Читать книгу The Complete Soldier Son Trilogy: Shaman’s Crossing, Forest Mage, Renegade’s Magic - Робин Хобб - Страница 23

I entered my third month at the Academy with the expectations that my life would now settle into a predictable pattern. Initiation was behind us, and I had survived the first culling. The shock of that experience was followed by a period of gloom that engulfed us all. But it eventually dissipated, for no group of young men can remain down-hearted for long, and all of us seemed determined to set it behind us and get on with our schooling. My marks in all my classes were better than average, and I excelled in my engineering course. Whenever Carsina visited my sister, she managed to send me a warm note. I enjoyed my friends, and my problems seemed limited to occasional recurrences of sleepwalking and the fact that I was growing again and my new boots now seemed a bit tight. Winter was on our doorstep. There were bright blue days of snapping cold interspersed with grey skies and icy rain. Our fireside studies seemed almost cozy when we gathered near the hearth every evening. For a brief time, all was peaceful in my life.

The convening of the Council of Lords, scheduled for that month, was a double disappointment to me. All the patrols, new and old alike, competed in horse drill to see who would be in the honour parade to welcome the nobles to Old Thares. The Carneston House Riders were not chosen. As first-years, our chances had been slim, but we had hoped for that distinction. A second disappointment was the news that my father would not make the journey to the Council of Lords this year, for he had pressing problems at home. It seemed our tame Bejawi had been poaching cattle from a neighbour’s herd, and could not grasp why that was unacceptable to my father. My father had to stay and sort it out, both with our plainsmen and the irate cattleman.

I envied the other cadets who would enjoy visits from fathers and elder brothers or other extended family come to Old Thares for the gathering. We were to be given several days off to leave the Academy and visit with relatives. But not all of us had invitations to go anywhere. Gord would be so favoured, as would Rory. Nate’s and Kort’s fathers were journeying together, and bringing their families for a brief stay in the city. The friends were light-headed at the thought of seeing their sweethearts, no matter how brief and well chaperoned the visit might be. Trist’s uncle lived in Old Thares, and he saw him often, but he was excited at the thought of his father and elder brother sitting at table with them. Trist’s family had invited Nate’s and Kort’s fathers to accept their hospitality for a dinner, and the three cadets were looking forward to a convivial Sevday dinner. Oron’s and Caleb’s fathers did not expect to come to the Council meeting, but Oron’s aunt lived in Old Thares, and she had invited him and Caleb to come and spend their extra days off with her. Nobly born, she still led what we regarded as an eccentric lifestyle. She had been married to a noble’s youngest son, a musician, and the couple was renowned throughout Old Thares for the musical gatherings they hosted. Oron and Caleb both looked forward to a lively break from their school routine. Spink had not a prayer of seeing anyone from his family; the journey was too arduous and expensive. So he and I commiserated on being abandoned and anticipated a couple of days on our own in the dormitory. We fantasized about sleeping in and hoped we could get leave to visit some of the small shops in town. I still had to make good on my promise of buttons and lace for my sister.

As the Council’s opening day drew closer and nobles both new and old flocked to Old Thares, their political differences came to the fore in the press and on our campus. The friction between Old and New Nobles’ sons that had died down stirred again in small, unpleasant ways. There were several thistly decisions facing the Council of Lords at this gathering. I refused to bother my head with them, and only by a forced osmosis of overheard discussions did I know that one had to do with how the King would raise funds for his road building and his forts in the far east. I was also vaguely aware that there was a large disagreement about some sort of tax revenue which the Old Nobles said traditionally belonged to them, a percentage of which was now being claimed by the King. Although politics were not discussed in most of our classes, there were plenty of hallway debates and some of them became heated. The sons of the Old Nobles seemed to consider such issues as personal affronts, and said such things as, ‘The king will beggar our families building his road to nowhere!’ or ‘He will use his pet battle lords to vote in a law allowing him to siphon our income away.’ None of us liked to hear our fathers referred to as ‘pets’ and so the discord was awakened between us again. It grew as the end of the week approached, for many of the cadets eagerly anticipated their first night away from the dormitory since we had arrived. The fortunate ones would be allowed to leave the campus on Fiveday afternoon and could be away with their families until Sevday evening.

The coming break was on everyone’s mind as we queued up for mid-day meal that Threeday. The mess had always been ‘first come, first serve’ in the sense that as each patrol arrived, it was allowed to join the line for entry. As we had to enter in an orderly and quiet manner, it could sometimes entail what seemed a substantial wait to hungry young men. Worst were the days when chill rain fell on us as we waited. A cadet could not even hunch his shoulders, but must stand with correct posture. That day, a chill wind was blowing and the sleet that pelted us was trying to turn into wet snow. Thus we were not pleased when Corporal Dent abruptly ordered us to move aside of the main line to allow another patrol to precede us. Disgruntled as we were, we still had the sense to keep quiet, except for Gord. ‘Sir, why do they have priority over us?’ he asked almost plaintively from the ranks.

Corporal Dent rounded on him. ‘I’m a corporal. By now, you should have learned that you do not call me “sir”. You do not, in fact, call me anything when you are in ranks. Speak when spoken to, Cadet.’

For a moment, we were properly cowed. My ears were starting to burn with the cold, but I told myself I could endure it. But when another patrol likewise passed us to join the queue, Rory muttered, ‘So, we’re supposed to starve in silence? And not even ask why?’

Dent rounded on him. ‘I don’t believe this! Two demerits for each of you for talking in ranks. And if I must explain it, I will. Those men are second-years from Chesterton House.’

‘So? That makes them hungrier than us?’ Rory demanded. Rory was always antagonized by punishment rather than cowed. He’d keep it up now until he had an answer that satisfied him, even if it meant a dozen demerits for him to march off. I shook my head to myself, hoping I would not have to share the punishment he earned. A mistake.

‘Two more demerits for you, and one for Burvelle for supporting your insubordination! Did any of you read your booklets “An Introduction to the Houses of King’s Cavalla Academy”?’

No one answered. He hadn’t expected an answer. ‘Of course you didn’t! I shouldn’t even have bothered to ask if you had. I’m quickly learning that you’ve done the least you could to prepare yourselves for the year. Well, let me enlighten you. Chesterton House is reserved for the sons of the oldest and most revered of cavalla nobility. They are descended from the circle of knights who were the first lords under King Corag. The nobles were the original founders of the Council of Lords. Learn this now and it will save you a lot of social disasters later. The cadets of that house expect and deserve your special respect. You can either give it to them, or they will demand it of you.’

I could feel both confusion and simmering anger from the cadets to either side of me. Not for the first time, I wondered why there was not a house solely devoted to our kind. New Nobles first-years were housed on the upper floor of Carneston House or in the frigid attic floor of Skeltzin Hall. Second- and third-year New Nobles’ sons were housed well away from us in Sharpton Hall, a converted tannery that was a joke among the cadets. I had heard it was run down past the point of discomfort and verging on dangerous, but had accepted that without pausing to think much about it. Chesterton House, by contrast, was a fine new building, plumbed for water closets and heated with coal stoves. Surely the third-years of the new nobility deserved such lodgings as much as any other. Lowly first-years that we were, we were always being either taunted or tempted by the freedom and better lodgings that awaited us in our graduation year. Slowly it was dawning on me that such comforts were never meant for the sons of new nobility. What I had been accepting as the lowly status endured by any first-year cadets went deeper. I could expect it to last through all my time at the Academy. I suddenly felt queasy as I saw all the lines that had been invisibly drawn to divide us into different levels of privilege. Why had not the Academy given us officers from our own stratum if there was such a difference amongst the level of nobility? And if this was how they segregated us in the Academy, what did it foretell for when we were issued our graduation assignments?

As I pondered all this, Dent held us there, letting yet another patrol go ahead of us, mostly to engrave on us his authority over us. We held our tongues and he finally allowed us to join the queue.

After we were seated and served we were allowed conversation at our table. Casual conversation, beyond polite requests to pass food, was a new privilege for us. Corporal Dent, who was still required to share our table and supervise us, obviously did not enjoy it, and was inclined to stifle our talk at every opportunity. Of late, we had been united in refusing to be daunted by him. I was too hungry and cold that day to think about further defying Dent. I was grateful to wrap both my hands around a mug of hot coffee and hold them there to thaw.

Gord was the one who foolishly brought up the sore topic as he passed the bread to Spink. ‘I thought all cadets entered the Academy on an equal footing, with equal opportunity to advance.’

He did not address his words to any individual, but Dent seized the comment like a bulldog latching onto a shaken rag. He gave a martyred sigh. ‘I was warned that I’d find you an ignorant lot, but I thought surely a simple process of logic would have shown you that, just as your fathers are lesser nobles, their gentility only conferred on them by a writ, so are you at the bottom rung of the aristocracy of command and least likely to rise to power. True, if you manage to complete your three years here, you will begin your military careers as lieutenants, but there is no guarantee you will ever rise beyond that rank, nor even that you will retain it. I don’t have to mince words with the likes of you. Many here at the Academy feel that your presence among us is awkward. But for your fathers’ battlefield elevations, you’d be enlisting as common foot soldiers. Don’t tell me that you are not aware of that! We will tolerate you at our king’s whim, but do not expect us to lower our standards of academics or manners to accommodate you.’

