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

by Sever Bronny

  Eric glanced over at Augum before stepping back in line, leaving only the trio to declare.

  Augum took a short breath and stepped up to the podium. A hush fell over the theater. He placed his hands on the smooth wood of the lectern and took a moment to compose himself. Gods, how he hated talking in public. A memory of teleporting into a trough flashed across his brain. He shoved it aside and formed the appropriate thoughts, visualizing the arcane tendrils latching onto his vocal chords and giving them arcane strength. Then he touched his neck. “Amplifico,” and felt his throat expand. He swept the audience with a determined gaze and began.

  “When I was younger, this life did not exist for me. I just wanted to survive. That desire to survive is what kept me going for a long time, through the trials of the kingdom and the trials against my former father, who murdered thousands. I suppose it’s something I still struggle with.” His knuckles went white as he gripped the lectern to hide their shaking. Where was he going with this? He should probably address what was on everyone’s mind.

  “What I said in the Academy Herald is true. We do not have the scions, and I welcome any committee to make an investigation of it to clear our names.”

  The theater bubbled with talk. Augum allowed it to simmer and glanced back at the girls. They looked on with serious but supportive expressions. Once more, it felt like it was them against the world. Except this time, they had allies. He glanced over to their friends, those from the castle and those from the academy. No, this time they were not alone.

  Augum reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled parchment with notes he had copied from an old book. He smoothed it out onto the lectern and read it aloud.

  “ ‘Thou shall never refuse a challenge from an equal. Thou shall never turn thy back on a foe. Thou shall always show thy stripes before thine enemy. Thou shall not duel the lower ranks without serious provocation. Thou shall be gallant and fair to those unable to learn the craft. Thou shall never take the life of a weaponless Ordinary. Thou shall always accept a bent knee.’ ”

  Scandalized whispers filled the ancient theater.

  Augum pressed on. “ ‘Thou shall give succor to widows and orphans and beggars. Thou shall refuse pecuniary reward for doing thy duty. Thou shall fight for the welfare of all. Thou shall guard the honor of the arcane craft. Thou shall seek knowledge that contributes to the craft.’ ”

  The whispers grew into a cacophonous rumble. The audience surely knew where this was going, for the code was well known from theatrical plays and stories of chivalry and merit.

  Augum’s voice became louder and clearer; he wanted them to hear all he had to say. “ ‘Thou shall preserve and honor the Hallowed Trust. Thou shall never break thy word. Thou shall serve thy lord and king and kingdom with valor and courage and an open heart. Thou shall root out corruption in all its forms, and the sanctity of the truth shall vanquish any title.’ ”

  That last phrase sent hisses across the front rows of the theater. It was the one part of the code Augum knew they all feared. In truth, he feared it himself. Rooting out corruption meant actively searching for enemies. It went against his instincts. Part of him wanted to say, “Don’t worry. I just want to do my thing and follow the occupation of my dreams and become that knight riding into battle.”

  But instead of appeasing the audience, he read the conclusion. “ ‘Thou shall swear fealty to this code of honor, for it is the war ye are locked in from this moment on.’ ” He folded the parchment and put it back in his pocket. He had been carrying it around for months and probably knew the words by heart, but he didn’t want to mess up such an important moment.

  He looked over the raucous audience one last time. “That was the sacred Chivalric Code of the Arcaner.” He waited for the hisses to subside. “We did not ask for the things that have been thrust upon us.” He glanced at his hands and made a conscious effort to relax their grip. “But I’m asking for this.” He raised his eyes proudly. “Thus, I declare I endeavor to become an Arcaner.”

  As the theater erupted with cheers, boos, hisses and clapping, Augum stepped away from the podium and took his place by the girls. Despite the mixed reactions, a weight had lifted from his shoulders. As controversial as it was, declaring to become an Arcaner was the right path for him, one that had clear rules. Becoming an Arcaner had been a stubborn splinter in his mind for some time, though he had not thought it possible until he came across a certain section in a book on the subject. It said that for Arcaners, it all began with an Occupation Ceremony at the academy, and that once a pupil declared, “the Fates would see his course true.” Mind, he didn’t really believe in fate, for he had always grown up believing he had control of life’s direction, but the simplicity of the idea had nonetheless won him over.

