His gaze quickly took in the new arrivals, both those already standing beside beds and the three who stood apart.
‘My name is Lanista Magnus,’ he went on. ‘This is Lanista Deloix, warden of this barracks.’
He gestured to the man standing beside him, a tall muscular man with dark skin, braided hair and pale brown eyes like those of a wolf. His face and arms were also marked with scars and the tip of his left ear was missing, severed, it seemed, by a single clean cut.
‘We are not expecting any more cadets to join us and so your training will begin in two days time but for now please introduce yourself and your chosen discipline.’ The Lanista unfurled the scroll and scanned it quickly before his eyes settled on Jarek.
‘Jarek Snidesson,’ said Jarek. ‘Officer training, cavalry.’
The Lanista’s gaze moved on.
‘Allyster Mollé. Officer training, archer.’
He continued around the room until he came to the three people who still stood apart from the rest. His gaze came to rest on Bryna.
‘Bryna Godwin,’ said Bryna. ‘Officer training, archer.’
A faint murmur rippled through the cadets and two of them sniggered at some jest from a black haired youth near Falco. Falco did not hear the comment in full although he knew it related to bowstrings and certain parts of Bryna’s anatomy.
The Lanista’s eyes turned to Malaki.
‘Malaki de Vane, officer training, knight,’ said Malaki and a new murmur ran around the room.
Falco caught a distinct, ‘Humph’ from Jarek but several of the larger cadets looked at Malaki with renewed interest. So they would not be the only ones to attempt the épreuve de force this month.
Finally the Lanista’s eyes settled on Falco and many of the cadets laughed as if he were making some kind of cruel jest. Jarek gave a snort of derision.
‘And Falco Danté,’ said the Lanista, referring to his scroll. ‘You will also bunk here until a decision is made about your training.’
‘What decision?’ blurted Jarek. ‘Surely this ‘servant’ has not been awarded a place at the academy!’
Flushed with indignation Jarek had started forward but the Lanista stopped him with a look.
‘There are some questions to be answered before Master Danté can begin his training as a battle mage.’
‘A what?!’ exclaimed Jarek as the room erupted in disbelief. Surely the Lanista could not be serious but the senior instructor did not smile. He simply looked at Falco for a moment before giving a brief nod as if he were satisfied, for now.
Jarek blustered and laughed but the humour was forced and the smile refused to settle on his lips.
Lanista Magnus raised a hand and the room slowly quietened.
‘In two days time you will be woken at dawn to begin your training,’ he said and the cadets grew still once more. ‘And you are honoured,’ he added in a tone of particular significance. ‘I have just received word from the palace that we shall be joined by a new instructor. Or rather an old instructor will be coming back to join us. This year Sir William Chevalier of Eltz will take part in your training. At least until the Fourth Army is deployed in a few months’ time.’
A buzz of excitement ran through the cadets and Falco felt a huge sense of relief at the realisation that the emissary would not be leaving their lives just yet.
Once again the Lanista called for quiet.
‘Get some rest,’ he told them. ‘You are going to need it.’
The cadets began to talk excitedly but the Lanista had not quite finished. The powerful man moved through the cadets until he stood before the young man with dark hair who had joked about Bryna. For a moment he just looked at him and the youth smiled uneasily then without warning Lanista Magnus slapped him round the side of the head. The blow was so hard that it spun the young man off his feet. He landed face down on the floor and the Lanista turned back to address the room.
‘Disrespect for our female cadets will not be tolerated,’ he said as the young man was helped up from the floor. ‘That is the kind of behaviour I expect from the Irregulars, not from elite cadets sworn to the service of the Queen.’
Many of the cadets lowered their eyes.
‘Anyone forgetting this message will be asked to leave the academy. There will be no second chance. Do I make myself clear?’
This was met with surly nods and mumbled grunts while Jarek’s mouth worked as if he had eaten something bitter. It was clear that being told what to do did not come easily to most of these privileged young men.
The Lanista turned to Bryna.
‘Here in the barracks you will have curtains around your bed and a separate latrine but there will be times when such niceties cannot be afforded.’ His gaze was hard and unflinching. ‘If you can’t tolerate the thought of baring your arse to take a piss in front of a hundred horny men then you had better leave now.’
Bryna blushed but she did not waver. Malaki seemed embarrassed but Falco saw this for what it was, a salutary warning to Bryna, yes, but also a test of what the Lanista had just told them all. He noticed that not one of the cadets laughed at the prospect of Bryna dropping her drawers. It seemed the Lanista’s first lesson had not gone unheeded.
A faint smile of approval appeared on the Lanista’s face and he gave a small nod before turning back to the cadets.
‘If you have any questions ask for Lanista Deloix at the instructors’ quad.’ He paused. ‘Sunrise, two days time,’ he said again. ‘Until then, I bid you goodnight.’
With that the two instructors turned and left the room.
Jarek waited until the door had closed.
‘You... a battle mage?’ he snorted. ‘Surely this is some kind of sick joke.’ He moved forward to stand directly in front of Falco. ‘After your father, after what you did to the town, how can you possibly believe that they will let you become a battle mage? As if it were even possible. I mean, look at you...’
Here he actually grabbed Falco’s arm as if he were nothing more than a lifeless scarecrow.
‘Skin and bones,’ he sneered with a cautionary glance in Malaki’s direction. ‘Not exactly the stuff of a great warrior.’ He turned back to his small cohort of followers. ‘Wait till my father hears of this. He’ll wet himself with laughter and then he will inform cousin Ludovico of your family history. The prince will have you dismissed from the academy and sent from the city in shame.’ Jarek walked away dismissively then stopped as Bryna’s voice rang out.
