Shaman's Crossing ss-1

by Robin Hobb

  “Because we’re not good enough to associate with the soldier sons of the old nobility?” Kort was both astounded and offended.

  “Nar. So’s we won’t make their lads feel bad.” Rory grinned as if it were a fine jest. “They may be soldier sons, but they h’ain’t been raised by soldiers like we were. Half of them never had a leg over a horse, save for riding a pony in the park. You’ll see when we get to drill. My uncle’s soldier son was fostered with us, ’cos that’s how we do it in our family. First sons always give their soldier sons to their soldier brothers to raise, so the boy gets a good start on his training when he’s still a little feller. My cousin Jordie was through the Academy four years ago and wrote me letters every month about it. So I’ve got a pretty good idea what to expect here.”

  That brought us clustering around him. For the next hour or so, we sat at the study tables in our common room, and Rory held the floor with tales of strict instructors, cadets working off demerits by mucking out the stables, hazing from older cadets, and every other Academy tale that he could dredge up for us. He was a born storyteller, swaggering as he spoke of young officers and cowering as he mimed us junior cadets. He held us spellbound when he theatrically warned us of ‘cullings’. “Commander declares one, aner-time he feels like it. Could be a drill exercise, could be a jography test. Every cadet who falls lower’n a certain score, Whist! He’s gone. Culled like a spindly lamb. They send you home, with just a note that says ‘failed to meet Academy standards, thanky all the same for sending ’im.’ And you know what comes after that for a soldier son. It’s goodbye officers’ mess, hello chow-tent and life as a foot soldier. Only thing a soldier son can do if he fails here is go for the common enlistment. Those cullings are murder, and they give no warning a’tall. It’s one way’t’keep us on our toes with our noses in our books.”

  He spoke with a Kenty twang that I secretly found amusing. At the time, I did not know that several of the others thought my ‘plains drawl’ just as humorous. More cadets drifted in from the other rooms on our floor to join us as we listened to Rory’s tales, until there were eleven of us there, almost our full patrol. We were a mixed lot, but all sons of new nobility, as Rory had predicted. In a short time it seemed as if we had all known one another for years instead of hours. Oron had red hair, large teeth and a pleasant, contagious laugh. Caleb joined our group with four Penny Adventure folios under his arm, which he immediately offered to share with us. I had never seen one before, and the lurid covers on the cheap booklets were a bit shocking. Caleb assured me they were mild compared to others that he owned. Jared had only one older brother and six younger sisters, and claimed he wasn’t accustomed to talking much as he got so little opportunity at home. He said it would be a huge relief to have only male companionship for a while. Trent was a slight youth with an anxious air. He had arrived with three trunks full of clothing and household goods and seemed vary particular about his wardrobe and bedding. He bemoaned the limited living and closet space allotted to him. In the midst of our yammering, a twelfth cadet arrived to round out our dozen. His name was Lofert. He was a tall, gangly fellow who seemed a bit dim. He didn’t have much to say beyond his name. Gord helped him find the last empty bunk in their room and they soon rejoined us. Every one of them seemed like a good fellow to me and I felt a sudden elation that my first year of Academy was off to such a good start. But I am sure I was not the only one listening anxiously for the dinner bell. Somehow I had missed the noon meal and by the time the longed-for bell finally clanged I felt cramped with hunger.

  Hungry as hounds, we rushed down the stairs together, only to be thwarted in our headlong race by a flood of other boys pouring out from the lower floors onto the same staircase. Obviously, more students had been arriving hourly while we conversed upstairs and we were forced to descend sedately, a single riser at a time.

  “I hear the food’s bad here. Same stuff every day,” Gord observed brightly. He was breathing loudly through his nose, as if even going down the stairs was an exertion.

  I could think of no reply, but Rory said, “If it sits still on the plate, likely I’ll eat it. Bet you will, too. You don’t look like you’ve been too picky in the past!”

