Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at them. “You two are awfully sunny this morning.”

  “What did Mrs. Stone always tell us?” Bridget asked, only to answer her own question. “ ‘Never underestimate the power of friendship.’ ” She beamed.

  He wanted to say something spiteful like they weren’t fourteen anymore, but wisely held his tongue, realizing he was being gloomy.

  “We’ve got a plan,” Bridget continued. “And you’ve got a plan. Stop being such a dark cloud and let’s make them happen. Today’s a new day. Besides, Haylee’s womanhood ceremony is tomorrow, and we could use your help with it.”

  “It’ll get our minds off all the dark stuff,” Leera said.

  “My help?” he asked numbly, envisioning blood trickling toward his boots in the snow. Another vision of a hood flapping in the wind, a hood that covered a mortal lightning wound. “My help with what?”

  Bridget nodded. “We need you to come up with a fun game for Haylee’s womanhood ceremony. It has to be silly but inclusive, meaning it should involve boys and girls, Ordinary and warlock alike. Nothing tawdry or vulgar or boring either. Just something we can all do together to get our spirits up.”

  “Something bold,” Leera threw in. “And fun. Make sure it’s fun. Which means opposite of boring. Nothing a governess would like.”

  “But I don’t really know any—”

  “Just … think about it, will you?” Bridget pressed.

  The girls’ smiles won him over. “All right, I’ll give it some thought then,” he said glumly. It threw him for a loop, and for the first time in ages, he briefly forgot about his troubles. A game they could all play together? He should probably ask the boys, see what they had to say on the matter. And then he realized he was also the Master of Ceremonies on behalf of the boys this year and almost groaned. It was a cherished Solian tradition that a girl be Master of Ceremonies for when a boy turned sixteen, and the reverse for when a girl turned sixteen.

  Leera nodded up at the castle. “Someone is watching us.” She squinted trying to make out who it was.

  Augum and Bridget glanced up in time to see the unmistakable face of Brandon disappear from the terrace. Bridget’s face fell.

  “Who was it?” Leera asked.

  “Brandon,” Augum replied.

  “Bastard. Wonder who’s going to teleport them to the academy. They don’t have rings like we do. I bet you it’ll be Auntie or Uncle Von Edgeworth, or maybe one of those cursed overseers.” When she noticed that neither of them were replying, she glanced over. Augum felt numb again, while Bridget was staring off at nothing, face blank.

  “Oh, come on,” Leera said gently, “you two let things get to you way too easily.” She took them by the elbow and guided them to the fountain. “Let’s go. We’ve got friends waiting for us and a great many people to help.”

  * * *

  They teleported to the Steps of the Crescent Moon where their friends awaited. Mrs. Stone’s statue proudly loomed over them, her stern eyes watching the horizon. The academy sat under a blanket of gray clouds that echoed Augum’s mood. Bridget forced a smile, but she was in the same gloomy frame of mind. Seeing Brandon had simply cut the legs out from her cheeriness. Augum wondered about that. Perhaps she felt she’d failed in making a once-promising relationship work. Or perhaps she was just hurt. She hid her feelings more than Leera, that was for sure. He suspected they should talk, get things off their chests. It would probably do them all good.

  Bridget quietly dispersed a measured amount of crowns to Laudine, Jengo, Haylee and Caireen, with instructions to surreptitiously dole out the gold to whoever did not have enough, especially to the younger and lower-degree warlocks as they would have a much harder time raising money than the older, more experienced ones. The friends brought their own sums as well, but none of them were rich, and certainly couldn’t afford to keep bringing in seven crowns every day, or five in the case of Haylee and Jengo, for they were both 5th degree.

  “Where’s Isaac?” Leera asked. “He’s supposed to be here by now.” She squinted at the distance. “That him?”

  They turned to see an ecstatic Isaac running toward them, waving his arms. “We got it, we got it, we got it!” he screeched upon skidding to a stop in the snow, amber robe swirling, and began talking a league a heartbeat. “Olaf snagged a full suit of Dreadnought armor. Stashed it at his house. He lives in the Stone Quarter by the Black Arena. Oh, hi, Caireen, you look radiant this morning.”

