Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  Her wings sliced through the air, creating minute gusts of wind with each movement. She glided down, over acres of green terraces, some covered in rice paddies, others in orchards. A few even contained bodies of water, which I guessed were for irrigation. Once we cleared the mountain, we swooped over meadows of wildflowers. Their gentle, floral scent reminded me of Mother. I hoped she was well on her mission.

  “You smell of wildflowers, too,” said Fyrian.

  “Really?”

  “Even the twins have that scent, because they’re also part-fairy.”

  “What about the spriggan?

  A burst of revulsion flooded our bond. “No.”

  I didn’t ask her to elaborate. In the face of creatures like that, I was glad not to have the enhanced senses of a dragon or an ogre.

  Up ahead lay the giant, grassy mounds the black dragons used for dwellings. A few of the black dragons stuck their heads out of their homes and blinked at us, and some flew low above nearby wheat fields, that glowed like spun gold in the morning light.

  Something moved toward us from the west. It was a huge train of wagons. A dozen albino wolves, each the size of draft horses, pulled the vehicles across the land. The front carriage boasted an elevated driver’s seat, occupied by two hooded figures, while the six others were the usual wooden apparatus fitted with canvas covers. The paneling used to hold the vehicles together was the type the Magical Militia used to store power. From the looks of the black indicator, it was empty.

  “What does that mean?” Fyrian straightened her wings and tilted left.

  “They’ve either traveled a long way or used the magic to carry a much larger cargo.”

  Fyrian swooped down and landed behind the black dragons’ grassy mounds. The umber-scaled dragon, whose dwelling I had cleared of dung the day before, glided across the wheat field and gave us a hearty roar.

  “What’s she saying?” I asked.

  “That’s Pruna Splendor. She’s thanking you for finding the eggs.”

  I gave her a wave. “Tell her it was my pleasure.”

  By the time I had climbed down Fyrian’s back and walked around the front of the black dragons’ dwellings, Master Solum was already waiting for me.

  “How did he get here so quickly?” I asked. “Does he have a twin?”

  Fyrian snorted. “Of course not.”

  “Bluford.” Master Solum gave me a smile so warm, it made my heart flip. “I commend you on the daring rescue. Even if my colleagues don’t wish to say so, you’re an asset to Mount Fornax.”

  My cheeks warmed. Perhaps that comment earlier about wanting me to shovel dung had been a joke. “Thank you, sir.”

  Two Fornax Flying Floats landed beside us, cutting off whatever else he wanted to say. The first float held an assortment of healers and young witches who worked with Madam Maritimus. The second held a group of rowdy males. Cadets from the Rider Academy were the first to step out, followed by the tamer cadets, then my classmates.

  Everybody’s eyes fixed on me, and I cringed at the attention. It was hard to tell if they stared because of my duel with King Magnar, or because they’d heard about the eggs.

  Stafford rushed to my side, with Rufus and Gobi at his heels. “They let you stay?”

  “I think so.”

  Stafford’s face lit up, and Rufus nodded. While he didn’t smile, he did seem relieved I was still here, but Gobi scowled. I smiled back. After fighting locusts, invisible witches, King Magnar of the Savannah Empire and his spriggan, I could handle the grudge of a sullen boy.

  The massive wagons trundled towards us, the rumble of their wheels drowned out by the wolves’ panting. Saliva foamed from the corner of their mouths, making my heart twist. They were probably thirsty from having traveled through a hot, dry country.

  “What’s that smell?” Fyrian edged closer to the clearing.

  “Welcome to this special class on agriculture,” said Master Solum. “Until the incident with the locusts, Mount Fornax was an independent and self-sufficient city-state. Now that we have suffered significant crop damage, a percentage of the time of all warriors, cadets included, will be dedicated to the land.”

  I glanced at Stafford, whose brows drew together. Around us, the other cadets exchanged stricken looks.

  A witch with glossy, red ringlets raised her hand. “Can’t you get help from the Magical Militia and Mount Bluebeard?”

  I straightened. That was actually a good idea.

