The Cadet of Tildor

by Alex Lidell

  “Think I’m cheating you?” Greg licked his tooth. “Wish I was. Our Viper guests took a Family’s veesi shipment down just recently—a major one. Killed the merchant, and killed my supply. Most leaf on the street now will make you sick. Wouldn’t sell that to you. Greg saves the good bit for you, boy, you remember that.”

  Alec nodded his thanks—the Academy Healer would notice veesi poisoning in a moment—although he doubted the dealer’s concern came from anything but self-preservation.

  The news worried him, though. The Vipers did not belong in the capital. Their clashes with the Crown and the Family would spill on to bystanders. Already had, if Greg spoke the truth about lads disappearing. Accepting an ear of corn, Alec edged back the leaves and twisted at the tip. It snapped off, revealing crumbled orange leaves packed into the hollowed stem. The fashion of concealing veesi in corn was gaining popularity. He sniffed the goods, feeling a familiar nausea grip at his throat.

  After paying for the leaf and ignoring Greg’s attempts to saddle him with other wares, Alec headed back toward the Academy. One would think that after four years of buying nothing but veesi the man would get the point, but no one was immune to coin.

  He was almost back to the Academic Quarter, two ears of corn secured between the lining and outer fabric of his jacket—evenings chilly enough to get away with wearing it were precious few in the summer—when shouts turned his head back toward lower Atham. He gasped despite himself. Rising above the rooftops, a tower of black smoke spiraled to soil the dimming sky. Bodies, small as ants from so far away, scurried from the flame. A barefoot boy with the savvy look of a street rat and soot around his ears trotted past. Alec called to him and tossed a copper. “What burns?”

  The boy caught the coin with one hand and crammed it into his pocket. “The registration post in the Mage District.”

  Alec sighed. It seemed Greg had been right.

  The boy cocked his head. “You be needing a message ran?”

  “No.” Alec waved the boy away. The message was quite clear. Only the Madam would dare burn a mage registration post in the capital city itself. The desecration was the Vipers’ calling card to Atham. We are here, it said. And we have demands.

  * * *

  Renee awoke to a thud. She had stayed up strength-training well past the midnight bell the previous night, and now opened her eyes to see the chalkboard a few paces away. Seaborn stood by her desk, which vibrated from a large book that had just landed on it. Her cheeks heated.

  “See me after class,” he said quietly and then pitched his voice over the classroom of fighter cadets. “Three centuries ago, before the rebellion wars, we were slaves to mages. What’s stopping a repeat performance? Alec?”

  Despite a liking for history, Alec looked at the floor. He always did when required to speak in class. “The mages used to be stronger,” he said finally. “In addition to higher Control ability ratings, they also knew more, and, being the ruling class, they already had a government infrastructure in place.”

  “For example?” Seaborn prompted when Alec fell silent.

  “For example”—Alec’s words forced themselves out in a semi-mumble—“mages imposed a vitalis tax, forcing non-mages to submit to a draining of a measure of their life energy. The mages then used non-mages’ energy for their own projects and power.”

  “Very good.” Seaborn rubbed his arms, then straightened, folding them across his chest. “There is little to dispute here: Centuries ago, mages did bad things. So bad, it took a war to put an end to their domination. After the bloodshed, the new Crown destroyed many mage instructional texts to prevent a repeat of history. Even much of Keraldi’s own work was burned. Later, mandatory mage registration was established as both a safety measure and as a means of reconciliation and coexistence.” He lifted his brows. “In short, today’s laws address a three-hundred-year-old problem. Are they still relevant?”

  Renee crossed her feet while the rest of the class fidgeted in silence.

  Seaborn sighed. “Let’s consider this scene: It’s next year. You, now seventeen, have finished the Academy’s classwork segment and are on your field trial, stationed, say, on the western border near our less than friendly—which neighbors? Tanil?”

  “Devmani Empire.”

  Seaborn nodded. “Near our Devmani neighbors. The invaluable asset that you are, you find yourself dumped off in a small, isolated town. Your commander orders you to keep out of trouble until he gets back from a mission. Sound about right thus far?”

  The cadets laughed.

