Burden's Edge (Fury of a Rising Dragon Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  “Fowler,” Carp said, the irritation plain in his voice.

  “Fowler, right. Take a spot on the floor facing each other.”

  “Great, I got stuck with Airhead,” Leera muttered as she made her way over to Mary Martel. A prim and proper girl with blonde hair, Mary had somehow advanced in the degrees, for as simple as she sometimes sounded, she had one thing going for her when it came to studying: stubborn diligence.

  “Burns, Lavo—you’re going up against Slimwealth and Cooper.”

  Brandon’s head followed Bridget as she got up to join her teammate, Caireen.

  Fungal quickly paired everyone off, leaving four still sitting.

  “Ah, the prized hens,” Fungal said, raising his arms in welcome. “I would not be a proper drama teacher if I did not have a flair for drama. Stone, Summers—you’re squaring off against the Southguards. The whipped versus the soon-to-be gilded. I jest, I jest, but that was a little funny. No? All right then, chop-chop, hop to it, kiddos.”

  Augum exchanged a look with Brandon. Fungal sure had a twisted sense of humor.

  Katrina and Eric chose an empty spot on the floor and took a seat, crossing their legs and smoothing their amber robes underneath them. Katrina watched with amusement as Augum and Brandon struggled to make their way over, while Eric merely stared stone-faced.

  “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?” Brandon blurted when he and Augum carefully sat down opposite them.

  “With what?” Eric said, voice as bland as rice.

  Brandon gestured vaguely in Augum’s direction. “You know, try to assassinate them. Try to kill his girlfriend. Try to kill my girlfriend.”

  “That’s a serious accusation, Summers.”

  Katrina slapped Eric’s knee playfully. “He is just being his usual silly self, Cousin,” she said in her light south-Solian accent. “He doesn’t mean it. Relax, will you?” She smiled at Brandon, who smiled back. Katrina had greater attractive power than a lodestone.

  “Why, uh … why do you adjust your spectacles like that?” Brandon stuttered.

  Bridget, sitting in the group next to them, glanced over at Brandon.

  Katrina tapped his temple with a giggle. “To mess with heads like yours.”

  Brandon’s cheeks reddened. Bridget gave Augum a sisterly look, and Augum in turn gave Brandon a sharp elbow in the ribs. Brandon winced from the pain, for his back had felt the jab.

  “That’s from your girlfriend,” Augum muttered.

  Katrina flicked her wrist in a whipping gesture and shook her head amusedly at him.

  Stupid head games, Augum thought. Seeing that Fungal was still chalking runes on the blackboard, he decided to ask Eric about what Gretchen had told him.

  “Congratulations on your family gaining the throne,” he first said, deciding to keep things cordial. The nobles played a different game, one that required strategy.

  Eric’s light gray eyes studied him. As if in mockery of Augum and Brandon, he also sat rigidly straight—except that was how he usually sat. “Thank you. You could have had it for yourself.”

  Augum shrugged, only to wince from the effort. “I didn’t want it.”

  “A historical loss for the Arinthians. Your ancestor, Atrius Arinthian, was a most honorable and legendary king. It is a loss of face for your bloodline.”

  “Blood does not matter as much as you think it does.”

  “To be fair, that is coming from someone who grew up believing himself an orphan, only to find out his father was a necromantic mass murderer—”

  “Who I renounced.”

  “Whose blood you renounced.”

  Point to you, you pompous know-it-all. Augum decided to change tactics. “Now that you’re the heir to the throne, how does that make you feel?” He was genuinely curious.

  “My feelings on the matter are inconsequential. Duty is duty.”

  What a non-answer. But Augum kept his face placid as he asked the question on his mind. “So, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a Von Edgeworth being in Solia, would you?”

  “I see you have your servants spying on us, Prince Augum.”

  “Well, it was such a curious thing for a friend to overhear, considering what took place last night and considering the Von Edgeworths have a small grudge against the Arinthians. Which I’m sure you’re more than aware of, Eric.”

  “Prince Eric.”

  “Not until the coronation.”

  Eric ceded the point with the slightest nod.

