Burden's Edge (Fury of a Rising Dragon Book 1) Read online

  But instead of speaking—and he always found something wrong with Leera’s appearance: a wrinkled robe; dirty fingernails; a fraying belt; unevenly cut hair—The Grizzly said nothing and continued down the line. It was such an unusual occurrence that everybody glanced over. Leera’s face was flush with disbelief.

  Suddenly, The Grizzly stopped and backtracked to Leera. “Satchel’s muddy, Jones.”

  “Yes, Lord High Commander!” Leera made a show of wiping the edge of the satchel with her sleeve.

  “Use a cloth, would you, Jones?” The Grizzly said, more exasperated than anything else. As he moved on and Leera borrowed a cloth from her neighbor, Augum breathed another sigh of relief. All was right again with the world.

  “Comb that hair, Slimwealth.”

  “Yes, Lord High Commander,” Cry said in a voice half the volume of everybody else’s. The Grizzly would have once corrected such laziness, but then Cry’s father became Lord High Treasurer and he stopped bothering. Apparently, nobody messed with treasury and taxes, not even The Grizzly.

  The huge arcanist soon finished his inspection. “Quick history lesson,” he boomed, strolling across the front of the class. “The calendar began with The Founding, three thousand three hundred and forty-two years ago. A gathering of the best and brightest warlock minds of the era came together to formalize twenty degrees.” He brought his great bear hands together as he marched along the line. “Each degree was assigned three standard spells and one elemental spell.”

  Now this was odd, Augum thought. The Grizzly was regurgitating what every 1st degree warlock learned on their first day at the academy.

  The Grizzly stopped and raised his left arm, the sleeve of his black robe drooping like melted tar. “Healing. Earth. Air. Fire. Water. Ice. Lightning.” He raised his right arm. “Couple these elements with standard arcanery and you have the entire history of the craft in one ladder, a ladder that, as you have experienced, becomes progressively more difficult to climb with each rung.” Backs straightened as his eyes traveled down the line.

  “Standard and elemental arcanery have been brought together in harmonious perfection. In unity. Remember that word—unity—for unity is the goal. Unity with your fellow soldiers. Unity with your kingdom. Unity with your sovereign … and unity with the Unnameables. Standard and elemental arcanery make a warlock. And a warlock, as we know, is forever locked in war. Locked. In. War. That is who we are. Soldiers of the craft …” His coal eyes flicked to Augum. “And soldiers for the kingdom. But when we are not at war with an enemy, we are at war with—” His beefy fingers slowly curled outward as he splayed a hand at them.

  “Our own minds, Lord High Commander!” the class shouted in unison.

  If there was one thing Augum disliked about the academy, it was the constant theory. Even in classes like Sword and Sorcery which, in his mind, were supposed to be about practicing the craft, there was a bunch of theory. Or, in this case, a seemingly pointless lecture on history.

  Back in the war, Augum and the girls had suffered through a harsh training regime in the field, morning until night, day after day. And that training had allowed him and the girls to advance rapidly—five degree in less than two years, an almost legendary feat on its own. Sure, it had been at the expense of their academic studies, but now he felt held back, stagnant, choked with theory and responsibility, and always itching to perform arcanery.

  “You may be wondering why the elemental history lesson,” The Grizzly went on.

  You think? Augum thought sarcastically.

  “Well, what you take for granted, what you roll your dull eyes at out of boredom, what you mock in your spare time … others consider a fireside children’s story.” He glared at each student in turn. “Studying history is vital. For example, the Canterrans believe the Unnameables forged the seven kingdoms from the seven shards of a blade, and when it is whole again, the kingdoms will turn into an empire. Mind you, they once thought the seven scions were those shards. But that is another story. Anyhow … One. Vast. Empire. And guess which kingdom is providentially ordained to lead that empire?”

  They knew The Grizzly well enough to sense it was a rhetorical question and did not respond.

