opportunity to get their morale up and shot his hand out between them. “Let’s make this happen.”

  “Just like the old days,” Leera said with a grin, slapping her hand on top of his.

  Bridget placed her hand over Leera’s. “For the academy.”

  “For thee kingdom, blessed it so be,” Laudine whispered in a stage accent, ceremoniously putting her hand on top next.

  “For the kidnapped,” Haylee added.

  “For freedom,” Isaac said.

  Caireen placed her hand on top last, solemnly pronouncin
g, “And for each other.”

  For a sweet moment they held their hands before them as one, before shooting their arms down in a ceremonial break, wishing each other good luck.

  “I have a plan on what to do next,” Leera said as the others dispersed, leaving the trio behind.

  Bridget’s straight brows rose. “You have a plan? You?”

  Augum’s brows rose too. Leera never came up with plans, only spontaneous ideas.

  Leera narrowed her eyes at them. “You two are looking at me a certain way.”

  “Sorry, what’s the plan?” Augum prodded.

  “We go back to the castle, make sure Gritchards isn’t causing problems, eat a big supper … and Teleport back here to explore the Archives and track down that hidden course material.” She raised two palms. “I know we’ll be tired and we’ve got homework, but I think we can all agree this is more important.”

  Augum thought Bridget was going to call her out on trying to weasel out of another night of warlock training and homework. Instead, she nodded and said, “Agreed, this is way more important.”

  Augum smiled when they glanced at him. “Count me in, obviously.”

  Castle Arinthian

  With a triple thwomp, the trio appeared beside the ancient stone fountain depicting two dueling warlocks—one of two spots their powerful rings were tuned to teleport to, the other being at the foot of the academy Steps of the Crescent Moon. Haylee’s and Jengo’s Teleport rings were set to teleport them to the front of their houses in the village of Arinthia, located just behind the castle.

  Augum glanced about, checking to make sure an enemy did not lie in wait. He recognized the vulnerability of always teleporting to the same spot, hence they preferred Jez teleporting them as she could bring them almost anywhere on castle grounds. And it didn’t waste a ring charge.

  It was windy and snowing, and the snow was piled up to their waists. The sky was a deep gray, the clouds low. The sacred Ravenwood, burned in the Legion War, mournfully surrounded the bailey, acting as a wall against the wind that raked the top of the castle, sending plumes of snowdrift southward. They bundled their robes close against the bitter northern wind. Augum contemplated withdrawing the fur cube coat thingy, but a servant would let them into the castle momentarily.