“How far out would the slow zone need to start?” asked Hadley.
“Our sling catapults have a range of about three hundred and fifty yards, maybe four hundred with a good height – no, what was the word, Vayle?”
“Elevation.”
“How about embankments?” Peashot asked, clearly pleased at remembering something from the classes.
“We’re going to be doing a lot of digging already,” said Hadley. “Let’s put that in the post critical stage.”
He sketched a rough overall design, compiling the ideas and labelling the stages, one to four. They all looked at the result, feeling rather pleased about it, all except Aedan.
“Something bothering you?” Lorrimer asked.
“I was just wondering about how many catapults we would need to build to cover all approaches. I was wondering if we could design a smaller supporting catapult, something that could be taken apart, carried off and reassembled quickly. That way we could set up hundreds of them where the attack falls.
“How about,” said Peashot, sitting up with a jolt of confidence as he detected a subject he understood well, “how about we soak the rocks for the catapults in blue or white stain so they are harder to spot against the sky?”
They laughed. It was just the sort of trick Peashot would come up with.
“That could work,” said Aedan. “Let’s ask if we can test it. But have you noticed how rocks often plug and stop when they hit soil? Here’s another idea – curved taluses and catapults that fire big discs directly down the walls the same way that you roll a wheel down a bank.” He waited for them to get the picture. “The problem is that a boulder stops regardless of whether or not it has hit anything of the enemy’s. If we had massive, heavy discs rolling across the battle field, they would have many opportunities to hit something.”
“I like the idea of the rolling discs,” said Vayle, “but I’m not sure how good it would be for the mortar in the walls if we are going to be using them to direct every shot. How about firing them onto the battle field the way you roll a wheel from above your shoulder.” He cut a disc of paper, perched it on his shoulder and wrapped his hand over the top, then slowly illustrated the motion of throwing and spinning it so that it bit into the ground and rolled forward.
“What’s happening here?” Skeet demanded, marching up. “Disintegrating into games are we?”
“No, sir,” said Vayle. “Aedan had an idea to use discs instead of boulders in the catapults. I was trying to show how a disc could be hurled with spin so that it runs when it lands.”
Skeet’s brow furrowed with contemplation. “It’s not a bad idea. We have more than enough giant pines to spare and we could build saws to cut, but a disc is not stable – it will just tip and fall.”
“Yes,” said Aedan, “but even if it only travels for fifty yards along the ground, that’s fifty times better than a rock. We could also give it a broader reach if we put a spikey axle through it.”
Skeet nodded. “The release is going to be the tricky bit,” he said, mimicking the throwing action. “This will not be so easily achieved with an unthinking machine. But it’s a blazing good idea.” He drifted into his own thoughts, moving his wrist and studying movements. Finally he nodded. “What else have you designed?”
Hadley showed him the rough sketch of their plans.
Skeet asked one or two questions, but appeared satisfied with the responses.
“Your stages are faulty,” he said when they were finished. “Your plans would leave us exposed for longer than we can afford, but your rolling discs and some of the “wrong” things you’ve done, like trees in the wall and putting a moat on the inside to double as a reservoir – interesting, problematic but interesting. Wait here.” He snatched Hadley’s rough sheet of paper and strode from the room, stopping in the doorway to address the class. “You would do well to listen to this group’s ideas, especially Aedan’s new concept. This is the sort of thinking we need.”
Aedan tried to hide his smile. None of the other groups approached his; each was clearly more intent on their own designs, but some attention was being directed his way.
Over the past days, he had pointedly ignored Malik’s escalating attempts to provoke another outburst. It looked like the pale antagonist was at it again. Several of the boys were now glancing between Aedan and a sheet of paper that Malik was busy with, their amusement growing. After a few moments the page was held up for the class to see. It was a crude stick drawing. “Aedan” and “enemy soldiers” were written under the respective figures. The meaning did not take long to sink in. The figure of Aedan was removing a cowl from his head, and the enemy soldiers were running in fright. Boys burst out laughing. Cayde and Warton clapped Malik on the back.
Aedan kept to his seat, but his breath came fast and his eyes were hot. None of the boys in his group were smiling. Peashot dug through his sleeves in vain – he had not yet replaced his favourite weapon.
Hadley stood with an abruptness that caused his chair to skid backwards and fall over. “Coming?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed for the back of the room.
Peashot kicked his chair aside and ran to catch up. Lacking a projectile, he launched himself past Hadley and over the table at a very surprised Malik, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him to the ground. Cayde aimed a kick at Peashot’s side, and while poised on one leg, he made a soft target for Hadley’s shoulder and went down easily, crashing into desks and chairs.
Lorrimer swung at Warton, missed, and hit Kian instead. While Lorrimer was apologising, Warton replied with a punch to the stomach that almost broke the tall boy in half. Warton proceeded to kick Lorrimer on the ground and that was more than Kian could take. He grabbed Warton’s foot, hoisted it in the air and held it until the bigger boy slipped and fell to the ground with a thud.
