Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (16 page)

“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 f
rom 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. 

Nailfram, I know what you have in your possession. You have no right to claim those, which are mine. Turn them over to Boewdard or suffer the withdrawal of my good wil
l. We are coming to Bladebeard shortly and expect your utmost cooperation in this matter.

Now that is something to be upset about
, Will thought. Though he could not divine the identity of the objects in Nailfram’s possession, there was no mistaking the threat in the scrawled note.

Brisk footsteps sounded in the hall. Will hurried to rearrange the papers. He had just sat down when the doorknob turned. Nailfram and Gollemp stepped through the doorway. Pretending to be bored as if nothing had happened, Will lazily looked towards the door. Nailfram seemed satisfied by his act as he slumped behind his desk, looking exhausted.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time. Leave now, the both of you,” Nailfram growled. Giving the snoozing Pat a shake, Will stood and hurried out the door before Nailfram noticed anything out of place.

Meeting Art in the Foyer, Will asked, “What happened to make Nailfram leave?”

“There was a brawl between a Soardale and some Lumberton cadets. The cocky shits, they master one spell, and those Soardale mages think they own the world. The Lumbertons sought to teach him his place. Then before anyone knew what was happening, so many started fighting that half the staff was needed to break it up. Soardale kid was injured pretty badly. He was carried off to the Healer’s Ward, looking a right mess.”

They ate a hearty breakfast and wandered out into the Foyer. Cadets milled about, apparently waiting for something, but Will couldn’t say what. Suddenly, a stone shifted on the floor. A squat dwarf with a bright orange beard crawled out of a tunnel beneath the stone. The children hurried to crowd around him.

“Not so hasty,” the dwarf shouted. “Hold on! Calm down! I did not sign up to be assaulted by younglings. Ugh, have them!” he said throwing a sack of parchments onto the floor. The cadets pounced on the mail, and the dwarf stepped back avoiding the mad dash, watching with disgust. “By the Mother Mountain! They’re only letters.”

After a minute or two, the scrum dispersed, and the crowd cleared. The dwarf retrieved his sack. “Only two left then?” he muttered, pulling out two letters from the bag. “Arthur Tableground… Mail! You’ve got some mail! And, by the Mountain! Stormhand? Is Matthew Stormhand actually here?” The dwarf lost his air of cynicism for a moment and sounded genuinely excited.

“I’ve got mail?” Will asked.

“Yes, Sir, your letter is right here, Sir!” the dwarf saluted, looking ridiculous. Will laughed.

“Don’t be silly, I’m not the Stormhand. I am Will, Stormhand’s son. And my gratitude for the delivery,” Will said, taking the letter. Art took his letter as well. The dwarf looked crestfallen at first, but then smiled.

“Not a problem, Master Stormhand! By mine Mother Mountain! I never thought I’d meet a polite recruit here,” the dwarf said, loosening his green belt and adjusting his vast stomach. Frowning, he threw the empty sack over his shoulder and peered down into the darkness of the narrow tunnel.

“Oh, I’m not paid enough,” he grumbled, acquiring an air of disgruntlement again as he disappearing into the ground. The dwarf covered the entrance to his tunnel with the stone and was gone.

Before opening their letters, Will and Art strolled up the staircase to the Pit. Will sat on his bed, looking at the parchment. Art flung himself down next to him.

“What the…?” Art cried. “Oh no, Mum!” He opened the letter, and a long scroll unrolled itself revealing its lace-frilled edges.

“Pretty,” Will commented before attending to his own letter.

Opening it, Will read to himself, “William, I hope you are having a wonderful time at the Academy, learning lots, and playing nice with all of the new friends you’ve met. Don’t hurt anybody too badly. Please write back soon about all of your courses. We have not had word from you since you’ve left. Lumina misses you, and your father hopes that you are growing into your powers. Ever confident, he knows you will, but I pray that you learn to control them-”

Mother knows about this, too? What is the extent of these Furialist powers? If so many understand, why will no one tell me?

