by D. B. Penner
Nailfram, I know what you have in your possession. You have no right to claim those, which are mine. Turn them over to Boewdard or suffer the withdrawal of my good will. We are coming to Bladebeard shortly and expect your utmost cooperation in this matter.
Now that is something to be upset about, Will thought. Though he could not divine the identity of the objects in Nailfram’s possession, there was no mistaking the threat in the scrawled note.
Brisk footsteps sounded in the hall. Will hurried to rearrange the papers. He had just sat down when the doorknob turned. Nailfram and Gollemp stepped through the doorway. Pretending to be bored as if nothing had happened, Will lazily looked towards the door. Nailfram seemed satisfied by his act as he slumped behind his desk, looking exhausted.
“You’ve wasted enough of my time. Leave now, the both of you,” Nailfram growled. Giving the snoozing Pat a shake, Will stood and hurried out the door before Nailfram noticed anything out of place.
Meeting Art in the Foyer, Will asked, “What happened to make Nailfram leave?”
“There was a brawl between a Soardale and some Lumberton cadets. The cocky shits, they master one spell, and those Soardale mages think they own the world. The Lumbertons sought to teach him his place. Then before anyone knew what was happening, so many started fighting that half the staff was needed to break it up. Soardale kid was injured pretty badly. He was carried off to the Healer’s Ward, looking a right mess.”
They ate a hearty breakfast and wandered out into the Foyer. Cadets milled about, apparently waiting for something, but Will couldn’t say what. Suddenly, a stone shifted on the floor. A squat dwarf with a bright orange beard crawled out of a tunnel beneath the stone. The children hurried to crowd around him.
“Not so hasty,” the dwarf shouted. “Hold on! Calm down! I did not sign up to be assaulted by younglings. Ugh, have them!” he said throwing a sack of parchments onto the floor. The cadets pounced on the mail, and the dwarf stepped back avoiding the mad dash, watching with disgust. “By the Mother Mountain! They’re only letters.”
After a minute or two, the scrum dispersed, and the crowd cleared. The dwarf retrieved his sack. “Only two left then?” he muttered, pulling out two letters from the bag. “Arthur Tableground… Mail! You’ve got some mail! And, by the Mountain! Stormhand? Is Matthew Stormhand actually here?” The dwarf lost his air of cynicism for a moment and sounded genuinely excited.
“I’ve got mail?” Will asked.
“Yes, Sir, your letter is right here, Sir!” the dwarf saluted, looking ridiculous. Will laughed.
“Don’t be silly, I’m not the Stormhand. I am Will, Stormhand’s son. And my gratitude for the delivery,” Will said, taking the letter. Art took his letter as well. The dwarf looked crestfallen at first, but then smiled.
“Not a problem, Master Stormhand! By mine Mother Mountain! I never thought I’d meet a polite recruit here,” the dwarf said, loosening his green belt and adjusting his vast stomach. Frowning, he threw the empty sack over his shoulder and peered down into the darkness of the narrow tunnel.
“Oh, I’m not paid enough,” he grumbled, acquiring an air of disgruntlement again as he disappearing into the ground. The dwarf covered the entrance to his tunnel with the stone and was gone.
Before opening their letters, Will and Art strolled up the staircase to the Pit. Will sat on his bed, looking at the parchment. Art flung himself down next to him.
“What the…?” Art cried. “Oh no, Mum!” He opened the letter, and a long scroll unrolled itself revealing its lace-frilled edges.
“Pretty,” Will commented before attending to his own letter.
Opening it, Will read to himself, “William, I hope you are having a wonderful time at the Academy, learning lots, and playing nice with all of the new friends you’ve met. Don’t hurt anybody too badly. Please write back soon about all of your courses. We have not had word from you since you’ve left. Lumina misses you, and your father hopes that you are growing into your powers. Ever confident, he knows you will, but I pray that you learn to control them-”
Mother knows about this, too? What is the extent of these Furialist powers? If so many understand, why will no one tell me?
