Brightflame Accension (Book 1)

by D. B. Penner

  He snuck in the door just in time. Will slipped into his desk and pulled from his pack the heavy volume, A Book on Alchemy: a Manual for Creating Something Out of Nothing. “Get a cauldron. We are perfecting the Elixir of Illumination. Mistakes will not be tolerated. Morgan, read the instructions this time, or I’ll have you beaten. Two strips of newt skin, not three,” Nailfram instructed. He proceeded to write again the instructions with a murmured spell and scribble of his finger.

  Will grabbed one of the black pots and began on the potion. The spring water simmered, and Will added flame flower along with some ground ash. A couple of counter-clockwise stirs later, Will added the strips of newt skin. Blinding light flared up in his cauldron, but this time, he had the foresight to look away before adding the final ingredients. Will smiled, noticed that almost everybody had brewed the potion correctly. What he failed to notice was that all of the Scalefire students had received a great deal of help from Professor Nailfram.

  “If you are finished, you may begin your assignment for next class,” Nailfram said coolly, not looking up from some papers he was reading with careful scrutiny. “It is an essay on the advantages and disadvantages of using the Elixir of Illumination.”

  Will grabbed a blank scroll from his bag and began to write, “The advantages of the Elixir of Illumination are plentiful, but none is more prominent than its ability to produce light. Light, by which we can see, emanates from the potion. The light never fades and can illumine even the darkest places. Use with caution, however, because this great advantage is also the potion’s greatest disadvantage as the light can alert enemies of the user’s position. It provides a clear-”

  “Class is over. Get out my sight, now!” Nailfram dismissed them, seeming more irritated than usual. Will wondered what the paper said that the professor must continue to pore over it so intently.

  Will hastily dumped the cauldron’s contents, quickly scrubbing the residue of light that stuck to the sides, and scurried out of the room and up the corridor.

  “Nailfram was upset by that letter, huh?” Vivyan said, catching up to Will in the hall.

  “Aye, one can only guess at what it said,” Will replied.

  “Surely nothing to get so distressed about. But men will get heated over the littlest of things I suppose,” Vivyan smiled, accidentally brushing her hand against his as they walked.

  “You would have me believe that all men are incited to passion over small things?” Will asked, grinning mockingly.

  “I merely mean to say that women are moved by bigger things,” she smirked, winking. “Our hands touched for but a moment, and I noticed that already you are up in arms,” Vivyan laughed sweetly.

  Embarrassed on every level, Will shifted uncomfortably, but Vivyan simply giggled at that. “William, no need to hide from me. When I refer to bigger things… I would not be ashamed were I you.” They were in the Foyer and a friend beckoned to Vivyan. “See you, Will,” she said, stroking his arm as she started towards her friend.

  Unconsciously, Will stared after her, horrified by the betrayal of his emotions. Nonetheless, he stared, observing her flawless figure as she walked. The sway in her hips and the confidence in her stride drove him inexcusably wild, setting loose his imagination.

  Finally, Will was able to control himself enough to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Looking around, he saw Art on the other side of Foyer, and the two made for History together. Waiting for them there was Baruktaråg, the dwarf, welcoming them into his class with a warm smile. Today, he wore a rich, red-hooded cloak and gold-studded boots. His belt was likewise encrusted with gold.

  Will and Art sat at the front of the classroom, and while Will eagerly awaited the start of the lesson, Art prepared his book, trying his best to transform the hard bindings into a decent pillow. “We will be learning history in large chunks in mine class from now on. The first unit will focus on the elves. I gave you a brief overview yesterday, but that is not even a dent in the subject. We will divulge and expand upon the vast subject until we reach the end of the unit. Then, I will test your knowledge in order to track your progress and judge your attention spans,” Baruktaråg explained patiently. Some of the dimmer recruits looked confused, having ceased listening some time earlier.

  The lesson ended an hour later, and not a moment too soon because Will felt that his mind couldn’t absorb any more about the elves. Baruktaråg had discussed the landing of the Fair Folk and the founding of Van Arda, the elf realm, as well as attempted to force the recruits to memorize at least thirty of the most important leaders in their early ventures.

