I must have wakened a dozen times before dawn, in that dreadful cycle of being horribly tired but fearing I would oversleep and thus rousing myself over and over. The room was colder than usual. My blanket was inadequate against the chill and I ached all over from shivering. My fitful dozing had left me wearier than if I had stayed up all night. At last, I admitted to myself that I could not return to sleep. Around me in the darkness, I could tell from the squeaking of springs and the rustling of blankets that my fellows were as restless as I was. I spoke into the darkness. “So we might as well get up and face the day.”
Kort replied with an obscenity that I’d never heard him use before. Natred chuckled bitterly. Those two had seemed almost immune from the tension; I now realized that they were just as anxious as the rest of us. I heard Spink sit up without a word. He sighed heavily and made his way through the dark to our lamp. He lit it. The yellow light made him look jaundiced. Despite his longer sleep, he still had dark circles under his eyes. He scratched at his cheek, and then went to the washstand to peer blearily at himself. “It would almost be a relief to fail,” he said quietly. “To be sent home and to know that it had all fallen to pieces and that no one would have any expectations of me any more.”
“And take us all down with you?” Natred asked, outraged.
“Of course not. That would haunt me to the end of my days. And that is why I’ve studied so hard, and I won’t fail. Not today. I won’t fail.”
But even to me, he sounded more determined than convincing.
The room was colder and the lamp seemed dimmer than usual as we dressed. While waiting my turn for the washbasin, I went to the window and looked out. The Academy grounds were cold and still. The sky was still black overhead, with the last stars fading. The day would be clear, then. Clear and cold. A shallow crust of snow, trampled in places, caked the lawns and tree branches. I looked at the reaching black branches of the tree and a vague memory stirred. When I tried to recall it, the bits fled. I shook my head, at myself and at the Academy grounds before me. They looked the most dismal place in the world. It is strange, but the snow appeared abused and out of place in that city world. If I had wakened to a similar morning in the open countryside it would have felt like a crisp, clean winter day. In Old Thares, it felt like a mistake.
No one spoke much. There were mutters and grumbles of complaint, but I think each one of us was too caught up in his own fears to say much of anything to his fellows. We mustered in the usual place where Corporal Dent appeared to curse and blame us for his miserable life. I felt dull and discouraged and wondered briefly why I had ever wanted so desperately to be here. This was not the golden future I had imagined for myself. This was misery, pure and simple. I wondered if Spink had been right. Maybe it would just be a relief to be sent home, with all expectations of me vanished forever. I gave myself a shake, trying to dispel my gloominess. Dent gave me a demerit for moving in ranks. I scarcely noticed.
We waited in the cold and the dark until our cadet officers came by and reviewed us. Surprisingly, they found little to scorn us for that day. Perhaps they, too, dreaded the day’s exams, even though the upper classmen were immune from the culling process. Or perhaps they looked forward to Dark Evening’s holiday and felt merciful to us. Maybe it was simply too dark for Jeffers to see that I had not brushed my jacket and that my trousers had spent the night on the floor, not on a hanger. In any case, Cadet Captain Jeffers allowed us how we appeared and we were dismissed from our inspection.
We marched off to a breakfast I had no stomach for. I forced myself to eat, reminding myself of Sergeant Duril’s saying, “The soldier who doesn’t break his fast when he can is a fool.” At the table, only Gord seemed to eat with a will. Spink pecked at his food. Trist heaped his plate, ate five bites and then pushed at the rest as if he were poking a dead animal with a stick. Ordinarily, Corporal Dent would have demanded that he eat whatever he took, and lectured us all that a man who took supplies greedily and then wasted them was a liability to his whole regiment. Dent, however, had found as many possible excuses as he could of late to leave us alone at table, so there was no one to rebuke us for the half-eaten meals that day.
We fell in and marched off through a cold day that was just now turning grey to our first class. In Military History the entire chalkboard was already covered in questions written out in Captain Infal’s sloping hand. He greeted us with, “Come in, leave your books closed, and start writing. I will collect your papers at the end of class. No talking until then.”
And that was it. I set out my paper and began writing. I tried to pace myself, to be sure that I would write at least some sort of answer to each question and did well enough at that. I left space at the ends of some answers to allow myself to add more detail if I had time. I struggled with dates and with the sequences of the sea battles. I wrote until my pen was slick in my fingers and my hand ached. And suddenly Captain Infal was announcing, “That’s it, cadets. Finish the sentence you are writing and put your pens away. Leave your papers on your desk. I will take them up. Dismissed.”
And that was it. The day outside had warmed a bit, but not enough to melt the ice on the walkways. The closer we got to the river, the more bitterly the wind blew. The dilapidated maths and science building creaked in the cold. There were coal stoves in each classroom, but their warmth did not seem to extend more than a few feet beyond their sullen iron bellies. We took our customary places, with Gord sitting on one side of Spink and me on the other. Captain Rusk saw us seated, then went to the board and began writing the first problem. “Begin as you are ready he instructed us. I gave Spink a reassuring smile but I don’t think he saw it. His nose was red with cold, and the rest of his face white with weariness and perhaps fear.
I recognized Rusk’s first problem as one directly out of the textbook examples. I could have simply written the answer, but he demanded that all work be shown. I worked steadily, taking down each problem as he wrote it, and several times blessed my father for seeing me so well prepared for my first year of Academy.