  “The Canterrans!” The Grizzly boomed, slowly pacing with his hands behind his back. “Yes, they want our gold mines and our copper mines and our nickel mines and our iron ore—” He sucked in a quick breath before plowing on. “They want revenge for the Legion War and countless other wars they perceive as unjust. They want our warlocks hanging from nooses or laboring as slaves. They want purity in our people and our women to be meek as mice, as their so-called Path Disciples ordain.” He raised a thick finger. “But make no mistake. It is beliefs that make men put one foot before another toward the field of battle.”

  The Grizzly had said the last word before Augum, for he had ceased his pacing to stare down at the prince. Augum’s stomach tumbled down his body and landed in his turnshoe, for he finally understood. The Grizzly was profoundly disappointed in him, not for refusing to choose his house for the throne, but for refusing to choose any house at all! In his mind, they were already at war with Canterra, and Augum’s failure to unite the kingdom under a name—any name—was a total dereliction of his duty.

  Augum stood rock still. He’d somehow had it in his head that The Grizzly would respect him for showing independence of thought, for not allowing the nobility to push him around, for not bending to cheap pressure. Instead, he felt like he had let someone he deeply respected down. It made him want to redo the last month, and not waste precious time on what now felt like dallying fancies. He should have carefully studied the families and chosen one that could have served the people honorably.

  Ugh, the more he thought about it, the more he hated himself, until he recalled that sea of painted faces and their mocking sneers, which made him stiffen his jaw and stare straight ahead.

  The Grizzly finally strode on. “Some of you will not pass your final exams next month.” He stopped before Carp. “And for those of you on your third and final attempt, that will mean you have hit your ceiling at the 7th degree.”

  Carp, who was a good three feet shorter than the Lord High Commander, swallowed. As stocky as he was, he looked like nothing more than a stubby training dummy next to The Grizzly.

  “In the old Arcaner days, arcanery was all about weeding out the weak. In those days, a failure meant a failure and one did not receive a second chance. In this day and age, we coddle too much. Help too much. We have cheapened the path so that undesirable elements make it all the way—” The Grizzly slowly brought his hands inward, until he mashed his palms together. “—to the 7th degree.”

  A drop of sweat fell from Carp’s brow and caught on his stubbled chin.

  The Lord High Commander sighed, a sound much like ten bellows blowing all at once, and continued his pacing. “Locked … in … war.” The last word coincided with the man picking up the scroll from the iron stand. Only then did Augum notice a broken red wax seal on the scroll, complete with a crimson ribbon.

  The Grizzly spun on his heel to face the class. He gave Augum a dark look before ceremoniously unfurling the scroll and holding it out for them to see. Yet the elaborate calligraphy had been written in too small a hand to read from that distance.

  “This is an official Canterran declaration. Can anyone fathom what it says?”

  Augum tensed. This did not bode well at all. The Canterrans had been receiving monthly monies for reparations. The Lord of the Legion had caused great destruction along their border towns, slaying thousands. An official declaration could only mean an escalation in their demands.

  When no one spoke up, The Grizzly read a portion aloud. “ ‘Effective immediately, the Noble and Pious Kingdom of Canterra hereby declares a doubling of the reparative monthly monies and an increase in payment frequency. Those reparative payments shall now come every tenday.” He glanced up at Augum, whose throat went dry, before continuing. “ ‘If said amendments are not met …
there shall exist a state of war between our two kingdoms.’ ”

  The students regarded each other. This was most serious news indeed. Every tenday meant three times a month … at double the rate.

