Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “Gods, it’s the castle,” he whispered as he strode around the room, touching and examining everything. It was Castle Arinthian during Atrius Arinthian’s reign as king, or perhaps shortly thereafter or before, but somewhere around then for sure. Swords, shields and lances were mounted on the walls—and he recognized the skull emblem on some, indicating Occulus’ army. A full suit of shiny steel armor stood in a corner. Everything was pristine and undamaged, unlike in his day where it was scuffed and scratched and cracked or broken or stolen.

  He went to a window and with a shaking hand opened a curtain … revealing a sprawling village. The buildings were stone, smoke billowing from the chimneys. The Ravenwood was fresh and young and shorter than in his time. But there were no people. It was empty, a ghost town.

  Augum turned, wanting to shout at the girls to come see, but thought they deserved and needed the precious rest, and so he let them be. Instead, he wandered around the room, breathing in the rich scents, absorbing what he saw and felt.

  “We’re home again,” he kept whispering. “We’re home again …”

  The Bounceback

  When Atrius returned, Augum stepped before him.

  “Dragoon Arinthian, in my time, the castle is gone. It’s gone. They took it from us. From you … from me. From the girls. I … I don’t know how to get it back.” He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t what Atrius said next.

  “Although we cannot change the past, Squire Stone, we can change how we perceive it.”

  Before Augum could figure out what that meant, a still-drowsy Bridget and Leera rose. Augum, however, had been renewed by seeing his home—at least, the version of home as it existed eighteen hundred years ago.

  “Prepare yourselves, as for your third hour you shall join a reenactment of a famous battle known as Occulus’ Charge. In this battle, we will focus on marrying Mirror of the Dragon with follow-up spells to find optimal spell combinations.”

  Occulus’ Charge—the name rang a bell from History class. Augum recalled that it was the most famous open-field warlock battle of its time.

  But as Atrius summoned a portal, Augum nudged the girls. “Hey, we’re in Castle Arinthian.”

  Bridget and Leera gaped at him before their eyes shot wide open and they glanced around—but there was no time to take much in for Atrius had finished summoning the portal.

  “Let us not tarry,” the man said.

  The girls looked like they wanted to protest, but acceded to his wishes. Neither argued that Augum should have woken them.

  On the other side, there was no time to discuss the castle, for they were plunged right into the thick of battle. The sky was full of rain-sodden clouds that showered a muddy field of what looked like a thousand warlocks clawing each other’s eyes out. The air smelled of blood and iron and decay and death. And there were two sides: Solian rebels, dressed in traditional colored warlock robes; and necromancers, dressed in black robes—Occulus’ troops.

  “Stay together!” Bridget shouted, and stay together they did, closely watching over each other. They combined all their skills, with a focus on Mirror of the Dragon, to ward off necromancer after necromancer, and even worked with Solian warlocks. Atrius, as before, paused the battle now and then with a wave of his hand. On those occasions, everything froze, even the smoke. And then he would impart battlefield wisdom, mostly revolving around Mirror of the Dragon and how it dovetailed with other follow-up spells like Confusion, for an opponent not expecting his spell to come back at him was already susceptible to the spell. Or like how an initial Slow casting gave the caster a great advantage. Or how the most powerful weapon a warlock possessed was foresight. He suggested combos Augum had been promised upon first meeting Trintus Bladeofbright in the eternal room with the checkered floor. It was an incredible, vibrant and difficult lesson.

  After the battle, they rested for a time, nursed their wounds, and discussed what they had learned. And for the final hour, Atrius took them to an island known as Moonhook Isle, in the middle of the Dragon Sea. There, on the edge of the lapping waters, on a beach surrounded by maples and oaks and junipers, with a freshly risen morning sun for company, Atrius imparted his final nuanced master lessons on Mirror of the Dragon. He went over everything they had learned, neatly tying it together, so that perspective dawned along with the rising sun. He did this for half an hour, then wandered to the edge of the water and turned to face them.

  “Your final lesson comes now. We call this … The Bounceback,” and for the first time, there was a hint of a smile.

