Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “Sixteen is ancient!”

  “Life’s over, blondie!”

  “Where’s the hubby? Stop wasting time!”

  “Last night of innocence. Better enjoy it while you can!”

  Haylee, cheeks crimson and eyes twinkling, raised her hands and wiggled as well, before being thrown into the crowd. Her friends caught her and dragged her into the main room of the tavern, everyone following.

  “Tackiest, cheesiest song ever,” Leera muttered, trailing the crowd.

  “You love it,” Augum replied.

  Streamers decorated the main room. A table overflowed with a bounty of foods, including beef pastries; cuts of roast venison, chicken and beef; bowls of spiced and buttered red potatoes; a whole pig on a spit complete with an apple in its mouth; bowls of fresh grapes and oranges; caramelized banana and apple slices; and countless more succulent dishes of pastries and cakes and sweets.

  The festivities began right away. Bridget, Caireen, Laudine and Alyssa led Haylee onto a small stage. Her first challenge was to dance to a pre-chosen song. A lute player sat on a chair by the stage, just as depicted on the sign outside, and began singing “Which Witch Will Bewitch,” a favorite as a drunken tongue twister, which made it impossible to dance to. Haylee, ever the trooper, did her best, despite nearly falling off the stage due to her bad leg.

  “She looks like a drunken marionette doll,” Leera said. Then she spied Caireen waving at her. “There’s my cue.” She rubbed her hands. “We’ve got plans for Haylee. Devious plans, muhahaha.” She pecked Augum on the lips before giddily skipping off.

  Isaac joined Augum and folded his arms. “They’re like vultures picking over a carcass. Look at Haylee’s face. Think she’d rather be buried alive.”

  A red-faced Haylee was telekinetically balancing a small glass of stinkroot juice on the tip of her nose.

  Augum wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know, I think she looks happy and she’s just pretending to be mortally embarrassed.”

  “She gets even a drop of that gunk on her and it won’t just be her who stinks. Whole place will clear out. Think vomit, manure and rotten meat.”

  Augum looked on as the girls tried to make Haylee flinch. “Oh, believe me, I know what that stuff smells like.”

  “War?”

  “War.”

  “War sucks.”

  “War does suck.”

  Jengo soon joined them. He nodded at the entrance. “Look who it is.”

  “What’s that little waif doing here?” Isaac said.

  Cry Slimwealth spotted Augum’s group in the crowd and made his way over. He was carrying a clay tablet on which was affixed a parchment scroll and a stoppered bottle of ink. He waved his quill at them, eyes back to their droopy selves. “You lot don’t look suspicious at all.”

  “Recovered from your ordeal so soon, have you?” Isaac sniped.

  “As quickly as you recovered from a fellow student’s death.”

  Isaac rubbed the back of his head. “Ouch.”

  Cry nodded at Olaf. “Olaf.”

  “Cry.” Olaf’s lips pressed into a line. The pair had had an adversarial friendship back when Olaf attended the academy. “Still writing for the Academy Herald?” Olaf asked tentatively.

  “Doing a soft piece on Haylee’s womanhood ceremony I’ll publish the day after tomorrow. Thought people would want to hear about some good news for a change. Hopefully I can talk the Canterrans into allowing me to publish it. In case you haven’t noticed, they run all the heralds now.” He waved his quill at them. “That was you all earlier, wasn’t it? I heard eleven went down and one got away.”

  “The Grizzly was right,” Augum said. “Word gets around fast. How’d you find out?”

  “It’s my job.”

  Augum pressed his lips together, unimpressed.

  “All right, sources in the constabulary. Not that I can write about it. Nor much want to. Don’t want to end up digging all day long again looking for whatever it is they’re looking for. Hey, look, I know you all don’t much like me, but I’m after the truth. I hope I’ve proven that by now—”

  “When you’re not being salacious with your wordsmithing,” Isaac interrupted, “yes, I suppose you have.”