“-before you need them. We are well, and our only ailing is that we miss you. We fixed up the house, too, Will. Wait until you see it; it’s beautiful. Do not forget to write. Go with our love.” It was signed Elizabeth, Matthew, and Lumina.
“Now what do we do with ourselves?” Will asked with a faint smile, folding the parchment and placing it in his pack. He would write back to his family soon, but until then he would keep their words close.
“I will follow you, unless you go outside. I have no intentions of freezing my manhood off in the muck today.” Although it had finally stopped raining, the ground was yet soaked, and worse still, a freezing wind had swept through the grounds.
“Care to shoot?” Will asked. Art shrugged. “Oy,” Will called to a second year boy. “Is there a archery range somewhere inside? My friend and I would shoot.”
“Aye,” he grunted, “through the Foyer and to the right.”
“Gratitude.” But the boy wasn’t listening and was already stalking away.
Will grabbed his bow and slung his quiver on his back. He also strapped on his sword. Never know when I might need it in a place like this. They found the Range without much difficulty. The high, stone walls of the Range were lined by hundreds of hay bale targets.
Cadets from every faction were there. Some practiced their archery, while others stood a ways off and dueled in one-on-one fights or small skirmishes. A few students stood or sat in groups practicing magic, green, red, and blue lights illuminating their faces.
Will saw the Warriors training in a corner alone. Will and Art headed towards an archery target and began to loose arrows. Before they could shoot for long, Will was approached by several Soardale recruits asking if the rumors of Will’s heritage were true.
Art assured the rumors to be true and challenged some disbelievers to a one-on-one duel with Will. Defeating recruit after recruit, Will grew bored of Art’s duels and began to wish for something more difficult.
“I see Lord Brightflame has his own little following. Worm-hearted shits. I want to see if he can take us all.”
Without looking around, Will shook his head, “Ogdin, I will destroy you.”
The confident challenger snarled angrily then, howling, Ogdin transformed and charged. Will allowed his power to take hold for the fifteenth time that day. It was easy now, natural. With a slap of his sword, he blocked a claw swipe. He felt his arm quake beneath the force, but the defense held. Three Scalefires joined the fray and attacked Will from separate sides.
Will couldn’t attack and was in constant need to block sword or axe or claw before one struck him. Art swung his axe brazenly and jumped forward to Will’s aid. Two of the attackers turned to fight Art instead, leaving Ogdin and a young Scalefire to battle Will on their own.
Under endless attack, Will felt his speed slow. His breath came in deep pants. Tapping into a final reservoir of energy, Will shouted his intent. “Raisíth!” Focusing his spell on Ogdin, Will raised his hand and thrust it into the lycanthrope’s stomach. Ogdin flew across the room and landed with a crunch and a whimper on the stone floor. Will doubled over and gasped; the release of energy had stolen the very breath from his lungs. Forcing his figure straight, Will turned on the youth attacking him and smiled ferociously, red eyes glinting menacingly. The Scalefire swung wildly at Will’s face. Ducking the clumsy blow, Will jabbed the unprotected stomach of his assailant. The boy fell with blood accumulating upon the ground around him.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Will prepared to assist Art in finishing off their only remaining enemy, but Scalefire students from the archery targets and other various duels saw their fellows fall and ran towards Will and Art.
Just before the overwhelming force converged upon the two, a war cry was issued from a crowd of Warriors, who collide
d with the oncoming Scalefire students. It seemed to Will that with the skill of their Warrior reinforcements that he and Art just might survive unscathed, but Faction loyalty ran deep at Bladebeard Academy. The Warriors from Scalefire turned upon their fellows, and the swarm of combatants converged on Will and Art.
Will slashed upwards through a Scalefire arm, breaking bone. He blocked a speeding arrow coming quickly towards his face. Stumbling over a body, Will noticed that magic users healed the wounded from both sides. A curved sword slashed across Will’s back. He screamed and furiously turned on the enemy. Someone from behind him bashed Will’s head with the pommel of his sword, and he collapsed.