Corporal Dent was quite out of breath by the time he finished this diatribe. I think only then did he realize that, ravenous as we were, we were all sitting still and silent. Gord’s face was scarlet. Rory’s hands were clenched into fists at the edge of the table. Spink’s shoulders were tight as steel. Trist managed to speak first, all his elegance and usual laconic style erased from his voice. He looked around our table, meeting the eyes of as many of his fellows as he could and thus making it clear he spoke to us rather than replying to Dent. At first, he seemed to be genteelly changing the topic of conversation. ‘The son of a soldier son is a soldier before he is a son.’ He took a sip of coffee and then added, ‘The second son of a noble is also a soldier son. But perhaps, such soldier sons are nobles before they are soldiers. So I have heard it said. Perhaps that is the good god’s way of balancing the advantages a man is born with. To some are given the ability to remember always that their fathers are nobles, while others are soldiers to the marrow. For myself, I’d rather be the son of a soldier first, and the son of a noble second. As for those who are nobles first? Well, I’ve also heard it said that many of them die in battle before they learn to fight first as a soldier and primp like an aristocrat afterwards.’

There was nothing humorous about his words; I had heard them before, from my own father, and judged them wisdom, not wit. Yet every one of us laughed and Rory was so carried away as to bang his spoon on the table edge in rough applause. All laughed, that is, save Dent. The corporal’s face first went white then scarlet. ‘Soldiers!’ he hissed at us. ‘That was all you were ever born to be, every one of you. Soldiers.’

‘And what’s wrong with being a soldier?’ Rory demanded bellicosely.

Before Dent could reply, Gord softened the discussion. ‘The scriptures teach us that the same is true of you, Corporal Dent,’ Gord observed mildly. ‘Are not you a second son, and destined to serve as a soldier? The Writ says to us also, “Let every man take satisfaction in the place the good god has given him, doing that duty well and with contentment”.’ Either the man had excellent control of his features or Gord sincerely meant his words.

The colour rushed up to Corporal Dent’s face again. ‘You, a soldier!’ Scorn filled his voice. ‘I know the truth about you, Gord, at least. You were born a third son, and meant to be a priest. Look at you! Who could imagine you were ever born to soldier? Fat as a pig, and more fit to be preaching than brandishing a sabre in battle! No wonder you argue by quoting holy Writ at me! It was what you were meant to know, not fighting!’

Gord gaped at him, his wide cheeks hanging flaccid for an instant, his round eyes opened wide. Dent’s words were deep insult, not just to Gord but also to his family. If the allegation were true, it would be shocking.

Gord knew it. He knew his status amongst us hung by a thread. He looked, not at Dent, but around the table at the rest of us. ‘It isn’t true!’ he said hotly. ‘It’s a cruel thing even to speak of it to me. I was born a twin, and due to my mother’s size, both priest and doctor attended our birth. The doctor cut my mother’s belly to lift us from the womb. He took out my brother first, but he was blue and lifeless and small. I was hearty and strong, and the priest pronounced that by my size and heartiness, I was clearly the elder of the babes my mother bore that day. I am a second son, a soldier son. My poor little brother who died before he drew breath should have been the priest for our family. Both my father and my mother wonder daily why the good god did not bless them with a priest son, but they accepted his will. As do I. I bowed my head to the good god’s yoke and came here to serve him as I am fated to do. And I shall!’

He spoke with vehemence, and for the first time, I wondered if, free to choose his own road, Gord would have chosen differently. Certainly his ungainly body did not look as if the good god had meant him to be a soldier. Could the priest who had attended him after his birth have been mistaken about the relative ages of the twins? I had seen enough of stock to know that when sheep dropped twins it was not always the largest that came first. I do not think I was the only one who suddenly harboured a tiny doubt of Gord’s fitness to be my fellow.

Gord knew it. He offered what further proof he had. ‘My family does not circumvent the laws of the good god. I have a younger brother. My father has not named him as priest son to replace my twin who died. No, Garin will be our family artist. Much as my father would love to have a priest son, the good god did not bless our family with one, and my father has never ignored the will of the good god.’

The silence that followed his words betrayed that some of us still wondered, and Corporal Dent grinned, rejoicing evilly in the suspicions he had sown. If he had stopped there, I think he would have retained a great deal of power over us, but he pushed it one step further. ‘Five demerits more for every man at this table for your earlier mockery of me. Subordinates should never laugh at the man who commands them.’

Some of us would now be marching off demerits until sundown, and we knew it. Inwardly, I snarled at the little popinjay, but I kept my eyes down and my tongue still. Across from me, Kort picked up his fork and began eating. A wise move. If we had not finished by the time the order came to clear off all tables, we would simply go hungry. Gradually, the rest of us took up our utensils and began to eat. My hunger, so pressing just a few minutes ago, seemed to have fled. I ate because I knew logically that it was a good idea, not from any eagerness. Dent looked around at all of us and probably decided that we were well cowed. He had just taken up a spoon full of soup when Spink shocked me by speaking.

‘Corporal Dent, I do not recall that any of us here mocked you. We enjoyed a remark that Cadet Trist made, but surely you do not think you were the butt of any joke amongst us?’ Spink’s face was solemn and without guile as he asked his question. His earnestness caught Corporal Dent off-guard. He stared at Spink, and I could almost see him searching his memory to find the insult that he had claimed to himself.

‘You laughed,’ he said at last. ‘And that offended me. That is sufficient.’

A strange thing happened then. Spink and Trist exchanged a look. I almost pitied Corporal Dent at that moment, for I suddenly knew that, all unknowing, he had forged a brief alliance between the two rivals. Trist spoke, his sincerity almost as convincing as Spink’s had been. ‘Your pardon, Corporal Dent. From now on, I am sure we will all endeavour to save our laughter for when you are not present.’ He looked round at all of us as he spoke, and we all managed to nod gravely and with great apparent sincerity. It was as if a chain of resolve suddenly linked us. No matter how we might clash elsewhere, from now on we would be united against Dent. He rewarded our deception of him by nodding solemnly and saying, ‘Even as it should be, Cadets,’ completely unaware that we had now secured his permission to mock him behind his back.

That thought gave me comfort that evening as our entire patrol marched off our demerits together. It even somewhat sustained me during the next day of classes. All of us had been too weary to do more than a cursory job on our assignments, and we were soundly berated by our instructors and given an extra heavy load of study work as punishment. The egalitarian injustice that we laboured under seemed to unite us as we stood straight despite Corporal Dent’s efforts to grind us down.

Yet it did not extend as widely as I’d hoped. United against Dent we might be, but Spink and Trist still chafed one another. They seldom challenged each other directly for our loyalty; the division was now most plain in how they treated Gord.

Gord continued to tutor Spink in his maths, and gained for his efforts a solid friend. Spink’s scores were not astounding, but his marks were solid and passing. We all knew that without Gord’s help, Spink would have been on probation if not expelled from the Academy. Gord was generous with the time he gave Spink, and most of us admired him for it. But after Dent’s accusation about Gord’s birth, Trist began to needle Gord in sly ways. He began to refer to Gord’s drilling of Spink on his basic maths facts as his ‘catechism lesson’. Occasionally, he would refer to Gord as ‘our good bessom’, a term usually reserved for a priest who instructs acolytes. The nickname spread throughout our patrol. I think that Spink and I were the only ones who never jestingly called him ‘Bessom Gord’. On the surface, it was just a play on Gord’s role in drilling Spink on repetitive facts, but the undercurrent was that perhaps, just perhaps, Gord had been intended for the priesthood rather than the military. Every time someone called him Bessom Gord, I felt a small prick of doubt about him. I am sure Gord felt the jab of the possible insult more keenly.

Gord was stoic about it, as he was about almost all the teasing he endured. Stoic as a priest, I one day found myself thinking, and then tried to stifle the thought. He had an almost inhuman capacity to tolerate mockery. I think that even Trist regretted his cruelty the next day when he unthinkingly asked ‘Bessom Gord’ to pass the bread at table, for Corporal Dent immediately seized on the name, and used it at every opportunity. It spread like wildfire from the corporal throughout the second-year cadets who would call mockingly for Bessom Gord to come and bless them as we were marching past them on our way to classes. When that happened, it felt as if the mockery fell on all of us, and I could almost feel the ill will building toward Gord. It was hard not to resent him for the mockery that included us.

However stoically Gord might endure his torment, Spink betrayed his anger at every taunt. Usually it was subtle, a scowl or a tightening of his shoulders or fists. When it happened within our own chambers, he would sometimes speak out angrily, bidding the teaser to shut his mouth. A number of times, he and Trist almost came to blows. Slowly it became obvious to me that when Trist needled Gord, Spink was the actual target. When I spoke to Spink about it, he admitted he was aware of that, but could not control his reaction. If Trist had attacked him directly, I think Spink might have been a better master of himself. Somehow, he had become Gord’s protector, and every time he failed in that role, it ate at him. I feared that if it ever led to blows, one of us would be expelled from the Academy.