  Cry gave Augum a droopy-eyed sardonic look. “Putting my father’s money to good use? I hope you appreciate the risk he’s taking by helping you ungrateful bunch.”

  “We are grateful, Cry,” Augum quickly said before the others could chime in with spite. “Please thank him for us. That money will save lives.”

  “Oh, Aug, speaking of which—” Jengo reached into his pocket and withdrew four vials. “Your antidotes. Two are Alera Serum against Black Nettle, one is Erdin Serum against Haptus and Coilsnake venom, which are popular with assassins as well, and the last is Milk of Mersonite, which can save you from arsenic and cyanide poisoning, but only if ingested right away. And I mean right away, otherwise you might as well carve yourself a Nodian smile.” Jengo sliced his neck with a finger to emphasize his point.

  “You bought antidotes with Father’s money?” Cry asked.

  “Like I said, literally saving lives,” Augum replied.

  Cry sighed and sauntered off without another word. Up on stage, Haylee had to put her hands behind her back while a candied apple telekinetically floated before her. Every time she tried to take a bite, the crowd would shout, “The blonde missed! The blonde tries again!” Caramel soon covered her face. After that fiasco, she was made to sing a duet with Laudine. Except Laudine belted out prewritten lines to which Haylee had to immediately and spontaneously answer in the loudest voice she could.

  “Something I love to dream about at night is …?” Laudine sang, dimpled cheeks aglow.

  “How cows graze!” Haylee shouted, wincing. The crowd would instantly jeer a bad answer, but laugh and applaud a good one. This one got jeers and even a few salad leaves tossed her way.

  “The man of my dreams should have the biggest …?”

  “Forehead!”

  That one drew laughter.

  “A person I secretly had a crush on for forever is …?”

  “Sir Pawsalot.”

  More leafy greens came her way, and Leera shouted, “Cheater! That’s my cat!”

  “If I were rich the first thing I’d buy is …?”

  “A gilded dresser! Gah, no, I mean a gilded bed!”

  Jeers, salad leaves and even a tomato sailed through the air.

  The celebrations moved along. Generally, people stuck to their cliques. Servants chatted with other servants, arcanists with other arcanists, Ordinaries with Ordinaries, and teenage warlocks with other teenage warlocks, mostly of their own degree, further divided by gender. Augum and the other boys discussed a few more ideas for games to play later, and the girls paid all their attention to Haylee, occasionally snatching a boy here and there to perform some undignified task such as handing Haylee a flaming drink, or serving as a prop in a theatrical production. And while the ridiculousness continued on stage, games of cuppers, dice and cards were had. A street magician entertained young and old alike with visual tricks he called “magic.” The other boys each grabbed a cup of light ale, though Augum refrained for now as he wanted to stay sharp should danger come their way.

  “Stone.”

  Augum turned to see The Grizzly looming over him and his friends. They all hid their cups of ale and stood rigid.

  “Lord High—er, Arcanist Brewerson. Glad you, uh, made it.”

  The Grizzly looked each of them over with a discerning gaze. “I bring word from the Lady High Inquisitor on a certain … matter … that happened earlier. She is investigating, but quietly. She says justice will be served, and urges you not to get yourself involved in such loud frays in the future.”

  “Yes, sir, but it’s not like we had a choice, sir.”

  “You brought down a whole building, Stone, and got lucky the warlock constables repaired it before the Canterrans showed up. The constables also removed the bodies, but these things
don’t stay secret long.”

  “What about the captured assassin, sir?”

  “Committed suicide. Swallowed his own poison, it seems.”

  Augum sighed. Great. “Sir, I have a lot to tell you regarding—”

  “—a certain visit to the Royal Armory?”

  “You … you know about that, sir?”

  The Grizzly glanced around at the crowd. Everyone nearby was busy ignoring them or keeping their distance. The 18th degree former Lord High Commander had that effect on people. “I’ve been … appraised of certain situations and am prepared to … support the endeavor.”

