Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (10 page)

             
“My father? So this is what we are? Our power is because I am Furialist?” Will asked, confused. “What does this mean?”

             
Yes,
the griffin said,
and two of the last. Apart from your father and the Five, none have been seen for decades. Take heart, however, in knowing more live on in secret places in the far north. Of course, you are not full Furialist because you mother is of Dinadun descent. All the same, you have an aura of great destiny about you. I have a feeling that you are the one who leads your people back from imminent extinction.

             
“How can you know all this?”

             
The griffin snorted amusedly,
We griffins have a knack for knowing history and all that goes on around us.

“Answer me this then, Lord Griffin, how did you know who I was?”

I did not know who, only what, Brightflame. You bear the Mark of the Furialist; it distinguishes you as one of their kind. Anybody who recognizes the Mark can know you. Beyond that, I knew naught. Only by searching your mind did I discover your identity beyond your Mark.

             
“What mark?” Will looked at himself, searching for a brand setting him apart from the other students. “And why is he called the Liberator of Shadows? I thought liberation was a good thing.” 

             
That, of course, is a matter of perspective. He has dubbed himself the Liberator of Shadows because of his deeds and intentions. He seeks to liberate and release a sleeping evil into the world. In his mission, the Shadow Liberator has wrought destruction and performed despicable acts against all the peoples of Gammalgard.

And as for the Mark, another day, Brightflame, we shall save that knowledge for another day,
griffin said calmly. Worth paced past Will with a checklist in his large hands.
But about this exam, you have excelled in the first part. The second bit of this exam would be tricky, but I sense that you carry a magical item on your person.
Will fingered the hilt of his sword, hanging at his hip.
Yes, that sword contains one of the only dangers the goblins will perceive. Brute violence won’t work, unless you manage to kill them all. However, luckily for you, goblins are particularly intolerant of magic. They cower at the very thought of magic in any form. If you simply draw your weapon as they approach, they should run off.

             
Thank you, Lord Griffin… For showing me my past
, Will thought, reaching out with his mind to conjoin contemplation with the creature. It was an outlandish feeling, crossing the void before making contact. Will sensed vast space, empty yet whole, separating them. Once he brushed against the griffin’s mind, however, he felt at ease, allowing the creature’s thoughts to join and blend with his own. The process, though strange, was not altogether unpleasant, like an unlearned skill that came naturally.

It would appear that I have not only granted you the boon of knowledge, but also unveiled a talent. I am pleased for you learn quickly, young Brightflame. You may call me Glidar.

Why do you call me Brightflame? I am Stormhand, Will Stormhand.

No man is his father. You are the Brightflame and the sole master of your unique destiny. The choices you face are your own to answer; no man, not your father nor any other, can do this for you.

Will reflected on the griffin’s words.
My father said something akin to that before I left home. ‘Soon, we will part ways, and you will become your own man.’

Your father was wrong, Brightflame; you have always been your own man.

Will paused to think on these words. After a time, he returned his focus to the present and took note of his surroundings.

I have a favor to ask of you, Glidar.

I can read your thoughts; I know what you would ask of me. Which is he?

That boy with the brown hair, before the speckled griffin,
Will said, pointing at Art, who was seated upon the ground attempting to scrawl a message in the dirt.
He doesn’t seem to be making progress. Is there any way you could try to help him?

             
If he is worthy, help will be bestowed upon him.
The griffin clicked its beak two times and issued a low whistled. The speckled griffin raised its wings in acknowledgement.
Your friend, he is going to be fine. They cannot communicate as we can, via the mental link, but Graybreeze will assist him.

             
The griffin Graybreeze bowed low, tapping Art’s message with its beak. Startled, Art shook his head and stared wildly at the griffin. Will chuckled.

             
Practicing his new ability, Will conversed with Glidar until Worth called time. “Alright, who has the stones to try first? Stormhand, prove to me that beyond your father’s name, you’re worth the trouble of teaching you,” Worth said not unpleasantly.