  “Kind of suspicious you’d talk about a Von Edgeworth, then, eh?” Brandon threw in so clumsily that Katrina placed a soft hand over her mouth and giggled. “He’s adorable, isn’t he, Cousin?”

  “I … I am?” Brandon said.

  Augum elbowed him again, and in response, Katrina flicked her wrist with a whipping gesture again while giving Brandon a rather seductive look that made him blush fiercely. The seed of doubt Bridget had planted in Augum’s mind about Brandon received a watering.

  “As to who tried to kill you,” Eric went on in his methodical voice, “that could have been anyone. The Canterrans, who might see you as a threat should they want to take over the kingdom. A jealous rival. The son or daughter of someone you killed in the war. One of the countless nobles you offended by not backing their family for the throne. A castellan who feels you overpay your servants, creating pressure to pay their own servants more. Or perhaps someone who, upon hearing word that you three might be hiding the seven scions, thought to test your strength. Who knows? But one thing is for certain, Prince Augum. Arinthians, with their chronic inclination toward always doing the honorable thing, are highly accomplished at making enemies.”

  “And at making their allies feel cold in their shadow,” Katrina added.

  “I can attest to that,” Brandon muttered.

  Augum’s brows rose. He had to admit he hadn’t thought about it on the same level Eric had. If he wanted to play these games in the same arena, he needed to focus and pay attention. Except he was torn because he hated that arena, precisely one of the reasons he had not only turned down the throne, but he also had not backed a noble family.

  Augum nonetheless decided to return fire. “You do realize I would have made more enemies had I actually backed a family.”

  “Perhaps. And had your former father not gone on a necromantic rampage, Canterra’s borders would not have been invaded, they would not be threatening war at every perceived infraction, the quiet and ancient Solian faith would not be under threat of being replaced by a cult, and we would still have some semblance of an army—not to mention half of our citizenry would still be alive.” His voice had not changed intonations, and he had not grown angry in the slightest. It was as cool as his element—ice.

  “Play nice, Cousin.”

  Eric merely glanced at Katrina.

  “And what did your noble parents do during the war?” Augum asked.

  “We survived. And we were lucky to do so.”

  “Off the backs of the less fortunate. You donated goods to benefit the Legion. Passed on weapons, taxes, food, and supplies.”

  “We did what we had to do. The Legion left no room for negotiation, as you well know.” Eric tilted his head. “Admit it,” he continued in his crisp voice. “You did not think yourself strong enough to take the throne. That is why you turned it down.” It seemed Eric had learned well from his father. The man knew when to twist the knife at precisely the right moment.

  His stone-faced expression irritated Augum to no end. But what irritated him more was that Eric was perhaps right.

  “I never coveted the throne. I didn’t want to become a king.” He had never coveted princehood either. He would have much preferred to be a plain student.

  Eric studied him. “Is that your roundabout way of saying you will be declaring?”

  Augum said nothing, annoyed at himself for not holding his cards closer to his chest.

  Eric’s light gray eyes sparkled. “You will, of course, do your dut
y as vassal and come to the coronation to kiss my father’s ring, banner in tow.”

  The worm. He had said it so matter-of-factly too. “Duty is duty,” Augum said, careful to keep his face still.

  The two young men stared at each other.

  “What about Bridget?” Augum asked, and Brandon squirmed beside him.

  “What about Princess Bridget?” Eric deftly countered, bringing his hands together in his lap.

  “Your father wouldn’t have suggested the match if you did not have feelings for her.”

  “Yeah, that’s right!” Brandon said, obviously forcing the indignation.

  Augum flashed him a brief What’s up with you? look.

  “My feelings for Bridget are in point of fact inconsequential to my father,” Eric replied. “When he sees a match worthy of his attention, he pursues it.”

  Augum noticed the knuckles of Eric’s hands had gone white. Eric saw where he was looking and immediately relaxed them, certainly knowing Augum had caught him showing humanity—or weakness, as the Southguards no doubt interpreted it.

  Brandon charged on. “Even though Bridget thinks less of you than she does a crooked street beggar.”

