Page 42 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Twenty-Nine

Saxon

I must stop Rosomon. I swore I wouldn’t reveal her secret, but I refuse to see her die.

Typically, new recruits don’t run the gauntlet, until they’ve been here at least a full moon cycle.

By that time, the ones who remain have grown stronger and proven themselves in other ways.

Typically, by the time we ask recruits to run the gauntlet, the weaker ones have deserted, died or turned recreant, and I’m appalled that Treacher has called for this on their second day.

I understand his point about urgency. With the current volume of veil ruptures, we urgently need more qualified riders, but killing half our recruits during their first few days won’t help us with that.

My argument with Treacher ended abruptly when he threatened to speak to the Camp Klerick about it.

The glare in his eyes carried a clear warning, as if his discussion with the klerick would parlay damaging information.

Is it possible that Treacher, or someone, saw me enter Rosomon’s room the night we arrived?

Or did they see her enter or leave my tent while we traveled?

My fears allowed Treacher to win the argument, but that was cowardice. I must put Rosomon’s life above my position. I must tell Treacher that she’s a girl before she gets anywhere near this course.

Even if I can’t prevent what will surely be many deaths today, I can—I will prevent hers. My heart is broken, knowing she’ll never let me touch her again, that she’ll hate me even more after today—but my heart will be pulverized if she dies.

Tynan and Burchard step onto the open lift and rise from the floor, as two servants tug on the ropes to operate the strategically placed pulleys and gears.

“And the winner is,” Treacher belts out, “Candidate Tynan.”

The group applauds, and I continue to scan for Rosomon. Perhaps she came to her senses and has already left. Dare I hope I can yet convince her to stay at camp to serve as my courtesan?

I lean out over the viewing platform as Treacher announces the results. As expected, Prince Tynan easily beat Burchard. Tynan does exceptionally well on this course, as he does in most things.

“Should you survive the gauntlet,” Treacher addresses the new recruits, “your scores will be based on your time to complete the course, as well as your accuracy in striking the final targets.”

Gears shift and crank, and the array of targets rises until they’re visible to the gallery without looking tubes.

“As you can see, Tynan used only five arrows.” Treacher points toward Tynan’s quiver still holding another five.

“And he did not miss any targets, making direct hits on three of the five.” He points toward Tynan’s targets.

“A hit is worth one point, a direct hit is worth five. And each arrow in your quiver at the end of the gauntlet adds another two points.”

Tynan’s set of targets shifts away, and a servant removes the arrows, as Burchard’s targets are raised into view.

“Burchard used seven arrows,” Treacher says, “and made a direct hit on only one target.”

The group of new recruits murmurs. Clearly some think they could do better. But I seriously doubt that even one of them will hit a single target on their first run through the gauntlet. Assuming any of them get that far. It’s possible we’ll have very few new recruits by the end of the day.

The servants remove the arrows from Burchard’s targets, and then all the targets move back into place.

“There will be no spectators,” Treacher proclaims. “If you lack the courage to attempt the gauntlet, you must leave this room now. But know that if you leave the room, you will be deserting camp.”

A few men shift toward the door, as others peer over the railing.

“Once the doors are closed,” Treacher continues, “those who have the courage to remain must all run the gauntlet.”

Four recruits scramble toward the door. Rosomon isn’t one of them. Where is she?

“Any questions before we begin?” Treacher asks.

“What’s in those tunnels?” Egon asks.

Treacher laughs. “Do you really expect me to reveal that?” His attention turns to the side.

I follow his gaze and my heart stops beating. Rosomon is standing ready to begin the course.

I thought I’d have more time. I start toward her, but someone tugs on my arm. I look down. It’s the kid who Rosomon befriended. Samyull.

“Get out, quickly,” I tell him. “You won’t survive this.”

“Master Saxon.” He raises his chin. “I have no wish to die today, but I do have a strong wish to remain here at camp, so I may serve Othrix.” He widens his stance. “My maid told me you might grant me the chance to turn recreant.”

“Last chance to leave the room,” Treacher calls out. The senior recruits start counting down from ten, and I crane my head to see through the crowd. Surely Treacher won’t allow Rosomon—the very smallest recruit—to run the gauntlet first.

“Please, sir.” Samyull says.

If the boy doesn’t leave this moment, he’ll be forced to run the gauntlet.

I open the door, and usher him through. “Wait here for me. We will discuss your status later.”

I re-enter the room, and a cheer rises up from the crowd. I push forward.

Rosomon has landed atop the first pillar. My heart rises to clog my gullet.

Almost immediately, she leaps again. Her legs split into a very long stride as she flies through the air toward the second pillar.

She lands. My heart is racing; my emotions mixed. I’m terrified for her. Sad that she’ll die. And yet I’m proud of her, and grateful she hasn’t fallen. The first two leaps are the farthest, but the pillars themselves grow smaller in diameter as they descend.

I have no wish to witness her death but can’t look away as she leaps again.