Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (14 page)

Grinning stupidly back at her, Will felt an enormous blow to the back of his head. He swooned, looking around dazedly. He fell, hitting the ground hard. As stars that danced in his vision, Will watched feet shuffling around him and blacked out.

“Will? Will, are you okay?” a voice asked faintly.

Will groaned and opened his eyes, but only slightly; the light glaring into his eyes was unbearable. He scrunched his nose, sitting up wearily and shading his eyes with a hand. “What happened?” Will asked the small group of people around him. Modwyn, Boewdard, Art, Vivyan, and, surprisingly, Caleb stood around him.

Will felt the back of his head and felt a large, tender bump. “You were hit hard,” Modwyn stated.

“How long was I out?”

“Only about fifteen minutes,” Modwyn replied.

“Who won?” Will asked.

“The Warriors, unfortunately. We were close though,” Modwyn said reassuringly.

“I’m afraid we did,” Caleb smiled warmly. Will shrugged. “Payback for my stomach. We’re square now,” Caleb said, gesturing to his midsection wrapped in bandages.

“I see,” Boewdard said slowly. “Caleb, you have something to ask of valiant William?”

“Aye, Blademaster,” he said. “Brightflame, on behalf of the Warriors of Bladebeard Academy, I, by my right as rank of Warrior General, offer warmest invitation and immediate initiation into our fold.” Will looked up in astonishment. “You will be the youngest Warrior to date.”

Will was in shock at the proposal. “Are you sure you want me?”

“I speak lacking doubt. You are a fantastic swordsman now and, with a small instruction, will soon be legendary,” Caleb said.

Boewdard confirmed the praise with a nod. “Join the Warriors and be great. Rise above your peers and earn for yourself power, fame, and glory, for you have potential to alter the course of this Empire,” Boewdard said passionately.

Power, fame, glory, but what of my friends?
Will thought. Art gaped in surprise, but nudged Will in a reassuring way, prompting him to respond.
Power, fame, glory,
Will thought confidently. “Many thanks, I accept.”

“Join my advanced magic class as well, William, and you too, Vivyan,” Boewdard added, “It will replace the elementary magic course you currently take. Under my tutelage, you will practice the Divine Arts at an accelerated pace,” Boewdard said. “Great power resides in both of you. It emanates and pulses through your veins as naturally as blood. Anyone can see that. Become my apprentices in the Divine Arts, and I shall impart unto you knowledge that will shed light on even the greatest mysteries of magic. It is an honor given only to magic users of utmost potential.

“Previously, only two first year recruits have been invited to partake in the rigorous training you two are about to receive--myself and your mother,” Boewdard said, gazing at Will with his cold eyes. Boewdard then wove a colorful illustration of the power of magic. His words were adept and smooth, snaking through the air and into Will’s thoughts.

Power, fame, glory.
“I accept your teachings, Blademaster,” Will said without hesitation.

Pausing, Vivyan stared at the ground thoughtfully. “I, too, accept.”

The Warning and the Dream

“By the Emperor’s pasty ass cheeks, Will!” Art exclaimed dryly. “You receive the two highest honors in the entire Academy on your first day, leaving me where?” Art rambled as he and Will crossed the bridge, walking towards the castle. “How could you injure me so? Unbelievable, and to think I thought you friend. With who am I to distract myself in magic now?”

Will laughed, “My humblest apologies.”

“Bah, humble,” Art scoffed. “You’re too modest, farm boy. This is occasion to celebrate!”

“I came here unsure of how I would fit in, but it seems I have been accepted as greater than equal. Art, don’t treat me differently now. I would have we remain as brothers.”

Art grinned, “Brothers? I’ve a surplus of those as is. Nay, dear William, you are no brother of mine.”

“Your words cut deep.”

Smiling, Art continued, throwing an arm around Will’s shoulder, “You are no brother of mine, Will, simply because you have not tried to cut me.” He laughed. “If you were truly my kin, you’d have beaten me raw already. For your kindness and friendship, I consider you greater than kin.”

Will cocked an eyebrow, “What is greater than kin?”

“You,” Art answered with a laugh. “I maintain a healthy suspicion around my family, particularly whence in the presence of drink. You, on the other hand, have my good faith. But, it is difficult to believe…” Art paused. “Strange, the course of events have been… Will, I haven’t known you long, but already we have become, as you say, as brothers. I am not wrong in thinking so?” He continued without waiting for Will to confirm the statement. “I will say first that you are the fast friend every man desires. And preempting my next thought, you should know that I have your best interest at heart.”

“Gratitude, Art. You are too kind, but-”

“I warn you now, Will, that the Blademaster has a strange interest in you. I only ask you to open your eyes and see all for yourself. I do not wish you taken a fool or corrupted by newly found power.”

Will was taken aback. His anger flaring, he snapped, “I can take care of myself, and I am not weak-willed.” His eyes flashed as an unbidden anger welled up inside him.

