Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (11 page)

Will yanked hard one last time and the plant was wrenched free of the soil. Placing the squirming orchid into a new pot and wiping away the blood dotting his fingers lest Goldstem should see, Will smiled. He had done it. He felt a callused hand on his shoulder.

“Good work, Master Stormhand. Please wait here until I call time.” Goldstem departed to deal with another injury, leaving Will with a muddy handprint on his shoulder.

Will looked at Ogdin, whose hand was being wrapped by the short Herbmaster. The lycanthrope saw Will staring and looked away promptly, pride wounded. Will smiled, hoping that there was great pain involved in the swelling.

A few minutes later, Goldstem called time, and the class switched stations. Will was presented with ten plants and three vials of poison. Hopelessly clueless, he sat in the dirt and thought about his dilemma.

“Five minutes left!” Goldstem shouted. Will started violently; he had wasted twenty minutes daydreaming and hadn’t come close to making conclusions.

   Will looked at the first vial. It was molten orange. He looked at a plant whose petals were orange as well. He placed the two together and did the same to the next poison.

The third poison was clear, and Will hastily looked at his remaining selection. He closed his eyes and waved his hand over the tray. He opened his eyes and, stopping his hand over a blue flower, picked it.

“Time is up, please cease your work,” Goldstem hollered. “Thank you, everyone, you may go.” Goldstem slapped another yellow tentacle away from her throat.

“There’s one I didn’t pass,” Will sighed, walking to the Astronomy examination.

“All’s well if you make it well,” Art warbled in a singsong voice.

“Well, four for six. I suppose that is rather good,” Will said with mock haughtiness.

“Ah, five for seven if you count History,” Art corrected. Will laughed, giving Art a shove.

The Astronomy room was dark, dusky, and smelt of old parchment. Will gazed up at the ceiling and was astounded to see a perfectly-to-scale model of the heavens. He saw all of the constellations and stars glittering as they would on a clear, summer night.

A crusty hand shot out of thin air and grasped Art’s arm in a vice. Art shouted in surprise, flailing about, but couldn’t escape the old, dismembered hand. Laughter erupted out of the air. Will searched in vain for the person the laughter belonged to. The elderly man from the sorting ceremony suddenly appeared out of the air, and the hand had a body. A small sparrow flitted from the desk, perching on the now visible man’s shoulder.

His wispy, white hair scarcely covered the dome of his wrinkly skull. The ancient face vaguely resembled an ape’s, and his pale eyes shone with glee. “That gets them every time,” the man hooted. His accented voice was rich but creaky like an aged tree. In Will’s mind, it said a lot about his character. Without knowing the man, Will liked him.

“I am Alteus Stalk, this is Astronomy, and you two are the first ones here. Get a test from the desk and you may start. Take care not to ruin the surprise for anybody else mind you,” the elderly man cackled, fading out of sight again.

Will settled down in a desk near the front of the room. The questions were difficult, and even with Will’s frequent glances up at the ceiling, he failed to answer most of the questions. At the end of the period, Will handed the semi-completed exam back to the ancient astronomer.

The old man scanned the parchment and frowned. “I am so sorry, Master Stormhand. I’m afraid that you did not correctly answer enough questions to take my course this term. I had hoped to teach you. You’re mother was such a joy in class,” Stalk said with disappointed sincerity. Will, too, was extremely disappointed. Will’s faltering mood only worsened when he found out that Art had made the kindly old man’s class.

“My father showed me how to identify certain stars when I was young. I figure that’s why I got in,” Art awkwardly consoled his disgruntled friend.

Matthew had given Will the same lessons, but Will had not paid them mind; he had always thought the stars irrelevant. Will had barely forced himself to learn the proper name of the Night Star, Ildias, which was the first to appear after the sun had set. By looking at the ceiling, Will had been able to identify the more simple constellations, but it had not been enough.

Back in the Pit, Will stared out a small window. Art joined him, leaning against the wall. They saw the forest that spanned limitlessly to the south of the grounds and the glittering river that lazily wound its way this way and that. Staring into the setting sun, which dyed the sky purple, Will ran his hand through his shorn hair.

