Dragon Mage Academy Box Set

by Cordelia Castel

  “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 now, 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.

  By the time Fyrian landed on the stage of the drogott arena, the two bluebirds had flown off and sat side-by-side on the stands in their fairy forms. Uncle Orel’s hair shone like quicksilver in the moonlight, while Uncle Rouen’s hair glimmered like spun gold. Lurking several rows behind them was a man in a cloak. Long strings of platinum hair hung from his cloak but obscured his features.

  “He’s a bit like General Thornicroft, isn’t he?” I asked Fyrian.

  “Except the part where his hair is long and he’s not a quarter-giant.”

  Something in the tone of her voice made my heart sink, and I turned my attention elsewhere.

  Fyrian and Flavo stood side-by-side, positioned so Niger and I could make eye contact. He pointed at one pair of long posts at the edge of the arena and then at the set opposite. Each held different color flags: red and burgundy, which represented the riders’ and mages’ uniforms.

  “There are six players in a team,” said Niger. “The captain, two offenders, defender, shooter, and keeper.”

  I nodded. Fyrian had taught me the basics of the game, and Rufus once explained the players’ roles. The offenders needed to get the fireball to their opponent’s side of the arena so they could pass it to the shooter who would score. It was the defender’s job to stop both offenders, and the keeper’s job to catch the fireball before it reached the goal. “So, I’m watching out for the shooter?”

  “And the captain. He can perform any of the tasks, so he might try to score.” His face split into a grin. “You are lucky to be on our team. We produce duplicate fireballs to confuse the rider’s keeper.”

  “Can’t one of the riders take control of your fireballs?”

  He snickered. “They can try. You will see what I mean when we practice.”

  I nodded. “Is there anything else I need to look out for?”

  “The riders cannot generate fireballs, so they often swap dragons midway through the game to confuse us.”

  “Isn’t that cheating?”

  He puffed out his chest. “They do what they can with their inferior skills.”

  I pressed my lips together to suppress a smirk. Muti would be furious if he heard Niger disparage riders. “Do I need to catch the ball with my hands?”

  “Catch it, break it, bat it, lance it with the bident.” He threw a two-pronged trident at me. “Anything goes, as long as you do not let it pass through the goalposts.”

  “What about me?” asked Fyrian. “Am I just carting you around?”

  I furrowed my brow and stared at the piece of equipment. Its shaft felt like the handle of my parched sword. Perhaps it was a mage weapon. “We’re playing together. I thought you wanted this.”

  “But not if you get to do all the fun things.”

  I turned to Niger. “Fyrian wants to know if she
can stop the fireball, too.”

  “Of course. This is a game for dragons, too.”

  “Maybe I can start my own team,” she said. “Greens versus reds.”

  “You could make Byrrus the captain of the other team,” I replied.

  “Then no one would want to join.”

  My heart lifted. This was the friendliest Fyrian had been with me since our incident with the wild dragon. I patted her side. “Good point.”

  Niger clapped his hands together, and Flavo leaped into the air. “We will practice with a fireball of my own making instead of the official ball produce by Master Fosco. That way, I can control its movements.”

  “Wait,” I shouted. “Mages can do that?”

  He smirked. “Not until their third year!”

  Fyrian crouched low, ready to leap, and I let out a happy sigh. It was reassuring to learn that there was a lot more to becoming a dragon mage than using fire-based weapons producing flames from one’s fingers.

  “Pristis was a mage before he became a tamer.” Fyrian flew around the mages’ goalpost. “You saw how he stopped those swords.”

  “I didn’t know you were watching.”

  “That’s the best part about being bonded to you. I get to experience another life at the same time as mine.”

  Warmth flooded my insides, washing through the knots of unease that had formed since the wild dragon had gotten into Fyrian’s head. It no longer surprised me that the Council of Dragons would keep them in isolation before sending them for taming. Having lived outside the community, wild dragons didn’t understand the sacrifices the master dragons made to keep Mount Fornax a safe place for the dragons and their ogre-hybrid companions.

