Outlier: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Sentry of the South Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  “Sounds good.”

  I climbed into the truck and set the parcel on the passenger’s seat. As focused as I was on helping Peter and Professor Fraser, all I could think about was the fact that I had the potion for my grandmother and—right now— that was all that really mattered.

  “Today we’ll be working with everybody’s favorite—flaming swords.” I’d made it to weapons training bang on time. Finn Horton, the Master at Arms, stood in front of the assembled trainees in the meadow adjacent to the orchard. He extended a hilt and a blue flame shot across the blade, causing a stir among the onlookers.

  “How hot is the flame, sir?” Mia asked.

  “Hot enough to melt your skin,” Master Horton replied. “So don’t let it touch you.” He swished the blade back and forth. “This weapon requires multiple skills. You need to wield a sword, of course, but also know how to use the flame against your opponent. If you don’t intend to kill them, that takes even more finesse. Control is critical.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Priscilla said, raising a timid hand. “Aren’t these weapons a little too advanced for us?”

  A collective groan escaped the group. Priscilla was the only one who felt that way.

  “You’re in your second year, Miss Peacock,” Master Horton replied. “You need to advance your skills in each and every subject, and that includes dangerous weapons.” He addressed the rest of us. “I thought today would be a good chance to host a mini-tournament. We’ll split into two groups and have a pair face off from each group until we get to the final winner from each group, at which point they will fight each other. Sound good?”

  Eager heads bobbed up and down. We divided into two groups by last name and separated across the meadow.

  “Now, who would like to go first in this group?” the Master at Arms asked.

  My hand launched into the air before anyone else could react. “I will, sir.”

  Master Horton’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Why am I not surprised? Yes, Miss Degraff. I believe there’s a sword here with your name on it.”

  I jogged to the front of the group and he handed me a long, slender blade by the hilt. “It’s beautiful,” I said, admiring its carvings.

  “This one is called Revival,” he said, and gave me a small smile. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  “Remedy for you,” he said, handing a sword to Ollie. “Good luck, everyone.” He trotted over to the second group to get them started.

  I faced off with Ollie, and mentally reviewed everything I knew about swordplay. I’d been handed a sword at an early age and left to slash my way through the gardens of our estate. For some children, it would have been a boring exercise. For me, however, I did what I always do—I excelled, much to the detriment of some of our prized trees and bushes. The estate manager was most displeased. My family, on the other hand, was thrilled. Another mastered skill to restore honor to the family name.

  “Bring it, Degraff,” Ollie said. “I promise not to hold back because you’re a girl.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Don’t bother holding back because you have no chance of winning against me no matter what you do.” I focused inward and let my magic flow from within me to the hilt of the sword. Red and yellow flames streaked down the blade, engulfing it in a fiery haze.

  Ollie’s own blade glowed a pale shade of green. “Look at that,” he taunted. “You managed to color coordinate your blade with your hair. Typical girl.”

  “Look at that,” I shot back. “Your blade matches your emotions. Green with envy over my obvious prowess.” I lurched forward and the match began. Unsurprisingly, I bested him without breaking a sweat. The big talkers tended to be the easiest to defeat.

  “My turn,” Wade called. He seemed determined to wear me down, paying more attention to his footwork than his swordplay. I defeated him in three simple strokes.

  “Looks like Degraff is going to slice her way through this group,” Master Horton said, coming over to check on us.

  I did. The fiery tendrils of my sword worked their magic against my opponents and I was the last witch standing in record time. We waited for the other group to finish, so that I could face off with the winner.

  Bryn sauntered over, dragging her blade along the ground beside her. “Hey, roomie. Ready to play?”

  I was glad it was Bryn. She was the worthiest of my potential opponents and I knew she’d be tough competition. I needed a challenge now and again. Sometimes, these training matches were too easy for me. Bryn, however, had untapped power—her father’s magic that she continued to explore every day with guidance from academy staff and her boyfriend, of course. If she had even one-tenth of Volans Moldark’s power, it was something to fear.

