Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  She leaned out from behind Fulman’s neck and shot magic from her staff. The stream of power widened across the expanse of the hole, creating an orange mesh as thin as cobwebs. It was so flimsy, even the smallest locust could saw through it with their serrated femurs.

  I grimaced. “Do you think they’re guided by an intelligence?”

  “My guess would be a hive mind,” said Fyrian.

  Like the honeybees in Mount Bluebeard, only significantly more numerous and destructive. “They don’t want us to enter the capital.”

  “That’s good news,” she replied. “It means that Magnar’s sisters haven’t yet managed to breach the palace’s defenses.”

  “Yes…” Something still didn’t add up about the two mystery witches. They’d carried out an audacious theft in such a short space of time within the heavily guarded Mount Fornax. Surely they wouldn’t take days to infiltrate the palace and retrieve the eggs?

  Evolene’s net thickened and now resembled the fibers of a fishing net, and the silver dragon ended his white flames.

  “Finished!” she shouted.

  “Wait a minute!” I shouted back.

  All the locusts that had been hovering nearby rushed at the mesh. As soon as the insects landed on it, their wings stiffened, and they fell to the ground as quickly as the locusts Fulmen had frozen.

  “Let’s go!” I unsheathed my Parched Sword, raised it in the air, and set it alight with my magic. If any locusts tried to get close, I’d swat them away with my flame.

  Fyrian and I took up the lead and walked through Evolene’s mesh. A prickling sensation ran across my skin as we passed. It reminded me of the nasty shock I once received when I’d grabbed an eel while swimming in a murky lake.

  The interior of the dome was as dark as midnight, with a magical barrier providing the dimmest of illumination.

  “I hope the Witch General won’t be annoyed when she finds out what you’ve done to her dome,” said Fyrian.

  “We couldn’t exactly fly through those locusts.”

  Fyrian didn’t reply. I took that to mean that she had no problems burning her way through the creatures, but she’d only been humoring me because of my fear of flying insects.

  We all continued in single file down the Sandbrick Road, waiting for the last of us to pass through Evolene’s barrier before taking to the skies.

  Up ahead, someone screamed. We hurried on foot to the source of the noise, and I pointed my Parched Sword down to provide a bit of light. The pained voice belonged to a human male traveling toward us with his donkey. He held a tiny lantern that had probably extinguished itself from all the commotion. A fat purse also jingled on the belt of his breeches.

  A green-haired ogre, whose upturned nose resembled a snout, beat him across the back with a stick. Behind them trailed an orlovi. It was a breed of giant ostrich, large enough to transport a full-sized ogre.

  “Stop that!” I shouted.

  The ogre raised his head, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth. “Sod off!” he threw his stick up in the air, narrowly missing one of Fyrian’s forelegs. “This weakling ain’t showing me no respect!”

  Fyrian let out a thin stream of fire, setting the hem of the ogre’s cloak alight.

  “You half-breeds are a menace!” The ogre yanked off his cloak and danced around, stamping out the flames. “They should have eaten you all at birth, not given you fire-breathing lizards to burn the property of decent folk!”

  After rescuing his cloak from destruction, he jumped on his orlovi and gave the huge bird a mighty slap on the rump. The poor creature let out a pained squawk and sprinted down the road.

  “Are you hurt?” I shouted down to the human.

  “I’ll live,” he replied. The male was a few years older than me, but his red hair was already thinning, showing patches of a freckled scalp. “You lot might want to stop the mayhem going on at the palace, though.” He broke the ogre’s stick over his knee, climbed atop his donkey, and set off down the road.

  “We’d better go and see if they need our help,” I shouted.

  The others nodded, and we rode in formation toward some lights about a mile away. Although the dragons could see in the dark, it was hard for me to catch sight of landmarks.

  After a minute or so, we passed over a deep crater in the middle of the road. Around it lay the burning remains of two carriages. I gulped. What in the Known World had happened here?

  A massive plume of flame, accompanied by a loud explosion, lit up the domed structures of the palace.

