by Candy Rae
“I’m almost grown-up,” he protested.
“You will always be a child to her; it’s in the nature of mothers, no matter how old you are. You are now a cadet and must live in the barracks with the others, but our cabin is close by. You and Mislya will be more than welcome to visit, duties permitting.” He added, “I will explain to your mother. Take your time. We will see you both at supper.”
He gave his son a quick hug then moved away, deliberating just how he would break the news to Unda.
: Life gets more interesting each day : ‘sent’ Mislya to Wilhelm.
: It will certainly be a challenge : he returned : he is my son, which in itself creates its own problems :
: You will treat him the same as you do the other cadets : she said, as usual interpreting what was bothering her partner.
: I have no favourites on the practice field : he agreed.
* * * * *
Brian, Eitel in tow, showed him the timetable in the common room next day.
“What’s that?” asked Eitel, pointing one stubby and dirty finger at one of the squares that contained the subjects. “It just says EQ.”
Many and varied were the suggestions from those spending their free time in the room.
“Equine?”
“Don’t be silly, as far as I know there are only six horses on the planet and they came with the Electra,” said Emily, looking up from the book she was reading.
This was news to many and Emily was hoarse by the time she had told them the story about the desperate escape from the Fort the previous summer and of the two girls who had managed, against all odds, to get themselves and the six mares to the north. She knew only part of the tale and, as there were many questions she could not answer, in desperation she said, “ask Jsei, he was there, at least at the end.”
“I will,” promised Duguld. “I loved working with the horses on our ship and would be glad of the chance to see some again.”
That started the argument.
“Why do you need horses when you’ve paired with a Lind? Horses are okay I suppose, but they can’t talk to you, can they?” asked a tall boy.
“I know that dimwit and I wouldn’t swap Ganya for a dozen horses or more, but they are beautiful in their own way.”
“Dimwit, who are you calling a dimwit?” Grant, one of the seniors stood up and began to walk menacingly over to Duguld.
Emily watched the scene unfolding with consternation.
This was not the first time the two had had a spat, usually vying for her attention.
Brian caught her gaze and one eyebrow rose. He knew Emily disliked such scenes. He indicated with a surreptitious jerk of his head that she should follow him outside.
“Sofiya is calling for me,” he said aloud in explanation.
Emily grasped at the opportunity and sidled away. So intent were Grant and Duguld on their argument on the merits and demerits of horseflesh that they didn’t see them depart.
“They’ll argue for ages,” said Brian as they emerged into the cool evening air. “I just hope it doesn’t come to blows. Their cubicles are near mine and they’re always squabbling with each other and that was before Eitel and Jilya found each other.”
“Grant is always pushing himself beside me,” whispered Emily, “and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Just ignore him. As training gets more strenuous he’ll be too tired to bother.”
“I miss Thomas so much,” confided Emily. “I’m not ready for another relationship. I know I’m only fifteen but Thomas and I knew that we, Ilyei and Stasya would be together one day.”
“I’ll look after you,” promised Brian impulsively, “as a friend.”
“Thank you,” answered Emily with a good deal of relief. “If you could just get Grant to back off?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Brian’s Sofiya had been listening.
: We both will : was her mental reassurance, picked up by Ilyei and passed to Emily : Louis and Ustinya will be back soon, they make sure of this, I will speak also to Grant’s Satirya :
: Not yet but we’ll keep that option in mind, I don’t want Emily upset : answered Brian.
: Emily is very pretty. Ilyei is nice too :
: We are here to learn and Emily still thinks of Thomas : Brian warned.
: Yes but we can have fun too :
Sofiya subsided at this point, which was a good thing as Emily had begun to talk again. They had reached the entrance to the girl’s quarters.
“Goodnight Brian,” she said.
“See you in the morning then,” he answered and with a jaunty wave left her for his own cubicle.
Sofiya was waiting for him, stretched full length on the raised platform of her divan. She opened one bright eye as he entered their cubicle on the boys’ side.
: Better sleep : she advised. : It will be another long day tomorrow :
As he undressed he realised that he never had found out what tomorrow’s lesson titled EQ was about.
The next day panned out as Sofiya had predicted. To their relief it was neither the Weaponsmaster nor his Second who were taking their dismounted practice. It was Nell, Ryzcka of the Junior Cadets who awaited them on the practice field and who was reported to be much less of a disciplinarian. She certainly did not shout as much as the other teachers.
“Our Weaponsmaster hopes to be with us shortly,” she informed them, ignoring the ostentatious sighs of relief, “until that time you will have to make do with me.”
They looked at each other. This might prove interesting. Certainly, the lazier of them hoped, it would not be as hard as when the two that generally took the class were in control.
Their optimism was soon in shreds.
Nell held her own wooden practice sword aloft.
“This is a lethal weapon, although it is made of wood, it can still maim and kill as I am sure both Wilhelm and Ross have told you often enough.”
“I am now going to show you,” Nell continued, “the first of a series of sword drills that you will learn over the next weeks. Only when you can do this one perfectly and without strain will you be taught the next. Each series is made up of the individual moves you have been learning so far.”
