Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  It warmed his soul seeing a few windows of the ancient castle alight with a cozy glow, for it meant people were inside and safe.

  The trio hurried to the front door. As per routine, Bridget raised a palm. “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus.” She studied the enchantments only she could see. “Everything checks out.” Then she pounded on the door with the side of her fist.

  Augum glanced up at the looming snow-encrusted facade of his home, of their home. This beautiful eighteen-hundred-year-old castle was a physical manifestation of his lineage, built by the greatest Arinthian known. Atrius’s handiwork could be seen with the Reveal spell. His enchantments had long sunk to permanence and permeated all facets of the structure, though unfortunately very few still worked, having been rendered null at the conclusion of the Legion War with the destruction of the scion.

  The ancient oaken door finally opened and they scuttled into the vestibule, shivering. A mid-twenties female guard with flaxen hair bowed. “M’lord Stone. M’lady Burns. M’lady Jones. It is good to have you home.”

  “Private Higgins,” Augum said, taking solace in seeing her in the new Castle Arinthian uniform Steward Haroun had commissioned at the end of last month. It was a suit of chainmail, a pointed helm, and a steel breastplate over which hung a loose surcoat emblazoned with the crest of Castle Arinthian. The crest had three colored bands of gold, blue and burgundy, the colors of House Arinthian, as per the trio’s choosing. Over those bands rested the silhouette of a lion, the spirit animal of the house; a Solian pine, which represented Solia; and a sheaf of wheat, the cash crop of Castle Arinthian. Underneath the crest was the Arinthian house motto, Adversi alua probata.

  “Any news?” Bridget asked as Private Higgins gingerly brushed snow off her shoulders.

  “You have visitors, m’lady,” Higgins said in her country drawl. “Waitin’ for m’lord and ladies in the fourth-floor parlor.” She was a stocky woman and an Ordinary with a plain way of speaking. Prior to becoming a guard she had worked as a house servant, yet she’d grown up with swords, for her father had treated both his son and daughter as equals. The story went that he had oft challenged her to best her brother, which she finally did at fifteen years of age.

  “Gritchards?”

  “Him and a whole lot of people, m’lady. Ms. Terse, that there inquisitor woman, and a good dozen Canterran warlocks all guardin’ a pair of fancy-dressed Canterrans. Nobles, me thinks.”

  “The Lady High Inquisitor is with them?” Bridget asked, alarmed.

  “That very one, m’lady. She puts on airs, that she does. Gives me the creeps. I keep me head low around her. Don’t want to be put to the question, if you know what I mean.”

  “Bet Jez’s loving her company,” Leera muttered sarcastically. Jez and the Lady High Inquisitor had been enemies since attending the academy together in their teens. “What’s the story behind the nobles? What do they want?”

  “Don’t rightly know, m’lady. But they’re older and have what we in service call ‘make work’ faces, makin’ you sweep where it don’t need sweepin’.”

  “Thank you, Private Higgins,” Bridget said.

  “And there’s mail, m’lord and ladies. A whole sack. Came by warlock courier only an hour ago. I reckon it’s people worried about the Canterrans.”

  “Rightly so,” Augum muttered. The letters would certainly be the usual mix of love and hate, though perhaps it would now be outnumbered by pleadings for the trio to kick the Canterrans out.

  “Steward Haroun has it in his office, m’lord. He’s keepin’ out of the way.”

  “Wise man.”

  The trio thanked Higgins once more and made their way through the grand foyer and then up the ancient marble double staircase. Along the way, Leera scooped up Sir Pawsalot, the castle tabby.

  “Hi, you fat little lump,” she crooned, giving him a soft nuzzle and a peck between the ears. He meowed contentedly and purred up a storm as she petted him. Augum and Bridget each gave the little creature a scratch under the chin.

  “Parlor, huh?” Leera noted as they ascended to the fourth floor, otherwise known as the Scholar’s Floor, for it housed the library and various study rooms. “Nice to put it to use, I guess.”

  The last time they had used it was when Rupert Southguard and his ilk came groveling for Augum’s support in their quest for the throne.

  “Just remember, Lee, no eye contact with Gritchards,” Bridget reminded her.

