by Gage Lee
“Servants, your path is of critical importance to the empire. You are the glue that binds it together. Your efforts make it possible for the other paths to perform their duties. Among the servants’ many responsibilities are farming, herding, construction, and, as you can see, metalwork. Now, let’s see what kind of whelps I'm working with. Begin a basic breathing exercise. Fill your core with pneuma.”
Do not let her bully you. We will forge your core. Somehow.
“Not comforting,” Taun muttered under his breath. He focused his thoughts on the bruised feeling just behind his solar plexus and drew his first breath.
While the pain was irritating, it told the knight he was on the right path. Breath flowed into his lungs, filling them to capacity, and then something else trickled into the small hollow space at his center. He'd felt it while fighting the eldwyr and experienced a trickle of it during his opening challenge. This was the first time he'd managed more than a tiny amount on his own, and he felt exhilarated by his success.
That is pneuma. Hold it in your thoughts as you breathe. The more of it you store in that pathetic excuse of a core, the more quickly you'll improve. Imagine stretching it like a muscle. The more exercise the core gets, the stronger it becomes.
The mystical energy was impossible to contain at first. It slipped through Taun's mental grasp like the wind blowing through an open door. But, with every breath, the knight's control over it strengthened. He caught it like a kite's tail, holding it within him against its bucking and twisting. The pain surrounding Taun's core intensified, but he ignored it. Every muscle hurt when you worked it. That was no reason to stop exercising. The pressure built, making it harder to breathe, but Taun wasn't about to let that stop him. He was close to a breakthrough, he could sense something about to change—
“How'd you end up in here, pinkling?” Professor Geth's breath was hot against Taun's face. “Open your eyes when I speak to you.”
Frustrated at the interruption, Taun opened his eyes and pursed his lips. “I'm bound to a soul scale,” he said.
“Come again?” Professor Geth asked. “Why would a dragon deign to bond with a toothless pup like you?”
Hold your temper.
That simple warning from Axaranth was like a splash of water in Taun's face. The old beast had wanted to kill everyone who'd crossed Taun's path and had killed more than a dozen eldwyr. If Axaranth didn't want to kill this dragon, she must have been extraordinarily dangerous.
“My apologies,” Taun said, bowing his head before raising his eyes back to Professor Geth's. “I meant no disrespect. Emissary Reth brought me to the Academy and said he would spread the word about me.”
The professor stared down at Taun, smoke dripping from her jaws. She wasn't only tall, Taun realized now that he'd gotten a good look at her. She was well over eight feet tall, and that made her body seemed stretched and thin. But she was powerfully built, as well, and forearms were as big around as Taun's thighs. The young knight had no doubt those foot-long jaws could snap his head off with one bite. The way she looked at him in that moment made it seem likely she'd do just that.
“What you have inside you isn't even a true core, softkin,” she muttered. “This is as bad as the time they sent me brittlescale and asked for honed blades.”
Taun burst out laughing, raising his hands in his defense when Geth's glower deepened. “They sent you brittlescale? That's only good for decorative pieces.”
Professor Geth's snarl stretched her lips back to the limits of her snout and heavy curtains of roiling smoke drooled out from between her jagged fangs.
You did as well as I could expect, man-child. Let us hope your end is swift and painless.
Taun braced himself for an attack that never came.
Professor Geth chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps I judged you too swiftly,” she said. “You're not fit for purpose, but let's see if we can fix that. What's your name?”
“Taun Koth'tok, son of Kaul Koth'tok, honorblade of the Ruby Blade Keep,” Taun said proudly.
“A knight,” The teacher mused. “Have you seen battle?”
Tell her what we did.
“Some,” Taun said. “I fought through an eldwyr raiding party with my family.”
Flames flared in Geth's nostrils. “And how many of those did you account for, Taun Koth'tok?”
“I lost count after a dozen,” Taun said.
Professor Geth said nothing. Her scaled brows furrowed above her snout. She crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her head until her eyes were level with Taun's. “Twelve eldwyr, and no core,” she said through the wreathe of smoke that crowded around her head. “That is impressive, if true. No, no, knight, don't get up in arms. I will believe you, for now. There is something about you that rings true. Let me ask you this: Are you willing to die to pursue your path?”
Taun thought about that for a moment. If he'd been anything other than a servant, there'd have been no hesitation in his answer. Those were honorable professions that would make his family proud. But would he die to be a servant?
The creature before you is a servant. She has worked her forge for centuries to become what you see before you now. If you would not be proud to be her, then maybe I made a mistake in choosing you.
Axaranth was right, though Taun wanted to remind him that there hadn't been much choice involved.
“Yes,” Taun said. “Show me the way.”
“Oh,” the dragon said with a sly chuckle, “I will. Let us see if you have what it takes to master the forge Taun Koth’tok.”
Chapter 12
SUTARI WAS NOT PREPARED for her warrior's path class. The sickness that had plagued for the past year had grown from an irritating hitch in her breathing to a chronic shortness of breath that sprang on her with no warning. As a member of a proud family of warriors, she had never considered there'd come a time when her body would fail her. Especially not now, a mere fifteen winters after her hatching. She should have been coming into her true strength, not withering like an ancient hag.
