The wind howled over the high walls of the sheltered Warrior Guild courtyard, stealing what little warmth the midday sun provided as Klara circled her redheaded opponent, Zin. The blade of the wooden practice sword in her hand was too light, throwing the balance. But it would have to suffice.

  I should’ve gone for the cursed knife first… Klara blinked, forcing her focus back to Zin, frustrated. Not even throwing herself into training had managed to keep her mind off her performance during the Sentinel test. Every moment awake for the last two days had been spent imagining how it would feel for the council to reject her again. It even plagued her dreams.

  “Come on, Klara, you can attack,” Zin said. “I promise not to hurt you. Much.” She winked.

  Klara continued shuffling sideways, lead foot first, back foot second—always keeping her stance wide, and her blade poised and ready.

  A smile twitched Zin’s lips. “If we don’t start soon, we’re going to freeze out here.”

  Unlikely, Klara thought. Both women wore the thick, grey leather coats of the Warrior Guild. It wasn’t even cold enough to justify wearing their half-masks and hoods.

  “You’re welcome to begin anytime,” Klara said.

  “Fair enough.” Zin lunged and swung at Klara’s legs. As Klara leapt back and brought her sword down to block, Zin slid inside the attack and jammed the butt of her sword into Klara’s undefended gut.

  Pain flared across Klara’s tensed stomach, and Zin dealt another, harder, blow, ripping a gasp from Klara.

  Zin retreated, sword poised, as Klara staggered, wheezing.

  Forcing the pain aside, Klara leapt at Zin, who sidestepped and delivered an expertly placed kick to Klara’s left shin.

  “Ow!” Klara limped away. Sovereign Sculptor, that stings…

  “Don’t worry,” Zin said. “When you transfer to the Sentinels, they’ll teach you how to use blades properly.”

  “If they accept me…”

  “Oh stop that muck. They’ll never accept you if you go into the interview looking sorry for yourself.”

  Klara grunted. It was all well and good for Zin to be confident, the council had actually applauded her testing.

  “If you still want to go to Katavsk,” Zin continued, “you’ll need to pull yourself together, Klara. Only the best and the most confident ever get to fight dragons.”

  “Oh really?” Klara said, scowling. “And here I thought they only sent the misfits to the most dangerous gate fort in Serovnya—maybe even in all of Vlanovia.”

  “Koskova Warrior!” a man yelled from the side of the courtyard.

  Klara and Zin both spun to face a Sentinel watcher, stiff and formal in his green coat. He stood at the south end of the courtyard, beneath the towering black bulk of the Warrior Guild’s main hall.

  “Coming, sir!” Klara yelled back. She chucked Zin her sword, and the lithe warrior gave her a wink.

  “Go get ‘em,” Zin said.

  Klara jogged to the watcher, trying to ignore the pain Zin’s kick to her shin brought with every step. She stopped before the watcher and saluted.

  The watcher returned the salute and marched off, leading her without a word into the main hall, a massive space sixty feet high. Beams of sunlight pierced the peaked glass roof far above and cast an icy glow across the open space. Six floors rose, flanking the hall from the east and the west. Brass railings lined each floor, and every dozen yards or so, a spiral staircase clawed its way to the ceiling.

  Each floor housed hundreds of Warriors, with the top floor being reserved for the highest ranking Warriors and those undergoing Sentinel pre-training.

  Klara followed the watcher through the crowds of Warriors to a hallway on the east wall. The hall led to the small complex the Sentinels owned adjacent to the Warrior Guild.

  The crowd thinned as the watcher and Klara entered the hallway. Their boots clicked against the hard floor and threw echoes down the passage. Gaslamps hissed above them, casting harsh yellow light on the cold brick walls.

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  They emerged into a cube-shaped antechamber. Scarlet Sentinel flags covered every open space on the grey brick walls, and a single door sat at the centre of each wall. The watcher pointed to a bench below the flags on the north wall, then departed as Klara sat.

  Klara studied the flags, trying in vain to distract herself while her hearts attempted to hammer their way out of her chest.

  At the centre of each flag was a large emerald oval—a gate—from which the long, armoured snout of a Nishkuk protruded, mouth open in a roar. Two Sentinels, swords in hand, flanked the dragon.

  A surge of anger replaced her nervousness as she stared at the dragon, the monster that stole her sister. She had made a vow that day. She would avenge Lokteva… Even if it killed her.

  “Koskova?”