  “That wasn’t dragon fire,” I said.

  “It smells magical,” Fyrian replied.’

  The fire spread around the palace’s perimeter, making their walls shimmer like gold dust. A short distance away stood the walled compound of the Magical Milia. I didn’t need a dragon’s eyesight to see the mayhem that the human was talking about. A crowd of people surrounded the palace gates. Above them flew Militia witches in their flying cloaks.

  “Those rebels are too small to be ogres. I wonder if the humans are rioting.”

  “It’s witches,” Fyrian replied.

  “What?”

  “Want to see?”

  I closed my eyes. “Yes.”

  She shared her view of the people crowding the palace gates. Women of all ages, all shapes and sizes, were shooting colorful spells from their staffs. Some of them were no more than ten! And all of them wore some kind of night attire.

  I furrowed my brow at the sight of one rebel. It was Madam Skinner, clad in a long, white sleeping chemise. The witch had created our uniforms, gave me this male enchantment, and was a huge supporter of Aunt Cendrilla.

  “What in the Known World is happening?”

  Niger stood atop his dragon. “Let’s help out the Magical Militia and stamp out those rebels.”

  The other two drogott members raised their fists of fire and cheered, then the trio rushed ahead on their dragons.

  “No!” I shouted. I pushed my power through my bond with Fyrian, giving her the burst of power she needed to accelerate. We overtook the drogott team by several yards. “Those rebels are civilian witches, and some of them are children. I’m sure they’re being forced to storm the palace.”

  All the other dragons circled, and Niger asked, “How do you know?”

  “Fyrian showed me with her night vision. Madam Skinner’s down there with her apprentice. And I recognize one of the witches in the crowd. She makes puddings.”

  “Madam Dulcifer?” asked Niger’s friend.

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s ancient.”

  “Well, Fyrian also told me Fulmen smelled the kind of fairy magic King Magnar used in our duel. What if another artifact is controlling the witches?”

  Stafford shook his head. “Would anyone go so far to steal dragon eggs?”

  “King Magnar would,” I said.

  We flew ahead. Now wasn’t the time to speculate on why he would bring a country to ruin to obtain some dragon eggs. It seemed like a foolish plan to me. Eggs took decades to hatch, and I didn’t know how much time a hatchling needed to turn into a dragonet.

  “A few months.” Fyrian glided over the Sandbick Road. “It’s the shortest phase of our development.”

  “And you spent a decade and a half as a dragonet before you transitioned.”

  “True, and most dragonets take around thirty years. Being around Auntie Rilla’s magic sped things up.”

  “It’s a lot of effort for something that won’t happen in three decades.”

  “Fifty, more like,” said Fyrian. “The eggs still need to hatch.”

  “He’ll be seventy then.”

  “Maybe he’ll need the dragons when he’s too old to wear magic armor.”

  I shook my head. “Do people like that even think so far ahead? At least we know where his sisters hid the dragon eggs.”

  Fyrian’s wings sliced through the air, and I rested my head on her neck, allowing myself a moment to gather my thoughts. From what I’d l
earned from the agricultural witches in Mount Bluebeard, locusts didn’t settle anywhere unless there was an ample supply of food. Apart from the Magical Militia headquarters, which consisted of lush gardens, the capital was buildings and barren land.

  “Return to your homes,” boomed a female voice.

  I raised my head. The voice belonged to one of the witches flying above the crowds at the front gates. They all wore the regulation Magical Militia uniform of a black leather doublet, matching breeches, and a patchwork cloak. This was a garment that channeled witch magic into flight.

  I’d once attempted to use one of those cloaks as a student in the Magical Militia. No matter how much magic I pushed into it, nothing had happened, just as no light had filled the crystal of my apprentice staff.

  “You don’t need a cloak to fly when you have a dragon.” Fyrian spread her wings wide, soaring several feet above the capital.

  I smiled. It no longer annoyed me that she eavesdropped on my thoughts.

  “General Thornicroft can teach you ways to guard your mind,” she said. “I learned everything I knew about Magecraft from Auntie Rilla when she was an instructor at the Academy.”