Will chuckled to himself at the irony. Feeling butterflies only momentarily, he shrugged off his nerves and hopped the fence surrounding the goblins’ cage and the griffin’s egg.

Grasping the hilt of his sword, Will stood in front of the egg, waiting. Worth casually opened the lock on the cage. The three hideous goblins leapt out of it. They sniffed the air noisily and tiptoed towards Will as if he could not see them already. Will laughed at their foolishness; they were obviously not clever creatures. At his laugh, they froze and bent low to the ground.

             
Whatever they lacked in brains was more than compensated for by their speed, for they were undeniably agile and quick. The goblins surrounded Will as best they could and made their move. The shortest and fattest of the three went straight for the egg while the other two bounded toward Will. They had long legs and now stood tall as they bared sharp teeth at Will.

             
Girls gasped as the goblins closed in. Unflinching, Will smiled, delaying until the last possible moment. He drew his glittering sword. The blue blade glittered brilliantly in the sun. All three goblins stopped short. They eyed the blade with uncertainty and edged closer. Will looked at the approaching goblins and felt a jolt of panic. Why hadn’t the plan worked?

             
Ignore your fear, lift the veil, and let go. Let go. Let go!
Glidar’s voice called out to him.

             
Will’s eyes closed. The creature inside Will broke into his conscious and claimed his mind. The sword and his eyes flashed red. The goblins scattered running as fast as they could toward their cage. Slamming the gate shut, Worth locked them in.

Danger averted, the beast in Will’s mind retreated, allowing Will back in. Spotting the furious expression on Ogdin’s face, Will grinned happily, sheathing his sword, which shone blue once again. Worth burst into laughter at the cowering goblins.

“That sword’s made of dwarven steel. Dwarven metal is a good conductor of magic. The stunt wouldn’t have worked that well otherwise. Brilliantly preformed, Stormhand!” Worth chortled, thumping Will on the back. “I’d bet my ’burns that somewhere in there, a true beast master lurks.”

“Impressing the world yet again,” Art said with a smile on his face.

Worth called upon several students. Some succeeded. Most failed, goblins almost reaching the eggs before Worth intervened to wrangle them back into their cage. One desperate recruit had tried to smash one goblin’s head in, but let the other two get too close, so Worth failed her as well. After several names had been called, “Arthur Tableground!”

Art grimaced in reply. He walked slowly to a point in between the egg and the goblins. Released, two goblins hopped nimbly from their cage. The short goblin with his newly squashed nose simply peered out cautiously, examining this newest adversary before joining his fellows. As he whistled loudly, Art’s strategy became apparent. Will’s own doubts shrank as Art’s countenance shifted from scared to amused.

“
Screeeeeee
!” A massive, speckled beast rose above the scene. Art spun around to see Graybreeze break the ropes that contained him. Will smiled at the astonishment on Worth’s face, who tried to call back the escaped griffin. The professor shouted curses at the creature, waving his arms erratically to distract the griffin from the goblins.

For their part, the goblins took no time in realizing their doom. They frantically shoved each other out of the way, scrambling to enclose themselves in the cage. Fumbling with the lock, they successfully shut themselves in.

Art’s eyes lost focus for a moment, and the griffin landed at his side. It lowered its head and allowed Art to stroke it tenderly.

“Well done! Well done, Arthur Tableground! A wonderful performance, you two! Graybreeze must really have taken to you to come when called. Griffins are not want to answer summons from just anybody,” Worth said loudly, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “I was afraid he’d attack. Male and female griffins alike are quick to defend eggs and will be plenty lethal when provoked.”

Will grinned as they marched back to the castle. “What do you know about Survival?”

“I’ve made it this far,” Arthur chuckled.

“With only half a brain too, a brilliant feat. How are we supposed to prepare for a test of our survival skills?”

“If I knew, I’d tell all.”

Will’s stomach growled furiously. “Hungry,” he grunted.