“Stop your whining,” the young silver chided herself. “You will fight your way through this. It is the path that was chosen.”
She'd repeated that same mantra for the past six months. After every visit from a sage or bleeder who'd left Sutari no better, and sometimes worse, than she'd been before their arrival. There was no answer to her illness, as far as anyone could see. The only way past the problem was through it. Like all dragons, Sutari knew she was bound to the wheel of fate. Its turning would define her course, and all that remained was for her to make the best of it.
She'd hack a path through this problem like she had through every other difficulty that had cropped up in her life. She'd fight until her last breath, which might come sooner than she'd expected.
Because their instructor had commanded the warriors to run more than an hour before. They'd kept up a steady, relentless pace since then. Sutari had ignored the pain of the crudlung that constricted her breathing for as long as possible. Now she kept herself moving thanks to the pneuma she channeled into her core and pushed out to her legs. She was glad the crudlung hadn’t choked off her ability to channel dragon’s breath as sometimes happened. Sutari's core was aching, though, and the young silver wasn't sure how much longer she could keep going.
Just breathe, she commanded herself, forcing air in and out of her lungs in time with her steps. Time lost all meaning as she struggled to keep moving. Her pace had slowed, but she wouldn't stop. Failure was not an option for Sutari, no matter how much her body wanted to lie down and let the other dragons run past her.
“That's enough running,” Professor Horsa Vash'nan called out. The school's highest authority and an accomplished priestess of the Scaled God led the warrior's path class. It seemed an odd choice, but given how many injuries beginning fighters sustained during training, it made perfect sense. “Line up, it's time to pair off for your first challenge.”
Sutari did her best to hide the labored bre
athing that forced her to bring up the rear of her class. She'd complained, long and loud, about how much she hated running as soon as the professor announced the warm up, hoping that would put others off the truth's scent. The last thing she needed was for the other students to single her out as a sickly weakling. Try as she might, though, her breaths were ragged and she couldn't help but wince as a stitch in her side sent jolts of pain through her with every inhalation. Crudlung wasn't fatal, usually, but it could kill her standing at the Academy, which would be nearly as bad as far as Sutari was concerned. She'd been raised to be a warrior. She couldn't imagine another life.
When all fifty of the students in the warrior's path class had formed up into a wide line facing Professor Vash'nan, she fixed them with an appraising stare. Her eyes combed over each student, lingering on some and drifting across others as if they didn't exist. When the professor's gaze met Sutari's, the young warrior felt as if every secret she’d ever kept was laid bare. She understood at once what was happening and didn't enjoy it in the slightest.
The priestess was measuring the students' strengths by appraising their cores. It wasn't a painful process, but it was unnerving to have someone else digging around in the center of your being. Sutari gritted her teeth against the invasion of her innermost privacy and let out a relieved sigh when the professor's attention drifted off her. The warrior had once been a blue core, but her inner power had dwindled along with her physical strength until she'd fallen to indigo, just one step above violet, the weakest possible core. That wasn't information she wanted to share, even with her professor.
“Sargon Geth and Yuli Lors,” Professor Vash'nan barked. “Pair off, but do not start fighting until I tell you otherwise. Break this rule and you'll sit out the rest of the class.”
The professor continued calling out pairs until only Sutari and a young copper dragon remained. Professor Vash'nan stopped in front of the silver and turned her body so only Sutari could hear her words. “You can be excused from the challenge if you are unwell.”
Rage welled up in Sutari and her lips curled back to reveal the tips of her incisors. “I'm fine,” she said. “Just fine.”
Professor Vash'nan eyed the young silver with concern, but didn't push the issue. “Sutari Koth'nan and Brant Hyph. Pair off.”
Sutari offered the professor a sincere bow of gratitude, then stalked toward the last remaining student. Her eyes swept over him from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet. A loose pattern of metallic scales dotted his cheeks and forearms, but he had yet to mature into any other dragon sign. His roughhewn clothes marked him as a member of one of the barbarian tribes of the Sunset Ridge Kingdom, the same territory that Moglan hailed from. They certainly raised them big there.
The young copper sneered at her, squared his broad shoulders, and cracked the knuckles on both hands. “This should be fun,” he said. “I'll try not to hurt you too badly.”
Sutari was about to pounce on her opponent when Professor Vash'nan's voice cracked through the air like a whip. “As warriors, there will come a time when your armor is shattered and your weapons lost. As dragons, you must prepare to fight with tooth and claw, fists and feet. Today, I will assess where you stand in the unarmed martial arts. There are no points to score in your matches today. You will continue to fight after your opponent knocks you down, after you are exhausted, and you will continue to fight until I tell you otherwise. If you stop before you are told to, you are eliminated. Twenty Glory goes to the last of you standing, ten to the penultimate fighter on his or her feet, and five to the third to last who falls. The rest will get what they deserve: nothing. Ready? Begin!”
