Eventually, King Magnar got sick of commanding me to get on the wagon, and he shook the glacier wolves’ reins. The click of claws on hard ground accelerated towards me, and as they passed, I jumped onto the footboard at the back of the wagon, gripped the handles, and rode in silence across the territory and toward the mountain.
About half-way to our destination, we passed a figure riding a camelops, leading three more of the same sand-colored beasts, each laden with sacks. The rider obscured his head with a brown, leather flying jacket. He wasn’t as tall or broad as Niger, but his build was stronger than King Magnar’s. When he raised his head, I met his hazel eyes.
“Stafford!” I jumped off the footboard and ran across the dirt road toward him.
“What are you doing?” He pulled on the camelops’ reins. “Where’s Fyrian?”
I grasped his hand, let him to pull me up, and settled on the camelop’s back.
“Thanks! She’s with Master Jesper and the others, fixing the weather.” I glanced at all the bulging sacks. “Those are a lot of apples.”
He grimaced. “Actually, someone burned down the orchard.”
“What? Then what did you bring instead?”
“King Midas pears. Do you think they’ll work?”
My insides filled with hard, icy dread. “I don’t know… They might, if the gold on their skin is the same.”
Stafford sighed. “If they don’t, then King Magnar will have full control of the dragons.”
I could have told Stafford the full story, but after hearing how King Magnar aimed to use me as his unwilling guard dog, I couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same with the dragons. Resting my head on his broad shoulder, I murmured, “Whatever happens, we have to stop him. No one should be forced to fight against their will.”
“Especially not dragons against the creatures they despise.”
We rode in silence through the hailstorm, passing huge expanses of farmland. As we approached a wheat field, Stafford asked, “What will we do if the pears don’t work?”
“Contact the palace and ask someone to send apples through the wards?” I blew out a breath. “The alchemist I fought told me the librarian has the antidote to the loyalty elixir. Maybe its ingredients will be different.”
He turned his head. “Librarian?”
I groaned. “Sorry… I need to start again and tell you everything from the beginning.”
“Yes, please. Picking pears wasn’t all that interesting.”
All throughout my story, I couldn’t help thinking about the librarian. Even if I had no choice in becoming King Magnar’s warrior wife and slave, I still had a chance to save the dragons and every witch and warrior under the influence of that wretched elixir. We just needed to find where the librarian had hidden and force him to hand over the formula for the antidote.
Chapter 3
By the time Stafford and I navigated the terraces on camelops and reached the Healer’s Academy building, the dark clouds had thinned, revealing an indigo sky. The excitement of fighting Mr. Bacon and his homunculi had worn off, and I could barely keep my eyes open. If we could use Master Jesper’s elixir to awaken some healers, they could watch over the others while we had some rest.
Laden with sacks of King Midas pears, we trudged through the hallways of the Healer’s Academy not finding any trace of King Magnar. Perhaps he had fallen into a ditch or become a snack for the glacier wolves. Magic squeezed my heart, and I pushed away the thought. Even fantasizing about King Magnar’s demise was an affront to the damsel denial.
I emptied my sacks in the barrel set up in corner of the laboratory and examined the large table in the middle of the room. An array of kettles, round-bottom flasks, coiled pipes, and copper tubes hovered above its surface, held together by floating clamps.
“What are you looking for?” asked Stafford.
“Master Jesper wanted us to give doses of the alkahest to the male healers. I can’t find any vials.”
Stafford glanced at the slumbering form of General Thornicroft, still encased in his orange healing bubble. “Shouldn’t we wake up Dr. Duclair so she can get that thing out of his chest?”
“That formula doesn’t work for witches.”
“Oh.” Stafford lifted a pestle from its mortar and sniffed. “What do you think happened to the alkahest, then?”
I shrugged. “King Magnar probably got here first and gave it to the healers.”
“Let’s go and find him.” He set down the mortar and rounded the table.
The thought of seeing his smirking face without being able to think about punching it made me sick. “Actually, we’re better off trying to find the librarian. Mr. Bacon said he had the antidote to the loyalty elixir.”
“Where should we go?” Stafford yawned.
“Library?” I checked my belt. Both swords hung at my sides, ready for another fight.
“Isn’t that too obvious?” he asked. “If I was a criminal librarian about to be caught, that’s the last place I would hide.”
I rubbed my temples. “You’re right, but we might find a few clues to his secret hideout.”
The strewn books and upturned tables lay in the same position I had found them when I’d last visited the library searching for Evolene. Stafford stopped at the entrance to gape at the mess. “What happened?”
“All the cadets collapsed from the plague at the same time.” I placed my hand on his shoulder blade, encouraging him to step inside. “Luckily, the witches were still unaffected and carried them all out to the Healer’s Academy.”
He pointed at a table that had been split in two. “It looks so violent.”
“Half-ogres aren’t the lightest people in the Known World.”
The double doors behind the librarian’s desk led to the archives. I walked past it and past the rows of shelves and reading nooks toward the stairs that led to the mezzanine.
“Where are you going?” asked Stafford.
