He grunted, and we continued through the Dead Wood. Our feet crunched on dried leaves and the occasional twig, making a gentle rhythm that broke the silence.
“I suppose everyone was wrong about King Mag—” Stafford’s words were broken by his yell, which echoed below us and grew distant by the second.
I whirled around and nearly stumbled into the broken twigs that made up the edge of a pit. Niger grabbed me around the middle and pulled me to safety.
My heart beat thudded in my throat. “W-what was that?”
“I do not know… But Stafford will be in danger unless we act fast.”
Chapter 5
I edged closer to the pit with Niger at my back, ready to grab me if the ground gave way underfoot. The hole where Stafford had disappeared stretched about four feet in diameter and appeared to have been concealed by thin twigs and dead leaves. When I peered into its depths, I found what looked like an infinite expanse of black.
Clutching my roiling stomach, I said, “It’s got to be deep, considering how long Stafford screamed as he fell.”
“I fear the same,” replied Niger. “Call for him, and I will watch your back.”
I lowered myself to my knees, placed both palms on the warm, dry ground, and stuck my head into the hole. “Stafford?”
My voice echoed down the pit, reverberating in unison with the dread climbing up my gut. What in the Known World could be down there? My mind conjured up an image of Stafford’s broken and bleeding body lying atop jagged stalagmites, which made me want to gag. Without a witch, we had no way of raising him to the surface.
“STAFFORD,” I shouted, desperation raising my voice several octaves.
Niger patted my back. “He is likely unconscious. See if you can get Fyrian to send help.”
“Fyri, could you—”
“No,” she snapped.
“What?”
“I don’t approve of the company you keep,” she replied. “First that brutish Niger attacks poor Magnar, then that idiot Stafford says he’s unfit to rule. I wouldn’t help either of them.”
I frowned. “But you’d help me?”
“Of course. You’re Magnar’s bride.”
“As King Magnar’s future bride, will you help me help my friend?”
A smoky sniff passed through our bond. “It doesn’t work like that.”
My shoulders slumped, and a frustrated whimper tore from my throat. My Fyrian would never leave a friend in peril. After facing death for a crime she didn’t commit, she knew exactly what it felt like to be helpless and reliant on someone’s help. That wretched elixir had twisted her mind. It hadn’t just made her unfeasibly loyal to King Magnar, now, she lacked compassion for others.
“Problems?” asked Niger.
“She’s not helping because we haven’t been nice to King Magnar.”
He knelt beside me on the ground, keeping one hand on a thick root for security. “Are you serious?”
My shoulders slumped. “It’s the loyalty elixir.”
“I’m just doing what’s right for Magnar,” she said.
Niger shuffled back to firmer ground and pulled me away from the pit. We sat at the trunk of one of the massive trees on a root as thick as a basilisk. He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Is she listening?”
I nodded and calmed my thoughts so Fyrian could concentrate on what Niger would do or say next.
Pulling the same kind of stern expression Rufus wore, Niger said, “Fyrian Lacerta, the majority of dragons, warriors, and witches are still suffering under the plague and unable to provide King Magnar the protection he needs to regain his Kingdom.”
Interest sparked across our bond. I gave Niger an encouraging nod. “She’s paying attention.”
“We need to find the complete antidote to the alchemists’ poisons,” he said. “Master Jesper’s alkahest is only a partial solution, and we do not know how long it will last.”
“I thought it was a cure,” she said.
“It’s untested. Nobody knows how long it will last,” I replied. It wasn’t a lie, as Master Jesper had only perfected the alkahest with the use of Golden Callisti apples. It had removed the symptoms the alchemists had inflicted to disguise the loyalty elixir, but it hadn’t gone as far as to neutralize its effects.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
I gave Niger a thumbs up. “We need Evolene to come down and lift Stafford out of the pit. If you can ask one of the masters, they can tell her what’s happened.”
“All right. I saw Roopal this morning. I’ll tell him.” She sent me a visual of herself soaring over a small lake and toward the waterfalls of Mount Fornax.
“What did she say?” asked Niger.
“She’s going to get help.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Fyrian.”
“Let’s go back and see if he’s woken up.” I pulled myself to my feet and walked toward the pit, making sure to keep to solid ground. About ten feet away from the pit, thin twigs cracked under the soles of my boots. I stopped and shouted, “Stafford?”
The ground trembled beneath my feet. My stomach dropped. I was nowhere near the pit! Before I could stumble back, strong arms hoisted me off the ground, spun me around and set me back onto the roots of the tree.
“Oh! Thank you.”
Niger’s hand remained on my waist. “Be careful. The ground is treacherous and likely enchanted.”
My gaze flickered up to his obsidian eyes. They stared at me with such intensity, I wondered if he was trying to see through my glamor. “Y-yes… I’ll pay better attention.”
Silence stretched out between us, filled only by the steady thrum of my heart. I didn’t dare look into his eyes again. It was one thing to hold the stare of males like Father and General Thornicroft. They mostly wanted to intimidate me into blurting out the truth about some misdemeanor or another. Niger was different. He actually seemed interested in me as a person. And if I was honest with myself, I was interested back.
