Burden's Edge (Fury of a Rising Dragon Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  Murder. Murder. Murder …

  He would tear Katrina limb from limb. Pulverize her very bones. Erase her existence.

  The wind gusted, settling snowflakes onto Bridget’s face and robe. Already the snow wanted her. Already she was disappearing.

  Augum stood before Katrina, hands balling into tight fists, hating himself for what he was about to do. More than hating—loathing. Black loathing of the most poisonous kind. But he would do it, damn him to Hell, and suffer to the end of his days for what he had allowed to happen. He would do it for Bridget.

  “Katrina Von Edgeworth … I accept your bent knee.”

  Katrina stood, her face going neutral.

  Her form began to change shape.

  Bridget’s body disappeared.

  The roar of the wind lessened as the snow melted …

  Revealing a checkered black-and-white floor.

  Silence

  Augum fell to his knees, holding a shaking hand over his mouth and allowing the vast quiet darkness of the Arcaner trial ground to soften his tempestuous emotions. Before him stood the flaming form of Trintus Bladeofbright, fiery eyes filled with the flame of forgiveness.

  “It was all a test,” Augum babbled, never more grateful to have been fooled. “Gods, it was all a test …”

  “Thy did not turn thy back on a foe,” Trintus said in formal tones. “Thy accepted a bent knee. Thy is worthy of the title I shall bestow. Stand and summon thy shield, Aspirant.”

  Augum, still trembling from the experience, took his time getting to his feet, allowing the waves of gratitude that Bridget and Leera were all right to wash over him.

  Or were they? He did not truly know yet, did he?

  Augum summoned his black lightning shield and presented it. Trintus stepped forth, flaring his full burning sleeve. “I do thus declare thee to have attained the rank of Arcaner squire.” He then raised a hand. The fiery light from the man’s arm burned brightly before burning into Augum’s shield. Trintus stepped away, and Augum took a moment to glance over the lip. Although it was still made of black ice-like lightning, the shape of it had changed so that it was a classic crest shield. But that was not the neatest part. Along the sides, standing out brightly in a tidy golden script, were the words, Semperis vorto honos. Courage, fortitude, honor. He had attained the first Arcaner rank.

  Trintus raised his arm. “Congratulations, Squire.” There was a ripping noise as a small portal replaced the man’s form.

  “Sir, wait—” But the great nothing swallowed up Augum’s voice, leaving him with only a subtly lit portal and a newly engraved shield. Eager to see the girls, he dissolved his shield and walked through the portal. On the other side, he was catapulted out into thin air. He sailed, flailing wildly, and slammed into the sandy arena floor of the Arcaner room with an “Oof!”

  “Bridge, Lee!” he said, spitting sand and scrambling to his feet. But the girls were not there. Their satchels were still piled on the desk. Gods, please let them be all right, please!

  He paced for what felt like hours before the portal flared and spat out Leera, who fell onto the sand with an “oomph!”

  “You’re all right!” he cried, scooping her up and twirling her.

  “And you too!” she shrieked, tears rolling down her cheeks. She jumped up, locked her legs around his torso, and kissed him with a passionate fierceness he had never felt from her.

  She pulled back. “Fates be damned, I thought you were—” she began before kissing him again, arms around his neck. “I thought …” she said between kisses. “I thought … you were … gods, I can’t … I can’t repeat it … gods I love you …”

  “And I love you…” he answered, never enjoying kissing her more than in that moment.

  The two of them twirled as they laughed and snorted and kissed and cried with joy until the portal flared a final time, launching a coughing Bridget into the sand. She looked up and simultaneously gurgled a laugh and a cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her head plopped back onto the sand in relief. Augum and Leera untwined from each other and gently lifted their friend, embracing her in a warm hug. Bridget’s shoulders shook so much she could not speak. Sand that had stuck to her face trickled off. And around them, the great stone circle of the portal ground back into place.

