Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  The door handle glowed like a piece of metal on a blacksmith’s forge.

  “Let me help!” cried one of the witches. She jogged forward, holding her staff.

  Rufus pulled down the handle with his arm bracer and kicked open the door. We streamed out onto a grassy terrace drenched in the afternoon sun. I blinked hard. Instead of Master Klauw, a rapier red with viridian green eyes and scales the same orange as his hair stood three yards away. The little dragon spread his wings and roared.

  I sucked in a breath and stumbled over my feet to a halt. Someone had cursed Master Klauw, and now he was a dragon. “Is that—”

  “Yes.” Rufus caught my arm before I fell onto my face.

  My insides trembled with trepidation. “Who could have done such a thing to him?”

  “It was probably another fairy artifact,” said Stafford.

  “Or a high fairy hybrid.” Gobi snarled from behind.

  I bristled. “If I had the power to change people’s species, I wouldn’t waste it playing tricks on an instructor.”

  “This is Master Klauw,” said Rufus.

  The rapier red dipped his head, as though agreeing with the statement.

  “Yes, I can see that,” I replied. “But how do we change him back?”

  “What about a large boulder of gravestone?” asked Stafford.

  Rufus shook his head. “No, this is Master Klauw’s true form.”

  Master Klauw, still a rapier red, gave him a vigorous nod and made a strange chirruping sound. It was the kind of noise I imagined would come from a magically expanded cricket. He jerked his head toward the mountain’s surface.

  “You mean he’s really a dragon?” I had to make sure Rufus meant what he had said.

  Rufus gave me a grunting nod.

  “How do you know?” asked Stafford before I could pose the same question.

  “My brother told me the history of dragons,” replied Rufus. “All of the masters are dragons, even Phoenix.”

  “What about General Thornicroft?” asked Gobi.

  “A quarter-giant.”

  My eyes widened. Everything made sense. Master Klauw’s unusually small appearance was due to him being a rapier red. As was his ability to best a warrior like General Thornicroft. I chewed my bottom lip, casting my mind back. On my first week, Phoenix had brought me to the Healing Academy building via the side entrance and had told me that it only worked for dragons. And hadn’t I been the subject of a special Council of Dragons meeting?

  Then my jaw dropped. Fyrian must have known this all along. Why hadn’t she told me? “Hey, Fyri?”

  She didn’t reply, and I shook those thoughts out of my head. “We’d better get him to Dr. Duclair.”

  “What if he attacks?” said Gobi.

  “He knows the way there,” added a dragon rider from a few yards back.

  “Who will explain to the doctor who he is and what happened?” I took a single step forward and slowed my breathing so as not to show fear in front of a predator. The situation reminded me somewhat of facing Father’s wrath. “Sir?”

  Master Klauw tilted his head to the side. Like most rapier reds, his snout ended in a point, giving him a bird-like appearance.

  “Can you change back?”

  He shook his head.

  I nodded. At least he still had his faculties. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward. Master Klauw was still a person, just like any other dragon or warrior. And I’d never been scared of dragons who weren’t threatening to burn down an entire country.

  Stopping a yard away from where he rested the wrist of his wings on the lawn, I said in my gentlest voice, “We’re going to take you to Doctor Duclair. Is that all right?”

  Master Klauw bent his knees and lowered himself to the ground. He jerked his head, indicating for me to mount him.

  “R-right.” I rushed forward and climbed up his wing arm to reach his back.

  As soon as I settled between his wings, he leaped into the air. My stomach skittered up my gullet. I swallowed hard and clung onto his neck. Riding a rapier red without a saddle was one of the most jarring experiences imaginable. But I ignored my roiling stomach and clamped my lips together. A dragon like Master Klauw, obsessed with ways a warrior could lead his dragon into danger, would not appreciate vomit on his scales.

  I shouted down to the others. “Healing class is in an hour, I’ll see you all there!”