  When recruits stood and began gathering their belongings, Will poked the sleeping Art, who nearly leapt to his feet shouting, “Where’s the baby?”

  “What baby?” Will asked, grinning at the of Art’s ridiculous outburst.

  “It’s over already?” Art yawned, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Must be time for food.”

  In the Feasting Hall, Ben, Gregor, and Pat joined Will and Art to talk about sore muscles and classes. Finishing his meal before the bell had signaled classes to start, Will had some free time and planned to ask Modwyn what he knew about a Furialist’s powers. Maybe he could give Will the answers to the questions that he’d grappled with since the griffin had told Will what he was.

  First, Will raced up to the Pit to change into the gear he needed for Combat. Today, he grabbed his unpainted shield and squirmed his way into the mail before donning his cloak once again. Throwing on his hood, Will stepped outside in the heavy rain. He jogged toward the field.

  Arriving drenched, Will saw that no one was there. He snarled and stamped his foot, spraying water and mud all around. Where is Modwyn? he thought frustrated and wet. It then occurred to Will that Modwyn might stay in the Feasting Hall right up until class would start to avoid the driving rains.

  Entering the Feasting Hall, Will threw off his soaking hood. Most of the students were still eating and talking, but none of the professors remained at their table; indeed, the staff table was quite empty but for a scant few. Where are they? Will shrugged and plopped down next to Art, who was having an animated conversation with Ben and Gregor.

  “Then, the troll says, ‘Don’t ask me; the last werewolf I nursed tore me teat off.’” The group burst out laughing raucously, and Ben spilt his juice. Will did not understand, but his mind was elsewhere, guessing at where the faculty could have been.

  “Do the skies still piss on us?” Art asked, looking at Will, whose damp cloak had made a sizable puddle beneath the bench.

  Will smiled, raising an eyebrow, “I should think not. I merely took a swim in the courtyard’s fountain.” Art smiled at his sarcasm. “Let’s be off,” Will said as a clock rang, signaling the end of break.

  “Go on ahead, my friend. I’ve got to get my things,” Art said. Will rose from the table, heading for the Foyer alone.

  “Brightflame, wait,” a voice called from a side corridor. A host of professors, blacksmiths, and men who worked with the horses at the stables filed out of a room. Modwyn appeared and fell in beside Will.

  “Where was everybody?” Will asked.

  Pausing, Modwyn checked to see if anyone were listening. “At a meeting,” he murmured simply. “It wouldn’t do for you to get in trouble for it, so don’t mention it. Obviously, it would be nothing to worry about, but… well, you divine my meaning.”

  “Certainly, my lips are sealed. Though, I would not have much to tell as your purpose remains a mystery.”

  Making no effort to enlighten Will, Modwyn strode silently along beside Will as the latter speculated reasons for the entire faculty needing to go to a meeting. Again, Will pulled up his hood, and again, he miserably stepped into rain. He arrived at the fields already thoroughly soaked. The rest of the class showed up grumbling, all huddled together to ward off the biting wind.

  Art stood nearby speaking with Ben, while Will pined for home, where, on a day like this, he would sit with Lumina at his back and sip cider in front of
a fire. Suddenly, Will felt tremendously alone despite the mass of recruits packed close all around him. He wished Modwyn would start. When class began, however, Will wished that he hadn’t. The recruits were ordered to run and crawl through the mud and puddle-filled field. They jumped short hurdles with encumbering weights tied to their feet, falling more often than not, having tripped over the wooden plank. With wooden swords, they slashed at straw dummies.

  Drenched in rain, sweat, and mud, Will shivered, knowing misery as he waited for the Combat and Command class to start. He spat, trying unsuccessfully to remove the taste of dirt from his mouth. The muck clung to him everywhere: in hair, in shoes, and between teeth. Will was not much inclined to talk, so he sat next to Art in silence.

  The Warriors and older cadets arrived after a few minutes, many whining about the cold rain. Will felt no sympathy for their bleating. At Modwyn’s command, cadet and recruit alike paired off and began to duel. Pulling Will aside, Caleb grinned, “Cross blade with me, Warrior. I aim to match you blow for blow. Do not think you will be faster than me today; my armor will not weigh me down.”