  I smiled at her. “Your eyebrows look like they need a little trim. Here, let me help you with that.” My blade sparked as I intensified the heat with my magic. Bryn responded in kind. Her blade was now immersed in dark purple flames.

  “I’ll make an appointment at the salon, thanks,” she replied, and gripped the hilt. “Your ponytail could use a little tapering at the end, though. Everyone looks better with layers.”

  Bryn struck first and caught my shoulder before I could successfully dodge the blow. She was quick with raw power, but I had experience on my side. Our blades collided, creating a rainbow of red, yellow, and purple sparks. The rest of the group gave us a wider berth as we moved around the meadow like living, breathing chess pieces.

  “Imagine how good you’ll be with more training,” I said, lunging at her. She deftly turned away, avoiding my touch.

  “I’ll never have your natural grace, though,” she replied. “That’s an inherited skill, not a learned one.”

  “You flatter me,” I said. “The skills you’ve inherited will dwarf mine one day. Everybody knows it.” I managed a glancing blow off her hip and it burned a hole through her cloak. “Oops.”

  “Don’t worry! I can fix it,” Cerys called from the sidelines.

  Someone began chanting my name. Before I knew it, there were mingled voices, shouting for victory. Some for mine. Some for Bryn’s. I relished every second of it. Not everyone liked the idea of fighting—some students at Spellslingers hoped for a different path than fieldwork that involved frequent skirmishes. I couldn’t wait to get out in the world as a sentry and fight for justice.

  “Fight for justice?” my grandmother had said once, when I’d made a similar statement at home. “Don’t be naive, dear heart. There is no such thing as justice as a singular concept. It is always attached to someone else’s idea of what it should be.”

  I hadn’t understood her point and the time, and wasn’t even sure that I did now, but I remember that I’d felt stupid for saying it. Stupid for feeling that way. I didn’t want to be naive because, whatever that was, it met with my grandmother’s disapproval. The irony was not lost on me that the woman who’d dishonored our family and spent our fortune was the same woman whose disapproval made me feel ashamed. I loved her wholeheartedly, despite everything.

  “Stop daydreaming and fight,” Bryn ordered. The heat from her sword warmed my skin as it shaved the air close to my hand.

  A slow smile emerged. “If you insist.” I gathered my strength and struck hard. Every step included a fierce blow. The flames licked my sword as I spun and slashed the front of Bryn’s cloak. Fire singed the seam and threads popped. Bryn glanced down at her cloak in surprise.

  “Okay, not sure if I can mend that!” Cerys called.

  Master Horton blew his whistle. “The match goes to Degraff,” he announced.

  The flames of our swords dissipated and Bryn clapped me on the arm. “Well done, Dani. I’ll get you next time.”

  “You probably will,” I said.

  “Nice work, Degraff,” Master Horton said. “We should have you training with the third years before long.”

  I perked up. The thought of a harder challenge was enticing. “I’m ready for that anytime, sir.”


  He chuckled. “I’ll bet you are.” I offered him back the sword and he waved me off. “Keep it for practice. It suits you.”

  I stared at the intricate hilt. “Are you sure, sir?” Weapons weren’t usually allowed out of the armory after hours.

  Master Horton placed a hand on my shoulder. “That sword has your name all over it. It wouldn’t be right in anyone else’s hands.”

  I tightened my grip around the hilt. “I appreciate your faith in me.”

  “Faith is believing in something you can’t see or prove,” he replied. “As far as I’m concerned, Degraff, you’ve proven yourself just fine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “So what’s the deal with this druid?” Bryn asked, plonking her tray down beside me at the table in the cafeteria. Her plates were overflowing with food. Weapons training seemed to bring out her hungry side. On second thought, breathing seemed to bring out her hungry side.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You’re running around the Obscura like a witch with a death wish,” Bryn said. “Gray said you could’ve been killed because of this guy. I mean, he’s good-looking, but is he worth the risk?”

