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.”
THREE
JAVAN STOOD AT the window of the room he shared with Kellan as the crowds for commencement day began pulling their carriages onto the academy’s long half-circle drive. His gaze flicked between the people below and the sky above, his pulse racing every time he caught sight of a dark, distant cloud and wondered if it was the dragon returning to finish what it started.
“What are you looking at?” Kellan asked.
Tearing his gaze from the sky, Javan glanced at the academy grounds again. “The extra security the headmaster ordered for the commencement ceremony just arrived.” He winced as he carefully pulled a clean tunic over his shoulders. The poultice the academy’s physician had spread over the burned skin on his back had taken away much of the sting, but it was still tender to the touch. “If that Draconi comes back, it’s in for trouble.”
Yl’ Haliq be praised, this time Javan wouldn’t be in the fight by himself.
Javan’s stomach knotted as he watched the security reinforcements move past the slow line of carriages carrying the noble parents of Milisatria’s graduating class from across the three western kingdoms. Somewhere in that line there would be a sleek carriage made of polished teak and ebony with the Kadar family crest painted on its doors. Somewhere in that line was Javan’s father, whose deep grief over the death of his wife hadn’t caused him to miss a single day of ruling both Akram and his son with an implacable resolve.
A true ruler was fit—body, mind, and soul—and Javan had spent every ounce of his considerable willpower becoming a worthy heir to Akram’s crown. The look of pride he’d finally see on his father’s face would be his reward.
The thought was both exhilarating and somehow terrifying.