Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (7 page)

The Lumberton table broke into polite applause, breaking the deep quiet that permeated in the Feasting Hall. Will felt lightheaded as he approached the table. The unreadable faces and peering eyes of his fellow Lumbertons welcomed Will as he took a seat on the wooden bench that lined the table.

The next named was Vivyan. To his delight, she looked directly at Will as she touched the liquid. Suddenly, wheeling around her, an eagle soared. Will’s heart sunk a little. A creature inside Will groaned and settled in the pit of his stomach, but he returned the bright smile she cast his way.

Art and the pudgy Patrick, who had ridden on the back of Art’s horse, joined Will at the Lumberton table. Art flung himself onto the bench beside Will, blank-faced. Will prodded him in the ribs, and a smile crept across Art’s face. The gleeful glint in his eyes flickered like a torch.

When the new recruits had been seated, Blademaster Boewdard stood to speak. “Good charges and Masters at Arms, I welcome you to eat!” As he waved his hand, a hundred serving men and women appeared suddenly out of side doors, hoisting great trays of food above their heads.

There was roast beef, braised pork, fat turkeys and juicy chickens, potatoes, buttered corn, rolls, and much more Will did not know how to name. Weary of greasy soup provided to them on the march, Will and Art each piled mountains of hot food onto their plates. Will filled their goblets with the sweetest pumpkin cider he’d ever tasted. After a long supper came dessert brought out by the kitchen servants. Will ate a slice of pie and two small cakes, but could not bring himself to try any other of the sweets laid before him. Full to bursting, Will couldn’t move without his stomach hurting. Art, by the looks of the pained expression on his green face, felt the very same way.

“A feast better than Grandda had described,” Patrick stated, rubbing his belly contentedly.

“Now that you are full,” Boewdard said, eying his audience carefully, “rest a time and hear the story of this valiant establishment.” The Blademaster cleared his throat and began to tell the tale.

“Years ago, there were three men, an accomplished sorcerer, a scholar, and a great warrior. Together, they traveled far and wide, learning a great many things while serving alongside one another in the Imperial Army. These noble men had the gift of foresight and saw the need for a school, a school to teach talented youth the arts of battle, magic, and the wonder of history. These men were named Kilric Scalefire, Starf Soardale, and Rudolfus Lumberton.

“They created their academy with good intentions, to provide specially trained soldiers and officers to the Imperial Army. Taking the sons and daughters of lords and honorable families, the founders of the Academy worked as one to create the most powerful army on the continent. However, the lust for control over the school slowly crept into the minds of the founders. Soardale was the first to fall prey to disdain. He refused to accept recruits who were without magical abilities and unmatched cunning. Lumberton, who had always prided himself on his fighting abilities, protested. To the illustrious brawler, physical ability and hardiness were most prized. The wise and learned Scalefire settled the argument by proposing that each founder should have his own faction. Then, each founder could have the option of choosing students with the qualities that best fit his preference.

“Years past without another conflict before disaster struck,” Boewdard sighed dramatically before continuing. “Soardale began training his magically gifted students for his own personal army with purpose set at rebellion against the Emperor. Scalefire, who was kin to the Emperor, objected to his friend’s treasonous ambition. The rising tension between Scalefire and Soardale culminated in a duel of grandiose scale befitting the epic warriors locked in strife. After hours of hard combat, no man could have been deemed the superior warrior. It was only after a full day had passed that the battle turned to one’s advantage. The fatigued Soardale, who was steadily losing to the clever and composed Scalefire, summoned a dark spirit to smite his opponent. Had noble Scalefire known Soardale’s affinity for forbidden magic deemed too foul to practice, perhaps he might have foreseen and countered the underhanded spell. As it was, Scalefire was incapacitated by the shadow demon born of Soardale’s incantations. Scalefire, unable to defend himself, begged mercy of Soardale, but so consumed with the lust for power was Soardale that his lifelong friend’s pleas went unheard. Lumberton watched aghast as his old friend slew the paralyzed Scalefire.

