by Sever Bronny
“I think about the war a lot too,” she whispered. “Probably more than I should.”
Augum said nothing and they sat in silence, the only sound the occasional patter of footsteps as students walked by.
The looming confrontation with the disciplinary committee soon darkened his thoughts.
“They’re going to take it away,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. Suddenly he hated himself, hated his weaknesses, his numerous faults, his inability to live up to what the kingdom demanded of a true legend.
“Take what away? What are you talking about?”
He dropped his chin to his chest. “I’m just being stupid, I know.” A stupid, immature teenager. His toes curled with embarrassment.
“No one’s going to take anything away. The castle is yours, as granted by the high council.”
“Ours,” he corrected. Yes, it was in his name, but they had earned it together. Bridget could betray him and disappear forever and he would still consider it equally hers. The same went for Leera.
They sat in thoughtful silence.
“What do you make of The Path?” he eventually asked.
“I’m worried, so I did some reading. It’s an ancient cult made up of Sithesia’s worst superstitions. Started up in Canterra, but some of its beliefs seeped into the other kingdoms over time. The book I read said that disciples are known to murder Sierrans just for their dark skin. They also burn women they suspect of witchcraft, hang anyone with any kind of ‘impure’ thoughts, and hunt warlocks like game.”
“We have a Path Disciple in Arinthia.” The villagers around his castle had posthumously named it Arinthia in honor of the sacrifices the Arinthians made for the kingdom.
“I know.”
“Have you met him?”
“I haven’t.”
Augum idly poked at the scar on his palm. “I can’t believe we might get embroiled in another war.”
“I doubt it’ll happen.”
“Why’s that?”
“Maybe I want to remain hopeful.” She paused before asking, “You all right?”
“How are you and Brandon getting along?” he interjected, not yet wanting to confess his upcoming disciplinary hearing to her or ask her to join him on the Arcaner path.
She let out a long sigh. “He says I’m too …”
“Too what?”
“Too … humorless.” She made a sour face.
Augum almost snorted, only to realize that would hurt her feelings. He would never forget Bridget practicing telling jokes to Brandon back at Castle Arinthian when they first met. Awful, awful pun jokes that should never be repeated.
“But you’re kind of funny, right?” he said. “I mean, you just brought up that story about Leera’s duck trophy.”
Bridget shrugged. “I’m not Leera funny though.”
“And you really shouldn’t be. It gets her in more trouble than what is good for anyone.”
She gave a lukewarm smile.
“I guess I’m not the only one who is hard on himself,” Augum muttered.
“Hmm?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Bridget wrung her hands. “Truth be told, I’m worried Brandon will hit his ceiling, so I’ve been pushing him to study harder.”
“Yeah, but then he’s missing out on time with you, isn’t he?”
Bridget rapidly wiggled her fingers as she tilted her head, as if debating whether to say something. Augum didn’t want to push, so he let her think.
“I think he’s been … looking at other girls,” she whispered. “A girl, in fact. I caught him looking at her a certain way.”
“What? Brandon? No. He’d never do that.” But then some of Brandon’s crude jests scrolled through Augum’s brain, planting a seed of doubt. And he’d already admitted to himself that he hadn’t been paying close attention to Brandon’s activities regarding Cry …
Bridget pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger. “Maybe I’m just being silly, I don’t know. But I know he’s been laughing at jokes said by … ugh, it’s too embarrassing, and it’s my fault. I’ve been pushing him too hard to study, and I haven’t been a good … girlfriend.” She pressed her hands together hard as if saying the last word had hurt her.
“Want me to talk to him?”
“NO—!” she snapped. “I mean, definitely not. I’m sorry, I just needed to let it out. And I can’t tell Leera. She would immediately demand him strung up before the entire academy.”
“Yeah, she would,” he said. “She’s fiercely loyal to you.”
“And to you.”
Augum smiled.
Bridget slumped a little. “He … he said to me, ‘I can’t remember the last time you made me laugh.’ ” She turned her hooded face away.
