Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  At long last, just as the darkest of thoughts began to worm into his mind, she gasped with a sharp inhalation of breath.

  “Thank the Unnameables!” Augum called as he showered her freckled cheeks with kisses. She came around slowly, her eyes wandering, until they focused on him. Then she smiled, voice weak and slow as she said, “I forgot to cast Elemental Armor.”

  “You’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

  “Could have cast Centarro too.”

  “We both could have, but it would have been too risky.”

  “You know, I think it just dawned on me …”

  “Yes, my sweet love?”

  “I think this Arcaner business might be a tad dangerous.”

  He burst with a laugh. “You saying we should give it up?”

  “I’m starting to see what Bridge sees in a quiet life …”

  “Me too.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Augum hauled her to her feet and realized he could stand—the healing water had repaired his foot wound. And his arm worked once more. He felt refreshed too, not just physically, but arcanely.

  “Where’s Bridge and Jez?”

  “We’re going to them now. We’ve got an academy of people to save.”

  The Tables Turn

  Leera could move on her own by the time they got back to the sandy arena floor, where Bridget was feeding Jez water from Sir Pawsalot’s dish, a sight that would have been comical at any other time.

  “You two all right?” Augum asked.

  “Yeah, but The Butcher packed quite the punch,” Bridget replied. “I’m still disoriented. And I need to visit a healing fountain.” Her face had a few scratches, her robe was torn and singed, and her left leg was soaked with blood.

  Jez was lying on the ground gasping, spent. All the overseers lay dead, having bled out.

  “Let me try to disenchant and remove those manacles,” Augum said.

  “Don’t bother,” Jez replied, still gasping. “The Canterrans only use ancient Dreadnought steel manacles, meaning their enchantments have long sunk to permanence. Clever, really. You need their matching key to take them off.”

  Augum nodded and turned his attention to the dead Canterrans. The girls sensed his intentions and followed his lead. They each kneeled before the slain, whispering the Final Valediction, “May your soul find the peace together we could not reach,” while Jez looked on proudly.

  When they were done, Bridget glanced at the crimson-robed Black Eagle, whose leg lay twisted back and underneath him, face mottled with specks of blood. “This shouldn’t have happened. None of this. We should have quietly attended the academy and the kingdom should have continued on in peace. I don’t understand—” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why The Fates want us mired in blood. Why we can’t just be left alone to … to live, damn it.” Then she hobbled over to sit beside Jez and catch her breath.

  “Whoa, easy on the cursing,” Leera said, plopping down beside her. “It’s unbecoming of you.” She rubbed Bridget’s back. “Hold it together. It ain’t over yet.” Then she added in a mutter, “In fact, I think the hell’s only just begun.”

  “All enslaved warlocks who aren’t working are wearing arcane Canterran cuffs like I am,” Jez said, looking at them seriously while struggling to sit up. Augum helped her. “And the keys are held by a jailer. The prisoners have been moved from the original dig site to the one by Oakenfield Keep, where they sleep and work at the bottom of a newly dug tunnel, with warlocks separated from Ordinaries. The problem is an arcane dome crafted by Count Von Edgeworth surrounds the entire work site. You can’t get through it without a runic key, but not all the overseers have one.”

  “Then I propose a new plan,” Augum said, having already thought about it. “I’ll catch Darby. He hobbled out of here like a one-legged chicken and can’t have gone far.”

  “Why Darby?” Leera asked.

  “We’ll need him as a hostage. He’s the key here—his father treasures him above the academy.”

  “What about us?”

  “Katrina’s gone to fetch the headmaster and she’ll use him to snatch the Orb of Orion. Are you two prepared to ambush her and get it instead?”

  “Nothing would please me more than to go toe-to-toe with that conniving harpy,” Leera said.

  “What happens after we get it?” Bridget asked.

  “We free everyone and shut the academy down, then use Darby and the orb as a bargaining chip while we think of our next move.” He hadn’t had time to strategize beyond that part.

  The girls and Jez glanced at each other with worried expressions.

  “I know how improbable the plan sounds, but we don’t have time to hash out the details,” Augum said.

