THE DAY OF the final exam dawned cold and damp, and Javan woke with a prayer on his lips and a coiled tension in his chest. A heavy mist clung to the rocky hilltops and belly crawled over the fields as the ten students who’d earned the honor of taking the test filed out of the dormitory and headed toward the stables for the first of the five tasks.
The headmaster met them at the mouth of the stables, while behind him grooms saddled horses and assembled armor and lances.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, Headmaster,” the students answered.
“A brief reminder of the rules,” he said. “Each task is a test of your strength, your skills, and your strategy. You must remain at that task until you have earned enough points to move on. Jousting requires ten points. You receive one point per touch, two points for hitting the center of someone’s chest, and three points for unseating your opponent. Once you’ve reached ten points, you may leave for the next task. I will wait for you on the final field where you will try to gain the sash by using your combat training to defeat any challengers who arrive at the field with you. A touch from the weapons will count as an injury.” His eyes narrowed. “Any actual injury caused to a fellow student will result in your immediate disqualification. Good luck.”
Javan’s stomach felt as though he’d swallowed rocks, and his mouth was dry as he wished Kellan and the other students luck and then quickly moved into the stable and chose a mount.
He was decent at jousting. Maybe not as skilled as Cora or as fast as Eljin, but he could keep his seat and put points on the board in quick order, and that was all that mattered. He simply had to hold his own in the first three tasks and not fall behind. The fourth task was where he planned to take the lead. Pulling a hauberk over his head, he reached for a helmet and mounted the horse.
It was time to fulfill his mother’s dying wish and make his father proud.
Two hours later, Javan was in serious danger of the one thing all of his planning hadn’t accounted for: being eaten by a dragon.
The beast crouched at the edge of the precipice above Javan, its talons digging into the rugged stone cliff, its wings casting a shadow as wide as seven men lying end to end, and its dark eyes locked on the prince. The morning sunlight glanced off the dragon’s dull gray scales and disappeared in the shadow of the beast’s black underbelly. A long, jagged scar ran the length of the dragon’s chest, from the base of its neck to its stomach. Javan swallowed as the creature’s lips peeled back from a row of knife-sharp teeth, smoke pouring from its nostrils.
Fear was lightning spiking through Javan’s veins, threatening to send his carefully crafted plan into chaos as images of being snapped up in the dragon’s immense jaws filled his head.
He was trapped. A dragon in front of him. A treacherous climb through slippery, shale-covered hills behind him. And no one he could call for help.
He’d been certain of his strategy. He’d walked the academy’s vast grounds long after he should have been asleep, memorizing the craggy landscape—the green hollows that dipped into pools of shadow, the gray-blue rivers that reflected the stars, and the rocky peaks that pierced the sky like a smithy’s nails, looking for an advantage over his fellow students.
He’d found the trail that sliced through a cluster of steep, rocky hills two nights ago. By his calculations, using this trail to get to the final task instead of staying on the main path that neatly dissected the academy’s enormous estate into tidy quadrants would save him valuable time.
The rest of his strategy had worked beautifully. He’d held his own in jousting, trapped his opponent in a game of kingdoms at war within twelve moves, and completed the obstacle course with only two students ahead of him. He’d banked his success on the fourth task. Archery had always been one of his best sports. Arriving at the grounds for the fourth task in a tie with three other students, including Kellan, he’d grabbed a bow, nocked an arrow, and then sent it flying dead center into the target. Two more quickly followed, and then he’d tossed the weapon to the grass and left the archery grounds at a dead run while the others were still reaching for their second arrows. Veering left at the tumble of rotting tree trunks that marked the intersection between the north quadrant and the east, he’d ducked behind a rocky outcrop and hurried toward the shortcut.
Everything had gone according to plan until the headmaster decided to block the shortcut with a dragon.
The beast exhaled, a long, rasping growl of breath that shivered through the air and sent smoke curling toward the thick gray clouds that scudded across the sky.
Javan forced himself to breathe as well. Fear out. Courage in.
This was just another test. Another way to make sure that only the truly deserving wore the crimson sash at tomorrow’s commencement ceremony.
Doubtless there was another equally daunting obstacle blocking the others on the main path. Javan shoved all thoughts of his friends and fellow competitors from his mind and focused on the problem of getting past the beast.
The dragon beat its wings, slowly at first, and then shale began sliding down the hill as the beast picked up speed. Every flap of its wings was a leathery slap of sound that sent a chill over Javan’s skin.
He had no weapons. They were forbidden between tasks.
He had no allies. He’d left them behind on the main road.
He had nothing but his instincts and his brain.
