Aedan laughed. “You never heard of Krawm? The sculptor didn’t do any enlarging. This is the size he was. That war hammer probably weighed more than you. And he wasn’t just big; he was fast. Used to run through infantry like a bull. His armour was so thick that arrows bounced off and even spears broke. There are lots of stories about him. The one I’ll never forget is the one about his last battle. Heard it?”
The others shook their heads and waited.
“It was when his hometown was attacked. The gate was torn down quickly and he didn’t have time to put on his armour, so he rushed to the gate with only his hammer. He stood between the posts of the gate and smashed everything that tried to come in – horses, spearmen, swordsmen. The sight of him gave such courage to the townsmen that every one of them was transformed into a warrior, and that night they turned back a force much bigger than their own.
“By the time the raiders fled, Krawm was surrounded by piles and piles of bodies. Killed more than half the raiders himself. He had about thirty arrows and spears sticking out of him, but he still stood. As the attackers drew together, the bandit-leader rose up in his saddle and shouted that he would return and take personal vengeance on Krawm’s family – his nephew and niece.
“It was a mistake. In spite of the wounds that painted him red with his own blood, Krawm leapt over the bodies and sprinted towards the tight band of raiders. They say the ground shook under each giant stride and that he moved faster than any of them had ever seen a man run. The leader spun his horse, but the other horses interfered with his escape. Krawm covered the two hundred yards like a mad thing. He was at a full sprint when he swung his hammer at the man. The blow crushed his chest, killed him instantly and hurled him off his horse and into the ranks of men who scattered in all directions. They say Krawm smiled as he turned and looked at home for the last time. Then he dropped his hammer, sank to the ground and died.”
The boys all looked up at the towering statue with a respect too deep to express. Lorrimer finally broke the spell.
“Imagine if there were living men like this.”
“I think,” said Hadley, “this General Osric is not far off.”
“Direct descendant of the nephew,” said Aedan. “Saw it on his ancestral scroll.”
“Ah. That explains a lot.”
“Do you know who the other statues are?” Vayle asked.
“Ulmar, on the left and Hanroc next to him were the two champions who defended King Athgrim, his queen and daughter against a squad of assassins. By the time the alarm was raised and reinforcements arrived, they had killed almost the entire squad of fifteen. Hanroc died of his wounds, but Ulmar lived and married the princess.”
“And the woman? Is she the princess?”
“That’s Queen Tana, I think. Must be.”
“Why’s she got a bow?”
“Don’t you know the story? These are the stories I grew up with. Tana was princess when her father, a widower, decided to journey to Port Breklee – it was called something else in those days. The royal procession was attacked just west of the Pellamines where the cover is good. The king was struck by an arrow and died. There were only about two dozen royal guards and it looked as if they would be overwhelmed. But Tana took her father’s bow and began loosing arrows around her. It turned the battle. Later they found that more of the enemy had been felled by her bow than by the sword. She was only fourteen at the time, but everyone agreed that her courage more than made up for her age, so she was made queen.”
Though the rest of them stared, entranced, Hadley was showing symptoms of impatience. He walked to the left door and pushed it open. What he saw brought him to a standstill. The others gathered around.
Their lanterns lit the space revealing a wide and lofty chamber whose walls were stacked with every conceivable weapon – lances, spears, pikes, maces, flails, war axes and hammers, longbows, crossbows, swords, knives and shields. There was a whole wall lined with statues of men and horses in the full armour of every order. The finely curved and ornamented plate armour of Orunea stood first, the jagged and spiked encasings of Fennlor next, and as the line stretched away, the shapes grew unfamiliar, many of them cruder, and more fearsome. It looked as if the weaponry of every known empire was present.
For a long time they could do no more than stare, drinking in the sights that had only existed in their imaginations. Each husk of armour was as good as an army of its warriors, each weapon a legacy of courage and heroism. Here the screams of the dying and the stench of death were only a distant rumour, a sometime price to be paid for the honour of defending their own.
