Alison Goodman - Eon - Dragoneye Reborn

'Go on then, boy,' he said, his familiarity prompting a disapproving huff from Van.

I gritted my teeth as my hands closed around the grips again. A faint taste of metal, but no rage. Instead, there was another kind of power, lying in wait like that expectant stillness between breaths.

'Not so bad this time, hey?' the armsman asked.

'How did you know?' I whispered.

He smiled, his skin stretching white around the scar. A good sword is an extension of its master.'

Armsman, return to your post,' Van said, bristling at the breach of protocol. 'Candidate Eon, please come this way'

I wanted to ask the old man who had used the swords before me, but Van was herding me out of the small chamber. I tucked the blades, blunt edge up, under my arms and followed my master.

Outside, Heuris Kane and Baret were waiting to enter. Baret was leaning against the wall, his athletic body and smooth patrician face a study in arrogance. My master bowed, intent on passing, but was stopped by Kane's hand on his arm.

'Brannon,' Kane said, his voice low, 'I would speak with you.' I Ie flicked his fingers at Van who quickly moved away

'Yes, Heuris Kane?' my master said, his dislike plain in his stiff formality Baret smirked at me with his arms crossed, each half-hidden hand curled into a ward-evil.

'I have heard Eon will be using an ancient variation of the sequence today' Kane said, staring down at me until 1 shifted

under his gaze; he blinked too often and in a strange pattern of three.

My master inclined his head. 'You have heard correctly. It is a variation from the fourth Chronicle of Detra.'

A sly smile pursed Kane's thin lips. 'I am sure your records are impeccable on the matter.' His small eyes blinked rapidly, his gaze darting down to my bad leg. 'Of course, one wonders how changing the sequence that honours both the Emperor and the lost dragon will be received.'

'The Council has verified the precedent,' my master said quickly.

Kane waved a dismissive hand. 'So I have heard. But then, it is not the Council who has the final say in this matter, is it?' He bowed. 'I wish you and Eon good fortune.' He continued into the armoury

As Baret passed me, I heard him whisper, 'You don't have a chance, Eon-jah. You are as weak as a girl.'

He was inside the armoury before I made sense of his words. There was no true knowledge in the jeer, but it hit home, splitting my tight kernel of control. My world tipped and spun.

Van came hurrying towards us. He said something, but I heard no meaning in the sounds. I stared over at the row of kneeling boys. They were the real candidates; I was a girl, a cripple, an abomination. What was I doing? What madness was in my master? How could he think we would succeed? He was wrong — I could not do it. We had to stop. We had to get away Before we were discovered. Before we were killed.

I grasped at his robes, my sword tips tangling in the silk.

'Master, we must —'

His hand closed on my shoulder. Bone and sinew ground together, radiating agony.

'I will say goodbye now, Eon,' my master said, his voice an order. His thumb dug into the soft hollow of my shoulder, squeezing away breath and movement. 'Our fortunes lie with you now' He shook me slightly, his eyes locked on mine. 'Do you understand?'

I nodded. The edges of the room faded into a grey haze.

'Get in line.'

He pushed me away, the sudden release making me stagger. There was no choice. No going back. We had to see this through.

I made my way around the row of kneeling candidates. All of them with their eyes closed, praying to serve the Rat Dragon. I would pray for something different: a chance to escape. I placed my swords on the stone floor in front of my position. Number four: the number of death. Was it an omen? Clumsily, I settled onto my knees. The hard edge of the hidden coin dug into the back of my thigh, the pain joining the hot pulsing in my hip and shoulder. I felt my master's gaze still on me, but I did not look up. There was nothing in his face that I wanted to see.

We knelt on the floor for two hours. For the first hour, I carefully tensed and relaxed my muscles from toes to scalp — a method my master had taught me to keep my body warm and flexible. By the second hour, the cold was overcoming my efforts, locking my joints. Even my fingers felt taut, as though the bitterness had driven heavy liquid into the knuckles. I made tight fists, and released, welcoming the sting of warmer blood.

To my right, Quon was shifting against his haunches, his face twisted into a grimace. On the other side, Lanell was working his hands like creeping caterpillars up and down the front of his thighs, bunching the silk.

Suddenly, at the top of the ramp, a ball of excited voices unravelled into a single, harsh shout.

'Get out of my way'

A group of officials burst out of the rampway and clustered into a grey barricade, halting the progress of a tall, solidly built man. An older official stepped forwards, his large ruby pin of rank catching the light. He bowed low.

'Lord Ido, no further! Please.'

What was Lord Ido doing here? It was against tradition for the ascending Dragoneye to have contact with the candidates. I had only ever seen him from afar playing his part in official ceremonies, his features smudged by distance. Now he was just lengths away. Along the row, the other candidates stirred, heads lifting at the disturbance.

I squinted, trying to distinguish more detail against the bright glare of the ramp opening. He wore his oiled black hair in the double queue of the Dragoneye, looped high into a knot at the crown of his head. I caught the planes of his face as he moved, broad strokes painted by light and shadow: a high scholar's brow, a long nose like the foreign devils the Emperor had allowed into the city, and a heavy jaw made pugnacious by a jutting dark beard. But it was the menacing power in his body that made the officials scatter before him. Lord Ido did not move like a Dragoneye. He moved like a warrior.

He swept a way through the officials, using his forearm to knock the slighter men aside.

Every move was decisive, with none of the careful conservation of energy that marked the other Dragoneyes. Although he wore the traditional robes of the Ascendant, they did not obscure the line of his body; the cutaway coat of deep blue silk — the costly fabric barely discernible beneath heavy gold embroidery — showed the breadth of his shoulders and chest, and the pale blue trousers, cross-bound from ankle to knee, accentuated the muscular shape of his legs. I dropped my gaze to the ground.

'Move,' he ordered. 'I will see the candidates.'

I straightened, and knew that all along the row every candidate filled his chest and lengthened his spine as Lord Ido approached.

The old official scurried ahead of him. 'Lord Ido,' he announced to us, trying to wrest back some protocol.

Beside me, Quon hurriedly dropped into a deep bow. I followed, holding myself a finger-length above my swords,

wide eyes reflected in one polished blade, bloodless lips in the other.

'Greetings, Lord Ido,' we chanted.

'Sit back,' he said. 'Show me your faces.'

Obediently we all rose from our bows, eyes properly lowered.

His feet, in gold-painted shoes, passed by me. I chanced a quick look up at him, expecting to see his back. Instead, our gazes met, and I saw the strange pale amber of his eyes.

'Who are you, boy?'

'Eon, lord.'

He studied me for a moment. It was like being staked out, naked and helpless, under the burn of the sun.

'Brannon's cripple,' he finally said. 'Be ashamed. You rob an able-bodied boy of his chance.'

I heard the intake of breath along the line of candidates, but my own air was gone — knocked out of me like a blow to the stomach. Even if I was to win the attention of the Rat Dragon, Lord Ido would never accept me as his apprentice. I shrank back, curling into a smaller target, but he was done with me. Slowly he paced along the row until he stopped in front of Baret in tenth position.