That didn’t seem like enough to best a dragon the size of a small house, but the headmaster wouldn’t have allowed it to be here if he didn’t believe his students already had the skills to beat it.
Fear out.
Courage in.
Javan looked away from the dragon to quickly scan the area, forcing himself to catalog his options as the dragon’s talons scraped the rocky precipice, sending chunks of rock tumbling past the prince.
He needed a weapon. He needed shelter.
He needed a way through the hills to the fifth task before one of his classmates got to the sash first.
His list of options was pitifully short. There were plenty of small pieces of shale. There were rocks ranging from fist-size to ones as large as a carriage. There was the hill in front of him, but no tunnels that could offer safety while keeping the dragon at bay. And there was Javan himself with his tunic, his boots, his pants, and his belt.
His belt.
The dragon rose, blocking the pale sun, its immense shadow swallowing Javan whole.
The prince was out of time. Whipping off his tunic, he leaned down and scraped a hand through the shale until he found a piece sharp enough to cut his skin. He scooped it up along with a few rocks the size of pomegranates. The dragon’s roar shattered the air above him, and Javan’s heart thudded as he dumped the rocks onto the center of his tunic, tied the sleeves into a makeshift knapsack, and then scrambled for the incline that led to the hill’s precipice.
Doubtless the dragon would try to block Javan. He’d just have to find a way to distract it or fend it off long enough to get through the pass.
The dragon dove for him, the air whistling past its body as fire poured from its mouth.
Yl’ Haliq be merciful, the dragon wasn’t just trying to block his progress. It was trying to burn him.
Javan leaped to the side, crashing onto the shale as the fire seared his left arm. The dragon slammed into the ground beside him, sending a wave of rocks skidding down the rest of the hill.
Terror lanced Javan, bold and bright. Fragments of prayer tumbled from his lips as he reached for his tunic full of rocks with shaking fingers. The beast wasn’t trying to stop Javan. It was trying to kill him.
Javan lunged forward, grabbing sharp outcroppings to haul himself over the slippery ground, his breath sobbing in his lungs as he whispered a prayer for deliverance.
The outcroppings sliced into his hands, and soon his palms were slick with blood. The dragon’s wings swept the air, and Javan had to brace himself to keep from being flattened by the gusts of wind that hit him.
As the dragon rose into the air once more, Javan forced himself to reach. To climb.
To hurry.
The precipice was three body lengths away.
The dragon was circling overhead, smoke pouring from its nostrils.
“Yl’ Haliq, save your faithful servant,” Javan breathed as he dug deep for more speed. More strength. As he tried to push the blinding terror into the corner of his mind so he could think.
The dragon’s roar thundered as Javan’s bloody hands closed over the spiny ridge of the hill. The prince pulled his legs under his chest, planted his boots against the shifting shale beneath him, and leaped.
Fire exploded against the side of the hill as Javan cleared the ridge and landed on the narrow flat strip of the hill’s precipice. Throwing his makeshift knapsack to the ground, the prince tore the knot loose and grabbed the sharp piece of shale. Four quick slices and he ripped a patch of fabric the size of his hand from the bottom of his tunic.
The dragon dove toward him. Javan threw himself forward, skidding on his hands and knees as the beast’s talons dug into the ground, leaving long gashes where the prince had been crouched.
Javan’s hands shook as he flattened the square of fabric and gouged a slim tear into two opposite sides of the patch. Above him, the dragon flew into the air and began circling. The prince grabbed the braided cord of his belt, unwound it from his waist, and shoved one end through the tear in the right side of the patch. The dragon’s roar shook the ground.
Fear wrapped around Javan’s chest and squeezed. Hastily pushing the end of his belt through the other tear, he centered the patch in the middle of the corded rope while the dragon dove.
This time, Javan didn’t move fast enough. The beast’s great leathery wing collided with the prince and sent him spinning toward the edge of the precipice. Javan dug into the ground with his elbows and feet, his hands still clutching the slingshot he’d fashioned.
The beast flew into the air and circled back.
Javan jumped to his feet and dove toward the cache of rocks sitting in the middle of his ruined tunic.
Smoke gushed from the dragon’s mouth and hurtled toward the prince with every flap of the creature’s wings.
Javan’s hand closed around a rock, and he centered it in the piece of tunic even as he spun to face the dragon’s next assault.
There would be no time to dive out of the way if he missed.
The dragon roared.
Javan pulled the rock back with one hand until the cord of his rope belt was taut.
With an enormous whoosh of smoky air, the beast locked eyes on the prince and came straight toward him.
He was going to die.
The words chased one another inside his head as his stomach dropped and his knees shook. He was going to die, and he’d never been to a tavern or kissed a girl or seen pride in his father’s eyes.
