Pariah of Dragons

by Cordelia Castel

  I stood. We had flying safety next. Master Klauw knew everything about dangers to dragons. Maybe I could hint that I wanted to speak to the wild dragon through Fyrian’s link and see what he would say. “Only a few more bites. I can finish the rest on the way.”

  We headed back into the mountain and through the hallways to Master Klauw’s classroom. The dragon rider cadets were already streaming through the doors, so we followed after them.

  As soon as we stepped inside, Stafford turned around and muttered, “Look at the artwork.”

  On the walls were the usual morbid paintings of dragons put in peril by their riders but with a few additions. An auburn-haired mage floated underwater with a blue dragon in a sea full of giant serpents. Next to it hung a picture of a green-haired cadet punching a rapier red unconscious. I glanced at Muti, who scowled at the picture. The final one was a blond-haired cadet on a green dragon falling through the skies chased by an angry lightning bird.

  A clawed fist of guilt squeezed my heart. I hadn’t imagined that feeding the weathervane an antidote would ever cause such a powerful explosion.

  Master Klauw stood. “It would seem that the title of this class should be dragon safety. An increasing number of warriors and cadets force their dragons into situations unsuitable for their capabilities out of a misguided sense of heroism.”

  “Dragons are adults, aren’t they?” said Muti. “They can make up their own minds.”

  The dragon master nodded. “Cadet Pavo makes an interesting observation. Unbonded dragons are free to do as they wish without having to consider the feelings of any warrior, but once a dragon is bonded, he or she forms a deep, unbreakable connection.”

  A blonde-haired witch sitting in front raised her hand. “Can they sense each other’s feelings?”

  “A dragon can feel their rider’s disappointment or anger, yes.” He turned to me and said, “The bond compels them to create harmony, much like in a magical marriage.”

  I shuddered, pushing away thoughts of King Magnar’s terrible wedding vows of obedience. It seemed like Master Klauw thought I was a bad influence on Fyrian. How could I ask him about the wild dragon now?

  The small, ginger-haired instructor paced up and down the front of the classroom. “Some warriors use their dragon’s eagerness to please to manipulate them into entering situations their unbounded friends would judge as too dangerous.”

  I dipped my head. That wild dragon had accused the warriors of enslaving the dragons. Was Master Klauw implying similar? He could coat an entire wall with the number of perilous situations I had encountered with Fyrian.

  Her side of the bond remained silent, and my heart sank. Apart from what she had shared last night about the wild dragon’s attempts at conversation, she hadn’t given me anything more than one-word answers or politely worded requests to leave her alone. I dipped the nib of my quill in the ink pot I shared with Stafford and wrote today’s date on the corner of my parchment.

  Master Klauw returned to his desk and stood beside it, steepling his fingers. “I want each of you to write a story, true or false, of a situation where a rider cajoled their bonded dragon into doing something dangerous. Extra points will be given to those who provide quality illustrations.”

  I blew out a long breath and stared at my parchment. Which adventure would I write about? The incident with the spriggans at the Savannah border? The explosive-hurling homunculi? One of the times I got Fyrian chased by angry witches? They were all pretty bad.

  “I did not steal it!” hissed a voice from the other end of the table. Gobi turned around and pointed his quill at the riders in the table behind.

  Muti bared his teeth. “You were the last person who flipped it. Give me back my lucky shilling!”

  Grimacing, I set down my quill and ran my fingers through my hair. It looked like the thief had struck again.

  “What is the meaning of this?” snapped Master Klauw.

  “This fool is making accusations in class,” said Gobi.

  “This fool has been avoiding me since he stole my silver shilling,” snarled Muti.

  Master Klauw stormed to the other side of the room, his face redder than his hair. “How dare you talk of treasure while discussing the health and safety of dragons?” He pointed at Muti. “You struck poor Rubens, who was just trying to be friendly.”

  Muti shot to his feet. “That rapier red committed an act of tyranny against my person. How else was I supposed to react once I regained my senses?”

  The other rider cadets snickered.

  Master Klauw’s eyes flashed an even brighter green, and he clenched his fists to his sides, arms shaking with rage. “Get out!”

