The Dragon War by Daniel Arenson

Author:Daniel Arenson [Arenson, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: NLA Digital LLC
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TILLA

She stirred in her sleep, caught in her nightmare's claws.

"No," she whispered and kicked her blankets, struggling to wake up, but the dream pulled her deeper, and the blankets wrapped around her, and Tilla walked down dark halls while eyes burned and faces floated in mockery.

"Lowborn!" they chanted. "Lowborn scum!"

Punishers lashed out. Everywhere she turned, more faces floated, laughing, spitting at her. Lightning burned her. She ran down the hall, but more of her tormenters awaited her there. They leaped from every shadow, demon creatures with masks twisted in eternal scorn.

"I am Tilla Siren!" she shouted, eyes burning. She had chosen the name of her new, noble line; it was a strong name, the name of a mythical creature said to live in Cadport's waters. She shouted it as a charm, a spell to save her from her lowborn roots, from her shameful past upon the boardwalk, from all her dirt and misery here in the purity of the academy.

The other cadets laughed around her, beautiful youths from noble houses, their blood old and pure, their highborn accents meticulous.

"Tilla Roper!" they said, laughing. "Seaside scum. Lowborn whore. Weave us a rope, Roper!"

Again their punishers lashed out.

Tilla screamed and fell. Lightning raced across her, burning her clothes, burning her skin, crackling her bones.

"I am… Cadet Tilla… Siren!" she gasped, but tears ran down her cheeks, incurring more laughter.

They kept burning her. They hunched over her like vultures over prey, and she wept. And she begged. And still they burned her.

"Lowborn worm," one boy said and spat upon her. "Go back to Cadport, peasant."

Her screams echoed through the black halls of Castra Academia.

Her eyes rolled back, and she thought she would die.

But I did not die, her thoughts whispered in the dream, and her fists clutched her blankets. She snarled, struggling to rise from slumber, but falling back in.

I survived!

No matter how badly the highborn beat her, Tilla kept training. She did not quit. When they spat into her meals, she ate sullenly around the spit. When they dumped chamber pots on her clothes, she growled and washed them herself and trained even harder. When they beat her, she fought back, and fell, and hurt, then healed and walked again.

She fought with swords.

She flew as a dragon down dark halls.

She learned to plan battles, to break spirits, to command.

She was Tilla Siren, a commoner thrust into a fortress full of the children of nobles, and they tortured her, and they beat her, but she fought them and every lash made her stronger.

Every night she clutched the shield Shari had given her, the shield with her sigil—a cannon overlooking the sea, a symbol of home.

I will be like a cannon, she swore every night, lying in whatever filth her fellow cadets had soiled her mattress with. I will be strong as iron. I will slay my enemies. I will outlast sword and fire. She growled every night as her tears burned. I will become an officer.

Tilla thrashed in her bed, opened her eyes, and sat up with a pant.

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