“Aye, I could try frying one of those griffin eggs. One was big enough to feed the both of us,” Arthur replied, clutching at his stomach as if he was already withering away. Will shot him a funny look. “A jest!” Art caught himself. “An innocent jest. Will? Come back.”

Trials of Will and the Brightflame

Entering the castle, the recruits escaped the midday sun in search of a meal. Nailfram glared at Will silently before disappearing into the Feasting Hall. “I hate that man,” Will grumbled, following the professor into the crowded room. 

The food appeared with the help of scurrying kitchen maids. Hungry as he felt, Will did not need eat much before he was sated. While Art continued his meal, Will told him about what the griffin had said about his heritage, the Furialist history, and what was, according to the griffin, his name. Art seemed surprised to hear about Will’s Furialist ancestry and genuinely impressed that Will was able to speak to the griffin, but made no comment other than to chuckle at the name ‘Brightflame.’

After they’d had their fill, Will and Art retreated to the Pit where Will struggled to pack all of the things he thought he might need for the remainder of the exams, cramming items into his bag until it threatened to rip at the seams.

Art joined Will at the door, heaving his own pack onto his back. While Will had deposited his chainmail he wore for the previous exams, he kept his sword sheathed at his side, knowing that in a place like Bladebeard Academy, one is best not caught unarmed.

“Where to now?” Will inquired.

Art shrugged, “Dunno, follow them?” He was pointing at a group of girls. Will recognized them as first year recruits and nodded.

“Stormhand, take your seat,” Nailfram growled, pointing to a seat directly in front of his desk, a seat directly next to Ogdin. “You, Skinnyshit, over there,” he directed to the back of the room. Will glanced at Art, who stood from his seat next to Will and obeyed the order.

“The examination will begin shortly. You will be creating a cauldron of the Golden Draft. I will write the instructions on the board. Only then can you begin.” He waved his hand, and white letters drew themselves on the blackboard behind him. “Materials are in the front,” Nailfram called over the bustling recruits.

Ogdin shoved Will out of the way to reach the supplies first. Will shrugged it off; he did not care about this exam.

Will returned to his desk carrying a vial of crow blood, a pouch of raven talons, and a few more vile ingredients vital for the creation of the potion. He neatly laid out the supplies on his desk and began adding them to the pot.

Following the commands on the board as best he could, Will came to a direction indicating that he was to pour two spoons of half-congealed crow blood onto the gelatinous solution. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a girl run out of the room, covering her mouth and looking green. Smiling, Will hastened to find out what would happen when he added the blood. Without a spoon with which to measure, Will slowly poured the blood on the greenish brown sludge but fumbled with the vial, spilling much more into the solution than he had intended.

A great amount of steam rose out of the hissing cauldron. Will plugged his nose, expecting a nasty, putrid smell. After a minute, Will chanced a whiff of the powerful fragrance. Instead of the pungent stench he had expected,
a wonderful aroma overcame Will.

The scent filled his lungs and tickled his nose, compelling him to he look away as his eyes watered. All at once, it smelt of sizzling bacon, bonfire smoke, and something he could not recognize immediately. Fawn lily?

“Harrumph. Following instructions properly are we, Stormhand? I never would have expected it, considering your lack of judgment the last night,” Nailfram growled. The lion, Gollemp, appeared from the small office in the back of the classroom with a look on its face similar to Nailfram’s expression of disdain. It gazed at Will for a short moment then snorted its disapproval before withdrawing back into the dark recesses from which it came.

Will glanced back at Art, who was drowning in a thick, yellow cloud that enveloped both him and his desk. Like a hawk snatching an unsuspecting rodent from the forest floor, Nailfram swooped down on him. As waves of harsh criticism rolled from his tongue, Nailfram’s contempt was palpable.

Having completed his concoction, Will’s attention wandered, eventually landing on Vivyan. As she diligently worked on her potion, he noticed how Vivyan’s mouth pursed adorably when she concentrated. Will liked the manner in which she brushed her hair behind her ears, smiling when it immediately fell back again.

“Time is up. Do not continue, Chandelamp! I will inspect your concoctions momentarily,” Nailfram shouted over the bustle of last-minute work.