  The trio, reenergized by the food and sun, glanced at each other uncertainly.

  “Spread out,” Atrius said, and the trio did as he commanded. “Loosen.”

  The trio loosened their limbs, flapping out their hands and arms and jumping on the spot. They rolled their shoulders and heads and stretched their arms and legs, flashing each other inspired and determined looks.

  Atrius inhaled deeply and then closed his eyes. Then, in a practiced catlike movement, he slapped his wrists together, incanting, “Annihilo.” The bolt of lightning roared toward Augum, who blisteringly summoned his shield, hissing, “Mimicus.” The bolt twanged off his shield with a high-pitched screech and shot back at Atrius. He raised his arm and summoned a monstrous black lightning shield that turned into a mirror as he incanted, “Mimicus.” The lightning shot back at Augum once more. He was standing ready and reflected the bolt back yet again with a precise incantation and angle. Atrius smashed the bolt aside and did something he had not done before.

  He smiled … and applauded.

  * * *

  At the conclusion of the lesson, Augum and the girls stepped out of the Mirror of the Dragon portal, sweaty and spent, hands over their mouths. They turned to each other and gently hugged, shoulders shaking.

  “We did it,” Augum whispered. “We actually did it.”

  They squeezed each other tight and stood for a while before letting go and dropping to the sand, exhausted and sore. Augum had never worked so hard before. Had never concentrated so diligently and so precisely for so long. And he had never combined so many skills and spells together. Combat reflex, spell combinations, arcane perpendicularity … it was all coalescing, turning him into a powerful warlock warrior. He felt talented and dangerous and brimming with knowledge.

  Over and over, Augum relived the moment when Atrius applauded like a father proud of his son. That moment had been better than any trophy. He would treasure it for the rest of his life.

  Atrius had clapped for the girls as well when they succeeded in the feat, a feat Atrius made them repeat three times. Atrius then spoke about how important it was to unify everything they had learned, especially decision-making, and use that to live up to the Sacred Chivalric Code of the Arcaner. He wished them well and the best of luck in the dragoon trial that lay ahead, before summoning a portal and inclining his head for the last time. They had thanked him on their way out, though he’d shown no sign that their gratitude made any difference.

  Sir Pawsalot walked over Augum’s chest, hinting he was hungry. “In a moment. Just need to … let my eyes … rest …” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this tired, this sore, this emotionally spent.

  Sometime later, he groggily stirred awake to the distant gong of the academy bell. It struck eight times before ceasing. Beside him, the girls were still asleep in the same positions as they had fallen. They should have gone to their dorms, for had assassins gotten into the academy, they would have been easy marks for a Nodian smile.

  Sir Pawsalot rubbed against Augum’s leg, purring up a storm.

  “All right, all right,” Augum mumbled. Then he spotted a small letter in the sand beside him. He picked it up, slumped down beside Leera, and read it.

  They arrested all the arcanists and are holding them in the catacombs. A lot of people from Arinthia are down there too. No way for anyone to get past the barrier unless ordained arcanely by Count Von Edgeworth. Not even Path Disciples are a
llowed. But Darby has a key. I get the sense they’re waiting for something. I also get the sense we’ll all be under arrest soon, including Solian Path Disciples. They’re using us. Sorry I can’t be of more help.

  Brandon

  P.S. Can’t tell you how much I miss you all. I really messed up and think about it a lot. I should have become an Arcaner with you. But I know in my heart of hearts I’d die attempting the trial. I guess not all dreams come true.

  P.P.S. Katrina visited the warlock markets this morning. Don’t know why.

  Augum was surprised to realize he missed Brandon too. He missed their friendship back when it had been genuine, his ability to crack the odd off-color jest, his frankness and his companionship. But he did not miss how Brandon had treated others, namely Bridget.

  Leera stirred awake, stretched, and gently tackled Sir Pawsalot, who then repeatedly butted his head against her face, following it up with a rub. “How long were we out?” she croaked, yawning while scratching Sir Pawsalot’s chin. The cat stretched his front paws out, then his back paws, and yawned as well.

