Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  “Can I at least fly my dragon back to the mountain?” I asked Albens’ back.

  Albens glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. Under the influence of the loyalty elixir, he appeared even more stern than Rufus, the youngest of the Griffon brothers at the Academy. “His Majesty ordered us to escort you directly to him. You will ride with me.”

  The two mages released my arms, and Albens placed a hand on my shoulder blade, steering me away from Fyrian.

  I kicked a stone across the parched earth. “It’s not like I’m trying to avoid him.”

  “You are.” Fyrian dipped her head as though deep in thought. “Can’t you be nicer to him?”

  “Have you forgotten how we met? He could have been nicer, too.”

  When Fyrian didn’t reply, I added, “Or the incident with the eggs and the locusts? Or the duel? Or the spriggan?”

  Fyrian squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Black smoke surged from her nostrils. My heart sommersaulted, and I cried out loud, “Fyri!”

  I sprinted across to where she stood, ignoring Albens’ shouts for me to stop. “What’s wrong?”

  Her face twisted in a rictus of torture. “P-please… stop saying cruel things about Magnar.”

  A pang of guilt struck my chest. Bringing up all the reasons we disliked King Magnar had made the elixir react badly. The poor dragon was still recovering from the plague and from her exposure to dragonsbane when fighting the homunculi.

  I placed my hands on the scales of her front paw. “I’m sorry, Fyri. You’re right. I’ll try to be nicer to King Magnar.”

  She sniffled. “He’s not so bad, you know. If your six little sisters were about to be killed, you’d be desperate enough to make a deal, too.”

  A sigh slipped from my lips. She was right. Awkward personality aside, King Magnar had thought he was doing the right thing all those years ago. The spriggan had simply manipulated the situation to take advantage of his love for the young witches. I ran a hand through my magically shortened and darkened hair. In a few months, I would have four baby brothers. What wouldn’t I do to keep them safe?

  A large hand landed on my shoulder, and I glanced into Albens’ concerned frown. He asked, “You can speak to her?”

  “Umm… She’s upset.”

  “My men will take her to the Healer’s Academy. The witch doctors are still under the effects of the plague, but the other healers will help.”

  I dipped my head. “Thanks.”

  One of the riders opened the door of a black, horse-drawn carriage, and Albens indicated for me to enter. For a moment, I wondered if the courtesy was due to him knowing I was Princess Alba, but then I remembered he’d been ordered to fetch me. He probably wanted to make sure I didn’t try to run and fly away on Fyrian’s back.

  I settled into the black, leather seat. “Do you know what King Magnar wants?”

  His lips turned down. “My job is to carry out his orders, not to call them into question.”

  “Right.” I stared out of the window.

  “Do not worry about your dragon,” he said. “We have some of the finest physicians in the land. If she needs more of the alkahest, they will supply it.”

  I nodded. Until Master Jesper had worked out the antidote to the loyalty elixir, I would have to be careful with what I said about King Magnar. Given that the damsel denial still held my heart in its grip, it would also be less painful for me to be nicer to him, too.

  We ascended the mountain via a steep road that seemed to help the vehicle move along. I leaned out of the window. The ground beneath us moved. “What kind of ground is this?”

  “This is the Reception Road. It is enchanted to move vehicles to the reception courtyard.”

  I sat back in the seat and stared at my hands. King Magnar had probably known about this road. That’s why he reached the Healer’s Academy hours before we did and managed to administer the alkahest to all those healers. Stafford and I had taken the long route up the mountain, going round and round the terraces until we reached the plateau. No wonder everyone loved King Magnar. In the time he had awoken the warriors, he could have relayed a completely different account of events and told everyone that he had saved Mount Fornax. That, and the loyalty elixir certainly explained why seasoned warriors like Albens were taking orders from him.

  In no time, we reached the reception courtyard, a wide area of sandstone, enclosed by a quadrangle of buildings. I dragged my damp palms down the leather of my breeches, readying myself for a round of bickering.

