Burden's Edge (Fury of a Rising Dragon Book 1) Page 6

  Some Leyans lived well over a millennium. Thus, Mrs. Stone’s path was perhaps the path of a future god, for Augum once heard it whispered that the Unnameables may have been mortal warlocks who ascended to great power well beyond the 20th degree. And just as an ant sees a human child as a god, so does that child see a 10th degree warlock as infallible. But then a 10th degree warlock thinks a 20th degree warlock a god, and so on and so on.

  These things sounded crazy even to warlocks and well beyond ridiculous to Ordinaries. Yet he had met Dreadnoughts, the lion people who had been damned to suffer into extinction. He had seen demons summoned from the depths of hell. He had confronted witches and talking wolves and banyan beasts. These things and more he could not talk about, for they were considered to be nothing more than children’s stories, even now, even after people had seen with their own eyes what a necromancer could do. It was staggering what people wanted to trivialize, to dismiss, to ignore.

  Hence, believing in dragons, especially after reading about them in certain secret history books … was that really a stretch?

  He hadn’t noticed Katrina and Bridget debating and struggled to get his mind back on topic.

  “Actually, no,” Bridget was saying. “The son got expelled from the academy for dueling an arcanist.”

  “You made that up,” Katrina said.

  “It’s true. I read it in the book Great Duels of the Last Hundred Years. He was also notorious in school for a whole bunch of vile deeds.” She shrugged. “He was simply a dishonorable fellow. Not every Von Edgeworth was squeaky clean.”

  Katrina examined Bridget’s face. Augum got the impression Katrina was trying to figure out what exactly Eric saw in Bridget.

  “Bastards brewing a conspiracy,” Eric said, joining them, hands behind his back. He had said the proverb in an awkwardly playful tone, as if he was not used to telling jokes. Augum suspected he was suggesting that Katrina should not fraternize with the enemy. It was the first time Augum had heard him have anything resembling a sense of humor.

  But Katrina frowned and gave Eric a look that made him stiffen. “That word. Do not use it, not even in jest.”

  “Bastard? Of course. Apologies, Cousin. My attempts at humor continue to fall flat.” There was a slight flush to Eric’s cheeks. He gave a curt nod to Augum and Bridget. “Prince Augum. Princess Bridget.”

  Bridget gave the slightest nod in return. “Eric.”

  “Although you have learned of my family’s plans before I had the chance to propose to you, Princess Bridget, I do hope you will consider such a match …” His cold eyes flicked to Katrina momentarily. “… advantageous.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I feel I am being quite clear.”

  “That is inappropriate. I have a boyfriend.”

  “Who is far beneath your station. A beggar. A boot. And he does not actually love you. He is enamored by your title, nothing more.” As always, his voice betrayed no emotion. To Eric, such things were just plain facts.

  “How … how dare you …” Bridget hissed. “Why do you always have to be so … clinical?”

  “I merely speak the truth as I see it.”

  “Then allow me to speak a truth. I find the offer you and your father made absolutely revolting, as revolting as I find you.”

  Eric’s chiseled features hardened ever so slightly. “It was merely a transaction proposal.”

  “A … a transaction? Is that what you call an offer of marriage now?”

  Katrina grabbed Eric’s arm. “Cousin, you are appallingly tactless.” She gave Augum and Bridget a rather hard look. “Excuse us, please.”

  After they’d left, Bridget sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Ugh, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I know better than to play their highborn games.”

  Augum watched them go. “Odd. He called Brandon a boot, but even a boot has more feelings than he does.”

  “He’s rude because he has not been taught better. You remember his parents. Cold and vicious.”

  Augum leaned closer. “His father particularly. Man looks like a boar. Seriously, a wild boar.”

  “Oh, hush. Don’t you descend to that level too.” Bridget adjusted her robe. “Brandon really shouldn’t have said those things about the Southguards either.”

  “He shouldn’t have said a lot of things,” Augum muttered. “But he can be quite funny.”

  “Not lately.”

  Augum looked at her, wondering what she meant by that.

  “Class should begin soon,” Bridget quickly said.

  Augum chose not to pursue the issue and they joined their group of friends, who stood mingling in the center of the room. The tension from that morning had only increased, presenting itself in the form of whispered gossip and sidelong glances. Luckily, the trio’s friends knew the pressure they were always under and did not press them for details.

