Gobi scowled. “No, sir.”
“The next time you continue attacking after your opponent has submitted, you will be facing my wrath.”
He turned his head, bottom lip protruding from his wispy beard.
Captain Pristis turned to me. “Are you injured, Cadet Bluford?”
I tried rotating my shoulder, but the pain made me wince. Not wanting to give Gobi the satisfaction of having hurt me, I said, “N-not really, sir.”
“Sit on the bench. I will call for a healer.”
“Y-yes, sir.” I walked around the edge of the room, past the other cadets engrossed in their fights. My heart felt as heavy as my throbbing arm. After sparring with Father and dueling King Magnar’s enchanted form, how could I have let someone as young as Gobi best me?
“You haven’t exactly had a chance to rest these past few days,” said Fyrian.
“Maybe,” I replied. “But I should have done better.”
“Next time, you’ll be prepared for him. It looked like he had something to prove.”
I lowered myself onto the bench and inhaled a long, deep breath. “You’re right. He’s hated me since we met.”
“You know why,” she replied. “It might be time to tell him you’re Princess Alba.”
“Ugh. Then he’d start acting like he’s my uncle.” At this point, I would rather have Gobi hate me because he thought I was the son of the woman who exiled his mother.
“He is your uncle,” she replied.
“You know what I mean. And what about all those lies he spread at the table two weeks ago about us being betrothed?”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head on the wall. If I focused on breathing, I might be able to push away the pain.
“I’ll send a bit of power your way,” said Fyrian.
“Yes, please.”
Fiery magic seeped through our bond. It drifted to my shoulder, warming it to the bone. The joint made one painful throb that made me shudder, then the ache melted away. All the muscles in my shoulder, neck, and back relaxed, and I exhaled a long breath. “That feels wonderful. How did you learn it?”
“Auntie Rilla’s Magecraft class. She warned everyone that it’s just to tide you over until you get to a healer.”
Her warmth spread down my arm and swirled around the elbow, and tears of relief gathered in my eyes. “You’re amazing. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve a partner like you.”
“You’ve always been there for me when I’ve needed you.”
A twang of guilt plucked at my heart. When we’d first bonded, I was more concerned with getting her out of my head than with proving her innocent of Mr. Jankin’s murder.
As much as I tried to hide that thought, it must have reached Fyrian, because she tutted. Maybe I couldn’t conceal things from her when we shared magic. “We didn’t know each other then, and I should have identified myself as the green dragonet.”
I nodded. My entire upper body had turned into mush. Her warmth was the perfect mix of love, pain relief, and relaxation.
A larger body sat at my side. “Bluford.”
My eyes opened a fraction. Gobi stared at me with such hatred, I jerked out of my relaxed haze and straightened. “What?”
“Why does King Magnar favor you?”
“He doesn’t.”
“Every time I greet him, he asks about you.”
My stomach soured at the thought of that man snooping about with my classmates and instructors for information about me. “Has it occurred to you that he might be asking because he hates me?”
“You have caught his attention.” Gobi leaned into my space. “Why?”
“Did you not see our duel?”
Gobi’s eyes narrowed. “Where you cheated and broke his armor.”
My nostrils flared. It looked like the loyalty elixir had addled his memory of events. Anybody with half a lick of sense would know that transforming oneself into a seven-foot-tall monster just for being disarmed in a duel was bad form. There was no point in giving Gobi a refresher on King Magnar’s wrong-doings. I didn’t care enough to change his mind, and it would upset Fyrian.
“Answer my question,” he snarled.
I looked him straight in his cobalt-blue eyes. “Is that why you attacked me after I yielded?”
“N-no.” He drew back.
“Because if you’re right and King Magnar does favor me, what is he going to say when he finds out you cheated in a sparring session?”
His jaw dropped, and crimson spots appeared on his cheeks. “S-shut up!”
A healer clad in white, leather armor approached. He was a quarter-ogre, a few inches taller than me with a slender frame. From the deep, chestnut shade of his skin and the way he wore his long hair in narrow strips, braided close to the scalp, his human relatives were probably from the Boreal Desert. “Who requires assistance?”
“Me.” I glanced at Gobi, who shuffled down the bench to give the new male some space.
“I’m Healer Alabio. Can you tell me what happened?”
I swallowed. A witch would have carried out a diagnostic spell, fixed the injury, and given me an elixir. As Healer Alabio was male and could not access his magic, he probably had to conduct his business the long-winded way. I explained to him how I was struck and pointed out my dislocated shoulder.
His brows formed a concerned V. “That looks nasty. Would you permit me to place my hand on the wound?”
“All right.”
Healer Alabio closed his eyes, clapped his hands together, and rubbed his palms in slow, circular movements.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“Connecting to his dragon bondmate,” replied Fyrian. “All healers are partnered with either blacks, grays, or purples. Those are the types most suitable for healing others.”
“But you helped me,” I said.
“Only because we’re already bonded. And I only stopped the pain for a while.”
Before I could ask Fyrian if she would be able to heal minor injuries if we practiced, Healer Alabio placed both palms on my shoulder and infused my joint with cold power.
I sucked in a surprised breath.
