The Schism (The Broken Prism Book 4)

by V. St. Clair

  The three Trouts were already at their seats, though there was also a man Hayden had never seen before seated directly to Mrs. Trout’s right, who watched Hayden with interest as he sat down.

  He looks like a banker, Hayden judged mentally as he returned the man’s stare. The stranger was probably in his early fifties, his brown hair punctuated with streaks of grey around a thinning patch on the crown of his head. Reading glasses dangled from a silver chain around his neck, and he wore tan slacks with his fresh-pressed shirt tucked into them, even though everyone else was in casual clothing.

  “Hayden, I’d like you to meet Edgar, our family accountant,” Magdalene gestured towards the man, pausing long enough to thank the kitchen staff who brought their food in.

  Wow, my guess wasn’t far off after all.

  “Hello, nice to meet you,” Hayden responded reflexively, which caused Lorn to barely suppress an eye-roll. He would normally have shot Lorn a nasty look, but realized that Mrs. Trout was scrutinizing his use of the tableware to see how much he remembered from the night before. Determined not to embarrass himself, Hayden dedicated his entire focus to making sure he used the correct utensils for each item and refrained from any horrible breaches in etiquette while they ate. It seemed to come naturally to Oliver and Lorn, who moved seamlessly from one dish to the next without any conscious effort from years of practice.

  “Oliver, when you’ve finished eating I want you at the training grounds warming up,” Magdalene addressed her oldest son as soon as she set down her fork (the last of three). “I’ll be out shortly to duel you. In the meantime, give Lorn some practice in the hand-to-hand arena; his sweeping kicks still need considerable work.”

  Lorn scowled at the remnants of his meal and said, “I’m just not as good at fighting without magic as you and Oliver.”

  “No, you aren’t,” his mother admitted without apology. “However, that’s no reason to stop trying. With effort, you can and will improve to the best of your ability, and those skills will serve you well if and when you actually need them.”

  Lorn’s ears turned red in embarrassment, but all he said was, “I know. I’ll go get changed.” And he slid from his seat and walked off with as much dignity as he could muster.

  Hayden still wasn’t entirely used to the blunt honesty that Magdalene Trout treated her children to, and had mixed feelings about whether it was a good approach to parenting or not. On the one hand, he found it refreshing to know that she wasn’t sugar-coating her words or treating them like children, but on the other hand he could see where it must be daunting for Oliver and Lorn to have to fight for every scrap of approval from their own mother.

  He was still thinking about it when she addressed him.

  “You made a few minor mistakes during the meal, but nothing terribly important.” She nodded to Edgar as though to say, See, he’s teachable. “We’ll go over your errors in more detail during lunch,” she assured him. “I don’t want to bombard you with information too early in the day, especially right before your meeting with Edgar.”

  Hayden suppressed a grimace at the thought of that, since the last time he met with accountants it had led to expulsion from Mizzenwald and a list of crimes as long as his arm that he was to be arrested for. Then again, those had been the High Mayor’s own Fias, and Edgar didn’t appear as arrogant as any of them, so maybe he would be alright to work with…

  “What are we meeting about?” Hayden asked with interest as Edgar rose to his feet and motioned for him to follow. Mrs. Trout followed a few paces behind them in silence.

  “I’m told you have some legal woes and need to be trained up as quickly as possible in order to get your estate back,” he replied smoothly, turning in to the library and taking a seat on one of three armchairs that was set up around a mahogany end-table, which was stacked depressingly-high with books.

  “I’m going to have to do my own accounting for this?” Hayden grimaced at the thought. However much he had improved last year, he still hated math.

  Edgar smirked and pulled his glasses onto his face, peering at Hayden over the top of them.

  “I’m actually an attorney, who happens to have enough accounting certifications to claim the title when in mixed company.” He shrugged at Hayden’s surprise. “People are usually much more willing to speak candidly around a banker than they are a lawyer, so it’s useful to be able to switch titles depending on my audience.”

  Impressed, Hayden asked, “Do you also use magic?”

  “No, I’m just a regular person, or I doubt I’d be in my current professions. There’s really no benefit to having a magically-inclined attorney or accountant, unless you’re trying to shake down money from someone who is likely to fight back, in which case it would be just as easy to hire mages to accompany you.”

  Hayden considered that briefly and then nodded to concede the point. Magdalene pointed at the stack of books on the table.

  “Did you read the chapters I assigned you last night?”

  “Yes,” Hayden replied.

  “How much of it did you understand?” Edgar pressed him.

  “Maybe a third of it,” he admitted ashamedly. “It’s a little…dense.”

  Edgar chuckled and said, “Well, if you picked up a third of it then that’s better than most people, and time is of the essence. Magdalene tells me that she will train you on how to present yourself and all manners of your appearance, so you and I will focus entirely on making sure the Council of Mages are unable to talk you out of your rights.”

  Both of them looked momentarily like they had gotten the worst end of the deal. Hayden suddenly wished he owned a nice pair of clothing for formal occasions. The thought of walking into a courtroom in slacks and a t-shirt was embarrassing.

