Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  “Very strict,” responded Caleb, glancing at his friend.

  “Some might say a little too strict, though I’ve never heard of a student dying from too much discipline,” said Tal.

  “They don’t drink anything but water,” whined Zane. “They…eat coarse bread and hard cheese and…boil their beef.” He cast a longing look at the kitchen door.

  “Who’s La-Timsa?” asked Jommy. “I get confused by all the different names up here.”

  Tal said, “I’m not conversant with the names they use down in Novindus…” He looked to Caleb and shrugged.

  Caleb said, “Durga.”

  “Durga!” shouted Jommy. “They’re celibates! They beat each other with canes for penance! They take vows of silence that last for years! They’re celibates!”

  Tal burst out laughing, which set his young son off into gales of hilarity.

  “Get whatever you think you need together, then you’ve got an hour to go out and say your goodbyes,” said Caleb, laughing with the others. Then his voice turned serious. “I’m saying this now, so be clear. The day will come when you will be standing where Talwin and I stand now, at the heart of the Conclave. You will not be soldiers, but generals. That is why you’re going.”

  He left and the three boys looked at one another with a shared expression of resignation. After a minute, Tad said, “Well, it is Roldem.”

  “And they can’t keep us locked up in this university all the time, can they?” asked Zane.

  Jommy’s black expression suddenly lifted and he grinned. “Well, they can bloody try, can’t they?” He slapped Tad on the shoulder. “Come on, we need to pack, and then there’s this one girl I want to say goodbye to.”

  “Shera?” asked Zane.

  “No,” said Jommy.

  “Ruth,” supplied Tad.

  “No.” Jommy started walking toward the kitchen behind which their quarters and belongings waited.

  “Milandra?”

  “No,” said Jommy as he walked through the door.

  Zane grabbed Tad’s arm. “How does he do it?”

  “I don’t know,” said his foster brother, “but it’s going to stop once we get to Roldem.”

  Zane sighed. “I already miss Opardum.”

  Pushing aside the door, Tad said, “You mean you miss the food.”

  NINE

  ROLDEM

  The boys circled slowly.

  Jommy, Tad, and Zane waited as more than a dozen university students approached them. The three foster brothers had walked from the docks where they were expected to have arrived, though they had been transported by Magnus at Pug’s request to a Conclave warehouse. They were appropriately dirty and rumpled, so the story that they had spent a month or more on a caravan and then a week at sea would pass muster. Each wore a plain tunic and trousers, and had a travel sack slung over his shoulder.

  They watched as the students fanned out, forming a rough half-circle before them, looking them up and down as if examining livestock. They ranged in age from approximately twelve years to roughly the same age as the three newcomers—though Jommy suspected he’d turn out to be the oldest student in sight at nearly twenty years of age.

  All the students were dressed in the official garb of the university: a black felt beret worn tilted to the left, a pale yellow shirt, over which a long blue tabard with white trim along the edges hung, tied front to back on both sides; yellow trousers and black boots. Each student carried a black leather pouch in their left hand. From their dark complexions, several students appeared to be Keshian; from the varied accents, many were from other nations.

  One of the older boys, with dark hair and eyes, his smile bordering on a smirk, walked up to Jommy and looked him up and down. He then turned to a disdainful-looking fair-haired youngster at his side and said, “Who’s this, then?”

  “Country lads, obviously,” replied his friend.

  “You can tell from the smell of manure.”

  Jommy put down his travel bag. “Look, mate. We just got off a ship after some rough seas, and before that had a long wagon ride, so let’s say we’re not in the best of tempers. Why don’t we start the ‘making life hell for the new boys’ tomorrow? How’d that be?”

  The dark-haired youth said, “This bumpkin wants to postpone our welcome, Godfrey. What do you think?”

  “I think he’s being presumptuous, Servan.”

  “So, it’s presumptuous to want to be friendly?” asked Jommy, rhetorically.

