Taming Fire Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  TAMING FIRE

  * * *

  First edition. June 14, 2011.

  Copyright © 2011 Consortium Books.

  * * *

  ISBN: 978-1-936559-03-9

  * * *

  A Consortium Books public work. Written by Aaron Pogue.

  For copyright information concerning this book, please visit http://www.ConsortiumOKC.com/writing/copyright/

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Also by Aaron Pogue

  * * *

  The World of the FirstKing

  Taming Fire

  The Dragonswarm (coming in 2011)

  The Dragonprince (coming in 2012)

  * * *

  The World of Hathor

  Gods Tomorrow

  Ghost Targets: Expectation

  Ghost Targets: Restraint (coming in 2011)

  Ghost Targets: Camouflage (coming in 2012)

  * * *

  Watch for more at Consortium Books!

  * * *

  Table of Contents

  1. Swords

  2. Sorcery

  3. To See the King

  4. Fugitives

  5. At Gath-upon-Brennes

  6. The Academy

  7. A Challenge

  8. An Education

  9. Word of War

  10. The First Dragon

  11. The Fisherman's Cabin

  12. Chaos Magic

  13. Of Violence and Blood

  14. The Wizard's Plan

  15. In Tirah

  16. Beneath the Silver Moon

  Sneak peak at Gods Tomorrow

  * * *

  My name is Daven Carrickson, son of shamed Carrick the Thief. I've been called Daven of Terrailles in mockery, called Daven of Teelevon in celebration, called Prince of Chaos by men and monsters. In the spring of my seventeenth year, when I was a shepherd called only Daven, they came to take me to the Academy of Wizardry.

  * * *

  1. Swords

  On a pretty spring day early in the month of Korhah, I stood with sword in hand on a grassy hillside and faced a tall and angry opponent. Sweat burned my eyes and I could taste it salty on my lips. I blinked, and the glistening beads on my eyelashes flashed momentarily in the bright sun. Then he advanced. I stepped quickly to the right, fell back a pace. My muscles burned despite the chill breeze that brought goose bumps to my arms. I started to turn, feinted slightly and whirled the other direction. Two quick steps. I counted time by the thud of quick feet on the grassy turf. Timing was everything—timing and terrain. My eyes darted to the edge of the little brook, slippery mud that he always forgot, but it was too far for me to press him now. Too far for my failing strength.

  He attacked, quick and vicious. The sword he swung was heavier than mine—and newer—and I fell back half a step under its blows. Then I stopped him. His arms were stronger than mine, too, and his energy was new. My side ached, my head throbbed. I sighed, danced left as I sighed, and barely avoided a wild swing. Then a desperate smile stole across my lips. He couldn't see it with his shoulder turned away. I brought my sword up quickly. Falling forward, twisting, I lashed out and caught him just beneath the shoulder, felt the resistance against the tip of my weapon just as I crashed against the unforgiving ground.

  For a long while I lay there, trying to catch my breath, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder. Then I finally rose to one knee and grounded my sword before me for support. I forced a smile, forced myself to breathe evenly, forced myself to stability as the cold wind danced across my aching body. My toes were in the brook, and I could feel the cold water seeping through old and worn leather.

  Very, very slowly then the victory seeped into me. I had won, again, and the fight was done. Cooper stood above me now, frozen mid-stride and glaring at me hatefully. He should have won that round, and he knew it as well as I. A single point of brilliant blue light shone just below his shoulder, bright even in the afternoon sun. Wisps of yellow and white light trailed along his sleeves and chest, and mine as well, but the blue was the death shot, marking my victory. The same magic that made the air dance with color held him motionless, and the anger in his eyes made me glad of those few moments to catch my breath.

  Slowly and unsteadily I pushed myself up. "It was a good fight, Coop." The anger in his eyes never changed. "You did well. I got lucky." He said nothing, so I counted the seconds beneath my breath and reached out to steady him when the spell expired. He fell against my arm, but instead of catching his balance he threw himself forward, hurling me down to the ground beside him. He grimaced when his shoulder struck the earth, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. It was a small victory in defeat, a bit of honor stolen.

  I ground my teeth at the pain, but forced myself to calm because I was too tired to do anything else. Groaning, I pushed myself up again, and leaned against the ancient oak as I brushed some of the dirt and grass from my clothes. Mocking, Cooper said over his shoulder, "Sure. Good fight." After a moment I stepped away from the tree, knelt and washed my face in the cold brook. I rested there for a moment before turning to scoop up my battered sword and carefully sheathing it. There were already soft footsteps on the turf as two of the others stepped forward to take their turn, so I moved quickly out of the sparring area.

  Cooper was sitting now among the other boys, gnawing a bit of dried venison and nodding at whatever they were talking about. Most of them were sitting on a rough-hewn wooden bench that Cooper's dad had made for us. Cooper was sitting on a large stone in front of it, which left me only a place on the grass. At Cooper's feet. I sighed and turned toward the road.

  Bron yelled to me, "Daven, where are you going?"

  I answered him without looking, "Back to Jemminor's. I still need to water the flock before supper." I stopped, a cruel smile stealing across my lips, "Good luck against Kyle."