Each day seemed longer than the last in that final week before our holiday. The cold and the wet and the early dark of afternoon seemed to stretch our class hours and even our drill times to infinity. The weather always seemed to flux between drizzle and snow when we were drilling. Our wool uniforms grew heavy with damp and our ears and noses burned with cold. When we returned to our dormitories after our evening soup, our uniforms would steam and stink until the air of our rooms seemed thick with memories of sheep. We would take our places around the study table and try to keep our eyes open as our bodies slowly warmed in the ever-chilly room. Our study mentors regularly prodded us to stay awake and do our lessons, but more than one pencil went rolling out of a lax hand, and more than one head would nod and then abruptly jerk upright. It was a slow and headachy torture to sit there, burdened with the knowledge that the work must be done but unable to rouse any interest or energy to do it. It left tempers frayed and sharp words flew more than once because of spilled ink or someone wobbling the table when someone else was writing.

It began that night with just such an incident. In moving his book, Spink had nudged Trist’s inkwell. ‘Careful!’ Trist sharply rebuked him.

‘I did you no harm!’ Spink retorted.

A simple thing but it set all our nerves on edge. We tried to settle back into our studies, but there was the feel of a storm in the air, a hanging tension between Spink and Trist. Trist had spoken glowingly several times that day of the carriage that would come for him early tomorrow morning, and of the days off that he expected to enjoy with his father and elder brother. He had mentioned dinner parties they would attend, a play they were going to and the well-born girls he would escort on his various outings. All of us had envied him, but Spink had seemed the most downhearted at Trist’s crowing.

Then Spink, vigorously rubbing out some errors in his calculations, vibrated our table. Several heads lifted to glare at him, but he was furiously intent on his work and unaware of them. He sighed as he began his calculations again, and when Gord leaned over to point out a mistake, Trist growled, ‘Bessom, can’t you teach catechism elsewhere? Your acolyte is quite noisy.’

It was no worse than any of his usual remarks, save that he had included Spink in his name-calling. It won him a general laugh from those of us around the table, and for a moment it seemed as if he had defused the tension that had gathered. Even Gord only shrugged and said quietly, ‘Sorry about the noise.’

Spink spoke in a flatly furious voice. ‘I am not an acolyte. Gord is not a bessom. This is not a catechism. And we have as much right to study at this table as you do, Cadet Trist. If you don’t like it, leave.’

It was the last phrase that did it. I happened to know that Trist himself was struggling with his maths proof and I am certain that he was every bit as weary as the rest of us. Perhaps he secretly wished he could ask Gord’s advice, for Gord had swiftly and tidily completed his maths assignment an hour ago. Trist rose from his bench and leaned his palms on the study table to thrust his face toward Spink. ‘Would you care to make me leave, Cadet Acolyte?’

At that point, our study mentor should have interfered. Perhaps both Spink and Trist were relying on him to do so. Certainly they both knew that the penalty for fighting in quarters ranged from suspension to expulsion. Our mentor that night was a tall, freckly second-year with large ears and knobby wrists that protruded from his jacket cuffs. I do not know if he swallowed a great deal or if his long neck only made it seem so. He stood quickly and both combatants froze, expecting to be ordered back to their studies. Instead, he announced, ‘I’ve left my book!’ and abruptly departed from the room. To this day I do not know if he feared to be caught in the middle of a physical encounter or if he hoped that his leaving would encourage Trist and Spink to come to blows.

Bereft of a governor, they glowered at one another across the table, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Spink had come to his feet to face Trist across the table and the differences between the two could not be more apparent. Trist was tall and golden, his face as classic as a sculpted idol.

Spink, in contrast was short and wiry and had not shed his boyish proportions. His nose was snub, his teeth a bit too large for his mouth and his hands too large for his wrists. His uniform had been home-tailored from a hand-me-down and it showed. His hair had begun to outgrow its most recent cropping and stood up in defiant tufts on his head. He looked like a mongrel growling up at a greyhound. The rest of us were wide-eyed in silent apprehension.

Gord’s intervention surprised all of us. ‘Let it go, Spink,’ he counselled him. ‘It’s not worth getting disciplined over a fight in quarters.’

Spink didn’t look away from Trist as he spoke. ‘You can take the insults lying down if you want to, Gord, though I’ll own I don’t understand why you eat the dirt they throw. But I’m not about to smile and nod when he insults me.’ The suppressed anger in his voice when he spoke to Gord shocked me. It made me realize that Spink was just as angry at Gord as he was at Trist. Trist’s acid mockery of the fat boy and Gord’s failure to react were eating away at Spink’s friendship with Gord.

Gord kept his voice level as he answered Spink. ‘Most of them don’t mean anything by it, no more than we mean harm when we call Rory “Cadet Hick” or when we mock Nevare’s accent. And those who intend it should sting are not going to be changed by anything I might say or do to them. I follow my father’s rule for command in this. He told me, “Mark out which non-commissioned officers lead, and which ones drive from behind. Reward the leaders and ignore the herders. They’ll do themselves in with no help from you.” Sit down and finish your assignment. The sooner you sit, the sooner we’ll all get to bed, and the clearer our heads will be in the morning.’ He swung his gaze to Trist. ‘Both of you.’

Trist didn’t sit down. Instead, he flipped his book shut on his papers with one disdainful finger. ‘I have work to do. And it’s obvious that I won’t be allowed to do it here at the study table in any sort of peace. You’re being a horse’s arse, Spink, making a great deal out of nothing. You might recall that you were the one shoving inkwells about and shaking the table and talking. All I was trying to do was get my lessons done.’

Spink’s body went rigid with fury. Then I witnessed a remarkable show of self-control. He closed his eyes for an instant, took a deep slow breath and lowered his shoulders. ‘Nudging your inkwell, shaking the table and speaking to Gord were not intended to annoy you. They were accidents. Nonetheless, I see they could have been irritations to you. I apologize.’ By the time he had finished speaking, he was standing more at ease.

I think all of us were breathing small sighs of relief as we waited for Trist to respond with his own apology. Emotions I could not name flickered across the handsome cadet’s face, and I think he struggled, but in the end, what won out was not pretty. His lip curled with disdain. ‘That’s what I would expect from you, Spink. A whiny excuse that solves nothing.’ He finished picking up his books from the study table. I thought he would walk away and he did turn, but at the last moment, he turned back. ‘Once pays for all,’ he said sweetly, and with a graceful flick of his manicured fingers, he overturned the inkwell onto not only Spink’s paper but also his book.

Gord righted the inkwell in an instant, snatching it away from the table. It was good that he did so, for in the next moment, books, papers, pens and study tools went flying as Spink took two giant steps over the table to fling himself on Trist. Momentum more than the small cadet’s weight drove them both to the floor in front of the hearth. In half a breath, they were rolling and grappling. We ringed them, but there was none of the shouting that would ordinarily mark two men fighting in a circle of their fellows. I think every one of us who watched knew that we suddenly had been catapulted into a place of decision. Spink and Trist were breaking Academy rules by fighting in quarters. And those rules dictated that at least one of the combatants must be expelled and the other suspended, if not both expelled. The rules stated that anyone witnessing such a fight must immediately report it to Sergeant Rufet. By not immediately going to report it, we were participating in the fight. Every one of us standing there suddenly risked his entire military career by doing so.

I expected Trist to end the conflict quickly. He was taller and heavier than Spink, with a longer reach. I braced to see Spink go flying and hoped there would be no blood. I think if Trist had ever managed to get to his feet, he would have made short work of my friend. But to my astonishment, once Spink had Trist down, he quickly restrained him. Trist, shocked to be borne down and then held face down on the floor, first thrashed and then flailed like a landed fish. ‘Let me up!’ he bellowed. ‘Stand up and fight me like a man!’

To this, Spink made no reply, but only spread his legs wide and tightened his grip about Trist’s neck and one of his shoulders. The smaller cadet clamped on like a pit dog and gripped his own wrists to lock them around Trist’s neck and shoulder while Trist heaved and bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off. Trist’s boots crashed against the floor and he kicked over two chairs as he struggled. Every time Trist tried to pull a knee under himself to come back to his feet, Spink kicked it out from under him. Both their faces were red.

No blows were struck, save for a few flailing and forceless ones by Trist. Watching Spink get a hold on him and then immobilize him reminded me of a battle I had once witnessed between a weasel and a cat. Despite the difference in size, the weasel had quickly dispatched the cat before I could intervene. Now Spink, despite his smaller size, mastered Trist, half-choking him. The tall cadet was running out of wind; we heard him wheeze. Spink spoke for the first time. ‘Apologize,’ he panted, and then, when Trist only cursed at him, he said more loudly, ‘Apologize. Not just for the ink but for the name-calling. Apologize, or I can hold you here all night.’