  Leera glanced at Bridget. After a thoughtful pause, she nodded and looked back up at Augum. “All right, we’ll take on Katrina. You go on ahead and track down that weasel. Besides, I need to fix the straps on my breastplate and get Bridget to a healing fountain. We’ll meet up in the Hall of Heroes.”

  “You know they’ll throw everything they have at us,” he replied. “Centarro, Mirror of the Dragon, our teamwork training—use it all. If anything, run back into the dorms here and take shelter.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Augum wanted to chastise Leera for not taking this seriously, only to remember that humor was her way of dealing with things, and she was all too aware of how deadly serious this was.

  She smiled at him. “War’s in our blood, Aug. Even if things go awry, at least we’ll go out doing—” She snorted. “—what scares the living hell out of us.”

  Augum cracked a grin and drew her to him, burying his face in her hair and taking in her scent. Every instinct told him not to separate, that they were stronger together. He wanted to tell them to stay here and hide. But he couldn’t do this alone and had to trust the Fates that luck would see them through.

  “Don’t mind me,” Jez wheezed. “I’ll just lounge here and be useless until you come back with a key. And don’t expect too much from everyone else—the Canterrans have been purposely starving us to keep us weak. Good luck, monkey, and be careful.”

  “Good luck to all of you too. I’ll see you soon.” Augum kissed Leera on the lips, squeezed Bridget’s shoulder, nodded at Jez, and took off in hot pursuit, careening through the door that led into the Hall of Rapture. There he found a trail of blood, which he followed in a sprint all the way to the portal. It was late in the night and the courtyard was cloudy, cold and dark, forcing him to light his palm. He followed the spots of blood and soon heard Darby’s shrill voice on the wind.

  “You there—run as fast as you can to the Black Castle and notify my father we’ve discovered the Heart of the Colossus and we have an insurrection on our hands. Go now, you fool!”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” and Augum heard footsteps running off. It was only a matter of time until reinforcements arrived. He had to hurry, yet he counted himself lucky that Darby hadn’t yet found a warlock who could teleport.

  “The rest of you are to kill the Solian vermin if they show up.”

  “Which vermin, Your Highness?”

  “The three famous ones, you idiot!”

  “But, Your Highness, only two of us are warlocks—”

  “Do it or face the guillotine!”

  Augum, who had been running toward the voices, at last came upon four Canterran soldiers, four bowmen, and two overseers. Beyond them stood a wide-eyed Darby, the lower portion of his pristine white robe soaked with blood. “Here they come!” he screamed. “Kill them! Kill them now—!” and he turned and hobbled off, trailing blood in the snow.

  Augum, fully refreshed and battle ready, wasted no time flaring his seven arm rings and focusing. “Armari elementus totalus.” A black lightning crust enveloped him like a cocoon just as four arrows thunked into it, bouncing off and landing in the snow. The four soldiers charged and the pair of warlocks flared their own arm rings—five fire a
nd four air.

  With his arcane stamina more than half renewed, Augum knew he would outmatch their spell strength and made a battle calculation. He focused while flexing his entire body. “Virtus vis viray.” The 8th degree Strength spell made his muscles feel as tight as if he’d been lifting rocks all day. The spell would allow him to engage in enhanced physical combat and conserve precious stamina.

  The warlocks snapped off simultaneous spells. “Flustrato!” and “Voidus vis!” But their spells smashed into Augum’s Mind Armor, crumpling like parchment.

  The first soldier reached Augum only to have his leather tunic telekinetically grabbed. Augum launched him into the man beside him, and the two crashed into the snow. Another four arrows thunked into his elemental armor, breaking and falling aside.

  “Unnameables help us,” a bowman yelped and ran off into the darkness, quickly joined by a second. The others frantically tried to nock their arrows with shaking hands.

  Augum punched through the shield of one soldier—although not without cost, for one of his knuckles broke with a stab of pain—while pointing at the wild swing of a sword from the second, which he telekinetically curved back onto its wielder so the man slashed his own leg, falling to the snow with a howl of pain.