Midway through the test, it happened. I heard a small crunch, and then Gord’s hand shot immediately into the air. Rusk sighed. “Yes, Cadet?”
“I’ve broken my pencil, sir. May I ask to borrow one?”
Rusk sighed. “A prepared soldier would have an extra one with him. You cannot always depend on your comrades, though you should always be in a position to let them depend on you. Has anyone an extra pencil that Cadet Lading may use?”
Spink lifted his hand. “I do, sir.”
“Then lend it, Cadet. Please continue with your tests.”
Gord leaned over to accept the pencil that Spink offered. As he did so, his desk bumped against his sizeable midsection and then lurched against Spink’s. Both their papers cascaded to the floor under Spink’s desk. Spink leaned down, gathered the papers and handed Gord’s back to him, along with the extra pencil. I watched this from the corner of my eye. And I could not be certain that Spink gave Gord back every sheet that truly belonged to him.
Captain Rusk made no comment on it. He continued his slow pace around the room. I heard my classmates groan when he announced, “You should have finished with these problems by now,” and erased the first set on the board. He immediately began to write more problems. And I sat there, feeling paralysed and sick, not by the math, which was well within my abilities, but by my uncertainty. Had they cheated? Had they planned that manoeuvre? Did I have an honour duty to raise my hand and inform Captain Rusk that they possibly had cheated? But what if they hadn’t? What if it was coincidence? I would have doomed the nine men of my patrol to expulsion from the Academy. We would all be culled, because I had had a suspicion. I felt a sudden wave of loathing for Trist, so busily scratching away at his own paper. But for his horrid suggestion, I would never have considered Gord or Spink capable of cheating. I could not move until Captain Rusk asked me, “Cadet Burvelle? Finished already?”
His words jolted me back to my own situation, and I immediately replied, “No, sir,” and bent my head over my own paper and my mind back to the task before me. Despite my delay, which had seemed an eternity but had likely been only a minute or two, I finished well within the hour and had time to go back and check my work. I found several errors, probably due to my rattled state. Nonetheless, when Captain Rusk announced, “Time! Pass your papers to the cadet on your right. End cadets, bring the papers forward to me,” I felt as queasy as if I had failed every problem.
I kept my eyes to myself and spoke not a word as we left our classroom and formed up for our march across campus. A few of the others whispered to one another about two of the knottier problems on the test, but both Spink and Gord were as silent as I was. Despite the cold air, I felt sweat trickle down my back.
My test in Varnian is a hazy memory to me. We were given a technical passage from a cavalla strategy text to translate into Gernian, and then had to compose an essay in Varnian about how to care for a horse. I handed in my papers feeling I had done well enough. The trick of the essay was, of course, to keep to vocabulary and verb forms one was certain of.
Our midday meal was next. We went first to Carneston House, to exchange our morning books and notes for our afternoon materials, and then straight to the mess hall. I didn’t speak a word to anyone. No one seemed to notice my silence. They were all preoccupied with the tests we had completed and dreading the ones still to come. If anyone else had noticed what had happened between Gord and Spink, they chose to keep as quiet about it as I did. The cooks had prepared a hot and hearty bean soup thick containing chunks of fat ham and plenty of fresh bread to go with it. It smelled good, much better than their usual concoctions, but I scarcely tasted it. Spink seemed lighter of spirit, as if he had faced his most feared demon and the rest of the day could not daunt him. I avoided meeting his eyes for fear of what I might read there. Would I know if my best friend had forsaken his honour and cheated on a test? And with the next breath, I traitorously wondered if that would be such a bad thing, if he had done it so that his fellows, including me, could continue at the Academy? Did the ends justify the means? Was the culling, as Trist had suggested, a cruel way to test our loyalty to one another as well as our learning? And then my mind came back to Rusk’s comment about Gord needing to borrow a pencil—that one cannot always depend on his comrades but should always be in a position to let them depend on oneself—and wondered if there had been some hidden meaning there.
I entered the Engineering and Drawing classroom with trepidation. I feared a lengthy session with callipers and straight edge and ruler, dissecting and analysing some ancient construction. Instead, we found Captain Maw triumphant over four disorderly heaps of miscellaneous building materials. He wore a heavy coat and hat. He grinned at us all, clearly pleased with himself. It filled me with dread.
“Quickly organize yourself into your patrols. I’ve decided that we will have a practical test of what you have learned. In a few, moments, we’ll be carrying our materials outside and across the campus to Tiler’s Creek for a realistic demonstration of what you have learned so far in my class.
“Often a cavalla patrol will find itself faced with an obstacle that must be crossed: a river, a ravine, a desert or some other rough piece of terrain. Then all the spit and polish and book learning in the world cannot avail you unless you can put both your minds and your bodies to work. My test is a simple one. Your objective is to transport your patrol across Tiler’s Creek. I’ve furnished you with an ample supply of materials and tools, far more than you would have with you on the average horse patrol. The rules are simple. You must cross Tiler’s Creek. You may use only the items from your own supply dump, but you may barter with other patrols for what you think you may need. Barter carefully, for once you have given something away, you cannot demand it back. You will pass or fail this test on the basis of your patrol crossing the creek. I will now give each patrol five minutes to select a leader for this exercise. Only the leader can barter and his decision is final. Choose now.”
