Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “They think we’re going to do something,” Haylee said.

  The thought crossed Augum’s mind. He wondered what would happen though. If they got away with helping, could the Canterrans later identify them out of a lineup? Would all warlocks be condemned thereafter? Solia simply didn’t have the forces to do anything substantial, let alone back up its warlocks.

  “One lonely cry at a time,” Laudine whispered as the soldiers disappeared around a street corner. She pulled her hands inward. “Snatched!” For once, her dramatics perfectly captured the moment and the group stood in somber silence.

  Caireen fluffed up her bush of hair and nudged Isaac. “Come on, let’s keep going before I start weeping like a baby.”

  The group continued walking, ever mindful of pursuers. Caireen lingered in the rear with Isaac, the pair glancing at each other now and then. The pungent scent of fish soon reached them, for they neared the vast city docks from which Solian square-rigged fishing vessels launched into the vastness of Anchor Lake, with its fierce storms, heavy seas and unfathomable dark depths. Stories of exploratory voyages permeated the taverns like the distant but fresh smell of the Western Salt, which lay on the other side of the Spurs, the mountain range west of Anchor Lake. The Western Salt was a vast ocean of unknown horizons and bravery and children’s tales of sea monsters and imaginary lands. Of dragons and wyverns and curious beasts. Of Unnameables and legends and myths.

  These were the things on Augum’s mind as they reached Olaf’s house, a dilapidated affair of loose planks near the Shanties Quarter.

  “He’s hoping to move out,” Isaac was quick to mention. “It’s his father’s place and they don’t get along. He should be able to with his new job. Just don’t bring it up because he’s quite embarrassed about how much of a dump the place is, as he is about hitting his ceiling last term. He also may be under the impression only he and I are testing the armor, so, uh, he doesn’t know you’re coming. Don’t think he would have agreed to this otherwise.”

  Leera raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Anything else we should know?”

  “Yes. He’s, uh, a little, you know—” Isaac pressed his hands to his hips before extending them out. “—fatter.”

  Caireen whapped his arm with the back of her hand.

  “So, yeah, we should be kind,” Isaac said.

  “Of course,” Leera said, flashing him a repulsed look. “What do you think we are, savages? I mean, I know Brandon would have made fun of him, but we’re not like that. And sorry to bring the turd-flinger up again, Bridge.”

  Bridget merely firmed her lips.

  Isaac stepped onto the rickety steps and knocked on the door. “He should be home. Took the day off.”

  Sure enough, the door opened a crack. “It’s you,” said a voice. “They aren’t following you, are they?” The door opened. Augum, who was peeking past Isaac, saw the familiar—albeit indeed pudgier—round face of Olaf Hroljassen. Their eyes met, Augum reflexively smiled—and the door slammed shut.

  “How could you bring them here!” Olaf screeched, voice fading as he ran away inside. “Gods, I’m so embarrassed!”

  “Told you,” Isaac mouthed over his shoulder, grinning, before knocking again. “Come on, Ollie, let us in. No one cares how you live. You know everyone here and they’re all anxious to see you again.” There was a silence. “Ollie …?”

  Olaf’s voice was faint, distant. “… damn embarrassed …”

  “He really is quite embarrassed,” Isaac said. Then he elbowed Augum. “You try. The loaf always looked up to you.” The word loaf earned him another backhanded smack from Caireen.

  Augum stepped up to the door and cleared his throat before knocking again. “Olaf, it’s me, Augum. Look, uh, if it makes you feel any better, I have seven crowns to my name. Lost everything.” His voice trailed off. “They even took the castle—”

  There was a rush of thumping heavy feet on planks. The door swung wildly open, revealing a beefy eighteen-year-old with thick, blonde brows and matching greasy blonde hair that had grown out somewhat since Augum last saw him.

  “They what!” Olaf roared. He was dressed in a soiled tan tunic and was much wider than Augum remembered him, but just as short. And his muscles had given way to flab. But he had the same affable, joking face Augum remembered so well.

  “Yeah, the Von Edgeworths claimed it. Katrina’s vile aunt and uncle.”