  “There you are,” Jez sang, drawing near. “Not like you’re hard to spot in a crowd though, eh?” She swirled a glass of red wine under her nose and inhaled.

  It took Augum a moment to realize she was talking to The Grizzly, and then another moment to put two and two together. Jez had told him everything. This was great, except—

  Augum glanced between them and noticed The Grizzly had not backed away from her sudden closeness, and although he was playing stern, a coy smile hid in the corner of his mouth. Augum still wasn’t sure how he felt about The Grizzly and Jez getting close.

  “We must all work together to make this kingdom free again, Stone,” The Grizzly said under his breath.

  “Sir, do you know anything about something called the Heart of the Colossus?”

  “In military terms, it means to be as fearlessly brave as a colossus, or a giant.”

  Well, that wasn’t very helpful, except to suggest that King Samuel’s scholars might be right—it could be a metaphor, meaning their quest to find the artifact was a wild goose chase. Augum thought to ask about other matters. “Sir, the other arcanists, the ones put to work. Are they all right?”

  “They plan to put each of us to work for a few days to show us how weak we are. It is … psychological in nature. Even an 18th degree warlock can be overwhelmed with the right … motivation.”

  Augum didn’t need more clues to know The Grizzly was referring to his extended family up in Northspear.

  “Sir, I think it would be best if every warlock took measures to secure the safety of their families as soon as possible.”

  “What makes you think those plans are not already underway, Stone?”

  “Oh, right. Uh, good to hear, sir.”

  Jez was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

  “Best you enjoy your evening, Stone,” The Grizzly said. “We may not have another like it again.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  But before the big man could turn his back on Augum, Jez dragged the other boys over by their sleeves. “Hey, I don’t care that you’re men grown. I don’t care that you’ve survived death countless times. You’re still filthy rascal teenagers. No sleeping in the same room as the girls. Look at me. No sleeping in the same room as the girls, got it? I catch you—any of you—and you’ll be drinking that stinkroot concoction until you vomit. I’m not jesting here. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Jez,” the boys chorused lamely.

  “Good, because you’re all too young for scandal, no matter how damn smart and careful you think you are.” Then she smiled roguishly at Augum. “I heard somebody’s about to take his first stab at being Master of Ceremonies.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Don’t even think about going easy on those harpies. They can take it.”

  Augum burst with a laugh. Then she threw a small pouch at him, which he telekinetically caught and drew to his hand. “What’s this?”

  “Keys to your rooms. And watch it on that stuff, will you? Don’t play dumb. You’re all hiding ale behind your backs.”

  Isaac held up a cup as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, this? It’s apple juice.”

  “Should I make you piss yourself in front of the girls now or later?”

  “I’ll be good,” Isaac squeaked. “But Ms. Terse, you do know it’s, like, the weakest ale in all of Sithesia.”

  “Look, all I’m saying is, unless you want to be remembered as the dimwit who barfed all over himself at a womanhood ceremony, you’ll want to take it easy. And yes, I know you’re men grown. Unfortunately maturity and age don’t always go hand in hand. Anyway, enough nagging. There’s a basement for the male portion of the initiation, whenever you all find the courage.” Jez winked at Augum before she and The Grizzly turned their backs on them and strolled to join the other arcanists, though not without one more muttering of “nasty teenagers” from Jez.

  “I love your mentor,” Isaac said, “but she can be a real priss sometimes. It’s like she forgot what it was like to be our age.”

  Augum sighed as he disbursed the keys. “That’s the problem—she remembers all too well.” He had been longing for a night with Leera alone more than he dared admit to himself. Well, at least they had a place to do the men’s side of things later.

  Up on stage, the girls were laughing and holding a bridal gown, which Haylee was trying to fit into as part of some elaborate game.

  “Hey, Aug, can I, uh, have a quick word?” Olaf asked, wringing his hands.