“Why do you disguise yourself when you have the power of a mage?” he asked.
My skin itched, and the beginnings of the damsel denial magic stirred in my chest. It was about to punish me for saying I’d run away and disguised myself to avoid marrying King Magnar. I cleared my throat. “Father and I had a disagreement. I wished to escape the decision he made for my future.”
He was about to ask something. Probably about the nature of our disagreement. A conversation like that would likely lead to me writhing in pain—something I couldn’t afford when Stafford desperately needed my help. I stepped back toward the tree trunk. Instead of hitting wood, I tumbled down what felt like a staircase.
“Bluford!” Niger rushed down the stairs after me.
“Alba!” cried Fyrian.
A stone wall broke my fall. It belonged to a landing of some sort, which led to another set of downward stairs. I placed my hands over my aching head. “Huh… I suppose we’ve found the entrance to their secret hideout.”
He crouched beside me, face a mask of concern. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a few bumps.” I pushed my palm on the wall, using it as leverage to stand.
Niger grabbed my arm and pulled me up. “Here.”
“Umm…” I splayed my arms out for balance. “Thanks.”
“Do you need me to carry you down the rest of the stairs?”
My cheeks flamed. Two unfortunate accidents and he already thought I was a damsel in distress. Anyone could lean against a tree trunk with an invisible door and fall through the other end, but I suppose what happened with King Magnar the day before had been an inexcusable disaster. It was hard to be annoyed, as he was only trying to help.
I shook my head. “It’s fine.”
“Then allow me to go first.” He raised his fist and set it alight, illuminating a staircase that twisted and turned at every landing.
Rolling my shoulders, I followed him down. That tumble had been more embarrassing than painful, and I hoped I could do something heroic t
o make up for falling down the stairs.
“Are you all right?” asked Fyrian.
“I’ll live.”
“Why do you care so much about what he thinks when you have Magnar?” she asked.
Because it would take an entire vat of loyalty elixir for me to look favorably on that wretch. I hid that thought behind the barrier General Thornicroft had helped me form in my mind and told Fyrian, “I barely know King Magnar, and most of our encounters have been unpleasant.”
I continued down the stairs behind Niger, grimacing each time he turned around to check that I hadn’t collapsed. If Master Jesper hadn’t revealed my true scent, he would probably have given me a hard clap on the back and laughed at my pratfall. Now he acted like I was some kind of delicate princess.
“Did you speak to Master Roopal?” I asked.
“He wasn’t very happy with me because I interrupted his conversation with Magnar,” she replied. “But he’s sending someone down.”
I furrowed my brow. Why not Evolene? All the witches had eaten the poisoned compote and were all under the effects of the plague. Knowing my luck, it would be Roseate who arrived with her garish, pink hair and ghastly attitude.
“Watch your step.” At the end of the stairs, Niger opened a door that led to a room blackened by fire.
I groaned. “The librarian already destroyed everything.”
“Stay at the door while I check for traps.” Niger stepped into the room holding out two flaming palms and looking from left to right.
“You don’t have to keep protecting me.”
“Let me worry about that.” He glanced over his shoulder and flashed me a grin so roguish, all protests dried up in my throat.
I huffed. “Fine, but I can take care of myself, you know.”
“Of course,” he replied in a tone that meant otherwise. “Unsheathe your parched sword.”
I unhooked it from my belt. “Why?”
“We need your long-reaching flames to scour the room for magic.”
“Oh.” I thought back at the lattice of fire General Thornicroft had taught me to make during my first dragon quest. “What if we both covered the room with a grid? That would be faster than swinging my blade.”
He stopped in his tracks, turned around, and stepped toward me. “Are you suggesting we combine magic?”
“Um…” General Thornicroft hadn’t given me the impression that connecting our flames was anything significant but doing it in a dragon quest wasn’t the same as doing it in real life. Swallowing hard, I rocked back on my heels. “What’s wrong with that?”
His cheekbones pinked, and his lips curved into a smile. “It is a rather deep connection that we only reserve for our closest of comrades.”
My throat dried. “I-I’m not that practiced with the grid anyway. M-maybe I should use the parched sword.”
He inclined his head.
“What are we looking out for?” I asked.
“Subtle changes in the flame. Has General Thornicroft taught you flame types yet?” When I shook my head, he continued. “Just sweep your flame from left to right. I will check for any changes.”
I extended the sword’s flame and swept it across the darkened room as he directed. It just looked like the usual stream of orange fire to me. “I didn’t know a mage’s flames could be sensitive to magic.”
“It is not as effective as a witch’s detection spell and mostly too time-consuming to be worthwhile.” He glanced ahead into the flames as I swept them across the room. “There are no traps so far.”
We continued like this for several minutes until we cleared the chamber and entered a narrow hallway. A groan echoed ahead.
I cut off my flame. “Stafford?”
“Albert?” his words were slurred.
My heart leaped, and I charged ahead to meet my friend, only for Niger to grab my arm. “Careful. We must check the hallway for traps. There is no Evolene or Master Jesper to shield us from an explosion.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. That had been reckless of me. “Right… Sorry.”