  “Okay.” He nodded in agreement, since he didn’t really have a choice, and Edgar began questioning him over the reading.

  “Tell me what you know about the Statute of Remittance.”

  Hayden scrunched up his face and tried to remember that part from the reading, while Bonk wandered idly through the library, occasionally stopping to examine the spines of books that were on the bottom shelf as though reading the titles.

  “Um, something about having five years to demand repayment on a signed loan, but only having two years to make a claim against an unsigned loan…but also only in Junir, right? The other lands all have their own laws about it too, I think.” He grimaced, wondering how much he had left out of his answer.

  Edgar favored him with a small smile. “Correct in essentials.” He nodded and continued. “In your case, the Council of Mages took—is still taking—an unsigned loan against your estate and using the funds for anything they can prove is even tangentially related to the reason for the loan.”

  “And what reason did they give for ‘borrowing’ my family’s money without permission?” Hayden turned to Magdalene Trout.

  “The funds are supposed to go towards reparations from the devastation caused by your father before his demise” she explained. “Towns had to be rebuilt, people had to be compensated for the murder of their family members, businesses had to be restarted, and so forth.”

  “Doesn’t the Council have its own budget for things like that?” Hayden frowned.

  “Yes, but it was not nearly large enough to fund everything that needed funding at that time. Since most of the major repairs have been made, our fund has had time to recover and is growing once more.”

  “But you still haven’t started paying me back.”

  “No, because you haven’t asked for anything back yet.” She shrugged. “Which is why we’re here now.”

  Edgar, who had been watching them in silence, now added, “There is still a little time for you to win your case against them, even if you lose during this first attempt. However, it will be more difficult for you to win in successive trials, because once the Council sees how serious you are about it, and that you’re being trained up in legal matters, they will get much more serious about their own
tactics to outsmart you.”

  Hayden frowned at the thought of that and asked, “But how do we still have time? If they really took an unsigned loan from me—and I certainly don’t remember signing anything for them—then I only had two years to demand my stuff back, but they started taking the money when I was ten and I’m almost fifteen.”

  Edgar waved a hand and said, “There is a corollary to the Statute of Remittance to offer minors some protection. Anything borrowed from children does not fall subject to the two-year countdown until you come of age, which is why we still have several years before all hope is lost.”

  “Nice to know,” Hayden muttered, with a scathing glance at Mrs. Trout.

  “Don’t turn your anger towards me,” She flattened her lips at him in defiance. “This is how the game is played. If you don’t want to lose, then learn the rules.” She stood up. “I’ll be training with Oliver. Edgar, do what you can for him and let me know what kind of progress you’ve made at the end of the day.”

  Edgar tilted his head deferentially to her as she left. Then he turned back to Hayden as though there had been no interruption in their conversation.

  “Now, let me begin by explaining the difference between inheritance and restitution…”

  3

  House Colors

  After spending a day in the Trout estate cramming boring, confusing, and often conflicting legal information into his head—punctuated only by his grueling etiquette lessons during meals—Hayden vowed to never complain about his workload at Mizzenwald again. Compared to this torture, hours of homework and battling monsters was a piece of cake.

  To top it all off, Magdalene’s idea of a treat was to give him a break before dinner to go ‘try out the combat arena’ in their backyard with Lorn. The worst part was that the prospect of possibly getting beaten to a pulp by one of his worst enemies was actually the high-point of his day.

  So he left Edgar in the library and trudged outside, head spinning with a polyglot of formal legal definitions and his own jumbled interpretations of them, trying to stretch his muscles as he walked to limber up.

  The backyard boasted several arenas for different kinds of fighting, which he had only briefly admired from his bedroom the night before. Now he approached one that had benches along the perimeter of it, as well as a freestanding cubby that Lorn had already tucked his belt of magical weaponry into before stretching his limbs.

  Under normal circumstances Lorn probably would have shot a derisive sneer in his direction, but his hand-to-hand combat instructor was still outside with them in the falling daylight, and he resisted the temptation with obvious difficulty.

  Must be nice to have your own personal trainer, Hayden thought ruefully.

  Hayden stopped short in front of the instructor and offered his hand.

  “Hello, I’m Hayden Frost.”

  The man had a surprisingly strong grip given that he must have been in his early sixties, his hair full-grey and styled like it was cut roughly with hedge trimmers. Lines of wear and age creased his skin, but he had a kind face and moved easily, the aging in his face not evident in the way he carried his body.

  “Well met, Mr. Frost,” he shook Hayden’s hand with the professional courtesy adults typically only used to greet their equals. “Hobius Grendel, Master of Non-Magical Combat here at the Trout estate.”

  Hayden recovered from his surprise at being addressed as Mr. Frost and said, “Pleased to meet you, Master Grendel. I’m afraid you’ll probably find my skills far below what you’re used to seeing around here; I may come from a Great House, but I’ve never had any hand-to-hand training before.”

  Grendel gave him a wry smile and said, “We all start from the same place.” He beckoned him towards the cubby area. “There are no magical weapons allowed in my practice arena, so remove your circlet, belt, and any other weapons you’ve got hidden in your clothes or shoes and deposit them in here.”

