Page 59 of Veiled Flames
Someone pushes Samyull from behind, and he stumbles forward. Egon.
Samyull regains his footing, and I glare at the bully, resentful that he’s so much taller, forcing me to look up.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, though his motive is obvious. Pure cruelty.
“Do what?” Egon grins, glancing around, keeping his gaze well above Samyull’s head, as if my friend isn’t there. But when Egon meets my gaze, I see the clear malice in his.
Egon laughs and then pushes past us to the front of the group. Ire bubbles inside me, but I keep the boil contained. Samyull is unhurt, and I expect the trials we’ll face at camp will eclipse dealing with bullies like Egon.
Ahead, the massive doors are intricately carved with dragons, their scales accentuated with opals and inlaid mother of pearl, and their eyes sparkle with arrays of small gems—sapphires, rubies, emeralds and diamonds, arranged to mimic the facets of the single dragon I’ve actually seen.
Flames alight on either side of the doors, and the light cast flashes over the carved dragons, creating the illusion that they’ve come to life.
We all gasp in unison and take a step back. The flames that alit next to the doors are well contained, housed in the same kind of wall lanterns I have in my room. I saw no one light them.
I can’t wait to learn how these lights function, how we just saw them ignite without a lighting stick. But my attention is held by the carved dragons on the door, and the flames erupting from their gaping mouths. Flames that are flickering now, as if truly on fire. Inlaid citrines, in shades of yellow, amber and orange, are strategically mixed with small rubies and aquamarines to create an amazingly realistic imitation of fire.
Glancing up and around, I spot lanterns positioned behind us at the top of the portico. Their light is directed and amplified usingsheets of silver, and the effect enhances the dragon images on the door. The sight is spectacular, and all of us are held captive in awe. I’d believe this was magic, if I didn’t know that was a crime against Othrix. There is no magic on this side of the veil.
The doors swing open, and my awe expands tenfold.
The dining hall is brightly lit with more of these seemingly magical lanterns, including at least a half dozen chandeliers which hang from the ceiling. But instead of candles, the hanging lights shimmer with more of these magically controlled flames under glass.
At the far end of the hall, a raised platform holds a long table. Behind it, the dragon masters stand with a klerick. Dressed in long robes of crimson and gold, finely adorned with the symbol of Othrix, he must be Head Klerick here at camp. His tall, golden hat towers above his head even higher than the one our Head Klerick wears on the holiest of days in Achotia. Silver hair, falling around his shoulders, shimmers under the lights, and the expression on his gaunt face is grave, as we all stand agape.
Master Saxon, standing to the immediate right of the ornately robed klerick, looks impossibly desirable in his tight leather breeches and flowing white chemise. The other masters are fully dressed in leather, setting Saxon apart, but for me, that’s not the only thing that divides them.
I keep my eyes trained on him, willing him to glance my way, to give me some look of encouragement, some acknowledgment that my private chamber means he’ll visit me tonight, but his gaze remains elsewhere.
A group of approximately twenty men file in. They’re dressed in leathers, embellished with intricate insignias. They assemblebehind chairs at a table just below the one occupied by the dragon masters and the klerick.
Assuming these men are dragon riders, I study them in awe and realize that Prince Tynan is not among them. Perhaps these are only the most experienced riders. He’s only been at camp four moon cycles.
Soon, about twenty and five more men appear, all dressed in leathers lacking insignias, and they take places behind one of the tables set perpendicular to the first group. Prince Tynan led this group into the room, and he takes a place at the center of a table as the other men file around him to claim other seats.
Tynan’s gaze lands on mine, and my belly contracts. And then he scowls as he drags his finger across his throat in an obvious threat. I look away. Even if he doesn’t know who I am, I’ve made an enemy. Terrific.
At this point, all but three long tables remain unfilled, and we steal glances at each other, wondering if we are meant to move toward the chairs there. No one dares.
“Welcome, junior candidates,” the klerick’s voice echoes through the hall. “As Camp Klerick, I welcome you. May Othrix protect you.”
The riders bow their heads, as do many of the other men.
I wasn’t expecting dragon rider camp to have such religious overtones, and yet the klerick clearly has a prominent position here. I suppose that makes sense, given Othrix created the veil that protects us, and also gave us the dragons to maintain it.
“I trust you have found your accommodations adequate,” says the klerick.
A murmur flows through our group in a whispered response.
“Good,” he says. “Now, it’s time to give your full attention to your dragon masters.”
The klerick sits, followed by the riders and senior candidates. Only Saxon remains standing—Saxon and our group at the back of the room.
“Recruits.” Saxon’s strong, deep voice fills the air and reverberates in my belly. “As you have seen, although we refer to this place as a camp, as reward for your sacrifices, you’ll enjoy a certain level of creature comforts during your stay here.”
“However short that stay might be,” Treacher adds, a cruel smirk on his lips.
Whispers drift amongst our group, comments less about the dangers we face and more about the rooms and the luxury of the castle we find ourselves in. I may be the only one amongst us who has ever slept in a bed made of anything finer than straw.