“Oh, Bridge. That was just Brandon being mean Brandon. You know he can be callous sometimes. I’m sorry. You are funny. Err, occasionally. Sure, you take studies really seriously, but it’s also who you are. Maybe he’s just trying to get your attention.”
“Maybe I’ve been pushing him too hard.”
“Maybe.” He gave a limp shrug. “And I mean, even if he is a bit slack, we’re all still young.” Only sixteen, yet men and women grown, supposedly. What a crock. Some days he still felt like the lost kid fleeing his bullies. But then again, on other days, he felt like an old man weary of it all. War had done that to him.
“Almost seventeen, which means almost eighteen.”
He knew exactly what she meant by that. “You still think about The Spell, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“I do too.”
He was referring to Annocronomus Tempusari, a spell they could never cast again, for they had given it up to save themselves from the harrowing side effects of being stalked by specters that caused real pain, along with delusions that would have inevitably led to pure madness. But the spell had left an altogether different and permanent mark on them. A second side effect of casting the spell was that it had aged their bodies a whole year. So, as sixteen-year-olds, the trio actually looked seventeen. It was a relatively minor sacrifice for what the spell had allowed them to accomplish, however, and perhaps their physical age would be more significant were it not for the fact that pupils of all ages attended the academy.
She flicked an idle finger at the Orb of Orion. “You come here a lot to see our old mentor?”
“Now and then.”
“You don’t really believe the stories about the orb, do you?”
“That’s a tough one. In retrospect, I think a good many of the things we saw and did people would chalk up to a children’s story.”
“Fair point.”
He pondered for a moment. “Does Brandon really prank Cry that much?”
She gave him a look. “Where have you been?”
Augum sighed, making a loopy gesture around his temple. “In my own head. Selfishly. Stupidly.”
She nodded. “It’s easy to be hard on yourself, I get it. You’re juggling a heap of things like a jester straight out of an apprenticeship.”
“See, that was funny!”
“But not haha funny.” She counted on her fingers. “As I was saying, you’re a prince of the kingdom, you’re catching up on years of studies, you’re managing a castle, you’re training in the arcane arts, and you don’t want people to lose faith in you … all while spending as much time as possible with Leera.”
“You … you know me way too well.”
She smiled. Then she glanced over at him with her caring hazel eyes. “All right, look at me. Your turn. I know you’ve been talking about Arcaners a lot. Now you suddenly want to be one. What’s going on?”
He glanced at the Orb of Orion, the torchlight glinting off its shiny surface.
He noticed his hands were tightly squeezing the bench, but he made no effort to loosen his grip. “I … I’d like you to, uh, consider becoming an Arcaner with me. You and Leera. Brandon too, if he’s game.” He didn’t think he could go through with it without at least one
of the girls.
“You’re asking me to commit to a lifetime profession … the day before declaring it. Do you realize they don’t even have an Arcaner course anymore? The order is dead. The last Arcaner we knew was almost a hundred years old!”
“I know …” Her scolding tone hurt, but he knew he deserved every lashing word. “What if there was the possibility of, you know, uh, controlling dragons to save the kingdom from the Canterrans?”
She rolled her eyes at him, and his chest tightened.
“Fine, it might be folk tales, I get it. Just … think about it.”
She didn’t say anything, merely watched him. “You sure you’re all right?”
His shoulders drooped. He supposed it was time to tell her the rest of it. “I messed up good.”
“What do you mean? You followed your heart and didn’t back a family because—”
“No, not that. I mean, yes, I messed up there too, but … there’s, um, a disciplinary hearing.”
“Excuse me?”
“I, uh, crushed a desk in anger. Cry’s desk, to be specific. Told him not to publish that vile lie that could place us all in serious jeopardy.”
Bridget gave the longest sigh Augum had ever heard from her.
“Just … please don’t tell Jez,” he added. “I’m embarrassed as is.” About so many things.
