Dragon Mage (The First Dragon Rider Book 3)

by Ava Richardson

  What is in that stuff? I wondered in alarm. And why hadn’t Jodreth offered it to us before, if it was so powerful? I resolved to ask him about Magewort when we had the chance. My friend appeared joyous at the same time as being ferociously angry, and I remembered my father talking about the rare ‘berserkers’ who occasionally cropped up in his armies – warriors who could fight and fight past the limits of normal human endurance, seeming not to care at all how many injuries they sustained.

  He also said that while they were great skirmish troops, they were a liability in the long run… But although Char’s endurance and mountain heritage was strong– ‘going out on the mountain’ and not seeming to care about the cold—I didn’t think that she was a true berserker. It’s that herb. It’s causing her to act stronger than her body really is. Fearful, I hurried after Char as she hit the ground floor and pushed open the door with a heavy squeal of the old hinges.

  Sunlight flooded in, blinding me temporarily as I hit the ground floor and hurried out, with Jodreth racing along behind me.

  It was busy out in the courtyard, busier than the academy had been, ever, since we had taken over it. If I didn’t know any better, I might even have looked on the scene that confronted us as healthy; there was the giant black and gold marquee of the prince occupying one entire side of the courtyard; there were the hurrying forms of servants in similar black and gold and dark blue tones, bearing baskets or crates back and forth from the main hall and back. Someone was whistling briskly, and up on the wall there stood a trio of Royal Knights, their armor gleaming in the sun as they talked and joked beside a couple of younger dragon students.

  The academy looked like it was working, only, it wasn’t. Not if you looked at all closer.

  There was the fact that no one was training, not with their padded practice weapons or with the prototype saddles we were making – there was just no room, now that the prince had his marquee here.

  There were also no dragons roosting on the walls, which they had taken to doing once Zaxx had gone. Even though they scarred the stone work and even caused terrible damage to some of the roofs, both Char and I had permitted it until we could come up with a better solution for their roosting and guarding habits. When asleep, a dragon liked to be underground, but when awake, they liked to be up high. Like training a pony, that’s what I reasoned, anyway – I mean, what good is a Dragon Academy if there weren’t even any dragons on the walls?

  But then, of course, there were the subtler signs of problems: the trio of Royal Knights on the walls appeared to be rebuking the students who really were supposed to be on guard duty, and I saw one of them pointing back down the stairs as he barked at them to leave the ‘more experienced’ knights to it. There was, over by the main hall, one of the older black-clad monks whom I recognized as belonging to Berlip’s faction standing watch by the door, and glaring at us as we marched across the courtyard.

  Like he is spying, or keeping tabs on what the rest of the academy is up to, I thought, which wouldn’t be such a bad idea with Prince Vincent here, except whatever information he might have gleaned had never yet been reported to me. As I walked, he slunk into the main hall.

  “No doubt going to scurry off to tell Berlip what we’re doing!” Jodreth muttered beside me, making the sign against the evil eye back in the direction of the monk.

  “No doubt,” I agreed. I didn’t like it. Not that anyone had done anything to outright challenge me and Char and the other student leaders of the new academy, but it felt all of a sudden like our grasp of the situation was slipping from between our very fingers.

  Maybe Uncle Lett had been right, I should never have let that prince behind these walls. For a moment, my heart ached as I thought about how our parting had gone. Uncle Lett was surely leagues away by now, heading south, and he must think that I was betraying the family honor in favor of the Dark Prince.

  Maybe he’s right, I growled to myself, as Jodreth gasped beside me.

  “Sweet moon and stars, she’s going to get us killed,” Jodreth said with a groan. A little way ahead of us, Char had raised her short sword again, bringing it down with a mighty swing to chop at the ropes that anchored the marquee to their wooden stakes.

  She’d already managed to successfully cut two, and with a second blow, the third snapped as she moved onto the fourth stake, now causing a visible sagging in the tent.

  Oh great.

  The fourth line severed easily with a twang, and Char moved with all of the energy and vitality of a woman possessed, which, given that she was pumped up on Magewort right now, I guessed she was.