  “Ugh. Right. So stupid.”

  “I know, but it’s best to play along for now.”

  “I’ll play along by putting a foot up his …” Leera trailed off.

  “Why do you suppose Canterran nobles came with Gritchards?” Augum asked, palming the cool marble banister.

  “That bothers me too,” Bridget replied. “Could be tax collectors. Honestly, I’m rather surprised they haven’t whisked us away to who knows where they take people now.”

  “They find that bag of mail and they just might,” Augum muttered.

  Leera snorted. “It’s because they don’t consider us a threat now that they know we don’t have the scions. Arrogant bastards.”

  Augum initially thought it a ridiculous idea, but realized it fit with their behavior thus far. Haughty, aloof and detached. Arrogant indeed. And if the Canterrans only wanted money and knew the trio didn’t pose a threat, this was exactly the way they’d behave. What worried him was the presence of the Lady High Inquisitor. That couldn’t be good.

  After reaching the fourth floor, they strode down a long hallway lined with ornate oaken doors and old repaired tapestries depicting warlocks and knights and country life. The floor was carpeted with a long and lush Tiberran runner gifted by a merchant grateful to the trio for saving Solia. It was one of many gifts sprinkled about the castle, for a call had gone out on their behalf to have it furnished, and many had responded, including the nobility. Back then the nobility had been grateful for the trio’s sacrifice, knowing they could run their businesses in peace without the threat of the Legion turning them into the undead. Augum now looked back upon that ebullient time with a measure of nostalgia, for everywhere he had looked he had seen faces filled with the kind of joy only seen after a brutal war.

  The polished door to the parlor was closed. Bridget gave it a strong rap. It opened almost immediately, revealing stubby Charles Poorman. His boxy shelf chin rose at the sight of them before he bowed. “My lord. My ladies. It is wonderful to see you home safe and sound.” He was impeccably groomed and dressed in the Arinthian livery of gold, blue and burgundy, courtesy of Steward Haroun’s efforts. But his voice held an unmistakable quiver.

  “Good to be home, Charles,” Augum said as he entered, taking in the scene before him. Various young village servants stood off to the side dressed in the same Arinthian livery. The trio’s beloved and quirky mentor, thirty-seven-year-old Jezebel Terse, stood in her 17th degree turquoise robe, a serious look on her face. Her shoulder-length raven hair was tied back in a ponytail, hands folded neatly in front of her. Opposite her stood Disciple Gritchards, steel-gray eyes slits of fervor, shaved head gleaming in the arcane candlelight. His muscles pushed against his plain white robe, yet his face was sunken and sallow, as if his preaching had worn out his jaw.

  Sitting regally behind him in the plushest armchair available was an aged pale-skinned woman with a bun of silver hair, in which was embedded a thin jewel-encrusted tiara. A gold necklace hung around her neck, showcasing a sparkling oval ruby the size of a chestnut. She wore a finely pleated sapphire dress expertly decorated with gold lace. And her face was indeed a “make work” face, for it showed no compassion, only the strictness of someone accustomed to giving orders. It was rigid, with a hard jaw and deep frown lines.

  Beside her in a matching armchair sat someone who Augum presumed to be her husband—an older man with rich olive skin and thin but neatly combed dyed black hair, though the sides had been left silver. He had gray eyes, a long and pointed face much like a fierce Canterran Doberman, and
wore a traditional turquoise robe with no additional golden shoulder bands, indicating he was Jez’s degree. Bulbous and sparkly jeweled rings adorned his hands.

  Behind them stood a middle-aged man in fine purple cloth with a fat golden chain around his shoulders, likely a chain of office. He too looked no-nonsense, with a curled mustache and close-cropped hair.

  Four young Canterran servants stood by, wearing purple-and-gold livery that looked stifling and uncomfortable. All kept their eyes low, hands folded in front.

  A dozen Canterran warlock overseers stood by the windows, hands tucked in the sleeves of their fine sapphire, crimson-fringed robes. Each had their hoods raised. And lastly, there was the Lady High Inquisitor Lady Melinda Sterns, whom Jez called Malignant Melinda, along with her retinue of brown-robed inquisitor warlocks. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her hawk eyes bored into Augum, telling him the reason for her visit had something to do with him.

