Burden's Edge (Fury of a Rising Dragon Book 1) Page 16

  Bridget began reading. “Headline reads, ‘Augum Arinthian Stone Spurns Entire Nobility in Supreme Display of Haughtiness … but is it Because the Legendary Trio are Hiding an Epic Secret?’ ”

  Augum slapped the table, making forks and dishes clatter and startling everyone. “That evil little … he did end up using that headline!” Then he realized they were all staring at him with raised eyebrows. “Erm … at least, a portion of that headline …”

  “It gets worse,” Leera muttered.

  “Great, can’t wait.”

  Bridget read on. “ ‘Let us place the jubilant news of the kingdom’s upcoming coronation of Lord Rupert Southguard aside for a moment. We know Prince Augum, Princess Bridget and Princess Leera for their stories of heroism. For an arena victory that will go down as one of the most exciting duels in history. For vanquishing the Lord of the Legion. But in spite of all those feats, there remains a crucial question, one this author dares to ask: Was it all an elaborate fraud, perhaps a means to achieve an end? Let us endeavor to find out.’ ”

  Those gathered at the table squirmed in their seats. Augum felt their eyes burning holes in his head.

  “ ‘Let us begin with the events of the previous day. By now, surely the entire kingdom knows of Prince Augum’s egregious snub of refusing to back a single family for the throne, leaving Solia—during a perilous time, no less—leaderless. But why in Sithesia would he do such a thing? To answer that, we must first go over some facts.

  “ ‘For those who have not met Prince Augum, a brief description. Girls consider him a rather “handsome” and “considerate” fellow pupil, someone who “loses himself in thought” now and then. Some say he relives the traumas of war, others say he daydreams. He is of above average height, with strong eyes, sharp brows and chestnut hair, but also with a slight hollowness to his cheeks, a trait left over from the war. His left arm occasionally gets in his way in combat, for he injured his elbow fighting the Legion.’ ”

  “I hate his way of humanizing you,” Leera remarked. “It comes across as him projecting your weaknesses for all to know. I don’t trust him.”

  Bridget continued reading aloud. “ ‘Alas, his studies have been suffering of late. It may indeed be because he daydreams, or he may be distracted by the debt incurred by his castle—reportedly poorly run by any standard.’ ”

  Augum winced from the sting of such a naked and now very public truth.

  “ ‘Regardless, we can agree he is a most distracted pupil. He is so distracted, in fact, that he has allowed his emotions to govern him. Just yesterday, he violently barged into the office of this honorable Academy Herald and demanded this author not to publish this story and not ask these essential questions. Because of that intrusion and outburst, Prince Augum was summoned to a disciplinary hearing with this author in attendance, and the committee subsequently found him guilty of three serious charges: conduct unbecoming a pupil of the academy; intimidation, harassment, and eliciting threats; and disobeying an arcanist—resulting in a judgment of no less than nine lashes, to be administered on the morning of this, the nineteenth day of the eleventh month of the year thirty-three forty-two Post Founding. The judicial administration of said punishment will be conducted in the courtyard of the Academy of Arcane Arts prior to classes, in full view of the statue of Prince Augum’s great-grandmother and former headmistress to the academy, the legendary Anna Atticus Stone.’ ”

  “Really rubbing it in, eh?” Leera muttered.

  “ ‘The controversial practice of whipping notwithstanding,’ ” Bridget went on, “ ‘the last recorded instance of a prince being whipped was in the year thirty-two seventy-six, when Prince Stuart Parkeese the Second slapped an arcanist, demanding he serve him bread and soup in class. That offense cost the prince twenty lashes, delivered over the course of twenty days, for the prince would lose consciousness after each lashing. Prince Augum, however, is a Hero of the Resistance, and it is quite the scandal that he has broken strict academy rules in so brazen a manner. Thus, we can expect the occasion of his whipping to draw a crowd.’ ”

  “And you damn well insured one would be there, didn’t you!” Leera yelled at the parchment. “You vile …” But she did not finish. Instead, she balled her fists and held them close to her face as if resisting biting them.