  Hayden had never really considered hiding weaponry outside of his belt before, and immediately wondered if that was something other mages typically did to catch their enemies off guard. He tried to imagine stuffing a prism down his sock and how uncomfortable and awkward-looking that would be, and suppressed a laugh.

  He removed all of his magical gear as directed and stepped into the arena with Lorn, who looked like he was itching for the chance to show him up in combat. Hayden was just glad that his friends weren’t here to witness this.

  “Alright, I need to see how bad your technique is before I know how to fix it,” said Grendel bluntly, “so get to it. Lorn, I expect you to be on form regardless of what your opponent is doing.”

  Lorn dropped into a crouch and charged at Hayden before he had a chance to mentally prepare himself, and the latter jumped out of the way and nearly tripped over his own feet as he spun around to prepare for the next attack. Not wanting to give Lorn a chance to plan his next move, Hayden lunged at him and tackled him to the ground, landing heavily on top of him and trying to pummel anything he could reach with his fists. Lorn had the wind knocked out of him from the impact with the ground, but he still managed to bring his arms up to block all of Hayden’s blows, taking advantage of an opening and elbowing him in the ribs, knocking Hayden to the ground and freeing up his own legs.

  Hayden kicked him hard in one knee and Lorn’s leg buckled, but he recovered fast enough to tackle Hayden and pin him to the ground so that he couldn’t use any of his extremities to fight back. For a minute Hayden struggled against him on his back, trying to break Lorn’s hold, but though the blond boy’s chubby cheeks were red and splotchy with the strain of holding him, he didn’t break his grip, and Master Grendel eventually stepped in and called an end to the round.

  Lorn looked like he’d rather strangle Hayden than help him to his feet, but he grudgingly conceded the latter and they both stood, panting and assessing their injuries.

  “Well, that was the most graceless thing I’ve seen in years,” their instructor announced cheerfully, like he had just watched a fascinating carriage crash and wasn’t sure what to make of it yet.

  “It’s not my fault he fights like a barbarian,” Lorn grumbled, massaging his sore knee.

  “That’s true, and yet you let his ‘barbarian’ moves get you onto the ground and in a position of weakness. I keep telling you that no matter how refined your technique is, you must plan on facing opponents who have not had the benefit of your formal training.”

  Lorn mumbled something inaudible, looking sulky, which his instructor ignored.

  “As for you, Frost,” he turned to Hayden, “the first thing you need to learn is when to hold your ground and when to give way. If you’re going to clash head-on with an opponent, there are a number of different stances you can use to anchor your body and resist being knocked aside.”

  He beckoned for both boys to stand facing him, and Lorn scowled at doing beginner’s work but didn’t argue.

  “When Lorn charged you, you chose to move out of the way rather than match strength with him, but as you didn’t have time to move properly you nearly tripped over your own feet. When your opponent is that close to you, it’s often better to brace yourself for impact and make him regret charging you in the first place.”

  Master Grendel angled his body so that his right hip was tilted towards Lorn, spreading his feet so that most of his weight was resting on his left foot, positioned behind him.

  “Lorn, charge at me,” he commanded.

  Lorn winced as though expecting pain and said, “Do I have to? Why can’t Frost do it?”

  “Because I want him to watch and understand. He’ll get his turn, don’t you worry about that.”

  Still looking unhappy, Lorn retreated a few more feet and then dropped into the crouch he had used before attacking Hayden, charging his instructor. Hayden watched with satisfaction when he collided with the Master, who shifted his weight to accommodate the blow and managed to punch Lorn in the stomach with one hand while catching him with the other and throwing h
im to the ground.

  He helped a coughing, panting Lorn back to his feet, and the younger boy stood hunched over and gasping for air while Grendel addressed Hayden.

  “You see, if you can anchor your body sufficiently, you are able to absorb much more force than if you’re simply standing normally. As you also saw, if your handwork is faster than your opponent’s, you might even be able to outmatch him before the fight has really begun.” He gestured to Lorn, who was still catching his breath.

  “That makes sense,” Hayden allowed, “I just didn’t really have time to think about all of that when he was running at me.”

  “That is why you must practice continuously, so that you don’t need to think about it. It needs to be a reflex that your body calls upon without conscious thought.” Master Grendel nodded. “Now, let me show you a few basic stances and then we’ll let Lorn test them out.”

  Lorn spent the next twenty minutes sitting on the sidelines sipping tea, while Master Grendel showed Hayden four different defensive stances and then drilled him over and over again until he could drop into them properly without having to think about his positioning. Every time he messed up and put his foot a few inches to the left of where it was supposed to be, or dropped his right shoulder too far, Grendel would tap the offending body part and make him do it again ten more times.

  He was surprisingly sore by the time the Master declared him good enough for the actual practice to begin, using muscle groups he didn’t normally engage at the same time. Hayden took a moment to shake out his cramps as best he could while Lorn got into position.

  “Alright, take a run at him, but don’t go full speed and try to kill him. Frost, you will choose the stance you think most appropriate given Lorn’s approach, and do your best to hold it without getting thrown to the ground.”