  Charles lightly cleared his throat. “Presenting Lady Bridget Burns, Lady Leera Jones, and Lord Augum Arinthian Stone, Castellan of Castle Arinthian.” He turned to the assembled crowd. “Lady High Inquisitor and her retinue.” He gracefully opened a palm to the regal-looking woman and man and gave them a small but proper bow of the head. “And presenting Countess Cressa and Count Vintus—” There was the slightest hesitation before Charles finished. “—Von Edgeworth.”

  Snowdrift

  “My niece was supposed to be back by now from touring the surrounding village,” Countess Von Edgeworth mused in a Canterran-accented voice that was naturally sharp and clear. She and her husband had not stood, as was customary when greeting the owner of the domicile one visited. “She expressed great interest in seeing your faces.”

  The trio were too shocked to reply and gaped stupidly.

  There was an impatient knock at the door. Charles promptly opened it. Katrina sauntered through wearing a victorious grin, not bothering to wait for Charles to quietly ask her name so he could properly announce her.

  “Did I miss it?” she crooned, practically running around the trio to examine their faces. “Looks like I kind of did. Well, let’s try a second time here.” She made a show of looking over their shoulders. “Sweetie, you can come in now!”

  The trio turned to see Brandon Summers strut into the room, a pompous smile on his face.

  Augum, body cold and buzzing from shock, barely noticed Katrina circling them, studying their faces.

  “Beloved Aunt and Uncle, this is what vengeance looks like,” she sang. “Look. Look at their jackass faces. Look at the defeat in their eyes. At last we have our sweet vengeance. At long last. The Von Edgeworths have claimed the unclaimable. The Von Edgeworths have secured Castle Arinthian. The family honor has been redeemed. We are great again. We are whole again.” She twirled in place like a dancer and drew her hands to her chest, heaving a contented sigh.

  Augum’s mouth was open. He wanted to ask the question that was surely on the girls’ minds. On whose authority did they dare presume possession of Castle Arinthian! But the answer presented itself anyway, for the man with the chain around his shoulders unfurled an ornate scroll.

  “ ‘By order of the Canterran high council, this property and all subsequent adjoined lands are hereby seized …’ ”

  Due to the blood roaring through his ears, Augum could barely hear what the man read.

  “ ‘… to be endowed to Countess Cress Stanson Von Edgeworth and Count Vintus Von Edgeworth …’ ”

  “I think he’s going to faint!” Katrina sang, pointing at Augum. “Pale as a bed sheet.”

  Brandon stood beside her, arms folded. Bridget was glaring at him mutinously. Brandon leaned forward, a brow rising. “Katrina and I are moving in. We will be husband and wife in due time.” Brandon looked around the grand parlor. “I always wanted to be rich. So this is what it feels like.” He wobbled his head at Katrina. “You were right, Kat, it feels awesome.”

  Leera held Sir Pawsalot closer to her chest. “You vile, traitorous—”

  “Careful,” Brandon said, indicating Gritchards. “We have a Path Disciple present.” He nodded at the inquisitors. “Not to mention the Lady High Inquisitor, here to ensure a peaceful transition.”

  Leera openly glared at Gritchards, who squinted his eyes into hateful slits, while Jez glared at Malignant Melinda, who stood cool and unperturbed, watching Augum, unnerving him further.

  “Disciple Gritchards will stay in the castle as village overseer,” Countess Von Edgeworth said smoothly. “Oh, but your wretched faces. You need not be so shocked. This is what colonization looks like. Solia has done it throughout history. Even these lands were stolen from savages long, long ago. Take solace in knowing this is happening to others. All major estates are being seized as part of reparations.” She extended her hand, palm down, and stared at Augum as the man with the chain of office hurried to help her out of the chair. She smoothed her dress and strolled around the room, inspecting the furniture. “Some of these will do, but most will have to be replaced. Quite an eclectic assortment, I dare say. But we will—” She swept a graceful hand as she flashed an almost kind smile. “—make it worthy of the Von Edgeworth line, that I assure you.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Bridget murmured.