  Master Solum shook his head, making his long braids swish. “Their agricultural witches will be busy tending to matters in Steppe. Locusts attacked many strategic areas, I’m afraid.”

  “Can we import food from the United Kingdom of Seven?” asked Rufus.

  The instructor grimaced. “Their trade relationship is with Steppe, which means we will spend more of our funds purchasing from Noble Houses.”

  Grumbles broke out, and I leaned across to whisper to Stafford and Rufus. “King Magnar turned up this morning half-dead. As soon as he wakes up, someone needs to make him pay for what he’s done.”

  Gobi scowled. “The Savannah empire produces more agriculture than the United Kingdom of Seven. He could send us some of his livestock.”

  “Settle down, class!” Master Solum raised his hands. “We do have a solution. Master Jesper from Tundra will demonstrate.”

  I raised my head. The wagon stopped a few feet away from us, and a large, hooded figure stepped down from the driver’s seat. It stood about seven feet tall, with the bulk of a half-ogre.

  “Master Solum, I presume?” said a cultured voice from deep within the hood.

  “Yes.”

  The hooded figure stuck out a thick hand covered in skin as pale and cracked as parched earth. Master Solum grinned and clasped hands with the new arrival.

  “What is that?” muttered someone from behind.

  “Allow me to introduce myself.” The figure pulled back the cloak, revealing a heavy-featured face. From its thick, wrinkled hide, it could only be a troll.

  My stomach dropped, and several gasps sounded from the witches. What was a troll doing outside Tundra? They were artificial beings the Snow Queen created as minions. Now that Aunt Cendrilla had defeated her, the trolls had become her responsibility.

  “Jesper,” it said. “Master Alchemist and Chief Magical Officer of Tundra.”

  Master Solum pumped the troll’s hand up and down. “Thank you for traveling from such a distance.”

  “It’s a pleasure to be around so many dragons.” The troll’s face stretched into a wide, closed-mouth smile.

  Master Solum turned to the class. “Master Jesper kindly agreed to bring over his latest invention. A solution to tide us over until we have enough crops to fatten our livestock.”

  “What is that delicious smell?” Fyrian’s eagerness felt like beans jumping through my skin.

  “I can’t smell anything.” I quickly added, “And I don’t want you sharing anything through your bond.”

  “Suit yourself,” she replied.

  The troll gave its companion, a human-sized male clad in a hooded cloak, a thumbs-up sign. The man jumped down from the driver’s seat to the front carriage of the train of wagons and pulled back a latch. A panel of the canvas encasing that wagon fell away, releasing the scent of musk and damp fur. I clutched my nose. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but I’d expected the scent of grains or something plant-like.

  “Behold!” Master Jesper spread its arms wide. “The largomorphus rex: a marsupial rabbit with the fastest reproduction rate of any mammal alive!”

  A three-foot-tall rabbit’s head poked out from the gap in the wagon, followed by ears that hung down like those of a spaniel. The creature twitched its nose, hopped out, and stood to its full height of ten feet. Half a dozen smaller rabbits poked their heads out of a pouch in the middle of the creature’s belly.

  I clutched my chest and stepped back along with the other cadets.

  Master Solum’s eyes glimmered, and his tongue darte
d out to lick his lips. “What a beauty!”

  “Indeed,” replied Master Jesper. “The wagons are magically expanded. There are plenty for everyone.”

  I glanced around at the other students. The male faces twisted with disgust, and the witches wrinkled their noses.

  “Master Solum.” The red-haired witch spoke from the back of the crowd. “Will this largomorphus be served in the dining hall?”

  “Only if you request it specifically.”

  “What does such a large creature eat?” I asked.

  Master Jesper reached into its cloak and pulled out a bottle of crimson liquid. “This is a special algae that gives snow its pink color.”

  I leaned into Stafford and whispered, “Have you ever seen snow?”

  He folded his arms. “The orphanage took us to Hibern in the United Kingdom of Seven one year and Tundra another year. Snow is white.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I muttered.

  Rufus rubbed his chin. “If these largomorphus rex reproduce so quickly, Mount Fornax will be overrun.”

