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

by Sever Bronny

  “We’re going to sleep in the large servant room,” Jez finished. “Need you to guard its door, Private.”

  “Yes, m’lady Terse.” Private Higgins placed a callused hand on the pommel of her longsword but did not draw it. She was an Ordinary, but every sword mattered in a fight.

  “This is why it’s vital to have a fully staffed castle, Stone,” Jez said as they hurried along.

  Augum felt like she had punched him in the gut.

  “That’s not fair to him, Jez,” Bridget said.

  “It is and he knows it. How many times have I told him to pay attention to details? How many times have you informed him that his decisions regarding the nobility were important? And what’s come of it? Hmm? You lot have lost your titles, everybody and their fat cat thinks we’re hiding the scions, and now we’re under siege.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh, Jez?” Leera said, nuzzling Sir Pawsalot. “Augum’s had a huge amount of responsibility on his shoulders.”

  Jez rubbed her eyes. “I apologize. I get cranky when I’m woken up, you know that.”

  Except Augum knew what she’d said was true, and he hung his head.

  They fetched a startled Charles from the servant hall and settled in the room across from his, a large barren chamber with multiple beds. There was only one door, making it easy to defend. Jez cast advanced enchantments on the door while the trio cast so many Object Alarms it would be virtually impossible to cast Disenchant on them all without tripping one in the process.

  After they had finished, Private Higgins took up a post by the door, where she would keep watch as they slept. Everybody else chose a cot. Sir Pawsalot sniffed out the corners in the meantime.

  Augum had a rough time settling into the cot and decided to take his breastplate off, placing it with Burden’s Edge on the floor. It barely helped. The cot smelled of mold and was leagues from comfortable. The mattress hay poked through the woolen fabric of the bedding and scratched at Augum’s back, and the blanket did not keep the cold from seeping into his bones.

  “Net sukio seto,” Bridget said from her cot, triggering an ancient castle heating rune. There was a click, followed by a gentle hissing sound as the room warmed. Multiple “thanks” were murmured sleepily.

  “Hey, you all right?” Leera whispered from the cot beside Augum’s. She was facing him, her blanket tucked up near her chin. There was a crack there from which peeked the dim, watery glow of her hand, lighting her face as if she was about to tell a ghost story.

  “Peachy,” he muttered.

  “Jez is merely cranky. You know how she can be. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Except what she said is true.”

  “So is what I said.”

  He surrendered a nod. “Fair enough.”

  She reached a hand out and Augum met it halfway. Then he got a mischievous idea. He popped his head up and could just make out that the others had their backs turned to them. He let go of her hand and telekinetically pulled on her entire bed frame. She put a hand on her mouth to suppress a giggle as her bed slid across the stone floor. He coughed to cover up the noise. Leera joined in until they were nose to nose.

  “Not exactly subtle,” Leera whispered, reaching out and drawing Augum’s blanket over his head, leaving a small hole for him to peek through. Then she did the same for herself, creating a small cave lit only by her watery light.

  “Feels like when the war was going on,” he murmured. “Like back when we first met.”

  “Can I embarrass you a moment?”

  “No.”

  “Well I’m going to do it anyway. I found you, uh, interesting when I first laid eyes on you.”

  “Interesting?”

  “All right, fine, I found you cute.”

  Augum’s cheeks burned. He recalled that moment all too well. Back in Sparrow’s Perch, she had been wearing a light blue cloak when Bridget introduced them.

  “First thing I remember you doing is crinkling your nose,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. And I remember thinking you had just the right smattering of freckles.”

  “That’s … rather vivid.”

  He gave a small shrug. “You are memorable.”

  “Do I really crinkle my nose a lot?”

  “All the time. It’s what you do.”

  She thought about it. “What other odd mannerisms do I have?”

  “Those sharp whirlybird maple seed eyebrows of yours give away your thoughts. You can’t hide anything.”

  “Whirlybird maple? You trying to be romantic or something?” Then she made a pouty face. “Okay, wait—” She tried to make her face placid. “Now what am I thinking?”

