Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  I glanced to the right for doors leading to an external terrace. We were probably in a part of the mountain out of bounds for cadets, but if someone found us wandering around outside, we could claim to have gotten lost exploring.

  “Where are we going?” whispered Stafford.

  “Um…” I pushed open a wooden door that led to another sandstone hallway. Someone had created a carving of an elongated dragon down one side. It looked like a snake that had taken on the characteristics of a dragon, and I wondered if this was another type we hadn’t yet learned about. “We need to find the security witches.”

  “All right,” he replied. “Where do they work?”

  “I don’t know.” We jogged down that hallway and reached another door. I flung it open, only to find a stairwell. “Let’s go to the Healing Academy. One of the witches there should be able to direct us.”

  We headed up the stairs, and a massive figure stepped out of the shadows. General Thornicroft, the head of the Dragon Mage Academy glowered down at us. “Why are two potential mages running about like a pair of errant dragonets?”

  “Sir!” cried Stafford. “We went to Master Fosco’s room—”

  “Stafford!” I snapped. He was saying it all wrong.

  The General narrowed his eyes. “Explain yourselves.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to tell him the entire story, but he held up a long finger. “Not you,” he said in a voice that sounded more like a threat than an order. “Perrault. You start.”

  My shoulders dropped. Stafford didn’t know half of the reasons why I had broken into Master Fosco’s room. He’d just tagged along because it was a fun adventure. Now he was going to make us both sound like a pair of idiots.

  I was about to protest, when Fyrian cut into my thoughts. “Don’t contradict Thornicroft. I’ve seen him dangle students over chasms for getting on his nerves.”

  I clamped my lips shut and let Stafford speak.

  “Well, sir. There’s a really pretty girl we know, and she got attacked. We think she’s betrothed to Phoenix, and he’s been taking great care of us, so we went to Master Fosco’s room and…” He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked. “Hold on… Why did we go there again?”

  I clenched my teeth. “That’s not how it happened.”

  “Silence,” General Thornicroft growled.

  My stomach dropped, and I stared at my feet.

  Stafford continued his garbled account, focussing on how pretty Aunt Cendrilla looked in the paintings and the wonderful view of all the dragonets. All throughout Stafford’s ramblings, I could feel General Thornicroft’s white-hot glare on the side of my face.

  “Umm…” Stafford’s voice had lost its enthusiasm and now shook with nerves. He’d probably realized that he’d talked himself and me into a host of trouble. “Then we ran down the hallways and bumped into you, sir.”

  Silence hung in the air like an executioner’s ax, poised to strike. My mouth dried, and I swallowed several times. Fyrian didn’t have any words of advice, but I could feel her in the back of my head, watching with nervous anticipation.

  I snuck a peek at the General in the corner of my eye to find him glaring down at me as if he’d known all along that I was the one who had instigated the break-in.

  Then, he flicked both hands, and a rope of white flames shot out of his palms and wrapped around our wrists. He spun on his heel and strode down the hallway so quickly, we both had to jog to keep up.

  “Ouch!” The flames felt like ice prickling at my skin. I glared at the back of his platinum head. “What are you doing?”

  Stafford whimpered but said nothing.

  “Is that how you address your Academy Head?” he said in a voice colder than his flames.

  “Sorry!” I blurted. “Where are you taking us, sir?”

  “Where you belong. It appears, Mr. Bluford, that you have indulged in too many adventure scrolls, and are now seeing murder suspects where none exist.”

  “But my dragon is innocent!”

  “And you proved that by breaking into the Director’s private chambers?”

  My lips trembled. He was making me sound reckless and stupid. “Evolene was found clutching a note that said the evidence was in Master Fosco’s chambers. I had to investigate to save a dragon from an unjust execution.”

  He dropped us outside a door and retracted his flames. Then he turned his glare to Stafford. “Get inside.”

  Before the General had finished his sentence, Stafford bolted into the room.

  General Thornicroft placed a massive hand under my chin, tilting my head up so I had to look into those pale, aquamarine eyes. The palms of my hands went damp, and my knees turned to rubber.

  “Someone with so much to hide should respect the privacy of others.” He stared at me with such intensity, it was as if he could see underneath my disguise. I held my breath, waiting for him to mention my gender, but instead he rasped, “Consider this your final warning.”

  He let go and stalked off, leaving me stuck against the wall, unable to move. I asked Fyrian, “What do you think that meant?”

  The door opened, and Phoenix stuck his head out. “Bluford, inside.”

  I followed him into a windowless classroom with walls covered in posters of extreme types of weather. There was a snowstorm, a tornado, a lightning storm, an eclipse, and what looked like giant hailstones causing huge splashes in the sea.

  Before I could take in the rest of the pictures, a male at the front of the classroom cleared his throat. He was about a head shorter than me, with a slender, human build. Long, ginger hair hung down to his chin, and he stared at me with startling, viridian-green eyes. There was absolutely nothing ogreish about his appearance, and from his proportions, he clearly wasn’t a dwarf. He looked… completely human, and not more than fourteen years old.

