Justan's mother sat on the bench beside him. “When did you start caring what anyone else thought?”
Justan didn't answer.
“Look, Justan,” Faldon said. “You turned seventeen last week. You're a man now. I've considered you a man for two years. And until now I thought that you were acting like one.”
Justan sat sullenly and took another bite of his sweetmuffin. “I still don't want to go.”
Faldon snorted. “You are going with me to the council hall with everyone else. You will stand there and be gracious to those who are admitted into the Academy. Then you'll come home and we’ll talk about what you are going to do next. Now get ready!”
“Fine!” Justan stomped into his bedroom and began changing into clean clothes.
“Fine,” he said again to himself. He would go and bear this humiliation, but if his father thought that he was going to change the direction of his life now, he was wrong. Justan grabbed his swords and strapped them on.
By the time he returned to the front room, Justan was already weighing options in his mind. He grabbed another sweetmuffin and followed his parents out the door.
Chapter Two
They didn’t speak much as they walked. A heavy sense of dread settled around Justan's heart as he and his parents made their way towards the Battle Academy. Countless times, Justan had imagined standing before the council and accepting their invitation to join the Academy. Now those dreams were ashes. He would be dismissed out of hand.
Soon the walls of the Academy loomed overhead. Justan's father nodded to guards at the gate. They recognized Faldon the Fierce right away and let the family enter.
The Dremaldrian Battle Academy began as a fort. The Kingdom of Dremaldria had always been beset by the goblinoids, trolls, and ogres that lived in the untamed wilds on its eastern border. During the dark times, these creatures constantly raided the kingdom. The king commissioned a fort to be built at the border of the kingdom to prevent these raids and protect the populace. Over the years, it became a mighty encampment for Dremaldria's vast border patrols.
The design of the fort wasn't anything special. It was larger than most, but there were many forts similar to this elsewhere in the lands. What made this fortress famous was the sheer skill of the warriors trained there.
Over the decades of constant raids and skirmishes, they developed their training program into the best in the known lands. Thousands of lives were saved by the skills of these men, and the raids upon human lands decreased.
During the War of the Dark Prophet, the fort was besieged several times by the Dark Prophet's armies. Each time, the soldiers were able to burst forth from the protective walls and use their superior training to overcome the armies surrounding them. By the time the war was over and the Dark Prophet had been destroyed by the true Prophet and his companions, the fort’s reputation had grown to the point that men traveled from kingdoms all around, seeking to be trained by these warriors.
The influx of would-be warriors made it necessary to weed out the talent, and eventually the school was split in two. The original battle school stayed inside the fort and became the Dremaldrian Battle Academy, while the grounds behind the fort became the Training School.
Now, though the Kingdom kept an obligatory seat on the council, the Academy was an independent institution. They continued to protect the borders, but also contracted out trainers and soldiers to many different kingdoms and peoples. Graduating from the Academy was one of the highest honors a warrior could receive and any graduate could make a comfortable living by contracting with the Academy or seeking his fortunes elsewhere.
Few people who were not students, nobles, or treasured guests were allowed to enter the walls of the Academy itself. Even Justan had only been inside three times in his life: twice to be present as his father received great honors, and once the previous year when he stood before the Training School Council after having failed entrance into the Academy the first time.
In his previous visits, Justan had been excited, asking his father questions and generally making a fool of himself. This time, he walked in silence to what would be, to him, the chopping block. His father tried to lighten the mood with a joke and his mother whispered words of encouragement, but to no avail.
Justan trudged, head down, as they passed the various training areas and buildings where the finest warriors in the lands learned their trade. He didn't look up until they reached the council building in the center of the Academy. There standing in front of the large doors, towered the carved statues of great warriors from the past that endlessly watched over the students at the Academy. In his mind’s eye, they were staring down upon him with deep disapproval.
Justan and his parents walked through the great doors of the council building and were greeted by nods of admission from the student guards at their posts. They passed through a long, high-ceilinged foyer where the stone walls were decorated by weapons and tapestries depicting great battles. In the past when Justan had walked through this foyer, he had envisioned those marvelous weapons in his own hands. He had imagined wading through the battles in the tapestries, cutting swaths through evil monster hordes, and saving maidens from the dragons and orcs who dotted the landscape. But this time, every battle in the tapestries was one in which he would never participate and every weapon on those walls was a dagger in his heart.
The council hall was the center hub of the Academy. This was the area where students were addressed, judgments were made and large functions were held. The room was large and spacious, the curving walls designed to carry the voices of the council throughout the hall. No matter how large the gathering, the students standing at the rear could hear just as clearly as those in the front.