  But Carp Fowler was not one of the trio’s friends. He was a stocky, middle-aged man with pockmarked cheeks and a cantaloupe forehead, and was known to be crass and creepy. The son of a family of noble merchants, he was on his third try at the 8th degree. He had a stupid grin on his face as he stared at Leera, who was chatting with Brandon. That grin was rapidly getting on Augum’s nerves.

  Carp scratched at the stubble on his chin as he stepped near Augum, voice low, breath reeking of rot. “I reckon Her Highness Princess Leera is now free to marry another, that about right?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Augum hissed.

  Carp held up his hands defensively. “Just jestin’, Your Highness. Just jestin’. Playin’ off them rumors, is all.”

  Augum’s eye twitched. Carp was always “jestin’” and “proddin’,” except Augum was not in the mood at all. For that matter, when it came to Carp and his creepiness, he never was. Even the other adults of the class kept their distance from the brute.

  Augum suddenly felt uncharacteristically violent and fantasized about dueling the man. He wanted to take his aggravations out on Carp and wipe that disgusting smirk off his face. Too bad the academy had a strict code of conduct and unauthorized dueling would result in a whipping and instant expulsion.

  He rubbed his eyes. Unnameables condemn him for his dark thoughts. The kingdom’s prince getting whipped … now that would be an epic scandal.

  Isaac Fleiszmann stepped between Augum and Carp, bumping the latter out of the way. “Oh, excuse me there, ol’ Carpie.”

  Carp frowned as his view of Leera was blocked, for Isaac was quite tall. He had curly red hair, a sly smile and a perpetual crazy glint to his eyes, as if he had stumbled upon a brilliant criminal idea in childhood and had run with it ever since.

  Isaac leaned closer to Augum. “Want us to off him? Maybe give him a Nodian smile?” He slid a finger across his throat to accentuate the last point and winked.

  Augum couldn’t help but snort. He glanced behind him and saw Caireen Lavo and Laudine Cooper. They smiled cheerily. He waved them over, telekinetically tugging on Bridget’s and Leera’s robes to catch their attention. The small group huddled near a set of graduated iron weights used to practice the 8th degree Strength spell.

  “What’s going on?” Caireen asked. She had dark skin, a wild bush of orange hair and exotic amber eyes that matched her robe. The trio had befriended her a couple years back at the Antioc Classic, an annual Warlock Tournament.

  “I think something’s up,” Augum whispered.

  “It’s called a ceiling,” Leera said dryly.

  “Hilarious,” Augum replied just as dryly.

  “What do you mean, Aug?” Caireen asked.

  “The Herald is going to write a hit piece on us.”

  Laudine frowned. “Which one? Blackhaven Herald, Antioc Herald—”

  “Academy Herald.”

  “Ah.” Laudine slowly made a fist. “ ‘Betrayal, thy name is the frivolous gossip of the commons.’ ” She had short brown hair done up in clips and usually wore a wide dimpled smile. A raging poet and drama kid, she was al
most always overly dramatic, someone who felt most comfortable on stage reciting A Founder’s Folly or orating some historical epic.

  Isaac flipped his hand questioningly. “You mean that after everything you three have done for the kingdom, they’re going to vilify you? And they think I’m crazy? The students wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “Not they, him.” Brandon nodded at Cry, who mingled with Katrina, Eric and Elizabeth. “Funny that they found him interesting the instant he started writing for the Academy Herald. And he’s lapping it up like the good doggie that he is. Morons. The lot of them. Katrina’s all right, I guess. And cute.”

  “You’re rambling,” Bridget said icily.

  “Why have you been picking at me so much lately? ‘Study this, stop that, have some sensitivity. You’re rambling.’ It’s like all you can do is criticize—”

  “All right, enough, you two,” Leera said. “Anyway, we shouldn’t be making things worse with Cry. Who knows what he’ll write.”

  “Fry must be super bored to be concocting stories again,” Brandon said, completely unaware of the hurt look on Bridget’s face. The usual wit and humor was gone from his voice, replaced by bitter sarcasm.