  But The Grizzly was not finished reading. “ ‘In addition, the Kingdom of Solia shall from this moment on accept the way of The Path as its central tenet of faith. The high council shall accept a Path Disciple of our choosing to shepherd the transition. Failure to do so … will result in a state of war between our two kingdoms.’ ”

  The Grizzly’s eyes returned to Augum, who more fully understood the gravity of the situation and why he had been so hastily called to break the gridlocked vote. Now he truly appreciated how badly he had failed the kingdom. Without someone sitting on the throne, the kingdom was in a substantially weakened position. It was vulnerable to the mandates of other kingdoms, and everyone knew The Grizzly despised vulnerability. Augum had directly contributed to that vulnerability, first by declining the throne for himself and second by declining to support another noble family in his place.

  Augum’s insides withered. Suddenly him not paying much attention to Bridget’s research into the noble families felt like an even worse affront to her. She wasn’t enrolled in Military Strategy class like he was, but even she had understood the gravity of the situation.

  He felt prickles of shame creep up his body. What a fool … what an utter, neglectful, selfish fool he had been.

  The Grizzly took his time rolling up the scroll, coal eyes never leaving Augum, who wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

  “In light of this news,” the Lord High Commander began in an unusually quiet voice, “news fresh from a diplomat’s hands, mind you, the high council will vote on a new monarch tonight.”

  The Realization

  The news fell like a smith’s hammer. Augum felt the gravity of the situation in his knees, which had suddenly gone weak. By declaring a monarch so soon after Augum’s announcement not to support another family for the throne, it would serve as a most pronounced public rebuke of him.

  “The nine members of the high council will vote in a new king this eve,” The Grizzly repeated. “And I expect that this time there will be a clear majority. The preparations for a rushed coronation have already begun.”

  Someone down the line stepped forward.

  “Slimwealth.”

  “Permission to be excused, Lord High Commander.”

  “Reason?”

  “To immediately finish my piece for the Herald and make additions relating to the news you have shared.”

  “Granted.”

  Cry practically sprinted out of the classroom.

  Meanwhile, Augum’s self-damnation continued to bounce around in his brain like an echo. The council of nine members had been at an impasse for over a year, during which there had been countless squabbles between noble families. The vote to enthrone a family needed a clear majority, but no election had reached the magic number of five votes, as too many families had votes in their pockets. There had been countless public proclamations, promises and pleadings. Countless more public backstabbing and reprimands. Augum had kept his hands clean of it all, and because he had done so, the council had decided that Augum, the kingdom’s sole “Hero Prince,” should break the gridlock. Except he had been unable to, and now his reasoning seemed trite and foolishly naive.

  Katrina stepped forward from beside Augum.

  The Grizzly gave a single nod. “Southguard.”

  Katrina adjusted her round spectacles, though she didn’t actually move them up her nose. “I was just wondering, Lord High Commander, whether you believe Canterra will make good on its threat,” she said in her light south-Solian accent, tinged with Canterran influence, for the Southguards regularly traded with the Canterrans. Much of their fortune relied on that trading partnership.

  “You’ll know from your historical studies that Canterra and Solia have a long history of antagonism. The Canterrans, despite their greed, have turned quite pious over the years. The Lord of the Legion, by killing countless numbers of their people along the border, has turned their attention upon us. But the Canterrans are clever. They will first bleed our kingdom dry of funds and will thus weaken us further. When those funds are depleted …”

  He need not finish for the class to understand his full meaning. Looks were exchanged. War could indeed be coming. War … or subjugation.

  Augum stepped forward to stand beside Katrina. “Lord High Commander. About The Path. What exactly does that mean?”

  “It’s clearly laid out in the letter, Stone, though I spared you the details for brevity. Their disciples are to have full autonomy in Solia to preach. The Path is to be Solia’s main faith.”

  “Sir, I understand that, but … what does it mean?”

  “You again show determination. Where was that determination this morning, Stone? Hmm?”

  Augum swallowed as the prickle of shame intensified.

  The Grizzly’s black eyes flashed. “It means, Stone, that the Canterrans will choke us with their cult. Think about the subjugation of women, of the arcane craft, of undesirables—and you can guess as to what that means—the subjugation of waywards, heretics and all desire and freedom. Oh, and they’ll be robbing us throughout to boot.”

