Fledgling? Even though he knew Master Giddi was goading him, Fenni rose to the bait. “I’m not a fledgling and you know it. I’ve passed my first trials. I only need to master the fireball.”
“Good, you’ve got two days.”
“But two days is—”
“Yes, I agree, way too long for an experienced wizard like yourself, so I’ll give you a day and a half. Now, outside. Get practicing.”
“A day and a half?” Fenni spluttered. He strode across the threshold, pulling the door shut. Shards, he’d never do it.
“Yes, you will. And I want your fireball looping among those trees without damaging a leaf.” Master Giddi’s voice sounded in Fenni’s mind.
Fenni spun, jaw dropping and pushed the door open. “How did you mind-meld with me?”
Eyes crinkling, Giddi laughed.
“Can you teach me?”
“Maybe. Master your fireball.”
“With only two days until trials, I won’t even have time to sleep,” Fenni grumbled.
Giddi chuckled. “Nothing like a little focus to hone skills. I’ll check your fireball tonight.”
“Tonight.” Fenni snapped his jaw shut and stalked out the door, leaving it open to the snow.
“Yes, tonight. There’s more advanced fire training to master, too.”
Oh shards, he’d fail his trial.
Snake-tongue
“You fool,” Lars yelled. “All my archers without arrows for half a day. What would’ve happened if we’d been attacked?” His piercing blue eyes raked Kierion from head to foot.
“I didn’t think of that, sir.” Kierion made himself meet Lars’ scathing gaze. “It was meant as a prank.” He had to tough this out or the council leader would think even less of him. Playing the fool was one thing, but Kierion prided himself on not being a coward.
The whole of Dragons’ Hold had been in an uproar that morning when the dragon masters had discovered the arrow flingers had lost their weapons. Well, not all of their weapons. He’d left an arrow or two in each archer’s personal quiver, but he had cleared out the weapons store. Their panic had shocked him out of his playful mood.
“Imagine tharuks swarming over Dragon’s Teeth and us sitting here weaponless.”
“I can’t really imagine that, sir,” Kierion said. He’d been such an idiot. He just hadn’t thought. “I mean, those mountains are the guardians of Dragons’ Hold because they’re impenetrable, but what if our riders had been called away to Montanara or to a village because tharuks had attacked? We could’ve lost lives as a result of my prank.” His neck grew warm as shame washed over him.
Lars’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. “So, there is a brain rattling around somewhere in your skull.” He shook his head, sighing. “It seems we have three issues here: the longstanding rivalry between sword fighters and archers; your inventive nature; and the grave danger we’re all facing.” He thrummed his fingers against his breeches.
Grave danger? Well, that was the tharuks. But inventive nature? No one had called him inventive before. A fool, yes. A prankster, too. Growing up on a farm on the outskirts of Montanara, he’d been known by the locals for his high jinks. He cocked his head, waiting for his inevitable punishment.
Lars’ eyes narrowed as he appraised Kierion for more agonizing moments.
Kierion’s spirits sank into his boots. He’d been hoping he’d come to the council leader’s attention so he could be in the next crop of trainee dragon riders. He sighed. There was no way that could ever happen now. He’d intended to retrieve the arrows before the council found out. But apparently, they’d all been up at the crack of dawn for an emergency council meeting. Thank the Egg, no villages had been attacked. It had seemed like such a fun idea, but he really had been stupid.
“I can’t let an action this foolhardy go unpunished. You’re on kitchen duty until further notice: an hour before dawn and two hours after dusk. No skipping classes or any training, or your hours will be doubled. You must also fulfill all of your usual duties. I assume you had help from other blade thrusters to carry out this prank?” Lars spat the word prank, as if it was dirty.
It felt strange hearing their nickname, blade thrusters, roll off the council leaders’ tongue—young and petty. “Um, yes, a few people helped me.” He didn’t dare mention that every trainee blade thruster had been in on the gag.
“Good. Then, unless you want to be stuck on kitchen duty for months, you’d better get them to own up and help.”
Months? Kierion swallowed. Who’d willingly want to scrub Benji’s smelly old soup cauldrons for months?
“The more of your accomplices that help, the shorter your kitchen duty will be.” Lars held up a finger. “And don’t let me catch you doing anything stupid again.”
Kierion nodded. Months of kitchen duty. There had to be a way out of that.
Lars shot Kierion another piercing gaze. “Where are the arrows?”
With Lars grilling him, it was hard to swallow. “Um, up on Lookout Peak.”
“Lookout Peak?” Lars frowned. “Surely you mean halfway up? Not at the top?”
“Ah …”
Lars shook his head. “You never do things by halves, do you?”
“Not usually, sir. Ma taught me that if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
A chuckle escaped Lars. The council leader was enjoying watching him squirm. But then Lars asked, “Tell me, how did you get all those arrows up Lookout Peak? Did a dragon help you?”
“Oh, no, sir. I’d never involve a dragon, sir. Some of the blade thrusters—ah, sword fighters—collected the arrows with me during dinner time, then one helped me bring them up the peak.”
Lars’ brow furrowed. “But how did you get them up there? It’s a steep climb.”
“We dragged a sledge.”
To Kierion’s surprise, Lars burst out laughing.
He shifted from foot to foot,