“Decent work, you may stay after class,” Nailfram hissed to the youths with satisfactory potions.

After the recruits, who, like Art, had failed their exams, filed out, Will huddled around Nailfram’s desk along with only a select others.

Nailfram began, scowling, “As you can tell, most are not cut out for Survival, but theirs is the easy road. Survival only gets harder. As for those who didn’t make it, those who failed to read basic instructions, those recruits can expect to partake in additional formation training.”

Then, Nailfram smiled, almost warmly, at the remaining children. “But you, you are beyond such menial tasks. You are fit and strong of mind but not yet fully prepared for the trials ahead. This class is called Survival, and that is what I mean to prepare you for. There is a big world out there, and you are but green recruits; it is my task to show you how to survive whatever might plague you. First, I will demonstrate techniques to brew potions, antidotes, and poisons that will assist, cure, and debilitate. Having-”

“Why shouldn’t every recruit be taught these techniques?” Will asked bluntly. Ogdin burst into a fit of laughter. The smile on Nailfram’s face darkened but did not disappear.

“Not all are fit to survive,” Nailfram said, brushing a greasy lock from his forehead. “It was no coincidence that even those who followed my instructions to the letter could not succeed. You, Stormhand, and your compatriots around you now have a splash of good sense, luck, and instinct about you. This is a class designed for only the most qualified recruits. Those who are accepted have traditionally become the most promising leaders within the school and within the Imperial Army as well. Your concern is touching, Stormhand, but my instruction would be wasted on the others, and their presence would be detrimental to your own development.”

Will found no words to counter the argument. With an expressionless face, Will murmured, “I understand.” However, his eyes gave his true feelings away. They burned red hot. The creature clawed, but its efforts to take control were foiled. As it retreated, Will’s eyes cooled and were blue once again. 

“Good, as I was saying, having completed the examination with sufficient marks, you have an essay due tomorrow on the effects of the Golden Draft.” Nailfram savored the moans of the recruits for a moment before continuing, “You are dismissed; I have pressing matters to which I must attend. See yourselves out.”

As the disgruntled recruits withdrew, Will found himself walking with Vivyan. He asked her about the homework, but the conversation felt forced. He felt awkward walking side by side with the girl; with each step, their arms brushed pleasantly, sending jolts of energy through Will. His mind was clouded with fear and with excitement, but when she spoke, her voice eased all doubts. In fact, there was no room for nerves in his head, as he couldn’t think of anything but her as they walked.

“The Golden Draft, it’s a potion that imitates the smell the smeller likes most. For me, it smelt like lavender and a strong red wine. I’ve heard that when one drinks the Golden Draft, she feels urges. I suppose the same would happen for a man, but when are your kind not willing and able?” Vivyan placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed playfully. Will only smiled uncomfortably, feeling the truth of her statement.

Vivyan, either failing to notice or being gracious in ignoring, continued, “It’s like a strong alcohol: the effects don’t wear off for several hours, and the drinker becomes a blithering idiot, at least until all cravings are satisfied.” Will only caught half of her words, listening to her melodious voice without hearing.

A voice behind them broke Will’s stupor. It was Nailfram. “Stormhand, may I have a word?”

Will frowned, confused, but consented. Vivyan paused to bid farewell, but Nailfram stopped her, “This will take but a second. You need not go.”

Turning back to Will, the man began with a strange expression on his ugly face, one that Will could not place immediately. “I’m afraid we have already run afoul of misguided prejudice. I see already that you are a competent recruit and would not have you receive a false impression of me. I apologize for being so cold before.”

Will was taken aback. Not knowing how to respond, he murmured, “Of course, Sir. Naturally, I am sorry for wandering that first night. I knew not where to go and-”

“Water under the bridge,” said Nailfram dismissively. Seeming to realize the irony in his expression, he chuckled, “Quite literally water under the bridge.”

Will smiled at the jest and shook Nailfram’s extended hand. “I’ll see you on the morrow?”

