Page 26 of Veiled Flames
I’ve not embracedanysoul beyond a horse, not for as long as I can remember. When they were little, my brothers allowed me to hug them, but after they reached the age of nine years, their nurses shamed them for it, and I was deprived of further displays of affection.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the dragon. “I’m grateful you shared this moment with me.”
Surath snorts, and her scales shift under my touch.
Removing my hands and cheek from her, I step slowly back, keeping my eyes on her, as I marvel at her power and beauty.
I sense Saxon coming up behind me, just before his hand slides onto my shoulder to stop me.
He leans down. His lips move close to my ear, and he whispers, “I was certain you’d run. Well done. Too bad you’ll never be a rider.”
Ten
Rosomon
One by one, the remaining candidates approach the dragon, some opting to follow my example, although most approach her assertively. One unfortunate soul slams his hand against her hard—more like a strike—before turning to run away. With one quick exhale, Surath incinerates the man. And he’s not the only one to die, or to leave the group in other ways. Several freeze with fear, refusing to take the test, and others flee into the woods.
While many survive, more than half do not, and none touches her scales for more than an instant. None except me.
The exercise significantly culls the remaining herd. Quickly scanning the group, now merged into one, there are fewer than twenty of us in total, and I now suspect that our initial separation into groups was less about rejecting the smaller men, and more about minimizing the number of deaths while Saxon made his point about combat skills. Whatever cruel point that was.
The last to try is a boy even smaller than I am. In many ways he reminds me of Olifer, except that his hair is light brown and not pink. The boy is trembling, realizing he is now the only one who has not gone, fled or died. He must now choose between completing the test or running off the field. And even that second option doesn’t guarantee safety. Surath has incinerated at least three of the men who chose to flee.
I step toward the boy. “Stay calm,” I tell him. “Don’t show your fear. Stroke her as you would a small child, or your favorite dog.”
At the mention of a dog, the boy looks toward me and nods.
“This one’sdefinitelygoing to burn,” Tynan says, but Saxon says nothing. He just stands, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest, his cloak and hair flaring in the breeze.
“Don’t listen to him,” I tell the boy. “Never be intimidated by a bully.”
The boy takes a deep breath and then steps forward, his body stiff, like it’s comprised of wooden boards tied together. When he’s about sixty spans from the dragon, Surath turns her head to face him.
He stops. Minutes pass and the boy doesn’t move. But neither does Surath.
“Is there a time limit?” someone mutters, and Saxon glares at us.
Tynan is pacing back and forth, shaking his head, and I fear he might do something to provoke the dragon. “Get on with it!” Tynan shouts.
Surath lifts her head, as if she’s about to breathe fire.
Barely thinking, I step forward. Moving steadily and as quickly as I dare, I join the boy and put my hand on his shoulder. He startles, clearly not hearing my approach.
“What’s your name?” I ask softly.
“Samyull.” His voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear him.
“You can do this, Samyull,” I tell him. “If you want to try, you can do it. Just stay calm.”
He nods, stiffly.
“But there is no shame innotdoing it. We can back away together. She won’t burn us.” I’m not sure why I know this, but deep in my belly, I do.
Samyull glances toward me, terror and determination swirling in his eyes. He does want to try.
“Would you like me to approach her with you?”
He nods.