Looking as if Will had just confirmed his worst fears, Art stared at blankly back at him. “Of course not. I should not have broached the subject,” Art said hotly, leaving Will alone as he stomped away.

Instantly, regret filled Will. Realizing Art’s fears were justly considered, his eyes lowered in shame. Will entered the foyer and proceeded to Boewdard’s office for his first lesson, wishing only that he could recall his sharp words.

“Greetings again, Master Brightflame,” Boewdard smiled.

Will remained silent. “Good day, Blademaster,” Vivyan said, entering behind Will.

The office was cozy, not overly furnished. It contained a scarred writing desk and three comfortable armchairs among other things Will found markedly more fascinating. Hundreds of books lined the shelves on the walls. A suit of pitch-black armor lay neatly behind the desk on top of a wooden stool. Odd instruments and trinkets sat upon the desk. They whirred slightly, and a faint clicking could be heard from within an iron box.

Boewdard himself sat comfortably in the leather chair behind the desk. “If it please you,” he motioned towards the other two armchairs. The two students took their seats and waited as Boewdard examined them closely.

“Put simply, magic is complex,” he started. “Before we begin in earnest, I must ask, how much do you know about Divine Arts?” he asked.

“Less than a noble knows how to till the soil,” Will replied honestly. The Bladem
aster chuckled.

“I see your father has sown his skepticism of the ruling class in you,” Boewdard smiled.

“I see nothing wrong with lords and ladies keeping the peace,” Will retorted.

“In spite of that, it would appear that you demonstrate a certain dislike of their presence. It is known that you and Daniel Ogdin, the young Lord on Howling Hill, have sown the seeds of
conflict, as Lumberton and Scalefire recruits are wont to do. This particular rivalry, however, is of much contestation amongst the staff here. Many wish it to end now, before the Academy is split. Others, myself included, desire your feud to play out as our little experiment, a source of entertainment.”

“It is not my intention to cause trouble.”

“And yet?”

Will sighed. “And yet, his arrogance and cruel words aggravate me to no end.”

“Such things I have observed. Interesting, so very interesting,” Boewdard smiled to himself. “What of you, Vivyan? Have you opinion on the matter?”

Taking time to measure her words, Vivyan responded slowly, “I feel that Daniel has a certain appeal about him. He knows who he is and what he believes; that is powerful. Will is not without allies, but without confidence in his identity, he is at a disadvantage.”

Hearing that, Boewdard grinned ever wider, “Modwyn was not wrong about you; you are able to see all sides of a conflict, a strategist to the core. As to the workings of magic, what is it that you know?”

“I know only rudimentary spells and but a few of the more basic laws. There is much I must learn before I proclaim myself proficient,” Vivyan answered.

“This, then, is the foundation upon which my lessons begin,” Boewdard said, eyes flicking back and forth from Will to Vivyan. “As you know, one needs to utter a word that is part of the vast language of spells in order to summon magic. The words in that language serve as a medium through which the spell caster can shape his intentions. To illustrate this point, were I to say Raisíth, meaning levitate, I could perform many actions--lift a rock, hurl an enemy into the air, what have you.

“By itself, the word Raisíth means very little, indeed it is nothing but wind passing between my lips. It is my intentions that control the spell; I must focus on the desired task. Only then, assuming my power is great enough, can I lift my targeted object,” Boewdard said.

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. “Of the divine laws and rules governing one’s use of magic, all hold equal importance, although admittedly with varying relevance. Nevertheless, the penalty of breaking any of the rules is death,” he paused. “No exceptions. The first, a law most valuable in a novice’s mind, states that one may not expend more energy than he has stored in his body. In other words, your power has limits.”

“How does one know his limit?” Will asked.

“There is no way of telling. Therefore, magic users must always take the utmost care in practicing the art.”

“Can one push the limits, increasing power as one who runs increases stamina?” Will asked.

“Naturally. But push too hard or too quickly, boy, and you’re dead,” Boewdard warned. “Keeping in mind the first law, the second is rather obvious. It states that magic can only accomplish deeds you can perform with your own two hands. In other words, you are unable to resurrect the dead or move a mountain. Until you grow powerful enough, even the most mundane magical tasks will deplete most of your magic stores.”

“That is why I felt tired after lifting the rock yesterday?” Will inquired.

“Yes, of course. That exercise is a perfect example of how to increase one’s magical endurance, to push the limits as William said.

“You both passed your Magic exams without trouble, unconsciously focusing your energy into the spell. That is why you’re here. Magic is mere instinct to you. Even so, you lack training, instruction, and endurance.

“At the beginning of each lesson from now on, I want you to lift the stone for as long as you are able. This simple exercise will build your power. As you progress, you will build your magical stores up and become able to perform more advanced tasks.” Boewdard motioned with his hand, and two stones appeared on the laps of his two apprentices. “Lift these; the act will be your first step to greatness.”