  “Read on, Bridge,” Augum said wearily. This was too calculated. He wondered if Cry had had anything to do with the assassination attempt. No, that was highly unlikely, for Cry was petty, not murderous.

  “ ‘Prince Augum surprised this author by crushing a desk in an uncontrollable rage. But in doing so, the prince revealed a unique strength. Arcanist Jaheem judged his Telekinesis to be of the 15th degree. How he got that kind of strength is a mystery … unless you consider this author’s question, which I will pose in but a moment. This author begs the reader’s patience for only a little longer.’ ”

  Augum unconsciously let the salt cellar fall to the table, drawing apprehensive looks.

  “Again, he’s telling everyone about Augum’s fighting ability,” Leera remarked. “This stinks of a plot.”

  “Either that, or he loves ratcheting up the drama,” Jez threw in.

  Bridget unrolled more of the parchment. “ ‘Let us turn our attention to Princess Leera and Princess Bridget, who are most certainly complicit in the scheme. Both are much liked, the latter more so than the former.’ ”

  “Bathe in swamp juice, you scheming vandal,” Leera muttered under her breath.

  “ ‘Princess Bridget, the daughter of a trader and farmer, has played the part of a meek and beautiful princess rather well, though some question why she has fallen for an oaf like Pupil Brandon Summers, a known troublemaker who is struggling desperately in his studies. How he managed to manipulate her affections is anyone’s guess. In a related note, Pupil Summers will also be whipped for using a certain banned word.’ ”

  Bridget readjusted in her seat uncomfortably, cheeks crimson. “ ‘The people know Princess Bridget to be kind, patient, intelligent, and compassionate. But is her overly kind demeanor a facade? It might be, depending on your perspective. She has thus far rebuffed the esteemed Eric Southguard—soon to be Prince Eric, Heir to the Throne—who is arguably a better contender for her affections.’ ”

  Bridget stopped to scoff, muttering, “What utter garbage,” before continuing with a slight edge to her voice. “ ‘As to Princess Leera, the daughter of a saddler, she is a known mischief-maker, causing trouble in the form of pranks, such as the time she allegedly filled a fellow student’s satchel with manure—”

  “That was not me,” Leera sternly interjected, holding up a finger. It drew half-hearted smiles from some of those assembled. “Seriously, I would never do that. It’s disgusting. What, I wouldn’t, I swear—!”

  Augum knew she was telling the truth because she had been with him that day, and they had been making out in an abandoned room at the academy. But truth hardly seemed to matter to people these days.

  “ ‘Princess Leera is nonetheless a playful and witty darling of the kingdom. So why will Prince Augum not marry her? Well, brace yourself, dear reader, for the time has come to put all these pieces together to see a greater whole. And it comes in the form of a most potent question: Is it possible that the trio is in secret possession of the scions?’ ”

  The people at the table stirred. Cry had at last asked the dreaded question. Augum had to admit that Cry had delivered it rather brilliantly, for he had set the stage and cunningly guided the reader along to a trap door in the flooring.

  Bridget swallowed before reading on. “ ‘It is known by this author that a locked vault exists in Castle Arinthian, within which it is conceivable that the seven scions—the most powerful artifacts to have ever existed, ones that amplify arcanery to obscene degrees, artifacts that extend life—lay hidden. When queried on the matter, Prince Augum had the following to say: “Let me make something perfectly clear to you. Those scions were destroyed when we vanquished the Lord of the Legion.
Do you understand? Destroyed. Everybody knows that. The Lord of the Legion used the scions to focus his power, but we outwitted him by exploiting an ancient limitation of those very scions.” But it is clear people only know this because the trio have said so.’ ”

  “How can the academy allow him to publish such a charge?” Mr. Kwabe Okeke, Jengo’s father and a senior village elder, interrupted. “It is outrageous, slanderous and completely irresponsible.”

  “The academy has a hands-off free speech policy with the Herald,” Jez said.

  Mr. Okeke placed an ebony hand over his eyes. “I see. And that is a sensible policy, I suppose. I am sorry. Do go on, Bridget.”