  “I’m doing what any good sentry would do,” I insisted. “Besides, Peter’s friends with Professor Fraser and wants to find him as much as anyone, and not just because he’s a suspect.”

  Cerys gave the other witches a hesitant look. “You’re sure he’s telling the truth? What if the professor is hiding from him and the druid is using us to find him?”

  I reeled back. “Are you serious? Do you think my instincts wouldn’t be kicking in?” Although it wasn’t a magical skill, I had decent radar when it came to others.

  “I don’t know,” Cerys said vaguely. “He is very attractive.”

  “And charming,” Mia added.

  I folded my arms. “Sounds like a perfect match for either one of you then.”

  “That’s not what we mean,” Cerys said. “We just want to be sure that you’re not misguided by your attraction to him.”

  “Attraction?” I scoffed. “He’s a smuggler. I don’t cavort with criminals, no matter how attractive.”

  Mia wagged a celery stick at me. “So you admit you find him attractive?”

  “I didn’t say that.” The back of my neck grew warm.

  “You didn’t deny it either,” Bryn said.

  I speared a carrot and forced myself to eat. “I believe his story and that has nothing to do with his appearance or his alleged charm.”

  “Okay, fine,” Bryn said. “In that case, we’re on board.”

  “But you don’t trust him,” I said.

  Bryn heaved a sigh. “I don’t want to suggest he’s not worth your time, but as someone who struggled to keep a very big secret for years, I definitely get a vibe from him.”

  “A vibe?” I echoed. “What kind of vibe?”

  “That he’s hiding something,” Bryn replied.

  “Like he’s hiding Professor Fraser?” I asked. “What does that even mean?”

  “I feel it, too,” Cerys said. “We don’t want to see you hurt, or worse, because you placed your faith in the wrong individual.”

  “Maybe he’s hiding something completely unrelated,” I said. “Maybe he owes money for missing library books, or has unpaid parking tickets.”

  “Or maybe it’s the most obvious choice—he’s the reason Professor Fraser is missing,” Cerys said.

  I shook my head firmly. “No way. You’re off the mark.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that the situation with your grandmother is clouding your judgment?” Mia asked.

  “What? She’s knocking on death’s door, so I’m suddenly irrational?” I chomped on a celery stick. “When have you known my judgment to be affected by my personal life?” The right answer was never, and everybody knew it.

  “She’s right,” Mia said, and I squared my shoulders in response.

  “How bad is it?” Cerys asked gently. “Your grandmother, is she really in the final stage?”

  I fell silent for a moment. It was difficult to talk about openly. Because of my grandmother’s reputation, I tended to keep my feelings to myself. “I think so. I hated to leave.” I didn’t mention sending off the requested potion. I’d used Bryn’s familiar for the task, but she only knew that I was sending my grandmother a care package.

  Cerys covered my hand with hers. “We’re here for you, Dani.”

  “No matter how misplaced your affections are,” Bryn said. Her eyes popped when she realized how she sounded. “I’m talking about the druid, not your grandmother.” She smacked her forehead. “Good one, Bryn.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I feel confident on both fronts, thank you.”

  Bryn jerked a celery stick in Cerys’s direction. “Like this one said, we’re here for you.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I asked for your help with the locator spell, but Peter and I will handle the rest. I don’t want anyone else’s neck on the line.” I thought of our visit to the Liberty Project and Lizzie Fraser’s scathing attitude toward him. “Peter seems to be a magnet for trouble.”

  “An overabundance of charm will do that,” Bryn said with a wry smile.

  “There was something off about the Liberty Project, too,” I said.

  “What do you mean by off?” Mia asked. “Aren’t they supposed to be champions of the oppressed?”

  “Yes, and Lizzie Fraser was perfectly nice,” I said. “Still, my instincts were on high alert there.”

  Bryn gulped down her iced lemon swizzle. “Because nobody’s that inherently good?”

  Cerys blew a puff of laughter. “Bryn, you’re so cynical.”