Behind them in the large common room, surrounded by a ring of heckling recruits, a furious battle raged. Two students were locked in a sparring match so intense that it was not a rare occasion when one slipped on the sweat that drenched the floor. The salty droplets beaded their faces and often splashed the crowd. Turning away from the window, Will observed the fight with little interest. Art, however, was watching with ample attention.

“Are you following this? Look at him parry, Will. That swing could have been devastating. Will, they are almost as good as you are,” Art commented loudly. At his words, the fight stopped abruptly.

“What was that?” one of the combatants shouted hotly. How he had heard Art over the sounds of all the other cadets’ yelling was beyond Will. Bulky and burly, the veins in his neck bulged as he approached Art.

Art looked frightened for a moment but rebounded declaring, “Are you as dumb as all that or are you ears simply filled with wool? I wager Will would defeat you easy.” Then, as an afterthought, added, “You and your friend at the same time.”

“Really? He doesn’t look like much. Besides, my father always said the Stormhand name was undeservedly praised. I can see why; he’s a self-promoting soft sword,” the second combatant sneered. He was slender, but his technique had been flawless.

“Did your father ever meet General Stormhand?” Art asked incredulously. “Stormhand is a living legend! No man gains such a reputation without the skill to earn it. Aye, Will could take you both,” Art repeated. “And his skill is beyond even that of his sire’s, of this you can be certain!”

Will thought Art’s boast was rather unnecessary, but as he remembered his conversation with Glidar, the griffin, inspiration struck. “I grow weary of being compared to my father. I am Stormhand’s son, yes, but this is not all I am or can be,” Will growled to no one in particular.

Art smiled at Will, “Of course not, my friend; you are your own man! You are the Brightflame after all.” Art turned and declared to the room, “Tread carefully, for he is fierce when provoked.”

“I’ve had enough of this boasting! Draw your sword, you little shit,” bellowed the burly boy, rage in his voice. He stomped towards Will to leer at his opponent and although Will stood taller than most men, the older boy dwarfed Will by at least six inches.

Reluctantly, Will drew the blue blade from its sheath. His legs felt sluggish as the other boys circled him. Cautious, Will followed them with his eyes, and they struck. Will hardly pulled his sword up in time to block the first blow. He spun away quickly to dodge a second onslaught. A third swing, parried; Will’s wrist was jarred. Pain jolted through his arm and into his shoulder.

Will gasped and drew away from the advancing pair like an injured animal cornered by hungry predators. Effortlessly, Will’s consciousness shrank back into the recesses of his mind. In its place, the angry beast broke through the barriers surrounding Will’s mind and took control. Will looked up slowly at the hostile swords with glowing red eyes. The pain in his wrist was dulled to an ignorable throb, while his acute senses detected fear building in his foes. His sword now glowing red, Will heard Art shouting in delight. A possessed smile crept across Will’s face as he raised the blade to a ready position.

Will stepped forward with amazing speed, his slow legs forgotten. Moving the sword in a complex motion, Will disarmed the burly boy and planted his boot in boy’s chest, sending him to the ground. His brawny opponent lay sputtering on the floor, clutching at his ribs in an attempt to get air back into his lungs. Will turned on the second boy and slashed stomach height. Parried. Will swung at his head. Parried. Will wrapped his leg around the other boy’s and shoved hard into his chest. The boy tripped, and as he fell, Will pricked his throat with the tip of his sword.
              “Done,” Will announced triumphantly. The boy grasped his neck and scrambled away.

             
The creature in Will’s head, realizing the fight was over, retreated into his mind and allowed Will’s true mind to take over. Will was pleased to find that he could control his powers better already.

             
The burly boy stood shivering behind his comrade who approached Will. “Brightflame is it? I would tip my hat to you, if I had one. Your skill with a blade is masterful. I’ll inform Modwyn about your, eh… special talent,” he said.

             
“I should think he already knows, but my gratitude,” Will said, shaking the boy’s hand.