Instantly I hated it. Not the construction aspect: I appreciated the chance to prove my skills and knowledge in a practical way. No, I dreaded having to choose between Spink and Trist, for I was certain that they would be my only choices. And once we had selected one or the other, I feared the divided loyalties within our patrol would hamper our efforts to get anything done. As I dreaded, Trist immediately smiled round at us and announced, “How about it, fellows? You know I can get this done.”
Oron and Caleb immediately nodded, but Gord held up a warning hand. “Wait. I want to propose a different man for the job.”
“Not Spink,” Oron said decisively.
“No, not Spink,” Gord shocked me by saying. “I propose Nevare. His marks have been excellent and more than once he has shown that his father gave him a practical grounding in this sort of work. Isn’t that true, Nevare?”
Only a week ago, I would have flushed with pleasure at Gord’s praise, and at the newly appraising stares that my fellows gave me. Today, I only felt intensely uncomfortable. Did I want praise from fellows who would cheat or suggest cheating? So I only said, grudgingly, “I’ve built a cattle bridge or two. And helped with the foot-bridge for my sisters’ garden.”
There was a very long moment of silence. Trist looked shocked, not just that Gord had proposed someone other than Spink but also that he had chosen me. But Rory, Nate, and Kort were all nodding vigorously, and after a moment, Spink did also. Trist just shrugged. “If that’s what you fellows want,” he said, as if he didn’t care at all. Caleb immediately nodded also. Trist seemed to think it rather generous of himself to concede, and I suppose it was. As it was, we were still standing about uncertainly when Captain Maw announced, “Time is up. Name your commanders.”
“Cadet Nevare Burvelle,” Trist announced before I could say anything. Then, quietly, to me he added, “You best do your job, Burvelle. If you fail this, then we all go down.”
His words changed my warmth at my comrades’ support to a liquid fear in my belly. Was that why neither Spink nor Trist had given me much challenge for this post? Because a failure now would be such a spectacular defeat? It chilled me, but Rory, grinning like a frog, tilted his head at me and jovially commanded me to, “Lead on, Commander Burvelle.”
I think that, even said in jest, it does something to a man the first time someone actually calls him ‘commander’. I thought about it as Maw ordered all of us to follow him outside into the raw weather. Each of us gathered an armful of supplies from our pile and followed him. In that moment, I decided I would step up to the challenge rather than, as I had first considered, insist that Trist take it on. Maw was whistling as he led us out into the cold and the wind. We tramped through the caked and icy snow on the lawns to the edge of campus. There he motioned us to set down our loads and invited us to survey the creek.
When I stood by the stack of supplies Maw had given our patrol, my heart sank. Tiler’s Creek seeped along, a muddy gash at the edge of our landscaped Academy grounds. The trees that grew along its steep, mud-flanked banks were pole-sized saplings, now bare in winter’s grip. The gap we had to cross was not especially challenging. Once, perhaps, Tiler’s Creek had been a real creek. I suspected that nearby households siphoned off most of its water and dumped waste into the small trickle that remained. At the bottom of its muddy ravine, the ‘creek’ was little more than a seep of slime under a coating of ice, and only about eleven mucky feet wide. It was immediately obvious that we had only one wooden plank that was long enough to span the creek. We had a quantity of shorter boards, rope, canvas, stakes, a mallet, several knives, a hammer, a saw, and some nails. My heart sank.
“Let’s sort out our materials and see what we have,” I suggested.
That was a mistake. Trist immediately added, “Let’s see if that one long piece will reach across the creek.”
Spink then chimed in, “Looks like we only have one. We may have to trade to get more.” I suddenly saw how it could go. I would ostensibly be in charge, while the two natural leaders actually made the decisions and set the tasks. I felt the familiar lurch of uncertainty that always plagued me when I wondered if I had the ability to be a good officer. I was too solitary, too independent, too accustomed to doing it all myself, my own way. Perhaps my father had been right about me; I did not have what it took to lead.
The rest of the patrol began to move to obey Spink’s and Trist’s instructions. I realized my error in not being more forceful. I would not err so again. I tried to put my father’s steel into my voice. “No. That’s not how you start a bridge. I’m not worried about spanning it now. The span is no good if we don’t have anything to support it. Foundation first.”
Everyone turned to look at me. The other patrols were talking and moving pieces of wood and shaking out lengths of rope. In the circle around me, a small silence reigned. I felt the cold of the day and the chill of my small command’s doubt. I suddenly knew they wouldn’t follow me, and worse, that neither Spink nor Trist had the real knowledge of how to build a bridge. We were all going to fail, because I had failed my one chance to lead. Then, “Let’s get sorting,” Spink said to Kort. As they moved to obey my command, Spink gave me a wink. It both reassured and annoyed me. It seemed to say that he was with me, and that with his backing, I could command. I was grateful for his support, but I wanted to be able to lead regardless of whether I had it or not. I longed to know how he and Trist made others want to follow him. What did I lack?