Bonds
Will woke in a candle-lit room. It immediately struck Will that, though cluttered, the room was perfectly immaculate with not a speck of dust or dirt to be seen. Cots lined the walls, drapes hiding the inhabitants from sight. Turning over on his side, he noticed with surprise that the gash on his back did not pain him. A little woman waddled hunchbacked over to where Will was lying. Her short brown hair was neatly braided in some spots and wildly unkempt in others. She wore spectacles, but only one lens was in the frame. Will noticed with wary eyes the large, emerald green snake that wrapped itself around her arm.
“So, you are awake, child? Finally. Now, you can take your medicine,” she said, smiling. The wild-looking woman was missing several teeth. “I tell the Blademaster all the time, ‘you can’t leave those scrappers alone; somebody’s bound to get hurt.’ Teach them to fight then expect them to behave themselves when you’re not around to keep them in line? It’s preposterous.” She seemed friendly enough, so Will took the yellow potion she handed him. He almost vomited after he drank the first sip; the taste was unbearable.
“Come on now, drink up,” she said, forcing the rest of the vial down Will’s throat. “Your reputation precedes you, Brightflame. I suppose we will be seeing a lot of each other. Or at least, I will be seeing a lot more of your victims. And already today, I have treated many of your victims. You broke that one boy’s arm so badly; I know not how to set the bones. Maybe I just take it off after all… After today, I suspect you’ll have no lack of enemies. Not hard to imagine you encountering more danger during your stay here at the Academy.”
Will frowned and nodded weakly. “Yes, well, I’ve been finding danger rather unavoidable recently. My gratitude is yours for taking the trouble to numb my back; I feel no pain.”
“Think of it as repayment; you tell your father that.”
“How do you know my-”
“The question is how well do I know your father.”
Neither said a word for a minute while the old woman scanned Will for injuries with her sharp eyes. The snake’s tongue flicked the air inaudibly. Will shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“I am Revia, Revia the Healer. Some would feel it necessary to add that my true skills lie in a darker craft rather than in healing, but I don’t tend think about other’s opinion of me or of anything really. At any rate, you’ll find that your back has been completely healed, not even a scar,” she smiled again. Sure enough, when Will felt his back for a sign of the wound, it had vanished, leaving only smooth skin.
“You did not respond to the medicine I normally issue the others; that’s how I knew you were Stormhand’s boy. It took time and a little blood magic, but that is no issue. One with my ability is able to heal much deadlier wounds given enough blood.”
“Blood magic?” Will asked nervously.
Revia laughed, an uncontrolled titter, “Fear not, little Furialist. After your brawl, there was blood enough to heal all these lord’s sons, not that I did. They will have to wait and recover the traditional way. But, if it will help you sleep at night, know that your injuries required no sacrifice or anything as unpleasant as that. Of course, not any blood would do; the only suitable match for you was the Ogdin boy’s. Never mind how I knew about your bond to the lycanthrope, though. Just an old woman’s suspicions.”
“What bond? That potion…” Will said, remembering its horrid taste. Suddenly wary, Will frowned. Witches were deceitful and cruel, but Will calmed that doubt, realizing the Academy would not employ one who would intentionally harm injured recruits.
“In truth, it was a bit of an experiment on my part. You don’t feel like dying, do you?” the witch asked, smiling her toothless smile.
“Should I?”
“Not if you are what I think you are, but fear not, my suspicions have been confirmed.”
“A relief, I’m sure,” Will said. “My thanks for mending my back.”
Revia just wagged her finger at him. “Keep your thanks, just remember to tell your father. We are even now. At any rate, I do find pleasure in helping you youngsters. It’s the little things in life you know. Now, you must forgive me; I think the Ogdin pup is coming around now.” Revia shuffled to a cot across the room.
Ogdin was here? Did I put him here? Will thought guiltily. Then, remembering that Ogdin had started the fight, Will felt that the lycanthrope deserved whatever injuries he had suffered.
Though exhausted, Will felt his strength recovered enough to prop himself up on his pillow. Staring at the instruments and listening to the moans of unseen wounded, Will sat quietly for a few moments before a loud knock on the door drew his attention.