  Servan’s dark eyes narrowed as he feigned deliberation. After a second he said, “No. I don’t think so. Let’s begin now.” He poked his finger hard into Jommy’s chest. “Why don’t you put down that bundle so I can start your education right now, peasant, beginning with not speaking back to your betters!”

  Jommy sighed. He took off his bundle slowly, saying, “So, it’s going to be like that, then, is it?” He put the pack down, and grinned as he stepped forward. “See, as a rule I’m as easygoing as the next fellow, but I’ve been around enough to know that everywhere you go, regardless of nationality or rank, time of the day, or month of the year”—and he suddenly threw a straight right punch to Servan’s jaw which caused his eyes to roll up in his head as he collapsed to the ground—“you find idiots!”

  To the blond-haired boy he said, “You want any of this, then?”

  “No,” said the now shocked boy.

  “Then be kind enough to tell us where the new students go.”

  “Brother Kynan’s office.” Godfrey pointed at the main entrance to the university. “In there, to the right, second door.”

  “Thanks, mate,” said Jommy with a smile. “And when your friend awakes, tell him no worries. I believe everyone’s entitled to a mistake now and again. So, we can start over fresh tomorrow. But next time he tries to lord it over us ‘country lads’ I’ll really lose my temper.”

  Godfrey just nodded.

  Jommy picked up his travel pack and said to his companions, “Off we go, then.”

  They started across the large courtyard between the main gate and the huge building that was the Royal University of Roldem, leaving a muttering group behind as they gathered around their fallen classmate. A younger student hurried to Jommy’s side, looking up with a ferocious grin, and said, “I’ll show you the way!”

  “That’s a lad. What’s your name?”

  “Grandy, what’s yours?”

  “Jommy. These are Tad and Zane.”

  The boy looked no more than twelve or thirteen years of age, and had an infectious smile. His face was freckled and his head was crowned with a thatch of dark brown hair. His expression bordered on the gleeful.

  “You always this happy?” asked Tad.

  Grandy shook his head. “No, only on days when someone hits Servan in the mouth.”

  “Happen a lot?” asked Zane.

  “No, today was the first time, but I’ll come watch any time you want to do it again.”

  “Bit of a pain, is he?” asked Jommy, as they mounted the wide steps leading to the massive double doors.

  “More than a pain. He’s a bully and…he’s just mean. I don’t know why; he’s got everything anyone could want.”

  “I’m surprised no one’s punched him before,” said Jommy.

  “That’s probably because his uncle’s the King,” said Grandy.

  Jommy stopped so suddenly that Zane stepped hard into him, tripping and landing in a heap. Tad stared at Grandy, his eyes blinking like an owl surprised by a lantern.

  “His uncle, the King?” said Zane, getting quickly to his feet.

  “Not properly,” said the boy in a bright tone. “His father’s some sort of cousin, a nephew to the King’s father, the old King, if you see”—his grin got wider—“but he refers to the King as his ‘uncle’ and no one’s willing to argue about it. Because he’s still a prince and all.”

  Jommy stood motionless, then said, “Stepped into it that time, didn’t I?”

  “What are you going to do?”
asked Tad.

  “Well, as I see it, I’ve either got to make him my new friend, or I’ve got to beat him so badly he’ll be afraid to tell anyone.”

  Grandy laughed aloud. “I don’t think either’s going to work. Who’s your patron?”

  “Patron?” asked Zane. “What do you mean?”

  “Who got you into the university?” asked the active boy as they entered the vestibule and moved toward a large hall running to the right and left. “My father’s a former captain in the royal fleet, and my grandfather was the old King’s—what the people call the current King’s grandfather—admiral of the Southern Fleet. Both went here, so they had to take me, as a legacy. When I’m done here, I’m going for the navy, too. So, who’s your patron?”

  Tad tried to remember what Caleb had told them to say should anyone ask this question, and said, “Well, we’re from the Vale of Dreams, so we know people in both the Kingdom of the Isles and Great Kesh—”

  Zane cut him off, saying, “Turhan Bey, Lord of the Keep, Chancellor of Great Kesh.” The boys had only met the man once, briefly, less than a year earlier, when the plot against the throne had been thwarted, and it was unlikely the Lord of the Keep of Great Kesh could pick them out of a street gang, but Pug had close ties with the man and he apparently had agreed to act as sponsor without looking too closely at Pug’s reasons.