  “One of the soldiers in your company falls ill. The helpful townspeople fetch the medicine woman, who you realize is an unregistered mage. Issues, my friends?” He didn’t wait for hands. “Renee, please.”

  She rubbed her eyes, hoping the grogginess of her head wouldn’t seep into her voice. “The woman avoided registration, thus committing a high crime against the Crown. I would arrest her.”

  Seaborn put his hands into his pockets. “Depriving the town of its Healer will cost many lives, including that sick soldier of yours. Still want to do it?”

  Renee frowned. “That’s the law, sir. Mages must register and submit to education and regulation. I’d have no choice.”

  “Yes, that’s the law. But what does this law mean for us today?” Seaborn eyed each student in turn. “Does it matter?” He crossed his arms. “Healer Grovener has a young apprentice this year. The boy is interested in Healing and hopes the experience with Grovener will sway the Mage Council to keep him in that vocation once he turns thirteen and registers. It may work. Or, the Council may find the boy’s aptitude or Tildor’s needs better served by training him as a thermal mage. Or a battle mage. Whether the boy is allowed to Heal others and stay safe or forced to kill and risk his life, is not up to him. That is Tildor’s law.” Seaborn rocked back on his heels. “Yes, you are fighter cadets, not magistrate cadets. But, you will kill more people with the law than you will with the edge of your sword. Understand it, my friends. Know its reasons. In fact”—he smiled—“write about it. Five pages before week’s end. Dismissed.”

  That last did not apply to her. Renee stayed seated until the last of her classmates cleared the room, shook her head at Alec, who waited by the door, then rose to strike attention before Seaborn. Her stomach clenched.

  He sighed and rubbed his chin. “Up late with your sword, cadet?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m—”

  “On probation in combat arts. I know.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “I am not down-rating you this time, Renee, but this is your warning. No late assignments, no missed classes.” His voice was gentle. “A cadet will be cut at midyear and a down-rate in academics will affect your class standing. I don’t believe such would help your predicament and do not wish to do such things. But I will. You understand?”

  Only Seaborn could issue an ultimatum that left you feeling guilty. She nodded.

  He patted her shoulder. “Dismissed.”

  Renee started to leave, but a thought scratched at her mind. “Sir, Vipers want to end mage registration. They even burned down an official post three days ago. But . . . Why do they care?”

  Seaborn smiled and held the door open for her. “A group that enslaves fighters into Predator pits demands freedom for mages. Ironic.” He paused. “But can you think of a better way to recruit mage support? The Vipers’ Madam is ruthless and blood-lusting, but unfortunately not stupid.” His face grew serious. “There are now more unregistered mages allied with the Vipers than there are unregistered mages in all the rest of Tildor.”

  Renee swallowed. The Family caused enough heartache on their own, without Vipers and their illegal mages dragged into the melee. A disease of crime. King Lysian was right.

  CHAPTER 6

  Renee aimed her blow at Alec’s head. He blocked late and their blades locked a hand-width above his forehead. Her arms shook from the strain, sweat stinging narrowed eyes, but he shook too. With her sword pressing down and his up, the advantage was
hers. They both knew it. She had practiced the attack all summer.

  “Halt!” Savoy’s voice broke them.

  Renee’s jaw tensed as she obeyed the order, stepping away without seeing her score connect.

  Alec gave her a minute bow, conceding the match despite its premature end. He never begrudged her her victories, not even in junior years when they were of a size and she beat him nine of ten bouts.

  Savoy rubbed his temple. “He outweighs you by three stone. What in the Seven Hells are you doing, de Winter?”

  Winning. She clasped her hands behind her back.

  “You think you can overpower him? Or anyone in this salle?”

  Her knuckles tightened. “Yes, sir. If I create the right circumstance.”

  Savoy raised his head, pitching his voice over the salle. “Class halt! Push-up position. Knuckles and toes, backs straight, eyes on me. Hold.” He lowered himself directly in front of her. “Start creating.”

  A minute passed. Two. Three. Renee’s shoulders trembled. Sand had scraped the skin off her knuckles and now grated into the sores each time she adjusted her fists. Sweat dripped into her eyes, slid to the point of her nose, and fell to a puddle forming on the sand. Her right arm cramped in inevitable surrender. Her knees sagged toward the sand.

