Dragon Mage Academy

by Cordelia Castel

  Eyepatch stood behind his usual station on the left behind a hotplate of sausages and onions. At the end of the table was his usual tureen. “Blood-Sea treasure?”

  Rufus and Gobi grunted their approval and held out hard-crusted, round loaves with their insides scooped out. Eyepatch heaped a pile of six-inch long sausages at the bottom of the loaves and drowned them with ladlefuls of what appeared to be a tomato-based stew. Then he added a handful of fried onion as a garnish.

  As my classmates took their seats, he turned to me, eye shining. “I spoke to your troll-friend who told me everything.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad. Thanks for the picnic, Mr. Cobbs. It was lovely.”

  He beamed. “Anytime you lot need help, call on me. I’m not just a fantastic cook.” He picked up a smaller loaf. “Blood-Sea treasure?”

  “Sure. Extra onions, please.”

  I brought my hollowed-out loaf to our usual table and sat next to Rufus.

  “Where is Stafford?” he asked.

  “He went to see Evolene,” I replied.

  Gobi flashed me a triumphant smirk. “She chose the orphan instead of the Prince.”

  “There is nothing wrong with being an orphan.” I gave him what I hoped would be a meaningful look. The Dowager Lady Bluebeard had a reputation for eating her human husbands while pregnant to strengthen their offspring. Since she had now died, Gobi could count himself among those he thought inferior.

  He flushed and turned away.

  Blood-Sea treasure turned out to be a delicious mixture of salmon, and lobster sausages served in a tangy, seafood sauce. Maybe I was still under the influence of the poppies, but I ate my entire serving including the bread loaf. After downing a tankard of ale, I stood. “Who wants a ride to the arena?”

  It seemed that every warrior, civilian, and dragon were at the Drogott Arena, as people filled the stands and made enough noise to shake the building’s foundations.

  Fyrian circled the building, wings outstretched. “Where do you want to sit?”

  I glanced down into the royal box. “I’d rather get lost in the crowd of people.”

  “I’ll drop you off at the entrance, then.” She swooped down to the exterior of the building and landed at the huge, arched entryway.

  We all climbed down and made our way into the arena. Gobi rubbed his hands. “I want a seat with a view of the royal box!”

  Rufus snorted. “So does everybody.”

  I clamped my lips shut and followed them inside. The front few rows contained ample seating for everybody, and we found a space somewhere near the middle and settled with Rufus sitting between Gobi and me. I’d almost forgotten about Niger’s message about meeting me when a familiar voice said, “Rufus.”

  Rufus raised his head and grunted. My heart flip-flopped, and I slid my gaze to the right. Niger stood flanked by some of the drogott team members. I flicked my head in acknowledgment, and he sat next to me.

  “I am glad you will not miss Albens’ victory tonight,” said Rufus.

  Niger grunted his agreement. More of his friends arrived and sat on our section, pushing closer we got to sit until I was wedged between the two brothers with part of my back resting against Niger’s muscular shoulder.

  Up in the royal box, Master Fosco announced in his supernaturally loud voice, “Welcome, Finalist Cis Melyn.”

  My heart pounded all throughout the first finalist’s display. He was a quarter-ogre with blond hair tied into a topknot wearing the steel-colored leather of a dragon tamer.

  Rufus shook his head. “A good swordsman, but he will lose against Albens.”

  “Do dragon tamers have special powers like mages?” I asked.

  “Some do,” replied Niger.

  “He has yet to demonstrate anything of interest,” said Rufus.

  Melyn’s dragon had rust-colored scales with amber on the underside, making it a yellow dragon like Niger’s. The male unsheathed two chokers—round-tipped executioner’s swords with holes for poisons gas— from his sword belt. It reminded me of the one Niger had used to gas the homunculi. The tamer raised his arms wide and held the chokers up in the air with their tips touching. His dragon let out a plume of yellow smoke.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Isn’t that supposed to be poisonous?”