“You know she’ll find out anyway. She’s like a moth, except she’s attracted to drama.” Bridget faced forward as her hands disappeared into her hood, no doubt to repeatedly smooth her hair back in frustration. He was so sick of letting his good and loyal friend down.
“What time?” she asked, still not looking at him.
“Third bell, same time as—”
“—Brandon’s headmaster visit?”
He nodded. “I think something’s going on. And I don’t think I’m being paranoid.” Years of bullies stalking him in his youth had trained him to smell a plot in the wind. And right now, something stank of rot. “I was hoping to, uh, get your advice, actually. You know, come up with a game plan for the hearing and stuff. Like in the old days.”
At long last, her hands fell to her knees with a slap. “Fine, but Augum Stone …” She raised a stern finger.
“I know, I know …” He finally allowed his hands to unclench from the glass bench. “Hey, and Bridge?”
“Mmm?”
“Thanks.”
She only smiled, but it was enough to warm his being.
The Hearing
Augum, Cry, Brandon and one other student stood facing the disciplinary committee. The panel was comprised of five members, two of whom were on the kingdom’s high council as well—the Lord High Warlock Iron Byron and the Lord High Commander Abe “The Grizzly” Brewerson. The others were academy arcanists—Flagon and two others Augum barely knew but had seen around the academy, one being an old dark-skinned woman and the other a bald arcanist notorious for saying very little. Iron Byron, as the headmaster, sat in the middle. The Grizzly sat right of him and Flagon farther right, with additional space in between, no doubt from his rancorous body odor.
The committee members, draped all in black, wore expressions that indicated they took their jobs very seriously. They sat in crimson-upholstered high-backed chairs behind a long mahogany table, the front of which was carved with the academy crest. The table was on a riser, resulting in the intimidating effect of the arcanists looking down upon the students.
Located in the Student Wing, the room had a castle-like appearance, with a checkered black-and-white marble floor and tapestry-covered walls. It smelled of tobacco smoke from the old woman smoking a pipe.
As the committee shuffled parchments, Augum exchanged a look with Brandon. They had done it now, hadn’t they? Each swallowed.
Bridget’s words scrolled through Augum’s mind. Don’t talk out of turn. Remain calm. Answer directly. Give short replies. Be cordial. Be princely. Be humble. Admit your emotions got out of hand and apologize for any wrongs. He hoped to be back with the girls quickly. They sat waiting for him and Brandon outside the room, no doubt disappointed in them. Well, maybe not Leera, who perhaps saw getting into trouble as a matter of course.
Iron Byron consulted his notes. “Silvers, Elana. Step forward.”
The unfamiliar student, a young girl wearing burgundy robes, stepped forward. She had short brown hair and a rather soft countenance. Her fingers fidgeted with her pockets as she stood before the disciplinary committee. She bowed. Two arm rings of green floating ivy flared to life around her left arm, indicating she was left handed and of the earth degree. Augum found it ominous that the pre-combat tradition was expected here in a disciplinary hearing.
“Your father is Sir Matthew Silvers, the Havensword?” Iron Byron pressed. “Knight of King Ridian’s Royal Guard?”
“Was, Headmaster.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He perished in the war.”
“Ah. Of course.” His wolfish brows gathered as he consulted another parchment. “You stand accused of unauthorized use of arcanery against Arcanist Mackinnon in Etiquette class, for which I am told you are ready to throw yourself upon the committee’s mercy.”
“I plead guilty to the offense, Headmaster. I let my emotions get to me. It was really only a minor prank though. I merely raised her robe—”
She was silenced by Byron’s hand. “Very well, then. Three lashes, no arcane healing. All in favor?”
Five hands rose. Elana staggered as if he had struck her.
Sweat prickled the back of Augum’s neck. He had not predicted such a severe punishment. It did not bode well.
“Punishment shall be public and commence between the seventh and eighth morning bell in the courtyard. Dismissed.”