There was no time to ponder it. Captain Maw had given us a motley pile of resources. As Trist had noted, there was only one piece of lumber long enough to span the creek. One patrol was already taking the easiest and most obvious solution. They set the single board on the ground so it reached from bank to uneven bank. But the board bowed under the weight of the first cadet who tried to cross it and spilled him into the half-frozen muck. The cadet who had fallen into Tiler’s Creek clambered back out, coated in filth, wet, even colder now than he had been, and dispirited. His fellows hooted at him as he rejoined them. Maw, who was sitting silently on a nearby bench reading a book, lifted his eyes, pursed his lips, and shook his head at them. I thought he fought back a smile. Without a word, he took a pipe from his coat pocket and began to fill it with tobacco.
I, too, shook my head. Maw, I suspected, had a different solution in mind. What had seemed so easy when we were building models now seemed almost insurmountable. How easy it was to reach down from above a model and carefully fix a tiny plank into place. I suddenly saw the real first step of the problem. “We need at least two men to cross to the other side,” I announced. “We can’t build a bridge working just from this end.”
No one wanted to go. It was a steep climb down, a mucky slog across, and then a tough scrabble up the other side. Whoever went was going to get his uniform and boots filthy. I glanced up and down the creek. There were no bridges in sight. Through the muck was the only option. “Two of us, at least, have to wade across.”
“Not me!” Trist announced with a grin. “Not right before Dark Evening. I have plans for the days off and they don’t include fussing about with my laundry. Make Rory go.”
I’d already forgotten the lesson I’d just learned. I should have issued orders to two of the cadets, not opened it up for discussion. I didn’t want to set a good example by wading across myself. For one thing, I had the very same reasons for wishing to stay clean that Trist had. But just as important to me was that I wanted to stay where the materials were so that I could come up with a credible building plan. I took a breath and tempered my remark. “No one has to go just yet, Trist. We have to determine what materials need to cross with that part of the team. Sending two men across empty-handed won’t do us much good.”
“The others have already started, and we’re just standing here talking,” Oron complained.
He was right. I saw that one patrol was busily nailing cross-pieces to their long plank. Did they think that would make it stronger? Another group had succeeded in trading so that they had two long planks. I looked at ours again, stood it up and shook it. It wavered. Even two of them would not have the load-bearing capacity to be the foundation for a successful bridge. “There’s no sense in doing anything until we have a definite plan,” I told the others. “And somehow, I don’t think that this one long plank is at the heart of it. I think it’s a distraction. What if we didn’t have this piece of wood? What would we be doing?”
We all looked at our pile of supplies with new eyes. “Rope bridge,” Rory announced.
I nodded. “We’ll anchor it to those saplings. But we still need a team working at the other end.”
Rory knelt down and began to unfasten the rope from its coil. The others made similar ‘busy’ motions. I took a breath. It was time to command, and I had no faith that anyone would follow my orders. Not unless I physically led the way. “Spink and Caleb. You’re wading across with me. Rory, give me one end of that line.”
“What do you need us for?” Caleb demanded piteously.
I refused to answer. He shouldn’t have been questioning orders and I wasn’t going to indulge him. Rory shook out the line and gave me an end. “Let’s go,” I told them.
I started down the steep bank, and despite my attempts to pick good footing, I slid most of the way. I had tried to pick a spot on the bank that was well coated with snow. Even so, there was mud up the back of up trousers before I reached the bottom, where my boots sank into the ooze, but only a few inches. “Spink, Caleb. Come on,” I told them, and then turned my back, refusing to watch them hesitate. I crossed the mucky creek, breaking through the shallow ice at every step. I scrambled up the opposite bank, using exposed roots and tufts of grass as handholds. By the time I stood on the other side, I was filthy. Spink, to my surprise, was right behind me. Caleb watched us for a moment, then, as we ignored him, he crossed. He had to use the rope to pull himself up; he had height but no real muscle on his frame. We reached down, hauled him to his feet, and then stood up, brushing off our hands. I realized that Captain Maw was watching us, a peculiar smile on his face. I wondered if this was his idea of a practical joke on all of us. I grinned back at him and gave a wave to show I could take it. Then I turned back to our task.
I had never built a rope bridge, but I’d seen pictures of them. I called out that we were going to go for the simplest form: a single rope strung across to walk on and another line above it to hang onto as we crossed. I saw the other three patrols immediately halt in their efforts and look at one another as if trying to decide if that was the plan they should have pursued.
Half an hour later, I had proved to myself that we did not have enough rope to make a bridge. The saplings that grew close to the edge would not take our weight; we had torn three of them up by the roots. The ones that were further back were too far away; we didn’t have enough rope. I had made at least four trips back and forth across the mucky creek, trying to find a way to anchor the rope to the bank itself. Trist, to my surprise, had turned to with a will. He had not ventured into the muddy the creek, but he was almost as dirty as I was from anchoring the rope to various shrubs that we then uprooted. Gord had served mostly as an anchorman, trying to hold the rope bridge by his own weight; it hadn’t worked. Oron had fallen in the creek once and Rory twice. Our time was running out. The only consolation we had was that the other patrols were faring just as badly as we were. If I had not spoken my rope bridge plan aloud, I might have been able to trade our long board for another patrol’s coil of line, but it was too late to do so now.