  “A dragon can control the amount of venom it releases in its smoke,” replied Rufus.

  The smoke engulfed Melyn’s swords, which fused and expanded into a set of bellows.

  “Ha!” said Niger. “I see where he is going with this.”

  I glanced into his grinning face. “What’s he going to do?”

  “Just watch,” he murmured into my ear.

  I had to dip my head to hide my flush.

  Melyn pulled the hilts of the swords together, and a cloud of yellow gas drifted over to a section of the audience, who promptly fell asleep.

  The entire stadium burst into laughter and applause. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. “How did he do that?”

  “He and his dragon have worked on the exact combination of air and venom to cause sleep,” said Niger. “The weapon is not one I have seen before but it looks like he developed it with the weaponsmith witches.”

  My brows rose. I had no idea mage weapons and dragon attacks could be so versatile.

  Rufus gave the male a slow handclap. “He is good, but no match for Albens.”

  “Agreed,” muttered Niger.

  Master Fosco strolled up to the podium. “Congratulations, Nebula and Cis Melyn on a well-executed precision attack. Your talent will be helpful in the upcoming war.”

  Everyone roared their approval. Behind King Magnar and the others, the door to the royal box opened a fraction. I gulped. It had to be Evolene and the flying cat!

  A half-ogre whose hair was the same shape and color of moss rode in on a red dragon. Behind him were two other red dragons that looked identical to the first.

  Niger chuckled. “The triune.”

  “What is that?” asked Gobi.

  It was Rufus who answered. “Every century or so, three hatchlings emerge from a single egg. The dragons are rumored to have one soul split between three bodies.”

  “Is that true?” I asked.

  “Nobody really knows,” said Niger. “But they can move exactly the same.”

  “Hey, Fyri?” I asked. When she didn’t answer, I asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She sounded agitated. “I’m talking to Byrrus.”

  “Sorry.”

  Master Fosco spread his arms wide. “Let’s welcome Captain Olseni with Khepri, Horakhty, and Atum.”

  Applause broke out across the arena. I leaned back on Niger’s arm and made myself comfortable. He chuckled but didn’t comment. Not with all those sensitive ears around us.

  “How can I get to bond with three dragons?” asked Gobi.

  “Focus on your studies, and maybe you will get to bond with one,” replied Rufus.

  “You are always telling me to study!”

  Niger’s hand brushed mine. “My brother is right. Albens told us that when Captain Olseni bonded with Khepri, the other two took to him immediately and lost interest in bonding with any other warrior.”

  I bit down hard on my lip, trying not to blush or giggle. No sharp pain or twinge attacked my heart, so I relaxed and let our fingers intertwine. Everyone was too busy watching the show to notice a bit of hand-holding.

  For the next five or so minutes, the trio of dragons moved in formation, performing identical spins, dips, and turns. I stifled a yawn. It was hard to see how such a display would benefit King Magnar or any other kind of warlord. My gaze drifted to the royal box, and our eyes locked. A jolt of fury pulsed within my gut. The wretch was staring right at me!

  Straightening, I folded my arms.

  “Problems?” Niger pulled away.

  “No…” I gulped. “Just wondering when the dragons will display their power.”

  Gobi leaned forward. “What if a lot of people wanted to escape
, and there were too many to fit on one dragon?”

  “Three dragons would be helpful.” I shrugged. But they didn’t have to be a triune in a situation like that.

  After several minutes, muttering broke out across the crowd. I stared up into the skies, waiting for the dragons to do something interesting, but they continued their display.

  “Boo!” shouted a voice from afar.

  “Get off!” yelled another.

  “BOO!” more and more warriors registered their protests.

  Master Fosco strolled to the podium and roared, “Enough!”

  My heart jumped into my throat, and I fell back against Niger. It was common knowledge that purple dragons had an ear-shattering roar, but I’d never conceived of such a thing until now.

  “This event is not for your entertainment,” he continued. “We all come to pledge our support to His Majesty, and it is for him to decide the fate of Captain Olseni.”