She brought her sword into the ‘Ready’ position.
Standing square in the centre of the circle of cadets she brought the sword down in a short half-arc.
“Movement One.”
Then with a flick of her wrist and with nary a wobble it sliced up until arm and sword were parallel to the ground.
“Movement Two.”
There, arm and sword stayed unmoving, until she brought it back into the rest position with the words, “Movement End.”
Then she smiled.
“On the count.”
Thirty-two swords were made ready and she began. The exercise was repeated again and again, faster each time until the cadets felt that their sword arms were going to drop off. Nell was unmerciful, criticising constantly but also praising.
“Higher Duguld, much higher. Is it terrier dogs that you think will be attacking? That’s good Eitel.”
When Wilhelm and Ross arrived, the former nodded approvingly and the two of them took over from Nell, correcting stance and placement whilst she stood in the middle counting the beat.
After a while, Wilhelm split them up into two groups. The least proficient, he left with Nell telling her to concentrate on building up their strength, the remaining twenty he took and told them to form a circle around Ross.
“These practice blades,” said the Weaponsecond, “ are similar in weight and length to the real weapons that you will wield in earnest. They are, as you must be aware by now, longer and thinner than those used by the infantry and slightly curved. We will repeat what you have learned but much faster than you did with Ryzcka Nell.”
Again and again they did the set moves, Ross calling out the movement numbers, then Wilhelm called a halt and moved round the circle, correcting grip and stance ag
ain. Ross began counting again. The cadets grew ever more hot and sweaty and their sword arm did not so much ache, as throb with weariness. Some of the less robust felt they must cry with the pain if it didn’t stop soon but Wilhelm did not call a halt, merely left Ross to it and went to help Nell with the others.
The cadets groaned but kept at it, the girls especially finding it difficult to stop their arm from wobbling.
It was with heartfelt relief that they racked the weapons when the bell went and sped off to their next class, the one with the innocuous title ‘General Education’.
At least they would get a rest from physical exertions they were thinking as they entered the cool classroom and sat down at the neat lines of desks and stools.
A physical rest it may have been but no rest mentally as they soon found out. Their teacher was very well aware that she had only seven sessions a week to drum into the class the education programme stipulated by law and they were left with, of all things, written homework for the next day.
“Mathematics,” groaned Duguld in dismay. How I hate the beastly subject.”
Emily smiled at him sympathetically. She liked maths but even she was wondering how she could fit in these extra studies on top of all the rest.
“Lunch first,” she said.
“Good,” was Eitel’s comment, “but then more weapons-work, at least it is mounted this time, not that I’ll manage to stay on top of Jilya and do the drills at the same time.”
The Lind bonded with the cadets had watched their first essays into the science of swordsmanship with a great deal of interested trepidation. They had been more than relieved to hear at lunchtime that they were to be excused practice until their humans had learned more control. What met the cadets in the practice field that afternoon was yet more dismounted drill, much to Eitel’s chagrin.
As the weeks progressed, so did the cadets. Riding classes with Geraldine and Jsei continued until Geraldine released them to refine their skills on their own. Classes in First Aid, Cooking, Living off the Land and Equipment (the EQ argument was thus resolved) were added. Each day they attended both mounted and un-mounted arms practice. They watched the senior and adult cadets go through much the same except that they were excused classes in general education. These older cadets were taught the most exciting class of all, that of battle practice, when they learned how to fight in formation and against a foe (one or more ryz from the home pack Lindars). This last looked, and was, dangerously exciting.
The junior cadets complained amongst themselves about the amount of work they had to put in, but as Emily observed one evening about a month into classes, their workload was as nothing compared with the intense training the adult and senior cadets were undergoing. Brian’s prophecy that Grant would have little time to pester Emily had been proved all too true.
The juniors did not know how hard-pressed Francis was to provide enough vadeln-pairs to meet the Vada’s commitments.
Weaponsmaster Wilhelm was being pressurised by Susa Francis to release cadets for active duty and the more proficient adult cadets were, by the first month of winter, accompanying the regular patrols to the nearby coasts. They were not yet ready as Wilhelm complained vehemently at every opportunity, but to no avail. Luckily most of them had learnt the rudiments of fighting in the months before the Larg and convict invasion earlier in the summer and, under the eagle eyes of Wilhelm and Ross, adapted quickly to the methods of fighting alindback, once accustomed to the longer one-edged sword.
By mid-winter, most adults and the best of the senior cadets had been promoted to active duty thus alleviating the pressure a little.
It was at this time that Susa Francis decided that the Vada required a uniform and excitement mounted within the stronghold when the cadets were told it would be revealed.
The cadets were issued with a stiff material tabard that they were to wear over their work clothing to distinguish them from the other inhabitants of the stronghold. It was maroon, which had been chosen as the colour of the Vada uniform proper.
The silver Vada badge of the Lind head was stitched on to the left breast and white stripes would be added underneath as their training progressed.