Vayle stood at the edge with an air of philosophical abstraction as Malik and Peashot scuffled around on the floor trading blows, and Hadley and Cayde wrestled for supremacy, knocking down chairs, tables and careless boys in their struggle.”
“Order!” Skeet shouted, bringing his cane down on a desk with a crack that brought all activity to a quivering stop.
“Explain yourselves!”
Peashot scrambled to his feet, snatched the drawing from Malik’s desk and handed it to Skeet. The war-master studied it. “Your work, Malik?”
“No, sir.”
“And yet the handwriting is clearly yours. All you brawlers line up outside. Every one of you. Now!”
The shrieks of wind and the meaty smacks of the cane made the boys in the class wince. Each combatant received two. Malik got another two for lying and two more for attempting to undermine a fellow student. His face wore a mixture of shock and rage as he hobbled back with small steps, his eyes stabbing in all directions. Aedan looked away.
Skeet marched back inside. “Marshals fighting amongst themselves is something this city cannot afford,” he said. “Next time it will be more than a caning. Am I clear?”
The class mumbled that he was.
“Good. You are dismissed. Group three, stay behind.”
Aedan’s group remained on their chairs – at least Aedan and Vayle did. The others were half on and half off, looking none too comfortable.
Skeet’s voice was firm. “Loyalty I like. I am glad to find it among you. That is why you were given only two. The stupidity of rage-inspired fighting I do not like. That is why you were given two. Now that’s enough of this. I have arranged for you to meet with the academy’s resource group this afternoon during the lunch break. I want you to explain your ideas to them. This is a privilege no junior students have ever been given, so do not embarrass me.”
During field surgery the boys were subdued. The girls soon learned about the brawl. Aedan saw Malik busy sketching again, and as the class ended, he heard giggles. Malik left a group of girls crowding over the sheet of paper he had given them. As he walked by, he angled towards Aedan, glaring down
into his face and brushing his shoulder as he passed. Aedan wanted to hit him. He wanted to run and hide from everyone who knew him.
He noticed Liru walking up to the group. She took the page from a tall girl called Ilona whose long hair fell to her shoulders in soft, golden curls, and whose eyes caused most boys’ voices to falter. Liru glanced at the page, looked at the girls, and tore it up.
“Savage!” Ilona snapped.
“Yet you are the ones causing injury.”
“Oh you always have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Ilona swirled around and strode away, golden curls flowing out behind and fawners swarming around her.
Liru grinned as she approached Aedan.
“Never mind them,” she said. “There’s not a good wife among them. If you heard the way that Ilona talks when there’s nobody to impress, you would rub manure in your hair just to make sure she would not take an interest in you.”
“Look at me Liru. Do you really think I need the manure?”
“Yes.”
Dejected as he was feeling, Aedan couldn’t help but smile at Liru’s directness.
“I was thinking of making a drawing of Malik,” she said. “He will be standing on a field of battle, taking off his helm and showing his pale skin. The soldiers around will be dropping their weapons and offering him medicine.”
Aedan laughed.
“Sit with me,” she said, leading him to a bench in the sun. “There are a lot of rumours surrounding you. Some of the girls enjoy rumours but I prefer straight questions and answers. So I want to know what led you to marshals’ training.”
Aedan pulled off his shoes, sat back and closed his eyes, remembering his childhood ambitions and the tragedy that had led him to where he was. He began to tell her of his early interest in ranging through a forest that was meant to be forbidden, his love of reading, especially stories of war, valour, sacrifice and heroism, and then of the Lekran raid that had cut through his beloved hometown and taken his closest friend.
“At first I wanted to be a great soldier and commander only for the adventure of it all. I thought I would be good with strategy, and that felt like enough of a reason. But when … when they took her, it became different. I want to bring justice to them like they have never known. I’m going to bring the sky down on that filthy island.”
“I hope you make them suffer.”
“I don’t really want to bring pain,” he said. “I want to bring justice and stop the slave trade.”
“I think you will succeed. There is fire in your heart. But maybe you should not try to deny your anger. I would happily bring them as much pain as they brought me. I would cover those islands with Lekran blood.”
Aedan was struck by Liru’s comfort with such violent sentiments – how different she was to Kalry. “How have they hurt you?” he asked.
“They took my sister.” Her face betrayed no emotion, but her voice clinked with daggers.
“Oh, I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“The Lekran raids are why we left Narralaz. My father is wealthy. He knew many important families in Castath, and he was able to purchase citizenship here.”
“So then, you are at the academy for a similar reason to me?”
“To answer that, I would have to reveal what we are being trained for.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean –”
“I know,” she said with a soft smile. Aedan wondered how such a small and delicate creature with such mild eyes could conceal such edged thoughts.
A jolt passed through him and he flinched as a look of horror crossed his face. “I’m meant to be at that meeting. I’m dead!” Without another word he bolted from the bench and flew down the corridors towards the central hall.
“Ah, here he is.”