  Bridget took a breath before continuing. “ ‘Princess Bridget and Princess Leera support Prince Augum’s story, of course, which is that the scions were destroyed in the slaying of Prince Augum’s former father (they apparently renounced blood ties in the war), the Lord of the Legion, a 20th degree master lightning warlock. But let this author ask a pertinent question: Is it believable that a trio of—at the time—5th degree warlocks defeated such a powerful man? Perhaps. Or perhaps their mentor, the legendary Anna Atticus Stone, herself also a 20th degree master lightning warlock, aided them most astutely.’ ”

  “Except Mrs. Stone had long departed by then!” Leera spat. “Can’t even bother to get his facts straight.”

  Bridget read on. “ ‘Or perhaps they got lucky. But what proof do we have that the scions were destroyed? Merely their absence, for only the trio witnessed the scions’ destruction. And we are to take them at their word.’ ”

  Augum glanced around the table. Not a single set of eyes met his gaze. Not one. Were they ashamed of him? Did they think any of this was true? Surely not … right?

  “ ‘Why not simply open the vault? In fairness, I present Prince Augum’s own words: “The enchantments guarding the armory are around eighteen hundred years old. They have long sunk to permanence. Without the scion to open them, the armory and the vault … are forever sealed. No warlock alive is powerful enough to undo the complex fused arcane tendrils that make up those enchantments. It’d be like trying to pry apart steel with only your fingernails. It well and truly is impossible.” ‘ ”

  Bridget adjusted the parchment in her hands. No one uttered a sound, for all were paying rapt attention to the conclusion. “ ‘But let us for a moment assume the scions are indeed in the vault. Why take the throne, or back anyone else for it, when one has all that power already? What’s the rush to marry when one can live forever? What’s the point of studying when one has eternity? Why worry about paying debts back in a timely manner when you have lifetimes to accrue wealth? And how can such strong Telekinesis be explained other than by the help of the most legendary set of artifacts? Does the supposedly heroic trio even need to carry the scions with them? Perhaps they have tuned with the scions and can keep them locked away in the vault, supposedly inaccessible to everyone, while subtly harnessing their strength?

  “ ‘If they do possess the scions, they have all the time in Sithesia, for they will live on forever. That was, as we know, the central claim of the Lord of the Legion—that by gaining all seven scions he could live forever, and thus grant his followers that same power. He failed because he was a selfish, evil and cruel necromancer. But have the trio succeeded where he could not? Did they capture the seven scions from him and keep them for themselves? One thing is certain: there are many questions … but few answers. Cry Slimwealth, Academy Herald.’ ”

  Crack

  “Silvers, Elana. Step forward.” Headmaster Byron’s arcanely amplified voice echoed throughout the vast snow-draped courtyard. What must have been thousands of pairs of eyes—only about a quarter belonging to students, with the rest belonging to the public—watched as a girl wearing a burgundy robe shakily strode onto a sunny platform. On that platform stood two men: Iron Byron, wearing his black robe and golden sash, and a hooded man wearing a plain gray robe of thick cloth. Between them stood a scarred wooden pole.

  Some distance away, Augum and Brandon stood together, with The Grizzly looming behind them. Bridget, Leera, and some of their other friends stood nearby. And not too far away loitered their classmates, among whom were Eric and Katrina Southguard. Admirers kept pestering them, for the coronation ceremony was to be held later today. Cry Slimwealth had his own small gathering of people asking him conspiratorial questions about his momentous piece in the heralds.

  “That slimy little worm,” Brandon muttered, breath steaming in the frigid air. “That’s the most attention anyone’s ever paid him, more than his parents gave him, I bet. If we ever met in a dark alley …” He punched a fist into an open palm.

  Instead of cracking a smile, Augum recalled all the things Cry had told him about Brandon’s treatment of him and how oblivious Augum had been to it.

  “Bridget told me about what happened with the assassins, by the way,” Brandon said. “Glad you three are all right.” He swallowed, and Augum knew what was on his mind: Bridget’s safety. Augum feared for the girls too. But then, he feared for everyone.

  “Word’s going to spread about those assassins,” Brandon added. “Think Cry had anything to do with it?”