  “Hey! Here! What are you doing down there?” One of the three of the Royal Knights up on the walls had noticed, and was pointing down at Char as she moved to the next stake, and the last on this side of the marquee.

  The closest wall of the marquee suddenly started to sag inwards, causing a muffled shriek from inside, and servants and monks and knights started pouring out, looking all around to see what had happened.

  “We’d better go to her,” I said to Jodreth, who nodded.

  “Hey! You can’t do that – this is the prince’s property!” One of the servants shouted, outraged as Char continued working at the back of the marquee. More ropes were released from their terrestrial duty, and the entire, grand marquee made of the finest dyed and embroidered panels of waxed linen, hand stitched, started to billow on its central poles.

  “She’s mad! Stop her!” someone yelled as I reached Char’s side. I reached out a hand to grab her shoulder but something inside stopped me. I wanted to see the prince’s fineries pulled down, I realized. This was Char’s home too. She had a right to do this.

  Twang! Another cord sprang away from its mooring.

  “In the name of the prince!” There was a shout, and a hiss as a sword escaped the confines of scabbard. I looked up to see none other than Sir Rathon, not wearing his full plate but still enough chainmail and leather greaves to turn any of my thrusts, marching towards us, his great sword held in two hands.

  With the rustle of fabric and a dull whumpf, one entire half of the tent collapsed, and one of the poles holding up the middle shook and then slid against its neighbor. There was a creak as the center pole slowly fell to the ground in a muffled tear of linen.

  “You have to admit, it does look pretty good like that,” Jodreth whispered at my side, and he shared my mischievous grin.

  “In the name of the academy!” Char retorted, her face bright red and flushed from her work as she turned and strode past me to stand boldly before Sir Rathon. “This is our land. Dragon land, sir knight – and you would do well to understand that dragons are quick to temper, and you had better mind your manners before you start commandeering academy space!” She gesticulated with her short sword at the knight.

  “No dragon seemed to mind, Miss Nefrette,” Sir Rathon growled.

  “Oh no?” Char cocked her head and smiled up at the sky, just as there was a deafening scream of dragon-shriek.

  Paxala flared her wings as she plunged into the courtyard, almost knocking all of us from our feet, before dropping, with a heavy and pronounced thud onto the remains of the tent. I heard the sound of tearing fabric and the splintering of wood as precious barrels of southern brandy must have been destroyed, chairs and tables broken, fine foods squashed under her talons.

  “Why, you impudent little…” Sir Rathon growled, leaning forward, as if to step at Char. I snarled and lunged, raising my own blade.

  “Don’t touch her!” I shouted, suddenly furious.

  “Ignis Fulgur!” Jodreth shouted, rolling his staff across his body just as there was a crackle of thunder in the clear sky and a sudden flash.

  A wave of noise rumbled deep in my chest, like being close to a dragon’s roar, but Paxala hadn’t spoken. My ears rang and my eyes blinked away the after image of a brilliant flare between us and Sir Rathon.

  “Ach!” the knight cried, shaking his head and staggering just as we were, looking at the large blac
kened circle, as big as a barrel top steaming and smoldering on the ground between us.

  “Jodreth?” I asked hesitantly. Even Char, in her intoxicated state, looked stunned. I felt unsteady, and it wasn’t just because of the lightning strike. It should have been me to put a stop to Sir Rathon and Prince Vincent, I thought shamefacedly. But even so, I couldn’t find a gram of guilt in me for having jumped to protect the beautiful mountain’s daughter, Char.

  But I cannot control lightning like Jodreth can, and I cannot hear dragons in the way that Char can. What was I doing here, other than trying to look after my friends?

  “Lords and ladies of the Dragon Academy,” Jodreth growled to all of us, “my noble Lady Dragon,” he nodded at Paxala, “and Sir Rathon, let us stop this argument before any of us does anything regretful. I suggest that the prince comes out here, and Monk Berlip, and any dragon as wants to negotiate, and we settle, once and for all the guardianship of the dragon crater – and then we can start to talk sensibly about what we’re going to do about our shared enemy!”