  “I’d forgotten about that.”

  The airborne witches seemed to be trying to join their magic to create a spell to incapacitate everybody below them. It didn’t work, because the ground witches kept shooting streams of magic upwards, making them swerve out of formation.

  “I don’t see the Queen’s Guard,” said Fyrian.

  “I wonder if the Witch General has already worked out that these witches are being controlled.”

  “You’ll find out in a minute. She’s flying toward you.”

  A small figure hovering above the gates glided through the darkness holding a glowing wand. It lit a mass of vibrant, red hair. From this distance, it was hard to see her expression, but I imagined she wouldn’t be pleased to find that five dragons had penetrated her dome.

  I turned to Niger, whose yellow dragon flew in formation beside us. “The rebels are a distraction. I need you to get the drogott team to fly around the perimeter of the palace and look out for invisible witches.”

  He frowned. “How can I tell an invisible witch from empty air?”

  I turned to where Evolene was riding with Stafford. “Any advice?”

  “Most invisibility spells don’t mask a witch’s scent. Ask your dragons if they smell a person they can’t see.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “Umm…. And if the witches are trying to break into the palace, they might be able to hide themselves, but they can’t hide their magic.”

  “Fyri, could you pass that message onto the other dragons?”

  “They understand instructions,” she replied. “But I’ll go over it again and make sure they know what to do.”

  “All right, lads!” Niger raised a fist. “Those of you riding reds need to throw sparks at the walls. If they bounce off an invisible barrier, we’ve found our witches.”

  The red dragons flew around the perimeter of the palace walls. At the same time, two other witches flew through the air to join the Witch General. My insides plummeted at the impending confrontation.

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t clap you in irons this time,” muttered Fyrian.

  Chapter 21

  We circled the airspace above the palace. The Witch General, flanked by two lieutenants, flew in our paths. Her red hair had fallen loose from its bun and now flew over her shoulders in rhythm with her patchwork cape. Each woman’s staff glowed as bright as the moon. “We told you to stay in Mount Fornax, yet you are here, getting yourself into trouble.”

  A lump formed in my throat. Despite everything I’d achieved, she still saw me as the good-for-nothing who had failed the Magical Militia.

  “Why do you care what she thinks?” said Fyrian. “You’re the best dragon mage who ever lived.”

  Warmth spread through my insides. She would say that, as we were bonded. I patted her on the side of the neck. “Thanks, Fyri.”

  “Well?” snapped the Witch General.

  “The eggs are in the palace. It’s why the capital is infested with locusts, and why civilian witches are acting strangely at the gates.”

  “They’re attacking because of an artifact we can’t destroy. It was left in the middle of the Capital Market and won’t respond to any kind of magic.”

  “What about dragon fire?” I asked.

  “We haven’t tried that.”

  “Typical,” muttered Fyrian. “She looks down her nose at anyone who isn’t a witch.”

  There wasn’t enough time to ask why she disliked the Witch General, so I pushed that comment aside to ask, “We destroyed a fairy artifact with dragon fire yesterday. Why don’t you let us give it a try?”

  The Witch General turned to her lieutenant, who flew toward the Magical Militia headquarters to fetch the artifact. From where I sat atop Fyrian, I could see inside its walled compound. The paths between buildings were illuminated by tall lights, which shone on an orchard of fruit trees. A thin covering of small locusts perched atop an invisible dome. I only hoped Mount Bluebeard had similar protections.

  “E-excuse me, General,” asked Evolene.

  The Witch General turned her gaze to the younger witch. Evolene had been interrogated by her for a few days following the incident where her father had tried to abduct me for ransom. “Yes?”

  “Why aren’t Militia Witches affected by the artifact?”

  She pursed her lips and exhaled through her nostrils, as if the question wasn’t worth answering. “Those who were asleep or off duty succumbed to its madness. It activated in the early hours of this morning. Only those on night duty were safe from its effects.”