“Most certainly, Stormhand.” With that the man turned and retreated down the hall back towards his offices.

Vivyan assumed her place at Will’s side, saying, “That was pleasant of him.”

“I suppose so. Though, he said naught about the detention I am still to serve,” Will laughed.

Chatting amiably, Will and Vivyan reached the courtyard, and a gaggle of Vivyan’s friends beckoned her over. Will said goodbye and hurried off, conscious of every stride and feeling a dozen eyes burning into his rear. Will found Art eating an apple he had kept from the Feasting Hall. “Apparently, I’m fit to survive,” Will said, taking a seat next to Art.

“That’s the attitude. I see you ‘surviving’ well enough with the fair Vivyan,” Art grinned, gauging Will’s reaction.

“She’s pleasant,” Will muttered, deftly avoiding Art’s eyes. “Nailfram’s not bad either, I think. He talked with me after, claiming a desire to start afresh.”

“Maybe this time around he won’t find a way to punish you right off the start,” Art laughed.

“I would hope that’s the case. But today, what’s next?” Will asked.

“Herblore. Why do we even need to take this exam? When in all my military career will I need to know about plants? I might fail on purpose,” Art jested.

“I should hope not!” Patrick exclaimed appalled, approaching Will and Art with his waddling gait. “Herblore, Astronomy, History. The Academy offers these courses of study in an attempt to sophisticate its cadets. Our learning of military arts is complimented by the pursuit of knowledge of honor, literature, and botanicals. The Academy seeks to soften and refine our natures as well as hone us for battle so that we may make proper nobles when we are of age.”

Art made a rude noise, scoffing, “Patrick, should you get any softer, you will prove better for sleeping on than my down mattress.”

“You have much to learn about polite society, Arthur Tableground,” Pat retorted, looking injured. He adjusted his belt so that it rested more comfortably around his belly and tottered away with as much grace as his immense girth would allow him. “The future lords and ladies of the Empire must be more than warriors and soldiers. If we aren’t, we’ll be no better than the barbaric Northmen and their preposterous superstitions.”

“Enter the conservatory,” the squat Herbmaster Goldstem declared, leading the gathered recruits into high-fenced paddock consisting of rows of greenery, flowers, and shrubs. The homely woman ambled leisurely as she lectured, “The study of Herblore is difficult in that the subject is ever-expanding, but extensive research is not without its advantages. With practice, one can discern which plants can save or take a life. Some particularly dangerous strains will throttle you for your bodily fluids,” Goldstem explained, swatting a vibrant yellow tentacle away from her throat. It crept back into the shadows of the gloomy conservatory. “Therefore, you must be taught about the flora of this land as it may be imperative to your survival on the battlefield. Today, your exam includes two parts: plant a spiny orchid without injury and identify three plants that cure the given poisons,” Goldstem said.

The recruits were split into two groups and, at Goldstem’s signal, started on their exams. Will tried to snatch a wriggling orchid stem out of the fertile dirt. It lashed out at his fingers with long spines. Will withdrew his hand quickly. He was unharmed, but his eyes darted quickly from side to side, trying to tell whether or not the Herbmaster had seen.

Pondering a strategy, Will heard a sharp cry and saw a
redheaded girl holding her finger. The finger immediately turned purple and swelled to the size of an orange. Goldstem casually walked over to the injured girl and took her to a table where she lathered the inflamed finger with a mucus-colored liquid and lanced it with a short knife.

Disgusted by the sight of the pus now oozing out of the finger, Will returned to his work. He poked at the plant again and was promptly stabbed. Pain darted up his finger. A single droplet of blood formed at the site where the plant had pierced him. Beyond that, nothing happened. The pain quickly subsided, as it would for a normal cut, and his finger did not swell or change color. Will looked at the orchid with surprise.

Determined to plant the stubborn flower, Will gripped the stem of the orchid, ignoring the spines driving themselves deep into his hand. But the flower would not budge from the soil as if its very roots were resisting his efforts.