With a sense of awe, almost of reverence, they began to drift to various racks and stands, touching and lifting weapons, replacing them delicately.
All was going well until Lorrimer’s big eyes settled on a colossal mace. It was clear that he was in the grip of a hopelessly enchanting vision: a tall hero – himself – on the field of battle, whirling the terrible weapon over his head.
It was too sweet to pass by.
He lifted the mace from the rack, walked a little distance away until he was clear of the others, and placed his lantern on the floor. He gripped the mighty weapon with both hands, heaved it over his shoulders and held it aloft. He stood tall, and he stood proud. He filled his big lungs with the brave air of his nation, twirled the heavy mace above his head with big hands, and gracefully compensated for the momentum with a big step. The whole spectacle changed in an instant as he tripped over one of his big feet and fell in a long, ponderous arc that ended on the stone floor, driving the brave air from his lungs and sending the mace clanging and skidding across the ground.
Two other weapons were dropped out of sheer fright.
Nobody spoke. All were listening, fearing that the noise – utterly shocking in the deep silence – had been overheard.
A door creaked open and light poured into the room, revealing the outline of a broad cloaked man with a spreading tent of untamed hair. Instantly, six flames were extinguished, sinking the great hall into darkness. Something about the bushy outline looked familiar to Aedan.
“Names?” a voice boomed.
Silence.
“I was not addressing the statues. It would be better that you give your names than I find them out.”
The silence was spoiled by shuffling which ended with, “Hadley.”
“Aedan.”
“Bede.”
“Huh? Don’t try lie now. His name is Peashot and mine is Lorrimer. Ouch, you little vermin!”
“My name’s Bede. I just don’t like it. Haven’t you ever heard of a nickname, Ladderboy?”
“Enough! Next.”
“Vayle.”
“Kian.”
“Kian? You’re from a different dorm. How did you find your way into this little band?”
“One of the boys on my dorm was bellying – sorry, bullying of me. Hadley and the others are making him to stop.”
“That would be Warton?”
“Yes, sir.” It was Hadley’s voice.
“You met him then, Hadley. Good. Did you hit him?”
There was a thoughtful silence. “Not yet, sir.”
A slight tremor in the outline of the robe suggested quiet amusement. “Candid. I had hoped as much. Well, I should inform you all that, according to the rules, you have reached greater heights of trouble than have ever been attained by new arrivals. Nobody has ever found their own way down here before. Some might think it necessary to flog you. Fortunately for you, I have a different view. Who, may I ask, worked it out?”
“Aedan, sir.” It was Hadley’s voice.
“Hmm, yes. That lines up. Aedan, try not to discover anything more until the administrators are ready. And the rest of you, put on a good show of astonishment as the entrance is revealed, again, tomorrow morning. I enjoin you to hold your tongues as tightly as you would hold struggling fish, or you will prove my suspicion about the flogging. Boys, it is always a pleasure to meet the young and enterprising. Now a
s you seem to prefer the dark, I leave you to feel your way back. Aedan, don’t forget the steps. They work just as well on the way out.”
The door closed and all was darkness and silence. The sound of a funnelled gust preceded a sharp cry.
“Ouch! That was my ear, you stinking rat. Where are you?”
“Wasn’t really aiming. Not my fault your ears fill half the room.”
“I think we need to thump him together,” said Lorrimer. “Aren’t any of you going to help me?”
“You were trying to be selling the rat on him, remember?” It was Kian.
“We say ‘Sell him out’, or ‘rat on him’,” came Vayle’s quiet voice.
“Oh, thanks again.”
“Lorrimer,” it was Hadley, “I think you were asking for it. And you have to admit that in the dark it was a ripper of a shot.”
“Actually, considering the size of his …”
“Oh shut up, Peashot! Don’t you know when to drop your weapons?”