  “Out you get.” Albens stepped out of the carriage and held the door open.

  I clasped my knees, digging my heels into the wooden floor. What would happen if I refused to move?

  “Bluford!” Albens’ tone of voice suggested he would sling me over his shoulder if I disobeyed.

  “I’m coming… just having a stretch.”

  He harrumphed. Perhaps deep down, in the part of his mind that was fighting the elixir, he understood my reluctance to meet King Magnar.

  I stepped out of the carriage and entered the reception area through the wooden double-doors. Someone had cleaned up the mess from the attack, righted Evolene’s old desk, and scraped the soot off the walls. Instead of walking around to the left to Master Fosco’s office, we went right into a door labeled, WAR ROOM.

  Two tamers clad in steel-colored leather stood outside and saluted Albens.

  He saluted back. “I have His Majesty’s guest.”

  As the guards swung the door open, I resisted the urge to mutter that I was more like a prisoner.

  King Magnar sat at the head of a table covered in the map of the Known World. To his left sat Masters Fosco, Roopal, and Solum. Master Klauw was nowhere in sight, and I hoped he wasn’t still stuck as a rapier red. Warriors wearing different colored uniforms sat on his right, including a mage, a healer, and a rider.

  Albens cleared his throat. “Sire, I have retrieved Cadet Bluford as you commanded.”

  “Ah…” His turquoise eyes glinted like freshly cut gemstones. “Excuse me, Gentlemen.”

  They all stood, bowed, and headed for the door. Master Fosco glowered at me as he passed but didn’t bring up any accusations about having vandalized his office or the reception area.

  “Master Roopal, will you remain, please?” asked King Magnar.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” The silver-haired male returned to stand behind the chair he occupied.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, King Magnar turned to Master Roopal. “You are well versed in the theory of magic?”

  He inclined his head. “I am.”

  “Master Fosco tells me that you are aware of Cadet Bluford’s identity beneath the glamor.”

  “That is correct.”

  I scowled. Why were they talking about me behind my back?

  “Yesterday, I carried Princess Alba out of a burning building, earning me the right to her hand in marriage.”

  “I see.” Master Roopal turned his cyan eyes on me as if noticing my presence for the first time. His attention made me stiffen. “The damsel denial is old but effective magic. How may I be of assistance?”

  “It’s time to perform our wedding vows.”

  “The vows of marital obedience as we discussed before the unfortunate incident with the plague?”

  He grinned. “That’s the one.”

  My heart kicked into action, making me lurch forward. “Wait! I thought the damsel denial meant that I couldn’t marry anyone until King Magnar relinquished my hand.”

  Master Roopal shook his head. “There is a lot more to it than first refusal of the Princess’s hand. In the tale, the dung-man had the right to an immediate wedding with the choice of vows. Until he either married or rejected her, magic protected him from suitors or agents of the King. All attempts at coercion only backfired on the Princess.”

  My nose throbbed in sympathy from when Niger had punched King Magnar. “Do I have to get married exactly when and how he demands?”

  “Yes,” King
Magnar walked around the table and reached for my wrist.

  I snatched my arm away. “We’re not married yet!”

  Fortunately, the magic didn’t punish me for protesting against his advances.

  Master Roopal rocked back on his heels, paying such close attention, I wondered if he was allowing someone to watch us through his eyes. I shook my head. As a historian, he was probably making mental notes on how to document this meeting. Although King Magnar was a wretched idiot, he was still the monarch-in-exile of a very important empire.

  After a few moments, Mater Roopal formed an answer. “The denial allowed one Princess to request three items prior to the nuptials.”

  “Like what?” I asked, heart thrumming with hope.

  He rubbed the stump of his left arm. “The type of items required for her to be married in the style in which she is accustomed. The magic would not permit the Princess to ask the dung-man for an item he could not afford, but since you are marrying a King, I believe you can be creative.”

  King Magnar scowled. “She will have whatever she wishes once we’re wed.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Not until I get my three items.”

  “What do you want?” he snapped.

