Page 67 of Veiled Flames
Finished dressing, I stash the tin of tea at the back of my wardrobe, hoping that Elly won’t find it. And I rush out into the courtyard just in time to join the group as they walk toward the training fields.
Every step I take is a reminder of Saxon, of what he did to me. And while the deep ache between my legs was welcome after our first night together, this time it fuels my hatred.
Instead of letting the nagging pain hold me back, I’ll use it today to propel my spirit. I’ll use it to prove Saxon—to proveeveryone—wrong.
I glance around for Samyull, growing fearful when I don’t spot him. But since we’re both so much shorter than the others, I can’t be sure he’s not amongst us. Perhaps it’s better if he’s not. If he’s already deserted camp, or declared himself recreant, it’s for the best. Everyone expects us to be the first to perish, but I have more strength in my body than the others can see, and far more determination in my heart.
As we progress across the field, the crowd spreads out, chattering and speculating about what we might face. I talk to no one. These men aren’t my friends. They are my competitors, and they are the ones who stand between me and my chance to ride dragons.
Twenty-Five
Tynan
Iwiden my stance as I maintain my place next to Master Treacher on the viewing platform. One of the traditional first drills for the new candidates is about to begin. The senior candidates are expected to help run this test of agility and endurance, and I’m chuffed that Treacher has not asked me to leave his side to join my compeers.
Treacher is the only dragon master who doesn’t berate me when I goad the smaller candidates, or when I treat them extra roughly. Treacher gets it. He knows I’m trying to make the men stronger and weed out the ones who don’t merit a place here.
I’m four fingers taller than Master Treacher, but I’d guess he outweighs me by half. While I could best most men in the Seven Kingdoms in hand-to-hand combat, I wouldn’t want to go up against Treacher.
Wrists bound, the new recruits are unceremoniously pushed into the pit. A few fail to rise, or they hobble after landing withclear pain in their expressions. If their joints can’t withstand a mere fifteen span drop, how do they expect to ride dragons?
“That one shows promise.” I point toward Egon, the largest of this pathetic candidate group. Not one of the new men comes close to measuring up to me.
Treacher grunts. Already today, the new recruits ran for an hour chased by Treacher upon Ersot, who breathed fire behind the stragglers. I would have enjoyed watching that, but chose to stay longer in my bed.
Down in the pit, the candidates look at each other like fools, clueless about what’s to come.
Then, without warning, the senior candidates begin hurling rocks into the pit. This challenge—one of the best for weeding out the unworthy—is more difficult than it first sounds. While I’d love to be hurling rocks with my compeers, I’m proud and excited that Treacher hasn’t objected to me standing with him. I’ve never seen this drill happen from such a good viewing angle.
The goal for the recruits is to avoid being struck. Or rather, avoid being struck too often. I remember all too well the many bruises I suffered the day I was down in that pit. The projectiles come from all directions—just like the balls of poisonous fire do near the veil. From the pit’s bottom, one can’t see the rocks, or the men throwing them, until the stones are hurtling directly toward you—the stones you do spot.
While the large boulders are the most lethal, if one pays attention, they’re the easiest to dodge. Small stones to the temple took down three of my fellow recruits on day one. I wonder how many of these pathetic specimens will die today. How many will turn recreant or run.
Down in the pit, someone emits a high-pitched yelp, and I chuckle. The tiniest recruit—the kid befriended by that infernal pink-haired runt—just got hit in the stones, and he’s bent over in pain. A stone to the stones. I laugh again.
“Laughing at the pain of your compeers?” Saxon’s powerful hand lands on the back of my neck and squeezes. “I thought you’d gotten past that, Tynan.”
My gut contracts. I didn’t hear Saxon join us. But I temper my instinct to lash out to cover my startled reaction and shame. That would only prove Saxon’s point.
The most mysterious of our masters, Saxon enjoys disarming me, and although I hate to admit it, he’s helped me recognize how my outbursts of rage—which once came several times a day—don’t serve me well here at camp. Not always.
“I doubt even one of these recruits will becomemycompeer.” I glance at Treacher, certain he’ll agree.
But Treacher ignores me, and Saxon’s hand on my neck squeezes harder. “Speaking of compeers, why aren’t you participating with yours?”
“I asked Tynan to assist me,” Treacher says, and Saxon’s iron grip releases my neck.
I can already feel bruises rising, but pride and gratitude fill my chest, washing away my urge to lash out at Saxon. Or to pummel someone else in his stead.
I came up to the observation deck on my own, and Treacher is covering for me with Saxon. I’m proud to be Treacher’s favorite.
I can’t say the same about Saxon or Roule, but at leastoneof the dragon masters recognizes my superior abilities. Saxon mayhave some hare-brained idea of me being part of a ridiculous prophecy, but Treacher is the one who truly understands how I’m destined to become a rider.
Of the princes Saxon conscripted from the Seven Kingdoms, I’m the only one who still lives. Not one prince has managed to mount a dragon in over fifteen years. According to Saxon, there were riders of royal blood in the past, but none survived. His absurd tale of a princely rider who’ll save the Light from the Darkness is pure hog’s droppings, but if any rider has a chance to make a real difference, I’m certain it’s me.
Not one of my compeers possesses my combination of strength, speed, and agility, nor my skills and talent at wielding weapons at both long and close range. And, the few who come close, lack the requisite intelligence and cunning.
The demons currently breaching the veil can be eliminated through deft flying and brute force. But if other creatures of Darkness—vampyres, mages, shape-shifting aberrants—begin to cross the veil, it will be a different matter. Every dragon rider must be prepared for the day these more intelligent creatures invade from the Darkness. It will take guile combined with power to slay such evil foes.