  I drew in a sharp breath through my teeth and grabbed Stafford’s arm. Would Master Klauw turn into a rapier red again?

  Muti’s face paled, but he lifted his chin and walked out of the class without a word. I swallowed hard. Master Klauw might have been one of the smallest males in Mount Fornax, but he was strong enough to punch a quarter-giant like General Thornicroft across a room.

  The dragon master turned his furious gaze to the rest of the class, settling on me. “Out. All of you.”

  I shoved my writing equipment in my knapsack and hurried out of the room. Asking Master Klauw about the wild dragon when he was in this mood would likely lead to a fiery punishment. I wasn’t sure how it would affect Fyrian, and I wasn’t prepared to put her in any more danger. She was still suffering from my bad decision to talk to the wild dragon.

  Instead of going to the mess hall for lunch, I went to the Healer’s Academy to find Dr. Duclair. Roseate told me she was busy with an important patient and couldn’t be disturbed. I tried asking her if there was such a thing as mind healers for dragons, and she said I needed to approach a tamer.

  In the afternoon, we had Swordsmanship class with the riders and tamers. We all crowded around Captain Pristis, who stood in the middle of the circle of cadets to deliver his lecture.

  The slender instructor spread his arms wide and turned around, silver ponytail swishing with the graceful movement. “Can anybody tell me an effective line of defense against a stronger opponent?”

  “A shield?” asked Gobi.

  “Unless it is enchanted, some opponents are strong enough to shatter it with a single blow.”

  “Dodging,” said a tamer cadet.

  “Why?” asked the instructor.

  “It might tire out the opponent and give you an opening to strike while they are distracted.”

  Captain Pristis clapped his hands together and beamed. “Close. Today, you will practice the art of the feint.”

  “Sir!” Gobi’s hand shot up.

  “Yes, Cadet Bluebeard.”

  “Why not attack the opponent directly? Feinting is dishonest.”

  The Captain tilted his head to the side. “Some warriors may consider it a dishonorable technique, but when cornered by an angry dragon, feinting might be the only thing that keeps you alive.”

  That’s when I noticed his uniform. He wore the steel-gray leather of a dragon tamer, which explained why he seemed preoccupied with fighting stronger opponents. I sucked in an excited breath. Captain Pristis could answer all my questions about the wild dragon and give me advice on how to make him stop contacting Fyrian. I would ask him at the end of the class.

  “Get into pairs,” said the instructor. “The person feinting must trick their opponent out of their defensive stance and strike when their guard is down.”

  I grabbed Stafford’s arm and pulled him into a far corner. “You first.”

  He swung at my neck with the wooden practice sword, and I raised to block, but he swerved down and out of reach to whack my shin.

  Pain radiated along my fibula bone, and I winced and shook my leg. “Good one. Did you see Evolene at lunchtime?”

  “Master Jesper told me she went to meet her guardian. They had a meeting with the Witch General and the Magistratus.”

  “What?” I dropped my sword arm.

  S
tafford jabbed at my neck. Instead of bringing up my sword to block, I leaped backward out of reach of the second jab he made to my stomach. While he was busy scowling, I swung at his neck.

  He dodged to the left. “I climbed the roof and checked all the skylights. All four of them sat in an interrogation with six of the Magistratus’ white witches. He kept asking what happened the day she escaped.”

  “What did Evolene say?” I circled right, eyes narrowed, trying to anticipate his next move.

  “That someone stunned her.” He thrust, making me spin out of range, only to get the flat of his wooden blade to hit my shoulder. “And she woke up wandering through the drylands of Mount Fornax in her chemise and then bumped into King Magnar.”

  “And they believed that?”

  “The Witch General wanted to perform a truth spell on Evolene, but King Magnar said any actions against his ward would be a declaration of war against the Savannah Empire.”

  I shook my head. That was awfully decent of King Magnar to have protected her. “What happened in the end?”

  “The Witch General asked if a certain Princess married King Magnar in exchange for adopting Evolene. He said no, but nobody believed him.”

  I snorted. She still suspected I had rescued Evolene.