  He gave a light snort and playfully rubbed her face as if smoothing out a drawing in the sand.

  “Hey!” she hissed, smacking his hand away.

  Augum put on a serious face while putting a finger to his lips. “Shh!”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Then she smiled, made a show of crinkling her nose, and gave a wry grin. “All right, I’m impressed. What else do you remember about first meeting me?”

  Augum smiled at the memory. “I gave you a handshake and you crushed my hand, saying something about how a limp handshake shows a weakness in character.”

  “It’s what my dad used to say.” She bit her lip as her eyes drifted down. That had been back when things were simple, before his former father murdered nearly everyone in Sparrow’s Perch, including Bridget’s and Leera’s parents, families and friends.

  But then she rallied and gave him a bittersweet look. “The threat of death always seems to make things cozy for us.”

  “Then we should put our lives in danger more often.”

  She gently rolled her eyes. “Augum Stone, sometimes I don’t know about you.”

  “You know too much is the problem.”

  She smiled. Then she leaned in and their lips met. Augum wanted to tell her how he longed for her, how he craved her, but he held back.

  She withdrew, her eyes sparkling with desire as if she was thinking the same thing.

  They could have expressed these thoughts to each other, but instead chose to stare into each other’s eyes, enjoying their secret little cave, the warmth of being near, the silent night.

  Exhaustion took its toll and Leera’s eyes steadily closed. Her palm light dimmed and she slipped into a dream, taking Augum with her.

  The Black Arena

  The roar of the crowd was the first thing Augum heard. A great mass of people cheered and stomped their feet in time to the pounding of massive drums, their thumping so deep it rattled windows and made pebbles jump on the ground. Penetrating that roar was the buzzing whine of bagpipes in the tune of the famed war anthem “The Brave and the Broken.”

  Augum stood with the girls and Jez outside the historic Black Arena, their winter wolf-hide coats draped over their shoulders, Dreadnought breastplates strapped underneath. The arena was one of the oldest structures in the city, going back to a time prior to The Founding, when self-trained wild warlocks fought to the death for the amusement of the masses. Historians claimed the Rivicans had built the arena, for its stonework was smooth and solid, meant to last eons. Its black facade jutted up to the clouded sky, revealing layers of arches and columns packed with snow. The structure had been restored countless times in its near four-thousand-year history, becoming a mishmash of styles. Each king had left his mark upon the great arena. Atrius Arinthian had repaired and modified the stands to accommodate a burgeoning population. More recently, King Ridian had built a small library focused on the art of war, and the Lord of the Legion had erected a statue of himself controlling a bull demon. Legend told of dragons having once fought in the arena. Other legends told of great secrets hidden beneath the arena floor, secrets long lost to time—dungeons, treasure, even ancient arcane weaponry.

  But Augum had never stepped foot inside the behemoth structure. Sure, he had been in the Antioc arena for the Antioc Warlock
Tournament—when he had won for his degree the one time he had entered—but this was something quite different altogether. Whereas the Antioc arena sat several thousand, the Black Arena easily sat twenty thousand souls. And right now, those souls were making themselves heard. It sounded like the entire city was in attendance.

  Augum shook out his hands, ready for what was to come. He had gotten a decent night’s sleep, all things considered. They had found no sign of the intruder, even after a thorough search of the interior. Good news had come too. Steward Haroun had notified them that the Black Bank loan had abruptly been approved, meaning they could fund their tuition and castle costs through the winter. It had almost certainly been Eric’s doing, for he had the connections to make it happen. It was heartening knowing he had stuck to his word of keeping Castle Arinthian in Augum’s name. The only disconcerting piece of news was that the heralds were late in publishing, which was quite odd. It stirred rumors of war and calamity, though no one could know for sure.

  “Everyone in the academy’s here too!” Jez shouted over the roar. “Got the morning off.”