‘Let him up!’ Oron cried in a voice shrill as a woman’s. He sounded outraged and distressed. He sprang forward as if to attempt to drag Spink off. I stepped between them and him.

‘Leave them alone, Oron,’ I advised him. ‘Let them settle it now or it will plague us all year.’ Then I stood where I was to be sure he did so. For an instant, I half-feared that he’d lift a hand to me; I was fairly sure that if he did, the struggle on the floor of our study room would turn into a full-fledged brawl involving all nine of us, for Caleb had stepped forward to back Oron while Nate and Kort were rallying behind me. Rory looked completely distressed and ready to fight anyone. Fortunately, Oron stepped back, glowering at me.

‘Don’t fret about it, Oron,’ Caleb sneered at me. ‘Trist will finish him in a minute. See if he don’t.’

Trist thrashed about more wildly at that, but Spink only spread his weight, set his jaw and held on as grimly as a terrier on a bull. I saw him tighten the arm around Trist’s throat. Trist’s face went redder, his eyes bulged and he gasped out a foul name. Spink’s face showed no change in emotion but his grip tightened relentlessly and then, ‘I give. I give,’ Trist wheezed.

Spink relaxed his grip, but not completely. He let Trist draw in a gasping breath before he spoke. ‘Apologize,’ he commanded him.

Trist was very still for a moment. His chest heaved as he sucked in a larger breath. I thought it was a trick and that he would resume the struggle. Instead, ‘Very well,’ he said in a tight, grudging voice.

‘Then apologize,’ Spink suggested calmly.

‘I just did!’ Trist spoke into the floor, clearly furious that Spink continued to pin him. I think the loss of his dignity pained him more than the chokehold.

‘Say the words.’ Spink replied doggedly.

Trist’s chest heaved, and he clenched his fists. When he spoke, it was only words with no sincerity behind them. ‘I apologize for insulting you. Let me up.’

‘Apologize to Gord, too,’ Spink persisted.

‘Where is Gord?’ Rory suddenly asked. I had been so caught up in the drama before me that I’d almost forgotten the other men ringing the combatants.

‘He’s gone!’ Oron exclaimed. And then, without even a breath between, ‘He’s gone to report us, I’m sure of it. That treacherous bastard!’

In the stunned silence that followed his accusation, we heard boot steps coming hastily up the staircase. It sounded like more than one man. Without uttering another word, Spink freed Trist and they both leapt back to their places at the study table. The rest of us followed their example. In less than two seconds, we were all apparently busy at our studies. Scattered pages and dropped books had been restored. Save for Trist’s reddened face and rumpled appearance, and a slight puffiness on the left side of Spink’s jaw, we looked much as we usually did. Spink was blotting haplessly at the spilled ink and ruined book when Corporal Dent and our freckled monitor entered the room.

‘What’s going on here?’ Dent demanded angrily before he’d even got all the way into the chamber. We made a fair show of innocence as we lifted our heads and stared at him in perplexity.

‘Corporal?’ Trist asked him in apparent confusion.

Dent gave a furious look to our erstwhile monitor, then glared around at us. ‘There was an altercation here!’ he asserted.

‘That was my fault, Corporal,’ Spink said earnestly. He looked as if butter would not melt in his mouth. ‘I’ve made a bit of a mess. Knocked over my ink; fortunately, it’s only my own book and work that I’ve ruined.’

I could almost feel how keen Dent’s disappointment was. He salved himself with ‘Five demerits for disrupting study time, to be marched off during your Sevday, Cadet. Now back to your books, all of you. I’ve better things to do than come rushing up here to settle you.’

He left the room, and after a disconsolate stare at all of us so meekly occupied, our monitor followed him. We heard him say, ‘But, Corporal, they were—’

‘Shut up!’ Dent rebuked him crisply, and then, several stairs down, we heard a flood of angry whispering, interspersed with our monitor’s whiny protests. When he returned to us a few moments later, his freckles were lost in his angry flush. He stared around at us and then said, ‘Wait a moment! Where did the fat one go?’

We exchanged baffled looks. Rory attempted to rescue us. ‘The fat one, Corporal? You mean the dictionary? I have it here.’ Rory helpfully lifted the hefty volume for him to see.

‘No, you idiot! That fat cadet, that Gord. Where is he?’

No one volunteered an answer. No one had an answer. He glared round at us. ‘He’s going to be in big trouble. Big, big trouble.’ The proctor stood, working his mouth, perhaps trying to come up with a more specific threat or a reason why Gord would be in trouble simply for not being there. When he could not come up with anything and we continued to stare at him like worried sheep, he slapped the table. Then, without another word, he packed up the rest of his books and papers and stamped out of the room. Silence held amongst us. I don’t know about the others, but that was the moment when I realized what we had done. By collusion, we had deceived those in command of us. We’d witnessed fellow cadets breaking an Academy rule and had not reported it. I think our collective guilt was seeping into the awareness of my fellows, for without speaking, the others were closing their books and carefully putting their work away for the evening. Trist was humming to himself, a small smile on his face, as if he were enjoying Spink’s attempt to salvage his book. Spink looked grave.

‘You fought like a plainsman, grabbing and strangling and rolling around on the floor. You’re no gentleman!’ This belated accusation came, unsurprisingly, from Oron. He looked both disgusted and triumphant, as if he had finally discovered a legitimate reason for disliking Spink. I glanced at the small cadet. He didn’t look up from blotting ink from his book. It was ruined, I thought to myself, the print obliterated by the soaking ink and well I knew he had no money for a new one. What was a minor mishap to Trist, little more than an impulsive prank, was a financial tragedy for Spink. Yet he didn’t speak of it. He only said, ‘Yes. My family had no money to bring in Varnian tutors and weapons instructors. So I learned what I could from whom I could. I learned wrestling and fighting alongside the plainsboys of the Herdo tribe. They lived at the edge of our holding, and Lieutenant Geeverman arranged for me to be taught.’

Caleb made a sound of disgust. ‘Learning to fight from savages! Why didn’t the lieutenant teach you to fight like a man? Didn’t he know how?’

Spink folded his lips and his face got that mottled look it did when he was angry. But he spoke calmly when he replied. ‘Lieutenant Geeverman was a noble’s son. He knew how to box and yes, he taught me. But he also said I would be wise to learn the wrestling of the Herdo. He had seen it useful in many circumstances, and as I did not look to grow to be a large man, he judged it would work especially well for me. He also counselled me that it was a good form to know, for when I only wanted to immobilize someone and not to injure them.’

And that was a sting to Trist’s pride and he was happy to seize on it as an insult. He slapped his last book shut. ‘If you’d fought me as a gentleman instead of as a savage, the outcome would have been different.’

Spink stared incredulously at him for a moment. Then a stiff smile spread over his face. ‘Doubtless. Which was why, free to choose my tactics, I chose one which allowed me to win.’ He tapped a textbook that had escaped the spill of ink. ‘Chapter twenty-two. Selecting Strategy in Uneven Terrain. It pays to read ahead.’

‘You’ve no concept of fair play!’ Trist insulted him ineffectually.

‘No. But I’ve a good one of what it takes to win,’ Spink shot back unrepentantly.

‘Let’s go. You’d be better off talking to the wall. He can’t even grasp what you’re trying to tell him,’ Oron huffed. He took Trist’s arm and tugged at it. Trist shrugged him off and walked away from the table, his neck flushed. I think Oron’s words had only embarrassed him more.

When Trist slammed the door of his room behind him, the flush of victory left Spink’s face. He looked down at the table and his ruined book in dismay. He put his intact books away and then came back to the table with a cleaning rag to scrub at the ink stain on it. I realized that I was the only one still sitting there. I shut my books and gathered my papers to be out of his way. I closed Gord’s books and set them aside. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him. Then he spoke, a very soft question.

‘Do you think Gord went to report us?’

His voice was full of dread and pain. I had been so busy with my own thoughts, I hadn’t even worried about where Gord had gone. I considered what must have been going through Spink’s mind: that alone of all his fellows, Gord had betrayed him, by upholding the honour code that we were all sworn to. And if Gord had done so, Spink might very well be sent home from the Academy, for he had, indisputably, struck first. And then the cowardly thought followed: if we all stuck up for Spink and Trist and said there had been no fight, Gord would appear to be the liar. Only he would have to leave.

And there we all were, stretched tight between loyalty to our patrol and the honour of the Academy. Which side would I stay with? Spink? Gord? I suddenly saw that all of us could be expelled over this. I felt weak and sick. There was no possible way to be completely honourable, to keep my oath to the Academy and to keep faith with my friends. I dropped back into my seat at the table. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. And added, ‘But if he had, surely they would have come up here by now. So perhaps not.’