Terror threatened to turn Javan’s limbs to stone as the dragon closed in, and he forced himself to breathe.
Fear out.
Courage in.
Flames gathered in the back of the dragon’s throat.
Javan leaned his weight onto his back leg, stared at the space between the dragon’s eyes, and let the rock fly as fire began pouring from the beast’s mouth.
The flames rushed for Javan as the rock sailed through them and struck the dragon’s left eye.
With a guttural cry, the dragon wheeled away, clawing at its face with its front talons.
Javan lunged forward, ducking beneath the wave of fire and wincing as the heat seared the bare skin of his back. Grabbing another rock, he readied it in the slingshot even as he hurtled over the far edge of the precipice and began sprinting down the incline and toward the path that wound through the next cluster of craggy hills.
For a moment, he thought the dragon wouldn’t follow. It hung in the sky, wings pushing at the air while it clawed at its injured eye. Javan focused on the slim space between the third and fourth hills in front of him and reached deep for another burst of speed. His boots crunched on the shale beneath him as he closed in on his way out.
Behind him, the dragon roared. Javan risked a glance over his shoulder and his mouth went dry at the light of blind rage that glowed in the dragon’s uninjured eye. The beast snarled and dove for him.
“Yl’ Haliq be merciful,” Javan breathed as he raced toward the slice of light that glowed between the hills.
He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t turn around and aim the rock at the dragon. One misstep, one lost instant of forward momentum, and he wouldn’t be able to outrun the fiery death that was closing in on him.
Heat swept his back as the dragon sent a fireball toward him. Javan cried out in pain, but didn’t stop. Reaching the space between the hills, he abandoned the slingshot, grabbed both sides of the rocky outcrop, and swung his body through. Without pausing, he skidded down the steep incline, sending showers of rocks onto the small meadow at the base of the hill.
Carved wooden stakes marked the four corners of the meadow, and at its center was a raised stone platform the size of a table that could seat twenty. The academy’s coat of arms was carved into the front of the platform. A small selection of weapons was arranged on the left of the dais, and on the right stood the headmaster, the crimson sash in his hands. His back was to Javan, his focus on the main road where in the distance the three students Javan had left behind on the archery grounds were running toward the meadow.
“Weapon!” Javan yelled as his boots hit the grass.
The headmaster pivoted, his mouth an O of surprise as behind Javan, the dragon crashed into the space between the hills and exploded through it in a hail of dust and debris. The sash fluttered to the ground as the older man lunged for the other side of the platform and grabbed a bow and quiver.
Javan stumbled as he crossed the meadow, the painful burns along his arm and back searing into his nerves, and the headmaster yelled, “Catch!”
The bow and the quiver flew toward the prince. He scrambled to his feet and caught them as the headmaster hefted a long sword and began running toward Javan.
Whirling to face the dragon, Javan planted his feet, nocked an arrow, and took a breath as he aimed the weapon at the incoming beast. Its scales were impenetrable. He’d have to hit it in an eye again.
The headmaster reached his side as Javan drew back the bow, prayed he’d calculated wind speed and velocity correctly, and let the arrow fly.
The arrow arced through the air. The dragon’s lips peeled back, fire blooming in its throat. The headmaster raised his sword.
And then the arrow buried itself in the dragon’s injured eye.
The beast screamed, a half-human half-dragon sound that sent a chill shuddering through Javan.
This wasn’t a wild dragon from the north. This was a Draconi, a dragon shape-shifter from the eastern kingdom of Eldr. Why would a dragon shape-shifter be ordered to kill anyone who tried to get through the hills?
As the other competitors rushed into the meadow, the dragon clawed at its injured eye while the other eye glared balefully at the humans in the meadow. When it saw the prince’s friends grabbing weapons and joining him, it gave one last roar and then turned, its massive wings beating the air as it flew south.
Javan remained poised, another arrow nocked, though his chest heaved with every breath and his back was lit with white-hot pain. His friends surrounded him, their gazes on the sky until the dragon was no more than a tiny speck in the distance. Finally satisfied that the beast wasn’t going to return, Javan turned toward the headmaster and said, “That thing tried to kill me.”
The headmaster was staring at the southern horizon, his face ashen. “I know.”
Javan clenched his jaw and forced himself to speak respectfully to his elder. “Please help me understand why you would instruct a Draconi to guard the hill pass and kill anyone who came through it.”
“I didn’t.” The headmaster’s voice was soft, but there was anger in it.
“Then who did?” Javan asked, unease coiling in his stomach.
The headmaster’s eyes narrowed. “I’d very much like to find out.”