Burden's Edge (Fury of a Rising Dragon Book 1) Page 18

  “ ‘For he thus laments not the whip, but the scorn of the people.’ ”

  “That a quote from some ancient play again, Laud?” Leera asked.

  “Actually, yes. Hermethius the Wise.” Laudine Cooper smiled, her famous dimples popping out.

  “Sorry you went through this,” Bridget said, taking a seat on Augum’s other side. “It’s such a barbaric practice. Once all this blows over, I’ll petition to stop it. It’s ridiculous and inhumane.”

  “Someone tried to kill us last night,” Augum said. “We have other things to worry about.

  Brandon leaned over him. “Gruesome. Bet you it looks like Canterran string cheese under there.” That line earned him a flurry of revolted looks and mutterings, with a particularly disappointed shake of the head from Bridget.

  “Stop staring already, you fiends,” Augum muttered in jest, though truthfully, it was embarrassing having them all clustered around while his brain was in a fog and his back was so exposed. Bandaged, but still exposed.

  “I still can’t believe people are falling for that nonsense Cry wrote in his article,” Laudine said. “He should have been whipped for such an accusation, not you.”

  “Tell us about it,” Brandon muttered.

  “Actually, I have some news of interest.” Laudine moved closer as they all leaned in. “I overheard Eric talking to Katrina. He said, and I quote, ‘Now that we have the throne …’ and then he leaned in to whisper something, at which point I swear I heard a certain name uttered … Von Edgeworth.”

  “What?” Bridget said. “Are they saying they know of a Von Edgeworth in Solia?”

  “That could explain the assassins,” Leera said. “Everybody knows the Von Edgeworths are mortal enemies of the Arinthians, given Mrs. Stone killed two of them off. And a Von Edgeworth eats, drinks and sleeps vengeance. They’re all about redeeming their honor. Augum’s got a permanent black mark against him simply because he’s related to Mrs. Stone.”

  Augum recalled Mrs. Stone telling him there were two certainties when dealing with the Von Edgeworths: they had long memories, and they did not like to lose.

  “Strange, right?” Laudine said. “And Eric said it in a cagey way. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”

  “You have to find out more, Laud,” Brandon said. “The Southguards are too suspicious of the rest of us. We can’t get near.”

  “Thing is, they caught me listening, so there’s no way they’ll open up like that again anywhere near me. Katrina even gave her cousin a warning look. Like I said, hard to explain. And I wouldn’t bet on Cry opening up either. He’s been buzzing around them like a fly on a horse’s butt.”

  Leera gave an approving nod. “Eloquently said.”

  Laudine briefly drummed her dimpled cheeks with her fingers, making a pop noise at the end. “Tell you what. I’ll hit the library and see if I can dig something up on assassins using Bridget’s description of them.” She put a hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “She filled me in on everything while we were waiting to see you. Anyway, there are books and a collection of herald clippings on crimes committed in Solia. I know this because when we’re writing plays we sometimes use them as inspiration for drama. I’ll peruse them in Culture Studies, seeing as I’ve already read up on today’s lesson, which is on—” She looked up searchingly. “Let me see if I remember. Yes, it’s on the Henawa, a Northern People and their Nomadic Ways.” Then she shrugged. “Who knows, maybe my research will yield something.”

  “Great idea,” Augum said. He again tried to turn, only to have Leera shove him back down.

  “Stop it,” she said. “Let it rest, would you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I suppose it’s possible there is a Von Edgeworth around.”

  “Since Eric mentioned the name, maybe it has something to do with his crusty father,” Leera said. “He’s as cunning as they come.”

  “Well, the Southguard sigil is a fox,” Brandon threw in. “And their motto is, ‘We are crafty evil bastards.’ ”

  Bridget rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. “That is not their motto. You well know it’s, ‘The mind is sharper than the sword.’ Please stop deriding everyone at every opportunity.”

  Brandon flashed her an annoyed look. “When it comes to those weasels, it’s practically the same thing. And are you ever going to be able to tell when I’m jesting?”

  Bridget swallowed and looked away, cheeks crimson.