  Grandy laughed. “Well, that’s a high enough personage that Servan will at least think twice before he complains to his father, or maybe if he does, his father will think twice before he has someone cut your throat. Here we are.” Now they stood before a large wooden door to the right of the hall with a small viewing window in the middle. “Knock three times, then wait,” said Grandy. “I’ll see you later.” He scampered off and the three newcomers exchanged shrugs.

  Jommy knocked three times and they waited.

  After a moment the cover on the viewing window moved aside. They saw a brief glimpse of light and what appeared to be a man’s eyes, then the viewing window closed. The door swung open wide and a monk of La-Timsa stood in the doorway. He was tall, broad of shoulder and chest, and wore a light brown robe which reached the floor. The robe’s hood was currently thrown back to reveal an equally massive head, clean shaven in the style of his order. “Yes?”

  Jommy glanced at his companions, whose expressions made it clear they expected him to do the talking, so he said, “We were told to come here…sir.”

  The monk said, “It’s ‘Brother,’ not ‘sir.’ Enter.”

  When the three boys were in the room, he said, “Close the door.”

  Zane closed it and the monk sat down behind a large table. “I am Brother Kynan, Reeve of this university. You will address all monks as ‘Brother,’ and any priest you meet as ‘Father.’ Is that clear?”

  “Yes…Brother,” said Tad. The others echoed him a moment later.

  “Who are you?”

  Jommy said, “I’m Jommy, and this is Tad and Zane.” He indicated which was which. “We’re here from—”

  “I know where you are from,” said the monk. His head was dominated by a massive brow ridge and deep-set eyes which gave the impression that he was constantly glaring. Or perhaps, thought Zane, he was glaring. “You are not what I expected when we received a request from the Imperial Court in Kesh to admit three ‘promising young men’ in the middle of the year.” He fell silent as he regarded them.

  Jommy was about to say something, when Brother Kynan cut him off. “You only speak when you are spoken to, is that clear?”

  “Yes, Brother,” said Jommy. His expression showed he was not happy being addressed in this fashion.

  “You will have to work harder than the others, to catch up. Our education is the finest in the world, so consider yourselves privileged to be admitted to the university. Here you will study many things: history, the arts, the revealed truth as given by La-Timsa to her chosen, as well as military strategy and tactics. Roldem’s finest young nobles study here, preparing to serve the nation in the navy, the marines, or the royal court, as it is the duty of all who finish their studies to spend ten years in service before returning to their families. Many remain in service to the Crown their entire lives.”

  Tad and Zane exchanged worried glances, for no one had said anything about service to Roldem. What they knew about the Conclave didn’t preclude Pug’s ordering them to spend years in the royal court, or fighting Roldem’s enemies on land or sea; but it would have been less of a shock had someone mentioned it to them. As if reading their thoughts, Brother Kynan said, “Those of you who are not citizens of Roldem are not given the privilege of serving, but rather are required to pay a large sum in gold.” He looked Jommy up and down. “Your looks belie your station, but that is not at issue. Shortly, you will go see Brother Timothy, who will take those garments from you and store them. You will henceforth wear the university’s uniform every day from now until you depart. There is no rank among the students, so no titles are permitted. You will address one another by name only, and the brothers and fathers by both their title and name. Our rules are strict and we do not tolerate disobedience. Now, strip off your tunics.”

  The boys exchanged quick glances, then dropped their bundles and shed their tunics. “Kneel before the table,” said Brother Kynan. Again they glanced at one another. “Kneel!” shouted the large monk, and the boys did so.

  Brother Kynan strode to the corner of the room and returned with a long wand of dark wood. “This rod,” he said as he showed it to them, “is the instrument of correction. Any infraction will earn you strokes from it. The number of strokes will be determined by the severity of the infraction.” Suddenly, he lashed out, taking Jommy across the shoulders, then Zane, then Tad. All three boys winced but none of them cried out. “This is so you know what you face. Are there any questions?”