  “Couple hours.” Augum handed her the note. Leera let Sir Pawsalot slip away as she read it.

  “Nice of him to continue to make amends,” she said. “Catacombs, huh? What’s he think, that we’ll free everybody? And take on the entire army with a ragtag group of demoralized warlocks?”

  Their chatter woke Bridget up, and she groggily smeared her face with the back of her hand as if she had been asleep for a tenday. Leera passed her the short letter. She considered it for a time, blinking away drowsiness, before nodding to herself.

  “Why do you suppose Katrina visited the warlock markets?” Leera asked. “And I didn’t realize there were any free warlocks left outside of the academy.”

  “There aren’t, really,” Bridget said. “Except for those rich enough to bribe the Canterrans to remain free. As to the markets, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “We need a full night’s rest before we attempt the dragoon trial,” Augum said. “But I was thinking we could eat and go over all the notes everyone’s compiled. See if something comes up. Do what we haven’t done in ages because we’ve been too tired.”

  Bridget folded the letter. “Centarro?”

  “That’s my thinking.” It was the only way to gain perspective. Even if they freed up one crucial nugget, it could make the difference between saving a quarter million lives and watching a mass slaughter.

  “And a wash,” Leera said, crinkling her nose. “I badly need a wash. Gods, I stink.”

  Bridget picked up Sir Pawsalot and turned to Augum. “After you wash up, join us in the communal room. And bring your notes.”

  “Will do.”

  Closer

  Augum rested in a large wooden iron-banded tub heated underneath by arcane fire, indulging in a rare luxury. The bathing room was composed of ancient stone blocks. A multitude of arched leaded-glass windows dominated one wall, each with a deep castle parapet. He had chosen the tub closest to the windows so he could overlook a city bathed in night. The sky was clear, allowing a view of a crescent moon and the first of the night’s stars.

  He picked up a long strip of salted beef and absently chewed on it as he lolled about in the hot water, appreciating the deep silence, the dimness, the peace. When he finished munching, he rested his head back against his interlocked hands on the edge of the tub and watched the city twinkle. Thoughts of everything that had happened floated to the surface, but he gently pushed them away. He didn’t want to think about anything. He just wanted to rest.

  After a time, he picked up an old scrub brush and tallow soap, and thoroughly washed himself. He rinsed, stepped out of the tub and placed a hand on a small heating rune. “Quaffo.” The flames under the bath extinguished. Then he strolled out of the bathing room and down the steps to the men’s common room, where he had hung his undergarments and robe after washing them. He checked to make sure they were dry and yanked his undergarments down.

  “Hey, Bridge told me to—gah!” Leera said, walking in on Augum. He frantically covered up.

  Leera smacked a hand over her eyes. “I barely saw anything—I mean, I saw nothing—I mean, nothing for you to worry about—er, yeah. Gods, I’m mortified. I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks were as red as coals and she was talking a league a moment. “Bridge just wanted me to remind you to bring Burden’s Edge and your golden breastplate and satchel because we never know right and anything could happen and we want to be prepared and oh my gods I want to die from embarrassment—”

  “Hey,” Augum said, quickly putting on his undergarments and robe. “It’s all right.”

  Leera scissored two fingers open. “Safe to peek?”

  “You’re supposed to peek after asking, not before,” he said, strolling to her and taking her in his arms.

  “I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to—” but he interrupted her with a kiss. They kissed for a while, him holding her, the pair gently revolving in place. “Mmm,” she toned. “And you smell so fresh and you’re so warm and cuddly.”

  “It’s from the fire. Dried my clothes.”

  “Right. Obviously.” Her hands ran over his lean and defined muscles hardened from training. She dawdled. “Um, again, I’m really sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Nothing you won’t see eventually,” he blurted, incredulous at his own courage.

  She swallowed as she gazed at him with those voluminous dark eyes. Then she wrapped her hands around his neck and drew him in for a soft kiss. When she pulled back, she idly fiddled with the cuffs his robe as she stared at his chest. “Jez told me … way more than I wanted to hear. Well, actually, that’s not true. I wanted to know. Anyway, uh, when we’re ready, uh, we’ll be ready. In time. You know what I mean. Safely, and stuff. But not yet. Obviously. Gods strike me down, why can’t I talk?”