  I turned to King Magnar who stood. The sounds of indrawn breaths filled the air. Would he have the rider punished for such a boring display?

  King Magnar strolled to the edge of the royal box and gave the male and his trio of dragons a round of polite applause. My brows rose. That had been unexpectedly diplomatic, but then he had probably been trained in such skills. My lips twisted. It still didn’t make him any less infuriating.

  I also clapped, as did the warriors around us. Soon, the whole arena filled with applause. The rider waved and flew out of sight with his three dragons.

  “Thank you, Captain Olseni,” said Master Fosco. “Our next finalist is Captain Albens Griffon with Regiis-Coruscare.”

  We looked to the skies. There was no sign of a dragon, let alone a rider.

  “Where is he?” I whispered.

  Rufus beamed. “Wait and see.”

  Niger snickered but didn’t comment.

  I craned my neck, turning my head from left to right to catch sight of Albens arriving in the distance. A few whispers and murmurs spread across the arena, but no one sounded disgruntled yet. It seemed that the residents of Mount Fornax didn’t mind being kept in suspense, but they wouldn’t tolerate being bored.

  BANG!

  A magenta-colored dragon appeared in the middle of the stadium with Albens on his back. My mouth fell open. Albens held a smoking hand-canon, which I guessed was the source of the noise.

  Cheers filled the stands. Rufus shot to his feet, dragging both Gobi and me upright. Niger and his friends also stood.

  “I didn’t know he had a purple dragon!” I shouted above the noise.

  “Purples are the best dragon for a mage,” said Rufus. “They are the most intelligent and can move across the Known World in a blink of an eye.”

  “How do I get a purple dragon?” asked Gobi.

  “Most choose not to pair with warriors,” replied Rufus.

  As we sat, Niger’s arm snaked around my back. I glanced at Rufus, but he and everybody else were too busy watching Albens to notice. Suppressing a smile and breathing hard to stave off a flush, I stared up at my friends’ eldest brother. While Rufus tied his long, auburn hair back and kept his beard trimmed and Niger kept his unruly, Albens wore his hair in two thick braids tied to his beard, giving him a more warrior-like appearance.

  He and his magenta dragon vanished again and reappeared by the royal box with another bang, startling King Magnar. The wretched monarch hid his shock with an enthusiastic round of applause.

  Rufus chuckled. “His Majesty is impressed.”

  Niger and I shared unimpressed glances. I was thankful Master Jesper had awoken him and Stafford before the loyalty elixir had addled their brains, otherwise, everyone in Mount Fornax would be completely devoted to the usurper.

  Albens continued appearing and disappearing in different parts of the arena, reducing the time lag between each reappearance until there were two instances of him and his magenta dragon. I rubbed my eyes. “Is he working with another mage?”

  Niger paused. “I… do not think so.”

  “I’m sure he’s appearing in the same place at the same time. Do any of your brothers ride a purple dragon?”

  “No.”

  The entire stadium filled with confused grunts and murmurs. Three instances of Albens and the dragons appeared in three different places. I furrowed my brow. One of the Griffon brothers would have mentioned if Regiis was part of a triune.

  Then six purple dragons appeared in a row. It was nothing like Captain Olseni’s performance, as each dragon and each version of Albens did something different. Some stood, some sat, some leaned against the dragon’s neck.

  “How in the Known World is this happening?” I asked.

  “I knew he was developing new magic with Madam Maritimus, but he did not want to share anything until it was complete.”

  Each dragon blew a stream of fire onto the arena’s sandstone floor. Then they all disappeared, leaving six different scorch marks.

  My mouth fell open. This had been no illusion. Somehow, Albens had managed to replicate himself five times. If every purple dragon could do this, it would increase the number of attacking purple dragons six-fold. And if they spread out over a wide perimeter, the spriggans wouldn’t know which dragon and rider to capture.