The room around them was silent. But it was not long before Art unleashed his excitement, “Brilliant, truly brilliant. That fight
was incredible! With two against one, who would have thought he would triumph? What man can hope to extinguish the Brightflame, son of Stormhand?” The crowd burst out into loud murmuring. Will couldn’t make out most of the words, but he didn’t need to hear them to tell that all conversation centered on him.

“I’m to bed,” Will shouted over the many voices. Art nodded as cadets surrounded him, wanting to know about more about the Stormhand prodigy.

Alone in the sleeping quarters, Will sighed as he took off his belt and tunic.
Why did I tell him about the Brightflame?
Will thought amused. He rubbed his sore wrist and threw some water on his face.

The new routine was already taking its toll. Will wasn’t used to so much talking in one day; his jaw ached and his brain throbbed. All the same, he was proud of what he had accomplished. Will closed his eyes with a smile on his face, and the world around him went dark.

Van Arda

Sunlight stung Will’s eyes as he rolled out of the soft mattress. Art and the other boys in their quarters were noisily dressing next to their beds.

“What a show last night, Brightflame. Almost as good as my Grandda’s legendary duel against the robber knight, Rito Cely,” Pat exclaimed when he noticed that Will was up.

“Thanks, Pat,” Will replied rolling his eyes. “But you call me Will.”

“Get up, you lazy shits!” the Faction Head shouted as he banged on their door.

The boys grumbled and hurried into their tunics. The two boys Will wasn’t familiar with began to introduce themselves.

“Hullo, I’m Gregor Marshall. Great show yesterday, great show,” the lanky, redheaded boy said.

“Me name’s Ben Baynton, but after last night, call me impressed,” a short, dark-skinned boy complimented.

When they arrived in the Feasting Hall, an explosion of smell and sound collided with the group. Bacon, eggs, buttered biscuits, fresh fruit, and sausage scents teased their hungry stomachs, tantalized their noses, and made their eyes water with hunger. Hundreds of forks, knives, and spoons slid from talking mouths. Cadets sat at their respective Faction tables. Will noted how few people from separate tables were conversing with one another.

Will flung himself onto the Lumberton bench and piled the hot food onto his plate. Art was bragging about Will’s fight to Ben, Gregor, and Pat, recalling details that Will himself had forgotten.

“Will is half Furialist,” Art said casually.

“If that’s true, you must be one of the last ones alive. I heard that the Shadow tried to exterminate the entire race. Me father is sum sixteenth Shadow Lighter or sumpfing,” Ben told the group.

“Shadow Lighter?” Will asked.

“Like that Hostice girl, the one from Wittenstaak. But he hasn’t got no magic powers or nuffin’ like that girl’s got.”

“If you can call her a girl; she’s a hag,” Gregor pitched in. “My father fought goblins and giants under yours, Will, in the Four Years War. He said your sire was as a god on the battlefield. Claims that General Stormhand killed at least four giants and thirty-seven goblins in a single hour,” he added. Will admired his own father for being a storied warrior but found it odd that Matthew had concealed his achievements from W
ill and odder still that after such adventures, Matthew would be so generous to the villages that asked for his help with relatively menial tasks.
Come to think about it
, Will realized,
the shields on the wall of my house must have been those of his fallen enemies
. Will had never thought to ask. He had always assumed the tattered shields were just scavenged decorations for the mosaic of heraldry was indeed beautiful to look at.

“Here you go, take it or leave it,” the Faction Head said gruffly, shoving a roll of parchment into each boy’s hand. “It is your schedule, twits,” the older boy snapped in response to their dumbfounded expressions.

Will’s schedule read, “First period: Beast Mastery, Second period: Survival, Third period: History, Fourth period: Meal, Fifth period: Battle, Sixth period Free, Seventh period: Magic, Eighth period: Free.”

“Beauty, battle right after eating, I hope I don’t yak,” Ben groaned.

“My Grandda reckons that it is okay to not participate in Battle, Survival, Astronomy, or Beast Mastery, as long as I live up to our family’s reputation as wizards,” Pat explained.

“If all you’re good for is casting pixie dust all over the place, why not be in Soardale?” Art laughed. Will attempted to stifle a chuckle but managed to choke on his eggs instead.