‘Then where did he go? And why?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t even have any ideas.’ Worry crept through me. Where could he have gone? The rule for first-years was clear: evenings should be spent in study and housekeeping tasks followed by an early bed. Outside, the barracks the weather was intemperate and walking about the grounds that we traversed several times each day on our way to classes offered little attraction. The physical rigours of the day sapped our interest in visiting the gymnasium in the evenings. Occasionally we had guest lecturers or poets or musicians who performed for us in the evening, but attendance at those events was mandatory and not regarded by any of us as recreational. Nothing like that was scheduled tonight. Surely Gord would not have attempted to venture past the guards at the gates of the Academy? I could only picture him walking by himself about the grounds in the evening drizzle. It was a sad image, and yet I felt little sympathy for him. More than half the evening’s disaster was his fault. If, from the beginning, he had stood up to Trist’s taunting, it would never have come to blows between Trist and Spink. For that matter, I seethed to myself, if he could simply control his appetite at table, he would lose the girth that made him such a target for mockery.

Such were my thoughts as I prepared for my evening’s rest. My bookwork was not complete, and I felt out of sorts about that. I’d probably be punished with extra assignments tomorrow, to be completed over the days off. The others were expecting a fine holiday away from the Academy. I’d looked forward to at least having plenty of idleness. Now even that was taken from me. I sighed as I entered our bunkroom. Natred and Kort were already in their bunks, asleep or pretending to be so. Spink was at the washstand, holding a cold cloth against his bruised face. The night quiet was uncharacteristic of our room, the uneasy silence that followed a fight. It set me on edge.

As I shelved my books, I nudged my Dewara rock off the shelf. I caught it one-handed before it hit the floor and stood there, hefting its roughness and thinking. Some part of me was aware that I was being unfair to Gord as I fumed at him. It was still easier than being angry with Spink or even Trist. Gord, I thought to myself, was a much easier target for blame. I looked down at the rock in my hand, and for some reason I found myself thinking of all the stones I had left at home in my collection. How many times had I been a potential target for Sergeant Duril? What had he really been trying to teach me with all those stones? Or was I investing meaning into something that the sergeant had intended only as a simple exercise in wariness?

I was still holding the stone in my hand when the door to our room was flung unceremoniously open. We all jumped at the intrusion. Nate opened his eyes and Kort leaned up on one elbow. Spink was caught half-bent, his fingers dripping a double handful of water halfway to his face. I turned, expecting Gord. It took a moment for me to realize that it was not a cadet officer, but only Caulder standing in our doorway. Rain had beaded on his hat and dripped onto our clean floor from his cloak. His nose was red with cold. He had a grinning sneer on his face as he said pompously, ‘I’m to bring Cadets Kester and Burvelle to the Infirmary. Right away.’

‘What for?’ Spink demanded.

‘We aren’t sick,’ I added rather stupidly.

‘I know that!’ Caulder was properly disdainful of our ignorance. ‘You’re to come and fetch that fat cadet back to Carneston House. The doctor has certified that he’s fit to return for duty.’

‘What? What happened to him?’

‘What I said!’ Caulder said disgustedly. ‘Come on. I’ll take you to him.’ Then, as I obediently placed my rock on my bookshelf and prepared to follow him, he demanded suddenly, ‘What’s that?’

‘What?’

‘That rock. What’s it for? What is it?’

I was sick of this youngster, for his lack of manners and the way he flung about his father’s authority without any regard for his elders. ‘The only thing you need to know about it is that it isn’t yours,’ I responded tartly. ‘Let’s go.’

If I’d had younger brothers rather than younger sisters, perhaps I would not have been so shocked by what happened next. Caulder shot out his hand and snatched the rock off the shelf.

‘Give me that!’ I exclaimed, outraged that he had taken what was mine.

‘I want to look at it,’ he replied, turning away from me with the rock in his hands. He reminded me of a little animal trying to hide a piece of food while he devoured it. He seemed to have completely forgotten his mission.

‘What happened to Gord?’ Spink demanded again.

‘Someone beat him.’ A note of satisfaction was in this announcement. I could not see Caulder’s face but I was certain he was smiling. A flash of anger went through me. I reached over his shoulder, seized his wrist and squeezed it. He released the rock and I caught it and restored it to my shelf in one motion.

‘Let’s go,’ I told him as he looked up at me, caught between incredulity and anger. He cradled his arm to his chest, rubbing his wrist and glaring. His voice was venomous as he said, ‘Don’t ever put your filthy hands on me again, you peasant bastard. This adds another strike to my tally against you. Don’t think others don’t know about how you poisoned me with that “tobacco” and then laughed at me. Don’t think I don’t have friends who can help me take revenge on you.’

I was shocked. ‘I had nothing to do with that!’ I blurted out angrily before I could realize that keeping silent would have been better. I’d all but admitted that his tobacco experience had been a cruel prank, not an accident.

‘It happened here,’ he said coldly, turning away. ‘It was your patrol. All of you were in on it. Don’t think I don’t know that. Don’t think my father doesn’t know how you misused me. It’s as the Writ says, Cadet: “Evil befalls the evildoer in its time, for the good god is just.” Now why don’t you follow me and get a good look at justice?’

Still cradling his bruised wrist, he stalked away. I paused only to put on my winter cloak. Spink had dressed hastily for the weather and was waiting for us. He glanced back at me as we went down the stairs and his face was pale. ‘Were you told to fetch us specifically?’ he asked Caulder in a neutral voice.

Caulder spoke disdainfully. ‘Fat Gord seemed to think you were the only ones who’d turn out to help him back to the dormitories. Not a surprise, really.’

We did not speak after that. Sergeant Rufet lifted his eyes to watch us leave but said nothing. I wondered if he already knew our mission or was giving us enough rope to hang ourselves.

We stepped out into a cold, persistent rain. My cloak had not dried completely from its earlier use. The wool kept the warmth in but grew heavier with every step I took in the downpour. Caulder turned up his collar and hastened ahead of us.

I had not been to the infirmary before, having had no occasion to go there. It was a wood-framed building, set well away from the classroom structures and busy pathways of the Academy campus, tall and narrow and tainted a garish yellow by the oil lamps that burned in front of it. We followed Caulder up onto a porch that creaked beneath our steps. He opened the door without knocking and without pausing to put off his hat or cloak, took us through an antechamber where a bored old man dozed at his desk. ‘We’re here for the fat one,’ he said. He did not wait for a response from the orderly but crossed the room briskly to open a second door. It led to a corridor, unevenly lit by badly spaced lamps. He marched down it, entered the second doorway and even before we reached the threshold, we heard him say, ‘I’ve brought his friends to take him back to Carneston House.’

Spink and I crowded through the door and into the small room. Gord sat on the edge of a narrow bed. He was dressed, but his buttons were not fastened, and he sat with his upper body tilted forward and his head drooping. The knees of his uniform trousers were wet and muddy. He did not look up at us as we came in but the man attending him did. ‘Thank you, Caulder. You should probably go home now. Doubtless your mother will be wondering where you are, out so late.’ The man’s words fell somewhere between a polite suggestion and a steel command. I judged that he was not fond of Caulder and anticipated an argument from him.

He got it. ‘My mother has not ruled my hours since I was ten, Dr Amicas. And my father—’

‘Will, I am sure, be very glad to see you and to hear how helpful you were in letting us know that you had found an injured cadet. Thank you, Caulder. Please give your father my regards.’

Caulder stood stubbornly a moment longer, but as we all kept silent and avoided looking at him, he soon realized that he would witness nothing interesting by staying. ‘Good evening, Doctor. I shall convey your regards to Colonel Stiet.’ He added his last words pointedly, as if we could somehow have forgotten that his father was the commander of the Academy. Then he about-faced smartly and left the small room. We listened to the clacking of his boots as the sound receded, and then heard the door shut behind him. Only then did the doctor look at us.

He was a spare old man with a fringe of trimmed grey hair around a bald pate. He wore rimless spectacles and a white smock over his uniform shirt. A spattering of faded brown on the smock showed that it was well used. The hand he held out to each of us in turn was veiny but strong. ‘Dr Amicas,’ he introduced himself gravely. He smelled strongly of pipe tobacco. He nodded his head almost continuously. He looked at us more over than through his spectacles when he spoke. ‘Young Caulder came racing in here close to an hour ago, abrim with the news that he’d found a New Noble cadet trying to crawl back to Carneston House.’ The doctor worked his mouth for an instant as if wishing for a pipe that wasn’t there. He seemed to choose his words carefully. ‘He seemed to know a mite too much about this cadet for someone who’d just chanced upon him. Of course your friend there hasn’t said anything different from Caulder’s tale, so I’ll have to take it at face value.’ He gestured at Gord as he spoke, but Gord still didn’t look up at us. He hadn’t made a sound since we entered the room.

‘What happened to him, sir?’ Spink asked the doctor, almost as if Gord weren’t sitting there.

‘He says he slipped on the steps of the library and fell all the way to the bottom, and then tried to crawl back to his dormitory.’ The doctor gave in to himself. He took a pipe from one trouser pocket and a pouch of tobacco from the other. He loaded his pipe carefully and lit it before he spoke again, and his tone was clinical. ‘However, it looks to me as if he was attacked by several men and restrained while someone hit him. Repeatedly, but not in the face.’ The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. ‘I’m afraid that in my years here, I’ve become an expert in the bruises that a bushwhacking leaves. I’m so tired of this sort of thing,’ he added.

