Guild Meisters & Dragon Riders | Book 1: The Vygerists

The Academy

Artemis tipped her head back as dragons sailed far above her, and smiled.

"Do you think Tutor Theus will let us in the sparring rooms before classes start?"

She glanced at her companion with an eyebrow raised. "So eager to hurt people."

"Only the ones who deserve it," Eli grinned with a manic glint in her eyes, "or the ones who haven't kept up their training during our time home."

Artemis often wondered at her luck landing the Polvaardian as a teammate. Not as bloodthirsty as their cousins further north in Skollvaard, the Polvaard peoples relished a fight by steel and pitied the ones who hid behind their crystal powered guns. It'd take nearly two weeks of flying for a skysailer to reach Eli's home from so far south, cutting into the time she spent with her numerous brothers, sisters and parents.

So unlike Artemis, who spent her days beneath the sun and leisurely wandering the streets of her home city.

Quoise was a clammouring place of rich fabrics, gold and grilled fish. She inherited her mother's height and father's slim build, skin a golden-brown that darkened under the sun and thick russet hair she often braided to rest over her shoulder.

Eli's features scrunched as she hefted her bag onto her shoulder. "Mother thinks I should have left my warhammer behind." As proof, the canvas bag opened at the top, the green pommel of her hammer protruded.

Short and heavy set, with her alabaster hair in braids, Eli was a force to be reckoned with in the Academy. Her family prided themselves on hunting the giant wolves and other such beasts to the north; a place of ice, iron and fire.

"And risk one of your brothers claiming it?" Artemis snorted, imagining her closest brother's attempt at hefting the weapon.

"Shranjevk! Keli weighs as much as my hammer," Eli scorned, her first language unbidden after surrounded by her family. The Vaardish language spanned Skollvaard and Eli's home, one of two remaining languages after the Empire decreed the common tongue as standard.

"A bull would do better to take your hammer," Artemis teased.

Another flier landed nearby, spilling fresh-faced cadets and a remarkably sallow looking one a step behind them onto the landing strip. The redness around his eyes and rumpled uniform belied a hangover, as the first years clustered together and marvelled at their grey jackets over the black undershirt and trousers. 

"What's the chances of Kirin doing more than prowl Luxdon's streets for fine wine and women?" Artemis wondered aloud, watching the crowd of cadets make their way towards the Wing Elite Academy.

More fliers, smaller dragonfly shaped skysailers, approached from the far off shoreline where Luxdon city sprawled. Their charged crystal engines thrumming low, as their brass and glass carapaces caught the sunlight as they lifted off and headed back to the mainland. Artemis could just see the city gleaming on the horizon, before she turned her back on it and set her sights on the Academy.

Sunlight bathed the Academy island, as wind tinged with the ocean's salt blew through her hair. She craned her neck, counting the spires sprouting from the monolithic fortress, five for each grade. The walls were pitted, turned greyish white with age and stood against any number of storms. Several buildings surrounded its outer walls in a loose ring.

Other than theory lessons, Artemis rarely explored the fortress. She much preferred the outdoors, using Sir Leonharte's battered armour tucked into a fourth-floor corner as a marker for her Imperial History class. Lady Hunnlein's spear and shield mounted on the wall in a seventh-floor room boasted a shortcut to her dorm tower.