  Master Jesper waggled a thick finger. “You’re forgetting one very important factor.” The troll remained silent, as though waiting for someone to ask why. When nobody replied, it said, “Dragons will find the largomorphus rex irresistible. We are hoping that a proportion of the beasts will be kept for breeding to replenish the supplies...”

  I tuned out the rest of the troll’s enthusiasms for his largomorphus rex. Something about it set my teeth on edge.

  “Is it the first troll you’ve ever seen?” asked Fyrian.

  “Yes, but—”

  “That’ll be it. You don’t like unfamiliar creatures.”

  I shook my head. “A lot of ogres look stranger than him, and Master Jesper seems more the bookish type than violent.”

  “Maybe you don’t like alchemists, then.”

  “I don’t.” The memory of being snatched from a friend’s house bubbled up to the surface of my mind. Those men had been human alchemists, and they would have killed me if Mother hadn’t come to my rescue. “But there’s something I’m forgetting about an alchemist who was a troll.”

  A tall, blonde witch behind me whimpered. She covered her mouth, hazel eyes brimming with tears. “I-I remember you now. Y-you’re Jesper… The troll!”

  Master Jesper paused its lecture and tilted its head to the side. “I did say so before.”

  That’s when I noticed that it held a witch’s staff under its arm.

  “Since when do trolls have magic?” asked Fyrian.

  “They don’t.”

  Rage surged through my insides, and I clenched my fists. I remembered what I’d heard about that troll. Jesper had been imprisoned in the Magical Militia headquarters for years. Some said the troll had been held there for its own protection for being one of the first to side with Aunt Cendrilla against the Snow Queen. Others said that it had invented the technology alchemists used to extract magic and life-force from witches.

  “Y-you’re a murderer!” cried another witch.

  Master Jesper didn’t reply.

  “What do you mean?” asked a quarter-ogre from the Dragon Tamer Academy.

  “Do you know anything about this troll?” asked Stafford. He knew that I’d spent time as a cadet in the Magical Militia Academy.

  I nodded. “Before Queen Cendrilla defeated her, the Snow Queen captured witches to maintain her youth and lifespan. Her minions were the trolls.” The nearby cadets turned to listen. “Some of them were alchemists, and they developed a way to extract the magic and life-force from witches and give it to themselves.”

  “That’s why the troll has a witch’s staff!” said Gobi.

  “Disgusting!” bellowed a voice at the back.

  “It is all true,” said Master Jesper. “I committed those crimes under the orders of my creator.”

  Bile rose to the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard, pushing away the feeling of that metal collar used to extract the power of a magical being. If Mother had arrived a moment later… I shuddered.

  “Are you all right?” whispered Stafford.

  “Not really.”

  The angry shouts of the students continued. Even the black dragons gave disapproving snorts, although it was hard to tell if they were in support of the troll or against.

  “They just want to eat that rabbit rex.” Fyrian’s voice had a breathy longing that made me grimace.

  Pruna, the umber-scaled dragon, swooped down and snatched the largomorphus rex in her jaws. The babies leaped out of their pouch and hid under the wagon.

  Stafford grabbed my elbow and pulled me to one side. “Let’s sit the rest of the class out. Maybe the smell of those rabbits isn’t making things any better.”

  “Y-yes. Thanks.” I walked around the back of the students.

  Rufus raised his brows but didn’t comment. The other cadets were too busy shouting their outrage at Master Jesper, and Master Solum’s attention was taken up getting the class to calm. We walked around the grassy mounds, downwind from the scent of burned fur and roasted rodent.

  Fyrian joined us and rested on her haunches, but she kept her gaze in the direction of the wagons containing the largomorphus rex.

  Stafford handed me a canteen of water.

  “Thanks.” The cool liquid slid down my parched throat and calmed my roiling stomach.

  “It’s a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Huh?” I handed him back the canteen.

  “Master Jesper and King Magnar arriving on the same day.”

  I glanced at Fyrian, but the sight of black dragons swarming ahead, their faces fixed on the wagon, had absorbed her attention. “Something terrible is about to happen, and there isn’t a thing we can do to stop it.”