Brant launched himself at Sutari with no thought for defense. He swung a brutal haymaker at the side of her head and followed a split second later with a savage uppercut aimed at her solar plexus. Either blow would've been enough to knock Sutari's lighter frame into the dirt. Like other dragons gifted with his stature, Brant had obviously trained in the Stomping Ox martial arts style that focused on ending fights quickly with brutally powerful blows.
The young silver knew her best hope of surviving these powerful attacks was to leap backward out of range. But a jump would sap her stamina quickly. To win any Glory for her lodge, she’d have to conserve her energy while avoiding her opponent's savage assault. In the split second before Brant's left fist met her temple, Sutari turned her head in the direction of the attack and leaned back on her heels. At the same time, she twisted from the hips, presenting the narrowest profile possible to the copper dragon's follow-up attack.
It was a risky strategy. If she was off by even a fraction of an inch or had been a split second too slow, she'd lose far more stamina than she'd conserved.
But the training she'd relished throughout her life paid off.
Brant's attacks scythed through empty air, narrowly missing their marks. The copper had put everything he had into those attacks, and their momentum pitched him off balance. He stumbled past Sutari, arms windmilling.
The silver eyed her opponent's exposed back with savage glee. She had spent years training in the Falling Star style that preferred nimble defense paired with critical strikes to the exposed weak points of their foes. A Meteor Hammer strike between Brant's shoulders would knock the arrogant thug to the ground. That would leave him vulnerable to a crushing Comet Stomp. This fight could be over in the next few seconds.
But Sutari's more tactical mind warned her against that path. Offensives strikes would chew up her stamina reserves faster than pneuma could replenish them. Even worse, knocking Brant unconscious would force Sutari to stop fighting. Professor Vash'nan had specifically said that would end her time in the challenge. This was an endurance race, not a sprint. To score Glory for the Broken Blades lodge, Sutari had to let go of the immediate satisfaction of shoving Brant's face in the dirt. To overcome the disadvantage of her illness, the silver had to be smarter than her opponents. She took a step back, dropped into a defensive stance, and crooked her finger at Brant.
“Come on,” she goaded her opponent. “You can do better than that.”
And as the copper dragon charged her, Sutari smiled. She could win today's challenge.
It was the first step on the path to winning the Glory Chase.
One step closer to meeting the Scaled Council and asking them to cure her crudlung.
AFTER HAMMERING SAFETY measures and basic procedures into her students for twenty minutes, Professor Geth crossed her arms and addressed the class. “You know enough not to kill yourselves at the forge. The shamans will light the fires, then I'll walk you through the process of forging something so simple even you amateurs can handle it: a nail.”
Taun looked behind him at the square box mounted on a short pillar of wrought iron. The structure's walls were stark white, a color he'd never seen in the smithy back home. He couldn't imagine that was a forge. It didn't even have an opening to accept fuel.
The shamans rose from their table and headed for the servants seated beside their anvils. Karsi walked straight to Taun's station, her long hair flowing behind her.
“I'm here to light your fire,” the princess said with a lopsided grin. “I'll try not to make it too hot.”
Heat flowed up Taun's neck to his cheeks, and he looked down at the floor to hide his embarrassment. He'd been popular with the girls at the Ruby Blade Keep, but pursuing them had never been a priority. There'd been so much to learn from Sage Lantan, so many saber lessons with his brothers and their instructors, and time for girls had just slipped away from him.
“I'm sure you know what you're doing,” he blurted, his hands tightening around the blacksmith's hammer. The sooner he got to work, the better he'd feel.
The shaman's brows furrowed in concentration, and her hands trembled where they touched the white cube behind Taun's station. The smell of burnt hair drifted through the room, and the temperature rose. Taun didn’t know what magic was at play here, but it unnerved him. In his eyes, a forge was a place for honest work.
Heat, skill, and the steady swing of a hammer allowed men to impose their will on crude metal and create something of value from lumps dug out of the earth. Magic cheapened that work.
Cultivating the forces of pneuma takes more skill than banging away at a piece of glowing iron, boy. That is a fundamental truth that dragons know, but men have apparently forgotten. Mastering elemental energy will help you remake your body and repair the scale. Do not forsake the mystic arts merely because you do not understand them.
“We'll see about that,” Taun muttered under his breath. His hand brushed against his chest, his fingertips feeling the cracks in the soul scale beneath his shirt. If mastering pneuma would fix the cracks in the scale, that's what Taun would do. He needed Axaranth's power to grow his own.
“All right then, let's get to work,” Professor Geth said. “If you haven't fully manifested scales on your hands yet, grab the fireweave gloves from the box in front of your forge. I don't need any of you burning your fingers off and crying to your parents. You'll find tongs in the same drawer. Use them to pick up a piece of iron from the pile beside the forge. Don't be greedy. A chunk about the size of your open palm will do.”
Taun found his safety gear and tongs. The gloves were actually mittens, a little too big for his hands, but that was all right. They were still finer quality than the tools he was used to. This would be easy.
“You look like you've done this before,” Karsi said from where she stood just behind his forge. Though blazing heat poured out of the opening in the white box, its intensity didn't seem to bother the princess at all. She seemed perfectly at ease, controlling a fire hot enough to burn both of them to a crisp.