  Olaf actually growled like a small dog. “Those bastards.” He smacked a fist into an open palm. “Traitors like that will hang when all’s said and done, you mark my words. Just like the Legion loyalists hanged after the war.” He sighed and looked over Augum’s shoulder. “Who else is here?” He nodded to each in turn. “Jengo, Cai, Laud, Haylee, Bridge, Lee—Gods, come to gloat on my wretchedness, have you? And where’s that goof, Brandon?”

  “Er, bit of a long story,” Augum replied quickly while Leera repeatedly sliced at her throat.

  “Ah, so it’s complicated. I still want to hear all about it.” Olaf stepped aside and swept his arms grandly. “Well, you might as well come in and get your laughs from Castle Squalor.”

  “Come on, Ollie, you know we’d never do that,” Caireen said. “And it’s good to see you.” She hugged him. He returned the hug warmly.

  “All right, all right, you don’t know how I missed you guys, how I missed the academy.” When he let go, it was to look upon Bridget and Leera with a warm fondness. “And the princesses too.” Before they could protest, he drew them both into a squishy group hug. “Thanks for coming, even though this is about the second-most embarrassing day of my life.”

  Augum knew he was referring to the day he hit his ceiling; the day he found out he had failed his 7th degree exams, confining him to the 6th.

  “You could go back, you know,” Augum said.

  “What, and learn a year behind? Like Carp?” Olaf rubbed his eyes. “Oh, break my chunky bones asunder, that rotten fish made it further than me. I should have died in the war. Gone out on a high note.”

  Isaac gave him a playful shove. “Shut up with that kind of talk. We celebrated your ousting properly in the old way.”

  Olaf smiled as he gazed into the middle distance. “Ah, best party of my life. I retched all the following day, you know.” He glanced around him suddenly. “Where the hell are my manners? Have a seat, please.” He gestured at two opposing run-down settees with faded floral patterns.

  “It’s good to see you, Ollie,” Bridget said softly, “but we really don’t have time—”

  “Nonsense, I insist,” and he placed two meaty hands on Bridget’s shoulders and led her to the settee, plopping her down like she was a doll. “Just cause you’re all big shots in the world doesn’t mean you can’t spare a few moments for your old pal Ollie.”

  “You sound like someone’s grandmother,” Leera said with a smile as she took her place beside Bridget, and Augum beside her.

  Olaf wrung his hands as they took their seats. “Tea? I’ll make tea. Right. Tea, tea, tea.” He stoked the hearth, which had a low bed of hot coals in it, and hung an iron pot of water to boil. “Tell me everything. All the gossip. Everything.”

  “There’s a lot to tell,” Leera said. “But all right, we’ll give you the short of it.” And she retold everything that had happened of late, even the stuff with Brandon, to which Bridget’s eyes fell to the floor. She also included the latest news, which was about the scroll. “… and so we’re all broke and likely to get carted off tomorrow to who knows where,” she concluded. “And the worst thing is nobody’s doing anything about the Canterrans. They’re like deer standing before a cart, about to get run over. Nobody knows where they’re taking people either. They say it’s work detail, but no one’s returned yet.”

  “It’s only been one day, but I hear you.” The pot had boiled by then and Olaf began ladling steaming water into old tin cups filled with Solian pine needles and honey. “You know I sometimes think about everything we did together back at that castle of yours, Augum.”
He handed a cup to Bridget, who smiled her thanks. “I think about how we put our lives on the line, the kinds of utterly brave fools we were.” He handed a cup to Leera. “I honestly can’t believe we survived.” A cup to Laudine. “And we trained and trained and trained …” A cup to Haylee. “It was so … harrowing.” A cup to Caireen, followed by another for Jengo. “Yes, that’s the word. Harrowing.” And lastly, a cup each for Isaac and Augum. “I remember a moment—this one haunts me to this day, you know—when we were all upstairs just … drenched in blood. And they were pouring in from all sides—” He slowly pointed his ladle at invisible enemies. “There were hundreds of them. Climbing up the walls. Streaming in like army ants.” He pointed the ladle over his shoulder as his voice deepened, growing more menacing. “And those necromancers were on the stairs. And then … and then there was this … this darkness, a darkness that you knew was pure evil, evil incarnate. And with it came a putrid stench of sulfur, like rotten eggs. And that darkness crept up those stairs.” His eyes went glassy and distant, his voice a whisper. “The Lord of the Legion. And the arcanery involved … the arcanery. It was …” He shook his head in disbelief, swallowed, and let out a long sigh. “When I have kids they won’t believe the things I’ve seen. The things we’ve done. But I know. I know.”