  Sir Rathon flushed, looking warily between the giant Crimson Red dragon looming over us, and the Dragon Monk Jodreth, able to apparently call lightning from the skies. “As you wish,” he said simply, retreating with slow, backwards steps towards the main hall.

  “Someone should have done that when Vincent first walked inside that gate!” Char said to Jodreth with a pleased smile, but all I could feel in my heart was panic.

  They’re going to decide who protects this place, and it can’t be me. I couldn’t even protect my own father and stop Ansall from killing him. I knew Jodreth was right, someone had to be responsible for this place, but what good was I, after I had allowed Char to get shot right in front of me?

  “Master monk, you certainly have a way with words,” Prince Vincent purred from where he stood before us, an icy warning sort of purr. The sort of sound that a cat might make moments before it decided to attack.

  The Dark Prince had come striding out of the main hall in a flurry of servants and swords-drawn knights, flanked by Sir Rathon and Monk Berlip.

  You’ve made your bed now, Berlip. I scowled at him. You’d better just pray that Vincent manages to win this argument, because if he doesn’t, you won’t be welcome here!

  “This situation cannot continue.” Jodreth said, looking at him. I realized then just how young Jodreth was, and Prince Vincent appeared to be only a handful of years older– which didn’t make sense to me, as Prince Vincent was already an uncle to Char.

  “You are right, master monk, this situation appears untenable. But I have offered my support to Monk Berlip here, and he has seen the need for a strong hand here at the academy. A royal hand.” The prince spoke in that assured authority that only royalty has.

  “The academy doesn’t need the throne!” Char said vehemently, still impassioned with the effect of the Magewort.

  A suspicion formed in my mind as I looked at the young and handsome prince, and it was the very same thing that I had begun wondering about Char’s very own father. Had the entire royal line benefitted from Ansall’s stolen dragon magic? Everyone knew that Old Queen Delia had been hundreds of years old by the time she had died, with Ansall older still. The thought gave me the creeps, and only affirmed my determination as I found myself stepping forward to speak.

  “The academy will not suffer direct rule from the throne of the Middle Kingdom, or any of the Three Kingdoms,” I heard myself say.

  It was what my father had wanted, in a way. My father the clansman, my father the commoner who had risen with his people to become Warden of the Eastern Marches.

  All of a sudden, I had a vision of how things could be, and I knew that this was exactly what Garf, my father’s sworn bond-warrior, had been hinting at back at Fort. My father had a vision of the lands ruling themselves, putting their trust in those whom they could understand, not some distant kings kept alive by dark magic.

  Prince Vincent turned his attention to me as if seeing me for the first time. “Master Torvald,” he said in clipped tones.

  Not calling me a lord now, are you? I thought wryly.

  “You have traveled to Rampart, you have seen the forces that are arrayed against us all. Are you suggesting that you can face them alone, without my army’s help?” the prince said condescendingly, his voice heavy with threat, and it was clear that he was trying to paint me a fool in the eyes of the fast gathering crowd of students, monks, and servants who lived here on the mountain. “Or, are you throwing your lot in with your treacherous brothers and the remains of the old Draconis Order? Would you bring all Three Kingdoms into civil war for the sake of your pride?”

  There were muttered gasps from the crowd, and I could tell what they must be thinking. That everything that I had said had been a lie.

  “You are the son of Malos Torvald, a man I knew was plotting against me for years,” the prince argued. “And you have worked tirelessly to disrupt this academy and put yourself at its head. We must ask – has this been your task all along?”

  Well, it was true – I had been sent here to discover the secrets of the dragon magic, and my father apparently had been preparing for the day when both the Draconis Order and the throne it propped up fell. Was I really just as bad as my brothers?

  “Neill,” I was surprised when my head buzzed, and Paxala’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Do not see yourself with his eyes. Hunt for yourself!”