“That's strange.” Justan’s mother paused just inside the doors of the council hall. “Where is everyone?”
His mother’s comment shook Justan from his reverie. He lifted his head and looked around. Now that he thought about it, the walk to the council hall had been strangely quiet. The last time he was here, many trainees and their families had been packed in this hall awaiting their final scores. This time the hall was empty.
A raised dais dominated the far end of the hall. There were ten seats on that dais, one for each council member. Usually the final test scores for the trainees were announced by the members of the Training School Council, but their familiar faces weren’t present. Instead, sitting on the dais were nine members of the Battle Academy Council.
Apart from Justan’s father, they were the most respected men in the Battle Academy. These were the men who taught the most feared and admired warriors in the land. Faldon had spoken of these men with great respect, and Justan had dreamed of being in their classes all his life.
Justan's body broke out in a cold sweat. His legs went numb. What was going on? With his father standing beside him, the entire council was present. For what possible reason would the Battle Academy Council have him brought here alone?
He looked up at his father for some hint of what misery was to befall him, but Faldon stared straight forward, not giving anything away. Justan wanted to turn around and leave but Faldon grabbed his arm and pulled him forward to stand before Tad the Cunning, head teacher of tactics at the Academy.
Each member of the council had an equal say in matters, but being the most quick witted and fleet of tongue, Tad was the voice of the council to the outside world. He was a tall, imposing man with intense eyes, gray hair, and a single scar across his brow. There were many rumors of how that scar had come to be, and Justan had often wondered in the past. But at that moment, all he saw was his executioner, grim faced and menacing.
“I will make this quick, for the members of this council are very busy and have much more to attend to before the night is over,” Tad began. “Justan, son of Faldon the Fierce, we have watched you with interest this year as you went through the various skill tests. We have seen your intuitive strategic skills and have determined that given time, there would be few who could ma
tch you.
“I doubt that there are many teachers in this Academy who have not heard of how you beat Oz the Dagger in the strategic games earlier this year,” he added. There were many nods and appreciative chuckles in the council at this. “You are very possibly the most driven individual we have ever had the opportunity to observe. Even when you fail, you fail with determination.”
Justan gulped. A glimmer of hope began to flicker in his mind.
Tad continued, “You have great potential if you can hone your skills as a leader. However, you have shown too little skill in the physical tests. Your foibles in the armed combat and hand-to-hand tests have become legendary. No warrior, especially a student of this school, would follow you into battle at your current level of physical prowess, thus making your strategic talents worthless in the field. You cannot be a good leader if your men don’t respect you.”
The flickering glimmer of hope vanished.
“We have deliberated hard on what to do with you. After your perfect score in the strategy test we had all but decided to offer you an invitation to join the Academy, but the score you received in the weapons combat test today left you short.” Tad sighed. “The rules are explicit in this. We cannot allow you to enter the Academy at this time.”
Justan stood numb. What was the point of all this? Was this his father’s idea? Did his father think that he would take his failure easier if the entire Academy Council threw it in his face?
Tad continued, “However, Justan son of Faldon the Fierce, we hate to let someone of your potential go. We have consulted the rules on this matter and even though it is customary that applicants are passed over after having failed the final exams twice, there is nothing in the law books that specifies the number of times one can enter the Training School. In fact, though it has been a long time, this exception has been made before in the past.”
Justan’s heart thundered. His mother grabbed his shoulder in excitement and he struggled not to shout in joy.
“You . . . you are serious?” he sputtered. “You are really giving me another chance?”
Tad raised a hand, his stare serious.
“Justan, you must hear me out before agreeing to this. Realizing the nature of this huge exception, we have adjusted the regular procedures. If we allow you a third year in the training school, understand that this will not be an easy task. If you are to become a student of the Academy, many of the freedoms you have enjoyed these past years as a trainee will be gone.”
“Yes, sir,” Justan said.
“You will eat, sleep, and bathe at the Training School. You will not be allowed to visit any friends or family. You will not go to holiday celebrations. You will not even leave the grounds unless required to by a teacher or to attend a test of skill.
“You will work harder and be judged harsher than ever before. In short, you will belong to us. If you fail the tests again next year, there will not be another chance. This council will meet again after next year’s final exams. We will then decide the direction your life will take.”
“What do you mean?” Justan’s mother blurted. “You will decide what exactly?”
Tad lifted a scroll from behind the podium. “This contract spells out all the details. Justan will obey our ruling and follow the path we give him at that time, no matter the direction. Even if we decide to make him a laborer building rock walls near the border, our decision will be final. He will be bound by this contract to follow that decision.” His gaze shifted back to Justan.