  Flavo glided around the arena, while Niger raised his hands above his head and brought them together. I leaned forward and squinted. From the light glowing from within his joined hands, it looked like he was compressing his flames. The fire between his hands grew and spun in a tight ball of red and amber and black. My brow furrowed. I’d only seen black flames once before. What in the Known World did they do?

  “That’s advanced magecraft,” replied Fyrian. “It makes the fire do your bidding once it leaves your body.”

  “Like a homunculus?” I asked.

  Her wings rose into a shrug. “But without the rotting flesh and stale urine.”

  When the fireball grew to about the size of a watermelon, Niger hurled it at the goal. “Try and stop that!”

  Fyrian leaped to the skies, head raised. I clung to her back and pointed the bident in the direction of the fireball. If it worked as I suspected, it could shoot out enough fire to skewer the ball, and I will have saved my first goal.

  The fireball arched through the air, and I tracked its movement and stood, stretching out the bident to catch it as it passed. I pushed my magic into its shaft, setting its prongs alight. With a little more power, the fire lengthened and expanded my reach. Just before it flew into Fyrian’s range, the ball dropped abruptly and flew under us toward the goal.

  With a roar of fury, Fyrian dipped into a downward loop and followed after the escaping fireball. I clenched my teeth at the sudden movement, stretching out my arms for balance. The soles of my boots were enchanted to stay onto her back, but they didn’t stop me wobbling when she moved at speed.

  “Use your venom,” I said.

  Fyrian spat out a stream of menthol-scented liquid. I pointed the bident at her venom, transforming it into a line of fire that stretched to the fireball just before it reached the goal. Fyrian rose to the skies, towing it away like the fireball was a balloon on a string.

  “That was amazing,” I cried out loud.

  Niger flew over, eyes shining, teeth flashing into a grin. “I knew the pair of you would be perfect for our team!”

  My cheeks heated. “Fyrian did all the work.”

  “It was your idea to use the venom,” she said. “And you lit it in time for me to catch the ball.”

  I glanced at the stands. Uncles Orel and Rouen still sat side-by-side, but the man in the hooded cloak had gone. Perhaps he wasn’t much of a drogott fan.

  We practiced with more of his fireballs until Fyrian said Flavo was bored with flying around with so few players and wanted to return to his friends. Niger mounted Fyrian, while his dragon flew back to the mountain. As Fyrian took the scenic route back over the expanses of meadows and fields, I leaned on his broad chest, resting my head on his shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around my waist, and Uncle Orel pecked him when he tried to put a hand on my hip.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “He’s a bit protective.”

  Niger chuckled. “I did not know bluebirds could peck so hard.”

  I raised a shoulder. “They’re bigger and stronger than normal because they’re part-high fairy.”

  “But not enough to trigger the wards.”

  “Her Majesty doesn’t, and she’s only a half, but the wards keep out anyone who has more high fairy than that.”

  “What about spriggans? They cannot be full fairies.”

  I grimaced. “Who knows how the Forgotten King made them. But they had to trick Mount Fornax into lowering their fairy wards, so they definitely can’t come in whenever they like.”

  “How?” asked Niger.

  A lock of hair blew into my face, and I tucked it behind my ear. “I suppose it’s common knowledge now, but on the day of the opening ceremony, Her Majesty fell ill and needed to be taken to Elphame.”

  “And a high fairy needed to enter Mount Fornax to do the job?” he asked.

  “That’s how the spriggan sneaked in.”

  He grunted. “At least Madam Maritimus knows not to lower those wards for anything.”

  “That’s why the Prince Regent had to leave the region of Mount Fornax to contact Elphame.”