“Lorrimer does. Let’s get out of here before he gets bored and drops something on one of us.”
“So who do you think he was?” Hadley asked as they heaved on the drape and drew the ramp back up against the wall where it settled, looking once again like a panel of decorative slats.
“Probably some kind of caretaker,” said Vayle. “I bet he lives down there.”
“Don’t know lots of caretakers what can do writing,” said Kian.
“How do you know he can write?”
“He was holding of a quill in his hand and I’m thinking that there was ink dripping off his hand also. Maybe he was dipping of the quill when he got the scare from Lorrimer. Probably made him to be wrecking all of his parchment.”
“He cooled off pretty quick if that’s the case,” said Aedan. “My father would have skinned the lot of us.”
“Also mine.”
“I reckon he is important here,” said Vayle. “I think a less important man would have been more worried. He sounded amused.”
“Maybe he’s a magician pretending to be a caretaker,” said Lorrimer, his eyes growing big.
“I must have missed something,” Peashot piped up. “Did someone here ask for a bedtime story?”
Hadley turned to Aedan, “Is Peashot always angling for a fight?”
“No,” Aedan laughed. “You’ll see. It doesn’t happen nearly as much when he’s sleeping.”
Hadley’s eyes crinkled as he laughed and clapped Peashot on the back, ignoring the smouldering glare.
Late into the night they stared at the dark ceiling and talked of swords and axes and secret tunnels and legendary warriors. Then they got onto the topic of Warton and they all said what they would have done to him if he hadn’t backed down, and each boy told of the other fights he had been in and how he’d won them. Nobody remembered any he’d lost.
Aedan told of his brawl with Emroy and his snobby friend from town when they had been rude to Kalry. He made most of it up because the real one hadn’t turned out so well – and in the context of the glorious battles being narrated he felt some adjustments were necessary.
So as the stars travelled the skies unseen, the boys leapt and tackled and kicked and swung and conquered until the golden haze of victory shimmered and settled down upon a room of quiet smiles and eager dreams.
“What you think you’re waiting for? Daylight?”
The voice reminded Aedan of Skeet, only with a little more of that abrasive insistence, that special nuance attained by expertly combining the rude notes of clanging kitchenware with the hard blare of an iron bugle.
The apprentices leapt from their beds, dressed by lamplight, and stumbled into a dizzy line in the passage.
“From now on this is the time you rise. Follow me.”
The stocky man led them through to a dining hall filled with long tables and benches, and billowing with the steam of oatmeal porridge. There were several other sections in the hall filling up with older boys that Aedan assumed to be the more senior apprentices. The looks weren’t threatening, but there was a definite territorial air.
“I don’t care if you are not hungry,” the man said. “You empty your bowl. I promise that you’ll need it. Think of the past two months as rest.” There were a few smiles from the adjacent gathering of senior apprentices.
The new recruits lined up, collected their bowls of oats mixed with cream, and settled at the long tables. Lorrimer looked disappointed when his was finished. Peashot’s expression began to reveal mild panic as he forced down a mouthful and looked at a bowl still half full.
“Swap?” asked Lorrimer.
Peashot nodded. It looked like the beginning of a mutually satisfying arrangement.
When the bowls were emptied, the man stood and called for silence.
“I am Commander Dun. This is Matron Rosalie. She will do the nannying; I’ll do the whipping. Got that?”
Twenty heads bobbed. Twenty pairs of eyes looked hopefully towards the middle-aged, soft-featured matron who regarded them with a pitying smile.
Dun was wearing a different kind of smile. Aedan had never seen a shark, but he imagined they would show their teeth in the same way while circling unfortunates. And Commander Dun was just as muscled and eager as some restless carnivore. His eyes were sharp and his hands ready. He had no need to swing a cane against his boots and glare, showing just how dangerous he could be. Something about his open manner – hands on hips, easy grin – almost welcomed trouble. There was no bluff or bluster here. And the boys knew it. Even Peashot sat rigid.