As yet there was no word of any attacks from the southern continent, Larg or convict.
Francis continued to make sure the patrol areas were covered but there were huge gaps in the cover and he was at his wits’ end to ensure that the coast had enough protection.
He worried about it, often, to his wife Laura in the evenings.
“The Ryzcks are too big,” advised Laura, “they are unwieldy. Smaller units are needed and more of them.”
He looked at her, opening his mouth to reply but Laura wasn’t finished.
“You must reorganise and while you’re about it you’d better make plans regarding maternity cover.”
Maternity cover?” Francis looked blank.
“Our Lind partners will have at least one litter which will effectively put them out of action for a considerable time. Look at Asya and, like me, our women won’t want to be celibate all their lives. You’ll have to make provision.”
“There’s such a thing as birth control,” Francis ventured.
“Not for the Lind.”
“Pregnancies and motherhood,” groaned Francis, “yet something else to worry about.”
“Don’t be silly Francis, it merely needs planning and organisation. There are a multitude of tasks and duties we can do. Training springs to mind, perhaps message delivery. Not everyone is in the lucky position you are. Faddei has already expressed his willingness to carry and fight with you if and when Asya is unavailable.”
“For which I am eternally grateful.”
“But first you have to reorganise, make the Ryzcks smaller and more manageable. Perhaps ten Ryzcks of around thirty instead of three large ones. Makes setting reasonable leave periods easier as well. Both people and Lind want to visit their families and friends. The Lind especially are not used to spending the majority of their lives away from their packs. There are grumblings already. As the Vada grows, there will be more than ten Ryzcks and then your patrol rotas and leave periods will be even easier to organise.”
Francis, Wilhelm and Ross worked well into that night planning the revamp of the Vada, Laura continuing to provide helpful advice.
Not that the cadets trained every hour of every day. They were encouraged to take up a hobby of some kind. An active Ryzck spent at least twelve tendays, as weeks were becoming known, in their patrol sector and time could lie heavily on their hands, especially during long, cold winter nights in the mountain sectors.
Both leatherwork and fretwork were popular and to a lesser extent embroidery and tapestry making.
If a cadet played a musical instrument, he or she was encouraged to practice. Flutes and whistles being the most common; they were easily transported alindback and small enough not to hamper a rider. There were a few who played the violin but strings and bows could and did break and were difficult to replace.
Duguld was the only one amongst the cadets who played a brass instrument, although Ryzcka Nell played the tenor horn. Neither Duguld nor Nell’s avocation was popular amongst the Lind. They complained bitterly that the sounds emanating from trumpet and horn hurt their ears, the trumpet especially, so Nell and Duguld were ‘persuaded’ to practice as far away from the stronghold as they could manage. Duguld took it in good part and did not stint on his practising. He had, after all, promised his mother that he would not stop.
“Do you have to play that thing? It is most hurtful to my ears,” Duguld’s Ganya would say.
“Only way to get better is to practice,” Duguld would reply, “at least that’s what my mother told me when I was a little boy. The trumpet belonged to my grandfather. He was a great player, not like me. His father taught him. I only had a few lessons when we were on the ship, from Ryzcka Nell as a matter of fact.”
He wondered sometimes where his mother was. The trumpet was the only link he had with her
now. Despite enquiries, no one had come forward with any knowledge of Elspeth McCallum’s whereabouts.
“Where are you from?” asked Mark of Duguld one night as the cadets sat in their common room oiling their leather harnesses.
“My father is a farmer,” answered Duguld, “root crops mostly, he doesn’t think there’s a future in livestock.”
“It’s different here,” said Mark. “We have mixed farms and livestock breeding is very important. There’s hundreds of Lind to feed, stands to reason.”
“Where are you from?”
“About a day’s run from here. I’ve got four brothers and one sister. Plenty of us to keep the farm going, though what Mum and Dad will do if we all pair with a Lind I don’t know. What about you? Have you got brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. I’ve got cousins though. They joined us after the Battle of the Alliance when my aunt and uncle were killed.”
“They still with your parents?”
“Parent,” corrected Duguld. “I haven’t seen my mum for a long time.”
Mark didn’t quite know what to say to that.
“She ran off,” continued Duguld, “not long after we left Settlement. One morning when I got up she was gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. It was just me and my father for a while then after the battle my two cousins arrived.”
“Do you miss them?” asked Mark who did miss his family and couldn’t wait until the first leave-time was announced when he could go and visit.
“After Mum left it wasn’t really a home any more,” Duguld confessed. “All my father thinks of is the farm, what areas to plant and with what. He used to talk about it for hours at a time, to the cousins mostly. They were interested; at least they acted as if they were. I am my father’s great disappointment. He said I take after my mother. She was a musician, a singer. I always wondered why she married him.”
“So she decided to leave, just like that, without saying goodbye? Seems a bit strange. Why didn’t she take you with her? Didn’t you ask your father?”
“Ask my father? You must be joking! He’s got a vicious temper and a heavy hand when he’s in a rage. I’ll find her one day though.”