  He raised her chin with a finger, appreciating the shine of her freshly washed hair, the scent of lavender, her smattering of freckles that danced about her cheeks. “You are the most beautiful woman in Sithesia. I love you,” and kissed her again.

  “I love you too,” she mumbled between kisses.

  Someone cleared their throat by the double doors that led to the connecting hallway. “There’s a reason men and women are only supposed to meet up in the communal room,” Bridget said, not looking their way.

  Augum and Leera pulled apart, red-faced.

  “I laid everything out for us,” Bridget said, and trooped off, not looking at them.

  An abashed Augum and Leera pecked each other on the lips and followed, only for Augum to veer around, saying, “Be right there, got to get the stuff,” and race back into his dorm, where he gathered his golden breastplate, Burden’s Edge, his satchel, and all the study parchments Jengo, Olaf and Isaac had collected. He paused when grabbing Isaac’s notes, recalling his goofy grin.

  “All right, I have them all,” he said upon entering the communal room, a round structure filled with plush royal blue couches and floor cushions, each adorned with the academy crest, clustered around three roaring hearths spread equally about the room. Lying on the floor was a gigantic round woven carpet that depicted the city of Blackhaven at night, the dark snowcapped Northern Peaks looming in the background. There were old tables for games and desks for studying and books for reading. Portraits and paintings of pupils and Arcaners hung in between the bookshelves.

  Bridget had laid out all the research material before the hearth opposite the hallway. The material included scrolls, loose parchment notes, and books borrowed from the library. He dumped his satchel on top of the girls’ satchels, added his notes to the mess and stepped back. They had scoured every nook and cranny for information, but history was especially unreliable and scant when dealing with events from over a thousand years ago, let alone events from four to five thousand years ago.

  “I think you should give it a go first, Bridge,” Augum said, “seeing as you already have a lot of perspective after the Archives venture.”

 
“Not to mention you’re way better at research than we are,” Leera said. “Like, way better. I mean, you took Arcaneology class. Only geniuses take Arcaneology—”

  “All right already, I get it, Miss Lazybones.”

  “What? I happen to not enjoy doing research, and you do. We all have to work with our strengths and weaknesses, no?”

  Bridget ignored her and paced around the spread of parchments, lips moving as she reminded herself of the key notes. This went on for quite a while, but Augum and Leera were careful not to interfere as the preparation prior to casting Centarro was crucial. Instead, they listened to the hiss of the hearth fire as Sir Pawsalot watched with half-lidded eyes from a cushion.

  “Lee, take me to the couch and lay me down after,” Bridget said at last.

  “You got it.”

  Bridget took a series of deep breaths. “Centeratoraye xao xen.” She opened her palms over the parchments, fingers spread. The first scroll levitated before her. This time, however, she spoke at length rather than in short bursts as she had in Archives. “It’s best to begin with my initial outline. Circa year 1415 Pre Founding. Quoting from my notes. ‘The Rivicans were enslavers and had a great kingdom governed by powerful “wild” warlocks. They believed themselves the ultimate masters of humans, and planned to take over all of Sithesia.’ ”

  She dismissed the scroll, replacing it with a loose note. “Isaac’s addition. ‘But some kingdoms rebelled and war came once more. A Rivican Lord of Dreadnoughts, under fierce attack by the Canterrans—’ ” She squinted trying to read his writing. “ ‘—crafted three siege engines, which he named. I think those names were lost to history because I couldn’t find what they were, but they seemed important because the Rivicans worshipped them. The crafting of these engines came by combining Rivican engineering with Dreadnought arcane blacksmithing. But the engines came with a price. What that price was is unknown at this time.’ ”

  She dismissed Isaac’s note, choosing an already open tome. Her eyes took in the page as she spoke. “These siege engines turned the tide of war, wreaking total havoc upon Rivican enemies. Thousands were enslaved. Cryptically, history has dubbed this ‘The Great Purge,’ although who or what was purged remains unclear.”