‘Caulder told us that Gord was beaten,’ I said. At my words, Gord lifted his head and gave me a look that I could not interpret.

‘I suspect he witnessed it,’ the doctor said. ‘Caulder is often the first one to run and tell me of injuries to first-year cadets. Lately he has reported several “accidents” befalling new nobility cadets, accidents he claims to have witnessed. The first-years from Skeltzin Hall seem to be remarkably unlucky about falling down stairs and walking into doors. I’m distressed to see that clumsiness spreading to Carneston House.’ The doctor set his glasses firmly back on his nose and clasped his hands in front of himself. ‘But no one ever contradicts what that little gossip-monger lad says. Thus I have no basis on which to attempt to put a stop to it.’ He looked pointedly at Gord, but the fat cadet was working at his buttons and didn’t meet the doctor’s gaze. Gord’s knuckles were scuffed and grazed. I folded my lips, guessing that he’d got in a few licks of his own before he went down.

‘New Noble first-years are being beaten?’ Spink sounded far more shocked than I was.

Dr Amicas gave a brief snort of bitter laughter. ‘Well, that is what I would say, based solely on my examinations. But it’s not just first-years experiencing this plague of “accidents”. My written reports speak of everything from falling tree branches to tumbling down a rain-soaked riverbank.’ He looked at us severely. ‘That second-year cadet nearly drowned. I don’t know what makes all of you keep silent as you do; will you wait until one of you is killed before you make complaint? Because until you speak up on your own behalf, there is nothing I can do for any of you. Nothing.’

‘Sir, respectfully, this is the first we have heard of this. I hadn’t heard of any cadets having such accidents.’ Spink was appalled. I held my silence. I had the most peculiar feeling of hearing something that I’d already known. Had I truly suspected such things were going on at the Academy?

‘No? Well, I’ve had to send two lads home this year already. One for a badly shattered leg and the fellow who ended up in the river with a punctured lung came down with pneumonia. And now this young man, with fist-sized bruises all over his chest and belly from “falling down the steps”.’ He snatched his glasses off again, and this time polished them furiously with the edge of his smock. ‘What do you think? That the bullies who do this will respect you for not reporting them? That there is some sort of honour or courage to enduring this sort of abuse?’

‘I hadn’t heard anything about it, sir,’ Spink repeated doggedly. An edge of anger tinged his voice now.

‘Well. You do now. So think about it. All three of you.’ He had been leaning against the bunk that Gord sat on. He straightened suddenly. ‘I was born to be a healer, not a soldier. Circumstance puts this uniform on my back, but I cover it with the smock of my vocation. Yet sometimes I feel that I’m more of a fighter than you lads born to soldier. Why do you take this? Why?’

None of us attempted to answer. He shook his old head at us, and I suspect he felt disgust for our lack of spark. ‘Well, take your friend back to your dormitory. There’s nothing broken and nothing bleeding, and he should be able to get through the day tomorrow. In two or three days, he’ll feel like himself again.’ He swung his attention more directly to Gord. ‘You drink one of those powders I gave you tonight, and another in the morning. They’ll make you a bit woozy, but you’ll probably manage to get through your classes. And eat less, Cadet! If you weren’t fat as a hog, you’d have been able to put up a better fight, or at least run away. You’re supposed to look like a soldier, not a tavern keeper!’

Gord made no reply, but only lowered his head more. I winced at the harshness of the doctor’s last words, even as I had to agree with them. Gord moved slowly to get off the bed; I could almost feel his pain as he stood. He grunted softly with pain as he shouldered into his jacket. It was caked with mud and pine needles. He hadn’t picked up that dirt from the library steps. He fumbled at his jacket buttons as if to do them up and then let his hands drop to his sides.

‘You didn’t have to send for them. I could have got back by myself. Sir.’ Those were the only words that Gord spoke. When Spink and I tried to help him stand, he waved us away. He came to his feet, lurched slightly, and then walked toward the door. Spink and I followed him. The doctor watched us leave.

Outside the infirmary, the rain had stopped but the leafless trees were still swaying to the storm’s wind.

‘What happened to you? Where did you go, why did you leave?’

When Gord didn’t answer, Spink added, ‘I beat Trist. He apologized to me. He would have apologized to you, too, if you had been there.’

Gord had never been a fast walker. He lagged between us, as ever, and when he spoke in a low voice, I had to turn my head and look back at him to hear his answer in the night wind. ‘Oh. And that solves everything, doesn’t it? I’m sure that has put an end to his mockery and resentment of me forever. Thank you, Spink.’

It was the first time I’d ever heard Gord speak sarcastically or bitterly. I stopped and so did Spink. Gord walked on, both arms crossed protectively over his unbuttoned jacket and gut, and passed between us without pausing.

Spink and I exchanged glances and then hurried after Gord. He caught at Gord’s elbow. ‘I still want to know what really happened,’ Spink demanded. ‘I want to know why you just left the room like that.’

It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps I wouldn’t like the answers to those questions.

Gord shrugged off Spink’s hand. He kept walking as he spoke, but he sounded short of breath. ‘I left because I didn’t want to witness anyone breaking an Academy rule. Because, by the honour code, I would have had to report it.’ His voice was tight, from anger or from speaking past pain. I could not tell which. ‘And what happened to me was that I went to the library. I found it closed. Then, I “fell down the steps”. And afterwards, Caulder ran and reported it, and some orderlies were sent to pick me up and take me to the infirmary. When the doctor asked me for the names of two cadets who might be willing to walk me back to my dormitory, I gave him yours. But only because if I had not, he would not have released me tonight. And I’m very much looking forward to my family carriage coming for me tomorrow evening.’ He did not look at either of us. We matched our pace to his.

‘Why are you angry at me?’ Spink demanded in a low, tight voice. The question I wanted to ask was what had really happened to him, but I bit it back, knowing that until those two sorted things out between them, I was not going to get any response.

‘You don’t know?’ It wasn’t really a question. Gord just wanted to make Spink admit it.

‘No, I don’t! I’d think you’d be grateful to me, for standing up for you when you hadn’t the spine to do it for yourself!’ Spink’s anger flashed from him.

For ten steps, Gord kept silent. When he did speak, I judged he had spent that time mastering his temper and ordering his words. ‘I’m a man grown, Spink. I’m fat, and perhaps that is a fault or perhaps it is just the way the good god made me. But it does not make me a child nor does it make me any less in command of my own life. You think that I should fight those who are cruel. The doctor back there thinks I should change myself so they would have less excuse to be cruel to me. But what I think is that I should not have to do either.’

Gord halted. Then he abruptly left the gravelled pathway and walked across the frozen lawn to an oak tree. He leaned on its wet black trunk, catching his breath. We were silent, and the heavy drops from the branches above us dripped down on us. Looking at him, some memory of a memory teased at the corner of my awareness. He reminded me of something, or someone. Then Gord spoke again, and the half-recalled image fled my mind.

‘I think that the ones who taunt are the ones who should be pressured to change. I have no delusions about myself. In a physical fight, Trist would best me easily. And, having won it, he would then use that superiority to justify however he treated me afterwards. He is saying that my physical condition should determine how he treats me. And you think that because you have bested him in a physical struggle, you have proved something to him. But you haven’t. All you have done is shown that you agree with him, that the man who can physically defeat another is the man who should make the rules. I don’t agree with that. If I attempt to live by those rules, I will be beaten, and I do not intend to be beaten. So I will not be goaded into a physical confrontation with Trist or anyone else. I will win another way.’

A silence fell among us. There was such a sharp contrast between the bravery of Gord’s words, and the fat boy leaning on a tree and puffing. I think Spink saw the same contradiction because he grudgingly pointed out, ‘We are military, Gord. What is a soldier about if not besting another man physically? It’s how we support our king and defend our country.’

Gord pushed away from the tree. We followed him back to the path and resumed his slow pace. The wind was building and the first wild drops warned that another squall was on the way. I wanted to hurry but did not think that Gord could keep up with us. In the dormitory buildings nearby, lights were starting to go out. If we came in after lights-out, Sergeant Rufet would have a few choice questions for us. I didn’t want any more demerits to march off. I gritted my teeth and put it down to the cost of my friendship with Spink.

‘On the lowest, simplest level, the military and the cavalla are about physical might. I’ll concede that. But the King made my father a noble, and when my father made me, he made me a soldier son with the opportunity to serve as an officer. And that isn’t about physical strength, Spink. No officer could prevail if his troops turned on him. An officer leads by example and intelligence. I have the intelligence. I won’t set the example that I can be beaten physically and cowed that way. And I won’t let you set it on my behalf. If you fight Trist again, know that you are not fighting for me, but for yourself. You seek to salve your own bruised pride, that you have to accept help from someone who is fat. Somehow, you think that reflects badly on you, and that is why Trist can goad you to fight. But my battles belong to me, and I’ll fight them my own way. And I shall win.’