Will heard a deep voice speak. Revia replied, “Yes, they are ready to speak, though the fire whisperer has recovered much quicker.”
Boots clacking loudly on the stone floor, Blademaster Boewdard walked into Will’s view. He looked from Will to Ogdin and back again before speaking in a tone forced even, “I will not punish either of you for your behavior. By design, that is what the Range is for. But, you must not aim to severely injure one another. We lost a recruit today. Her lord father will be quite furious when he discovers what happened to his daughter. I demand to know who started the fight? William? Daniel?”
No one spoke. Boewdard laughed, “No one will admit fault, eh? I must assume then that both are to blame. In that case, I have but one more question. How many cadets did you take down before falling yourself?”
Will was surprised by Boewdard’s interest in that detail. The expression on the Blademaster’s face was that of genuine curiosity. “Three,” Will said bluntly.
Ogdin remained silent, but turned red around the ears. “Eh, Daniel, how many?” Boewdard asked.
“None,” Ogdin replied moodily.
Boewdard looked slightly surprised, “None? Who fell you?”
Ogdin shifted uncomfortably but did not say anything. Boewdard turned to Will and asked, “Did you see him fall? Who broke his arm?”
“I did, and I did,” Will said, attempting to remain stoic while inwardly beaming with pride.
“Interesting,” Boewdard murmured to himself. “Revia, have Master Ogdin back on his feet as fast as possible.” Deep in thought, Boewdard raised his black eyebrows and left the room without another word. Cackling, Revia shuffled from her cluttered desk in a corner to tend to Ogdin, and as she pulled back his curtain, Will saw with no small amount of pleasure that Ogdin’s right arm was in a sling.
A while later, Revia returned to Will’s bed, “I’ve prepared the Ogdin boy for his treatment. He will be in much pain now that he has woken up, and I dare not give him another sleeping draught. You are free to leave. Or stay. It matters not to me.”
“It may be better that I go,” Will replied. He had little desire to bear witness to Revia’s method of healing.
He thanked her again before exiting the Healer’s Ward. “I will have my revenge someday, Brightflame. You have not defeated me,” Ogdin cried as Will made to exit. Revia began chanting in a monotonous language, and Ogdin’s screams filled the air. Quickly then, Will tried to ignore the pained shrieks and continued out of the Healer’s Ward.
As he navigated the hallways and corridors of the castle, Will passed empty classrooms and offices before finally arriving in the Foyer. No one was in the Range, nor
were there people moving about in the courtyard. Will wondered what time it was as he poked his head in the Feasting Hall. Meal time, Will thought as he saw the cadets eating.
Taking a step inside, he was met by Art, who had rushed over to him. “I’ve missed you, farm boy; are you well? I went to visit you, but you were still unconscious.”
“How long was I in the Healer’s Ward? What time is it? How did the fight end?”
“Whoa, one question at a time. It is breakfast, you have been unconscious in the Healer’s Ward for just under a day.”
“A day! I must have been hit hard,” Will said, shocked.
“Aye. The healer figured that because you used magic, your energy must have been low. She seemed to know quite a lot about the nature of your powers,” Art said.
“She is a witch. She would know a great deal about magic.”
“A witch? That’s suspicious. You still have all your toes?” Art asked uncomfortably.
Laughing, Will responded the affirmative, “Aye, my toes remain mine, all eleven of them.”
Art smiled, “How about your stomach? You must be famished.”
At Art’s comment, Will realized that he had not eaten in an entire day. Just the thought caused him to feel faint. Following Art back to his place, Will sat and ate until he replenished his strength. Although he had been bed ridden for a day, Will was exhausted. He told Art he was going to go to bed and retreated to the Pit.
Once asleep, he was again plagued by the dream of the burning castle. The images seemed more real and vivid than the first time he had seen them. In this vision, Will also saw his father leading a grim host of men towards the burning gates. His father advanced through the gates, and Will lost sight of him. Then, bloodcurdling screams echoing around him, filling his head with the noise.