  For several moments, not even the slightest breeze broke the silence. Even Master Fosco froze on the podium. King Magnar perched on the edge of his throne, gaping like a caught fish. Perhaps they were all thinking the same thing. Albens might have worked out a way to both overwhelm and intimidate an army of any size and level of power.

  “BRAVO!” shouted Rufus.

  “BRAVO!” shouted Niger.

  “Bravo!” I didn’t have the lung capacity of a half-ogre, but I shouted at the top of my magically deepened voice.

  The shouts spread across the stalls, and soon, everyone clapped and stamped their feet for Albens. Roars of congratulations filled the dragons’ section. It seemed that even they couldn’t work out how Albens had achieved such a magnificent feat.

  Albens returned with another BANG!

  We all shot to our feet. King Magnar rushed to the edge of the royal box, his face flushed, crown missing. A bolt of triumph shot through my heart. Evolene had stolen it!

  Albens and Regiis glided over to shake King Magnar’s hand.

  I scratched at my temple. Did King Magnar realize that this was the male who had arrested him outside the Healer’s Academy building? If he wasn’t trying to lead the dragons into a dangerous war, I might have felt bad for him. Because eventually, we would neutralize the loyalty elixir, and everyone would resent the effort they put into impressing this pretender.

  “Congratulations, Captain Albens Griffon and Regiis Coruscare for a magnificent display,” Master Fosco shouted over the crowd.

  “They may as well announce the winner,” said Rufus.

  “Ha!” Niger reached behind me and gave his brother a playful shove. “Nobody could beat that.”

  I beamed at Niger. Each of the Brothers Griffon was amazing in their own right.

  “All right… settle down,” said Master Fosco.

  It took another five minutes for the crowd to calm themselves.

  I stared up at Master Fosco, waiting for the next stage in the tournament.

  “Before we start the final round, I will introduce our next contestant, Cadet Albert Bluford riding Fyrian-Lacerta!”

  Chapter 13

  Nobody applauded at the mention of my name. Why would they, when I hadn’t participated in the first rounds of the tournament? Instead, disgruntled murmurs and chattering filled the air. It was nothing compared to the indignation pounding between my ears. He might have entered me into his wretched competition, but I’d bet my last gold crown that the damsel denial magic wouldn’t force me to participate.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I dug my heels into the ground and glowered at the royal box. King Magnar stared straight at me, head tilted as though wondering how I would try to escape his latest trap.

  “Wh
at is the meaning of this?” hissed Niger.

  “No idea,” I replied through gritted teeth.

  “You cannot enter the tournament at this late stage,” said Gobi, his fists balled. “It is not fair to the other contestants!”

  “I didn’t enter,” I snapped.

  “Then it is favoritism!” he said.

  “Persecution, more like!”

  The warriors and cadets sitting in the rows in front and to our left and right turned to watch the spectacle. I ignored them. Even if I wanted to compete, which I didn’t, my skill levels extended to flying around in circles and pointing an extended parched sword. Nothing compared to what they’d witnessed from fully qualified warriors with years of experience with dragons.

  Niger placed a large hand on the small of my back. “Tell them you forfeit.”

  Rufus grunted. “It is the right thing to do. You have no chance of beating Albens.”

  They were right. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shouted, “I forfeit.”

  Everyone around us fell silent.

  I shouted again, “I. Forfeit!”

  “Albert Bluford!” shouted Master Fosco. “We have made enough inconvenient concessions to accommodate your last-minute entry into this tournament. Present yourself immediately.”

  My eyes bulged. My nostrils flared. My molars ground so hard they squeaked. The urge to throw myself at the royal box and shake sense into King Magnar made my hands shake, but a twinge in the heart put an end that train of thought.

  Niger squeezed my shoulder, giving me the calm I needed to form a defense.

  After sucking in a deep breath, I yelled at the top of my voice, “I DIDN’T ENTER! AND I FORFEIT!”

  “BLUFORD! BLUFORD! BLUFORD!” the crowd chanted. The males standing in front of us should have known better as they had heard my initial denials, but they still joined the frenzy.