  “Of course they did,” Augum muttered, barely even able to hear himself speak. The butterflies in his stomach felt like they were frantically scrabbling for life. A hand rested on the pommel of Burden’s Edge, snug in its sheath around his waist. His breastplate was secured too tightly and annoyed him. He stretched out his torso as much as he could but the straps only dug further into his sides.

  “You’ve fought worse,” Bridget said, watching him. “And you’ve faced large crowds before. You know what you’re doing. You can do this.”

  He smiled at her. “Thanks, Sister.”

  She smiled back. “Brother.”

  “Don’t get mushy on me,” Jez said, herding them onward with a sweep of her arms. “Do I need to break out a whip? Move it along, monkeys.”

  They strode through the largest iron gates Augum had ever seen. They were easily fifty feet high. Each bore half of the crest of Solia, a great pine tree.

  As they walked along the entrance tunnel, people took notice. Some dropped to their knees, piously raising their hands skyward. Others mobbed them and shouted.

  “What is you going to do about them Canterrans—”

  “You should have been king—”

  “A blessing, Your Highnesses—”

  “Me mum be real sick. Could you help her—”

  “How dare you commit a Black Slight on His Divine Highness’s coronation—”

  “May the gods damn all your demon-worshipping souls—”

  “That’s the stupid girl who turned down a prince’s hand in marriage—!”

  Bridget flushed, yet she held her chin up.

  “When is you going to marry Princess Leera—”

  Augum blushed at the question, but he too held his chin up, hand holding tightly onto Leera’s.

  “Witches should burn—!” That one got so close Jez pressed an open hand into the man’s face, shoving him back with telekinetic ease. He stumbled and disappeared in the crowd.

  “This is for being the son of a murderer!” another snarled and spat at Augum.

  Jez ballooned, but a loyal supporter punched the man in the face, starting a fight. Guards ran over to escort them through the melee. Dressed in royal garb and bearing shields and spears, they violently shoved all aside.

  “Ease up on them,” Augum said. To his surprise, the closest guard obeyed. “Yes, my lord,” the man said and passed on the command. Then he gave Augum a respectful nod. It was good seeing a supporter among the guards.

  The guards took them down an offshoot of the tunnel and up a wide set of stairs, leaving the crowd behind a wall of guards. Talking was near impossible as the music and drums and the roar of the arena filled the air, the walls only amplifying the cacophony.

  The steps rose a few flights and released the group onto a long terrace that circled the entire arena. As they walked to the king’s podium, Augum took in the arena’s immensity.

  “You could fit a whole army in here!” he said stupidly, though mercifully no one had heard him. Anyway, they were all too busy gaping, for every single seat was filled. He could not believe so many people had come to watch. He had never seen so many people in one place. The great mass of chanting and gawking and screaming people took his breath away.

  A row of enormous hide drums, nestled underneath the king’s overhanging podium, were being whacked with mallets that required three people to wield. Each hit sent a pulse through the entire structure and reverberated Augum’s innards. Standing nearby were rows and rows of bagpipers buzzing up a storm of patriotic notes and snare drummers dribbling a steady marching rat-tat-tat.

  A figure jogged out onto the arena floor. Augum recognized the flamboyant rainbow robe and grandiose swagger and couldn’t help but smile in fond memory.

  “Good morning, Blackhaven!” the man boomed with a mightily amplified voice, arms raised in the air as he turned in place. The great drums at last ceased, as did the bagpipes, leaving only a tense buildup of quick snare strikes. “I am your announcer, Lucca Giovanni!”

  The crowd went wild. Almost everybody knew Lucca from the tournaments he hosted; he was the most famous master of ceremonies in all of Sithesia.

  The gangly olive-skinned man gracefully twirled before stopping to face the trio’s entourage as they made their way around the terrace. His shaggy head, sporting a great curly blob of hair, bounced with his grandiose words. “Ah, and there we have the legendary contender whom you all know! He makes his way to pay homage to the king as we speak!”