  Caireen gave a small, whimsical curtsy. “Mr. Fleiszmann.”

  “Gah, that’s what they call my father.”

  “Pupil Fleiszmann it is, then.”

  “Much better. Anyway, can’t wait until we learn Teleport, as it’s a bit of a walk, not to mention it’s dangerous for warlocks to walk around the city these days. But we can test the armor as soon as we snag a whatchamacallit scroll.”

  “Oath Displacement,” Haylee said helpfully. “We’re skipping first class to hit the Black Bank. We have the money all thanks to the castle’s funds.”

  “Former castle,” Augum muttered, forcing Leera to explain what had happened, for he refused to speak of it when Isaac pressed.

  “Those blasted fiends,” Isaac cursed, balling a fist and thumping his chest with it. “I’m sorry, but if it weren’t for academy rules, I’d have punched Brandon’s face in then and there.”

  Augum did not disagree with the notion. But he knew keeping his cool was far more important for a slew of reasons, not the least of which were the lives of the villagers—and especially his friends.

  “Here.” Bridget handed Isaac his portion of coins. “Dole them out to the needy.”

  “Ah, right. For a moment there I thought you were rewarding me for a job well done.”

  Caireen grinned as she punched him in the shoulder. “There’s your thanks. Leera taught me that.”

  Isaac stuck out his tongue like he was ten years old again.

  Leera winked at Caireen then resettled her gaze beyond them. “Here they come,” she said, squinting and nodding at a group of students strolling down the snow-laden path from the academy gates. “Hoods up.”

  Everyone donned their hoods, something that would not elicit too much interest since it was cold and windy, and it would help keep them anonymous as they didn’t want to draw too much attention in case any overseers wandered over. They weren’t sure if giving money away was allowed.

  Those students who lived in town as opposed to in the academy soon arrived at the steps, looking nervous. On their way through Blackhaven, they probably had to put up with hecklers, meddling Path Disciples, or wary Canterran soldiers.

  Augum and his friends began engaging the students, quietly asking how they were doing and if they had enough gold. As they suspected, most of the older ones were doing all right as they had an easier time making money with their craft, but the younger ones—especially the 1st degrees—were in a panic, for they could not fathom making a whole crown over the course of a single day. Those who came from poorer homes had it the worst, compounding the problem—a crown per degree was a fortune for the mid and lowborn. That was one hundred castles—or ten spines—when the average day’s labor earned an Ordinary a single spine. With some ingenuity and skill, a warlock could obviously get more. Still, some were short and hoped to work it off for the Canterrans, something Augum insisted was a bad idea, as who knew if they’d ever be allowed to return. It was those students that Augum and his friends helped most, discreetly handing out shiny crowns to every needy hand, old and young alike.

  “I’m scared,” said a burgundy-robed fourteen-year-old boy. “Maybe I should run away and hide.”

  “Then you’d have to make sure your family did as well,” Jengo replied. “Because they’ll go after them. Happened just yesterday when two healing element kids bailed on the worship ceremony. Family was placed under arrest within the hour. Gods know what happened to them.”

  “And you’d have to be all right with the knowledge that t
he Canterrans would take out their anger on your fellow classmates,” Haylee chimed in. “Yesterday, an 8th degree class was forced to pay an eight-crown fine each for one of their own running away with her family. Seems the Canterran army, tasked to watch over this kind of thing, did a random check on the house and found it deserted.”

  “Seriously?” the fourteen-year-old said, paling.

  “Yup. Had to share some money amongst each other to make it work.”

  “Did you hear what’s happening in the city?” asked another girl about their age in a blue robe. “They’re punishing women for walking alone. Alone! Snatching them right off the street, taking them who knows where. How am I supposed to work for money when I can’t even go out on the street by myself! And everyone’s so calm. So damn calm. It’s scaring me.”

  The fourteen-year-old boy gulped. “I saw one Canterran soldier scream his head off at a girl my age about how it was karma for what our forefathers had done to them.”

  Augum exchanged a look with Leera. It had begun, all right.

  A Solian warlock courier teleported in with a cart stacked with freshly copied parchments.

  “Excuse me, sir, can we have one?” Augum asked.