  “Anyway,” Leera went on, “I can see them employing a Von Edgeworth, who would stoop so low as to hire assassins.”

  Augum frowned in a disagreeing fashion. “Only thing is, the Von Edgeworths were all about honor, and they would want to redeem that honor in a duel, preferably in public. Assassins aren’t really their thing.” But he wouldn’t put it past anyone at this point. It was true, Von Edgeworths were some of the most famous and ambitious duelers in Sithesia. They roamed the kingdoms to bolster their name. And they usually stayed away from Solia, seeing as Mrs. Stone killed the last two patriarchs of the clan in epic duels.

  The wispy curtains parted, revealing a rather stern-faced Jengo. “You bunch of buzzards. Will you not let the poor man rest? He’s supposed to be sleeping. Clear out, all of you.”

  “Heya, Jengo,” Brandon said. “Bell hasn’t even sounded for class. We’ve got Brotherly business going on here.”

  The gangly Sierran thumbed behind him. “Nice try, Summers. Out. And you’ve got heartbeats until it sounds. Better get going if you don’t want to be late.”

  “He’s your prince. He can practically order you—”

  “And I’m the physician to his castle, which means he still must do what I say, prince or not. Now scoot.”

  Augum groaned. The pain was coming back. He waved them off. “I’ll meet you in Runes.”

  “No, you won’t,” Jengo said. “You’re staying here all morning.”

  Augum didn’t feel like arguing, but he was determined to leave early. “Hey, and be careful,” he told them.

  Leera leaned in and delivered him a peck on the cheek. “We will.”

  And then they were off, leaving him in a growing puddle of pain.

  A Small Tournament

  After changing his bandages, Jengo relented to Augum’s stubbornness and released him before the tenth morning bell, though not without a stern warning to mind his sutures. Unfortunately for Augum, that meant walking was slow and incredibly painful, for each step pulled on the stitches. Worse, Runes was in the Lecture Wing, so he had a long trek to get there.

  The agonizing walk began with him pulling up his hood to hide his face, though it would hardly help as there were only two amber-robed students walking stiffly that day: him and Brandon. He levitated his satchel alongside him to keep the strap from digging into his wounded back.

  “You don’t, like, really have them, do you?” asked a grating voice from behind as Augum made his way out of the Elements Wing.

  “Hi, Gretchen. Of course not. It’s just unfounded speculation.”

  She walked a little ahead to wave at him clumsily. “Hi!” Her over-plucked eyebrows disappeared up her forehead. “Because, like, that would be so wrong. You’d, like, be evil and stuff.”

  Augum sighed. “We’re not evil, Gretchen.”

  She fell in line beside his awkward gait. “Your father was evil.”

  Obviously, Augum wanted to say.

  “Is that why someone tried to kill you last night?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  She shrugged. “Everyone’s talking about it. So, like, did someone really die?”

  “Yes. A … a friend.”

  “Oh. Was he a close friend?”

  Augum recalled Mrs. Cobb’s gut-wrenching scream and the terrified look on her son’s face.

  Gretchen watched him. “But you’re, like, okay and stuff, right?”

  “Peachy.”

  Gretchen frowned. “Things really aren’t going well for you, are they?”

 
Augum didn’t respond.

  She clutched her flower- and bee-decorated satchel close and glanced his back over as if she could see through his robe. “Where’d you get all them scars from, anyway?”

  “A drunk foster father.”

  “Makes you look …” She shrugged. “Like, complicated, I guess.”

  “Lying thief!” someone called from behind.

  Augum stopped. He began to turn, only to hear a door slam. He pressed his eyes shut a moment before moving on.

  “Don’t pay them no mind.”

  “Thanks.”

  There was an awkward pause. “You might not be prince for long, you know.”

  “That would be a gift,” he muttered. Then he stopped again. “Wait, what makes you say that?” Though a big part of him would certainly feel relieved, the reality of losing his royal title could mean they’d also lose their special pension, granted to the trio for heroic services rendered to the kingdom in the war. Many people relied on that money. Heck, part of their tuition relied on that money.

  Gretchen shrugged. “Just somethin’ I overheard, that’s all.”