“Furious at the dishonorable victory, Lumberton broke his vow to abstain from the rivalry and sought to avenge the fallen Scalefire. In the month that followed, chaos reigned in the countryside as Lumberton pursued Soardale with an army filled with recruits of all three factions. In the end, Lumberton struck down his former companion on the banks of the river Bourkes. As the last surviving founder of the academy and having witnessed the destruction the art of war can bring, Lumberton was ready to retire his sword. He was growing older and, by that time, he felt no more love for the military. The school had become too big a responsibility and a burden for him. Lumberton relinquished his power to Vederic Bladebeard, an intellectual, a strategist, and a wonderful successor to Lumberton’s headmastership. And look what he has done! Bladebeard laid the foundation for the Academy you see today. Then as now, Bladebeard Academy is the finest training outpost and barracks in the Empire, boasting the most coveted recruits and officers.

“So, the story of this school continues and is still being written by the likes of you and me. I anticipate that this year at the Academy will be one fit for song,” Boewdard grinned knowingly and took his seat, a high-backed throne at the middle of the professors’ table. The recruits clapped politely, exchanging looks of skepticism.

“Bed now, everyone. Follow your Faction Heads back to your beds.” 

“Here, Will, follow me,” Pat said, tugging Will along. Will, too sick to think, followed after the fat recruit as they wove their way through the crowd. Pat pushed a heavy door open, and the two stepped out into the brisk night’s air. 

“Grandda told me this was a shortcut,” Pat informed Will, proceeding to tell Will of his grandfather’s adventures on the grounds. Pat had a tale for everything.

Presently, they stopped before the glittering river, reflecting stars in the night. Pat was wondering aloud how they could have gone wrong when Will heard a low growl. He whipped around to see a gnarled man carrying a torch. Beside the man crouched a great lion whose mane brushed the ground and danced limply around its head. The man’s lank hair was well salted, gleaming greasily by the light of his torch.

“Recruits are not permitted a midnight stroll,” the man snarled coldly. “Therefore, I’m afraid this rendezvous is strictly forbidden. As is crossing the River Edd, which I’ve no doubt you were planning to attempt.”

“We weren’t, sir,” Will objected, but the lion interrupted with a rumbling growl.

The man continued, glaring at Will, “I’m not one for revelry, I’ll admit. The festivities of green shits like you wear on me. So, because I have no doubt that you were planning on crossing the bridge, I will report this straight to the Blademaster.” The lion rumbled contentedly. “Out-of-bounds after dark and attempting to violate Academy code, I expect you will be punished double for this infraction,” he sneered.

“But, sir,” Will stammered, for Pat was at a loss of words for once. 

“Call me sir one more time,” the ugly man snapped, his hollow eyes disappearing into the shadows cast by his protruding brows. He spat. “No more than this fat oaf deserves to be a Bladebeard recruit. We take in too many lords’ bastards, I say. The Academy needs soldiers, not noble shits, to fill her barracks. These halls have become overflowing chamber pots, teeming with the likes of you, Lardbelly. Follow me to the Blademaster’s quarters.” Looking to the lion, the man snorted with grim amusement. Leaving Will and Pat dumbfounded, the foulmouthed man strode off at a brisk pace. Will considered escape, but the lion roared ferociously from behind the recruits, and he hurried to catch up with the torch.

With the lion always at his heels again, the man spoke, “I am Nailfram. You are Stormhand’s get are you not? I’m not surprised; your father was wild and unruly, a danger to all. You have the same look about you, boy. But I wonder, who are you, Lardbelly?” His mean eyes scrutinized Pat with haughty contempt.

“I’m Patrick Chandelamp, grandson of -”

“Spare me your tale, boy, I know the name,” Nailfram interrupted rudely. “Your grandfather’s lands have remained famously untouched by the war with the Shadow Liberator. How fare your lady mother and lord father?”

Pat answered in a flat voice, fighting to keep it from breaking, “My father and mother died when I was just a boy. It was my seventh birthday. They had gone out with hounds and our kennel master to bring back a boar for the celebratory feast. Set upon by bandits, my parents… they died. Grandda took me in after that.” He sniffed, but shed no tears. Will felt pity for the boy, and Nailfram looked uncomfortable.

“I was unaware, lad. I apologize for bringing it up. Word of such evils oft travels slowly to these parts. Your father served the Empire well.”

