The Dragon Games

Sparring

The days passed in a blur as a lifetime of survival, combat, and dragon knowledge was crammed down our throats. I made the mistake of telling Bianca I was tired once. She hit me with a flat look and an even flatter 'welcome to Court.'

It was a common phrase at Skydescent. Anytime someone complained or asked for a break, every nearby pledge jumped to say it. Guess what the Balthasar captain said when one of his pledges asked for the morning off, having just received word of her grandfather's death? I'll give you a hint. It wasn't my condolences.

As the days drew closer to Blood Fest, tensions only rose. It was a non-stop race from one activity to the next, and the difference between my childhood and everyone else's was becoming crystal clear – especially between my roommates and I. 

Gordo could beat anyone in our squad with any weapon. Bianca was a double threat, excelling in academics and combat. She possessed the natural talent to rise to the top and the work ethic to stay there. And in Instructor Austen's class, Elio had more points than the rest of the squad combined.

Meanwhile, I would rather stick a quill through my eye than sit through another one of Instructor Austen's lessons. I had yet to earn a single point toward the auction, despite the many attempts I had been given. 

Instructor Austen was quickly losing patience. When dusting the scrolls didn't make me any smarter, she threatened to send me to the mountain – the standard punishment for all pledges.

I did not fare much better in Instructor Finnegan's class. Pledges were expected to walk in with a mastery knowledge of weapons I had never even heard of, and the weapons I excelled at were never used. Somehow rusty shanks and socks stuffed with rocks never made the class syllabus. Go figure.

After Instructor Finnegan made us wield each weapon at least once, he moved on with no warning. One afternoon, we entered the training field to find the weapons replaced by four large circles drawn in the grass.

"Today we begin the Divine," Instructor Finnegan told the group. "And because so few pledges have enough Divine to make a sparring match worthwhile, we are doubling up. For today's session, I invited another squad to join our rinks. Ah, here they are."

I turned around. But to my surprise – and instant relief – it wasn't squad Balthasar heading toward us. It was Windsor. Grace Midlands walked at the front of the group, surrounded by pledges hanging on to her every word.

"I don't spend much training time on the Divine, because for many of you, your Divine will never be a weapon," Instructor Finnegan said, once the Windsors took a seat beside us in the grass. "You could toil away for years, and the grand sum of your efforts would amount to no more than a party trick. So my efforts today will not be wasted on those who cannot benefit from them."

Instructor Finnegan pointed to the circles. "We're going to have a tournament. You win your match, you fight another. Lose, and you're out. We will keep fighting until there is only one pledge standing. The last pledge from each squad will receive my recommendation for the auction prize money. Now! For the first match, I'd like a volunteer from each squad."

The entirety of squad Windsor turned to Grace. When she stared ahead, her hands not so much as twitching, another Windsor volunteered.

"I pity the poor bastard that faces him first round," Gordo murmured under his breath. "He's one of the best Divine-weilders in my province."

I recognized him, too. His name was Rick; he was one of the handful of pledges that had rejected Blathasar's bid to try for captaincy in another squad. He had developed quite a reputation, and so had I.

Lately, meekness was my bloody anthem. The parlay hung over my head at all hours of the day, pressuring me to be perfect, to follow every rule no matter how pointless or mundane. I was determined not to give anyone an excuse to rescind my parlay, despite the other pledges' best efforts. 

The Tudors left me alone, but the other squads were relentless. They stuck their feet out as I walked by in the mess hall and hissed foul names behind my back, then to my face. 

The petty jabs didn't bother me, but if I kept rolling over every time someone took a shot at me, I'd be labeled as easy pickings in the arena. I needed a win, something to strike a little fear in my competitor's hearts.

"Anyone?" Instructor Finnegan said. "If no one volunteers, I will –" He broke off when I lifted my hand.

Rick's eyes narrowed when I joined him in the sparring ring. He squared his shoulders back, lifting his chin.

"The rules are simple," Instructor Finnegan said. "Stay in the circle and no prolonged skin-to-skin contact. Depending on your level of Divine, the slightest touch could result in painful injury."

Goosebumps pricked up and down my arms. That was one of Drax's favorite methods of torture. A brush with his Divine could have his victims screaming for days, and their bodies burned clean through in seconds, bones and all.

"Take your places, pledges."

Rick and I broke apart, moving to opposite ends of the sparring ring. I studied Rick, my brow furrowing as he slid into an offensive stance. While his hands were angled away from his body, his feet were angled inwards, throwing his core balance off. If anyone else had such sloppy posture, I would automatically write them off as a weakling opponent.

But Rick had grown up in the capital. He had access to the finest instructors in the world, who would carve out any hint of weakness, leaving behind a flawless weapon. Rick's skill was probably so advanced that I could not begin to comprehend it; what looked like stupidity was actually brilliance. In that case, the match was already lost. 

My best bet was to get a decent blow in before he overwhelmed me with his power. Then, even though I lost, at least the other pledges would see I was capable of something. I wasn't just going to roll over and die.

"Ready?" Instructor Finnegan said.

I dug my heels into the dirt and lifted my hands, my eyes blazing.

"Begin!"

Rick flew back, somersaulting through the air to land flat on his belly, ten feet outside the ring. I froze, my hand still splayed out. I blinked rapidly, and the black disappeared from my eyes, returning to their normal grey.

The rest of the pledges stared in stunned silence. Gordo looked at me as if he had never seen me before. Only Bianca moved. She cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered, "Whoop, whoop! Nice throw, Regan!" 

She tried to start a clap, but no one joined. A spike of fear rolled down my spine. I hadn't meant to throw Rick that hard. If he was injured, of course that was terrible and all, but what would happen to my parlay?