  “Recover!” Savoy called a hair before she failed. He held her gaze, driving his point deeper while the class around them reclaimed its footing. Girls and weaker boys didn’t belong among Fighter Servants. They weren’t worthy of becoming the Crown’s champions.

  Renee drew a breath and held it. Savoy was testing her resolve, goading her to work harder, to be better. She would.

  The door creaked. At Savoy’s nod, Seaborn slipped inside. “Commander, when you finish, Master Verin requests to see us.”

  Savoy’s face tensed for an instant before he collected his feet under him and rose. “Dismissed,” he called, dusting his hands against his britches.

  Renee stared at the backs of her classmates who poured out the door, Tanil at their lead. By Savoy’s tradition, anyone who failed to finish an exercise owed two hundred push-ups. She hadn’t technically failed, but they both knew why. She didn’t need favors.

  She swallowed and, before she could change her mind, claimed a spot by the wall. Her muscles protested the renewed abuse and she worked her fingers, staring at her raw knuckles. She could lay her hands flat. No. Erring on the side of honor, Renee planted her fists into the sand. The discomfort would thin once she started the exercise. Two hundred. Given enough time, anyone could do two hundred. Hells, anyone could do two thousand if they stayed at it long enough. Up and down. Small, easy steps.

  She managed twelve.

  Collapsing every dozen moves, she did not realize Savoy was still there until he dropped down beside her. His push-ups, easy and controlled, rose and fell in unison to her rhythm. “How many left?”

  “One hundred forty.”

  “Korish . . . ” Seaborn’s voice trailed off when Savoy held up a finger without breaking form. Seaborn sighed, pushed away from the wall he had leaned on, and headed out. “Very well. I will tell Verin you will join us shortly.”

  Savoy nodded and kept Renee’s pace even when she could manage no more than two or three at a time. The companionship scrubbed the exercise of shame, turning soreness from misery to challenge. When they finished, she rubbed her arms and looked up at him, trying to hold on to the string of connection that mutual suffering forged. “Thank you, sir.”

  He extended a hand to help her up. “You’re weak.”

  The string broke. Renee bowed quickly, hiding her face.

  “That wasn’t fair, sir.” Alec stood by the door, his hands buried deep in his pockets and shoulders slouched as if bracing against a storm. He lifted his face. “You’re not treating her fairly.”

  “Fair gets you killed.” Savoy dusted sand from his hands. “Your friend thinks she can do the same things you do.” He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “She’s wrong.”

  In Renee’s head, her father nodded with satisfaction. No amount of training turns a cockroach into a wolf. Her fist tightened around her scar. She should have died with her mother at the Family’s hands, but she had not. She was a fighter cadet for a reason. She would be a Servant. And she would correct weaker muscles, not surrender to them. She would beat the boys on their terms. She just needed to work harder.

  * * *

  “He’s an unreasonable horse’s ass.” Alec pushed a branch out of the way, letting Renee walk ahead of him down Rock Lake Path. The wind whispered in the canopy above them, as if wishing to weigh in with its own opinion. They were just past a month into the school year, the air only slightly cooler, yet the summer days of liberty already seemed far gone. “He tries to break you.”

  “He tries to see whether I’ll break. That’s different.”

  “He’s singling you out.”

  Renee angled to face him. “Last year, the Seventh rescued three hostages from the Family, found five weapon caches, and tracked down an unregistered mage on the Vipers’ payroll. And that’s just from the missions we know of. If the commander of the Seventh wishes to single me out, he’s welcome to do it.”

  “He—” Alec cut off as noise reached them from the lake below.

  “Madam is displeased,” said a low voice. “Your pup lost. Payment came due three days ago.”

  “Tell her to credit it against the next win,” answered a whiny tenor that Renee recognized as Tanil’s. A slap sounded, and the whine turned to a whimper.

  Madam, pups, payment. Tanil was betting on Predators? The Vipers forced their captives to fight for sport, and here a Servant cadet was actually laying wagers to line the criminals’ pockets? Renee was incredulous. King Lysian had spoken of the disease of crime, and here it was, lurking on Academy grounds.