About a hundred pairs of eyes were directed at Aedan as he stumbled, panting, through the back doors of the auditorium. His first glimpse of the roomy interior was enough to tell him that this was unlike any of the classrooms or lecture halls. From the carpeted floor, plush yellowwood panelling swept up the high walls and blended into a wide vaulted ceiling. Around the perimeter of the auditorium, hundreds of brass lamps shone against the portraits of fierce-looking past masters, probably now all dead. On the stage stood Master Skeet, looking very much alive and far fiercer than any of the portraits. Aedan trotted down an aisle between rows of tiered velvet seats to the carpeted stage. He took his place beside the other four boys who were giving him less-than-friendly looks.
“We have already covered the general defence structure,” Skeet said. “You have arrived just in time to explain the idea behind your catapult.”
Skeet’s words were loud enough for everyone to hear.
The message in his eyes was for Aedan only. It read, “You impudent gnat! When this is over I’m going to put you in a catapult and fire it down a mineshaft!” He smiled as he stepped aside.
Aedan was still breathing hard, so his explanation was less than persuasive, but after a while he saw interest sparking in a few eyes. And then the objections began, and they were not voiced gently.
“It is not a practical idea,” rumbled a big man in the front who spilled over his chair like a lounging bullfrog. “The labour required to build suitable wheels would be excessive.”
“That is why he used the word disc and not wheel,” Skeet replied in a tone that made Aedan wonder if there was bad blood between these two. “Sections of giant pines would be simple enough to cut if we rig a water-driven saw. They would cost us little and we could build up a large supply very quickly.”
The big man said nothing. Aedan took it as a rude form of assent and looked away. There was something about the man’s eyes he did not like.
“Would this require the building of new catapults?” a smaller voice called from the back. “Do we have the manpower for that?”
Skeet replied again. “Modifications to existing catapults might allow them to cast either discs or traditional projectiles. But this would need to be tested.”
A few more questions were put and answered. The chief war councillors gathered at the front to confer, and after much discussion, the large boorish man spoke up. “Generally we find that catapults are of minimal use against the smaller mobile targets of the attacking force, but this is an idea that might change things. We would like to see if it works in practice – though I doubt it – so we will commission a team to consult with you and construct a prototype, a modification of existing weapons if possible. Some have shown an interest in the unconventional ideas that emerged earlier and would like these boys to sit in at the next defence council. As we will be in the presence of the prince and other royalty, I recommend some tightening up of manners.” He swung his bulbous head towards Aedan. “And formal attire.”
All stares converged on Aedan’s bare feet. If toes could blush, his would have lit the hall.
“We meet tonight at the palace. The royal guard will collect you at the academy entrance in four hours. If you do not know how to behave among royalty, you have four hours to learn.”
“The palace – woohoo! My family will never believe this!”
Lorrimer was hopping along the corridor in some wild, gangling parody of a victory dance. The others laughed as they followed.
“Are you going to get dressed this time, Aedan,” Vayle asked, “or are you considering going naked?”
“What is it with you and shoes anyway?” said Hadley. “It’s like you actually enjoy the feeling of sand and soil between your toes.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. It’s not civilised. How can you like it?”
“Back in the Mistyvales I had a friend who explained it with a poem. ‘The hug of grass and the kiss of dew are greetings spoiled by the shoe.’ I changed her girly section about kissing to ‘the squish of worms’ which made the rhyme not work, but definitely improved the poem. Anyway, the point we agreed on was that walking barefoot is like letting the ground hug your feet, and shoes should only be worn when absolutely necessar
y.”
“Sounds like a nice girl,” said Lorrimer. “Did you ever get kissed by her?”
Aedan’s throat clenched and he couldn’t answer. Behind him a furious whispering broke out in which he heard the words “stupid clod”, “dead”, and “forgot”. He wondered how long the wound would take to close over. He sank onto his chair as he entered the dorm. A hand placed on his shoulder in passing was almost enough to make him cry, but he breathed, gathered himself, and pulled out his books. It would be best to lose himself while memorising a few more details on defensive strategies. He could not afford to indulge misery, to live in the past and stumble through life facing backwards.
During the afternoon, they washed thoroughly and dressed in their best, cleanest clothes, then strolled across the lawns and waited at the main gate for the guards that would escort them to the keep.
“They say the princess is a stunner,” said Peashot.
“They also say she’s eighteen and twice as tall as you,” Vayle replied.
“I meant the younger one.”
“The younger one is a boy.”
“Oh. Well then I meant the older one. Five years is not so much, and anyway, I’ll grow.”
“Yes, I’m sure she thinks daily of a delinquent midget apprentice growing up to claim her hand ahead of all the nobles and princes of the realm. What could any of them possibly give that you don’t have, except titles, land, wealth and all that. You don’t have any of those things lying around, do you?”
“You’re an idiot, Vayle. What does delinquent mean?”
“It means you. If anybody asks you to describe yourself, that’s the word you want.”
“Thanks. Idiot.”
“My pleasure. Allisian is pretty though, but I’ve heard that the prince chops off the heads of men who stare at his sister.”
Peashot snorted.
“Here comes the guard,” said Hadley. “I think you’d better drop the princess talk.”
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 30