Page 92 of Veiled Flames
“How long until I can try arealpommel,” Egon asks.
“First, you must progress to much larger trainers.” Roule pulls an object from behind the dais.
The entire room gasps, and my heart stops. This trainer is at least four times longer and far thicker than the ones we’re holding.
“Holy thrix!” Egon shouts.
I hear a thud as he drops into his chair.
“Are they ready?” Treacher’s voice booms from the doorway.
Roule nods. “Stash your trainers in your pouches,” he says. “There is no time to take them back to your rooms. Treacher is impatient to show you the dragons.”
Thirty-Five
Rosomon
I’ve heard Tynan and other men discuss drilling bum holes before—he accused Saxon of doing that very thing to me—but I always assumed they were joking, or making idle threats against each other, as men often do.
If such a thing is truly done, I’ve discovered yet another difference between the bodies of men and women, because my bum hole is an exit.
Perhapsthisis why women can’t ride dragons.
I don’t have time to process my disappointment. Our group rushes out of the classroom in the opposite direction to the training fields we’ve used thus far, and then away from the main buildings. Everyone’s buzzing with excitement.
Roule and Treacher lead us on horseback. Grooms must have been holding their mounts at the ready. I weave through the group, trying to get into a position where I can see more thanjust the backs of my taller compeers. Among those of us left, I’m most definitely the runt.
I reach the front of the group and see that we are headed toward a long stone wall that extends toward a lake in one direction and curves toward mountains in the other. It extends so far into the distance, I can’t see its end.
Are the dragons housed behind that wall? Will we see one rise up?
As we draw closer, the air fills with screeches and roars, as if dozens, perhaps hundreds of dragons are calling out at once.
A few of my compeers trip and stumble at the loud keening sounds, but that just makes it easier for me to maintain my place near the front of the group, following Treacher and Roule on their horses.
A door in the vast stone wall comes into focus, and my excitement heightens. Even if I’m not meant to ride dragons, I want to see all I can, to learn all I can. If the worst happens, perhaps I can find another role here at camp like Samyull has.
I’m not sure I possess enough faith in Othrix to become an acolyte, but I’ll do whatever it takes to remain at camp. I’ll find a position serving the dragons, versus cooking or cleaning for the candidates and riders. And I certainly don’t want my role to include serving Saxon. My cleft squeezes, as if disagreeing.
Treacher and Roule reach the wall. Treacher dismounts with a flourish and raps on the door. It opens, and a groom takes the reins of the dragon masters’ horses and leads the animals inside. Treacher and Roule follow, as do the rest of us, but my larger compeers force their way ahead of me, so I’m not the first to go in. The wall is not only high, it’s very thick, and as I pass throughthe entrance, Egon pushes me hard against the inside of the wall, and I end up even further back in the group.
Now we’re past the wall, the dragons’ calls are even louder—almost deafening. A few of my compeers cover their ears. I don’t. If these men can’t tolerate the calls of these dragons, how can they ever expect to mount or ride one?
I’m hopeful that there’s some way around the limitations of my female anatomy, and I vow to try to insert my trainer tonight. I pat its hard shape, stashed in a pouch on my riding jacket.
The two dragon masters stride forward, and I race to catch up.
Treacher stops at the edge of a cliff. As does Roule, who extends his arms, warning us not to run over the edge.
Reaching it, I glance over the cliff, immediately lightheaded when I see the sharp drop. We’re at the side of a high, narrow canyon. The land at our level follows the canyon’s edge, and it curves, obscuring much of what lies ahead. Directly below, there is little to see but dragons.
Wings flap, and spiked dragon heads rise from the canyon floor, almost as if the bottom of the canyon itself is formed from iridescent scales and silvery wings. Beauty and awe steal my breath, and I step as close to the edge as I dare. Streams of fire appear at random intervals, often shooting high into the air, but none reach our level.
A firm set of hands grab me from behind, and I’m spun around.
My breath is stolen as I look up into Saxon’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” I glare at him, trying to hide my shock.