“What do I do in the free periods?” Pat asked the Faction Head, ignoring Art’s jab.

“Depends. Some cadets study tactics, others run formations. Personally, I’d train at the Range. Look, kid, I don’t have all day. If that’s all, I’m leaving.”

“Whoa, is it time already? Still got to get ready for me classes,” Ben exclaimed when Blademaster Boewdard announced the beginning of classes.

             
Back in their quarters, Will threw on a clean tunic, again admiring the Lumberton crest on his chest. He belted his sword to his waist, packed his books, and ran outside to his first class.

“If it’s not the Brightflame himself, very good,” Worth laughed as Will jogged towards the knot of recruits standing in the courtyard. “Word travels fast in the Academy, Will, and tales of impressive feats even faster. But, now everyone’s here, so let us begin,” Worth addressed the class happily. “We will be discussing frevmats today.

“As many of you know, frevmats are a type of the more general familiar classification. Unlike other familiar types, one shares a unique mental and physical bond with his frevmat. The frevmat is a being that will remain by his side always. The frevmat knows his companion down to the very essence of his soul. The frevmat recognizes his every desire, secret, and thought as closely as it knows its own. Of course, you will know your own frevmat equally as well. Needless to say, there is no hiding anything from a frevmat once the two of you are bonded. As a rule, a frevmat can take the form of any animal or creature, common or uncommon,” Worth lectured on. “It’s not unusual either for frevmats to seem like a certain animal, but grow larger or be smaller than what may be found in the wild.”

             
Will was interested and couldn’t control his curiosity any longer. “Is that what Nailfram’s lion is?” he inquired.

             
“Precisely,
Gollemp is Nailfram’s frevmat. The two of them have been bonded since he was a cadet here long ago,” Worth replied smiling.

             
“You know its name?” Will asked surprised.

             
“Naturally, I paired the two together.”

             
“You mean one doesn’t get to choose what his frevmat is?”

             
“Yes and no, but mostly no. You see, before a frevmat and his companion are bonded, a frevmat is amorphous. I mean to say, they have no form and are unbound by a single shape. I have no more control over what shape your frevmat takes than you do. However, when choosing a frevmat, one is assessed, and the spirit that will be his frevmat decides its form. In that single moment, the bond is made. Afterwards, there is an ancient magic necessary to solidify such a link, forging a pact for life. It was this ancient magic that I tapped when I performed Nailfram and Gollemp’s uniting ceremony,” Worth explained. Fascinated, Will realized that he only understood a fraction of the complex relationship between a human and his frevmat. 

             
“We will study the bond, and I will introduce you to my frevmat later. Throughout the week, I will quiz you and offer a little prize to the recruit with the top score,” Worth grinned, stroking his thick chops. The Beastmaster clapped his hands together and began to elaborate on the inner workings of the bond between a human and a frevmat.

             
“I wonder what it feels like. To have a frevmat, I mean,” Will told Art as they walked across the yellowing lawn. “Think of all the advantages I would have in combat having huge beast by my side.”

             
Ogdin prowled past the pair and interjected, “Frevmats are a tradition of the barbaric Northmen. They have no place in the civilized world.”

             
“Says the lycanthrope. Spare us your jealousy, Ogdin. Just because you’re more beast than man,” Art began. But before Art finished his thought, Ogdin rolled his eyes and stalked away to join Hostice of Wittenstaak and a crew of Scalefire recruits.

             
While Will stared distastefully at the lycanthrope’s retreating form, Art picked up the conversation again.

             
“Frevmats would have their advantages in battle, certainly. Remember though Worth warned that if your frevmat dies so does a part of you? ‘It is rare that a person survives the death of his frevmat or a frevmat, its person.’ If it were to die in battle, the emotional shock would be too much for you, Will. You’d risk that? Your life tied to another’s in such a finite way?”

Kicking a loose stone along the path, Will smiled, “I’d do it.” Art merely shrugged.

              Entering through looming doors, the pair parted in a giant foyer. Will left for Survival down a dark corridor, and Arthur for Astronomy.