  I glanced at Stafford, who sat at the far end of a long table, looking cowed. Gobi gave me a smug grin, as though my lateness was his personal triumph, and Rufus stared straight ahead. Ivan’s eyes darted toward me and then back to what could only be the teacher.

  “Master Klauw,” said Phoenix. “This latecomer is Albert Bluford.”

  The instructor’s green eyes sharpened. “Ah, the last of our errant students. How nice of you to grace us with your presence. Perhaps you can explain to the class the precaution a rider needs to take against a class eleven wind?”

  My stomach sank. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” he snapped. “You missed the first half hour of the lesson where I introduced the subject.”

  I bowed my head. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Save your apology for the dragon you will maim because you failed to attend your flight theory class!”

  “Hmmm…” said Fyrian. “He does have a point.”

  My lips tightened. I wasn’t in the mood to let her distract me.

  Master Klauw snarled and waved me to the nearest seat, which happened to be next to Ivan. Ivan shot me a worried glance, and I forced a smile.

  Then the instructor launched into the most morbid lecture on how wind conditions could kill both dragon and rider. He passed out detailed pencil drawings of mangled dragons. The weather condition that caused the injuries were written in red ink along with splashes of blood. At the bottom of each drawing was Master Klauw’s signature.

  “A pair of witches just visited my cell,” said Fyrian. “They’re still referring to me as the dragon that killed the human. You need to send a message to the palace.”

  I swallowed hard. Right now, the evidence was pointing at Master Fosco being the murderer. Aunt Cendrilla might keep my secret for a few days, but when Father realized I was missing, she would tell him, and he would marry me off to King Magnar. We still hadn’t exhausted all other options, including appealing to the Witch General. “Did they say anything about an execution?”

  “No, but they didn’t say it was canceled.”

  I sighed. “Give me until the end of the day.”

  “W
hy can’t you contact Auntie Rilla now?”

  “Because I still think I have a chance to prove your innocence. It’s obvious that Master Fosco attacked Evolene because she confronted him about the note.”

  “That was stupid of her,” said Fyrian.

  I pursed my lips. If someone had murdered Father, I would have confronted them, too. “So, the note and those awful paintings in his room count as our evidence, and when the witches wake Evolene, she’ll be able to tell everyone that Master Fosco beat her up and left her for dead.”

  “I suppose so, but it would take Auntie Rilla ten seconds to pardon me.”

  “If you don’t prove your innocence, you’ll always be that dragon who killed a human but then got pardoned.”

  She didn’t reply for a while, so I focussed on the lesson. Master Klauw described a training exercise where riders had to navigate their dragons over the Glacier Islands during a magical hailstorm.

  “You’re right,” said Fyrian. “I’d rather be proven innocent.”

  I collapsed with relief.

  Master Klauw reached under the table and picked up a piece of rock four times the size of his head. “This is the size of hailstone you will encounter during an exercise such as this. Dragon riding isn’t fun or glamorous. It is a sacred relationship between you and a sentient being who deserves the utmost care and respect.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, and I nodded.

  “It doesn’t matter if Captain Caiman deems you to be a talented rider or if General Thornicroft deems you to have the magic necessary to be a mage. Not a single one of you will get close to a dragon if I judge you lacking in respect for such noble creatures.”

  Phoenix sat straighter, as though he wholeheartedly approved of Master Klaus’ words. I licked my dry lips, wondering how someone so odd and unassuming could hold more power than a General.

  “And here ends the lesson. Meditate on my words, cadets.” He let the stone fall to the ground with an ear-splitting thud and walked out of the room.

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Ivan leaned across the table. “What happened to you two?”

  “Bluford,” Phoenix stood and walked to the corner of the room.

  “Yes?”

  He flicked his head, indicating for me to come to him.

  I gulped and got out of my seat and wiped my damp hands on the sides of my leather breeches. The other students remained in their seats, swiveling their bodies so they could watch. Since Rufus and Gobi were half-ogres, they’d be able to overhear whatever Phoenix said.

  When I stood a few feet away, he looked me squarely in the eyes. “Do you know how assessment week works?”

  I froze, mesmerized by his inhuman, maroon eyes, a startling mix of brown and crimson. They reminded me of flames coming off the bark of a tree. “No.”

  “Your instructors get a chance to meet you, assess your skills and decide whether or not you attend the Academy. So far, you’ve managed to offend Captain Caiman, Dr. Duclair, and Master Klauw.”

  “Oh.” General Thornicroft was missing from that list. I doubted that he would want a student in his Academy who had broken into the Director’s private chambers.

  “Why would you sabotage your chances of gaining a place here?” he asked.

  “Because an innocent dragon is facing execution, and no one seems to care.” I placed my hands on my hips. “And the murderer is still out there hurting people!”

  His lips thinned, and I supposed he was thinking of Evolene. I took that as my opportunity to get him on our side. “Whoever murdered Mr. Jankin did it from the door. The pattern of the smoke proves that it had to be someone small enough to walk the corridors and fit through a door. And why did Evolene get beaten up for confronting Master Fosco with that note?”

  His face shuttered. “Master Fosco didn’t murder anyone. He also didn’t hurt Evolene, and he would never kill the Prince Regent.”