  Furrowing my brow, I thought back at what had happened when the babies took control of Aunt Cendrilla’s power. The witches had enchanted their uniforms with a thin covering of armor. “Your uniforms are infused with fairy iron!”

  “Correct,” replied the Witch General. Her gaze darted back to the palace. “What are those dragons doing?”

  I explained my theory about the witches at the gates being a distraction, and she nodded.

  Fyrian snorted a curl of smoke. “For a spoiled little brat, Magnar is great at warfare.”

  “He needs a smack in the face,” I muttered.

  “That goes without saying,” she replied.

  The lieutenant flew back from the Magical Militia headquarters, holding a trunk. She set it on the ground beneath us, opened its lid and flew back to the Witch General. “I took it out of the gravestone box, so the dragons could incinerate it.”

  Beneath me, Fyrian’s muscles rippled. “We have to destroy that filthy thing now!”

  Inside the box lay a pile of gold coins. Exactly the kind of thing an opportunist would pick up and try to spend in one of the taverns surrounding the market.

  “Can you disable it?” asked the Witch General.

  I nodded and asked Fyrian, “Would it be better if you spat venom onto it, or should I use the Parched Sword?”

  “I’ll do it,” she replied.

  “Sit on one of the dragons,” I said to the witches. “The last time I destroyed one of those, it caused an explosion of dark magic.”

  The Witch General settled behind me on Fyrian’s back. I waited until her two subordinates were safely atop a dragon before indicating for Fyrian to start.

  She spat out a stream of venom, coating both the leather trunk and its contents. “Close your eyes and hold on tight. There’s no telling what will happen next.”

  I relayed Fyrian’s message.

  “We should at least form a barrier around the artifact to muffle the effects of the explosion,” said the Witch General. She pointed her staff at a spot between the trunk and the palace and created a huge, pale yellow screen. The other three witches, Evolene included, streamed their magic into her barrier, making it glow white.

  Fyrian, Fulmar, and Niger’s dragon aimed their flames at the trunk, setting it alight. For a moment, every sc
rap of sound disappeared, as though a magical force pulled it into the fire. Even the witches attacking the palace gates had fallen silent.

  My heart thudded, but it made no sound. There hadn’t been a delay like this when I’d destroyed King Magnar’s magic helmet.

  Moments later, the trunk rattled, and sound returned to the world.

  A relieved breath pushed its way out of my lungs. “I think it’s going to—”

  BOOM!

  A wave of black smoke pushed us all back several feet through the air. Tiny golden pieces, as small as locusts, scattered everywhere. The Witch General created a net with her staff and collected as many as she could.

  The echoes of the explosion faded, leaving behind shocked cries of alarm. All the witches at the palace gates scattered. Some headed back toward the Magical Militia, and others wandered around aimlessly.

  “Good work, Al—Bluford!” The Witch General patted me on the shoulder and flew back to the palace.

  “Let’s land,” I said.

  The three of us flew down to the space in front of the palace gates. I looked around, expecting to see Fogo. The last time I’d tried to approach the palace on dragonback, he’d appeared in front of us and carried me away.

  “He has his own problems,” muttered Fyrian.

  The palace gates flew open, and Father stepped out, flanked by Captain Leo, the head of the Queen’s Guard. Like all his full-ogre colleagues, the captain was glamoured to resemble a half-ogre. Behind them stood a dozen of the lower-ranking guardsmen.

  I hoped Father wouldn’t reveal my true identity in front of Niger. Although I was expelled and possibly banned from playing drogott for life, I’d managed to build up a bit of respect with the older mage cadets. They wouldn’t be so friendly if they discovered I was Princess Alba.

  “You won’t be able to hide forever,” said Fyrian.

  Niger leaped down from the back of his yellow dragon, and Stafford took his time to help Evolene climb down Fulmen’s spine. I slid down Fyrian’s foreleg and landed on the dusty ground.

  Patting Fyrian’s scaly paw, I said, “Once the brotherhood of dragon warriors gets used to me as a person, I’ll think about telling them the truth.”