  * * *

  They spent a good long while recounting what had happened to each of them. Bridget sat cross-legged on the dragon desk while Augum sat in the sand, Leera entwined snuggly in his arms before him. It turned out the girls’ challenges had been quite different from his, starting with the girls having Rebecca Von Edgeworth as their master tester. Bridget theorized that was because she and Leera admired Rebecca more, seeing as she was a great woman, the only woman who had originally received a scion, among other things. Rebecca had been fair in manner, if not a bit stern. As to the moral test of the chivalric code, Leera had to watch as Lord Rupert Southguard tortured Augum, and Bridget had to let Brandon die for the betterment of the kingdom. Neither of them elaborated, but they didn’t need to. Augum also did not put them through the anguish of hearing the full details of what he had seen. The experiences had been harrowing enough without needing to be regurgitated and cheapened.

  They showed each other their new shields, all engraved with the same mottos.

  “That’s why The Grizzly wanted you to complete the trial tonight,” Bridget said. “So you could show your shield during the duel tomorrow. The first Arcaner squire in some time. Think of the significance of that.”

  Augum wasn’t so sure that’s why The Grizzly had wanted them to take the trial today, but he didn’t voice his doubt, figuring he’d think it over first.

  “That test didn’t feel impossible,” Leera said. “I mean, sure, it was difficult and even deadly, but not impossible.”

  “I think the trial was designed to test something inherent,” Augum replied. “Something unteachable.”

  They let that thought simmer a little while.

  “When do we get to do the dragoon test?” Leera asked.

  “It’s not that simple,” Augum replied. “Becoming an Arcaner squire is just the tip of a mountain of training. That’s what that old journal says. It’s the equivalent of a journeyman in a trade. Dragoon takes time, loads of it. And practice in the field. At the very least, we’ll need the official course material. I’m hoping one of the arcanists can find it and teach it to us next term.”

  “The academy has to sanction the course,” Bridget said. “Then they have to hire an arcanist and get all the course material together.”

  “If the academy still exists by then,” Leera muttered, nestling deeper into his arms.

  The thought mingled between them in sweet silence. Augum contemplated telling them what Katrina had told him in the illusion, about her dreams and stuff, but decided his initial instinct had been right: it was irrelevant. Nothing in the illusion should be taken as truth, for it was all a “moral trial of the mind,” as Bridget had called it.

  “We should probably go,” Augum said.

  Leera squeezed his arms to herself. “Already? Can’t we just, you know, lounge a bit longer?”

  Bridget gave her an urging look. “Lee, really …”

  “I know, I know, there’s loads of training to do.” She sighed. “All right, then, let’s do this.”

  The trio gathered their satchels and headed out of the room, flaring their shields and giddily peeking at the golden script, squealing in disbelief that they had actually done it.

  A short way down the deserted Hall of Rapture, Augum spied a burgundy-robed pupil hurrying from one classroom door to another, listening at each one. When she looked up, he recognized her.

  “Gretchen,” he said, surprised to find her here.

  Gretchen practically ran to them. “Prince—I mean, Lord Stone,” she said in a huff. Then she quickly curtsied. “Lady Burns. Lady Jones.”

  “You do not need to address us with titles,” Bridget said compassionately.

  “What’s th
e matter, Gretchen?” Augum asked.

  “Hi! Uh, I’ve been, like, looking for you, you know? And someone told me that, like, they thought they saw you three step into this wing and stuff. Anyway …” Her voice dropped conspiratorially, even though there was no one around. “You, like, gave me a sacred quest to keep an eye on the Southguards, remember?”

  “I do.” He was conscious of the girls’ questioning look. He had forgotten to tell them, but only because it had seemed inconsequential. And he hadn’t actually expected Gretchen to find out anything.

  “Well, I’ve been, like, following that handsome Eric around, you know? He’s really cute, so it was easy and fun. And I can be a little mouse. And I really did adore him, even though he never gave me a second thought, or even, like, a single look—”

  “The point, please,” Leera said.

  “So, anyway, yeah, I’ve been following him around whenever I saw him here in the academy. Every chance I got, you know? At a distance and stuff, all secretive like. Yeah, so I was studying in the library earlier, and you’ll never guess who I saw—” She giggled as she walked two fingers in midair like puppets.