  No one was looking at him, all preoccupied with their tea.

  “And then they dared to … and then they dared to besmirch those sacrifices? All those lives lost? They dared …” He stared at nothing, his face a mask of rage and memory and fear. Realizing what he was doing, he shook it off with a jerk of his head and ladled himself some tea, squishing the pine needles with the ladle handle, for Solian pines needed coaxing to release the flavor. “But we’ll make them pay, yes we will, yes we will.”

  Olaf stood his bulky frame up with a wheeze. He glanced out a dirty window. Outside, snow had begun to fall again, pushed around whimsically by the wind. “Isaac told me your crazy plan. Transfer the oath to Augum so any warlock soldier who swears allegiance to him can use the Dreadnought armor. Well, I can tell you I tried on that suit yesterday and again this morning. Its arcanery doesn’t trigger. It doesn’t amplify squat. It’s Dreadnought steel, all right, and that’s about it. But if this works …” He glanced to Augum and the corner of his mouth curved upward. “If this works, we just might be able to defend a house. Maybe two—” and he cracked up laughing. The laughter quickly infected the others, for it was indeed a most ludicrous plan, and they all knew it. The Solian warlock army was a ragtag assortment of men and women whose only saving grace was that they had been smart enough to survive the Legion War by playing meek, dumb, or hiding, and had probably gone into hiding this time around too. Augum let them laugh, because he’d been thinking about this, and his plan had flowered. He was almost ready to tell them.

  Once the laughter died down, they continued to sip their tea.

  “Gods, how I wish I could be back there with you all.”

  “No you don’t,” Leera said. “Sucks harder than an air warlock spinning up a tornado.”

  “I can tell you the others miss it as well. Withdrawal is a—”

  “Wait, what others?” Haylee interrupted.

  “The ones who hit their ceiling over the last two terms. Sasha. Alyssa. You know, the others. They’re like me—too ashamed to go back, to try again. I think they knew they were done. War took it out of them, I think. The drive. The drive is gone. I’m amazed you’re all still as ambitious as you are.”

  “You see them much?” Laudine asked.

  “Not Sasha. Three of us had a pity party and then she went back to Abrandia. As for Alyssa …” He absently stabbed the coals with an iron poker. “Yeah, I’ve seen her once or twice. Works for a rich noble as a bodyguard. Apparently he’s a nice man too, so she’s doing all right for herself. Better than I am, at least. Still got that wry sense of humor. As for me, well, I’m a no good, fat and ugly …” He trailed off.

  “You made it to the 6th degree and you work for the Royal Armory,” Bridget said. “That’s nothing to sneeze at. You should be proud of yourself.” She opened her mouth to say something else but refrained.

  “Not to mention you’re a Hero of the Resistance,” Leera added.

  Olaf shrugged. “I suppose.”

  A rich noble. That reminded Augum of Jengo’s idea. “Hey, look, if you two want to get involved again … we could use your help.”

  Olaf glanced over. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  “A new Resistance?”

  Augum hesitated. “Sure, yeah.”

  Olaf smiled. “Slap my fats I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Still as crass as ever,” Bridget muttered into her tea, though she was smiling.

  “So what can I do?”

  “We need to raise money. Lots of it. To buy us time by keeping as many students in the academy as possible.” And Augum explained the fines, fees and daily dues and how he hoped there were some rich but benevolent nobles that would be willing to secretly support their cause.

  Olaf nodded. “Yeah, they’re bleeding the kingdom, all right. All the lower nobles are getting dinged. Word is they’re working on a project. Haven’t heard what though, and I’ve been working hard on trying to overhear what I can. But just look at me.” He prodded his bulging stomach. “Ain’t exactly a secret when I waddle by.”

  The group stifled bashful giggles.

  “Only thing I heard from warlocks on up the chain is something about digging.”

  “Digging?” Caireen said. “You mean like … mining?”

