Page 71 of Veiled Flames
Amis and Egon make their way back to the rest of the group, looking pale and slightly less arrogant.
A servant rolls a cauldron onto the field and then lights it. Clearly, it’s full of oil.
Saxon switches out his quiver and joins Treacher, next to the flaming cauldron.
“For round two, your goal is the same,” Saxon says. “Each of you will aim at the targets, but this time you’ll do it, while we’re shooting at you.”
Treacher lights the end of one of his long arrows on fire, and grins as he scans our group.
“These arrows have rounded tips, and aren’t likely to kill,” Saxon says.
“But should they strike,” Treacher adds, “they’ll leave a very fine mark.” His grin turns malevolent. “And then of course there’s the flames.” Treacher is clearly enjoying the idea of bruising our bodies and setting us on fire.
“My fellow master wants me to go easy on you,” Treacher says. “I don’t give a hog’s turd what he wants.” He loads a flaming arrow on his bow. “If any of you survive training, a demon’s flames will make these arrows seem like child’s play.”
Saxon steps forward. “Some of you are not ready for this.” His gaze lands on me for the first time today. Many others turn to see who he’s looking at, and resentment storms inside me.
“I want to emphasize—” Saxon keeps his gaze toward me “—that participation in this round isvoluntary. There will be no negative consequences should you choose to sit out. But very serious consequences if you are struck.” Finally changing his focus, he nods toward Treacher. “And fair warning, we both have very good aim.”
“No fucking kidding,” Egon says, and a few of the other men laugh.
“Who is brave enough to volunteer?” Treacher asks.
Most of the group shifts back together, like small sticks pushed by a wave.
I step forward. There is no way I’m going to bow to Saxon’s intimidation.
“Holy thrix!” Amis mutters, and I glance to the side. Egon has also stepped forward, and we’re joined by one other—one of the taller men, whose name I’ve yet to learn.
“There are more available targets.” Treacher sneers. “Is no one else prepared to face this challenge?”
Muttering under his breath, Amis steps forward and Egon claps him on the back.
“Very well,” Treacher says. “Now that we have volunteers, I’ll reveal the details of the challenge.”
My breath catches, wondering what I’ve gotten myself in to.
“To succeed,” Treacher says, “each of you must land at least two arrows in each of these four targets, then return to your starting position within one minute.”
“Thrix.” Amis curses again, but my mind is busy calculating how to accomplish this task.
The targets are spread out. We’ll have to move quickly to cover the distance in a minute, and we’ll have to do it while shooting arrows and dodging not only each other—and each other’s arrows—but also flaming missiles.
“Prepare,” Treacher says, as Saxon lights a cocked arrow on fire. “The trial will commence at the bell.”
The word bell is barely out of his mouth before it rings. I cock an arrow and aim, but then see a flame headed straight for my head. Ducking, I shoot my arrow and roll forward, retrieving and shooting another arrow before standing.
I’m not sure how I did that, but decide to stop thinking, letting my instincts take charge as I dodge and roll, as I fire and duck and run, keeping alert to arrows and flames and somehow finding each of the targets.
Twice, someone screams out in pain, but I block that out, focusing on my own survival. After striking the final target with two arrows, I crouch low to avoid my compeers’ arrows while keeping my eyes on Treacher and Saxon. Halfway to my starting point, I pivot to move backward.
I trip over an obstacle, and roll backwards, but manage to get to my feet just in time to dodge another flaming arrow. The fiery missile strikes Egon. He was the obstacle that tripped me, and he cries out as he brushes the flames from his jacket.
The bell sounds.
“Well done, Rosshall.” Treacher’s loud voice bellows. “Rosshall was the only one to strike all four targets.”
Egon shoves me, hard, and I fall to my hands and knees.