  “Heard from who? Heard from who, Gretchen?”

  She batted her eyelashes. “The Dream.”

  “You mean Eric?”

  “Isn’t he just …” She placed a hand on her chest and took a blissful breath. But then her smile curdled. “Though he can be a bit mean. Like, he says to me, ‘Stop spying on me, you vapid little fly!’ But I says, ‘What’s vapid mean?’ And he says—”

  “Gretchen, think you can do me a huge favor?”

  “Ooh, anything!”

  “Can you watch him? See if he does anything … suspicious?”

  “Suspicious?”

  “Yeah, suspicious. Anything at all.”

  She leaned in close. “Is this, like, a secret quest?”

  “Uh, yeah—and it’s a very important one.”

  The tenth morning bell rang and students sprinted as if being chased.

  “Sounds fun, Your Highness! See you later, and I hope you’re telling the truth!” And she skipped off.

  After a long walk through the Hall of Rapture, Augum stopped before a door marked Runes, 8th degree and inscribed with a rune that literally translated to “Runes.” He raised his knuckles and rapped on the heavy old wood.

  “Who dares make noise on my door?” Augum heard Arcanist Chappie Fungal declare in a dramatic tone from the other side as the class giggled. The door swung open, revealing a squat ebony-skinned man with a giant ale belly, a shaggy gray beard and chaotic hair.

  “Ah, one of our illustrious heroes of the kingdom. Enter if thee dare, Your Highness!” Fungal bowed theatrically as he gestured. As well-intentioned as the man always was, the last thing Augum wanted to be called at the moment was an “illustrious hero,” or by his title, for that matter. Back stinging, he had never felt like less of a prince.

  “Sorry I’m late, Arcanist Fungal,” Augum said as he painfully shuffled into the room, aware of every student staring at him. Luckily, they knew him well and he sensed few hostile eyes. At the beginning, the class had been embarrassingly proud to have the trio amongst them. Thankfully, the glow had diminished.

  Eric and Katrina, for their part, wore placid expressions, which he’d expected from them. They were too cunning to give anything away. They sat with a perpetually bored-looking Cry and a smirking Elizabeth. Carp, sitting off on his own as usual, was grinning, seemingly enjoying seeing Augum in pain.

  Fungal’s black arcanist’s robe swayed as it hung over his belly. “ ‘I prithee fear not the deep root of suspicion,’ Pupil Stone! Take heart in thy accomplishments for a grateful kingdom and allow your good kin to see you through!”

  Augum gave a half-hearted smile as he began the trek up to his friends one painful step at a time.

  Fungal glanced about, confused. “Did I bring my lecture plan?”

  “Behind you, sir,” Laudine replied in a weary voice.

  “He done actually brought them this time?” Carp quipped, eliciting some snickers.

  “There be my fat little worms,” Fungal sang, tottering over to his scrolls, which had fallen off his chair. “Come to papa, little darlings.” He taught Literature, Runes, Advanced Runes, and, as an extracurricular, Drama. He had a perfect memory for plays, songs and thousands of runes, but he often forgot his own class scrolls, or his satchel, or even his bagpipes. That absent-mindedness had earned him the moniker Fungal the Forgetful. It was even said that the man had once left the arcanist’s dorm completely naked, a sight that had students running agog from the scene.

  Fungal had played his bagpipes for many of the trio’s special occasions, and he had been present at the great siege of Castle Arinthian, blasting battle anthems through arcanely amplified pipes, thus forever winning a place in their hearts.

  “I know there has been much happening of late,” Fungal said to the class. “But I’d prefer you leave all that at the door. I want your minds on one thing and one thing only, and that is …” He placed a hand to his ear.

  “Runes, Arcanist Fungal!” the class chorused.

  “Precisely!”

  Augum’s friends gave him pained expressions, sympathetic to his suffering. It was good to be around friendly faces again. He at last gingerly sat himself between Leera and Brandon, sucking air in through his teeth as his linen bandages pulled, causing excruciating burning pain. Like Brandon, he made sure to sit as rigidly as possible, not letting his back touch the seat.