Gods, it was public too. Augum should have at least expected that, for an offense against an arcanist was something Byron would certainly want to make an example of.
Elana bowed shakily and lurched out of the room, a stunned look on her face.
“Summers, Brandon. Step forward.”
“Good luck,” Augum whispered as Brandon stepped forward. As per Bridget’s coaching, he had wisely removed his rebel bandana. He quickly bowed, flaring seven leafy rings of ivy around his right arm.
“You stand accused of uttering a forbidden word in front of Arcanist Flagon’s class, Theory of Standard Spellcraft. An abhorrent word this committee shall not repeat. How do you plead?”
Brandon did not hesitate. “Guilty, Headmaster.” There had been, after all, a room full of witnesses. Even if it had been a single arcanist, their word almost always trumped a student’s.
“Very well. Three lashes, no arcane healing. All in favor?”
Five hands rose.
Brandon gritted his teeth and nodded.
“Punishment shall be public and commence between the seventh and eighth morning bell in the courtyard. Dismissed.”
Brandon bowed. As he strode by, he whispered “good luck” to Augum and flashed Cry a hateful look.
“Stone, Augum. Slimwealth, Cry. Step forward.”
Augum and Cry did so, each bowing and flaring their stripes—seven crackling lightning arm rings for both Augum and Cry.
The committee stirred. Augum suspected they already knew all the details pertaining to that day’s events.
“Prince Augum Arinthian Stone,” Byron drawled. “You have a written summons for disobeying our esteemed Lord High Commander, Arcanist Brewerson, in Sword and Sorcery class. But you also stand accused of conduct unbecoming a pupil of the academy, unauthorized use of arcanery against another student, intimidation, harassment, threats and disrupting academy activities.”
Augum was stunned. The list had been word-for-word what Cry had accused him of. He should have clued in, for two members of the kingdom’s high council were sitting before him—and Cry’s own father sat on that council, something he’d forgotten, which meant the odds had been stacked against him right from the get-go, for surely the committee would favor Cry.
&
nbsp; Flagon stroked his stubby beard. “Disappointing, Stone. But then, everybody disappoints in the end, don’t they?”
“Mmm,” the bald arcanist intoned. It was the only noise he had made thus far, and it hadn’t even been a word.
“How do you plead?” Byron pressed in his no-nonsense manner.
Augum had to think quickly. “Not guilty of all charges except disobeying the Lord High Commander.” No use fighting that one.
“Very well, then. For the charge of disobeying an arcanist, three lashes, no arcane healing. All in favor?”
And just like that, five hands rose.
Augum’s feet went ice cold. They were going to publicly lash him tomorrow morning. He was supposed to represent everything good about the kingdom, be its perfect hero prince, a legend sung in song and spoken of in poem … and they were going to whip him. In public.
It took him a moment to realize the committee had addressed Cry and he was eloquently laying out his case to them. Gods, he had to get in the game here. He forced himself to focus past the blood rushing through his ears.
“… and then the space around him warped like he was going to kill me!”
The committee exchanged looks.
The Grizzly leaned his massive frame forward. “Warped? Explain, Slimwealth.”
Cry cupped his hands as if he were holding a ball. “It was like staring through a fishbowl. Some kind of arcane field that bent the light around him. Like I said, I honestly thought he was going to kill—”
Byron raised a hand as the committee again exchanged looks. Augum frowned. He didn’t recall the space around him warping at all. What was Cry playing at?
The old woman with the pipe leaned forward. She had blotchy, deeply wrinkled ebony skin and sunken cheeks. “Young Prince Augum, you are 7th degree, is that correct?” Her hair was gray and unruly and the way she tilted her head told Augum nothing got past her.
“That is correct, Arcanist …?”
“Arcanist Jaheem, if you please. Answer carefully now, Prince Augum. What degree would you say your Telekinesis is?”
“Since I’m 7th degree, I’d guess 7th, Arcanist Jaheem?”