Will stared intensely at the stone. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. He focused upon the word and uttered the incantation. Nothing happened. The small, gray stone sat defiantly in the palm of his hand. Boewdard stared impatiently at him, cold eyes boring into his head.

“William, access your power. Throw down the barrier between your consciousness and the power store,” Boewdard said.

Will let his mind wander, clearing all thought.
Barriers
. He hesitantly touched the block on his power. The wall was vague but certainly present. Will wondered why he had never felt it before these last few days.

“Yes, I sense your energy close to the surface. You are near to unleashing your power,” Boewdard said excitedly. For a moment, nothing happened then, “Raisíth!” Vivyan murmured. The stone on her palm glowed with a yellowy sheen. It wobbled and rose to hover above her palm. For a time, it remained there, floating unsteadily. Then, she jerked. The stone fell with a slight thud into her hand.

“Very good, Vivyan! Try again. This time seek to hold the stone longer,” Boewdard said happily.

Not wanting to be left behind, Will flung himself against the block. It shattered beneath his mental strength. As water flows from breaking dam, power engulfed his mind and rushed through his veins. His eyes glowed red as he focused all of his energy on a single word. “Raisíth!” With a jolt, the rock thrust itself upward and hung steadily in the air above his hand. Will smiled and held the stone in that position as best he could. Physically, Will felt his strength drain slowly. The longer he held the stone in the air, the more quickly the task sapped his energy. Too tired to maintain focus, Will released the stone from the spell. The surge of magic faded behind its barrier again, and the breath was knocked out of him as the stone fell. He sucked at the air for a few seconds, attempting to fill empty lungs before admiring his achievement.

“Impressive. I see that your power is even greater than I had estimated. Obviously, you have much to learn about your power and its limits. However, you already possess some control of your abilities. This is good,” Boewdard said. “Drink this potion, it will recover some of your lost energy. I keep a vial or two of this on my person at all times. It is called ‘Teristum Anothíl.’ Its main ingredient is common Oakrap bark. Soon, I shall teach you how to brew this special potion myself.”

Will and Vivyan took a glass each. The warm liquid tasted bitter, but Will felt no different. His arms still hung heavy with weariness. Vivyan, in contrast, smiled brightly and sat up straighter, seeming fully refreshed.

“When am I to feel its effects?” Will asked.

“You don’t already?” Boewdard frowned, brows furrowing with confusion.

“Nay, I feel as I was. Exhausted and sore from Combat.”

“You are a curious case, William Brightflame,” the Blademaster proclaimed, standing to retrieve a large book from its shelf. “No doubt, I will be awake all night researching this strange phenomenon,” Boewdard said, flipping through yellowed pages. “Tomorrow, bring an empty vial, Vivyan; I would fill it so that you may practice during the evenings. William, methinks it would do you no good. Simply come as you are. Today, my apprentices, you took your first paces on the path to power. Be patient and diligent in your studies, and I promise fame and glory will come. Enjoy the evening.”

“Judging from the first time we met, I would never have guessed you’d be this good,” Vivyan complimented, donning a coquettish expression. “A Warrior who presents himself as farm boy.” She laughed, a beautiful sound.

Will’s ears turned red. “You remember that?”

“Of course!”

Will laughed. “I’ll have you know that these talents have no precedent. Until the past two days, nothing could have distinguished me from the farmer’s son I thought I was.”

“Surely you’re not surprised by your skill? Your father and mother were both accomplished weavers.”

“I cannot imagine my father with patience enough to weave baskets.”

Vivyan smiled warmly, “Spell weavers, the sort of magic user who is born with ability to cast spells. Often, they require little to no formal training before mastering their brand of magic. However, the scope of a spell weaver’s ability is narrow at best; they tend to cast spells of a specific nature such as ice, fire, wind, light, and the like.”

“To be honest, I have no idea of who my parents were before they had me. Growing up, one could have never guessed that my father conquered armies and my mother had an understanding of spell craft.”

“They kept you in the dark? The Blademaster is right; you are a curious case indeed, Brightflame.”

“Me? Nay, I am but a boy without confidence in my identity,” Will grinned. “You are the complicated character. How did you come to learn so much about magic?”

“My interest in the matter is the source of my lady mother’s endless shame. She is under the impression that a young noble woman ought not to bother with arms and magic, but her domestic life held no appeal for me. My mother fears that I have spent too much time with my uncle. He was always setting off on some adventure or another, but whenever he returned from his adventures, my uncle recounted his journeys to me, an act of which my lady mother never approved. To her, he was filling my head with fanciful rubbish not appropriate for a proper young lady. And those were only the tales she heard. The fascinating stories were the ones spoken when no one was around to hear. You see… my uncle was a wizard.”