  Leera pressed the tips of her fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Mmm, tough one. I’m going to go out on a limb and say … Eric?”

  “Yes!” Gretchen screeched, clapping and jumping up and down.

  Leera clapped as well. “Yay!”

  Her sarcasm netted her a hard backhanded smack from Bridget.

  “Worth it,” Leera muttered.

  “Yeah, I saw him stroll by. So I went ahead and followed of course, yeah? But what I saw …” She placed a hand over her mouth as her expression darkened.

  “What did you see?” Bridget pressed in a whisper.

  “Like, I can’t rightly say. I can’t … I can’t use the word even. It’s bad luck. Real bad luck. I’m supposed to tell the watch, but I’m scared. My eyes have been defiled even seeing it, you know? Like … but … but I can show you. If anyone’ll know what to do, it’ll, like, be you three. I really wanted to go to the arcanists, but I was scared they wouldn’t believe me and … and …” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Hang me …”

  “Please, take us,” Augum said, understanding it had to be quite serious indeed. And although he hadn’t the faintest idea what it could be, his curiosity burned.

  Gretchen skittered down the Hall of Rapture, out through the courtyard, which was still in the thrall of a heavy blizzard, and into the Student Wing.

  “What if the illusion never let up?” Leera whispered as they hurried along. “Imagine it all abruptly ends and we find ourselves back in that checkered room.”

  “I thought about that too,” Augum replied in a hushed voice. “There’s no way to know, is there? We could live out our entire lives, and then the whole thing could just … reset.”

  “That’s a scary thought.” She chuckled. “But then at least we’d get to live two lives.”

  “I’m near certain the trial ended when we came back through the portal,” Bridget said. “Besides, don’t forget what Arcaners stand for. They wouldn’t be malignant like that.”

  Augum nodded, forcing the affirmation upon himself and shoving any lingering doubt aside. There was simply no more room for doubt as he was plenty full of it already. He needn’t question his entire reality on top of it all. Sometimes, one just had to trust the Fates.

  The few students who were around on that study day gawked and whispered behind their hands as the trio passed. Luckily, no one approached to pester them about scions or Black Slights.

  Gretchen turned down an empty corridor and then another. Ancient oak doors with crude iron ring handles and old signs lined the walls. The arched ceiling here was thrice the height of a man and supported by great cedar beams. The air smelled of books and incense, with a subtle hint of sweet roast chicken, no doubt from the nearby Supper Hall.

  “They left the door open so they could hear people coming,” Gretchen whispered.

  “I don’t understand,” Augum said.

  “Shh.” Gretchen placed a finger to her lips as she indicated their destination was ahead, and tiptoed the rest of the way there. The trio exchanged a curious look before mimicking her. At last, she came to a half-open door and leaned against the wall. Two male voices could be heard from within, one of which Augum recognized as belonging to Eric.

  “No, no one will know, I assure you,” Eric said in a quiet voice.

  “They’d flay me alive if they found out,” said the other male, voice wavering with fear. “Especially if your father got wind of it. You know what they do to people like us, Eric …”

  “All too well, Iggie. All too well …”

  “Then you know we can never see each other agai—”

  “No! I mean, please … don’t … you’re the only one I can be myself around. My real self.”

  The raw emotion in Eric’s voice surprised Augum. But what in Sithesia were they talking about? And why did Gretchen look like she might throw up?

  Scuffling sounded from inside the room, almost like a struggle.

  Gretchen, pale as a sheet, indicated for the trio to look through the open door with her. But what she saw inside instantly made her shriek. At the same time, Augum witnessed something he had never expected …

  Eric and the other boy hurriedly letting go of each other.

  Oath

  Leera shoved Gretchen into the room and clamped a hand over her mouth while Bridget slammed the door shut behind them.

  “Shh, Gretchen, shh. I’m going to let go, but you need to relax, all right?” Leera then tentatively uncovered her mouth.

