The Verum Trilogy - Survivor

Chapter 1

Torchlight flickered across Lieutenant Soren Fleming's sharp features, softly reflecting against eyes cut with steel. He stood in the doorway of his commander's office, back pressed against the frame and arms crossed against his chest. Tribal tattoos engulfed the entirety of his left arm, bold lines of ink forming serpentine heads locked in battle. The sharp line of his jaw was set, tension bleeding into his posture as he met his commander's gaze.

"No."

It was not a word he used often with his leadership, but a line had to be drawn somewhere, and the proposal that had just left her mouth was nothing short of ludicrous.

Captain Dany Kaestner leaned back in her seat, eyebrows raising.

"No?" she repeated softly. The note in her voice reminded Soren of a predator closing in on its next meal, or perhaps, he guessed, a rare chance to retract the answer and replace it quickly enough that they could both write off his initial response as a misheard one.

"You're asking me to enlist a Verum survivor into the Rider Corps," Soren narrowed his eyes. "To create a weapon and put it on dragonback. A girl whose home we burned down seven years ago. I won't do it."

Dany folded her hands and rested her chin against them, eyes locked with his.

"I am not asking, Lieutenant. Do not misunderstand. You will train her as if she were any other recruit, and if she tells you anything about Verum, you will report it to me."

Soren was silent, expression unmoving. Dany's eyes moved to his neck, at the vein visibly pulsing against his skin. She sighed.

"She's just a girl, Fleming. I spoke to her myself. She wants to help people."

"Then make her a healer," Soren answered scathingly, each word dripping venom.

"I don't need to remind you that we haven't had a single lead on the deathling in years. We are lucky we found someone that survived the fire. She might be the only person in the world that knows where it is."

Soren shook his head, passing off his noise of disbelief for a strong exhale.

"I don't care if she has super strength and four heads," he answered in a low voice, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "I won't teach a sworn enemy our strategies."

Dany did not waver.

"You're the best there is."

"Yes," he agreed, pushing himself off the door frame. He walked up to her desk, resting his hands on it and lowering his gaze until they were eye level. "The best at war. The best at training soldiers to fight and die for the Citadel on the backs of dragons. Not at spying on a war orphan from Verum and putting a weapon in her hand, a weapon she could use to kill us, kill you, the moment our backs are turned." Dany leaned away from him, a sliver of discomfort in her eyes. Soren's hands curled into fists on her desk. "You don't want the girl with me, Ma'am. This is a mistake."

She rubbed her eyes with a quiet sigh.

"It's an opportunity," she corrected, "and more importantly, it's an order. She arrives in the morning, Lieutenant. You will be at reception to collect her."

Soren recognized the dismissal in her tone, and knew further argument was pointless. He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and jerked his head in some semblance of a nod.

"Ma'am."

He strode from her office, the door closing behind him slightly more sharply than what was considered polite. An ache traveled from his jaw to his temple, and he consciously unclenched his teeth. The morning was going to bring a unique series of challenges over the next month and a half, apparently the least of which would be keeping a fresh group of recruits alive long enough to graduate.

Twice a year, the Rider Corps accepted recruits into a six-week training program at the well-renowned Blackwell Compound, a military institution built within and around the highest mountain peak in the State. Each week, the criteria for remaining in the program increased, keeping recruits at a heightened level of physical and mental stress until their final evaluation, where the few that remained would fight in front of the Citadel's oathbound dragons for selection into the Corps. Soren was assigned sixteen new recruits to look after for this season, and of the young faces before him, he predicted only three or four would actually end up on dragonback. The vast majority would be reclassed into the infantry or go home to their families and lesser ambitions. It did not take him long to single out the Verum survivor. Only three young women had made it this far out of the sixteen, and of those, only one had those strange pale eyes indicative of a northern heritage.

Upon first impression, the girl left much to be desired. She was skinny, while her female counterparts were lean and toned. Her black hair was cut short and uneven, like she'd used a knife to saw the length off before walking in the door. Something about her appearance seemed almost sickly, whether from the shadows under her eyes or the grey tinge to her brown complexion. Pale eyes aside, she contrasted sharply with the other recruits, every one of which appeared healthy, fit, and held a spark of competitive earnest in their eyes that she was sorely lacking. He would be surprised if she made it through the week. The nervous chatter abruptly broke off as Soren cleared his throat.

"I am going to say this once and only once, so pay attention."

Silence swallowed the room.

"I am Lieutenant Soren Fleming, your section leader for Battle Company, Second Section of the Rider Corps. In six weeks, one of three things will happen to you." He paused. "Half of you will drop out, return home to your families, and be better off for it. War is not for the civilized, and this is not a program for fair play and honor. Some of you will die, whether by training accident or finding yourselves at the wrong end of a dragon's teeth. We do our best to prevent the deaths of recruits, but we can't cure stupid. If you make poor choices, you risk your own life and the lives of the potential Riders to your left and right. If you manage to avoid both of those categories for the next couple of months you will be a Rider come Spring, and experience something very few people in the world will; battle by dragonback."

It seemed everyone in the room was holding their breath. Soren's eyes moved over each of them, pausing on the Verum survivor. He held her gaze for a moment, wondering if she would shy from it. She responded with a stare he had only seen in soldiers that survived one too many battles before retirement.

She has death in her eyes, he thought, and from the edges of his mindscape, a dragon with bloodred scales flicked her tail, answering with a quiet hum of agreement. He forced his gaze to move on, finishing out the reception speech.

"You will report to the sparring field at six every morning and drill until eight. Breakfast is at nine, followed by classroom instruction. Lunch is at twelve, weaponry from thirteen to sixteen, and Dinner at seventeen. Curfew is twenty-one hundred sharp. You want to make it through this program I suggest you take the timeline seriously. Other section leaders may show leniency, but I am not in the business of second chances. Is that clear?"

A chorus of voices chimed their affirmation. The girl, Soren noticed, was silent.

"Your team leaders will divide you into groups of four and show you to your rooms. You have the evening to unpack your belongings and familiarize yourself with the grounds. This is the one and only time I will repeat myself. Do not be late."