  The man eyed Augum. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “Don’t think so.” Augum nodded at the stack. “How much?”

  “Two castles.”

  Augum dug around for loose change and scrounged up two coppers depicting the Black Castle on one side and King Ridian on the other. The Lord of the Legion had killed Ridian, meaning it was an older coin.

  “Not that there’s much to read,” the warlock muttered, taking the coins and handing a copy of the Blackhaven Herald to Augum. “Enjoy.” He tottered away to drop off the bundle at the academy shop, glancing back once and shaking his head as if trying to place where he’d seen Augum’s face before, not realizing it had likely been in the very heralds he dispersed.

  “What dost it sayeth, fair Augum?” Laudine sang, crowding in with the others. But her expression soured rather quickly. In fact, all their expressions soured upon seeing what the Blackhaven Herald had to say.

  “It’s just … it’s just spewing cultish nonsense,” Leera muttered. “ ‘The gods shall pardon all those who bend the knee before the word of The Path Disciples’? Bleh.”

  Augum skimmed the front page, turned over the parchment, and saw that the reverse was similar too. But there was one thing that stood out—Rules of Conduct for Men, Women and Children, as Per the Dictums of The Path.

  “And Ordinaries thought they would get away with paying a mere tithe,” Jengo said, shaking his head. “Fools. Look at that. Waywards, undesirables, warlocks learning in the wild, all have to ‘bend the knee of humility before the might of The Path,’ whatever that means.”

  Laudine read a portion. “ ‘Those who wish to spread the light of The Path to their fellow citizens may now apply to become disciples at the constabularies.’ And it goes on. ‘Women may not walk without a chaperone. They must keep their gazes low before all Path Disciples. Couples are forbidden to make any public shows of affection without being married.’ I can’t read any more. ”

  “Solia is getting a nasty makeover,” Haylee added glumly, and read another portion. “ ‘Women will no longer be allowed to serve in any male professions. Nor will they be allowed to learn the written word as it induces impure thoughts. All citizens born in Tiberra, Sierra, and Nodia will report their address, occupation and income to the constabulary by day’s end.’ Unnameables help this wretched kingdom.”

  “I knew it,” Jengo muttered. “I simply knew it! See a pattern? They’re going after the dark-skinned ones.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously, like he used to during the war, when he had been a jumpy wreck. “Only a matter of when now, I’m telling you. One by one, they’re going to snatch us all off. We’re done for. We’re so done for …”

  There was a time when Augum would have told him he was being paranoid. That time had passed.

  Someone made an announcement in an amplified voice from the academy courtyard.

  “They’ve begun taking payments,” Bridget said.

  The trio and their friends lined up with the other students. Luckily, it seemed like a routine affair. The Path Disciples languidly waved people along, scratching each name off two lists. Every warlock was made to flash their arm rings to confirm the total owing. Almost everyone in line paid in full. But those few who were short even a copper were escorted aside and then teleported off to who knew where by Canterran overseers. But not all were teleported away.

  “Did you see that?” Augum whispered to Bridget and Leera. “They led those last two into the academy.”

  “That’s odd,” Bridget replied. “Maybe they’ll be teleported later, or maybe they’re showing mercy to those two.”

  To Augum, the Canterrans had given no reason to think they would be lenient. If anything, they were indifferent to the Solian plight. Perhaps that was the secret behind the bloodless invasion, for it was hard to be angry against indifference. Had the Canterrans been outright cruel or cynical or barbaric, resistance would have come by the bushel.

  “Next,” the disciple said in a bored tone, his brows rising upon seeing Augum. “Flash ’em.”

  Augum summoned seven lightning rings around his right forearm.

  “That’ll be seven.”

  Augum sarcastically thought that it was great that the man could count rings, only to realize he had meant seven crowns. He was reaching into his pocket to pay when Katrina barged into the line, careful to keep her eyes low before the disciple. “Excuse me, sir, but these ones here gave money to other students. I have witnesses who saw it.”

  The trio froze, but the bored Path Disciple rolled his eyes and waved her accusation off. “It’s simple. You fail to pay or you go to work, and we don’t really care how you pay. Now cough up your name and show your stripes, Miss Tattletale.”