  Alec’s hand tightened on Renee’s shoulder. “Don’t.” He sighed, attempting a reasonable tone. “What will you accomplish besides earning yourself enemies?”

  She detangled his grip. “Bear witness and report them.”

  “On what evidence? Did you see what happened when the Crown tried it?”

  He meant the Viper attacks terrorizing Atham ever since Lysian’s arrest decrees. The Crown took decisive action, and criminals responded with violence, trying to cow the king into passivity. It wouldn’t work. There or here.

  “I need time,” Tanil protested. “No. Wait. Look here.” There was a rustling sound of a bag opening.

  The voice laughed. “Put that away. In lack of coin, Madam will again accept information. That much you can scrape up, can’t you? The Family must have another corn merchant somewhere. One week.” Twigs crackled under receding footsteps.

  If she hurried, she might catch up. Renee shoved passed Alec and headed toward the sound in the woods.

  “Gods,” he whispered under his breath, but came up beside her.

  They made it several paces when a child’s shriek stalled their retreat.

  “Filthy spy!” Tanil shouted.

  There was a splash. A yelp. Then growling. The noises sounded in rapid succession, freezing Renee in place. Taking a breath, she turned again and sprinted down the hill—

  And skidded to a halt in the middle of the beach, where a large white dog bared his teeth at Tanil. He backed away, his eyes glued on the salivating fangs. Meanwhile, in the water, Diam struggled to keep from drowning. Rock Lake had no waves, but its banks dropped abruptly close to the shore, creating deep, hidden pools. The boy’s choking made a sickening harmony to the dog’s low rumble.

  Teeth flashed in the sunlight. The dog crouched, ready to pounce on Tanil.

  “Khavi, down!” Alec shouted, stumbling onto the sand while Renee dove into the lake.

  Air caught in her chest, and her head rang from the cold as she lifted her head and took her bearings. On her right, Diam flailed, sucking in more water than air. She swam toward him. Boots dragged in the water and she reached the boy just when the lake closed over his
head. “Diam! Take my hand!”

  The boy seized her like a python. And pulled her down.

  She screamed for him to let go but he held on, squeezing with all the strength his thin arms allowed. Drawing a breath, Renee dove under and twisted to pry off the boy’s hold. Ice water poured into her ears. Her leg cramped. Finally, and much too slowly, Diam’s grip failed under the pressure and she maneuvered them both to shore.

  “What . . . in . . . the Seven Hells?” She braced her hands on her knees, gasping between words while Diam coughed his way back to consciousness.

  “That mad animal attacked me!” Tanil pointed to Khavi, who snarled despite Alec’s grip on the collar. It was a good accusation, and one Tanil’s bleeding calf supported. The Academy frowned on pets and would not tolerate dangerous ones.

  “That’s not what happened.” Diam wiped his mouth and rose to his feet. “You grabbed me!”

  “Shut your trap.”

  “Shut yours,” said Renee.

  Tanil’s eyes snapped to her, then to Alec. He winked at the latter and stuck his hand inside a pocket. Something crinkled, like dry leaves breaking against each other. “Go back to the barracks,” he said, still looking at Alec. “I scratched myself on the rocks. No harm done.”

  Alec sniffed the air and paled. “Let’s go, Renee.” He reached for her shoulder.

  She jerked away. “What are you talking about?” she demanded, but he would not meet her gaze. “He torments a boy half his age and you want to walk away?”

  “Renee. Let it be,” Alec repeated.

  Tanil grinned.

  She cocked her fist.

  The grin froze on Tanil’s face. “You don’t wish to do that.” He reached into his coat and threw a small sack onto the sand. Veesi leaf, the lifeblood of the Family business, spilled from the open top. “If we return with bruises, Master Verin will ask all sorts of questions, won’t he, Alec? And we all know what will happen if Verin catches you with veesi again.”

  Alec’s pallor turned green.

  Renee’s eyes widened at the shameless lie. Alec hadn’t touched the stuff in years. “None will believe you,” she said, stepping next to her friend. “Our word will count over yours.”