  Gretchen’s eyes were wild like a trapped animal’s. “I shouldn’t be here,” she squealed, weakly struggling in Leera’s grip. “I ain’t supposed to see this kind of thing …”

  The other boy, whom Augum vaguely recognized as being from the 6th degree, scrambled behind a desk, whimpering, “Oh gods, we’re dead, oh gods …” He quickly devolved into a blubbering mess. He was dark-skinned, with short curly black hair, and wore the traditional emerald academy robe of his degree.

  Eric, for his part, stood tall, hands nervously clenching and unclenching, his face the color of summer cherries.

  The boy behind the desk was sobbing. “They’re going to hang us—!”

  “Iguyin, please!” Eric said, raising both hands—one hand gently pressed against the air in Iguyin’s direction, the other in the trio’s as if begging everyone not to do anything rash.

  “You’re wayward—” Bridget blurted, a hand over her mouth.

  And that’s when Augum understood. In the myopic, superstition-laden village he had come from, being wayward, whether it was a woman loving another woman or a man loving another man, was punishable by death. The only thing worse was being labeled a witch. Even the word gutterborn did not carry the awful stigma the label wayward did. Waywards were hunted, reviled and executed throughout the seven kingdoms. Only a few famous couples had managed to pierce the veils of superstition, fear and hatred, only one couple of which Augum knew by name—Selma and Sinna Trailweaver. But they were the exception, not the norm.

  Augum had never met a wayward before, at least not knowingly, and didn’t quite know how to feel. A childhood of superstition dictated that he should raise the alarm and have the marshals lop off Iguyin’s and Eric’s heads. But he knew that was an irrational reaction, for he suspected devil-worshipping waywards only existed in the same minds that called warlocks devil-worshipping witches, and that waywards were simply misunderstood. Or so he hoped.

  Eric’s breathing was rapid and shallow, his hands still pressed to the air as his eyes darted between them.

  “You have to behave,” Leera whispered, holding on to a struggling Gretchen. “Please. I’ll let you go, but you must stay quiet. All right?”

  Gretchen nodded, her wide eyes darting between Iguyin and Eric. Leera relaxed her grip and let go.

  Gretchen breathed as quickly as a squirrel, her eye movements
jerky and erratic. “See! This is why I couldn’t say anything. They’re … they’re …” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Waywards. I shouldn’t have seen this. They worship the devil. The devil. Demons! We’ll burn at the stake for seeing it—”

  “No one’s getting burned alive, Gretchen,” Bridget said, placing her hands upon the girl’s quivering shoulders. She stared into her eyes. “Not unless you tell someone.”

  Gretchen’s near-invisible brows kept rising as she attempted to process what was happening.

  Bridget gave her shoulders a gentle shake. “Look at me. Calm down, all right?” Gretchen at last nodded, and Bridget placed her gaze on Eric. “The marriage proposal was a cover, wasn’t it?”

  Eric, hands still raised, sat down on the desk, signaling that he too would not do anything rash. “It was.”

  “Who else knows?”

  Eric shook his head. “Only Katrina. The wedding was her idea. Mother took to it quickly, as did … as did Father.” His head dropped. “If you tell anyone, anyone, they might banish me, but Iguyin …”

  “They’ll torture and burn me alive is what they’ll do!” the boy shrieked. “Head on a spike kind of thing. We’re waywards, Eric. Waywards.”

  Eric winced as if Iguyin had struck him.

  Suddenly the door burst open, revealing Iron Byron and Arcanist Gulliver Flagon. Augum got a huge whiff of rancid body odor and retreated a few steps, as did the others, likely giving the impression they had been up to no good. As for Gretchen, she turned ashen.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Iron Byron demanded, his perfectly combed silver hair jiggling.

  There was a brief, tense moment that Augum was certain Eric and Iguyin would describe as sheer terror.

  “Gretchen’s just heard bad news!” Leera blurted. “Cousin died. Really quite tragic. She’s awfully distraught. Poor girl’s ashen. Look at her.”

  Iron Byron’s gaze traveled to the quivering girl. “Most unfortunate, dear child. Was it a close cousin?”