  We flew over a patch of pastureland close to the mountain. Below us, red and orange light writhed within a hollow giant sequoia. This had to be the Lightning Tree and the location where the homunculi had thrown explosives at us. A chuckle reverberated in Niger’s chest.

  I turned around. “What?”

  “You refer to your family with their titles like you are a commoner.”

  “It’s nice to be like everyone else for a change.”

  He shook his head. “You always stand out.”

  I reached for the hand not holding my waist and interlaced our fingers. “You say the sweetest things. I think you’re amazing, too.”

  He harrumphed. “Griffons are not sweet.”

  “All right. Gallant, then.”

  “That is better.”

  Fyrian landed on one of the terraces closest to the dorms. Niger slid down and helped me off. This time, I didn’t bother to complain about being able to get off a dragon on my own. I’d called him gallant, and that’s what gentlemen did in the romantic scrolls.

  She bade us good night and flew back to her stall, leaving Niger and me standing beneath a silver sycamore shedding its seeds. The breeze blew them down from the branches, and moonlight bounced off the wings of the swirling seeds, making them seem alive.

  I sighed. “You always know the nicest places.”

  “We’re still here,” said Uncle Orel from an overhead branch.

  I scowled up at the annoying bluebirds. Wasn’t it past their bedtimes? “Can you give me ten minutes privacy, please?”

  Uncle Rouen burst into a chittering laugh. “A girl can fall to ruin in less time.”

  “Two minutes, then?”

  “One,” said Uncle Orel.

  “Fine,” I growled. “One minute, then.”

  The pair hopped onto a higher branch. “All right.”

  “It doesn’t count if I can still see you!”

  Niger chuckled. “We can walk around to the other side of the tree. There is no door and less chance for anyone walking out to see us.”

  “All right.”

  He held my hand and led me around the thick tree trunk. We upset a cloud of dragon moths that had been hovering nearby, and
they flew apart in a burst of light. Up above, the branches rustled, but I didn’t bother to look out for bluebirds. They had given us a minute, and I wouldn’t waste it.

  My foot caught something leathery. “What’s that on the ground?”

  He crouched down, spreading his lit arm for illumination. “Someone is unconscious.”

  I let go of his hand, unsheathed my parched sword, and created a huge flare. Four bodies, all warriors, lay on the ground. They wore the green uniforms of grooms, and I think I recognized a couple from the day we used the tea stand to reach the bottom level.

  “No,” whispered Niger.

  “Do you know them?”

  “See the armbands? That means they are dragonet chaperones. We need to raise the alarm.”

  “Hold on.” I placed my hand on his arm. “Fyri? Can you see what’s happened?”

  “I’ll tell Fosco what’s happened and ask Hyacinthus to send some healers.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to Niger. “Fyrian’s raised the alarm.”

  He blew out a breath through his teeth. “I am glad you and Fyrian were here to help.”

  Two sets of footsteps thudded behind us. Uncles Orel and Rouen unsheathed their swords. “Be careful,” said Uncle Orel. “Whoever did this might be close.”

  “They took the dragonets.” My voice broke.

  Moments later, heavy footsteps approached. A quartet of healers carrying bright lanterns rushed down the terrace. “Step aside.”

  They tended to the fallen men. One of them, Master Hyacinthus, glanced up. “Cadet Bluford, isn’t it?”

  I gulped. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “We finished drogott practice, and Fyrian flew us back here because it was closest to our dorms.”

  “Why did Fyrian-Lacerta fly you both back?” Master Fosco stepped out from the shadows. He had probably teleported in his dragon form as soon as Fyrian told him and had chosen this moment to intervene.

  “Flavo left the practice early because he was bored.”

  He nodded. “Continue.”

  I cringed, hoping he wouldn’t ask why I was sneaking around a tree with an older cadet. “We found these four lying unconscious, and I asked Fyrian to get help.”

  Healer Alabio raised his head. “This groom had a concussion and a fractured skull. I’ve healed his injuries, and he should be awake shortly.”