I sat down for a moment to catch my breath. Even putting four men on each end of the line to anchor it and using the long board as a balancing pole, we hadn’t been able to get Spink across. That was ignoring the problem of Gord’s massive weight, and the larger problem that as soon as a man had crossed, he could no longer act as an anchorman on the home bank.
I glanced at Maw. He was bundled on his bench, reading his book and smoking. He had given up even watching us. I was tired, cold, and muddy, but the frustration was the worst. I did not think Maw would give us a task with no solution. I tried to think back over all our constructions in his class, trying to come up with something that would be a clue to the solution.
“We’re running out of time!” Trist announced.
“Does anyone have any ideas?” Spink begged. I heard him throwing it open to anyone to take the command from me and save our patrol. That felt like a knife in my back. I lifted my eyes to stare at him. And there, twirling down from the sky above, shed from some unseen bird that had flown overhead, was a perfect black wing plume. It spun as it came down, shaft first, and neatly twisted itself into some soft snow to stand upright. It stirred slightly in the chill wind.
The memory crashed back into me. I stood with Dewara at the edge of the abyss. What had anchored those flimsy magical bridges? Only feathers driven into the sand, and twists of spider web. I had wood for stakes, a mallet for pounding them in, and stout rope. I could anchor my bridge to the earth itself. There might be just enough rope to do that. I slogged across the creek one more time to whisper my plan to my fellows. If it succeeded, I wanted the success to be ours.
We worked feverishly, cutting our stakes and sharpening them, pounding them into the earth and securing our lines. Our limited supply of tools meant that I had to wade across several more times, ferrying tools back and forth. We ended up with two parallel lines that barely spanned the divide. We had untwisted our short piece of remaining rope into twine and used it to fasten the crosspieces we had cut from our remaining lumber. We kept one fairly long piece as a balancing pole. I stood back and looked at our ‘bridge’ and wondered if even a rabbit could cross it safely. We had barely finished it when Captain Maw stood, took out his pocket watch, looked at it, and shook his head. “Five minutes, gentlemen!” he announced to us. There were shouts of dismay and frustration from the other patrols.
“Go for it, Nevare. Take a chance,” Trist urged me in a whisper. “If no one else crosses and we do, it may be a clear enough victory to save us all from culling.”
I tried to look as if I hadn’t heard him. I made my voice as strong as I could and announced, “Sir, we are ready to cross!”
“Are you?” He looked at me oddly, and again I had that impression that he wanted to laugh out loud. “Well, I’ve been waiting for this. Nevare’s patrol, cross!” He barked it out as an order.
Spink, Oron, and I waded across the creek one final time. We did not want to stress our creation any more than we must. I suspected we would only be able to use it once before it gave way. I only hoped the good god would favour us enough to make it last that long. To that end, I lined up my men by size. Spink would go first and Gord last. I saw the decision register in Gord’s eyes, but as always, he said nothing about it.
Spink went across lightly, almost dancing from board to board. When he reached the opposite side, he sent the balance pole back to us as if it were a javelin. Oron crossed next. He was less graceful and slower. As Caleb crossed, one of our crosspieces came lose and fell to the muck below. We lost two more when Nate went across. Kort crossed without incident. When it came my turn, I waved the others to go ahead. I had decided that I would go last. My father had often told me that an officer can delegate authority but not responsibility. If I my bridge gave way, this might be my only experience of being an officer. I’d do it right.
And thus I stood on the home bank, my feet planted on top of the ropes to give them extra anchorage and told Gord, “Go ahead. It’s held so far. We have to trust our work.”
He nodded gravely to me. Beads of sweat already stood out on his brow. He took the balancing pole and stepped out onto the bridge.
I should have sent him across first, I thought to myself, when our construction was strongest and all the steps were in place. The other patrols had given up any effort to finish their constructions and had come to gape at Gord’s crossing. There were muffled snickers as he started out, for the ropes creaked and stretched under his feet. The bridge sagged sharply as he ventured further from the bank, and two of the cross pieces snapped off and flew as if flung from a slingshot.
“Nothing improves pork like hanging it for a few days!” someone gibed and I saw Gord’s ears go scarlet.
“Keep your mind on your task!” I barked at him. He gave a slight nod. He went three more steps, four, five… On the opposite bank, our entire patrol was trying to stand on the end lines to help anchor them. I could feel the lines straining under my feet. Gord stepped wide over one gap in the footboards, made it to the next one, and then suddenly, it turned under his weight. He fell badly, sprawling across the ropes and then tipping off to land face first in the muck. He gave a muffled cry as he hit, and I knew a sudden jolt of fear that he had broken his back. That pang was as sharp as my knowledge that we had failed. Failed. We’d be culled. I suddenly knew it as clearly as I knew my own name. And so I fulfilled my final task in my very brief career as an officer. I scrabbled down the muddy bank again and waded out into the slime to see if my trooper was injured.
When I reached Gord’s side, he had already managed to sit up. Mud and frost were sliding down his face. He tried to wipe it off but only smeared it more. He was groaning, but in response to my query, said he didn’t think anything was broken. I helped him stand and glanced up at Captain Maw. The man was still standing on the bank, looking down at us. As I watched him, he again glanced at the pocket watch he held flat in his palm. And suddenly I grasped it.
