He faced the starting point. In his hands, he held the unfamiliar weight of two light daggers. In sheaths on his sides, he had a total of four more. He took deep breaths as he focused. All he could see was the path ahead. His hands reflexively gripped harder.
The course was as follows. He had to sprint straight at an open door that held a staircase that went from the ground all the way to the top of the massive wall that surrounded the square. On the way up there was a small window. If you looked out this window at an angle to the rear was the first target on the adjoining wall. He would have to pause and throw at this point. Then he was to continue sprinting all the way up. When he reached the top the next target was angled down to where he was throwing the dagger to the adjoining wall that would be in front of him and towards the ground. After running into the stairwell on the opposite side of the wall's walkway he would sprint down to the window that was at the same height as its twin in the other stairwell. Then came the tricky part, the part he wasn't sure he could do without dying. He would have to pull his body out through the window and a series of a few hundred large rods had been jammed into the wall by Axashaw. He was fairly confident in their ability to hold him since they were as thick as his forearm and he'd watched Axashaw embed them deeply into the seams between stones. The pattern they were laid out in was haphazard and had spaces with many rods put above and below what he would consider the center line and then there was one section that was extremely sparse. There was no rod to catch yourself on if you misjudged the distance and fell. After you passed that middle section you once again had an abundance to choose from, but that one part. The thought of it already made his hands shake. During this section, he had two targets to hit on the same wall, which was tricky, one was below and in front and the other was above and behind. Once he returned to the window he threw the first dagger from. He had to throw another one from the same spot to the same target. Once he reached the ground he had to sprint to a finish line in the middle of the square and once there he could attempt the last target. It was a little higher than halfway up the only wall with no other target and it required the most power because even though it was only half the length of the square it was still a long distance.
"Ready," Bezhar said, the sound no more than a muffled buzz in his mind.
"Go!" Was clear as a bell.
He shot off, pushing off his toes with all his might. He threw himself into the stairwell and pounded the steps on his way up. The sound was like drums going to war. He got to the first window and reared back his hand and all he could do was mimic the few times he'd ever seen a dagger thrown. He threw and paused long enough to see it miss by a lot. He looked up and kept going. When he burst onto the parapet he sprinted as fast as he could to the mark where he was to throw from. He glanced at the target near the ground and again threw it the only way he knew how. To his shock, he saw it bounce off the target but it did not stick.
He kept moving, the near success but a series of afterimages and he thought about what he was about to do. He leaped down the stairs almost recklessly. Then he was there, at the window. He looked out at the rods and gulped before doing the only thing that would make it any better. He threw himself out the window and into the challenge. He tried to move quickly so he didn't have time to lose his balance. He had a method in mind for tackling this part but visualizing it and achieving it were two different things. He felt like a clumsy fawn on shaky legs as he made a few quick moves across the rods and then a few shaky, halting back and forths where he almost fell.
When he got to the middle he sucked in his breath and lept, one, two, three, four, five, he made it! But just as soon as he felt good about this feat his foot slipped and his backside hit the rod he'd been standing on hard. He fell forward onto the one in front of it. He grabbed onto it for dear life and was relieved to feel a rod under his toes once he swung his legs around a little. He used that bare touch to push himself back up. He was able to jump and pull at the same time to land his feet between his hands in a precarious balance. He stood rather slowly and kept on, slower and more cautious. When he climbed back into the window he threw another dagger with similar results to the first try. He didn't have time to dwell on it because he flew down the stairs and toward the finish line. As his feet touched the black mark on the ground he drew out one more dagger and hurled it with all his might, but it fell short.
He bent over panting, hands on his knees. His legs were vibrating so hard he was having trouble staying upright. He wasn't afraid of heights, he was a former dragon rider after all, but those rods were something else. His head swam and he couldn't catch his breath at all. Then he saw something that made his breath freeze. There were still two daggers at his waist.
He stood up and slapped his own forehead angry with himself. He'd completely forgotten the targets that were on the section with the rods. He'd been so single-mindedly focused on just getting through that part that he hadn't even tried
"Well," Bezhar said from behind him. "That was abysmal."
He heard a few of the dragons scoff and muffle laughter from behind him but he was too tired to care enough to feel offended.
Lou appeared at his side with a flask of water. He gave Tate an encouraging smile and handed it to him. "It was a start." He said bluntly.
Tate had to agree, it was a start, it had to be. He had to keep doing this until he could do it well. He didn't dare ask how long it had taken him to run the course itself. He had the sneaking suspicion that if he knew that information it would only discourage him.
"Well then, again," Bezhar demanded after a few minutes.
Lou whirled on him surprised and actually managed to speak to the Captain of the Royal Guard.
"What do you mean, again? He can't run again so soon. You'll push him too hard."
Tate put a hand on his arm, noting Bezhar's irritated expression. "It's okay." He told Lou.
He returned to the starting line. "Again!"
"Again!"
"Again!"
"Again."
"Again."
"Again..."
This went on for the rest of the day. He'd taken some hard hits in that time. He'd fallen off the pegs more times than he could count and his hands were raw and bloody from pulling himself back up. He also suspected that he'd cracked a rib when he'd slipped going down the stairs to fast and hit the edge of one of the steps on his left side.
Even so, the dragons had made him run it again and again. He predictably got worse each time. At this point, the only use of doing it so much was to eliminate his fear of it. He couldn't hit a target all day, and his body was screaming, but he was getting used to the rhythm of it and running the pegs. At least on the runs he didn't feel utterly exhausted he noticed a little improvement in his balance and maneuvering.
Each dragon did participate in some way. It seemed like they were taking turns evaluating his performance and giving him tips. These tips and instructions were surprisingly useful even if they were disguised in antagonistic remarks and slurs.
"Enough, let's call it a day." Bezhar said to the guard. They all grumbled about how bored and hungry they were as they dispersed. Tate and Lou also readied themselves to go, Lou came to support Tate on his now weak side when Bezhar's voice stopped them.
"Wait, humans."
They froze. They both felt Bezhar's presence right behind them but they did not turn around.
"Tate," he addressed, "If you even want a chance at succeeding in this you need to practice this just as much if not more than we did today, every day. Do you think you can do it? I'm only asking because I don't want you killing yourself for a useless endeavor. I don't know what the Elder plans to do with you if you fail in these trials, but consider if this path is worth throwing your life away."
They felt his presence ease and knew he was walking away, especially when they heard his voice from further away say. "If you want to proceed I expect to see you put in the effort."
Trembling from pain and irritation of his own limitations Tate let Lou support him back to his room in the Nest. Lou left him to call for the healer to bring him tea. When he came back he sat in front of Tate, looked at him seriously, and asked. "Is it possible?"
Tate sat on the edge of his bed and leaned back stiffly with a groan. "I don't know." He admitted.