  Stafford lowered his sword arm and drew his brows together. “Well, did the Princess sacrifice herself?”

  “No, I whispered. She didn’t have to.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

  “When are you going to see Evolene?” I asked.

  “Tonight,” he replied.

  Gobi grabbed my arm. “Bluford, you have to help. Muti has gone mad!”

  “What happened?” I turned around.

  The younger cadet pointed at the far corner. In the gaps between the sparring warriors, Rufus and Muti fought with rapid movements, complete with metal swords. I groaned. “Why are they fighting?”

  Gobi’s eyes filled with tears. “Muti wanted to spar with me. I think he planned on teaching me a lesson for the silver shilling I did not steal, but Rufus took my place. Now Muti is furious.” He gave my arm a gentle tug. “Please, you have to stop him!”

  I walked around the sparring pairs, muttering, “Why me and not the captain?”

  “You are the best dueler in Mount Fornax.” Gobi continued tugging at my arm. “Not even Captain Pristis could have beaten King Magnar’s monster form.”

  “That was Fyrian and the parched sword.”

  He shook his head. “You are always being modest.”

  A huge tamer cadet staggered back into our path. Side-stepping out of his way, I shoved him back toward his opponent. Before I could reach Muti and Rufus, Captain Pristis leaped between the two half-ogres and crouched low, somehow dodging their sword strikes. Then he raised both hands and grabbed their blades.

  “Have you taken leave of your senses?” he bellowed.

  My stomach lurched. I clapped my hands to my mouth, waiting for blood to spout from the instructor’s hands, but nothing happened.

  “This is an outrage,” snarled the Captain. “The two of you will stand in opposite corners of the room until the end of the class. Then I will keep you for the rest of the evening and teach you the true meaning of swordsmanship!”

  My heart sank. Captain Pristis was the only tamer I knew, and I wouldn’t get the chance to speak with him about the wild dragon. Waiting around for him to finish whatever he had planned for them wouldn’t work, as I’d arranged to meet Niger for drogott practice. I glanced at Rufus, who scowled at Muti before taking his place in the corner of the room.

  Gobi wrung his hands. “Oh, no. I got Rufus into trouble!”

  I gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Muti started it. Once the story comes out that Rufus stepped in to protect you, Captain Pristis will understand.”

  Gobi nodded. “Thank you for being my friend.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. Niger had been right. His display of dominance while disguised as me had resolved Gobi’s petty rivalry. Perhaps I didn’t know as much about half-ogres as I had thought. I would have to apologize to Niger when I saw him this evening for drogott practice.

  Chapter 9

  Stafford, Gobi, and I walked through the hallways toward the mess hall. At this time of the evening, sunlight no longer streamed through the few openings out into the terraces. Instead, gas lamps shone at full blast, casting multiple shadows across the polished, sandstone floors. My steps were fast and light, as Niger and I would spend time alone practicing drogott. I hadn’t seen Mother for ages, which meant she was probably too busy spying for the Queen of the Fairies to interfere with my time with Niger. I quickened my pace, ignoring the dragon moths fluttering around my heart.

  “Who do you think took Muti’s lucky shilling?” asked Stafford.

  “I do not know,” muttered Gobi. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stomped behind us. “Muti probably lost it but is blaming me.”

  “Or the person who stole my gold coins took it,” I said.

  “Why would somebody who has gold want a single silver coin?” asked Gobi.

  “Because they’re a thief,” said Stafford.

  I raised a shoulder. “Or they want to create as much disharmony as possible in Mount Fornax.”

  Stafford stopped walking, making Gobi bump into his shoulder. “You know who stole it.”

  “Not exactly, but I have my suspicions,” I replied. “Fyrian and I met someone who hates Mount Fornax. It would make sense that this person wants everyone to fight.”

  Gobi’s eyes widened. “Who?”

  I glanced down the hallway. If I started my explanation now, we’d be standing here all evening arguing about the practicalities of how a wild dragon confined to his cage might break through just to steal a few items and cause mayhem. Then I’d be late to see Niger, and we might not get the chance to practice drogott. Instead, I jerked my head in the direction of the mess hall. “Come on, let’s discuss this while we eat.”