  “Highly doubtful. But I intend to uncover the source of his ridiculous allegation about the scions.”

  “If you speak to him, he’ll just publish your exchange again and twist what happened, picking and choosing what he wants. Heck, he can make up whole quotes and probably get away with it now.”

  “Mmm, good point.”

  “Look at them all eyeing us up like we’re thieves.”

  Augum felt the hostile eyes too. The crowd, parchment heralds in hand, had booed and hissed the moment the trio had teleported in at the foot of the academy. Those boos and hisses had shocked him. Every single one of these people had read the article that morning and was at the academy to see the prince of the kingdom humiliated. But how many believed the trio had secretly held on to the scions? Were they really so fickle that a single well-worded piece could sway their minds? He wondered how many were secret former Legion supporters whose hopes of eternal life had been shattered by the man’s downfall. After the war, many supporters had professed their innocence of ever having believed in the Legion. Because so many had already died, the authorities had been lenient in meting out punishments.

  Back on the sunny platform, Byron raised his chin. “Pupil Elana Silvers, you stand guilty of unauthorized use of arcanery against Arcanist Mackinnon in Etiquette class, for which you are to receive three lashes. In the ancient judicial tradition of the academy, show thy stripes and bare thy back.”

  Elana shakily bowed and flared two ivy arm rings. Then she gracefully removed her robe, revealing a specially made long linen shirt that left her back naked to the whip.

  “Barbaric,” Bridget said, turning her head away. “I can’t watch.”

  And she wasn’t the only one. Many students looked away as the man in the gray robe removed the leather whip from his belt.

  Augum glanced over at Eric, who immediately looked away. “He knows more than he lets on.”

  “He could have hired those assassins,” Brandon muttered.

  “Could be anyone at this point.”

  Brandon made a snippy tsking sound through his teeth. “I still can’t believe someone is trying to kill you after everything you three have done for the kingdom.”

  Surprisingly, it didn’t bother Augum nearly as much as it should have. During the war, an entire army had wanted him and the girls dead. They breathed, ate and slept in fear. The constant reality of it had demoted the threat to nothing more than an ordinary occurrence. There was perverse comfort in feeling hunted again. It sharpened his awareness. His gaze lingered on anything remotely suspicious. He watched his back and over the backs of his friends. He was more cautious, less trusting and less gullible.

  Elana at last placed her hands on the pole, exposing her back. As the whip uncurled, a hush fell over the audience. Augum lowered his eyes. The
re soon came a crack, followed immediately by a sharp yelp. The audience gasped. Crack, and another yelp, this time followed by quiet weeping. Crack, and a full-throated cry quickly followed by the sound of a body falling onto the platform. The audience broke out into scandalized whispers.

  “Poor thing just passed out,” Leera said.

  Kiwi Kaisan, a young almond-eyed healer-in-training Augum had known briefly in the war, ran to the platform clutching linen bandages and a pouch presumably containing smelling salts. When she reached Elana’s still form, she opened the pouch and held it under her nose, jolting her awake. Kiwi then helped her to her feet. Augum caught a flash of three red welts on her back and winced. Kiwi proceeded to gently wrap the bandage around Elana’s shaking torso before helping her pull on her robe and guiding her off the platform.

  “Not even a privacy screen,” Bridget said, shaking her head. “This has got to stop. And look at them all watching like fiends. Today I am ashamed to be a student of this academy.”

  The audience gossiped in whispers behind their hands. For some, their discomfort was as thick as the snow. For others, they pointed and snickered, seeming to take a jester’s delight in the proceedings, for they were quite rare. Most students got warnings, detentions, or even a single lash before the disciplinary committee. Yet here they were provided with a spectacle of no less than three separate whippings, one of which involved a supposed hero-prince of the kingdom—and it was open to the public.

  “You ready, Summers?” The Grizzly asked from behind them.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Brandon removed a red bandana from his pocket and tied it around his head. He exchanged a look with Bridget, who gave him a pained smile.

  “Let me take your satchel,” Bridget said softly, brow furrowed in concern.

  Brandon handed it over. Then he waved dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Summers, Brandon,” Iron Byron boomed. “Step forward.”