  Klara started and jerked to her feet, a fist rising to her collarbone in an automatic salute. She recognised the Sentinel keeper from her training standing in the now open doorway of the north door.

  The keeper disappeared into the room, and Klara hurried after her.

  In typical Sentinel fashion, the room was another cube of grey brick adorned with Sentinel flags. The two hawk-eyes from training sat behind a table at the rear of the room. The keeper took her seat between them as Klara came to a halt in the centre of the room, standing to attention and saluting the council.

  The keeper perused a sheet of paper for a minute, ignoring Klara.

  Klara could feel the piercing gazes of the hawk-eyes, though she dared not make eye contact with them. Instead, she focused on the corner of the flag hanging behind their heads.

  “State your name and rank for the council,” the keeper said suddenly, looking up.

  “Koskova, Klara. Fifth mark Warrior.”

  “Koskova, please explain to the council why you chose not to retrieve the knife first in your test?”

  Despite the chill of the room, Klara wished she could remove her coat. For a moment she contemplated a lie, but then caught sight of the Sentinel Code embroidered on the flag:

  Fight with Honour. Protect your Family. Speak in Truth.

  Speak in Truth.

  Klara drew a deep breath. “Keeper, Hawk-Eyes. The height made me nervous, and I hoped that in your eyes sparring a guardian weaponless would compensate for my fear.”

  The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. An eternity that stripped layer after layer off Klara as she waited before the critical eyes of the council. She knew without a doubt they were going to declare her unfit.

  She’d failed.

  At last, the keeper said, “I understand you wish to serve at Katavsk?”

  “Yes, Keeper.”

  “Then why did you choose knives as your mastery? You know they are useless against dragons, do you not?”

  “With respect, Keeper, my father killed a Nishkuk with a knife.”

  “Your father injured a Nishkuk with a knife,” one of the hawk-eyes, a flat-faced man, said. “But you are not Koskov. Using a knife against a Nishkuk requires a fearless regard of heights as only the eyes are soft enough for such a short blade to be used against. They’re some thirty feet above the ground.”

  “I understand, Hawk-Eye.”

  “Do you?” the hawk-eye asked. “By all reports, you have trained for years to be a master of the knife, yet failed nearly every test involving more than a five-foot drop—despite the knowledge that healing extracts would repair any damage within hours.”

  Klara’s cheeks burned. Of course they had her training record.

  “Your chosen mastery has made you an ill fit for Katavsk,” the keeper said. “Assuming we decide you’re worthy of Sentinel training, how do you plan to rectify your poor choice of mastery?”

  A sharp retort rose on Klara’s lips, but she hastily swallowed it. Now was not the time to defend her weapon mastery. “I’m also proficient with ranged weapons, so I could move my mastery to gas rifles.”

  The keeper nodded slowly. “I see. And heights?”

  Klara recalled the sensation of her feet leaving the ground, her entire weight supported by a thin bar of steel attached to the ceiling. Her stomach curled into a knot. “Train until that fear is beaten into submission—the same way I trained to win the Ice Run.”

  She almost swore she saw the faintest glimmer of a smile flicker across the keeper’s lips. The Ice Run was an unofficial challenge many Sentinels attempted—a sprint across the Zmeya River with no boots and no coat. One misstep would send one crashing through the river’s thin ice and into the churning water below.

  Klara had watched three Sentinel wardens fall.

  They’d never been found.

  She’d been the first Warrior to attempt the suicidal run, and she’d beaten the Sentinel record in the process.

  “Very well, Klara Koskova,” the keeper said. “Wait outside.”

  Klara saluted and, with a sharp about-turn, left the chamber. She kept her shoulders back and head high as she sat, waiting.

  Sentinels came and went through the other doors. To the last, they ignored her, passing her by without a hint of interest.

  Finally, the door opened, and the flat-faced hawk-eye beckoned her.

  Klara took her place at the centre of the chamber and waited, hardly daring to breathe lest her breath shake and reveal her nerves.

  The council watched her, silent, as if waiting to see whether she’d crack.

  The keeper cleared her throat. “Failure to face your fear is unacceptable—”

  Klara’s hearts sank.

  “—however, honouring the code by speaking the truth is desirable. Highly desirable. Your honesty has been noted, Koskova. It is due to your honesty, and your honesty alone, that we have decided to allow you to train at Borovsk. The council there will determine whether you are truly fit to be a Sentinel.

  “You leave with the recruits tomorrow, Koskova Warden. Welcome to the Sentinels.”