  Eric swallowed, indicating Brandon had struck true.

  Augum pressed. “And even though she and Brandon are—”

  “An item?” Eric gave the word a sarcastic twist. “If you knew my father and mother, you would know how little that means. Further, if you knew nobility—which you plainly do not, even with cramming heraldry studies—you would know they consider such things as nothing more than trivial fancies.” He gave Brandon a cold stare. “Besides, my father has another highly advantageous match for Brandon.”

  Brandon and Augum gaped at him. Now that was news. Augum didn’t have to guess who Eric was referring to, and neither did Brandon, who looked at Katrina as if seeing her anew. Before Augum could elbow him again, Fungal finished.

  “All right, then!” the man sang as he made one last flourish on the chalkboard. “The full instructions to the rune in question are on the blackboard. Mind you, come exam time, instructions will not exist, so make sure you nail this by the end of term.” He strode over to his desk, on which sat various hourglasses, and chose a medium-sized one.

  “Everyone ready?” he asked.

  Ready? Augum hadn’t even read the board yet!

  Fungal eloquently dipped his hands as if about to bow. “Show respect and flare ’em!”

  The groups stood and bowed to their opponents. Brandon and Augum winced from the pain of their whipped backs. The whooshing sound of seven stripes flaring to life on each arm echoed around the room. As soon as they had sat back down, Fungal flipped the hourglass.

  “Aaaaaand … go!”

  Brandon, like Augum, was late in sitting back down and clumsily went to it while Eric and Katrina methodically constructed the rune. Neither of them even needed to reference the blackboard, whereas Augum frantically tried to decipher Fungal’s scribbling.

  Augum murmured like a madman as his eyes connected with various points on the board. The Shield Rune consisted of six lines, the final form of which was an outer shield and a kind of squiggle in the center that resembled a malformed capital H.

  First came the three lines that formed the shield. They would, with the appropriate arcane infusion, activation word, and imagery, trigger the rune. Next came the Perpetual Draw lines, which formed most of the odd H. When infused with the appropriate word and meaning and imagery, the lines would connect the rune to the eternal arcane ether, thus regenerating it after use. Lastly came the infusion of the 2nd degree Shield spell into the last line, finalizing the rune.

  He almost wanted to cast Centarro to help him focus. Unfortunately, the side effects would leave him doorknob daft for a while. And it would be cheating.

  “A quarter turn has passed,” Fungal called out.

  There was a fizzling sound on Augum’s left, much like someone expelling a short, wheezy breath. Brandon cursed. His casting had failed midway, forcing him to start again. Meanwhile, Katrina and Eric were already on the H.

  Augum set to work on the first line that made up the left side of the shield, recalling the words from the blackboard. “Enic,” he whispered, careful to get the enunciation just right while infusing the trigger with his arcane essence and perfectly visualizing the arcane tendrils that would form the trigger. “Eic,” he next said while drawing the right side of the shield. “Eac,” he said while drawing the top of the shield, enclosing it. After each line, he felt a cool but gentle pull on his arcane stamina.

  “Half the time is gone,” Fungal said aloud, pacing between the groups. “Concentrate, people.”

  Augum moved on to the central H while maintaining his focus, for as soon as that focus left the invisibly drawn lines, he could easily lose their exact location, misplace the next line, and the spell would fizzle out.

  “Shi,” Augum whispered as he drew the first of the three inner lines. But just before he could say the second and third words, end and arro, Katrina said, “Shiendarro!” and her Shield went off. The rune lit up on the floor in her element of air. Hovering above the rune was a medium-sized shield made of dense, turbulent air that ripped with energetic, self-contained wind.

  “Shiendarro!” Eric echoed, and his shield flared to life, except his was made of pure ice that slowly gave off fog and occasionally made the sound of deep cracking, much like a thawing lake.

  Brandon cursed again, and him doing so combined with Eric’s and Katrina’s castings were enough for Augum to lose track of his casting. There were near simultaneous fizzling sounds, like broken bellows gasping their last breath. Both Augum and Brandon groaned in defeat.