  Master Klauw flapped his wings, moving us up, each beat like a whip cracking through the air. Without the saddle, every twitch, every movement of his limbs made my insides jerk. I clenched my teeth and shuddered.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Fyrian, her voice a barely coherent slur.

  “It’s Master Klauw. He changed into a rapier red, and now he can’t turn back. I’m riding him without a saddle to the Healer’s Academy building.”

  “That’s why I’m so queasy.”

  “Sorry. Apart from that, are you any better?”

  “Not really.” She yawned. “Sorry… talking is so exhausting.”

  I clung tighter to Master Klauw’s neck as he flew over the Great Lake. Hopefully, Dr. Duclair would have some ideas about why all the dragons were so sleepy. Moments later, he swooped down toward the Healing Academy building. A boulder of nausea tumbled through my insides, making me gasp. I clenched my teeth and gulped down hard.

  Master Klauw spread his wings and glided over the building and round to a lawn around the back. He knelt onto his wing wrists and crouched down, letting me slide to the ground.

  Two dragon-sized doors flung open, and Roseate, the pink-haired witch, stepped out. We locked eyes, and she placed her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

  “This is Master Klauw,” I said. “He transformed into a dragon during Flying Safety class, and he says he can’t turn back.”

  Her face twisted, making her upturned nose resemble that of a little piglet. “And I suppose you can talk into all dragons’ minds, then?”

  Master Klauw growled, and Roseate stiffened, her belligerent expression melting.

  She gulped. “You’d better come in.”

  He let out a smoky snort and walked inside, supporting the front of this body on the wrists of his wings.

  I walked beside him, glancing up into his stern eyes. “Did you eat a largomorphus rex?”

  He made a high, throaty noise which I interpreted as a question.

  “Fyrian ate one, and now she’s sleepy. I’m just asking in case you ate one of the giant rabbits, too.”

  Master Klauw gave me a sharp nod.

  I chewed down on my lip. So far, three dragons who had definitely eaten the largomorphus rex had experienced odd health issues. Pruna Splendor had developed clearscale, Fyrian was too fatigued to function, and Master Klauw’s behavior had been erratic before he became stuck as a dragon.

  Further down the hallway stood a desk tall enough for the witch sitting behind it to make eye contact with a full-sized dragon. Her flying cloak spread out from her shoulders, and she flew down to hover three feet off the ground. “Are you able to answer a few questions about your ailment?”

  Master Klauw flicked his head down at me, and I rushed forward and repeated what I had told Roseate.

  The witch frowned. “I’d better call for Dr. Duclair.”

  I glanced up at Master Klauw. “Does she usually deal with you?”

  He raised a single wing in a shrug, which I took to mean that he hadn’t ever been sick since moving to Mount Fornax.

  Moments later, the doctor flew in from another door, her yellow hair puffed out like a marigold. “Master Klauw!”

  “He can’t change back,” I said. “It might have something to do with the largomorphus rex.”

  She shook her head and flew a foot above Master Klauw. “If it was something he ate, the other masters would be affected, and Master Solum just walked out of here looking well.” Then she pointed at a doorway to the right. “Come along to the rapier room, while I consult the archives to see if Master R
oopal ever wrote about this predicament.”

  As Master Klauw walked through the doors the doctor had indicated, tiny prickles ran across the surface of my skin.

  I tilted my head up, scratching at the flesh under my chin. “If it’s not the largomorphus rex, do you think it’s a fairy artifact?”

  “I certainly won’t rule that out, Cadet Bluford.” She glanced down at me from where she hovered. Her eyes bulged, face frozen in an unreadable expression.

  “Dr. Duclair?” I asked. When the older witch didn’t answer, I turned around to speak to Roseate. “What’s wrong?”

  Roseate’s face twisted with horror. “What is that?”

  A low, rumbling ache rolled through my bones, sending tremors through every limb. I stared down at my hands. They were just muscle, bone and cartilage. All the breath in my lungs left me in a rush. “M-my skin!”