  The crowd stood on its feet and roared their approval, surprising Augum. There were boos as well, but the trio’s supporters easily drowned them out. These were Ordinaries and commoners who paid little attention to the intrigues of the court. They knew the trio from the parades, from the songs about their vanquishing of the Lord of the Legion, and from the stories of the Antioc Warlock Tournament. They believed in him. Augum’s chest swelled with courage, for he knew what he had to do was now possible. But could he get them to persuade a stubborn king, whose word was iron law, to pardon the Black Slight? Above all, could he survive the duel without killing Katrina? Despite it being an illusion, he could not get her words prophesying that he would kill her out of his mind.

  “Lord Augum Arinthian Stone walks with his beautiful beloved, Lady Leera Jones—and you all know the story of how they fell in love!”

  The crowd cheered as Leera flushed the deepest shade of crimson.

  “And with them is the stalwart Lady Bridget Burns, if not princess in title, then princess of our hearts!”

  The crowd roared its approval, and Bridget waved sheepishly.

  “There so they walk, teenage dreams anyone with a pulsing heart adores. There so they walk, brave vanquishers of the villainous necromancer, the Lord of the Legion. There so they walk, living Heroes of the Kingdom!”

  The trio’s faces reddened even further while the snares maintained their taut rapping, building a tension echoed in Augum’s pounding heart. This was all so much bigger a deal than he had painted in his mind.

  “And I hear word that the trio are wearing their Dreadnought-gifted golden breastplates! But will they show them to us?”

  The crowd took up the chant, “Show them! Show them! Show them—!”

  Bridget gave Augum and Leera a whimsical What harm can it do? look, and so they removed their wolf-hide winter coats, revealing the gleaming golden breastplates that symbolized what they had fought for.

  “Defendi au o dominia!” Giovanni boomed, bowing deeply, and most of the audience mimicked him. “Defenders of the Kingdom—!”

  “Who needs assassins?” Jez remarked. “They’re going to murder us with embarrassment.”

  When Augum looked at the king’s podium, he saw the man practically snarling, no doubt because the trio was eclipsing him. Unnameable Gods … Giovanni, who was well practiced in stoking a crowd and hyping a moment to its climax, was making too much of it!
>
  But there was nothing Augum could do. As they neared the king’s podium, he felt like he was approaching the gallows. Meanwhile, the crowd, completely under Giovanni’s expert thumb, was simply too eager to make heroes of the trio again, despite the Black Slight and what had been written in the heralds.

  “Darlings of the kingdom!” Giovanni boomed. “Come to redeem their honor in the eyes of a new king. What a show of humility!”

  The trio and their retinue at last came before the great white stone podium. King Rupert glared down at them from a magnificent gilt throne, the nearby seats taken by the highest tier of nobility. Immediately beside him sat the preening cockatoo, Queen Ethel Southguard, the cold-faced Eric, and a smiling Katrina, who was again wearing her spectacles, no doubt to appear more innocent. She wore her amber robe, ready for combat. Her smile was one of profound confidence and victory. It made Augum apprehensive.

  Giovanni turned in place and gracefully extended both arms to the king as he took a knee. “His Highness King Rupert Edron Scovinius Southguard, the First of His Name, Defender of the Realm!”

  The snares abruptly ceased as every single person in the entire arena, except for the guards, the queen, and Eric, took a knee before the king. The cacophonous noise abated, leaving an enormous vacuum of sound that was almost shocking in its severity.

  “Stand, offender of the Black Slight,” King Rupert boomed, his amplified voice bouncing around the arena.

  Augum did as the king commanded and saw a sea of bowed heads. He felt like a lone tree about to be cut down by a woodsman.

  The king rose and stared coldly down upon him with boar eyes. “You have wounded your king’s honor, Vassal. And now you have come to heal that wound. You have offered a duel to the death in the old way. Your offer has been accepted on my behalf … by my beloved niece.” He spoke the word forcefully, the threat as plain as day, and the crowd stirred uneasily. King Rupert glared a moment longer before sitting down, the signal for everybody else to rise.