“Get up the bank!” I shouted at him. Gord looked at me as if I were mad. He tried to turn around and go back to our home bank. I grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled at him. “No. Get up there. We have to cross. We have to get our patrol across the creek. That was the objective. Not to build a bridge. To cross the creek!”
I’d spoken my revelation aloud. Suddenly, all the other patrols saw it as clearly as I had. They hesitated, still, for the filthy and cold water was a daunting barrier. As they did, Gord started his heavy scramble up the bank. Clumps of grass came loose in his hands, and he pulled out the roots that he grabbed. He slid back toward me. Then Spink and Rory reached their hands down to clutch at his wrists. I planted my shoulder in his ample backside and shoved as they heaved at him. His feet slid in the mud, but he moved up and then as the other cadets in my patrol seized his arms and pulled, he moved up the bank. I heard one of the shoulder seams of his uniform give and the pop of a button. Then my other troops had him. I stopped my shoving and scrabbled up beside him. We both reached the top of the opposite bank just as Maw held up his watch and called out, “Time! Stand where you are, Cadets.”
And we did, panting and bedraggled. “We’re the only ones,” Nate whispered. I moved only my eyes to confirm that what he said was so. We were the only patrol to have reached the opposite bank. The remains of our bridge hung in woeful tatters, but I had got my patrol across. I waited to hear what Maw would say to us. I needed to hear that we had done well.
“Cadets. Gather up your gear and tools, and return them to the supply room. Put the lumber near the kindling supply for the Sciences building. After that, you are dismissed for the day. I hope you enjoy your Dark Evening holiday.”
We looked at one another, trying to decide what his words meant. The patrol of Skeltzin Hall first-years looked devastated. The two old noble patrols looked apprehensive. Had they failed? As he walked away, Maw called over his shoulder, “Marks for this exercise will be posted on my door in three days. Cadet Burvelle, see me in my office. After you have cleaned yourself up, of course.”
And so my triumph was very brief. The other patrols had an easier time of gathering up their materials than we did. The bridge that had proven so frail for crossing was quite tenacious when we tried to take it down. I said little as I did most of the work of dismantling it. It was cold and dirty work, and a thankless task. I had to climb down into the ravine to get the stepping boards that had fallen. When I climbed back up, I found that only Gord was waiting for me, a coil of muddy rope slung over his shoulder. The others had already taken their share of the mess and carried it off. I pushed down a rueful smile; my ‘command’ had not even waited to be dismissed by me.
Gord and I spoke little as we walked back to Carneston House. As we drew closer to the steps, he said, “I’m going home for the Dark Evening holiday. My uncle’s family is going out to our hunting lodge near Lake Foror. It’s frozen by now, and there will be skating.”
“I hope you have a good time,” I said without interest. I wondered if I should have accepted my uncle’s invitation, then decided that a holiday with Epiny and my wrathful aunt might be more stressful than one spent alone. I now felt little inclination to go into town with the other cadets. I felt I’d failed them.
“I could take your uniform with me. We have servants, you know. They do quite a good job at cleaning things.”
He didn’t look at me as he made this offer, and for a moment I didn’t know what to reply. He took my silence for surliness, I think, for he then said, “I want to apologize, Nevare. I broke the bridge with my damnable weight. But for me, we would have crossed in good order.”
My jaw dropped and I stared at him. It had never occurred to me to blame anyone but myself for what had happened. I said so. “I thought the bridge would work for us. After most of the patrol was across, I realized I should have sent you first, when it was most intact. But at the time, it seemed more important to me to get the most men across first.”
“And in a battle or patrol situation, you would have been right. You’ve a good instinct for command, Nevare.”
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly. And then, even more awkwardly, I asked him, “Is that why you suggested me for leader today?”
He met my eyes and his face was full of guilt. He blushed suddenly, his cheeks turning a hot red and then said, “No. I’d no idea that you could pull it off. I… was following an order, Nevare. From Maw. I had no idea what was coming today, but last week, as we were leaving the classroom, he pulled me aside and said, ‘A time will come when I tell you to divide in groups and choose a leader. When that time comes, you are to suggest Cadet Nevare Burvelle. Do that, and I’ll overlook the hash you made of today’s assignment. Fail to do that, and take a failing mark for today.’ I, well, I didn’t know what else to say except, ‘yes, sir’. And today, when he told the patrols to select leaders, he looked right at me. So I suggested you.”
“I don’t get it,” I said quietly. What Gord had told me was terribly upsetting but I couldn’t quite understand why. “I don’t know why he wanted you to do that. Did he think I’d be a failure, as I was, and that he could cull us all? Don’t look so horrified, Gord. You had to do it. He gave you an order. But, I wish…” I halted my own words, not sure what I wished. I was suddenly certain that neither Trist nor Spink would have seen the answer to Maw’s riddle. If, indeed, it had been a riddle. I shook my head. “I was so certain that I’d deduced what today’s test was all about. That the objective was to get the patrol across the ditch, not to build a bridge.”
“I think you were right. As soon as you said it. I was sure you were right. It made so much sense to me; if we had come across an obstacle like that on a real patrol, would we stop and build a bridge or just find a way across it?”