  “Sure, Ollie.” Augum had a feeling he knew what this was about.

  “Listen, uh, I know I’m not attending the academy and all that,” Olaf began in a whisper when they went aside, “but do you think … I mean, you’re practically her brother and all that, and since she doesn’t have parents—I mean, she does—er, did—but you know what I mean—”

  “Ollie.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Right. Uh, think it’s all right if I asked Bridget on a, uh, date?” He cringed as if expecting Augum to punch him.

  Augum clapped his beefy shoulders. “Olaf, I’m not Bridget’s father. You do whatever’s in your heart. She went through one of these ceremonies. She’s her own woman and can handle herself.”

  “Oh, all right, thank you.”

  “But she has had a hard time lately with the whole Brandon thing,” Augum warned. “I mean, it hasn’t exactly been an age since they broke up.” Then he smiled. “You hurt her, and Leera and I will rip your arms off. Fair?” He brought his hands together only to thrust them apart, sparking lightning between them for emphasis.

  Olaf chuckled nervously. “Er … fair enough.”

  They returned to the other boys.

  “Unnameables, look who just crawled in,” Jengo said.

  The boys all looked over.

  Olaf’s brows rose. “Is that … is that Brandon?”

  Raising Cups

  Brandon glanced around the room uncertainly. Instead of wearing a Path Disciple robe, he wore his amber robe with a winter coat on top. And his hair was combed but not slathered with grease like usual.

  “Sure trying hard, ain’t he?” Isaac said.

  Brandon searched the crowd and made his way over after laying eyes on Augum’s group. Up on stage, Leera elbowed Bridget and nodded in Brandon’s direction. Bridget, who was helping twirl an already dizzy Haylee, was distracted long enough to receive an accidental elbow from Haylee. Rubbing her smarting cheek, she excused herself from the stage while Leera took over.

  “Here comes trouble,” Augum muttered, watching the former couple converging from separate directions. Except Brandon hadn’t spotted Bridget yet and got to the boys first. Just as he opened his mouth to say hello, Bridget reached him.

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped, eyes narrowed.

  Brandon whipped around. “Bridget! Hi. I … I …”

  “You what?”

  “I just came to pay my respects to Haylee.”

  “Did you, now?”

  Brandon swallowed and nodded. “You, uh, you look beautif—”

  “Don’t you dare. Don’t. You. Dare.”

  Back on stage, the minstrel stood and opened his arms. “Now that our young woman has been properly humbled, we ask that everyone find a partner and join us in the first dance of the evening.”

  The girls descended from the stage, Hayle
e dragging ribbons and dressed in the ridiculous poufy wedding gown. The moment they spotted Brandon, their eyes simultaneously narrowed like a crossbow firing squad.

  Bridget strode past Brandon, grabbed Olaf’s hand, and dragged him onto the dance floor while Brandon gawked stupidly. The others paired off as well. Jengo with his betrothed, Priya; Haylee with an embarrassed Chaska; Isaac with Caireen; Augum with Leera; and Laudine and Alyssa with boys from Haylee’s degree, leaving Brandon to stand gaping longingly at Bridget.

  “ ‘A Maiden’s Love!’ ” The minstrel announced, receiving catcalls and applause from the room.

  “Fates put me out of my misery,” Leera muttered, entwining her arms around Augum’s neck and drawing near. “I hate this song.”

  “Liar, you love this song.”

  “It’s dopey.”

  “Then why are you smiling?”

  She snuggled into his shoulder. “Because I like holding you.”

  The minstrel plucked the opening chord on his lute and sang the first verse. “There once was a maiden so pretty and fair—”

  “What’s Brandon playing at, anyway?” Leera asked as the pair of them—along with the entire tavern—swayed to the gentle crooning. “He knows she’s trying to get over him.”

  “This is going to sound selfish, but I hope she doesn’t do anything too drastic. We need him as an informer.”