  “C-calm yourself, Cadet.” Dr. Duclair’s face turned the color of diluted milk. “Please don’t do anything to accelerate your condition.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” I turned my hands around. Even the skin of my palms had gone.

  “Can't you see?” spat Roseate. “You’ve got clearscale. You'll infect us all with the plague. And you’re turning into a dragon!”

  My head spun, and I swayed on my feet. This was exactly what had happened to Pruna Splendor, the dragon who had first eaten the largomorphus rex and developed clearscale.

  The edges of my vision grayed, and Roseate’s screeching accusations turned to a series of high-pitched noises. The room tilted at an awkward angle, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

  As my feet gave way, a single thought formed in my mind: At least King Magnar wouldn’t want to marry me, now that I was a diseased dragon.

  Then everything went black before I hit the ground.

  Chapter 7

  I regained consciousness to find General Thornicroft looming over at me, brows furrowed, quicksilver eyes glittering with concern. My heart jolted, my eyes snapped open, then I frowned and closed my eyes again. He tilted his head to the side, studying me with the intensity of a torturer checking on his handiwork.

  “You can see me,” he said in an almost snarl.

  “Erm...” I opened my eyes again, shrinking into the covers of my cot. White walls, covered in chalk runes surrounded us. The glowing dragon moths hovering outside the window indicated that it was after dark, and the apothecary scent in the air told me that I hadn’t left the Healer Academy building. “What’s happened?”

  “You have clearscale symptoms.”

  My hands flew to my mouth. “S-scales?”

  “Clearscale. You haven’t turned into a dragon.” He left the ‘yet’ silent.

  My mouth dried, and I swallowed hard.

  General Thornicroft tracked the movement of my throat, leaned across to the bedside table and picked up a glass containing a clear liquid. Holding it between two massive fingers, he said, “Drink.”

  “What is it?”

  “Have you lost your sense of smell as well as your skin?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then you should be able to tell that it’s water.”

  “Oh.” I reached out. My arms and hands were still the same mass of bone and muscle and sinew. “What if my fingers brush over yours? Won’t you catch the plague, too?”

  He made a disapproving tsk and pushed the glass in my hand. “It only affects dragons.”

  “Right.” I gulped down the water, letting my eyelids flutter shut at the cool sensation sliding down my throat. Closing my eyes didn’t block out my surroundings, but at least they didn’t feel so dry. “I’m turning into a dragon, then?”

  “Your bond with Fyrian is too dangerous,” he replied. “She has succumbed to clearscale, and you are suffering the symptoms.”

  A fist clenched my heart and lungs, squeezing out all the air in a painful rush. “W-what?”

  “You are sharing her symptoms because of your unhealthy bond,” he replied.

  “I’m not letting the witches separate us.” I scanned the runes. They reminded me of the ones the witches had chalked around Fyrian when they tried to suppress our bond for her execution. I rolled my shoulders. The pain had gone. If I could rush to the wall and wipe off some of the runes, then that would buy me time to run away.

  General Thornicroft snorted. “Your escape plan is flawed.”

  “What?” The word came out a breathy gasp. I thought I’d been discreet.

  He folded his arms and used the same glower when someone gave an incomplete answer in Magecraft class. I gulped, the water I’d just swallowed evaporating in my throat. It looked like he wanted me to work out what was happening.

  General Thornicroft nodded.

  My eyes widened. “You’re reading my mind!”

  “I am.”

  “How?”

  “A quarter-giant’s magic is as powerful as that of a witch. My talent lies in the mind arts.”

  “Oh.” Fyrian had mentioned last week that he could help me guard my mind. Since giantesses were rare, and those who would consider mating with humans rarer, hardly anyone knew much about people like General Thornicroft. I licked my lips. “Umm… Why are you reading my thoughts, sir?”

  “To demonstrate the dangerous connection you have with Fyrian Lacerta.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “It’s not her fault!”

  “It is.” He stepped closer. “When Her Majesty taught magecraft, who sat on her shoulder and attended her lessons?”