  They all laughed, then, and I almost decided to stay and watch that fight, but I had four wins for the day and those were points hard earned. That was some honor. I wasn't about to give that up by sitting on the grass before them. So I turned back down the graveled path, forgotten among the jibes at poor Bron, and headed for my master's house.

  He was my master by choice—my employer—and I was a shepherd by choice, which still surprises some people. To me it was an opportunity to be free. I worked through the morning and afternoon out in the grassy hills of the luxurious Terrailles province. Every day I walked where the herds walked, watched over them and chased off any predators or poachers—though both were few in this land. I had a room in my master's house, a place at his servants' table and regular meals. More important by far, I had evenings off to practice the sword.

  It had taken months to teach the other village boys what I knew, months more before any of us were good enough to practice with real weapons, but now we met almost daily. I taught them forms, and they taught me treachery. We dueled sometimes—the careful and polite sport of the capitol's nobility—but far more often we fought, a frightening blur of muscle and motion, of anger and desperation. All of it was governed by a little spell that I had brought with me—a child's enchantment, a referee and scorekeeper in the middle air. I had brought them together, and I dreamed that among that little group of boys I was king—or general, perhaps, of a ragged little army of miscreants. They didn't know—especially Cooper, whose family had a name—but I considered myself their liege, and they respected me as no one else had in my whole life.

  At Jemminor's farm, I watered the sheep. It was heavy work, lugging bucket after bucket of water from well to trough, but it was work I did twice a day. The work of a shepherd is walking and carrying, and I had grown strong over years of
it. The meal of a shepherd is a feast compared with that of a beggar boy in the capitol, and I had grown soft on too many of them, but I enjoyed that gentle luxury at the servants' table. I fell asleep on a soft bed under new quilts, and dreamed of being a soldier. It was a quiet life, and I loved it.

  * * *

  A shepherd's day begins before the dawn, and starts off with the smell of honey and oats—for the sheep, not the shepherd. I dumped several handfuls of sweet grain in a trough near the saltlick, then filled it the rest of the way with dry hay from the barn. The sheep came crowding in before I was done, pressing hard against my hips and legs, but I shoved between them to drop the last of the hay in the trough, then waded back out.

  The day was bright and warm, and I spent long hours out in the hills with no one for company but the milling flocks. I stared up at the blue sky as soft white clouds drifted slowly by. I ran my hands through the waist-high meadow grasses as I strolled, a hundred sheep around me. I sat for an hour on a cool, mossy stone beside a quiet brook and listened to its bubbling. I enjoyed the silence, enjoyed the peace, but all day I felt the evening calling me forward. My hands strayed often to my belt, but the sword wasn't there. I had work to do yet, but the evening's fight called me on. I smiled and waited. Just like every day.

  But when I climbed the low hill outside of town at the end of the day I was disappointed. I was half an hour late, and all the others were there already, but there was no sound of clattering blades, no shouts of encouragement or rage. I stepped up into our clearing and found them all sitting on the bench or spread in the grass around it, leaning forward with elbows on knees and listening intently to Cooper, who sat on the stone before them and spoke with solemn grandeur.

  As I approached, Kyle tossed me a soft roll without ever looking away from Cooper. I caught it and took a bite, and I moved closer, curious. Cooper glanced up, saw me, and smiled. He looked delighted. It was the first time I had ever drawn that reaction from him. I stepped up next to Bron and nudged him and he scooted over, crowding Kyle but making enough room for me on the bench. Just as I sank down, Cooper said something that made my blood run cold.

  "What?" I said, glaring at him suspiciously, "What about the Guard?"

  Several of the boys scowled at me at the interruption but in a moment their eyes swiveled back to Cooper, waiting excitedly for his answer. He only laced his fingers behind his head and gave me a satisfied smile, lips pressed tight.

  Kyle finally threw his hands up in frustration and said, "Coop's going to join the Guard!"

  I shook my head. "That's impossible."

  Kyle nodded. "It's truth. I heard it in the village green. His dad bought him a commission, and he leaves next Kingsday!" His eyes shone with excitement, they were all almost shaking with excitement.

  I felt my heart sink. "Nothing so special about that," I grumbled.

  Bron snorted. "You've spent too long in the sun. It's addled your brains."

  I shook my head, trying to fight a panic building beneath my ribs. "No," I said, to myself as much as to them. "Don't let your daydreams fool you. It's not so fun being in the Guard." Every eye was on me again, most of them wide in disbelief. I swallowed a lump in my throat, "It's a lot of work. Think about it. And hardly any excitement at all."

  Cooper grinned at me. His eyes sparkled. But Bron seemed offended. "Be serious, Daven. It's the biggest thing that's ever happened to any of us! He's leaving, he's going to see the world." For a moment he lost his intensity, gazing dreamily up at the clouds, but then he shoved me lightly and I slipped off the end of the bench, "You'd be ecstatic if it were you. You've always wanted to join the Guard."

  I opened my mouth to answer but Cooper interrupted. "Guard wouldn't have him. He's got no family, no name, no skills. Leave the boy alone, Bron, he's just a little jealous."