“-before you need them. We are well, and our only ailing is that we miss you. We fixed up the house, too, Will. Wait until you see it; it’s beautiful. Do not forget to write. Go with our love.” It was signed Elizabeth, Matthew, and Lumina.

“Now what do we do with ourselves?” Will asked with a faint smile, folding the parchment and placing it in his pack. He would write back to his family soon, but until then he would keep their words close.

“I will follow you, unless you go outside. I have no intentions of freezing my manhood off in the muck today.” Although it had finally stopped raining, the ground was yet soaked, and worse still, a freezing wind had swept through the grounds.

“Care to shoot?” Will asked. Art shrugged. “Oy,” Will called to a second year boy. “Is there a archery range somewhere inside? My friend and I would shoot.”

“Aye,” he grunted, “through the Foyer and to the right.”

“Gratitude.” But the boy wasn’t listening and was already stalking away.

Will grabbed his bow and slung his quiver on his back. He also strapped on his sword.
Never know when I might need it in a place like this.
They found the Range without much difficulty. The high, stone walls of the Range were lined by hundreds of hay bale targets.

Cadets from every faction were there. Some practiced their archery, while others stood a ways off and dueled in one-on-one fights or small skirmishes. A few students stood or sat in groups practicing magic, green, red, and blue lights illuminating their faces. 

Will saw the Warriors training in a corner alone. Will and Art headed towards an archery target and began to loose arrows. Before they could shoot for long, Will was approached by several Soardale recruits asking if the rumors of Will’s heritage were true.

Art assured the rumors to be true and challenged some disbelievers to a one-on-one duel with Will. Defeating recruit after recruit, Will grew bored of Art’s duels and began to wish for something more difficult.

“I see Lord Brightflame has his own little following. Worm-hearted shits. I want to see if he can take us all.”

Without looking around, Will shook his head, “Ogdin, I will destroy you.”

The confident challenger snarled angrily then, howling, Ogdin transformed and charged. Will allowed his power to take hold for the fifteenth time that day. It was easy now, natural. With a slap of his sword, he blocked a claw swipe. He felt his arm quake beneath the force, but the defense held. Three Scalefires joined the fray and attacked Will from separate sides.

Will couldn’t attack and was in constant need to block sword or axe or claw before one struck him. Art swung his axe brazenly and jumped forward to Will’s aid. Two of the attackers turned to fight Art instead, leaving Ogdin and a young Scalefire to battle Will on their own.

Under endless attack, Will felt his speed slow. His breath came in deep pants. Tapping into a final reservoir of energy, Will shouted his intent. “Raisíth!” Focusing his spell on Ogdin, Will raised his hand and thrust it into the lycanthrope’s stomach. Ogdin flew across the room and landed with a crunch and a whimper on the stone floor. Will doubled over and gasped; the release of energy had stolen the very breath from his lungs. Forcing his figure straight, Will turned on the youth attacking him and smiled ferociously, red eyes glinting menacingly. The Scalefire swung wildly at Will’s face. Ducking the clumsy blow, Will jabbed the unprotected stomach of his assailant. The boy fell with blood accumulating upon the ground around him.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Will prepared to assist Art in finishing off their only remaining enemy, but Scalefire students from the archery targets and other various duels saw their fellows fall and ran towards Will and Art.

Just before the overwhelming force converged upon the two, a war cry was issued from a crowd of Warriors, who collided with the oncoming Scalefire students. It seemed to Will that with the skill of their Warrior reinforcements that he and Art just might survive unscathed, but Faction loyalty ran deep at Bladebeard Academy. The Warriors from Scalefire turned upon their fellows, and the swarm of combatants converged on Will and Art.

Will slashed upwards through a Scalefire arm, breaking bone. He blocked a speeding arrow coming quickly towards his face. Stumbling over a body, Will noticed that magic users healed the wounded from both sides. A curved sword slashed across Will’s back. He screamed and furiously turned on the enemy. Someone from behind him bashed Will’s head with the pommel of his sword, and he collapsed.