As they past the empty Feasting Hall, Nailfram sighed, growling softly, “No sense in bringing you to the Blademaster tonight.” The boys smiled feeling lucky. “However,” Nailfram grinned smugly, reveling in how quickly the word killed their relieved expressions, “I’ll have you detained for your transgressions. Saturday morn, be in my office before the sun rises,” Nailfram smiled maliciously.

Something rose up in Will’s stomach, bringing with it an unbidden fury that surprised Will. Simmering at the brim of his mind, boiling hot anger threatened to overflow, and Will had trouble preventing himself from leaping upon Nailfram.

Nailfram noted this with a vain expression as if Will’s reaction had confirmed all his beliefs about the recruit. “Gollemp will lead you to the Lumberton dormitory,” the man said with an ugly smile that could have passed for a grimace. The lion shook its huge head, long mane flailing, and trotted down a torch-lit corridor.

Frustrated, Will glared at Pat as they jogged to catch up to the lion. But Will’s irritation towards Pat evaporated as he saw that the boy was sobbing. Will had been about to lash out at him, but again felt sorry for the boy instead. Pat soon regained his voice and began to murmur apologies.

“No matter,” Will said, reassuringly. “What is the worst he can hope to accomplish?” However, Pat took no heart from the statement; he simply looked white-faced as a multitude horrifying possibilities ran through his pudgy head.

The lion stopped before a massive sculpture of a white bear that was erected next to a magnificently carved door and roared.

“Silence, you insolent cat! Your mewling will disrupt the celebrations.” The marble sculpture had spoken; Will was sure of it. Indeed, the bear was now moving, its stone limbs working fluidly. From the enchanted beast’s maw issued a gravelly voice, “Splendid, two more promising disciples devoted to brave Lumberton’s cause. Strong Heart Strong Hand, brothers.”

The lion growled menacingly. The statue snapped its stone jaws at the lion, sending it slinking down a hallway. “Back to your master,” the bear snarled after it. “Brothers, I bid you enjoy the evening. Welcome to the Pit.” Indicating the door with a huge paw, the bear seemed to harden into an ordinary statue once more.

Cautiously, Will turned the iron handle. Met by a boom of sound, Will was deafened by shouts and drums and the sounds of dancing Lumbertons enjoying a boisterous party. Noticing the boy at the door, several strong pairs of hands yanked Will through the doorway. 

Overwhelmed by the noise of musicians lively strumming and the mass of rambunctious youths, Will pushed through the crowd, seeking respite. Finally, he spotted Arthur who pulled Will into an empty room.

“Get out of here!” Art shouted at a couple entwined on a bed. As they scampered away giggling, Will sat on a bed and stared into space. The room was blessedly quiet.

“What happened? I saw Pat lead you away. Will? Have you taken ill?” Art asked nervously. Will, who was still rather angry, just stared ahead in silence. Art shook him violently and woke Will from his fuming stupor. Art asked again. 

“Not a day here and I’ve earned punishment,” Will replied ruefully. 

“Oh well, that’s no issue. I mean this early on… well, it certainly does not bode well for the rest of your career,” he laughed. “But what can they do to you? I trust you weren’t committing heinous crimes,” Art said casually. 

“Nailfram seeks to hold me in his office on Saturday.” Art’s grin faded. 

“Nailfram, you say? My brother Melvin told me he isn’t a man to cross. I can’t recall what exactly what was told of him. Words were whispered of the man sustaining himself with the blood of flogged recruits.”

Art laughed again; Will was not amused. “Take heart, farm boy. Melvin’s tale cannot be truth. The last vampires were eradicated ages ago; I’m hard pressed to believe that one would be discovered among us now.”

“Pat led me astray on a ‘shortcut’ of his daft grandfather’s invention, and we were soon lost. Nailfram found us before the river outside the gates. Then, he gave promise to detain us, and sent us on our way,” Will finished blandly. 

Ever amused, Art chuckled once again. “You followed fat Pat to the river? A farm boy ought to know better than to follow a sheep.”

Will smiled despite himself. “I’m to bed. I have mind to end this night before it worsens.”