“Are you all right… Cadet?”
“Bluford,” I said between clenched teeth. “The cold was unexpected.”
He chuckled. “I’d like to numb the area before moving your joint back in place.”
“You won’t be needing this, then.” Fyrian’s magic receded back through our bond.
“R-right… Thanks. W-where are you, anyway?”
“A group of us went to investigate the Dead Wood. Fulmen said he could smell something strange.”
“Wha—” My arm bone got sucked into the shoulder socket. “Aah!”
The healer drew back. “Did that hurt?”
A fast, steady drumbeat boomed in my chest, and I breathed hard, trying to wipe that peculiar sensation from memory. “N-no. It was just a bit of a shock.”
He smiled. “As soon as the alchemist from Tundra works out how to release the witches from the plague, you’ll have your usual healers back.”
“It was fine.” Despite my skin crawling from the treatment, I arranged my features into a grateful smile. “Thank you. New things take a little getting used to, that’s all.”
“I’m used to working with much larger patients, myself. It’s a refreshing change to fix a cadet’s shoulder.” Healer Alabio chuckled to himself.
It finally dawned on me why the Healer’s Academy employed so many males. Dragons were resistant to witches’ magic, but male healers could use their bondmates’ power to heal other dragons.
He pushed his knapsack off his back and pulled out two vials. “The red one will accelerate the healing of the muscle tissues around your shoulder. I’ve fixed the tiny fracture in your humerus, but you should take the white one anyway to strengthen your bones.”
I uncorked the proffered vials and swallowed the white one first. A combination of chalk and lemon filled my mouth. But the second tasted like cher
ries.
“Very good, Cadet Bluford.” He pulled out a piece of parchment. “You may attend your lessons, but take care. Show this note to any of your instructors if they ask you to do anything to tax your left arm.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He gave me a jaunty salute and headed for the door. Just before he opened it, a pair of warriors clad in the green leather of dragon grooms stepped into the room.
“Emergency meeting. Everybody is to make your way to the arena. Red and purple dragons are available on the lawn or reception area to take those who have not bonded.”
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Captain Pristis.
The tamer shrugged and turned to the door. “Master Fosco’s orders.”
Our instructor sighed. “You heard them. Everybody make your way to the surface. Four cadets per dragon.”
“I’ll meet you in my stall,” said Fyrian.
“All right.”
Stafford rushed to my side. “Are you going with Fyrian?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Coming with us?”
He gave me a playful bump on the right shoulder. “Of course.” His face dropped. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“My left got injured, and I feel fine.”
He frowned. “Are you sure? Gobi seemed a little—”
“It’s the loyalty elixir,” I muttered back. “He’s desperate to be noticed by King Magnar.”
The other cadets streamed out into the hallways, chattering about the latest turn of events. Up ahead, Rufus and Gobi waited by the door. Rufus gave the younger half-ogre a gentle shove.
Gobi cleared his throat. “Er… Bluford. It was wrong of me to have taken sparring too far. Please, will you forgive my behavior?”
I glanced at Rufus, who stared back with grim determination. Then my gaze flicked to Gobi. “Are you saying that because Rufus told you to apologize?”
He stared my shoulder. “No.”
“Or are you afraid of King Magnar’s reaction?”
He bowed his head.
I turned to Stafford, whose lips thinned. How many others loyal to King Magnar would bully me for not giving him any attention? Gobi couldn’t be the only person who noticed his fixation with me. My shoulders slumped. The only people to blame for my injury were the alchemists, and there was no way I could hold a grudge against one so young and impressionable.
“I’ll forgive, but I won’t forget.” I straightened to my full height of six feet. “If you try anything like that again, the last thing you’ll need to worry about is King Magnar’s wrath.”
He gave me a shallow bow. “Thank you.”
Stafford and I left the classroom to meet Fyrian. Hopefully, this meeting Master Fosco called had nothing to do with the machinations of King Magnar.
Chapter 8
Unlike the last time I had visited the arena, all the seats for ogres remained unoccupied save the royal box. A number of burgundy-clad dragon mages stood at its far walls like guards, and there was no sign of Master Fosco or any of the other dragon masters. On the seating tiers opposite the royal box perched what looked like the entire population of full-sized dragons in Mount Fornax. Many of them had people on their backs, and those not sitting on a dragon sat on the tiers closest to the bottom of the arena.
Fyrian settled on one of the sandstone tiers on the same row as the green dragons who shared her terrace. I spotted the one with seaweed-colored scales and waved. The other dragon flicked his head in acknowledgment.
Before I could ask Fyrian the name of the seaweed-colored dragon, the blare of loud trumpets filled the air.
Everyone turned their gazes to the royal box. One of the dragon mages opened the door, letting in Masters Fosco, Roopal, Solum, and Klauw. The latter three sat on wooden seats beside the throne, while Master Fosco stood at the speaking podium on the right. Next to enter was King Magnar, still wearing his brown cadet’s uniform but with a cloak of the deepest royal purple velvet.
The entire arena burst into wild cheers and applause. Even the dragons roared, a sound that made my ears ring.
“Does Fyrian know what’s going on?” shouted Stafford over the noise.