  He opened his satchel and withdrew a blank lesson scroll, along with his worn quill and inkwell. Then he removed a rather heavy stone and hovered it under the table.

  “Give yourself a break with that, would you?” Brandon whispered as Fungal strode to a blackboard covered with runes. To an outside observer, it would have certainly looked like a vast miasma of gibberish.

  “Mrs. Stone taught me that the most potent form of arcane learning happens when one pushes oneself during great pain,” Augum replied, determined to get something out of this whipping.

  Brandon shook his head, muttering, “Lunatic …” Then he reached into his satchel while wincing. “Got your notes from Military Strategy for you, Your Highness. Want your feet rubbed as well? And let me tell you it was no fun taking them. Lesson was on unit flanking. The Griz expects us to try it in Combat Class later.”

  Augum took the hastily written parchment and whispered his thanks. He figured he’d catch up on the notes at lunch. Then he leaned close to Leera.

  “Look at Cry just sitting there pretending like nothing happened,” he whispered. “As if he hasn’t turned our lives upside down.”

  “What’d you expect? He’s as callous as his new fiendish friends. Look at them being all chummy-chummy. Bet you anything the Southguards secretly hate him and are using him for good coverage.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Augum, still feeling groggy and beaten up, took a moment to get his bearings. The room had the classic stepped platform seating with long mahogany desks and the infinite ceiling characteristic of the rest of the Lecture Wing. The walls were carved with hundreds of runes, about a third of which could be activated as they were arcane. The others served as signposts, warnings, labels, names, etc. Runes was a bit of an archaic craft, but it had its uses. Not only was it a form of language, but certain runes could also be enchanted to perform an action once triggered. For example, Castle Arinthian had ancient heating runes that the servants used to heat the castle during winter, thus using far less wood.

  The trio had taken Runes in their first term, all rote memorization on recognizing thousands of different runes and how to trigger some of them with their accompanying activation words. It had been agonizingly boring for Augum and Leera, who had already forgotten most of it.

  This term, however, they had finally gotten around to crafting enchanted runes. They had started with 1st degree runes like Torch Sconce and Open Door and were now on to 2nd degree ones. Runes were complicated to craft, r
equiring preparation and study, which was why students didn’t learn how to craft them until the 8th degree. What made runes exciting was their permanence. They could theoretically remain active forever, as long as they were given enough time to recharge from the arcane ether. But only the most perfectly crafted runes lasted forever—or until disenchanted.

  Arcanist Fungal turned away from the blackboard and splayed his arms wide. “All right, now that our fabulous prince has arrived—perhaps a little worse for wear, mind you—are we ready to begin?”

  “Yes, Arcanist Fungal,” the class replied somewhat cheerily.

  “I reckon there’ll be two princes soon!” Carp barked.

  “That is quite correct, Pupil, err, Pupil—”

  “Fowler, sir. I’ve had your class four times already.”

  “Pupil Fowler, right. Yes, we will soon have a Prince Eric, making two princes and two princesses in one class. I am thrilled that you can count.”

  Students chuckled. Carp smacked his gums in irritation while Eric merely raised a crisp brow.

  “Ready for what?” Augum whispered to Leera as the class settled down.

  “We’re competing to craft a Shield Rune.”

  “Gotcha.” The Shield Rune was the first war rune students traditionally learned. Warlocks used to employ them in the days of open siege warfare, but now it mostly served as an introduction into how runes could be used in war.

  “I was supposed to work on that as homework last night,” Augum added in a whisper. He was also supposed to have trained with the girls under Jez’s mentorship. Instead, he had slammed the door on Jez, and then he had fought for his life, only to watch a good man die. Thinking of Cobb and his wife and son sent a hollow pang through his heart. It was his fault Lieutenant Cobb had died, and he was worrying about homework?

  “Seeing as practice makes a warlock perfect, today you’ll be competing against each other in teams of two in a mock tournament,” Arcanist Fungal went on, pacing while excitedly rubbing his hands over his belly. “Let’s see here … Jones, Martel—I’m going to pit you against Beaumont and, uh …” Fungal snapped his fingers to jog his memory.