  Katrina smacked her lips in annoyance. “Katrina Southguard Von Edgeworth.” She angrily flashed her seven air rings, paid her seven crowns and strutted by as if nothing had happened, all while managing not to look the man in the eye once.

  Leera said something so vile under her breath about Katrina that Bridget’s ears went pink.

  The trio followed the same procedure, paid their crowns, watched as their names were ticked off two separate lists, and moved along. Their friends waited for them in a huddle. Leera immediately complained bitterly about what Katrina had tried to pull.

  “We can’t underestimate her. She’s dangerous,” Augum said.

  “So is my fist. Ugh, if it weren’t for academy rules …” Then Leera made a puzzled face. “Do academy rules even apply anymore? I mean, if the Canterrans are running it—”

  “Of course they do,” Bridget said, giving Leera a stern look.

  Leera crinkled her nose in disappointment.

  “How much money do we have left?” Bridget asked.

  Everyone reached into their pockets and satchels, handing over a total of two hundred and forty-seven crowns.

  Bridget’s straight brows furrowed as she shook her head. “Half gone already. And it’s only the first day.” She glanced at their worried faces and began giving out coins again. “Take ten each for yourselves for tomorrow as well as for any fines they impose on you.” She gave Augum and Leera a pleading look. “Just try not to get into trouble?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Leera muttered, putting her crowns away.

  Bridget leaned in and the eight of them huddled close. “All right, we’re skipping The Written Word but not Theory of Elemental Spellcraft as that class is too valuable. That gives us two hours to hit the bank, buy the scroll, and go to Olaf’s house to see if the Oath Displacement spell works on the Dreadnought armor. It’s dangerous in the city so we’ll travel in a group to protect ourselves.”

  Isaac shrugged. “I made it through fine.”

  They glanced at him.

  “All right, maybe I got called a f
ew names along the way.”

  Caireen frowned.

  “Oh, and I suppose a Canterran guard or two accosted me as well—but they were just looking for a handout. I threw them a couple castles and we parted ways.”

  “Right,” Bridget said, unimpressed. “Everybody on board?”

  They nodded. Augum had no problem skipping The Written Word class, especially seeing as he had given away his Written Word homework to The Grizzly to cover arriving late to the worship meeting.

  “Good. Hoods up. Let’s go.”

  The Black Bank

  The journey to the Black Bank would be a short one as it was only two blocks from the academy. But they’d first have to pass through the academy gates, where a crowd of anxious Solians had gathered. The calls began as soon as the trio and their friends entered the throng.

  “Witches!”

  “This be all yer fault! I say burn ’em!”

  “Please, m’lady, I needs healing. It’s me tummy. Please.”

  “Well ain’t you a pretty thing.”

  “Hey, I think this is the trio. The trio—mrph!” A quick Mute spell from Leera silenced the woman.

  “What? I had no choice,” Leera said when Bridget gave her a warning look and they were clear of the crowd. “She’d have poked the hornet’s nest, and you know it. Perfectly legal to preemptively protect ourselves in such circumstances.”

  Satchels held tight to their chests, the group proceeded over a bridge that spanned an ancient moat surrounding the entire academy, then walked south. The academy was in the northernmost part of the city, right before the Great Black Wall. But everything of significance was titled Black this or Black that, for the city had endured many fires. Not only that, but tar had been used extensively throughout history to seal the structures against time. An old legend claimed that the city originally got its black hue from dragon breath, a myth Augum more than wanted to believe.

  Against a backdrop of the distant hazy Northern Peaks, Ordinaries trundled through knee-high snow wearing anxious looks on their faces. They stole glances at the eight warlocks traveling amongst them, six amber-robed and two emerald-robed. Some gestured to the gods warding themselves from evil, others spit on the ground superstitiously. Some threw salt over their shoulders—retrieved from a handy salt pouch for just such occasions—while others hurried to the group, begging for arcane favors or healing or alms. When Jengo, the only healing element warlock in the group, offered to arcanely mend a peasant woman’s open sore, she recoiled at the sight of his ebony face and scurried off, hissing prayers.