  I counted the items on my fingers. “A wedding dress.”

  “Fine.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I can get one of the—”

  “As strong and fire resistant as dragon-hide, as smooth as silk, and the exact color of the moon,” I added.

  His face turned crimson. “That’s preposterous!”

  “And I want a bouquet of flame-colored flowers with dragon scales instead of petals.”

  He bared his teeth. “Anything else?”

  “A sword that converts my magic to lightning.”

  King Magnar’s turquoise eyes turned cold. His nostrils flared, and he gave me a look of such hatred, I flinched. “Get out.”

  As much as I wanted to leave the room, I didn’t want him to think I was leaving on his command. I locked gazes with the wretched King, matching the malevolence of his glare with the venom of my own. I had won… For now. Without the help of a magical seamstress like Madam Skinner, an agricultural witch, and a magical swordsmith, he didn’t have a chance of obtaining those items.

  I stuck my nose in the air, mimicking his haughty manner. “I trust that you will stay out of my way until you fulfill your obligations. Good day, Your Majesty!”

  Pulling my shoulders back, I strode out of the room with all the dignity I could muster. If King Magnar wanted to force me into this ridiculous marriage, he would have to present me with the ridiculous items.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, my false bravado crumbled. I’d forgotten to ask whether the dung-man could force the Princess to simplify her list of requirements. In a moment, King Magnar would get the idea to send one of his elixir-addled minions after me.

  Before he got the chance, I rushed out of the reception area, dashed through the courtyard, across the lawn, and past the Great Lake, not stopping until I reached the safety and camaraderie of the laboratory. It was time to take Niger’s advice and ask for help.

  I would write a letter to Oliveri, explaining my situation. If Father was injured or still fighting off the vote of no confidence, he would pass my message onto the Witch General’s office.

  There had to be more ways to delay this awful marriage.

  Chapter 7

  With Master Jesper producing enough alkahest to awaken all the dragons and warriors, most classes resumed, and life at Mount Fornax returned to a strange sort of normality. King Magnar didn’t summon me again over the next few days, but I would occasionally see him glowering at me from the head table he had set up in the mess hall. As long as he didn’t approach me, I could tolerate the mild discomfort at mealtimes form the intensity of his glare.

  In Basic Swordsmanship, Captain Pristis stood at one end of the room, demonstrating methods of fighting a stronger opponent with one of the dragon rider cadets. Our instructor wasn’t much bigger than my glamoured form, and his opponent, a bulky half-ogre, towered over him by half a foot.

  “A slighter opponent works harder…” Captain Pristis ducked, swept his leg at the cadet, who tripped and stumbled back. The instructor leaped to his feet and brought his sword to the cadet’s neck. “But the effort reaps benefits.”

  Captain Pristis danced around his opponent with smooth, flowing moments, his silver ponytail swishing through the air. He seemed able to predict where the cadet would strike, as he moved away from the sword’s trajectory, missing it by inches.

  “Wow!” I wrapped my arms around my middle, cheeks burning with excitement, insides thrumming with enthusiasm. Mother, who had her own natural poise, tended to rely on speed, cunning, and dirty tactics when she sparred with Father. But even she didn’t move as gracefully as him.

  The instructor jumped away from a two-handed, overhead strike and raised his hand. “Thank you, Cadet Ossifrage.”

  The dragon rider cadet nodded and joined his classmates at the other side of the room.

  Captain Pristis turned to the rest of the class. “All of you, at one point in your careers as dragon warriors, will face a much stronger opponent. They come in many guises. A larger ogre-hybrid, a full ogre, or even wild dragon.”

  My gaze lingered on his steel-colored, leather uniform. Although it indicated he was a tamer, I couldn’t picture him facing down a wild dragon.

  “Often, the weaker fighter has an advantage.” The Captain swept his arm across the room. “Can anyone explain why?”

  On my left, Rufus raised his hand. “The stronger opponent may be overconfident. That is something a weaker opponent can exploit.”