  “I want you all to just … keep your ears open,” Augum said. “And I agree, let’s not go out of our way to needle Cry.”

  “Oh, now you too,” Brandon said. “Who next? Isaac, want to have a go at me? How about you, Laud? Cai?”

  “Really, Brandon,” Caireen said. “This is unlike you.”

  “Yeah, well, you try getting picked apart for every little thing. You try facing Iron Byron. You try being on the brink of getting booted—” But then he realized they were all gaping at him. He crossed his arms. “Never mind.”

  “How often is the Academy Herald published, anyway?” Caireen asked. “I don’t read it.”

  “Daily except on study days,” Bridget said, “so we can expect it tomorrow morning.”

  “Great,” Leera muttered. “Day of the Occupation Ceremony too.”

  “That has no bearing on us. We aren’t declaring an occupation,” Bridget said. She noticed the look Augum and Leera exchanged and her brow furrowed with suspicion. “We talked about this,” she said slowly. “Right …?” She repeatedly glanced between Augum and Leera. “We talked clearly and emphatically—”

  “We talked months ago,” Augum blurted, scratching the back of his neck. “And I’ve been meaning to bring it up again.”

  “So you waited until the day before the ceremony.” Bridget opened her hand. “You’re thinking about making a decision that will affect the rest of your life … the day before you have to make it.” Bridget rubbed her forehead.

  “Wait, you’re going to declare?” Brandon asked. “Amidst all this? Why in Sithesia didn’t you say anything to me?”

  “And what profession are you going to pursue?” Isaac pressed. “Jesterhood? Dung Hurler?”

  “Arcaner, actually.”

  Bridget and Leera exchanged a look Augum could not interpret. Everyone else’s mouths dropped.

  Isaac’s eyes flitted about. “You’ve really been diving deep into those crazy old kid’s tales, haven’t you?”

  “Well, I think it’s a dramatic turn of events,” Laudine said.

  “You would think that, drama queen,” Brandon muttered.

  “Hey, play nice,” Caireen said.

  Leera shook her head, mumbling, “We’re devolving.”

  Augum decided to get them back on track. “And … and I’m not just thinking about it. I’ve been doing a lot of research on Arcaners for a while now. Anyway, I’ve already made my decision.”

  But before they could discuss the matter further, the room went quiet as Arcanist Abe Brewerson strode in.

  “Fear not, brave Augum, for we will keep a careful watch on the goings on,” Laudine whispered to the huddled group in a courtly accent before they broke up to pay attention to the lesson.

  A Scroll

  Arcanist Abe Brewerson was the Lord of House Brewerson, Lord of Northspear, and Lord High Commander of Solia, the highest military post in the kingdom, which meant he was yet another highly eligible nobleman Augum had inadvertently insulted by not selecting his family for the throne. Sure, the man had not directly asked Augum for his support, but others had implied on his behalf that he was more than qualified.

  Arcanist Brewerson represented his house perfectly, for the Brewerson sigil was the bear, and he was indeed a huge bear of a man with thick gray hair on his massive arms, a bulging chest and a gray beard trimmed in the military style of a seasoned commander. All that combined into one potent nickname that even other arcanists sometimes used—The Grizzly. It was a name the man did not exactly discourage either. Nobody ever gave lip to The Grizzly. He lived and breathed his house’s motto: Rise up, ever strong. It helped that he was a lethal 18th degree earth warlock, one of the highest in the kingdom. Just before the Legion War, he had been among the few to disagree publicly with the Lord of the Legion, resulting in him and his family being banished to their castle. Many said he had been lucky to disagree early on, before the Lord of the Legion killed all opposition on the spot.

  The Grizzly stomped to the front of the room, a single scroll under his arm, black robe billowing with each stride. “Eyes on me, everyone.” His voice boomed against the walls. As usual, he did not apologize for anything, in this case, his tardiness.

  “Yes, Lord High Commander, sir!” the class shouted in unison. He was the only arcanist in the school they addressed by his highest title and the only one who ran his classes like an army unit. He taught Military Strategy, Sword and Sorcery, and Arcane Army Combat. Augum attended all three classes, but the girls only the latter two, for the first was an elective they did not share with him.

  The Grizzly dumped his scroll on an ironwork stand and turned to face the class. “Hu-ten-tion!” he barked.