  The whispers and open talk lessened as Bridget came forward, looking at ease in her yellow dress. She swept the audience with an almost curious gaze before placing a hand to her throat and amplifying her voice.

  “I consider Augum my brother and friend. It is true, we did not ask for many of the things that were thrust upon us. We simply wanted to survive the war. Our dream during that dark time was to attend the academy as normal students. To attend it together. We were fortunate to survive the war and now attend this venerable institution so dear to our hearts.”

  Augum’s soul stirred.

  Bridget bit her lower lip. Her hands traveled over the old wood of the lectern as she glanced down in thought. Augum spied Brandon sitting beside Katrina, watching Bridget with a troubled expression. He wondered what was going through his foolish mind.

  “We are here because others sacrificed for us,” Bridget went on in solemn tones. She glanced between their two groups of friends, nodding once at each. “Some of them sacrifice still. They give their time, their passion, their patience, their wisdom, their humor, their love. For that, we are forever grateful to them.”

  Augum caught Jez dabbing the corner of her eyes with a finger while smiling proudly. Around her, the audience was the picture of stillness.

  Bridget gave a light sigh. “I always thought I would become an arcanist.” Her hands fluttered delicately as if weighing her options. “Maybe a teacher who worked in the fields, mentoring starry-eyed kids in the craft and showing that arcanery is not the work of the devil, that it’s nothing more than a tool of the mind. But then … but then I realized I can still do all that.”

  Her hands returned to grip the lectern, her eyes level. “I have been reading up on what it means to become an Arcaner. It’s more than just a code of chivalry—it’s a way of life. And as prince and princesses to a castle, we would serve as examples of honor in the arcane craft, and that just because Ordinaries saw a necromancer misuse that craft, it does not mean it is inherently evil.”

  Augum’s chest swelled with pride. She had said it far better than he ever could have. He and Leera oft used to joke that she had Attyla the Mighty blood in her whenever she stepped up like this. Now he seriously wondered if it was true.

  Bridget’s chin rose. “I declare I will become an Arcaner and follow the code my dear brother-in-war read aloud to you.”

  As Bridget returned to the line, their supporters loudly clapped, whistled and cheered while the nobles stirred with tense whispers. Perhaps Bridget had eased their minds that the trio would not hunt them down like dogs for their corruption; that was the job of the inquisitors, not three young men and women seeking to resurrect an ancient profession in honorable service of the kingdom.

  Leera stepped up to the lectern. Some of the noble girls snorted derisively, perhaps at the sight of her strawberry dress. For her part, Leera calmly amplified her voice and shrugged. “Same, obviously.” She was about to step away when Bridget urgently hissed under her breath. Some in the audience snickered as Leera rolled her eyes. “Fine. I forgot how official this all has to be.” She stepped back to the lectern and added a commoner drawl, “I too officially do declare that I will become an Arcaner.” Then she flashed a cheap curtsy and steppe
d away, muttering something that made the audience gasp, though Augum had only made out the part about painted snot bags.

  Bridget repeatedly swiped her finger across her throat.

  “Oops,” Leera said and nullified the Amplify spell with a slashing gesture at her throat.

  But it was too late. Noble heads turned to each other with scandalized expressions. Cry furiously scratched away at his parchment.

  Great. Just what they needed …

  Search for Truth

  The Occupation Ceremony ended soon after the trio had made their controversial announcements, for only one warlock declared in each of the 8th and 9th degrees and none onward. Those in the higher degrees had already declared in past terms—not that there were many high degrees left in the academy as the war had killed most off or made criminals out of them.

  After their academy friends had congratulated them, the trio joined up with their cohorts from the castle and received a new round of hugs and warm congratulations.