  Several of the others laughed aloud and I grinned. Even Gord smiled sheepishly. I took another step down and resisted the urge to push past the cadets in front of me. Even when we finally reached the ground floor, we could not race off to the mess hall. On the walkway in front of our dormitory, we found older cadets—red sashes and striped sleeves proclaiming their authority—who sternly reminded us to keep to the paths and not jostle one another, and move in unison to our goal as befitted military troops. These supervisors who bunched us into groups were Academy students one year ahead of us, Rory informed us before he was ordered to stop talking in the ranks. They formed us up by floors, which suited us well, and our shepherd, Corporal Dent, marched us off in our new patrol. Dent put Gord next to me. The portly cadet puffed as we marched, lurching along as he strove to stretch his stride to match our pace.

  We were not at the very end of the line as we filed into the mess hall, but close enough to it that it taunted my hunger. We could smell the food, and I heard Gord’s stomach rumble loudly. Within the hall, Dent herded us to our laden table and directed us to stand behind our chairs until each table was granted leave to sit down and begin eating. There were covered tureens of soup, platters of sliced meat, thick slices of dark bread, and heaped bowls of boiled beans on each table. Even when all the occupants of our table had arrived Dent kept us standing a time longer as he lectured us perfunctorily that every officer sees to the well-being of his men before he takes care of himself. This waiting until our fellows were ready to dine alongside us was our first reminder that the cavalla flourished only when the needs of every rider were given equal consideration. Dent’s eyes seemed to linger on Gord as he spoke.

  It seemed a completely unnecessary lecture to me, for I had always been taught that basic dining manners demanded that one wait until the entire party had arrived and been seated but I held my tongue and stood in place behind my chair until we were given permission to sit. And again, I found myself surprised that our shepherd seemed to think we needed instruction in basic manners. Speaking simply, as if we might not understand, he informed us gravely that each dish of food would be passed around the table, allowing each man an opportunity to serve himself, but that we were to refrain from eating until every man had his rations. He cautioned us also that there was enough food for each of us to have generous servings, but that we should serve ourselves in moderation until we had seen that each man had a fair portion of every dish. I exchanged a glance with Kort and Natred. Kort rolled his eyes toward Gord, as if to indicate he was the intended recipient of Corporal Dent’s words. Gord’s eyes were downcast, but I could not tell if he stared at the food or avoided Dent’s gaze.

  Later, as we sat around the study tables in the relative peace of our dormitory, Natred grinned and said, “I half-expected him to be shocked that we used cutlery instead of eating with our hands!”

  Spink shrugged. “He probably thinks that those of us from the frontier were raised rough and crude. I suppose I have, in many ways. Many’s the night when I’ve shared a common pot of food with our hired men when we’re camping with the flocks to keep the wild dogs off the new lambs. It doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to behave when there’s a cloth on the table, but perhaps he thought it better to tell us ahead of time, and keep some poor sap from embarrassing himself by having to be corrected.”

  Our conversation was interrupted when Caleb and Rory commandeered our table for an arm-wrestling match. Very soon we were all involved in trying our strength against our fellows. The contest between Rory and Natred quickly escalated into a wrestling match on the floor. We had not realized how rowdy we had become until the study table overturned with a crash. That sobered us, and we had righted it and resumed our seats when we heard hurried footsteps on the stairs. Seconds later our red-sash
ed shepherd thrust himself into our room. “What’s going on up here?” Corporal Dent demanded as we came to our feet. His freckles had nearly vanished in the angry flush on his face.

  “Just some horseplay, sir,” Natred replied after a few moments of silence. “Good-natured. Not a fight.”

  Corporal Dent scowled. “I might have known,” he muttered, as if he had been foolish to expect civilized behaviour from us. “Well, settle down and stop romping like boys. The men on the floors below you are trying to enjoy some peace. The lot of you had best get yourselves ready for lights-out. When the horns blow at sunrise, you’ll be expected to assemble—washed, shaved and in uniform—on the central parade ground. Don’t make me come and roust you out. You won’t be pleased by how I’ll do it.”

  With that, he turned himself about smartly and marched out of our common room. As he went down the steps, over the angry clacking of his boots, we heard him fume, “Just my luck. Saddled with a bunch of new noble oafs!”