  “But she was only little then.”

  “Fyrian is not much older than you.” His eyes narrowed. “Will you hold her to a different standard because she’s a dragon?”

  I sat up and folded my arms across my chest. “But you can’t let the witches break our bond. Without her, I’m—”

  “Still the same person as before.” He knelt at my bedside. “I do not like to use my power to delve into the minds of others, but Dr. Duclair made a special request because of your unusual condition. Do you know how the mind of a healthy dragon mage should look?”

  I pictured a sheep’s brain, and his lips twisted into an expression of distaste. Clasping my hands together, then grimacing at the feel of my clammy palms, I said, “Sorry. Er... I don’t know, sir?”

  “Imagine the mind as a moon.” His eyes rolled up to the left. “A well protected mind is the moon encased by mist and dark clouds. They form the barrier between you and your dragon.”

  Chewing the inside of my cheek, I pictured a clear night sky, filled with stars. “So, you’re saying that my mind is like the moon in a cloudless sky?”

  He raised a platinum brow. “Your mind is a block of cheese.”

  I reared back, hitting the soft pillows of my hospital bed. “What?”

  “Not only have you laid your entire mind bare to anyone with mental abilities, but you now allow Fyrian’s affliction to seep through your bond.” He pointed at my skinless arms. “Your mind is a hollow cheese riddled with air holes.”

  My mouth gaped open, but no sound came out. General Thornicroft continued staring at me until words drifted into my head. I closed my mouth then asked, “How can I fix it?”

  He ran long fingers through his platinum hair. “I will help you repair the worst of the damage through a dragon quest.” At my blank look, he added, “It’s a mental exercise Her Majesty and I developed with the Masters to strengthen the bonds between dragons and ogre-hybrids.”

  I nodded. “Do I need to do anything?”

  “You and I will walk around your mind, burning through all the events that caused the greatest emotional damage.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Not physically.”

  My spine slumped, and I slipped further under the covers. Even my hollow-cheese mind could decipher what he meant. General Thornicroft and I would go on a not-so-merry jaunt around my memories, examining painful events. He would know my every secret, my every humiliation.

  “What makes you think I haven’t a
lready seen it all?” he asked. “If you refuse the quest, Dr. Duclair will keep you confined to this room until Fyrian recovers from the clearscale.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “We don’t even know if the dragons will survive it. The condition is fatal in smaller reptiles.”

  The words hit me like an avalanche, and I slumped further down under the covers. “W-will we die?”

  He raised a shoulder. “It is a possibility that you would perish if Fyrian succumbs to the plague. There is also hope that your recovery might unlock a cure.”

  “All right.” I pushed myself back up and squared my shoulders. “I’ll do it!”

  “Very well.” He raised his massive palms, and strings of white flames shot from his fingers, doubling them in length. “You and I will connect through the flames. Stretch out your hands and produce fire like me.”

  Cringing at the skinless flesh that made up my appendages, I straightened my arms and splayed my fingers. Then I pushed my magic through my bones, letting out inch-long, yellow flames.

  General Thornicroft’s white flame connected with mine, and a jolt of cold fire knocked me back. Gasping, I tumbled through air, flailing my arms and legs for balance. By the time I regained my composure, I found myself hovering in the dark with the General next to me, raising his brows at my ridiculous display.

  “S-sorry, sir.”

  He grunted. “Come along. We can’t keep this connection forever.”

  “What is this place?”

  “The void that houses the collective unconsciousness of dragon kind.” He hurried down a road of obsidian clouds.

  I leaped from cloud to cloud, trying to keep up. “Do you mean their memories?”

  “No. This is the place where dragons connect for mental communication, but the spaces between the clouds contain the primordial fear of spriggans and the Forgotten King.”

  “Are we allowed to be here?”

  “Mages brush it every time we connect with a dragon’s mind. You are one of the few who might be able to enter and not be consumed.”

  “Because of Fyrian.”

  “And your fairy blood. Her Majesty also visited this realm.”