  “Haven’t the faintest. Anyway, I’ll talk to Alyssa. That is, if I can find her again. Wouldn’t surprise me if her rich employer went into hiding and took her with him. Plenty of families are mysteriously disappearing along with their most precious belongings. And many estates—the ones that ain’t rich enough to bribe the Canterrans—are getting confiscated and given to rich Canterrans. It’s like the war all over again, ain’t it?”

  “Just like the war.” Augum strolled over and slapped a hand onto the beefy man’s arm. “Thanks for your help, Olaf,” he said. “Means a lot.”

  Olaf looked at him with surprise, then his face reddened as he tried not to smile too broadly. “You know, those suits of captured Legion Dreadnought armor are just sitting in storage, gathering dust.”

  Augum’s brows rose sharply. “They are?”

  “Yup, stuck in a vault. They still have the stink of the dead on them too. Reeks in there. But don’t get me wrong—the Dreadnought equipment that people can use is out there in the field being used by warlock soldiers and stuff, or at least by the ones who haven’t run off with their tails tucked between their legs. And word is the Canterrans confiscated the rest. It’s just the stuff sworn to the Lord of the Legion that’s just … sitting there. Anyway, that’s why I was able to sneak one out. Everyone thinks the equipment’s useless, so my wing of the armory is lightly guarded. I mean—” He pointed at himself with both thumbs, clumsily spilling tea. “—you’re looking at one of only three guards for that part of the armory. We take a shift apiece at eight hours per shift, and a day off every quint, covered by other guards. Had to pull strings to have my shift covered today. Anyway, boring as all heck, I tell you. All I do is stand around and snack all day—if there’s one thing they do, is feed you over there.” Olaf frowned. “Wait, I don’t understand something. Who’s going to be using these suits? They’d be useless on Ordinaries, and we don’t exactly have a huge warlock army … or much of one at all since the invasion, from what I’ve been hearing.”

  The time had come for Augum to tell them his full plan, for they were all looking at him enquiringly.

  “I recognize that look from the war,” Olaf said, twirling a pudgy finger at Augum’s face. “That look? That look I do not like. You’re freaking me right out, Aug. Spill it. What are you cooking up now?” He took a nervous sip of tea, watching Augum over the lip of the cup.

  Augum glanced at his sit
ting group of friends. “How many students do we have at the academy?”

  Bridget straightened. “Around four hundred—but you’re not seriously suggesting—”

  “I am,” Augum said with a grin. “Olaf—how hard would it be for you to sneak, oh, say, four hundred suits out of the Royal Armory?”

  Olaf projectile-spit the tea out. And he wasn’t the only one.

  Memories in the Coals

  “How hard would it be to pilfer four hundred suits out of the Royal Armory?” Olaf sputtered, fetching a cloth to wipe the tea off himself and the furniture. “Hard? Hard? How about impossible. The arcane security measures … the brazen risks of getting caught … I mean, the organizing alone—” But then he froze. “Wait, we said the same things about defending the castle from the Legion, didn’t we?”

  “Some doubts had indeed been floated back then,” Augum replied, taking a second cloth and wiping his fur coat, for Olaf had gotten tea on it. “Look, all I’m searching for is a ray of hope. Can it be done, Ollie?”

  Olaf inhaled, puffing up his cheeks, then expelled a long breath. “Maybe with the help of a high-degree warlock or two and a rock-solid plan … yeah, I suppose, it could be done.”

  “Jez. Then we’ll need Jez. She can cook something up.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “You already snuck one suit out, and you’re alone in that armory for what, you said eight hours straight, is that right?”

  Olaf nodded numbly. “A part of the armory, the rest is guarded like you wouldn’t believe, but—”

  “No but. This is our chance. Do none of you see where this is heading? Am I the only one? They’re whittling us down one soul at a time. If we don’t do something, there’ll be nobody left. They’re lulling us with small actions. We’re frogs in a slowly boiling pot, and no one wants to jump out.” He looked each of them in the eye. “We’re going to war. We’re going to war. Solia’s strength is in its warlocks, and almost all of those warlocks are in the academy. That’s where we’ll make a stand. I know it. I feel it.”