Page 24 of The Last Dragon
Bodies continue to slam into mats, lieutenants barking orders. The air reeks of sweat and adrenaline. I sit on the bench with Ilian as I scan the room. My gaze stops at Rylan moving through the field of sparring first-year cadets like a shadow—boots heavy on concrete, arms crossed, and a bored scowl on his face. Waiting to be impressed.
“I wonder which cadet is gonna have a bad day this time,” Ilian comments, also focusing on Lieutenant Rylan.
Rylan’s eyes flick from cadet to cadet, raking them from head to toe. He briefly stops near a mat with two men sparring, one of them landing a punch that drops his opponent—coaxing a browlift from Rylan. I have a bad feeling about this. Whenever he scans the cadets, things always end up badly.
From the far left side of the corner, Eryca approaches Ilian, her gaze on Rylan. She’s fuming.
“That bastard forced my sparring partner to get off the mat,” she hisses, fists clenched at the sides.
Ilian raises a brow. “For what?”
Eryca’s attention snaps to her brother, then flicks to me and back again. “Because she took one step too much. Telegraphing her punch. Apparently, that’s not acceptable for a first-year.”
Muscles tighten in my face, the anger coiling low before rushing to my throat. But I can’t let it take over.
“People are scared,” I say, my voice low, barely opening my mouth. “It’s only fair that cadets will make a mistake when their lives are going to be on the line in a couple of days.”
Eryca’s lethal gaze burns into the side of my head. “I thought you were a firm believer that you should shut off your emotions. You know, soldier first?” She mocks, voice sharp as a dagger.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “Not when it comes to new recruits. The idea of being a soldier hasn’t been firmly drilled into their heads. Not yet, at least. They need to break first.” I look back at Rylan. “Just not like this.”
I follow Rylan’s slow, deliberate movements. The closer he gets to the new cadets, the more nervous they get, his gaze nearly pinning them down. Occasionally, he stops, commenting on their stance. Then his head snaps to the far side of the room.
A pair of cadets circle each other like nervous dogs. They’ve been doing that for some time now. They’re new, but still trying. One of them flinches before contact is made—stepping back toward the edge of the mat. His footing slips, making him fall with a thud. That’s not good.
Rylan tilts his head and stops walking, uncrossing his arms.Not good.
“Are you kidding me?” His voice cuts through the noise, and every grunt—every kick—halts in an instant. Two, three, four steps is all it takes for Rylan to be standing near the young cadet—who’s still rolling on the floor, getting himself up. I stalk closer, ready to jump in. Just in case Rylan tries something, like he did the first year I got here. He crippled a cadet. And I’m not going to let that happen again.
He towers over the new guy, eyebrows raised in fake surprise. When he looks away, he lets out a little chuckle, motioning with his fingers for the cadet to stand up. The recruit hesitates, brushing a few strands of his ash brown hair from his face, and then gets up, facing Rylan up close. The kid’s no older than eighteen.
“Do you know where you are?” Rylan asks, voice monotone.
“Yes,” responds the cadet, barely meeting Rylan’s penetrating look.
A low laugh escapes Rylan as he raises his hand toward his right ear. “Huh? I didn’t hear you.”
The cadet clears his throat. “Yes, sir.”
Rylan drags his tongue against his teeth, a sharp sound cutting through the air. A low, irritated laugh rumbles from his chest. “What is your name, cadet?”
“Leyon.”
“Leyon?” Rylan says with mock surprise—letting out another snort. “Not much of alionnow, are we?” Rylan rubs his nose, eyes on the cadet.
I breathe in, my muscles tensing. The script’s repeating itself.
“Listen,Leyon, being a soldier in the Corps means you are not supposed to flinch. You get that?” He raises his arms to the side. “We all have to learn that. Many of your fellow yearlings have already learned that. Especially since they know that if they don’t—they’re going to die. Scorched by a dragon, am I right?” He turns to the growing crowd.
Leyon flicks his brown eyes between the ground and his feet, shuffling with nervousness. I feel bad for him. I’d hate this many eyes on me, too.
“During expeditions, we need all the manpower we can get. And we can’t afford to deal with losers who can’t keep it together. Because if you hesitate, it can cause people to die. Do you get that?” Rylan moves in, tension masked by a brittle smile.
“I understand that, sir,” Leyon says. I wish he hadn’t, because now that gives Rylan an opening.
“Oh, so you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
