“I’ve already gathered our best men,” the commander said. “They will meet us in the training building in thirty minutes.”
“Excellent.” Tariana smiled, then dug into her food with gusto. Like Alistair, she was a fast eater—there was no such thing as a slow eater in the military. When Alistair was first sent for training, that notion had been quickly stamped out of him. The officers timed how quickly the recruits ate, and if he didn’t finish by the time the bell rang, he didn’t eat. He had to make a conscious effort to slow down at home, or his plate would be empty far before the meal was over.
After they finished, Commander Rommar escorted Alistair and his sisters to the training building. It was a large, open, single-room structure filled with weapons and training equipment. Roughly three hundred soldiers stood at attention at the front of the room, ready and waiting to fight at their general’s command.
“Soldiers,” Tariana addressed the room in a strident tone. “As you have already been briefed on the situation between our kingdom and Shadowhaven, I will cut straight to the point. I am putting together a series of special strike forces that will be used to carry out raids and attack strategic locations in warlock territory. The men and women I select for this task must be fast, stealthy, and able to blend in. You have been brought here because Commander Rommar thinks you are up to the task. Today, my siblings and I will be testing you to see if you live up to his expectations. Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma’am!” the soldiers shouted in unison.
“I can’t hear you!” Tariana yelled.
“Yes, ma’am!” Their voices boomed in the space, vibrating the walls.
The commander ordered the soldiers out to one of the fields, where a series of obstacle courses had been prepared. There were four in total, each designed to test strength, speed, and agility, and Alistair and his sisters were stationed around the field to monitor the soldiers’ progress. As Alistair watched each man and woman, he made note of who was particularly skilled. All of them were able to make it through—some barely, while others excelled. It was the latter that they were interested in.
An hour later, they narrowed the three hundred down to around seventy-five. These were run through different tests, the last of which included fighting Tariana in dragon form. Alistair and his sisters stood outside the circle as they watched the soldiers, now around forty in number, face off against their sister, lunging at her with swords and spears while she lashed out with claws and flame.
“Hang on a second,” Alistair muttered. He leaned closer to Xenai. “Do you see that soldier there, off to the left?”
Xenai looked to where he was pointing. “What about him?”
“He’s supposed to be dragon born,” Alistair said. “But watch what happens when Tariana spews fire.”
They waited, and sure enough, about a minute later, Tariana let out another gout of flame. The human soldiers ran for cover—their armor was fire resistant, but they could still burn if the fire touched their flesh—while the dragon born held fast, unperturbed by the flames. But the man they were looking at shied away and made some kind of gesture with his hand.
“You there!” Alistair cried, striding into the circle. Tariana snarled at the interruption, but he held up a hand. “Stop this exercise immediately!”
The soldier he’d shouted at froze, his eyes going wide with fear. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, coming to attention as Alistair approached. The rest of the clearing had gone silent, all eyes in their direction. Alistair could feel Tariana’s gaze burning into his back, as if to say, You’d better have a damn good reason for interrupting my training exercise.
“You are Officer Hartmouth, correct?” Alistair demanded. “Of the House Hartmouth?”
“Yes, sir.” The officer nodded stiffly.
“House Hartmouth is dragon born.” Alistair waited a beat. “Dragon born do not fear fire. And yet I just watched you jump out of the way when my sister breathed fire a moment ago.”
“I wasn’t trying to avoid the fire,” Hartmouth protested, but he was sweating now. Alistair could smell the sour scent of fear wafting off him. “I was trying to avoid her claws.”
“Really?” Alistair moved closer, taking in a deep whiff. He wrinkled his nose as he caught an acrid scent coming from the man’s shiny, slicked-back brown hair. “What sort of hair balm is that?”
“It’s not regulation, that’s for sure,” Ara said, circling the man. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she looked him up and down. “Look at him,” she sneered. “He’s practically quaking in his boots.”
“Enough,” Xenai said. “This man is obviously a spy.”
“I am not a spy!” Hartmouth protested, his cheeks turning bright red. “Using hair balm might be against regulations, but it is not treason!”
“No, but impersonating an officer is against the law,” Commander Rommar said in a hard voice.
“There is an easy way to see if he is lying,” Alistair said. “Take off your clothes, soldier.”
The man froze. “Excuse me?”
“Take them off now, or I’ll have you whipped for insubordination!” Alistair barked. His sisters gave him surprised glances—he wasn’t usually the type to snarl or make threats. But this was war, and they had no time for niceties. Especially not if this man was what Alistair thought.
Reluctantly, the soldier stripped, removing his armor and then his clothing. “Underwear as well,” Alistair ordered. “And that chain you’re wearing around your neck.”
The soldier’s cheeks colored. “The chain is a gift from my mother. I never take it off.”
Ara moved in, quick as an adder. Hartmouth cried out as she kicked him in the kidney, then again in the back of the thigh, driving him to his knees. “You’re not a Dragon Force soldier,” she snarled, ripping the chain from his neck. “No soldier of ours would dare talk back like this.”
The man’s face flickered before Alistair’s eyes, and the other soldiers gasped as his true form was revealed. Instead of the virile, muscular soldier, a thin man with a bald head and a bulbous nose knelt before him.
Tariana let out a roar of anger, then changed back into human form. “A spy in our ranks?” she seethed, stalking forward as she wrapped a cloak around her naked form. Her eyes blazed with anger as she grabbed the man by the jaw, forcing him to look up at her. “Where is the real Officer Hartmouth?”
“Dead,” the man rasped, his lip curling into a sneer. “I slit his throat when he was out taking a leak in the woods. He was careless.”