  I was shocked at how articulate and wise Pax’s words were – were all dragons this philosophical? But she was right all the same. I lifted my head to look around the crowd watching. It was true that some were looking at me warily, and in alarm, but there were others who were shaking their head.

  “Not so!” said a voice, and Dorf Lesser stepped out of the crowd. “I know Neill, and he has been a faithful friend to the dragons and to the students for as long as I can remember.” The small, rounded form of the navigator walked across the open space to stand beside Jodreth, Char, Paxala and me. “I stand with you, Neill,” he said out loud.

  “Treachery…” Sir Rathon glowered, readjusting his grip on his great sword.

  “As do I!” called another voice – this time from the handsome Terrence Aldo, son of the Prince of the Southern Kingdom, Prince Griffith, striding across the floor defiantly. “I know this Neill Torvald, and I know this Princess Nefrette. I know that both of them mean to protect the dragons of the academy, and all of us!”

  “And your father, my brother?” Prince Vincent snapped, and I could see that he sensed the situation sliding away from him. “Is this war, now?”

  “I renounce my claim to the Southern Kingdom so that I can do my work here, uncle,” Terrence said loftily, taking a stand, unarmed, beside Dorf.

  What? I looked at Terence, once a younger princeling, in astonishment. “Terence, really, you don’t have to do this!” I said.

  But Terence Aldo turned to regard me with more nobility than I had ever seen in the Dark Prince’s eyes. “I do, Neill. My own father told me to be the best I could, because the people will only follow the best.” He nodded to Char, and then to me. “And I have found two people who are better– even than me,” he added with a small smile as he joined my side.

  After that came another – Lila Penna, of the Raider Clans of the southern seas—and another— Sigrid Fenn, of Clan Fenn. Each of them recognized me and Char in some small way or phrase, and it felt like dawn breaking for the first time. I knew that they were our friends, but I had no idea that they saw me like that, at least. And last but not least, little Maxal Ganna, with no noble or clan blood in him that I knew, but a family name that had been tied to the monastery and the mountain for generations, stepped forward.

  “I stand with Neill and Char,” he said simply, as if this were as obvious and natural thing as talking about the weather.

  I felt touched at their willingness to support us. How had they that much faith in me? I thought.

  “Because you showed them your heart.” Again came
Paxala’s voice, and I turned to see her regarding me with her great and golden eyes.

  “What is this?” Prince Vincent was confused that he could be defied so openly, and yet we were not asking to oust him from the throne. “You are all traitors? Is that what this is? You would rather ally yourself with the Sons of Torvald, and the very Abbot whom you overthrew not so long ago?”

  “Prince,” I found my voice, emboldened by my friends. I was weary, and tired of his overt or underhanded attempts to control the dragon crater. “We do not want your throne or your kingdom. We merely want to live in peace, with the dragons, and do what good we can in the world.” To my surprise, there was a loud cheer from the crowd.

  “Yes!” Char gave me a loud clap.

  “But, my prince,” Berlip said, “I am sure that what Master Torvald here is trying to say, is that we would gratefully accept any aid that you can offer…!”

  “No!” I flashed with anger. “That is not what I am saying, Berlip – and you would do well to keep your own counsel, and not profess to know mine!” I glared at him until he fell silent. “What I am saying, Prince Vincent – is that we will grant you our aid, if you give your oath to rule your people justly and well.”

  I didn’t even know what I was going to offer until I had already offered it. But it made so much sense now. I didn’t want to topple the king, or plunge the Three Kingdoms into a civil war. I wanted the Dragon Academy to be free, and, just as my father had envisaged, we would be the guardians that kept the nobles and the warlords in check. We could fly the dragons. We would keep them honest.

  “Do you dare threaten the prince, boy?” Sir Rathon growled, and the knights around the prince reacted to their captain’s words organically, shifting their stances, readying themselves for a bloody battle.

  “It seems to me to be nothing more than a statement of fact, Sir Rathon,” Jodreth said with a shrug and a smirk. “We do have a mountain packed full of dragons…”