  Katrina snapped her fingers in Bridget’s face. “Not on that fine carpet you’re not, you plain-faced pretentious know-it-all.”

  “Now now, Niece, we should be kind to our tenants. They will, after all, be paying us rent when they eventually settle in a house in the village.”

  Count Vintus Von Edgeworth heaved himself out of the chair and strolled to stand before Augum, hands behind his back. He examined Augum up and down as if he were inspecting livestock. “So this is the great-grandson of the vile woman who murdered my father and my brother.” His Doberman-like face had the same angular coldness as that of his niece.

  Augum straightened. “Mrs. Stone dueled them fairly by the laws of the old way—”

  “You dare presume to lecture me?” the count snarled. “What do you know of the old way? You are nothing more than a barbaric fraud who has thrived on the back of someone else’s achievements. You and this whole pathetic kingdom. I only wish it had been I who had dueled that old hag.” He nodded at Katrina. “You have done exceptionally well, Niece. It is just and fair that he suffers so. No Arinthian should prosper by dishonoring the mighty Von Edgeworths.”

  Katrina’s eyelashes fluttered. “All thanks to you, Uncle, and Auntie as well.” She smiled gleefully at Augum. “Aunt and Uncle took me in when your evil great-grandmother murdered my father. We’ve been plotting our revenge since. As you can see, it has been well thought out.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Jez hissed.

  The countess gave her a pitying smile. “We already have, my dear. This is what happens when you treat your neighbors poorly. Solia had it coming for generations. The Arinthian line certainly had it coming, did it not?” She pressed the tips of her fingers together as she came to stand beside her gleeful niece. “But we are not savages. You may take your most private possessions with you. You can even take your stubby servant and that mangy cat. The other servants shall remain.” She chortled. “After all, you will not be able to afford them.”

  Katrina and Brandon snorted a laugh, as if sharing some inside jest.

  “Consider yourselves fortunate I did not have it my way,” the count snapped. He did not elaborate, nor did he need to.

  The countess continued. “After you have retrieved your meager possessions, you will be escorted out, and you are forbidden—under pain of death, by Canterran and Solian law—” She gave a grateful nod to the Lady High Inquisitor, who merely looked on coldly. “—to step foot back inside this castle, soon to be known as Castle Von Edgeworth.”

  Now Augum thought he was going to be sick too.

  “There will be a proper naming ceremony of course, held in the bailey. And you will be invited to attend. And spare us those wretched looks. You sho
uld be grateful I do not rename the town too.” The Countess flicked a disparaging finger at Jez as she turned her head toward the overseers. “Six on her, two on each of the others. If any one of them protest …” She left the threat unsaid.

  “And we shall have a word prior to your departure, Lord Stone,” the Lady High Inquisitor interrupted, pointy chin rising.

  “As you wish, Lady High Inquisitor,” Augum said numbly.

  Katrina slowly twirled a finger. “Now you can turn right around and get the hell out of our castle.”

  The trio and Jez filed out of the room. Without a word, they were each escorted to their rooms on the fifth floor, Jez tailed by six overseers, the trio each by two.

  Augum stepped into his room in a daze, barely conscious of the two overseers watching him from the depths of their dark hoods. He undid the enchantment on his trunk and withdrew his most prized possessions, which included the golden Dreadnought breastplate called Augum’s Defender and ancestral Dreadnought sword known as Burden’s Edge. Then he retrieved his clothes from a wardrobe and stuffed what he could into a well-worn rucksack that had accompanied him to many distant places. Lastly, he shoveled everything off his desk into his satchel and glumly glanced around the room, in disbelief the Von Edgeworths were taking it from him.

  The pair of overseers watched him in silence.

  “What do you Canterrans stand to get out of all this?” he asked them. “Money? That all there is to it for you?”

  They glanced at each other before resettling their gazes on him. Neither said a word.

  He snorted derisively and strode past them, knowing how futile it would be to test his arcane strength against them, for even should he win, he’d be placing the entire town in dire jeopardy. The mature thing to do was play along, though he loathed himself for doing it. He’d have much preferred them to arrest him and drag him kicking and screaming. No, that wasn’t quite accurate—he’d have much preferred to whip their hides in a proper duel.