  Chapter 3

  Over the next three days, classes went on as normal. Master Jesper kept a low profile and stayed away from the terraces. As trolls didn’t eat or drink, we didn’t see the troll in the mess hall. We did spot its human assistant hunched over a copy of the Ogre Gazette in the library, but even he didn’t spend any time among the dragon warriors.

  However, early one morning, Fyrian woke me. “They’re moving Magnar back to the mountain!”

  “What?” I blinked my eyes open. Through my bedroom window, I caught the first streams of sunlight lighting a group of dragon moths frolicking around a pink dragonet. Sitting up, I stretched and yawned. “How do you know?”

  “Get up. The float just passed.”

  “Where are you?”

  “With the rabbit rex.”

  I swung my feet out of bed, walked to the washstand, and splashed water onto my face. “Why would you want to go anywhere near the largomorphus rex, after knowing who created them?”

  “Solum is rationing them out. He says we need to give them time to reproduce. We think he’s letting the black dragons have double helpings.”

  “Helpings?” I shoved my leather cadet’s uniform over my long underwear and headed for the door. “Did you eat them?”

  “I only had one, and it was delicious!”

  I stepped out of my bedroom and paused. If Master Fosco caught me sneaking about, I’d be expelled again. But the information I would glean from King Magnar’s interrogation might be vital once he’d made his move. I clenched my fists and exhaled. Saving everyone from the machinations of King Magnar was more important than saving my own hide.

  Out in the living area, a small wall lantern shone its dim light over the unoccupied sofas, casting the doors to my classmates’ bedrooms in shadow. Judging from the eerie silence, it was probably still too early for the others. I let my door click shut and tip-toed toward the exit.

  “Albert?” whispered a voice from behind. It was Stafford, standing at the door in a nightshirt. “What are you doing?”

  “King Magnar’s awake.” I kept my gaze fixed on his shoulder, away from his exposed legs. “They’re going to interrogate him now.”

  His eyes widened. “Wait for me!”
<
br />   Before I could tell him there wasn’t enough time, he slammed his door. I rolled my eyes and huffed. How was he even awake at this time of the morning?

  “You’d better wait,” said Fyrian. “He can watch your back while you spy.”

  I tapped my foot. “He’d better hurry, then.”

  Thirty seconds later, Stafford emerged fully dressed in his brown cadet’s uniform. “Let’s go!”

  We jogged through the darkened hallways, keeping silent until we reached a door leading to a terrace. Outside, a breeze cooled the air and I inhaled its fresh scent. At this time of the morning, many of the dragon stalls were empty, as they usually ate in the mountain’s interior.

  “Actually, everyone’s crowding around the rabbit rex.”

  I grimaced, trying to keep my disgust out of the bond. As long as they weren’t serving Master Jesper’s artificial, pink algae-eating monstrosities in the meat stew, I couldn’t complain.

  As we ran past the large expanse that opened into the mess hall, Stafford slowed his steps. “Albert. Wait!”

  “What now?”

  “Breakfast.” He darted through the barrier separating the mess hall from the terrace.

  “That’s it,” I snapped. “He can join us later.”

  “You promised to include him in all your adventures,” Fyrian replied.

  Grinding my teeth, I followed after him. The air thickened as I passed through the mess hall’s entrance. “If he’s expecting me to sit with him while he wolfs down a bowl of porridge, he can think again!”

  A pair of half-ogre chefs, clad in white linen, slammed slabs of minced meat on an eighteen-foot-wide iron griddle. As the mince sizzled, the chefs cut through the meat with oversized, steel spatulas. An unfamiliar but spicy scent filled my nostrils, making them twitch.

  “That had better not be rabbit rex,” muttered Fyrian.

  Ignoring her, I tore my gaze off the dubious meat and found Stafford heading toward the right side of the hall.

  I grabbed his arm. “We have to leave. Now.”

  “I’m just getting something to take away.” He headed toward the side table, where Eyepatch stood in front of a large tureen of porridge.