  Most people had already left the theater to walk across the city to the Black Castle for the Coronation Ceremony. Luckily, Augum’s party had a 17th degree warlock who knew the Group Teleport spell.

  “I remember declaring,” Jengo said, dwarfing his father whom he stood beside. “Did it right in my first term in the academy.”

  “You mean last term?” Leera sniped.

  Jengo reddened. “Why, I do believe so.”

  “And you’ll make a fine healer, Son,” his father said, clapping him on the arm.

  “How’s your back?” Jengo asked Augum.

  “Excellent, thank you. Still feel a touch weak, but it should pass after a good night’s sleep.”

  “I am afraid some of the others could not make it,” Albert Goss said in his soft-spoken manner. He wore round spectacles and had burn scars across his balding scalp from the war, but the laugh lines around his eyes were deep and merry. He spent much of his time in Antioc, where his disfigured and blind son studied in the Antioc Library until he came of age to attend the academy. “So, where is that sweet rascal Brandon?” Mr. Goss asked. “How come I did not see him up there with you all?”

  Bridget suddenly became preoccupied with her satchel, as if the pristine leather needed tending to.

  “Um, well, he’s a bit of a traitor at the moment,” Augum whispered and quietly explained what had happened that day. But it wasn’t the drama around Brandon that bothered Mr. Goss.

  “There was another attempt on your life? Dear me, this is most dire news.” Mr. Goss exchanged a look with Mr. Okeke. “Most dire news indeed. Dare I ask who?”

  “An assassin masquerading as a soldier. The inquisitors are investigating.”

  “My good boy, do not sound so offhanded about such a grave matter. Two serious attempts in two days. We need to put you under guard immediately.”

  “We are each other’s guards, Mr. Goss,” Leera proudly declared.

  “I am afraid that is not nearly good enough, my dear Leera. Surely the academy or kingdom can spare someone to look after its heroes.”

  Not likely these days, Augum thought darkly.

  “We’d need a dedicated warlock guard,” Bridget said. “And there are precious few warlocks to spare as is …”

  “It’s politically impossible anyway, Albert,” Jez said. “Getting someone else to do it, that is. But I suppose I could follow Augum around like a hound.” She elbowed Augum, her sharp brows rising twice to emphasize her point.

  “I’ll be fine, but thank you,” Augum said.

  “Then you must recruit your fellow students,” Mr. Goss said. “Surely you have no shortage of friends here in the academy. What is that adorable girl’s name, the one with the dimpled cheeks?”

  Augum smiled. It was funny because Mr. Goss also had dimpled cheeks.

  “Laudine, Mr. Goss,” Bridget replied.

  “And that exotic girl with the wild bush of orange hair—” He snapped his fingers twice in an attempt to jog his memory.

  “You mean Caireen, Mr. Goss?” Leera said.

  “Yes, that very one! And Isaac. Maybe you could bring back some of your friends who graduated. Alyssa, Sasha, Olaf—was that his name? Olaf?”

  “Sasha returned to Abrandia, Mr. Goss,” Bridget said gently.

  “Mr. Goss, really, we’re fine,” Augum said, mortified at the idea of asking his friends to guard them. As if they didn’t have enough trouble shaking the snobby prince and princess reputation.

  “In the meantime, you should take up drama, Stone,” Jez said. “Certainly have a flair for it.” She gave Leera a look. “And you, little missy. What was that at the end?”

  Leera shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, well, expect to read about that ‘nothing’ in the Herald.”

  Leera shrugged again, muttering under her breath.

  “Uh-huh, and it’s that very same muttering that got you in trouble. So yeah, keep it up and see where it gets you.”

  “I was very sorry to hear about Lieutenant Cobb,” Mr. Goss said in grave tones. “His poor wife and son …”

  Augum dropped his head. “It was my fault, Mr. Goss. I foolishly invited in trouble—”

  “You were brave and courageous,” Mr. Goss interrupted with a determined smile. “Those assassins would have gotten in some other way, and then who knows how many people would have died. You took away their element of surprise. Look at your friends here. Look at them, Augum.”