  The pair of warlocks shoved at the air as if one person. “Baka!” and Augum sailed backward, the soldier’s shield still stuck around his arm. He landed in the snow, artfully rolled to a kneeling position, and ripped off the shield, tossing it aside. The broken knuckle bled and stung, but it was his left hand and still rather usable. Still, he would need Jengo to heal it later. He had forgotten a fundamental lesson with the Strength spell—it amplified muscle strength, but not bone or skin density, making it easy to underestimate how fragile one’s flesh was.

  Meanwhile, the soldier whose shield Augum had ripped away slipped in the snow as he ran away, declaring, “I ain’t dumb enough to fight no famous warlock—!”

  Augum let him and the two frightened bowmen go, telling the remainder as he got to his feet, “Leave the academy or perish.”

  The pair of soldiers Augum had thrown scrambled to their feet and tore off, tails tucked between their legs.

  “Th-thank y-you, g-great one,” a bowman said before dropping his bow and joining them, leaving one brave bowman and two warlocks.

  “Cowards! Traitors—!” the warlocks shouted before attacking, once more working together, both incanting, “Disablo!”

  Augum’s armor vanished with a shloop from the double casting. “Good move,” he muttered as the bowman loosed an arrow with a twang. Augum’s combat reflex kicked in. He flicked a finger at the arrow, nudging it off course so that it zipped by his head.

  “Impossible,” one of the warlocks said.

  “Possible,” Augum replied, shoving the air. “Baka!” The bowman was sent flying off into the darkness.

  “Unnameables help me,” the other warlock said, taking a step back and raising his hands. “I surrender to thee, Arcaner.”

  “I too surrender,” said the other, raising his arms. “We beg you to spare our lives.”

  “Then flee the grounds and do not return.” There was no time to take prisoners.

  “Thank you,” the pair mumbled before fleeing, hands above their heads. They were young and had a whole life ahead of them. Augum only hoped they’d spend it in their own kingdom. He feared likely not. But he felt a tinge of pride at the awe he had inspired. For once, his reputation helped rather than hindered him.

  “And tell Sepherin the cursed Arinthian declares war on Canterra in the old way!” he shouted after them, and heard a muted acknowledgment. He didn’t know why he had used the word cursed, but found it strangely apt. He would be a thorn in their side, an Arinthian Arcaner they would have to reckon with. But at least he had honorably warned them, as tradition demanded.

  As he resumed his chase of Darby, he realized where the cursed had come from—Mr. Fleiszmann’s condemnation of him.

  Augum was surprised when the bloody trail led to the Elements Wing. But before he could enter the looming black portal, something sharp and hot pierced his calf. He cried out in pain and stumbled to the snow.

  “Gotcha, witch!”

  Augum turned to spy the bowmen he had shoved nocking another arrow.

  “I’ll be famous for taking you down.” He let another arrow fly, but Augum telekinetically slapped it out of the air as if it were a fly. Then, realizing he couldn’t leave this conniving man to ambush and kill the girls, he spat, “It’s warlock,” and slapped his wrists together. “Annihilo.” A thick bolt of lightning ripped through the man’s bow, leather armor and chest, showering the snow with sparks. He gasped, eyes wide, before falling back, dead.

  Augum lowered his head and whispered, “May your soul find the peace together we could not reach,” and meaning every word. Then he reached down and, wincing, snapped off both ends of the arrow in his calf. He’d have to leave the shaft in lest the bleeding weaken him.

  Should have been more alert, he berated himself as he crashed through the portal, entering the quiet dimness of the Hall of Evernight in the Elements Wing. He hobbled on in pursuit of Darby, soon finding him in the Hall of Heroes, shooting First and Second Offensives at the glass display showcasing the Orb of Orion. But the glass held firm for it was arcanely fortified.

  “Surrender and hand over the key to the arcane barrier,” Augum said.

  Darby whipped around, panting. He shoved at the air with both arms. Augum, thinking he was casting the Push spell, instinctively dodged, but Darby hadn’t spat the trigger word and instead shoved again. “Baka!”

  Augum tumbled like a ragdoll from the surprisingly strong shove.

  “Learned a thing or two studying your duels,” Darby said before hobbling away.