  We exchanged glances, some of us shocked, others puzzled as we slowly resumed our seats. Natred seemed amused, Kort offended.

  “It’s how they’ll do us,” Rory informed us lazily. He stood, scratched his chest, and then stretched. “My cousin’s an old noble’s son. Made no difference. He said the corporals will find a reason to pick on us all, as a group. He says it’s supposed to teach us group loyalty and make us hang together, to improve as a patrol. Next couple of weeks, no matter how hard we try, they’ll ride us hard, find little things to fault us on, and hand out extra duties or make us march demerits or roust us out of our bunks in the middle of the night for nothin’. And Dent won’t be the only one. Expect some harassment from every cadet with a second-year stripe on his sleeve. In fact, tonight will probably be the last good night’s sleep we’ll get for a time. So I’m going to take advantage of it.” He yawned hugely and then grinned at us sheepishly. “Country boy, me. I go to bed when the birds stop singin’.”

  His yawn had set me to yawning, also. I nodded at him. “Me, too. It’s been a long day.”

  “No one wants to stay up for a game of dice with me?” Trist asked invitingly. He alone seemed undaunted at Corporal Dent’s rebuke. He leaned his chair back on two legs, his arms crossed on his chest as he grinned his broad, white grin. Trist was the handsomest of us, with his hazel eyes and short thatch of curly, sandy hair. He exuded charm like a flower gives off scent. I surmised that he’d quickly become our leader, and eventually a charismatic officer. His invitation was tempting.

  “I’m in,” Gord announced eagerly. His fat cheeks wobbled with enthusiasm.

  I steeled my will and spoke into the quiet room. “Not me. I don’t play dice.”

  I turned to go to my bed as Spink reminded Trist seriously, “Dice are against the rules. No cards, no dice, no games of chance allowed in the dormitories, on pain of expulsion. Didn’t you read the rule book?”

  Trist nodded lazily. “I did. But who’s going to tell?”

  I turned back slowly to the group, knowing that my honour would require me to report any breaking of the rules. I suddenly liked Trist a lot less than I had a few moments ago. I tried to find the courage to say that I would report it, that I’d have to. My mouth was dry.

  Spink shook his head. He crossed his arms on his chest but it didn’t help much. He still looked small, almost childish compared to the lanky, lounging Trist. “You shouldn’t be putting us on the spot like this, Trist. You know we’ll be held accountable for your behaviour, even if we’re not part of it. You know that the honour code would require us to report it.”

  Trist brought his chair back flat on the floor with a thump, and then stood slowly. The blond cadet towered over small, dark Spink. “I was just joking with you, Spink. Are you always this serious? God’s breath, what a stiff neck you are!”

  Spink stood his ground, his feet slightly apart as if setting his weight for a fight. “And that’s blasphemy, to speak the good god’s name other than in prayer. And also against Academy rules.”

  “Your pardon, O saintly one. I’ll go to my room and make reparations now.” Trist rolled his eyes and sauntered from the room. Spink refused to notice it or to look after him. After a moment, Oron and Gord followed him, closing the door behind them.

  Felt sad at that first little crack in our unity, even though a part of me recognized it as inevitable. Sergeant Duril had spoken to me of such things, though he had been speaking from his experience in the field rather than at an Academy. Despite the differences, I recognized that his words would hold true here as well. “Whenever a new group forms, or an old group takes in new members… don’t matter if it’s a regiment or a patrol, nor even if it’s troopies or officers… there’ll be some shoving to see who’s first to the trough. They’ll try each other’s strength, and it’s rare that there’s not a fistfight or three before the dust finally settles. Just keep your cool and remember it’s got to be, and do your best to stay clear of it. Don’t back down, lad, that’s not what I’m saying. But hang back, calm like, and make them shove the challenge at you before you take it up. So no one ever doubts that it wasn’t you that started it. You just be the one that finishes it.”

  “Nevare?” Kort nudged me, and I jumped. I realized I’d been staring at the closed door. “Forget about it,” he advised me quietly.