  The class immediately snapped their heels and went rigid.

  “Line.”

  Everybody scuttled to form a perfect line from tallest to shortest. Augum, being on the taller spectrum, ended up between Eric Southguard to his right and Katrina to his left. Eric briefly glanced over at him before facing forward. Augum wondered what he had told Cry for the Academy Herald.

  The Grizzly began his usual inspection of his troops in training by walking along the line.

  “Tighten that belt, Fleiszmann.”

  “Yes, Lord High Commander!” Isaac hurriedly retied his golden silk rope belt, part of the traditional garb of an academy warlock.

  “Good, Southguard.”

  “Thank you, Lord High Commander!” Eric said.

  Augum wondered how The Grizzly had taken his house being passed over for the throne. He got his answer when the huge man stopped to loom before him. His gaze zipped along Augum’s amber robe, making him stiffen, before settling on his face. There was no expression in those eyes of his, yet their sheer blackness was enough to make Augum’s stomach leap. The Grizzly was a master tactician, born to command armies, a man made entirely for war—precisely why Augum had not backed him for the throne. He fundamentally opposed the idea of handing the kingdom over to a general, no matter how respected the man was.

  “Lint on the crest, Stone.”

  “Yes, Lord High Commander!” Augum immediately brushed the lint off the academy crest, which every pupil and arcanist considered sacred.

  “That crest needs to be cleaner than your soul at all times, Stone.”

  “Yes, Lord High Commander!”

  “What does it represent?”

  Ah, here came Augum’s punishment: a semi-public accounting. Luckily, the crest and its deep set of meanings was one of the first things Augum had learned in his catch-up tutoring.

  “Sir, yes, sir!” Augum looked straight ahead while placing a finger on the first of the crest’s four colorful quadrants. “The pine and the raven. The pine tree symbolizes Solia and the academy’s loyalty to the kingdom. The raven symbolizes intelligence, intuition and power
ful secrets.” Augum moved his finger to the next quadrant. “The book, ink bottle and quill represent a studious mind, resourcefulness and an eagerness to learn.” His finger slid down one quadrant. “A creneled castle wall with a single arrow slit, symbolizing fortitude, strength and selective attack.” He tapped the last quadrant. “An orb sitting on a pillow with three tassels, representing arcaneology, leadership and the fundamental principles of arcanery—a diamond focus, steel belief and an open soul.” He drew his finger along the place above the crest. “Above are two crossed pine branches, representing the two branches of arcane warfare—offense and defense, each as important as the other.” Lastly, his finger moved to the motto below the crest. “Cogniata, Excellan, Servi. Knowledge, Excellence, Service.”

  “If only you had put as much time into learning the art of kingdom politics, Stone.” The Grizzly moved on, leaving Augum stinging from the pointed rebuke.

  “Clean as usual, Southguard.”

  “Thank you, Lord High Commander!” Katrina said in her musical voice.

  “Good, Beaumont.”

  “Thank you, Lord High Commander!”

  “Prim and proper, Lavo.”

  “Thank you, Lord High Commander!”

  “Eyes forward, Summers.”

  “Yes, Lord High Commander!”

  “Good, Burns.”

  “Thank you, Lord High Commander!” Bridget shouted. It was always funny hearing Bridget, the darling princess of the kingdom, shout in a military fashion. It really did not suit her in any way, like a bird trying to be a lion.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face, Cooper.”

  “Lord High Commander, that is … just how my cheeks form!”

  The class chortled. Apparently, Laudine’s famous dimpled smile had no place in The Grizzly’s line.

  His great shaggy head glanced down the line and they immediately fell silent. He moved on and stopped before Leera, making Augum’s blood race. Leera hated The Grizzly with a passion, mostly because he picked apart every detail about her. In his eyes, Leera was a weed to be pruned from his immaculate garden of discipline, and in hers, he was an overbearing tyrant who took his job way too seriously. The Grizzly had recently sent her to the headmaster for daring to “give him lip” in the form of protesting that she had a right to scrawl whatever she wanted on her satchel—which she did … to a point. However, drawing the caricature of a grotesquely fat bear being speared had, in Augum’s opinion, been needlessly antagonistic.