“Now, those of you whose fathers did not explain matters before you enrolled, there is something you need to know. For the rest of the students at the academy, expulsion is a danger. Within the marshals’ quarter we have two levels of discipline – punishment and prison. Misconduct will not lead to expulsion because the things that are revealed over your years in training cannot be put out on the street. From this day on, behaviour that renders you unsuitable as marshals will send you to jail. Behaviour that can be corrected with punishment will be punished. If anyone feels he is not prepared for this, I ask you to remain behind in this room and you will be dismissed from the academy.”
He picked up a sheet of paper and scanned the details on the page before resuming.
“You have already been introduced to history, law, navigation and cartography, foreign relations, and war strategy. To this we will now add combat and weaponry, woodcraft, languages, and field surgery. Some of your classes will overlap with the ladies of the medical quadrant, and we expect nothing less than impeccably honourable behaviour. We will happily punish anything less. These fine girls are being trained as Queen’s Envoys. Their training is even more guarded than yours and I heartily recommend that you do not ask many questions of them or about them.”
Several faces around the tables had shown an interest at the mention of ladies. Some of the smaller boys pulled faces.
“You will have eleven classes a day, beginning and ending with combat and weaponry. The learning is fast, faster than you could imagine. If you want to pass your end-of-year exams and proceed to the next year, you will need to apply yourselves like never before. In eight years you may just have a grey cloak of your own. Now, follow me.”
He led them through the passages to the large room with the central feature. Aedan’s group exchanged nervous glances.
“I’m sure that all of you tried exploring the place last night and found the building to be a complete disappointment.”
Heads nodded. Aedan nodded. He threw a sharp look at the others who quickly followed his example.
“Can anyone see something strange about this room?”
Peashot looked like he was about to burst. Aedan glared at him. The rest of the boys shrugged and made suggestions about the statues and the designs on the central feature.
“No, none of you have it. No one has ever worked it out though it’s such a simple trick. What I am about to show you is never to be discussed with anyone who i
s not a master or student within this quadrant.” He proceeded to give instructions for lowering the ramp and lifting the panelled floor on top of the central feature, for which he had a special tool. Aedan’s little band ooh’d and ah’d with the rest of them as the opening was revealed and Dun gestured with a grand sweep of his arm like a conjurer making an object appear out of nothing. Peashot was fiddling with something in his sleeve. Hadley stepped in front of him and shook his head.
“Our facilities extend beneath ground level,” Dun said. “There are several entrances. This one is yours and will remain yours for the duration of your studies. I would not call this a terribly great secret; there are other secrets far more closely guarded. This is really just a bit of fun. The entrance remains open during the day, so it is possible that trespassers could discover it. But there is another surprise in store for them. Watch very carefully where you tread. The steps beside the marble pillars are the triggers of traps. They won’t kill you, not the way we have things set these days, but you will have a long fall and a cold swim.”
He led the way down and waited for them to assemble on the landing where the passage split. “That direction,” he said, pointing to the dark and barred way, “is forbidden to you, to seniors, and even to most of the masters. Head that way and you are simply heading to prison. Understood?”
When he was satisfied that the warning had been heard by all, he led them along the other passage that now looked regal and imposing in the glow of dozens of the ornate wall-mounted torches. Dun stopped before the heavy doors and heaved them open without assistance – drawing a few furtive glances of respect – and led the way into the weapons hall. Aedan’s group did not need to affect amazement here; the sight was every bit as awe-inspiring as it had been during the night.
“Take a good look, and be sure you take nothing more. If I catch anyone so much as touching a weapon until I say so, I’ll set your bones a-rattling.”
Lorrimer gulped.
“In these classes you will learn combat, from fighting with your hands tied behind your back, to managing an assault tower. By the time you are done here, every one of these weapons will be a personal friend. You will each specialise as your skills develop.”
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 24
