Page 73 of Veiled Flames
After we lay down our swords, I rush to the classroom and take a seat in the front row, prepared for our first classroom session with Master Roule. I’m grateful that we finally have a session that doesn’t involve physical training. My body is aching, and I feel every bone as it strikes the hard chair beneath me. I keep a seat open for Samyull, but he hasn’t appeared when the class is almost full, so I don’t object when Henri drops onto it.
This finely decorated classroom is on the second level of the main building, and while the seats are hard, the room itself is awe inducing. I’m still absorbing how they call this place a camp. It rivals the opulence of my father’s castle.
The classroom’s walls and ceilings are covered in polished panels of dark walnut wood, enhanced by intricate carvings on the crown moldings and the trim dividing each panel. At intervals along the walls, fine tapestries in bright colors depict dragons in flight, or in battle, or both. And although there are no windows in this room, it’s very well lit.
More of the mysterious lights Elly called gas lamps surround the room, and more hang down from above us.
Looking at the overhead lights leaves me dizzy. I may still be suffering from the rocks that struck my head yesterday. Shifting my body, I wince at the pain. Everything smarts as if every bone in my body is smashed.
At least all this new pain has overridden the effects of Saxon’s rough use of my body. I throb as the heat of want mixes into my pain. To quash my body’s inexplicable desire, I draw on my hatred of Saxon.
How can I hate and want that man at the same time?
Speaking of Saxon, the demon personified enters the room, along with Treacher and Roule. The room quiets as the three masters step onto the raised platform at the front. Roule takes the podium, and Treacher and Saxon stand with their legs wide and hands clasped behind their backs.
Both Treacher and Saxon are undeniably impressive male specimens, oozing strength and power. Every one of their muscles bulges prominently under their riding uniforms. But inspite of my efforts, my gaze keeps drifting back to Saxon. He, on the other hand, maintains his gaze above me, focused on the back of the room.
Everyone is seated and quiet, and Roule grips the wooden sides of the podium, as if he plans to tear it apart. Perhaps he could. Roule isn’t as large as his fellow dragon masters, and has a kinder face, but he’s clearly strong. Based on the silver streaks in his bushy umber hair, and the lines etched in his face, Roule has at least ten years more than the other two masters. He could have close to fifty years, I’d guess.
“Candidate recruits,” Roule says. “Welcome to my classroom.” His voice is gruff, as if he drank rocks for his breakfast, and I’m grateful I selected a seat in the front. I don’t want to miss a word of his lessons.
“In this room,” Roule continues, “you will learn the technical details of bonding with dragons. You’ll learn their history and you’ll also learn more about the Darkness.”
Murmurs float through the room.
“It takes more than strength and skill to slay demons,” Roule continues. “To hold back the Darkness, you also requireknowledge.”
He recounts information about the history of the Seven Kingdoms I largely already know, but I lean forward on my chair, eager to hear every word, especially when the topic turns to demons.
“More than six hundred years ago,” Master Roule says, “the Old World was invaded by demons, expelled from another realm. In the centuries that followed, humans suffered greatly under the torment of these demons and other creatures of Darkness.But Othrix created the veil to hold back that Darkness, and He granted us dragons, so that we might defend and repair the veil.” He scans the room. “Any questions so far?”
I shoot up my hand.
“You’ll stand to ask questions,” Roule says. “And to begin, state your name and home kingdom.”
My legs scream in pain as I rise, but I spread them into a wide stance, mimicking the way Saxon and Treacher are standing.
“I am Rosshall, of Achotia.” I remember to deepen my voice. “What causes the tears in the veil?” I quickly retake my seat.
“Evil.” Roule leans onto the podium. “Evil magic borne of the Darkness. Othrix’s powers are strong. He is full of Light, but even our god’s powers have limits. After so many years, the veil is wearing thin and can no longer hold back every creature of Darkness. The demons penetrating our world are legion and attack our veil with a fury. Not even the power of Othrix can withstand this constant barrage.” Roule thumps his podium a few times during this answer, and it’s obvious it’s one he’s given before.
Chair legs scrape as someone behind me rises. “Padrich of Phirene,” he says. “How do we riders use our dragons to repair the veil?”
“First, young man—” Roule clears his throat “—I’ll remind you that you arenotyet a rider.” He frowns. “But I admire your optimism.”
Muffled chuckles flow through the classroom.
“Dragon fire carries the power of Othrix,” Roule replies. “But it’s not for us to understand a dragon’s powers, nor that of Othrix.A rider’s job is toguidethese beasts, to allow them to carry out their holy purpose.”
“How do riders guide their dragons?” Padrich asks.
“Riders draw on the Light, on the goodness inherent in mankind. Then they use the sacred bond struck between rider and dragon to direct the beasts’ fire.”
Roule’s answer raises more questions than answers for me, but I don’t want to call more attention by asking another so soon.
“Samyull of Achotia.” Relief floods me that my friend is still here.
“How does one bond with a dragon? And why can’t they repair the veil on their own?”