  Will drew his blue sword. He focused his mind, drawing on his power within. As the sword turned bright red, water droplets on his blade evaporated the moment they landed. Will raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he had been surprised a lot lately and did not think much of it. Unfazed by the magic blade, Caleb darted forward, swinging a steel broadsword at Will’s head. Will ducked the first attack and jabbed up at Caleb’s stomach. Narrowly avoiding the stab, Caleb planted a blow square on Will’s shield.

  The class ended, and Will released his power, forcing the beast inside to relinquish control of his mind. The duel had been fairly equal; Will’s power and speed was matched only barely by Caleb’s technique and strategy. Needless to say, Will was utterly exhausted by the back-to-back Combat lessons, so much so that the freezing rain was a welcome relief, cooling down his tensed muscles.

  Stepping into the shelter of the castle, Will slowly pulled off his dirty hood. He plodded up to the Blademaster’s Office, leaving behind a trail of filth and wet footsteps, and flung himself into a padded chair in Boewdard’s office. “Get out of those chairs,” Boewdard exclaimed, ushering Will and Vivyan out of his office. “I take it Modwyn did not allow you to practice at the Range?”

  The Blademaster led them into an empty room, and soon, the sounds of levitating commands filled the air. Two gray stones slowly rose off of their palms. Will tried to concentrate but felt his focus slipping. The rock above his hand wobbled and shook dangerously. Suddenly, the beast in him reared, offering its strength. Will allowed it to take control and was engulfed in the rush of adrenaline-like energy. His red eyes gleamed in the dimly lit room, and the stone steadied.

  Silent second after silent second passed. Vivyan squirmed in her seat, and her stone wobbled as Will’s had earlier. She gasped as the stone fell. Panting hard, she clutched her stomach.

  “Stop, Will, let it go,” Boewdard said. Will released his power over the rock and reclaimed his consciousness as a heavy blow smote his stomach. He sputtered and doubled over. “Use caution, my apprentices. Use too much power without knowing and you may die. Remember too, it is easier to drain your store of energy when you are physically exhausted.” They were offered the Teristum Anothíl, which they took gratefully, but again, the effects were not apparent for Will. “I could not find any mention of your unique trait, William. In this course then, you are at a disadvantage. I must ask you to pay attention then, while you wait to recover, as I will continue teaching Vivyan technique,” Boewdard said smiling.

  At the end of their session, the Blademaster looked at the two recruits, obviously pleased with their progress, “In time, you will make something of yourselves after all. William, I see already that you can use your Furialist ancestry to aid you without growing volatile and emotionally unstable. This marks great progress.”

  “Would you explain to me what that means, sir?” Will entreated. “I know little of the abilities of a Furialist.”

  “That is a topic for another day, William. Just know that normally, a young Furialist can only access his power when he is under great duress. This makes him emotionally unstable, angry… violent. The attribute makes the Furialists illustrious warriors as even their younglings can thrive in battle. Because the power of each individual combatant increased when they experience pain, fear, or rage, a Furialist army was often stronger in the middle of a fray than it was at the beginning. Now, lift the rock one last time and focus on keeping it steady.”

  They proceeded to lift the rocks and listen to Boewdard lecture about magic and its intrinsic laws. When at last they could not hold the stones airborne any longer, Boewdard quickly demonstrated to Vivyan how to make an effective batch of the Teristum Anothíl potion.

  “Vivyan, hold back, if you will. I need to talk with you concerning certain matters,” Boewdard said with an edge of urgency in his voice. Vivyan turned back into the room, smiling smugly.

  Will sighed with relief; it was the end of the week. He felt exhausted, hungry, and wet, but none of that mattered because he was done with his lessons.

  At the entrance to the Pit, Another message was tacked to the door. Unlike the Jousting Tourney notice, this note demanded the attendance of all the Lumberton recruits. “Come in three days time to the edge of the wood. Bring your weapons and be prepared to engage in live combat.” Scrawled at the bottom of the letter was the Blademaster’s mark.