  “But he hates—”

  “I’ve known him my entire life, and he’s the most honorable male on this Mountain.”

  That was when I noticed… The burgundy hair, maroon eyes, and tanned skin. “You’re related.”

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  I gnashed my teeth. Master Fosco was too powerful an enemy. He was the well-respected Director with dominion over the witches, dragons, and everyone else on this mountain. A male with the power to get away with murder.

  “Now will you contact the palace?” said Fyrian.

  “I want you proven innocent, not pardoned,” I replied.

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’ll send a message to the Witch General.”

  The next class was History of Dragons, taught by Master Roopal, a willowy, silver-haired male with piercing, quicksilver eyes. Unlike most of the other masters, he wore a simple, homespun tunic and breeches. Master Roopal explained that Mount Fornax operated as an independent city-state within Steppe and was one of the few places in the Known World that didn’t use currency within its borders.

  Although I had dozens of questions, including how the people working in the Dragon Defense Division got paid, there was still the pressing matter of proving Fyrian’s innocence. I drafted a letter to the Witch General.

  Dear General Shipton,

  I am writing to inform you of the murder of a human, which has been covered up to look like it was committed by a dragon. The murderer is taking advantage of the Treaty of Dragons to cover his guilt, but I believe that his actions contravene the laws protecting humans from persecution from ogres.

  If you would like more information, please have one of your lieutenants meet me in the citrine-colored reception courtyard of Mount Fornax at Dawn.

  Yours faithfully,

  A.B.

  “Why did you have to mention the color of the sandstone?” asked Fyrian.

  “Mentioning a crystal is something witches use in their private communications to identify themselves as a fellow witch.”

  “Clever. When are you going to send it out?”

  “As soon as I can get away from Phoenix.”

  After class, we went to the mess hall, which had been cleared of tables to accommodate several spit-roast elephant seals. With each rotation of the metal spits, streams of fat poured into the fire beneath, filling the room with smoke and spice. Servers, armed with machetes, sliced off chunks of rare meat for eager, leather-clad warriors, who held bread rolls the size of dinner plates.

  “Oh!” Stafford clapped his hands together. “I’ve always wanted to try seal.”

  Gobi rubbed his belly. “Smells delicious!”

  Even Rufus grinned, and the three of them rushed toward the tables at the side to get their bread. As Phoenix was deep in conversation with Ivan, I backed out of the mess hall and continued along the terrace.

  I reached the patch of land where I’d previously found the dragon mint and stamped around the vegetation, hoping to flush out a dragonet. “Where’s a messenger when you need them?”

  “The trained ones are usually around the buildings, looking for work,” she replied.

  “That makes sense.” I walked back toward the mess hall and activated the nearest staircase. It led to the side of the Healing Academy, and I pressed my hand on the wall.

  “That only works for dragons,” said Fyrian.

  “Oh, yes,” I muttered. “Phoenix did say that.”

  I walked around the building, clutching my scroll and looking up into the skies for dragonets. As I rounded the corner, I heard a familiar voice and lowered my gaze to eye level.

  Standing in my path and glaring straight at me was Master Fosco.

  Chapter 17

  My heart leaped into my throat, urging me to get away from Master Fosco. I ducked around the corner and ran along the side of the Healer’s Academy wall, back toward the stairs. From the way he glared at me, I could only guess that General Thornicroft had told him that I’d infiltrated his room and seen his incriminating pictures. I wasn’t ready to find out how he’d
punish me for snooping.

  “He’d kill you,” said Fyrian. “Run faster.”

  I would have berated her for listening in on my every thought, but I welcomed any suggestion on how to avoid becoming his next victim.

  “Why are you not in classes?” Master Fosco’s voice filled the air.

  I turned around, keeping the scroll behind my back, and still moving away. “I-it’s lunchtime.”

  “Yet you are not with your classmates.” His long strides caught up with my slow, tentative movements, and his eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding?”

  “N-nothing… A letter to my mother.” My back hit a tree trunk, and I grimaced.

  Master Fosco swooped down and snatched the scroll from my grip.

  “Give it back!” I lurched after him, but he held it out of reach.

  He read its contents, eyes darkening until they resembled coals. “What,” the word was more growl than speech, “is the meaning of this?”

  “I-it’s not mine.” I cringed. Obviously, elaborate and convincing lies weren’t my forte.

  He curled his lip. “Yet it is signed A.B.”

  “You’re never going to talk yourself out of this,” said Fyrian. “Duck under his arm and run before he crushes your neck and leaves you for the crows.”

  It was the kind of tactic that would work if I was a small, agile creature like a dragonet. Master Fosco had me backed against a tree trunk. If I turned around to sprint toward the stairs, he would grab me. If I ducked under his arm, he might be stunned enough at my audacity and give me a head start. If I stayed here, at the side of a building, out of sight of witnesses, trembling like a trapped jackalope, he would do exactly what Fyrian had suggested. So, I ducked low and sprinted around him.

  Strong arms caught me around the middle and raised me off the ground. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I-I…” My legs cycled in the air, trying to gain traction on his shins, but he held me at an impossibly wide angle. No matter how much I thrashed, I couldn’t break free of his grip. “Let go!”