A terrible silence fell then, and it seemed to bring on the rain that suddenly drenched us. I longed to sprint for shelter. Gord seemed to share my impulse for he clasped his belly more firmly, lowered his head to the storm and walked faster. I finally felt I could speak. ‘What did happen to you, Gord? Caulder said you were beaten.’

Gord was puffing more heavily now, but he managed an answer. ‘Caulder can say whatever he likes to whoever he likes. I fell down the library steps. That is the truth.’

Spink figured it out before I did. ‘Part of the truth, you mean, and that’s why you can hold to it. You hold the honour code above all else. When did you fall down the steps, Gord? When you ran from them, or after they had beaten you?’

Gord stumped stolidly on. I looked over at Spink, blinking raindrops from my lashes. ‘He’s not going to answer you.’ I felt stupid for only now realizing what should have been obvious to me. By sticking to his story, Gord kept the battle on his territory. Those who had beaten him could not openly boast of it. Doubtless, their friends would know of it. But if Gord refused to admit that he had been beaten, if he refused to acknowledge a defeat from them, he took some of their triumph away.

I walked more slowly, falling somewhat behind them as I pondered. In bemoaning the fact that both Spink and Trist seemed to have a natural leadership that I lacked, I had overlooked something. Trist based his ability to attract followers on his golden charisma. I had already seen its effect on young Caulder, with disastrous results. Spink was tough and stubborn and the son of a war hero. He gave and demanded great loyalty. Those of us who followed him were swayed by those things, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to me that he did not always look far enough ahead and reason out where his actions might lead. Tonight, I had admired that he had stood up to Trist, despite the differences in their sizes, and I had been impressed that he used unconventional tactics to bend the larger man to his will. But now I had to consider the far-reaching consequences of those actions. He and Trist, by taking their rivalry to blows, had put all the lads in our patrol into a compromising position. We had all witnessed an Academy rule being broken, and none of us had kept our honour vow to report it. It bothered me, even though I knew that I would have felt more truly disgraced if I had raced off to report the infraction.

Only Gord had had the foresight to save himself from that. Even now, battered and facing a hellish day tomorrow, he forced his body to be subject to his intellect. I had considered him weak because of his girth. But in truth, now that I pondered it, he did not seem to indulge his appetite any more than the rest of us did. Perhaps he was simply born to be a portly man and always would be.

And perhaps he was demonstrating a quiet leadership that I had not witnessed before. Even if his only follower was himself, I admired his foresight. Then, my mind suddenly transposed an idea that I’d assumed. I had thought that Gord had attached himself to Spink because of the small cadet’s leadership. But perhaps, in offering his help to Spink, Gord had been, not following him, but offering his leadership. So, then, if Spink followed Gord, and I followed Spink, was it not Gord whom I was actually accepting as my commander?

We had almost reached the walkway to Carneston House when Caulder ran past us, headed back toward the infirmary. He paused, and spun, skipping backwards as he shouted at us, ‘Seems to be an unlucky night for New Nobles’ sons! I’m off to fetch the doctor again.’ Then he turned and ran off into the darkness.

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ I said to Spink.

‘He came from the direction of the carriageway,’ Gord gasped. ‘We should go see who is hurt.’

I shook my head. ‘You’re done in, Gord. Go up to bed. Spink, make sure he gets there while I go find out what Caulder was talking about.’

I had expected Spink to argue with me, or for Gord to say he could get back to the dormitory alone. Instead, Gord nodded miserably, and Spink said, ‘If you don’t come back soon, I’ll come looking for you. Be careful.’

That was a strange admonition to receive on the campus of the King’s Cavalla Academy. I wished I hadn’t said I’d go, but I couldn’t turn back now. I nodded to Spink and Gord and ran off toward the carriageway. The wind gusted and the rain slapped my face as I ran. I saw no one, and I was beginning to hope that Caulder had lied. I had actually turned back and was hurrying home to Carneston House when I heard someone groan. I stopped and looked back. In the shadows of the trees by the carriageway, something moved. I ran back to find a man lying prone on the wet earth. He was wearing a dark cloak, and the deep shadows of the trees had hidden him from me. I was surprised Caulder had found him.

‘Are you hurt?’ I asked him stupidly as I knelt down by his side. Then the reek of raw spirits hit me. ‘Or just drunk?’ I amended my question. My disapproval must have been in my voice. Cadets were forbidden to drink on campus, and surely no instructor would be falling down drunk on the grounds.

‘Not drunk,’ he said in a faint hoarse whisper. The voice was familiar. I leaned closer, trying to make out his features. Mud and blood caked them, but I recognized Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, who had rescued me from humiliation during initiation. I decided not to argue with him about being drunk.

‘But you’re hurt. Lie still. Caulder’s gone to fetch the doctor.’ It was too dark for me to know what sort of injuries he had, but I knew better than to try to move him. The best I could do for him was to keep vigil by him until Caulder sent help.

Despite my words, he scrabbled faintly at the ground, as if he would get up. ‘Bushwhacked me. Four of them. My papers?’

I looked around. A few feet away, I saw a dark shape on the ground. It proved to be a satchel. Near it I found a muddied book and a handful of trampled papers. I gathered them up by touch and brought them back to him. ‘I have your papers,’ I told him.

He made no response.

‘Lieutenant Tiber?’

‘He’s passed out,’ a voice said. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Sergeant Duril would have done more than hit me with a rock if he’d been there. I’d been completely oblivious to the three figures who had walked up on me in the pouring rain.

‘Drunk as a beggar,’ said the man behind me and to my left. I turned my head to see him but he took a couple of steps back. I couldn’t make out his face, but his voice was almost familiar. I’d caught a glimpse of his jacket under his coat. He was a cadet. ‘We saw him arrive here. Carriage brought him from town. He staggered this far and passed out.’

If I hadn’t been kneeling by Tiber, I don’t think I would have made the connection. I was coldly certain of it now. The cadet talking to me was a second-year, Jaris, the one who had ordered me to strip during initiation.

I said a foolhardy thing. I only realized it when the words were out of my mouth. ‘He said he was ambushed by four men.’

‘He talked to you?’ Dismay was clear in the voice of the third man. I didn’t recognize his voice at all. It was shrill with alarm.

‘What did he say?’ demanded Cadet Ordo. The pieces of the puzzle were fitting in all around me, and I didn’t like the picture they made. ‘What did he tell you?’ Ordo demanded, coming closer. I don’t think he cared if I recognized him or not.

‘Just that. That four men had jumped him.’ My voice shook. I was shivering with cold, but icy fear was also creeping up my spine.

‘Well, but he’s drunk! Who could believe a thing he said? Why don’t you run along, Cadet? We’ll get help for him.’

‘Caulder’s already gone for help,’ I pointed out. I was almost certain they knew that. ‘He’s the one who sent me here,’ I added more boldly, and then could not decide if that was a wise thing to say or not. I doubted Caulder would give witness against them if they dragged me off, killed me and threw me in the river. In the pouring rain and cold wind, with Tiber dead or unconscious before me, it did not seem such an impossible thing that they might kill me. I wanted so badly to stand up, brush the mud from my knees, and tell them I was going back to my dormitory. Yet if I was not coward enough to leave Tiber there, I was also not brave enough to voice what I suspected. They’d seen him get out of the carriage, noticed he was drunk, and known that in that condition, he was no match for them.

‘Go home, Cadet Burvelle,’ Ordo quietly commanded me. ‘We have things under control here.’

Coincidence saved me from having to decide if I were a man or a coward that night. I heard the rasp of hurrying feet on the walkway. Through the rain and dark I made out the figure of Dr Amicas. He was carrying a lantern and it made a small circle of light around him as he came. Two brawnier men followed him, carrying a stretcher between them. The relief that surged through me weakened my knees, and I felt lucky I wasn’t standing. I waved my arm over my head and called out loudly, ‘Over here! Cadet Lieutenant Tiber is hurt.’

‘We think he got beat up in town and then came home here in a carriage and passed out. He’s drunk.’ All of this was volunteered by Cadet Ordo. I expected to hear the others confirm it, but when I looked around, they were gone.

‘Out of the way, boy!’ Dr Amicas commanded me. I moved to one side, and he set his lantern on the ground beside Tiber. ‘This is bad,’ he said at first sight of Tiber’s face. The doctor was still puffing from his trot here. I turned aside, thinking I might be sick. A blow from something had split his scalp and it was sagging open over his ear. ‘Did he speak to you?’

‘He was unconscious when we found him,’ Ordo volunteered quickly.

The doctor was not a dull-witted man. ‘I thought you said he came here in a carriage. Surely the driver didn’t carry an unconscious cadet over here and dump him before they left?’ Hard cold scepticism was in his voice. It made me brave enough to speak.

‘He talked to me a little bit, when I first got here. When we were taking Gord back to Carneston House, Caulder ran past us. He said someone was hurt. So I came here, thinking I might be able to help. Tiber was conscious when I got here. He said he wasn’t drunk. And that four men had attacked him. And he asked me to be sure his papers were safe.’