  “Correct. Anything else?”

  Thinking about Father, who was probably still fighting at the ogre senate to keep his position of Prince Regent, I raised my hand.

  “Cadet Bluford?”

  “Someone stronger than everyone else wouldn’t spend much time or effort in honing their skills.”

  He inclined his head. “Excellent answer. Those who have a natural disadvantage must work harder to compete in an uneven fight.”

  “Sir!” shouted Gobi from Rufus’ other side. “Magic swords.”

  The Captain’s expression fell. “Explain.”

  A flush spread across Gobi’s cheeks and down to his wispy, turquoise beard. “If you have a magic sword, you can win.”

  Captain Pristis pursed his lips. “It is certainly something a weaker fighter can employ, but anyone may own an enchanted weapon.”

  Our instructor launched into a story about encountering a wild dragon at a volcano who used the lava as a weapon. It was a black dragon, capable of manipulating the earth and cunning enough not to get close to the tamers. Throughout the tale, Gobi’s face turned redder and redder, making my heart twist for the young half-ogre. If only he didn’t take things so personally.

  I raised my hand. “Sir? Didn’t the dragon masters try to communicate with him?”

  “Many wild dragons see them as abominations and fairy sympathizers.”

  On my right, Stafford coughed. “Why?”

  The instructor leaned against the wall and folded his arms, as though making himself comfortable. “It’s a long story, but during their captivity in the realm of the fairies, the dragons endured terrible experiments. One such experiment gave a few of them the ability to take human shape.”

  Stafford and I exchanged confused looks. I turned to Captain Pristis. “Are you talking about the Forgotten King?”

  The riders on the other side of the room all groaned. I supposed they remembered the history lesson King Magnar took over where he asked Master Roopal question after question about the Forgotten King and his spriggans. Looking back on things, King Magnar should have asked the dragons directly for information and help instead of enacting a complicated plan to steal their eggs.

  Captain Pristis rubbed his temples. “Have you not covered this yet in History of Dragons?”

  “
Not yet,” we chorused.

  “Dragons experienced cruelty both at the hands of the Forgotten King and during their captivity with the Queen of the Fairies and her subordinates after he was banished. This is why dragons and fairies don’t mix.” He clapped his hands together. “But Master Roopal is best placed to explain what happened, not me. Everyone, get into pairs of one half-ogre and one quarter-ogre.”

  Glancing down at my sword belt, I selected the wooden sword and turned to Rufus, but he’d already grabbed Stafford. Then I turned to search a half-ogre dragon rider who hadn’t yet partnered up with anyone.

  Gobi stepped into my path and unsheathed the kind of curved scimitar Father preferred. “You are with me.”

  I shrugged. “All right.”

  Captain Pristis glanced around the room. “Stronger opponents, I want you to attack with all your might. Practice swords only!”

  Gobi scowled and placed his sword back onto his belt and pulled out his wooden practice sword.

  The sounds of shuffling feet and wood hitting wood filled the air. I strolled to a clear space in the classroom, away from the other sparring pairs. Gobi would likely take advantage of the Captain’s instructions and strike hard enough to knock me off my feet. With that in mind, I raised my sword, widened my stance, and dug my heels into the hard sandstone.

  “Yaaa!” Gobi took a running jump from his side of the room and leaped through the air, sword raised in a two-handed, overhead grip.

  My stomach dropped. At this rate, he would cleave me in half. I stepped back, just as his wooden blade snapped my practice sword in half. “Hey!”

  In my moment of distraction, he swung at my left arm. I dodged, but not fast enough. The strike reverberated up my forearm and knocked the bone out of its socket. Pain, sharp as an executioner’s blade, radiated through the joint. I grabbed my forearm and cried out, “Yield!”

  Gobi stepped forward, sword raised, teeth bared.

  “I said, I yield!”

  He swung at my neck, only for Captain Pristis to jump between us and knock Gobi’s sword across the room. “Cadet Bluebeard, do I need to remind you the meaning of the word ‘yield?’”