  “That stench I doth smell reeks of a sound thrashing,” Fungal sang as he strode by before calling out, “Quarter turn remaining, people!”

  The room echoed with “Shiendarro!” and the sounds of fizzling.

  “You could have done better, Summers,” Katrina whispered, giving him a rather coy look.

  Brandon deflated.

  Fungal assigned points on the blackboard to each team, placing two points beside Team Southguard, and a big fat zero beside Team Whipped. Then he turned around. “All right, shake hands and switch it up! Find a new team to go against.”

  “Good competing against you, Summers,” Katrina said with a wink, extending her hand to Brandon.

  “And you,” Brandon said, taking it and shaking it for a little too long.

  Eric extended his hand. “Prince Augum.”

  Augum shook it. “Eric.”

  “Watch over that one,” Katrina whispered to Augum. She firmly shook his hand before the Southguards strode off to face another team.

  “Her handshake is stronger than his,” Augum said in wonder. He hadn’t expected that. “And what’s with you?”

  “Nothing—” Brandon said a touch too quickly. Then he nodded at their names on the blackboard. “Thought he said no politics.”

  “Politics … or intrigue?”

  Bridget strode over before Brandon and Augum had a chance to get up. She plopped herself down across from Brandon and glared at him. Augum knew exactly why she was angry, but Brandon apparently had no clue, for he smiled at her and blurted, “Ready to be annihilated?”

  Bridget only glared.

  “Whoa, someone’s bringing their A game,” he muttered.

  Bridget’s teammate, Caireen Lavo, sat opposite Augum. She gave a wag of her wild bush of orange hair. “We’re already up two points, Summers, and I caught you both staring at the blackboard with drool coming from your mouths.” Her accent gave her words more impact, for the Tiberran tongue was strong and precise. Her exotic amber eyes, standing out like miniature suns against her dark skin, settled on Augum. “You are going down, Team Whipped.”

  “You should take mercy on cripples,” Augum bantered.

  Caireen snorted.

  But he knew they were in trouble, for Caireen was highly competitive. She had won the 3rd degree ti
tle at the Antioc Warlock Tournament the year before Augum had won it, prior to its suspension for political concerns. After the Legion, warlock culture did not exactly want to prance about in celebratory duels before the Ordinary public.

  As to Bridget, she was one of the best students in the class, if not the best. Yep, they were in trouble all right.

  Augum glanced over at Brandon, who was scratching his head underneath the bandana. “Hey, focus here, Brother.” He didn’t want yet another humiliation to add to this already awful day.

  Brandon gave him a look. “It’s just a stupid game. What do you care? You’ve got assassins after you. Assassins. Not to mention all those accusations in the heralds.”

  “Is everybody aware of the prize?” Fungal said as if he’d overheard Brandon. “That’s right, the golden egg.” He held up two wooden eggs painted gold. “Which means no homework for the team that wins. “And for the team that loses …” He held up two pieces of coal. “Double homework, including a scroll essay.” The props were Fungal’s favorite motivational tools, but Augum suspected they were memorization aids, as Fungal the Forgetful was prone to forgetting who had won and lost come next class—heck, even an hour later!

  All drama aside, no homework for Runes was huge. That was easily three hours of free time. And double homework was the opposite. That was an additional day of studying and writing essays.

  “Even if the world is in flames around you, you should still take class seriously, Brandon Summers,” Bridget said.

  “Hey, why the full name treatment all of a sudden?”

  “You know perfectly well why,” she hissed.

  Brandon gave Augum a lost look.

  Before Augum could give his daft friend a hint, Fungal brought his hands together. “All right, you know what to do. Flare ’em.”

  The group stood and bowed to each other while flaring their seven stripes. Augum grimaced and only did a half bow, deciding to forego a bit of tradition in favor of sparing himself pain.

  “Aaaaaand go!” Fungal said, turning over the hourglass.

  Again Team Whipped was late sitting down, not that it mattered. Even though Augum was more meticulous, it was a blowout—Bridget and Caireen finished simultaneously just before the halfway mark.