“Finally, I must tell you the reason that we asked your parents to bring you here alone today. We did not want to offer this rare of an exception in front of the whole city unless you agreed. Even though the conditions in your contract are strict, there will be cries of ‘unfair,’ especially considering who your father is. You have until this weekend to decide.” He handed the contract down to Justan. “Tell no one about this unless it is made official.”
Tad turned and began speaking to other members of the council.
Justan looked down at the contract. He didn't need to read the words. If he couldn’t pass the tests after a third year of Training School, he didn’t deserve to be a warrior anyway.
Faldon clapped his back in congratulation and Justan’s elation soured a bit. His father had shown no surprise during Tad’s speech. He had known all along what was about to happen. Had he pulled in favors to get this done?
It was an unsettling thought. Would he be betraying his own conscience to accept this offer? Was he admitting that he could not succeed without his father’s intervention?
Then again, this was his decision to make. They weren’t forcing it upon him. Surely it wouldn’t be so bad to accept that offer of help just this once. After all, he still had to complete the training on his own. Once he had passed the tests and entered the Academy, it would all be worth it.
“Your Honor!” Justan said. Tad looked back down upon him. “I don’t need to wait. I wish to sign the contracts now.”
“I mean . . .” Justan forced himself to calm his voice. “I accept your most generous offer.”
Tad the Cunning laughed. “Somehow your eagerness doesn’t surprise me. Very well, you will report to the Training School immediately. A guard will escort you to the barracks where you will await further instructions.”
Justan hadn’t expected to report to the Training School so soon. There were several days before the new training classes began. He opened his mouth to ask why, but decided against it. Things were going too well for him to complain.
He took a quick moment to hug his mother and shake his father’s hand. Then a guard came and led him away.
They left the Academy and headed through the streets of Reneul to the Training School grounds, where the guard deposited him at the barracks. When Justan asked the man what he was supposed to do, the guard told him that it did not matter as long as he didn’t leave the training grounds. He wasn’t to take a footstep outside the grounds in any direction unless ordered by the council itself.
Justan picked a bunk, but he couldn't sit down. He was too excited to rest. Besides, it was light out for another couple of hours yet. There was still time to train. He had a year to prepare to take the tests again, but he couldn’t wait to get started. Justan left the barracks and walked to the practice field.
He did some stretching exercises and worked through the hand-to-hand combat forms. There was a twinge in the shoulder the mages had repaired and his bruises throbbed, but it wasn’t too bad after his body loosened up a bit. He was just starting to sweat when he noticed someone standing near the edge of the barracks, watching him.
It was the woman who had helped him in the alley. She leaned on her staff and shook her head as she watched his movements. She mumbled something that he couldn’t quite make out and strode across the practice field towards him. She approached in a smooth gait that fitted a warrior much better than a woman, and stopped in front of him.
She frowned. “This will take some effort.”
“What do you mean?” Justan asked. “What are you doing here?”
“I have been sent here to make sure that you do not fail the tests again next year.”
“What? Thank you for the help with Benjo and Kenn and all. I appreciate it. I really do. But I can’t accept your help.”
She didn’t seem fazed. “Students are allowed to tutor with accomplished warriors in their spare time. I have been told that you have not taken advantage of this in the past.”
“I have never wanted to take advantage of that,” Justan replied.
“You will now.”
“But I don’t need a tutor. I am going to do this on my own. I have to. I . . .” Justan’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, who sent you? Was it my father?”
“I was approached by certain members of the council, including your father, yes. And they say that you have signed a contract to do as they wish. If you do not accept this training, they will close your opportunity. In fact, if you do not let me help you, you are to be r
emoved from the Training School.”
“I don’t think so,” Justan said. “They didn’t say anything about a tutor.”
“Here is the official document.” She reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled forth a sealed letter. “I was instructed to give it to you if you refused.”
Justan looked at the letter as if it was a viper. The council did not trust him. They didn’t think that he could handle it on his own. A true warrior needed no one else. Justan almost quit right there.
“How could my father do this to me?”
“Perhaps he wants you to succeed,” the woman replied. “Perhaps this is more of a chance than you deserve. How badly do you want to join the Academy? Is this just a game to you?”
“Keep the letter.” Justan looked into her eyes. “If I have to let you watch over me like a child, then so be it. I have to do this. But I will do this my way. I will not be led around by the nose for everyone to see.”
Eye of the Moonrat (The Bowl of Souls: Book One) Page 3