  Augum glanced over at Bridget and Leera, whose faces radiated compassion.

  “They are still alive. You think of them. You think of them, Augum. And I will not hear a single disparaging word about yourself. Not one. You have enough to worry about as is without acting as your own enemy.”

  Augum swallowed. Mr. Goss always saw the best in people.

  “You three are growing up right before my eyes, and it is a wonderful thing. A wonderful thing. You have become young men and women grown with great responsibilities and pressures I can only shiver at.” He shook his shoulders in an exaggerated shiver, reddening the trio’s cheeks. “Brrrr. Brrr! Ah, and you were such vivacious teenage younglings! So full of adventure and spirit and friendship. And look at you. I have a feeling you have lost none of that.”

  The trio stirred awkwardly.

  “Please, please do not be so hard on yourselves.” He searched the trio’s eyes in a fatherly way. “Hmm? What do you say?”

  The trio each smiled and nodded.

  “Anything for you, Mr. Goss,” Bridget said, though bitter sweetness tinged her voice.

  Mr. Goss nodded, pleased with himself, and moved on to talk with Mr. Okeke and Jez.

  Cry, who had been interviewing Eric, made his way over. He wore an ill-fitting garment composed of tunic and hose, not unlike Augum’s outfit, for it too was out of style.

  “What do you want?” Leera hissed, narrowing her eyes.

  “I’d like a quote for my story.”

  “What’s the angle this time? ‘Trio Declare War on the Kingdom while Juggling Scions on Stage’?”

  “Hilarious.”

  “Then how about you go back to sucking up to the Southguards. Someone tried to kill Augum last night, and there was a second attempt on his life today. How are you going to sleep at night knowing your piece in the heralds might be to blame?”

  “No comment it is,” Cry muttered before shuffling off.

  “Really, we needn’t be so harsh with him,” Bridget said. “He’s only doing his job.”

  Augum, recalling his talk with Cry, partly agreed. “Hey, Cry—” he called, getting an idea.

  Cry stopped, his shoulders sagged with a sigh, and he turned around. “What do you want?”

  “It was a good match, eh?”

  Cry gave him a droopy-eyed look of disdain before turning back around.

  Augum stepped forward. “Look, you claim to be fair and you’ve already declared you want to become a herald. Heralds search for the truth, do they not? They have their own sacred code, much like a
chivalric code. Isn’t that right?”

  Cry turned around to face him. “They do. So?”

  “ ‘Thou shall root out corruption in all its forms, and the sanctity of the truth shall vanquish any title.’ That gives us something in common.” For once.

  Cry stared at him. “What do you want?”

  “We heard there’s a Von Edgeworth in the kingdom. Would that be news to you?”

  “That would indeed. And I would write a piece on it if there was anything to it.”

  “Say there was something to it. You’re aware the Von Edgeworths have a huge grudge against the Arinthians.”

  “Your great-grandmother dueled with and killed two Von Edgeworths. By the rules of the old way, I’d say they’d be within their rights to fairly and honestly redeem their honor.”

  “All right. And what if Zigmund Von Edgeworth had a son who was here to take revenge?”

  Cry tilted his head slightly. “I’m listening …”

  “You can ask the Southguards about it. A friend of ours overheard Eric talking about a Von Edgeworth with his cousin.”

  Cry gave Augum an appraising look.

  “And what was going to be your question?” Augum pressed, trusting his instincts, which told him to try to work with Cry, even if he had put them in grave danger. The Herald Code of Honor had to mean something to him.

  “I just need a comment from you about whether you plan on rooting out corruption in the kingdom.”

  Damn it, Augum thought. Saying no would go against the Arcaner Code of Chivalry for it could potentially be a lie, and he wouldn’t shy away from that sacred code he intended to bind to his soul. Nor was he a coward. But he had to be careful here. Many people lived in Arinthia, and he did not want to put them in any kind of jeopardy, or his friends, for that matter.

  “I want to serve my kingdom in the best way I know how.” He hesitated. “Off the record?”