  I nodded. “I think I’m ready for bed, too,” I excused myself. But that was sooner said than done. There was only one washstand in our room, and I had to wait my turn for it. Rory wandered into our room in a homespun nightshirt. He perched on the foot of my bed beside me and spoke quietly. “Think there’ll be trouble ’tween Trist and Spink?”

  “Spink won’t start it,” I said after a moment of pondering.

  “I guess that’s right. But I’m thinking that if there’s a fight, we’ll all have to pay for it. That’s how they do things here. One screws up, we all pay the toll.”

  It was my turn for the washstand, and as I stood, Rory said quietly, “Maybe you could talk to Spink. Tell him to take it easy until we all settle in. It’s goin‘ to be bad enough with Corporal Dent chewing on us without us bitin’ each other.”

  “Maybe Trist is the one we should talk to,” I offered.

  Rory’s dark eyes met mine and he gave his bullet head a shake. “Na. Trist isn’t one to listen. Well. I’d best get back to my room.”

  I wanted to ask him if Trist had sent him to talk to me, and wondered, too, if they were playing dice in there. Then I decided I didn’t want to know.

  Shortly after that, Kort blew out the lamp and we all knelt by our beds to say our prayers. I prayed longer and more earnestly than I usually did, asking the good god to show me the middle path through strife. Then I got into my narrow bed in the darkness and tried to fall asleep listening to the breathing of the others in the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Classmates

  In the dead of night, someone was drumming. I rolled over and fell out of my bed. It was much narrower than my one at home, and this was the third time I’d fallen out of it. I groaned as I sprawled on the cold floor. I heard a door open and close and someone came into the room carrying a candle. In that instant, I was awake. I sat up wearily. “That can’t be the drums for dawn. It’s black as pitch out there.”

  “Not if you open the curtains,” Kort observed dryly, as he walked to the window and pulled back the drapes. There was a faint pearliness to the night sky. “That’s the drum for rising. We have to be up, dressed, and on the parade ground by the dawn horn. Remember?”

  “Vaguely.” I yawned.

  Spink was sitting up on his bed, blinking owlishly. Natred had his pillow over his head, and was holding it down with both hands. I saw an opportunity to be first at the washstand and seized it. Kort unceremoniously jostled me aside to share it as we shaved. As he passed Natred’s bed on the way to his closet, he kicked the end of it. “Get up, Nate! Let’s not be the ones to give Dent an excuse to harangue us today.”

  I was struggling into my
boots before Natred rolled out of his bunk. Nonetheless, he was ready to go when we were. Nate patted his downy cheek happily as he left the washstand. “I love being fair. My father told me I’ll be in my twenties before I have to start shaving!”

  Spink had made up his bunk for him, even as he promised ominously that it was the first and last time he’d ever do it and that Natred now owed him a favour. We were immensely proud of how tidy we left our room and how well turned out we all were. We left our floor, calling to the laggards who remained to hurry up, lest we all get in trouble. As we clattered down the stairs, uniform hats clutched under our arms, cadets from the other floors joined us until we spilled out of our dormitory to join a green-clad flood of students cascading onto the parade ground in the dimness of pre-dawn.

  The dawn horn had not yet sounded, but Corporal Dent was there before us. He demanded to know where the rest of his patrol was, but gave us no time to answer before informing us that he expected us to arrive as a group, for we’d soon learn that the men in a cavalla patrol look out for one another. He used the minutes before the others arrived to disparage our appearances. He asked Spink if he’d slept in his uniform and then demanded that Kort describe a boot brush to him and tell him what it was used for. He told me to put my hat on straight and warned me that if I continued to show the wrong attitude, he’d find a cure for it that I wouldn’t like. He walked all round Natred several times, regarding him as if he were an exotic animal before asking him how long he’d been walking on two legs and when he thought he might learn to stand up straight. As a scarlet-faced Natred groped for a reply, Gord arrived. He came trotting in alone, cheeks red and one of his buttons already giving way to his girth. Dent appeared to forget all about Nate as he turned to a new target. “Look at yourself, Gorge!” he commanded, and Natred gave a snort of laughter that Dent ignored. “Stand up straight and suck that gut in! What? That’s the best you can do? Who’s in there with you? Or have you a baby on the way?”