Page 39 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Our group loses a total of nine candidates at the end of round one, and my confidence slowly returns, although my body remains in pain.

Carrying a large bow and quiver of arrows, Master Treacher strides onto the field to join Saxon.

“Egon. Amis. Step forward.” Treacher calls out.

They proudly step forward, their barrel chests puffing out even bigger than normal.

“In round two, you’ll learn how it feels to have arrows aimed toward you,” Treacher says to the group. “Given the results of round one, Saxon has selected these two to enjoy that experience first.”

“Stand here.” Treacher leads them both to stand in front of targets.

Amis’s expression fills with trepidation, but Egon looks as obnoxiously self-assured as ever, widening his legs and crossing his arms over his chest.

Treacher says something to them both. I can’t hear what, but they shift their positions, both standing stiffly straight, their arms tucked in at their sides.

Saxon moves to the center of the field carrying his bow and arrow, and my heart rises into my throat as Saxon rapidly fires a full quiver of arrows toward the men, shooting so quickly, I barely see his arm move back to cock each one.

When Saxon’s quiver is empty, both Amis and Egon are surrounded by arrows.

The group applauds, but I just stare, unable to move.

I’m equally impressed by Saxon’s skill and appalled at his behavior.

I was angry that he didn’t punish these men for shooting arrows at Samyull and me, but this… He could have killed them.

“Since it’s only day one.” Treacher strides across the field. “Master Saxon has convinced me to show you some undeserved mercy. Round two will be optional, for only those brave enough to volunteer.”

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 is voluntary . 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.

I glance toward him and then toward our masters, but Treacher has turned away, and Saxon only shakes his head with an unbearably neutral look in his eyes.

Every bone in my body screams in protest, as I walk from the dining hall back to my room. If I had the strength, my chest would fill with accomplishment. I survived my first full day at camp.

I’m not the only one of the new candidates who limped and groaned on the way to the dining hall, and after eating quickly, I leave the meal early while the rest are enjoying their puddings and second or third glasses of ale.

I much prefer to return to my room for a soak and to fall into bed. I didn’t sleep much last night.

Samyull survived his first day too, although he looked very pale at dinner and barely spoke. At least we found seats well away from Egon and Amis, and they mercifully found someone else to torment.

I enter my room to find the fire lit, and Elly rushes in behind me.

“So sorry, sir,” she says. “Yer back earlier than expected. The fire is started but yer bath isn’t yet drawn.” She presses the buttons under each gas light, and they blaze to brighten the room.

“Elly.” I remember to deepen the tone of my voice. “How do these lights work? Are they… magic ?”

Her eyes open wider, and she makes the sign of Othrix. “No sir. Magic is forbidden, blasphemous.”

“Of course.” I rub my sore arms as we both cross the room. She moves behind the screen to the tub, and I soon hear water splashing.

Curious, I join her. Steaming hot water is flowing out of a spout at the end of a pipe and quickly filling the tub.

“I understand it’s not magic,” I say more carefully, “but where I come from, we lack such conveniences. Our lamps require lighting sticks and striking powder, and our tubs are filled using buckets.”

“Oh.” She smiles as her fingers test the flowing water’s temperature, and then she adjusts a knob. “Yes. That’s right, sir. I too had not seen plumbing or gas lamps before coming to camp.”

“Do you understand how they work?” I store the words plumbing and gas lamp.

“No, sir.” She straightens and her eyes fill with what looks like fear. “I promise you. I’ve had no schooling.”

“I wasn’t accusing you…” I shake my head. Whatever I say now could make this worse. I certainly don’t want to draw any attention to Elly—or to me, if she tells someone I’ve asked these questions. “Forget that I asked.”

She nods. “Would you like my help?”

“Help with what?” I stretch my neck from side to side, shocked at how sore even that part of me is.

“Removing your uniform,” she replies. “Or if you would like to drill me, I’m available for that service too.”

My belly tightens. “That’s not necessary.” I shake my head, hoping my expression doesn’t reveal my fear of discovery. “In fact, if you’d be kind enough to teach me how to use the controls for this tub, I’d very much like to be alone for the rest of the night.”

She blinks at me. “Are you certain, sir?” She turns toward the fire, and then back to the tub. “Have I done something to displease you?”

“Not at all,” I tell her. “And I’m very certain. After a quick bath, I’ll fall straight asleep. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

She nods. “I’ll return to assist you in the morn.”

I shake my head. “I prefer to dress myself. I’ll leave my soiled clothes on that chair.” I gesture toward one. “You can gather them for laundering after I leave for training.”

Disappointment and worry fill her eyes, but I keep my expression kind but neutral. I don’t want her to question my motives, so it’s best if I act as if my requests are perfectly normal.

“Now, about these plumbing controls.” I gesture toward the tub. “How do I stop the water from flowing? And how do I drain the tub after use?”