It took an eternity of waving my flaming sword and having Niger analyze the fire to travel the hallway and reach Stafford. He sat against the wall, eyes half-lidded, legs outstretched, and clutching a burlap sack. Even in the imperfect light, it was clear he was in a lot of pain. His skin was deathly pale and glistening with sweat.
I slid onto my knees at his side. “Are you hurt?”
“I bashed my head, but I’m fine.” He winced. “Though I might have broken my ankle.”
“You are lucky,” said Niger. “If you had fallen on your head, that drop would have killed you.”
A pained laugh huffed from Stafford’s chest, making him grimace. “The number of times I fell out of trees and off the roof at the orphanage, I’ve learned to fall better.”
My gaze drifted to his twisted ankle, and my insides writhed with sympathy for my best friend. Poor Stafford didn’t seem lucky to me.
“What do you have there?” asked Niger.
Stafford opened one eye for a second. “Huh?”
“The sack.”
“It was attached to the wall,” Stafford replied, eyes still closed. “I grabbed it on the way down. There’s some stairs on the left. You two should take a look while we’re down here.”
I eased the sack out of Stafford’s grip and pulled it open to find a few rolled parchments. I exhaled a long, disappointed breath. None of them looked like they’d been ripped out of the leather tome.
“Let me see.” Niger reached into the sack, pulled out the largest one, and unrolled it. “This is a map of the underground passages of Mount Fornax.”
“H-hello!” shouted a female voice.
I raised my head. The pale face staring down was so far away, I couldn’t make out her features. “Evolene?”
“I heard Stafford was hurt.”
“Evolene,” mumbled Stafford.
“He might have broken his ankle,” I shouted. “Can you lift him up?”
“I brought one of the healers.”
A male voice shouted from above, and he asked a series of questions about Stafford’s condition. Then Evolene lowered a vial of pain elixir which she said would make Stafford’s journey to the Healer’s Academy more comfortable. I uncorked it and brought the vial to his lips.
As soon as Stafford finished the elixir, his face relaxed, and he stared up at me with bright, hazel eyes. “Let me know what you find down the stairs.”
I smiled and ruffled his caramel hair. “Of course. If the librarian isn’t down there, you can join us on the search tomorrow when they’ve healed your ankle.”
“Thanks, Albert.”
“What for?”
“For being the best friend ever.” Stafford’s eyes fell closed, and his head drooped onto his chest.
Warmth filled my chest. A mere month ago, my only friend was Mother, and she’d left for the realm of the fairies. I gave Stafford a squeeze on the shoulder goodbye. “He’s ready!”
Another item floated down. Some kind of leather harness which the healer said I needed to wrap around Stafford. I held the straps, ready to follow the healer’s instructions when Niger pulled them from my grip. “Allow me.”
“I can do it.”
He coughed. “It would not be proper.”
My eyes widened. He was referring to the close contact I would have with Stafford’s person. I stepped back and let him wrap Stafford’s slumbering form.
“Cadets Bluford and Griffon, do you need assistance in leaving the pit?” asked the male healer.
“We’re fine,” I shouted back. “There’s a staircase.” Besides, we still needed to explore the rest of this underground building.
Once Stafford had been safely lifted out, we examined the rest of the scrolls. They contained information other alchemists had gathered about fairy hybrids. One of the scrolls outlined the capture and torture of an imp—a human-fairy hybrid. According to the notes, the creature had been susceptible to fairy iron.
>
“This one is about Her Majesty,” said Niger.
“What?” I let the scroll I was reading roll closed. “Was she captured?”
His brows drew together. “Yes. Although the alchemist who took her died under mysterious circumstances.”
I stood next to him and peered at the scroll. It contained an illustration of Aunt Cendrilla holding a staff and wearing a leather bodice and flowing battle-skirt. “It says she was a student of the Anti-Magic Academy. Why would she join such a place?”
“Before Her Majesty married King Armin, the United Kingdom of Seven’s laws allowed the slaughter of magical beings upon sight. I expect she infiltrated it to destroy their corrupt policies.”
My brows drew together. “Did she get hurt?”
“It does not say.” He rolled up the scroll and headed toward the end of the hallway. “We can study these later.”
With a nod, I followed him. “Let’s go and explore.”
Cool, damp air greeted us at the top of the staircase, a spiral structure carved out of sandstone.
Niger sniffed. “I smell a large quantity of rainwater.”
“Really?” My fingertips rested on the cool, damp wall. I’d never been so deep underground, so didn’t know what kind of atmosphere to expect.
Our footsteps echoed on each downward step, mingling with the faint sound of dripping water. Perhaps the alchemists had siphoned some of the lake and placed it into a leaky tank. They certainly needed a large quantity of water to create all those elixirs and homunculi.
At the bottom of the stairs was what I could only describe as a cavern that stretched out like a roadway. I stepped off the staircase, and my boots sank into cool, damp sand.
Niger lowered his flaming fist to the sand. “Footprints.”
“Can you smell anyone?”
“A human and… a wolf?”
I glanced ahead and found a set of massive paw prints amid the footprints and ground. “At least we know what happened to the twelfth glacier wolf.”
Dragon Mage Academy Page 5