  Will was interested. Dueling had been a good exercise, but in class, Will refused to fully let go and unleash the full extent of his power. He longed to test his skills and see how far he had come as a warrior since arriving at the Academy.

  Entering the Pit, Will found that it was filled to the brim with lounging cadets and recruits. The customary duel raged in the center. The weekend had arrived, and the teenagers’ spirits were high. Already, several cadets had gotten drunk off their smuggled alcohol, boys and girls alike looking for a partner for the night.

  Will did not share their exuberance. He was feeling alone, pining after home. Retreating to a corner near a window, Will found a comforting seat in a soft armchair. He looked out a rain-streaked window as his eyelids grew heavy.

  Letters from Family

  “Supper, let’s go, Will,” a voice said in his ear. Someone was shaking his arm. Will groggily looked up at Art. “Let’s go, Will. The meal has already been served.”

  Reluctantly, Will got up, his clothes stiff and smelly, and walked with Art to the Feasting Hall. Together with Ben, Gregor, and Pat, they ate a hearty meal that warmed from the inside out.

  Returning to the Pit, the group sat under a window. Laughing loudly, they chatted for hours, especially after Gregor had been whisked away by a drunken third-year cadet. Only after the Faction Leader stomped out of his room in his nightshirt and cap did the raucous group of recruits stand and retreat into their own room. For a time, Will lay awake in his bed staring up at the ceiling listening to the patter of rain on the window.

  Earlier than he would have liked, Will woke and prepared for his detention, contemplating all the miserable and degrading tasks to which he could be assigned. He considered whether or not to strap on his sword, but deciding against equipping the blade, Will instead stuck a dagger in his belt. He did not trust some of the students attending the Academy to walk around completely unarmed. Will woke Patrick and patiently waited for him to get dressed.

  The sullen pair arrived in Nailfram’s classroom and was greeted by Gollemp. The lion snorted gruffly, shaking its mane dispassionately. “Sit,” Nailfram commanded with a sneer. “For the next hour and a half you will sit and do nothing. Gollemp would have you muck out his den, but I think that is an extreme punishment for your offense. So, sit.”

  Relieved at being spared such a task, Will and Pat took their seats. No one spoke. Nailfram sat at his desk and filed through the large stack of papers on his desk. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. Time seemed to
stand still. Will sat motionless and stared at the ceiling, counting the wooden crossbeams several times over. Pat was sleeping as soundly as the rocks below. Suddenly, a loud crash and a frightened scream sounded above.

  All eyes turned to the door as the astronomer Stalk’s sparrow frevmat appeared in the doorway, chirping shrilly. Nailfram muttered something under his breath and hurried to the door. “Move not from your seats lest you have desire to see more of me in the mornings,” Nailfram threatened. He left with a flurry of his cloak. Gollemp trotted after him, mane bouncing.

  The door slammed after them. Pat started, looked up at Nailfram’s desk, and seeing that Nailfram wasn’t there, fell back asleep. Will waited to make sure that Nailfram was really gone, then snuck up to the desk to look for the letter that had disturbed the man so much the other day. He shifted some papers on the desk, and near the bottom of the stack, Will found a folded piece of parchment

  He carefully unfolded the letter and read silently.

  To all my family at the Academy, I find myself continuing to enjoy the uninterrupted support from the faculty. Know that I greatly appreciate your efforts. There will be a gathering of the supporters of our cause presently. I, personally, will not be in attendance, but desire yours at the meeting.

  For now, I bade thee farewell,

  Yours Truly.

  And remember to be kind to the boy, for there is no doubt in my mind that he will, once liberated from the Imperial yoke, be a force that will turn tides in our favor.

  Will was confused. The letter did not make sense, or at least Nailfram’s sharp reaction to it seemed unnecessarily great. How was it that Nailfram was upset at this letter? It seemed just to be a simple invitation to the faculty meeting held yesterday, but Nailfram had seemed truly disturbed by it. And who was this boy? Imperial yoke? Will scanned the letter again, attempting find any clues that he might have missed. Then, Will noticed on the back of this letter there was more writing.