  I was already on my feet, and in an instant I whirled on him, my rage erupting. "My skills dropped you dead yesterday, Cooper, and you know it. After winning three other fights that day, too! I—"

  "You cheated," he said, lacing his fingers behind his head. "If you'd fought fair I would have torn you apart."

  Kyle laughed uneasily, "Come on, Cooper. Calm down. Daven's never cheated, he's just fast...." He pressed a hand against his side where I'd accidentally bruised him the day before, winced, and continued. "Calm down, both of you. It's all just a game."

  I took a step back and placed my hand on the hilt of my sword, my chest swelling in my fury. "It is a game. Maybe. Here. But in the Guard it will be real."

  Cooper shrugged. "I'm ready."

  "No," I said, and the sick fury in me boiled in my stomach. "You're not. You're arrogant and pampered and a fool. And the first time you get a break from guarding pig farmers and building roads, Cooper—the first time you face an enemy with a sword—you're going to die." I took a deep breath, trying to see clearly, and let it out slowly. "Or maybe you'll remember your fights with me and turn and run."

  "I think not." He rose gracefully, slowly like a cat uncurling, and I saw the shiny hilt of a new sword at his side. He hooked a thumb behind his belt. "Your lessons amount to one simple reminder: real foes cheat."

  My voice dropped to a whisper, "I never cheat."

  He snorted. "You always cheat!" He took a step closer to me, too close, and looked down his nose at me. "It takes honor to stand. It takes honor to face the charge. You run and sneak and hide and attack from behind and the sides like a coward—" he hesitated only a second, but his cruel eyes were locked on mine when he added, "like a criminal."

  I bit back my anger, forced myself to stillness before I answered. When I did, it was in a normal voice. "There is one thing you always forget, Cooper." I turned to the others, slipping unconsciously into my lecturing voice as I repeated words I'd told them time and again. "When you face a stronger opponent or a larger opponent, remember this: you'll rarely win a game of subtlety with a brash charge."

  I expected nods from them. I'd been teaching them for years. But now instead they just turned, all as one, to get Cooper's assessment of my advice. In one day I'd lost everything, because his father bought him a commission.

  Cooper spoke with patronizing indulgence. "This is not a game to be won whatever the cost. This is a nobleman's sport, and you corrupt it when you...you...."

  Bron gave a tired sigh. "Coop, we don't even duel that much. Mostly we fight, and that's not a nobleman's sport."

  "And that's what you'll be doing in the Guard," I said. "Fighting."

  Behind me, Bron grunted his irritation at my interruption. But then he went on grudgingly, "It's true. And Daven does it right. Just let it go. Here, on this field, he's the best of us."

  Cooper sneered. "You're far too kind. I'll say it like it is, like none of you has ever dared to say. He's a dirty little sneak. He's the least among us!"

  Bron didn't answer right away, and that hurt. When he did, his words were measured. "If you mean in wealth, you've got it and I don't think he'd argue. But if you're talking skill with a sword...the shepherd will probably still be better than you even after the Guard teaches you how to do it right." For a long time Cooper only glared at him over my shoulder, and knowing Bron he met the stare levelly. After a minute Bron added, "He's just good."

  Cooper opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. Still looking past my shoulders his eyes went wide. Then a stern, dark voice fell among us, "Better than Guard training, eh?" There was a slightly foreign lilt to the words, but more compelling was the authority and power behind that voice. Coop let go of me and took a long step back. I took a quick step away, then turned to see who had spoken so.

  A man stood just at the head of the little gravel footpath, his shadow darkening the ground between us. His condescending gaze ran over the line of boys seated on the bench, then back to Cooper and me. Finally he gestured at me with the riding crop he was carrying, "You're more skilled than a Guardsman? Eh?"

  The crimson sun behind him buried his features in darkness. His face was narrow and bony, his
eyes deep and lost in shadow. His lips twisted in a mocking smile as he took one long, fearsome step forward. His clothes were much finer than any worn by the people of the village, but my gaze kept drifting to the heavy broadsword that hung on his belt.

  When I did not answer, he seemed to grow impatient. "Well, you are the boy Daven, no?" I could only stare at him, and his brows came together in anger. "Answer me, boy! You are Daven, son of Carrick the Thief, correct?" I flinched at the name he used, but after a moment I stammered an answer, nodded, and he seemed to relax a little.

  "I have been sent a long way to find you, Daven, with little explanation as to why a penniless peasant should command my attention. But now I understand. Everything is clear, yes? Here is a boy with no training who could school the soldiers of the Royal Guard." For the first time I noticed the greens and browns of his uniform, the crest on his shoulder, and recognized him for a Green Eagle, a member of the king's elite guard. He saw the recognition in my eyes, and his shone with malicious glee.

  With a slow gesture he reached up to unclasp the cloak hanging from his shoulders. "This is something I must see," he said. He glanced at my eyes, but I couldn't find any answer. I gave a tiny shake of my head, but he pretended not to see it. He folded the cloak neatly, then dropped it on the end of the bench Coop's dad had made. He passed a gaze over the row of boys sitting in rapt attention. They all stared back in awed surprise, Cooper with a satisfied grin across his face.