  The entire class gasped. Many held hands over their mouths while trading grave looks.

  After a thoughtful pause, Isaac stepped forward while Augum and Katrina stepped back in line.

  “Fleiszmann.”

  “Lord High Commander, should they invade, how much time will we have?”

  “Perhaps a month. Perhaps a tenday. This could all be a ruse. Or a taunt. It is difficult to say. But if they are serious and we meet all their demands, we’ll likely run out of funds within a month or two. The kingdom has already borrowed too much from the Black Bank.”

  “You won’t close the academy, though, will you?” Augum blurted as Isaac stepped back in line.

  “Next time you will step forward, Stone. But to answer your question, of course not. Reports say the Canterrans are posturing, nothing more. They simply want more money—something they will get. Just remember what I told you before about what makes one booted foot go before the other …”

  Belief, Augum thought darkly.

  “Way to make enemies, Your Highness,” Katrina whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

  “At ease,” The Grizzly said, and the line relaxed its rigid stance. But the last thing Augum felt was ease. Instead, he felt short of breath, like his world was closing in on him. A triple strike of news would hit the kingdom tomorrow and it all revolved around him. He was intending on declaring his controversial profession; the Academy Herald would publish a nasty story about the trio hoarding the scions; and, in light of Canterran demands, a monarch would be hastily chosen and enthroned in an emergency coronation ceremony.

  The bear of a man examined his coin-sized fingernails. “You may be wondering why I have told you all of this. Two reasons. The first is that the kingdom, in its current defensive capabilities, likely cannot survive a full-on Canterran assault. The second is that, if what I hear is true, the possible saviors of the kingdom are standing inside this room.”

  Augum felt a jolt. The Grizzly believed the trio still had the scions! He immediately stepped forward.

  “Stone.”

  “It’s a lie, Lord High Commander. That charge is a lie.”

  “Enlighten the class.”

  Augum swallowed, feeling every eye boring into the sides of his head. “I don’t know where Cry is getting his tall tales from, but we definitely don’t have the scions. They truly were destroyed during the vanquishing of the Lord of the Legion.”

  People gasped. A low murmur broke out.

  Carp stepped forward.

  “Fowler.”

  “And yet if you did have the scions, I reckon you’d protect the kingdom, wouldn’t you?” he asked Augum.

  There was a pathetic pleading tone to his voice that made Augum real
ize the horror of the charge: some would believe it regardless.

  “I mean, you would save it again … right?”

  “Of course we would,” Augum replied. “Except we don’t have them, so we wouldn’t be able to.” He saw the disbelief in Carp’s eyes, and as he looked down the line, he saw doubt in some of the other faces too.

  “Oh, come on, people,” Leera snapped. “You don’t think we killed the Lord of the Legion to hoard the artifacts for ourselves, do you? Augum’s telling the truth! They were destroyed!”

  “Step forward when you want to speak, Jones.”

  “Ugh.” She stepped forward. “That’s all I wanted to say.” And she stepped right back along with Augum and Carp.

  “Well, one way or another, we shall get to the bottom of this, shan’t we?” The Lord High Commander asked, though Augum sensed it was a rhetorical question. What the man meant by it he did not know. Would they search Castle Arinthian for the scions? How ridiculous … or was it? The kingdom might grow desperate for a defense.

  Suddenly he recalled a small piece of history his legendary mentor had once spoken of, how the scions were the envy of every man. The search for the scions had resulted in countless wars, all in the quest for the power of those artifacts, for they greatly amplified arcanery. If diabolically ambitious people thought the trio possessed them, who knew what lengths they would go to in their attempts to capture those scions for themselves. A single scion would be enough to cause a war. But seven?

  Gods, he thought he was going to be sick.

  “Ah,” The Grizzly said, coolly watching him. “Figured it out, have we, Your Royal Highness?”