“He must have an office around here.” I glanced up into the transparent ceiling and squinted into the light streaming in through the Great Lake. “Or at least a secret hiding place.”
“If I were a villain posing as a librarian, I’d hide all the evidence behind a bookshelf.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I read about it in a scroll.”
“All right.” I gave him a pat on the back. “You go looking for secret hiding places, and I’ll walk around and see what I can find.”
With a sharp nod, Stafford headed toward a set of bookshelves while I ascended the stairs into the mezzanine. Eight-feet-tall shelves covered the walls, occasionally curving into the walkway to form alcoves. I examined the first few for handles and levers then shook my head. The librarian probably used stolen magic like Mr. Bacon and would have enchanted any entryways invisible.
At the end of the mezzanine stood a wooden door, labeled CLEANING SUPPLIES. I turned its handle, and it opened up into a small cupboard housing a mop, bucket, and broom.
“A bit too tidy, don’t you think?” asked Fyrian.
“Where are you?” I asked.
She showed me a visual of Evolene and Master Jesper standing in a field, pointing their staff at what looked like a giant albatross thrashing within bolts of lightning.
I furrowed my brow. “What’s that?”
“The weathervane.”
“I wasn’t expecting it to look so… real.”
“They said one of the alchemists fed it an elixir and enchanted it to create weather attacks against you.”
“Where’s Niger?”
Fyrian turned her head and sent a visual of a figure lying face-down by her tail. His long, auburn hair spread out across the grass.
A breath caught in my throat. “What happened to him?”
“He got struck while knocking the weathervane out of the sky. Jesper fixed his wounds, but the elixir he took made him sleep.”
Fyrian cut off the image and asked, “Do you think it’s a ruse to conceal a hidden door?”
>
“Huh?” I stared into the cupboard and scooted around the broom. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Albert!” shouted Stafford from the bottom level of the library.
“Did you find anything?”
“No.” He bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “How about you?”
“Not sure.” I stepped into the cupboard and stretched out my arms.
“What are you doing?” Stafford stepped inside, knocking the broom into my back. “Sorry!”
I stumbled forward. Instead of hitting a solid wall of sandstone, my arms went through thin air. “Oh, I think it’s an illusion.”
“Come on, then.” He grabbed my arm and hurried through the false wall.
“Wait!” Before I could pull back, we stepped into another room.
Stafford let go of my arm. “I was expecting something more… I don’t know… villainous.”
“Hmmm….” I glanced around at what reminded me of a cadet’s study bedroom. A bedroll lay flush against one wall opposite a well-stocked bookshelf. A view of the Great Lake shimmered through the window instead of the mountain’s interior. “We’d better look for books on alchemy.”
Stafford rushed to the shelf and pulled out the book on the top right corner. “Runes of power.” He slid it back into the shelf and selected another. “History of Elphame.”
“Put that to one side, in case it contains anything useful about spriggans or the forgotten King,” I said.
He set the book on the desk while I opened the cupboard under the wash stand. It contained the usual items: chamber pots, shaving supplies, and towels.
“The first five centuries of the Snow Queen,” said Stafford. “He sure loves history books.”
I gave him an absent hum and strode to the wooden chest and pulled on the top drawer. A dozen wooden boxes lay inside. One contained dozens of teeth, the other samples of hair, and another finger and toenail clippings. “Urgh!”
“What?” Stafford rushed to my side.
“Look!” I pointed at the contents. “What would anyone want with all those?”
He frowned. “Do you think they belonged to him?”
“Some of the teeth look too big to be human. I think he took them from half-ogres.”
“What if he collected samples everywhere he went? I saw him at Niger’s duel the other day, and he was at yours.”
I shuddered. “It’s lucky that King Magnar never got the chance to nick me with his sword.”
“But you cut him. That’s probably how he got to make the loyalty elixir.”
“Probably.” King Magnar also returned to Mount Fornax with his face caked in blood. I tore my gaze away from another box containing droplets of blood preserved in labeled scraps of parchment. “We need to destroy these. There’s no telling what an alchemist could to with somebody’s sample.”
After opening and closing each box, I checked the next drawer down. It contained a number of different-colored crystals nestled within black cloth, each the size and shape of those that topped witches’ staffs.
“This looks interesting!” Stafford brought over a large tome labeled HISTORY OF SAVANNAH.
“What’s so special about that?”
“It’s not actually a book.” He placed it on the top of the drawers, flipped it open and turned to the middle page. A foot-deep hole appeared instead of parchment. Rolled parchments—more than I could count—piled up to the brim.
My jaw dropped. “His secret letters.” My voice became breathy with awe. “Well done, Stafford!”
He unrolled a scroll and frowned. “Can you read this?”
I squinted at rows and rows of alchemical symbols. “No, but Master Jesper should be able to. I’ll ask Fyrian where they are now.”
“Something’s wrong with the weathervane.” Fyrian sent an image of a giant thunderbird thrashing within a magical barrier. Streams of lightning jumped off the creature’s body, setting the dried grass alight.
“Do they know how to fix it?” I asked.
“It looks like they’re trying out spells Jesper learned in a book. It says whatever the alchemists did to the weather vane might have caused it permanent damage.”