             
Nailfram did not acknowledge Will as he pushed open the door into his torch-lit chamber. Will retreated to the middle of the room and seated himself at a table next to Vivyan. Nailfram looked up from his papers just once to survey the small class before retreating into his office at the back of the room.

             
As Nailfram came back out, he started collecting rolls of parchment that each of the students had pulled out of their bags. With a moan, Will let his head fall to the table. In the process of becoming the Brightflame last night, he had forgotten the essay. Hurrying to pull out a piece of parchment from his bag, Will jotted down what he remembered of Vivyan’s description of the Golden Draft.

             
He had just finished the concluding thought as Nailfram beckoned for the essay. “Stormhand, use complete sentences next time,” Nailfram scanned the paper. “I will take off points for that,” he added.

             
“It’s the
Brightflame
now, Sir,” Ogdin jeered.

“Brightflame indeed…” Nailfram looked to O
gdin with distaste then peered carefully at Will with an inscrutable expression on his unsightly face.

             
Will sighed, relieved that he had been able to salvage even that much of the assignment before Nailfram caught him. As for Ogdin’s taunts, the lycanthrope’s detestation of Will was of little concern.

“Thanks for the lesson yesterday,” he whispered to Vivyan, who blushed lightly, but said nothing.

              Nailfram’s thin fingers grasped a stick of chalk and, with a great deal of scratching, began to write instructions on the board. Reading over the ingredients needed, Will stood and walked to the back of the classroom in order to retrieve a cauldron.

             
A massive black object whizzed past his face. Stunned, he looked behind him to see who had cast the spell. Vivyan winked at him, holding the large tub. Will wondered how she had already learned and mastered that magic. The entire concept was totally new to him.

             
Will turned back to the pile of cauldrons and dove to the ground. Another heavy pot was lobbed at his head. Will hit the ground just in time as the flying missile flew over his shoulder.

             
Angrily, Will turned to see who had thrown the pot that had come so close to knocking his teeth out. Joined by his fellow Scalefire recruits, Ogdin laughed menacingly, gripping the cauldron.

             
Will got to his feet and lugged his cauldron to his seat. “Were you hit? That was an immature prank,” Vivyan asked. “Apologies for the first one, though; that was mine.”

             
“Oh, I’m… I’m fine,” he stammered, surprised that she cared.

             
Nailfram had turned a blind eye to this incident, continuing to lecture about the potion they were about to brew as if nothing had happened. “The Elixir of Illumination is a potion used for many purposes, one of which is to create light when none can be found naturally. The key ingredient is the root of Foxfire. The flower comes from only the most remote areas in the Van Arda, the Elven Realm. I’ll bestow little mercy unto those who would senselessly waste it,” Nailfram added threateningly.

             
Will started a small fire below his cauldron with a finger and filled the pot with spring water. When the water began to boil, Will added the Foxfire root and a cup of ash. He stirred counterclockwise and let the water simmer for five minutes. A sprinkle of sand, two more dashes of clover…

             
“Whoa!” Will exclaimed amazedly. The source of his admiration was a burst of light erupting from Vivyan’s perfect solution.

             
Will added two strips of the last ingredient and waited. A flash of light blinded Will.

             
He shook his head to clear the last of the tiny black dots dancing in his vision. When they finally flickered and disappeared, Will saw that only he, Vivyan, Ogdin, and a scrawny Soardale student had mixed the potion correctly.

             
“Good work, those of you who made this potion correctly. No report is required from you. As for everyone else, I want an essay written on why and at which point you decided to discontinue following orders. That behavior will get you killed. Get out,” Nailfram snarled at the end of the class, never making eye contact with Will.

             
Grumbles and complaints arose from the unsuccessful students as they packed up and prepared to go.

             
Will slipped a vial from his bag and filled it with the shining potion. He looked around cautiously before carefully pocketing the vial.

             
“Will,” Vivyan said chidingly as they walked out the door. “You ought to remember your homework, especially in this course. Don’t think Nailfram will take it kindly if you fail to write an entire essay again.”