“We’d just cross,” I said absently. I suddenly knew what was upsetting me. I’d wanted at least one of my friends to see me as a true leader. Even Gord. I wondered suddenly if Trist had also received an order from Maw. Was that why he had given way to me so easily? I felt as if my guts had fallen to the bottom of my belly. Heavy-hearted. Was that what those words had always meant? None of my friends had ever looked at me and seen the potential for command. Because they all knew it just wasn’t there.
We walked the rest of the way in silence. I changed into my spare uniform, and decided to accept Gord’s offer of taking my other one home to have it cleaned. My bleakness was at odds with the rest of my fellows. Despite the culling still hanging over us, they seemed to have set aside their uncertainties. They were dressing for an evening out in Old Thares and excitedly discussing their plans for Dark Evening. There was to be a night market in the Grand Square, with all sorts of things for sale, at the very best prices. On the adjacent green, a circus with a sideshow had set up its tents and booths. There were acrobats and tumblers, jugglers, and wild animal tamers, and all manner of freaks in the sideshow. Everyone was putting on his best clothing and counting up his spending money. I felt a stranger like among them as I left Carneston House and started back toward Maw’s office. No one seemed to notice me leaving or wonder why I’d been summoned.
The sun had gone down behind the distant hills, its meagre warmth fleeing with the night’s arrival. The campus was a landscape of grey snow and black trees. The irregularly spaced pole lanterns made pools of feeble light; I felt I travelled from island to island, and suddenly it reminded me of my journey from column top to column top in the dream where I had first met the Tree Woman. Such a thought on Dark Evening was enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, and I shivered.
Maw was in his office adjacent to the classroom, waiting for me. The door stood ajar. I tapped and waited until he told me to come in. I entered, saluted, and remained standing and silent until he waved me into a seat. The office was as chill as the rest of the building, but Maw appeared comfortable. He set aside some papers stacked on his desk and looked up with both a sigh and a smile. “Well. Cadet Burvelle, you look a bit cleaner than when I last saw you.”
I couldn’t find a smile to match his. I felt a sense of foreboding.
“Yes, sir,” was all I said. He glanced at me, and then looked back at the papers on his desk. He tapped them a bit more into alignment and then said, “Do you remember our little talk earlier this year?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has the idea gained any appeal for you?”
“I can’t say that is has, sir.”
He wet his lips and sighed yet again. Suddenly he leaned back in his chair and met my gaze squarely. I felt as if he had dropped a curtain between us as he said, “A man faces many difficult tasks in his life, Burvelle. And when he is given charge of promising young men, and he knows the decisions and choices he makes can affect their futures, their entire lives, well, those are the hardest choices of all. I’m sure you know from rumour that a culling is on the horizon. The cadets always know these things. I don’t know why we pretend they are secret or a surprise.”
I made no response, and after a moment he went on. “The military has changed, Burvelle. It had to. Your own father was instrumental in the first part of the change, when he supported the founding of this Academy. An Academy such as this, as a foundation for becoming an officer, says that education may be more important than bloodlines. That was a very unpopular idea, you must know. We were badly beaten in our war with Landsing. Badly. We had clung to our traditions too firmly; we deployed our men, ships, and cavalla as if we were still fighting with swords and spears and catapults. Soldier-sons were born-soldiers, we said; we thought the idea that they must be taught to fight a foolish one. And of course the soldier sons of nobles were born officers, with no need of instruction in that task. In those days, all commissions were bought or inherited. The education we gave our officers was intended more to form an attitude than to instruct in strategy. Six months of polishing and off we sent our young lieutenants. The War College! Was ever an institution so poorly named? It should have been called the Gentleman’s Club. Knowing how to critique a wine or play a good hand of cards were considered more important than knowing how to deploy a regiment across different types of terrain. So we educate you now, and we send you forth. And we see the sons of new nobles promoted over their better-bred cousins. We see common soldiers rising up through the ranks, and assuming command over nobly born soldier sons. General Brodg, named commander in the east, is the son of a common soldier. It goes against the grain, Burvelle. It rasps the sensibilities.”
I was shocked at what he was saying to me. Nevertheless, I nodded once, wondering where this was leading.
“So, we have changed,” he said, and sat back in his chair with a sigh. “And it has brought us success, at least against the plainsmen. It remains to be seen how well we would do against the Landsingers, if we were ever allowed to try. Some think we should. Some think the king wastes his time in looking east at the barren lands, and building a road that leads only to impassable mountains. Some think we should turn around and bring our forces against the Landsingers, and take back our coastal regions and our seaports.”
I was silent. He prodded me. “What do you think, Cadet Burvelle?”
“I don’t think it is my place to disagree with my king, sir. The road will go to the mountains, and eventually through them to the sea beyond.”
He nodded slowly, his mouth pursed in a sour smile. “Spoken like a true new noble’s son, Cadet. That road, that possible port, that theoretical trade, all taken together, could well enrich your family beyond your father’s wildest dreams. But what of the old nobles, who lost important holdings when King Troven’s father surrendered and ceded their coastal holdings to the Landsingers? What of the old nobles who live in genteel poverty now, deprived of the taxes that used to fund their families? Do you ever think of them?”