I relayed Fyrian’s update to Stafford.
“Maybe they should focus on waking the witches. The one in charge of managing the agricultural magic will know what to do.”
I raised a shoulder. “But I’ll bet the librarian knows how to fix the weathervane.”
His lips set into a tight line. “That man has a lot to answer for.”
“Come on.” I gave him a nudge. “Let’s finish searching the room.”
Over the next thirty minutes, we found a few personal items and detailed drawings of what looked like a convertible wagon. Mr. Bacon had probably snuck it into Mount Fornax when he arrived with Master Jesper and the largomorphus rex. “This could be their secret laboratory.”
Stafford grunted. “They’d better have Golden Callisti apples.”
“Let’s go out and see what we can find.”
We rode the camelops to the dwellings of the black dragons, close to the northern edge of the largomorphus rex territory. The cold mist had now warmed and dried to a refreshing, cool breeze, and the dark clouds had lightened and thinned, letting in the last vestiges of sunlight. Half-a-dozen wagons stood in the middle of a wildflower meadow, still connected into a train. My stomach flip-flopped. What if we found the antidote? If I couldn’t save myself from King Magnar, at least I could free everyone else. Would they forget about me and move on?
“Can you remember how many wagons Master Jesper brought?” I asked.
“Seven, including the one in front.”
“Which King Magnar drove back to the mountain.” I nodded. “That’s what I remembered.”
“Definitely seven,” added Fyrian.
We dismounted and approached the wagons on foot. Wildflowers, glowing vibrant shades of red and purple in the setting sun, reached our thighs.
“Grrr!” A glacier wolf raised its head from the tall grass and stared at me through cold, blue eyes. Eight of its comrades did the same, as though waiting for their leader to decide how to react.
“Albert,” whispered Stafford.
“Hold on.” I raised my palms and murmured, “It’s all right. We’re friends of Master Jesper.”
The wolf cocked its head to the side.
“Albert!”
I nudged him in the side to be quiet. “That’s right,” I said in my most reassuring voice. “Friends.”
It might have been my imagination, but the wolf’s nostrils flared. I held my breath, hoping it didn’t think I smelled tasty.
A silence stretched out, with the wolf narrowing its eyes, seeming to consider my words. My heart made a loud, steady beat that reverberated across my ribcage and down my arms. Master Jesper wouldn’t keep wolves that attacked people? It went against the troll’s non-violent nature.
When the wolf lowered its head and closed its eyes, its comrades followed suit. Stafford and I exhaled identical sighs of relief and headed toward the first carriage.
“Albert?”
“What?” I hissed.
“There are only nine wolves.”
“He’s right,” replied Fyrian. “A dozen of them pulled the wagons.”
I rubbed my chin. “Master Jesper took two of them in his wagon, so what happened to the twelfth?”
We examined the wagons but only one contained anything of interest. In its covered section hung a single hammock, presumably for Mr. Bacon, as trolls didn’t sleep. We lifted a trunk lid and sifted through old robes and find a leather-bound tome of alchemical formulae at the bottom, along with vials of pink algae, and a sludgy liquid labeled ‘nutrient supplement.’ After placing one of each in our knapsacks, we headed back to the mountain with the leather book.
When we returned to the Healer’s Academy building, a pair of male healers clad in white uniforms bustled from room to room, checking on the patients. I gaped. King Magna
r really had woken them.
We continued down to the laboratory to check on the barrel of pears. Hopefully, there would be enough gold and in the right quantity to make further batches of Master Jesper’s alhakest elixir.
“Three cheers for His Majesty, the savior of us all!” bellowed a voice.
Raucous cheers and applause filled the hallway.
I wrinkled my nose. “Savior?”
Stafford shrugged. “Maybe they’re confused. Once they’ve calmed down, they’ll work out that he only administered Master Jesper’s elixir.”
“I hope so,” I muttered.
We reached the laboratory, where Master Jesper and Evolene frowned over a giant beaker of liquid gold. Niger lay on a cot in the corner of the room, arms folded across his chest.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“King Midas pears aren’t providing the same results,” replied the troll. “Were there no Golden Callisti apples anywhere?”
Stafford shook his head. “The orchards were burned down. We thought the alchemists might be keeping a stash in their hideout.”
“I don’t suppose you have found said hideout?” asked Master Jesper.
“Not yet.”
Niger pushed himself up. “Why not interrogate Bacon?”
I chewed my lip. “He died in the fire.”
“His heart is still beating. It is faint and slow.”
“How do you—” I caught sight of a cloth-wrapped bundle in the corner of the room.
“Jesper went back to the hut and took his body for burial,” said Fyrian. “Even I hadn’t noticed he was still alive.”
“Oh.” I scratched at the nape of my neck. “Can anyone revive him?”
Master Jesper shook his head. “He will be under a tremendous amount of agony. It might be better to let him go.”
I clenched my fists. “And condemn everyone in Mount Fornax to being loyal to King Magnar for the rest of their lives? There’s no sign of the librarian. Mr. Bacon is our only hope.”
Dragon Mage Academy Page 3