  “Coward,” Augum hissed, rising and following.

  It was a rather pathetic chase, for the pair were both injured—Darby with a wounded ankle, Augum with a wounded calf, forcing them to hobble along like fools.

  “Curse this place, where’s the exit!” Darby shouted before entering the shimmering field that kept the roar of The Hub at bay.

  “There is none,” Augum muttered, passing through the shimmer. A cacophonous wall of noise from all the elemental halls awaited him on the other side. He spotted Darby slip into the lightning wing. He took up chase, passing through the ripping hall and entering the lightning room, where he raised his shield in time to block a cheap-shot lightning strike, which he had expected.

  Darby stood beside a pile of desks. The opponents faced each other, panting and wincing from the pain.

  “I should have had you executed despite my father’s ridiculous wish otherwise,” Darby spat, glaring at Augum with eyes narrowed in profound loathing. “I told him we should have annihilated all three of you, but nooo, Father insisted on doing things the honorable way. Father can be rather old-fashioned. You are lucky I came into the wrong wing. Still, Kat’s bringing reinforcements, which means her uncle, so you better go after your girlies because I guarantee you they’ve got something awful coming to them.”

  “I will. But you will surrender first.”

  “Playing Arcaner constable, are we? What have you got cooking in that naive brain of yours? Guess you’ll have to catch me first.” He turned and limped off into the forest of lightning trees.

  Augum flicked his wrist with a telekinetic yank but Darby was smart and strategically walked behind a trunk. Augum hobbled after him, stopping at the tree to focus and splay his hands before it. “Vestigio itemo discovaro.” With the Tracking enchantment laid, Augum took up the pursuit, muttering, “I might be naive but I’m no fool.” The forest was infinite and incredibly easy to get lost in.

  The chase went on for some time, Darby’s blood leading the way. But that wasn’t all—there was nothing but silence, and the noise of him crashing about helped. Augum eventually spotted him leaning against a tree, wincing and catching his breath.

  “It ends here,” Augum said, hobbling an
d stopping twenty feet away. “I say again, surrender.”

  Darby curled his lip. He straightened, held the pose, and slapped his wrists together. “Annihilo!”

  Augum summoned his lightning shield, easily absorbing the blow. He reached out, mustering all his focus and arcane might, and wiggled his hand. “Flustrato.”

  Darby’s head snapped back, but because his Mind Armor hadn’t been worn down yet, the spell didn’t penetrate. He reached out with a clawed hand toward Augum’s head. “Dreadus terrablus.”

  Augum felt the spell’s surprisingly strong tentacles probing for a way in. As trained, he ignored it, trusting his Mind Armor, and countered with the same spell. “Dreadus terrablus.”

  Darby’s eyes widened and his breathing quickened, yet he countered with the same spell a second time. “Dreadus terrablus.”

  A fissure opened at the back of Augum’s mind and the octopus slipped in. Darby’s visage sank like a rotting carcass, but Augum remained resolute, spitting, “Dreadus terrablus,” also a second time.

  Darby screamed at the top of his lungs as he stared at Augum. “Ahh! Ahh—!” Yet he miraculously managed to reply with the same spell a third time between screams. “Dreadus terrablus—!”

  The octopus in Augum’s mind began thrashing and feasting. Darby’s carcass sprouted two rotting heads from the shoulders, one with cinnamon hair, the other with raven hair. He ripped the heads from his shoulders and tossed them at Augum, who rolled aside, heart slamming against his chest in rabid terror. But he knew Darby, Mind Armor weakened by repeated assaults, was susceptible to the next spell, and tore at Darby’s vocal strings, roaring, “Voidus lingua!”

  Darby’s screaming ceased, yet his corpse mouth remained agape, empty eye sockets wide with horror. He slapped his wrists together and Augum flinched, yet no spell came forth, for he had been muted.

  Augum stumbled toward him, stopping feet away. Darby flailed as if a monster loomed over him. Augum wrestled Darby’s Fear spell until the prince’s face returned to normal, then pointed at Darby’s throat. “Voidus null,” nullifying his own Mute spell.