I hadn’t. I suppose that showed in my face, for Maw nodded to himself. Then he spoke very carefully. “We here at the Academy see that a balance must be kept. The king is the king, of course. The military answers to him. But it is commanded by the sons of his new and old nobles. There are only a certain number of vacancies to be filled every year. Too many old nobles’ sons, and the army will sway one way. Too many new nobles’ sons, and it may sway another. We here at the Academy do not attempt to influence politics by our actions. Rather, we strive to keep the military in a neutral balance. I promise you this is true.”
I spoke slowly, knowing my words were not respectful, knowing I could be expelled from the Academy for them. I knew, also that it didn’t matter. “And that is why you will cull one patrol of new nobles’ sons. To be sure that this year’s class will not outnumber the old nobles’ sons.”
He nodded slowly. “You have a mind for putting things together, Nevare. Just as you did today. That was why I made my suggestion to you earlier this year.”
“And you will cull my patrol rather than the new nobles from Skeltzin Hall.”
He nodded once, slowly.
“Why? Why us and not them?”
He leaned back in his chair, one fist resting on his chin and took a breath through his nose. Finally, he spoke. “Because that was what we decided at the beginning of the year. When Colonel Stiet took over the Academy, he put the decision in the hands of the advisory board. Quietly, of course. It’s always done quietly. Look at your patrol, and you can see the criteria. Some are the sons of new nobles who have no power at all. Others are the sons of new nobles who seem to be gaining too much power. You, I’m afraid, were a special request. A favour between old friends.”
“My aunt, Lady Burvelle requested it of Colonel Stiet. Didn’t she?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You do put things together, don’t you, Burvelle? I saw that in you. That’s why I tried to divert you from the Academy, early in the year.”
My ears were buzzing in shock at all of it. “It isn’t fair, sir. Because I did put things together. And I did get my patrol across the creek. And if an old nobles’ sons patrol had crossed as we did, you would have announced that they had deduced the correct answer, that the objective was to cross the creek, not build a bridge.”
“That’s true,” he said, and there was no apology in his voice. “I wish I could have congratulated you in front of your fellows. But I could not. So I called you here, privately, to let you know. You were right. And you did well. The manner in which you achieved it showed that you will never be a typical line officer, however. That is why I still believe that as a scout, you would excel. And that is why, regardless of what marks are posted a few days hence, I will still recommend you for that position.”
“But I won’t continue here at the Academy, will I? Nor will Spink or Trist or Gord or Kort or any of the others. Will they? You will recommend me, and I suppose I should thank you for that. My father’s shame and disappointment will not be complete. I’ll nominally have an officer’s rank. But what of those others? What of them?”
He looked past me now when he spoke and his voice was stiff. “I’ve done what I can, boy. Some will come up the old way. Their families will simply purchase commissions for them rather than seeing them earn them here. Trist, I am sure, will become an officer. Gord’s family certainly has the wealth to place him well.”
“Spink’s family doesn’t. What becomes of him?”
Captain Maw cleared his throat. “I suspect he will be a Ranker. He’ll enlist as a common soldier, for he will remain a soldier son. And on the basis of his talents, he will rise. Or not. The military has always provided those alternate paths for men of talent and determination. Not all officers are born of nobility. Some come up through the ranks.”
“At the cost of years of their lives. Sir.”
“That’s true. That has always been true.”
I sat there, no longer liking a man whom I had admired for most of the term. A private congratulation on working out his puzzle, and a recommendation to a scout’s was all he was offering me. I’d be a leader without troops, an officer who rode alone. I thought of Scout Vaxton and his rough manners and worn uniform. I thought of how my father had invited him to our table, but kept my mother and sisters away from his company. That was my fate. It was already determined that that was the best I could do. I could not force them to keep me at the Academy. I had done my best, and passed every test they had given me. Yet I would still be discarded, because the tight ranks of the Old Nobility feared that the king was becoming too strong.
I dared a question. “And if I go out now and tell what I know?”
He looked at me sadly. “Now you sound like Tiber.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t be believed, Burvelle. It would sound pitiful, as if you tried to make excuse for your own failure. Go quietly, son. There are worse things than being culled. You’re leaving with an honourable discharge. You don’t have to go home with your tail between you legs. You could leave here with a posting to one of the citadels in the east.” He suddenly leaned toward me and tried for a smile. “Think on it for a night. Come back to me tomorrow morning, and tell me that you’ve decided you do want to be a scout. I’ll see that your transfer papers are written up that way. There will be no mention of a culling on them.”
He waited for me to reply. I could have thanked him. I could have said I needed time to think. Instead, I said nothing at all.
Captain Maw spoke very softly. “You are dismissed, Cadet Burvelle.”
I heard it as my sentence. I rose without acknowledging his words and walked out of his office, out of the engineering building and into the cold of Dark Evening. Tonight, in Old Thares, people, caroused and celebrated the longest night of the year. Tomorrow, they would breakfast together and exchange good wishes for the first lengthening day of the year. Before the week was out, Sirlofty and I would be on our way back to my family home. All the years my father had prepared me had been for nothing. The golden future he had promised me was dross. I thought of Carsina and tears pricked my eyes. She would not be mine. Her father would never give her to a cavalla scout. I suddenly knew I would die childless, that the soldier son journals I sent home to my brother’s house would be a story that dribbled away with no ending at all.