  Jommy said, “One, Brother.”

  “Speak.”

  “What is the punishment for striking another student?”

  “Ten strokes.”

  Jommy sighed then said, “Well, then, I suppose you’d best lay on, Brother, as I hit a chap named Servan a few minutes before getting here.”

  “Good,” said the monk. He delivered ten hard strikes across Jommy’s back as Zane and Tad stayed on their knees wincing every time the wand fell. When he had finished, he said, “Rise and put on your tunics.”

  They did as instructed and then Brother Kynan said, “You’re more intelligent than you look, Jommy. The punishment for not reporting yourself is double the lashes. You would have had twenty had someone else told me of your striking Servan.”

  Jommy just nodded.

  “Go down the hall and at the last door on the left you’ll find Brother Timothy. He will see to your needs.”

  Tad and Zane put on their shirts with some signs of discomfort but Jommy just yanked his on, picked up his bag, and left the room. In the hall, Tad asked, “Doesn’t your back hurt?”

  “Of course it hurts,” said Jommy. “But I had worse from my dad back when I was younger than Grandy, and I don’t like giving his type the satisfaction.”

  “What type?” asked Zane.

  “There are two types of men who give out punishment, old son. Those who know it’s necessary and those who enjoy it. Brother Kynan’s the sort who enjoys it. The more you show how much it hurts, the more he enjoys it.”

  They reached the door and knocked three times. A voice from within said, “Don’t just stand out there in the rain! Come in!”

  Zane glanced around. “Rain?”

  Jommy laughed and opened the door. Inside they found another room, larger than Brother Kynan’s office, but instead of being an austere workplace it was a veritable warehouse. Along the wall to their left shelves ran from floor to ceiling and on each rested small wooden boxes, each with a name and number carefully painted on it. There must have been hundreds of them, for the room stretched away behind row upon row of shelves that rose up from the floor to block their view. Two narrow paths ran between the
shelves and the bare right wall and one between the shelves on the left wall and the shelves they faced. The only other feature in the room was a small table and chair, occupied by a monk. The wizened little man was perhaps the tiniest human being any of the boys had ever seen; the average dwarf would have seemed to tower over him. His head was shaved like Brother Kynan’s, but he sported a full red beard streaked with grey. The man’s eyes were a vivid blue and his face seemed to be frozen in a perpetual smile. “New boys!” he announced with glee. “I heard we were to have some new boys! That’s just splendid!”

  Tad said, “Brother Kynan told us to come here. Are you Brother Timothy?”

  “Yes, I am, indeed, that’s who I am.” He continued to chuckle. “Well, then, let’s begin. Off with your clothes.” He stood and scurried down the left aisle, leaving the boys looking at one another in surprise.

  “Perhaps we get uniforms,” said Zane.

  “No,” said Tad. “Really?”

  Jommy winced slightly as he pulled off his tunic, and by the time Brother Timothy returned, carrying three wooden boxes in a stack that threatened to overbalance with each step he took, the boys stood naked.

  Tad said, “Here, Brother, let me help you,” as he grabbed the topmost box.

  “That’s fine,” said the monk. “You each take one.” When they each stood holding a box—inside which were tunics, trousers, hats, and boots, as well as white linen smallclothes—he said, “Well, don’t just stand there like fools, get dressed. If something’s too big or too small, we’ll sort it out.”

  It took only a minute to realize the uniform handed to Jommy was too small and the one Zane had far too large. They swapped and discovered both had decent fits. The boots were a different matter and it took the diminutive monk several trips to the rear of the storage room to find boots that fitted them. But in the end each of them stood wearing the identical costume they had seen the others wearing.

  Tad suddenly laughed, and Jommy said, “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Jommy, but…”

  “You look ridiculous,” finished Zane.

  “Well, neither of you look as if you’ll be impressing the girls around that fountain in Kesh where I met you any time soon.”