“Hold on,” I shouted back.
“This looks like a Council of Dragons meeting,” she replied. “But this time, they’ve summoned all the warriors.”
I relayed the message to Stafford.
King Magnar raised a palm, and everyone in the arena exploded into louder cheers. Some of the dragons even blew fire rings. I turned to Stafford, who grimaced. Something terrible was about to happen, and the worst part was that only a handful of people in Mount Fornax could see straight enough to recognize it as a calamity.
Master Fosco placed both hands on the podium at the end of the royal box. In an unnaturally loud voice, he said, “Dragons, warriors… It is great to see you all recovered from the plague.”
More cheers and applause broke out. I bit the inside of my cheek, waiting to hear something terrible.
“While we were all suffering, one man worked tirelessly behind the scenes to save us from painful deaths. He fought valiantly against alchemists who wished to infiltrate Mount Fornax and lay us to waste.”
Silence fell across the arena, the only sounds an occasional snort from a dragon.
“That’s you,” Stafford whispered.
“All except for the man part,” said Fyrian.
I held my breath and glanced at King Magnar, who sat on the throne with his arms folded across his lap and his nose in the air. In moments, Master Fosco would summon me to the royal box. But would this be an award ceremony or an ambush wedding?
“I’ll fly you over,” said Fyrian.
I pictured a full moon, pulled some fog over our bond, and reminded myself that the loyalty elixir had addled her brain.
Master Fosco placed a hand over his heart. “We all owe him the greatest debt of thanks… May I present our savior, His Royal Highness, King Magnar!”
Angry, prickly heat bloomed across my face. “What?”
“Huh?” said Stafford.
This time, the applause was thunderous. Roars and cheers and the stamping of dragon paws made my ears ring. The noise shook my entire being and made my stomach churn.
“I don’t understand,” said Fyrian. “Was he only pretending to be the alchemists’ prisoner?”
I clenched my teeth. “It looks like King Magnar took the credit for fighting the alchemists.”
Fyrian paused. In a small voice, she said, “But he did stab Mr. Bacon with your parched sword.”
I didn’t reply. The elixir was forcing her to twist her memories around to make King Magnar the hero.
King Magnar strolled across the royal box with his arms raised in some kind of victory pose. I curled my lip. Master Jesper, Evolene, Stafford, Niger, and I had toiled through the night, collecting ingredients, fighting homunculi, and making the elixir. This wretched brat had spent the entire time sitting on a chair in a hut and was taking credit. The worst part was that no one would believe me.
“Everybody, settle down!” bellowed Master Fosco.
The applause and cheers faded into excited murmurs.
King Magnar held a speaking horn to his lips. “Thank you, Mount Fornax, for the warm welcome! And thank you, Master Fosco for your warm words, but I am no hero!”
I sat straighter, pulse throbbing.
“Is he going to call you up?” asked Stafford.
“Who knows?” I replied.
“No,” King Magnar continued. “The real heroes are you: the dragons and warriors!”
I sagged against Fyrian’s neck as the entire arena went wild with cheers and applause. King Magnar hadn’t directly said he had saved everyone, but he was still lying by letting everyone think he was the hero.
“Now,” he said, “the leaders of the Council of Dragons have committed themselves to freeing the Savannah Empire from the clutches of my enemies. But they are but four dragons, and our enemies are numerous. We need more loyal and fearless dragon
s. Who will join me in battle?”
I clapped my hands over my mouth. “He wants the dragons to fight the spriggans!”
All around us, dragons launched themselves off their perches and flew up into the skies. I stared up, mind blank, face frozen at the display. Did the dragons even know they had volunteered to fight against spriggans?
“E-everyone knows the story about the fight at the border,” said Fyrian.
It took a while to get everyone to calm down and retake their seats. When silence spread through the arena, Master Fosco returned to the podium, holding aloft a golden crown. “Mount Fornax is no longer an independent city-state. From this moment forward, it is a territory of the Savannah Empire, ruled by the Great King Magnar!”
My mouth dropped open.
Fyrian was kind enough to share her vision with me. Master Fosco placed the crown on King Magnar’s beaming head.
Then King Magnar picked up the speaking horn. “Thank you for the honor. I have one thing left to announce: An opportunity for one brave warrior to become the Savannah Sky Commander. You will act as my champion and closest confidant. If you wish to compete for the honor, submit your name in the reception for consideration.”
About two-dozen dragons launched themselves into the air and flew in the direction of the mountain. I assumed their riders wanted to compete to become King Magnar’s champion. My eyes unfocused, and my breath came in shallow pants. This was exactly the situation I had dreaded, and now it was coming true. From what little I had seen of dark fairy artifacts, the dragons would never triumph against the spriggans who had once been their jailers.
Stafford placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake. “We had better tell Master Jesper.”
I nodded. “Fyri, can you take us back?”
“Are you going to apply to become Magnar’s champion?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“Do you think I’m a coward for thinking we need sleeping dragons to fight the spriggans?”
“You’re sensible. I doubt that King Magnar even has a plan for defeating them.”
Dragon Mage Academy Box Set Page 72