  When we rounded the corner, a long line stretched out from the doors of the mess hall. We strode to the end of the line, behind a group of healers. I recognized one of them: the dark-skinned male with the tight braids whose human side I suspected came from the Boreal Desert.

  “Healer Alabio,” I tapped his shoulder. “Do you know what’s happening inside?”

  He glanced down at me. “Cadet Bluford, isn’t it?” When I nodded, he hooked his thumb at the door. “They were going to serve great mammoth steaks, but someone stole them all. Master Torreo is cobbling together something on the griddle.”

  “Oh.” I glanced at my friends. “It looks like the thief has struck again.”

  Gobi punched his fist into his palm. “This time, he has hit us where it hurts!”

  Healer Alabio grinned. “Not quite. But if he touches the dragon’s tears, the warriors might riot.”

  A large hand landed on the small of my back, making tingles run up my spine. I didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. The scent of rain and thunder filled my nostrils, making my heart swell.

  “What happened?”

  I met Niger’s obsidian eyes. Behind him stood five mage cadets from his fourth-year class. “Someone stole all the steaks.”

  He frowned. “Why is everyone waiting around here, then?”

  “Hunger?” I replied.

  “But there is always food at the Warrior Queen. At this time of the evening, the place is usually deserted.”

  “Oh!” cried Stafford. “We should go now.”

  “Good idea!” Gobi sprinted down the hallway without a backward glance. Half the warriors in the line broke away and headed after him, presumably to have their dinner at the tavern.

  I patted Stafford on the back. “I’ll join you later.”

  He sprinted after Gobi, and the other fourth years followed at a brisk walk.

  Niger grinned. “Drogott practise?”

  I smiled back and nodded.

  Niger and I stepped out onto the terrace. By n
ow, the sun dipped low behind the distant hills, casting flame-colored light across the horizon. It stretched over the clouds like molten lava, leaving patches of indigo sky between the gaps. A cool breeze blew through my magically shortened locks, and I brushed arms with Niger, basking in his company.

  A gray-breasted bluebird swooped down and landed on Niger’s shoulder, shattering my illusions of a pleasant evening.

  “Why are you here?” I snarled.

  “To make sure you don’t end up like your mother,” replied Uncle Orel.

  Niger frowned at the little bird. “Will she attack again?”

  “This is someone else.”

  Uncle Orel flapped his wings and flew onto my head. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “No.” I swatted at him, but he launched himself into a branch. Uncle Rouen perched next to him and twittered a hello.

  “Aren’t you going to ask about your mother?” asked Uncle Orel.

  “No.”

  “She’s in the palace,” said Uncle Rouen.

  I placed my hands on my hips. “Why?”

  “Ask her.” Uncle Orel flew up into the skies, hopefully, to spy on someone else, but if Mother wasn’t at Mount Fornax, they would probably follow us to the drogott arena and watch our practice.

  “What were you talking about?” asked Niger.

  I shook my head. “Idle gossip. Don’t be surprised if you find two bluebirds perched on the goalposts, though.”

  Fyrian and Flavo met us at the mountain’s surface. From the way she dipped her head and wouldn’t make eye contact, I suspected the wild dragon had been trying to speak to her again. When I asked, her side of the bond remained silent, as though she tired of the subject and wanted to be left alone.

  “I already talked to Arva,” she said.

  “Who’s that?” I climbed up her foreleg and settled between her wings.

  “The black dragon who dug the tunnel. She told me to keep ignoring him. The Council of Dragons won’t be able to stop him from trying to speak to me, and neither can the witches.”

  “I’m sorry,” I ran a comforting hand down her scales.

  Instead of replying, she leaped up into the skies and spread her wings. I inhaled a pained breath and closed my eyes. This was all my fault. Why had I thought it would be a good idea to speak to that awful dragon? Two sets of tiny claws landed on my shoulder, and my ears filled with birdsong. I dipped my head. Uncles Orel and Rouen were wasting their time trying to cheer me up. The only way to fix things was to get rid of the wild dragon.