  The dark-haired witch pointed to herself. “Daughter of the Shadow Sorcerer, remember? Comes with the gene pool.”

  “I think Bryn is right, though,” I said. “I know they have ties to all sorts of organizations, both good and bad. I just felt a little unnerved in their offices.”

  “What about Peter?” Cerys asked. “Druids tend to be sensitive. Did he feel the same?”

  “Peter wasn’t exactly himself at the time,” I said, picturing him in his Clementine form. “But he attended the Bryn School of Hard Knocks where the motto is—trust is earned, not freely given.”

  Bryn shrugged. “Words to live by.”

  “He breaks the law for a living,” Cerys pointed out. “He’s not exactly trustworthy himself.”

  “Just the witches I wanted to see.” Warden Armitage hovered over us.

  “There’s only one witch here I want to see,” Gray said, and winked at Bryn.

  “Degraff, would you come with us, please?” Warden Armitage asked. “We have some information to share with you about your new friend.”

  He didn’t need to ask me twice. I scraped back my chair and took a final bite of my meal.

  “I’m coming, too,” Bryn said. She stood and carried her tray with her.

  “Where do you think you’re going with that?” Gray asked.

  “I’m hungry,” Bryn said, shooting him a mournful look. “You think I’m going to waste perfectly good food?”

  We hunkered down in Warden’s Armitage’s office. Bryn moved her chair to the corner of his desk so that she could continue chowing down on the excellent cafeteria food. It was, as she’d tell anyone within earshot, one of the best things about the academy.

  “What’s the information you want to share?” I asked. Part of me worried that they’d unearthed some evidence against Peter.

  “There are rumblings within the AMF that the kidnapping is politically motivated,” Warden Armitage said. “There are a few groups making noise at the moment, any one of which could claim responsibility for Fraser's abduction. So far, though, no one has come forward.”

  “Wouldn’t they have let the cat out of the bag by now?” Bryn asked, her mouth full of food.

  “Let the cat out of the bag?” Warden Armitage repeated, confused.

  Gray raised a hand. “I’ve got
this one. It means revealed their secret plan. I’ve been learning all the Terrene expressions.”

  “At this point, we don’t know why, or even whether this intel is accurate,” Warden Armitage said.

  “Why Professor Fraser?” I asked. “He's so new to the academy. If a group wanted to make a political point, why not take someone more noteworthy like Chancellor Tilkin?”

  “Perhaps Fraser was an easy target,” Warden Armitage said. “Even without security detail, Chancellor Tilkin would be difficult to overpower. She is far more formidable than her appearance suggests.”

  I’d heard murmurs, of course, about the Chancellor's magical prowess, but I didn’t get the opportunity to see it in practice very often. She didn't teach any classes, and her role as Chancellor often seemed to have her serving more as a liaison with outside groups.

  “And I guess Professor Langley would be similar in ability,” Bryn said. “With all that arcane knowledge, he's bound to know some scary stuff.”

  “Which group has been the noisiest lately?” I asked. “Maybe they finally decided that action spoke louder than words.”

  “We’ve been wondering the same,” Warden Armitage said. “The main concern is that no demands have been made. Typically, if you kidnap a political prisoner, it's because you want a certain result.”

  “Maybe they acted without direct orders,” I said. “A rogue element. And now they’re scrambling to secure their position.”

  Warden Armitage rubbed his jaw. “That's a good point, Degraff.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” I said.

  “Giga has been making the most chatter lately. They’re a fairly large group, so it’s entirely possible that members on the fringe decided to take action without the authority of their leader.”

  Bryn raised her hand, still clutching a buttered roll. “Um, what’s Giga?”

  “A group of giants,” Gray replied. “Highly concerned with equal rights for their kind.”

  I didn't know much about Giga, only what I’d read in articles. “What do they want?” I asked.

  “They have a few high-ranking members of their group in prison,” Warden Armitage explained. “They've been clamoring for their release, even hiring lawyers from the Liberty Project to represent them.”