The doctor lowered his face, sniffed at Tiber suspiciously, and then drew back. ‘Well, he certainly doesn’t smell sober. But drinking doesn’t lay a man’s scalp open either. And he didn’t get this sort of mud on himself in town. He’s damn lucky not to be dead after a blow to the head like that. Load him up on the stretcher and let’s get him back to the infirmary.’

The doctor stood and held the lantern for the two orderlies who carefully edged Tiber onto the stretcher. In the lantern’s feeble light, the doctor looked older than he had in the infirmary. The lines in his face seemed deeper and his eyes were flat.

‘He might have got muddy here after he fell trying to walk back to his dormitory,’ Ordo suddenly volunteered. We all turned to look at him. The reasoning sounded laborious to me, and the doctor must have agreed, for he suddenly snapped at him, ‘You’ll come with us. I want you to write down everything you saw and sign it. Burvelle, you go back to your dormitory. And Caulder! Get yourself home this instant. I don’t want to see you again tonight.’

Caulder had been holding back at the edge of the circle of light, staring at Tiber with an expression of both fascination and horror. At the doctor’s words, he startled, and then scampered off into the night. I stooped and picked up Tiber’s satchel and papers.

‘Give those to me,’ the doctor commanded me brusquely, and I passed them over to him.

Dr Amicas’s path led in the same direction as mine, so I walked on the other side of the stretcher from him. The swaying light of the lantern made the shadows travel over Tiber’s face, distorting his features. He was very pale.

I left the miserable cavalcade at the walkway to Carneston House. The windows in the upper floors were all dark, but a lantern still burned by the door. When I went inside, I took the last of my courage and reported to Sergeant Rufet. He stared at me as I stammered out my excuse for coming in after lights-out. I thought he would take me to task over it, but he only nodded and said, ‘Your friend said you’d run off to see about someone who was hurt. Next time, come here first and report it to me. I could have sent some of the older cadets with you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said wearily. I turned to go.

‘It was Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, you said.’

I turned back. ‘Yes, sir. He’d been beaten up pretty badly. He was drunk. So I don’t think he put up much of a fight.’

Sergeant Rufet knit his brows at me. ‘Drunk? Not Tiber. That boy doesn’t drink. Somebody’s lying.’ And then, as if he suddenly realized what he had said, the sergeant snapped his jaws shut. ‘Go to bed, Cadet. Quietly,’ he told me an instant later. I went.

I found Spink waiting for me by the hearth in his nightshirt. He followed me into our room, and as I undressed in the dark, I quietly told him everything. He was silent. I shook out my damp uniform but knew that it would still be wet when I donned it again tomorrow. It was not a pleasant thought to take to bed with me. I tried, instead, to focus my mind on Carsina, but she suddenly seemed far away in both time and distance; girls, perhaps, did not matter as much as deciding how I would make it through the rest of my first year. I was in my bed before Spink asked his question.

‘Was the liquor on his breath?’

‘He reeked of it.’ We both knew what that meant. As soon as he recovered, Tiber would be suspended and face discipline. If he recovered.

‘No. I mean, was he breathing the smell at you? Or was it just on his clothes?’

I thought about it for a minute. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think to check anything like that. I just smelled spirits, very strong, when I got close to him.’

Another silence followed my words. Then, ‘Dr Amicas seems very sharp. He’ll know if Tiber was really drunk or not.’

‘Probably,’ I agreed, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. There wasn’t much I had faith in any more.

I fell asleep, and dreamed deep. The old fat tree woman sat with her back against her tree and I stood before her. Rain was falling on both of us. Although it drenched me, it did not wet her. As soon as it touched her, it was absorbed as if her flesh were thirsty earth. I didn’t mind the rain. It was gentle and soft, and its chill touch was almost pleasant. The forest glen felt very familiar, as if I had been there often. I was not dressed against the weather, but sat bare-limbed in the rain, enjoying it. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘Walk and talk with me. I need to be sure I understand what I have seen through your eyes.’

We left her tree, and I led the way, walking on a winding path through a forest of giants. In some places, the overhead canopy of leaves sheltered us completely from the falling rain. In others, the water plashed down, from leaf to twig to branch to leaf and then down, to soak into the forest floor. It did not bother either of us. I noticed in passing that although she seemed to walk freely with me whenever I glanced at her she appeared to be in some way part of the trees. Her hand would touch the bark of one, her hair would tangle against another. Always, always, she was in contact with them. Despite the swaying bulk of her body, her heavy walk had an odd grace. She was strength and opulence in my dream. The pillows of flesh that softened her silhouette to curves were no more repulsive to me than the immense girth of a great tree or the vast umbrella of its branches and foliage. Her largeness was wealth, a mark of skill and success for a people who lived by hunting and gathering. And this, too, seemed familiar.

The deeper I went into her forest, the more I recalled of this world. I knew the path I followed, knew that it would lead to the rocky place where a stream ran down from a stony cleft to suddenly launch itself in a glittering silver arc into the forest below. It was a dangerous place. The rocks close to the edge were always green and slick, but nowhere else was the water so cool and so fresh, even when the rain was falling. It was a place I cherished. She knew that. Letting me go there in the dream was one of my rewards.

Rewards for what?

‘What would happen, then,’ she asked me. ‘If many of the soldier sons who are to be the leaders were slain, and never ventured east to bring their people against the forest? Would this stop the road? Would it turn these people back?’

I had been thinking of something else. I came back to her question from my distraction. ‘It might slow them for a time. But it would not stop them. In truth, nothing will stop the road. You can only delay it. My people believe that the road will bring riches to them. Lumber from the forest, meat and furs. And eventually, a way to the sea beyond the mountains, and trade with the people there.’ I shook my head in resignation. ‘As long as wealth beckons, my people will find a way to it.’

She scowled at me. ‘You say “my people” when you speak of them. But I have told you. You are no longer of those ones. We have taken you and you belong to The People, now.’ She cocked her head and stared deep into my eyes. I felt she looked inside me and out the other side, as it were, to some other eyes I did not know I had. ‘What is it, son of a soldier? Do you begin to wake to both worlds? That is not good. Not yet should you do that.’ She set her hand fondly on the top of my head.

It was a comforting touch that dispelled all anxiety. Some worry I had felt had slipped away from me. All would be well.

She lifted both her hands to her face and hair. She smoothed them over her head as if to ease the anxiety I knew she felt. Then she looked at me through her plump fingers. ‘You still have not spoken of your magic, soldier’s son. At the moment it was given to you, it began to work through you. What have you done for us? The magic chose you. I felt it take you. All know that once the magic of the god touches a man, he does his task. You were to turn the intruders back and make those who are here leave. What did you do?’

‘I do not understand what you are asking me.’

Both her question and my response were as familiar to me as my evening prayers, learned at my mother’s knee. She tried again to explain. ‘You would have done something. Some action of yours is supposed to begin the magic that you will finish when you are a great man. Telling me will not stop the magic. It will only ease my fears. Please. Just tell me. Put my mind at ease, so I may tell the forest that the beginning of the end of waiting has begun. The guardians cannot dance much longer. They weary. They die. And when they all die, there will no longer be a wall. It will fall, and nothing will remain to hold the intruders at bay. They will walk freely under the trees, cutting and burning. You know what they will do. We have seen it.’

We were nearly to the waterfall. I longed to see it. I tried to see it through the forest, but the trees leaned together, blocking my view. ‘I do not understand your words.’

She sighed, like wind in the trees. ‘If such a thing could be, I would say the magic chose poorly. I would say that one of The People would have known better how to use the given gift.’ She shrugged, lifting the soft roundness of her shoulders and then letting them fall. ‘I will have to do what is within my power to do. I do not do it lightly. My time for doing things should be past. This should be only my time for being. But I fear you cannot turn them back by yourself. My strength is needed, still.’ She sighed and then she brushed her fat hands together. Dust, fine brown dust, fell from the surfaces of her palms as they passed one another. ‘I have thought of a thing, and now I have decided I will do it. I will send one of the old magics to you. With it, we can harvest from the intruders some of what they are. No knife is sharper than a man’s own turned against him. Perhaps it will give us more time to discover what it is you have done to help us.’ She lifted her hand and waved it oddly at me. I sensed immense power in the simple gesture. ‘When the magic finds you, it will signal you. So. Then it will begin. Do not struggle against it.’

I felt a terrible fear. She stared at me, the colour of her eyes going darker in disapproval. ‘You should go now. Stop thinking about these things.’

I awoke with a start to deep darkness, and the sounds of rain beating on the roof above me and the stentorian breathing of my fellows around me. The rags of my dreams hung about my mind. I touched them and tried to pull them together, but they went to threads in my fingers. I felt dread unlike the fear I might feel from a nightmare. This was the dread of something real, something I could not recall. The wind gusted, and the rain suddenly pattered harder and swifter against roof and windowpane. It lulled, then gusted again. I listened to that, sleepless, until morning, and then rose wearily to face another day.