‘It is the Queen and not Prince Ludovico who decides such matters in Wrath,’ she said, her face hot but her voice steady and clear.
Jarek turned slowly, a knowing smile of menace on his lips.
‘For now,’ he said. ‘But just wait until the mage army of Galen Thrall enters the field. It was the prince and his nobles who supported them, while the Queen resisted the magi every step of the way. The age of the ‘Great Souls’ is over and the magi will not forget those who stood against them.’
The newcomers from Caer Dour knew little of such political manoeuvrings but Bryna held her ground. She was of noble birth too. She was not about to be browbeaten by the likes of Jarek.
Finally Jarek walked away and Bryna turned back to Falco and Malaki.
‘Shit wipe!’ she cursed under her breath.
The boys gaped to hear such language on her well-spoken tongue but then she looked up apologetically and they laughed quietly together. They looked around for some empty bunks but the only ones left were singles in different parts of the room.
‘Here, take these two,’ said Owen, picking up his stuff and carrying it over to an empty bed on the far side of the room.
Falco nodded his thanks. He was aware that most of the cadets were still looking at them. Many of them had revelled in Jarek’s taunting, practised bullies enjoying a familiar scene. However, he noticed that the cadets from Caer Dour had averted their eyes. Unlike Jarek they had seen Falco walk towards the demon to stand at Simeon’s side. And they had travelled with hi
m on the journey to Wrath. They had not become friends exactly but they had developed a certain respect even if they might not admit it.
Owen’s gesture left two empty beds together and Falco was looking for another close-by when a young man nudged his neighbour and gestured for him to move his things along. With their dark hair, blue eyes and square jaw Falco could tell they were brothers. The smaller of the two had a mischievous twinkle in his eye while his brother’s expression was calm and steady. Falco waited while the larger brother moved his belongings before depositing his bags on the bed.
‘Thank you.’
‘Alex Klingemann,’ said the younger brother, as he came to stand at the foot of Falco’s bed.
Falco shook his hand, somewhat surprised by such open friendliness.
‘And this is my brother, Quirren,’ said Alex, moving forward to shake hands with Malaki and Bryna. ‘He’s the quiet one,’ he added with a grin.
Quirren stood on the other side of the bed but he gave each of them a stoic nod of acknowledgement.
‘Is it true you travelled with the Chevalier?’ asked Alex.
Falco nodded, noting that he spoke with the same Illician accent as the emissary.
‘And you actually saw a demon?’
Again Falco nodded.
‘Bryna shot one from the sky,’ said Malaki. ‘Well, a dark angel at least.’
‘A schwartz engel,’ said Alex, looking at Bryna with new appreciation. ‘A lesser demon but even so...’
Falco noticed that some of the other cadets were also listening. They glanced from Bryna to Jarek, the expression in their eyes less certain as if they were beginning to realise that the story they had thus far been told might not be the whole truth.
‘What’s he like?’ asked Alex, with obvious reference to the emissary.
‘Alex!’ said Quirren in a low voice before Falco had a chance to answer.
‘All right,’ said Alex, rolling his eyes and giving his brother a ‘spoilsport’ look. ‘You get settled in,’ he said, turning back to Falco. ‘And if you need anything...’
‘Thanks,’ said Falco.
With a smile Alex turned away but he had hardly gone a step when he turned back to face Falco.
‘In Illicia he is considered a great man.’
Falco smiled, surprised to see a certain nervousness in Alex’s eyes as if he feared the shattering of long held illusions.
‘He is,’ said Falco and Alex’s smile returned, clearly delighted that Falco was able to confirm the emissary’s reputation.
Falco watched him go and heard Quirren mutter a low chastisement.
‘What?’ said Alex. ‘I was only asking.’
Still smiling, Falco turned back to Bryna and Malaki who were staring round the room entranced. It was only now that they had the chance to fully appreciate their surroundings.
Their beds were three of fifty in the long stone built room. There were small windows set at regular intervals but night had now fallen and the only light came from lanterns hanging from the ceiling beams or the small pot-bellied stoves that sat against the walls.
The wooden floor was planed smooth with a scattering of coarse woven rugs. The walls were whitewashed stone adorned with tapestries showing various forms of fencing and military formations but it was the weapons that really captured their attention. It seemed that every nation and troop type in the world was represented on the walls of this room.
Falco could see spears and curved kopis swords from Thraece, leaf-bladed lakonia from Acheron, heavy broadswords and bearded axes from Beltane and longswords from Clemoncé and Illicia. And from Valentia... the mongrel, some say the refinement of all swords, the bastard. Blades that were neither long nor short, not slender pointed nor overly wide, heavy enough to block an attack but light enough to allow for maximum speed. There was no set length or design. In Valentia swords were made to match the person who would wield them. It was this ambiguity of design and lack of discernible heritage that earned them their dubious name. Adherents of the refined fencing schools treated them with disdain but in the heat of battle, when you might be confronted by any kind of foe, there was nothing to beat a well matched bastard.
Finally they had surveyed the entire room and Malaki came to stand at Falco’s shoulder.
‘I’ve heard of all these weapons,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But I’ve never seen half of them in the flesh. Did you see that zweihander on the far wall?’
‘An absurd weapon,’ said Falco with a smile.
‘Yeah, but bloody impressive,’ said Malaki while Bryna just raised her eyes to the ceiling.
‘Boys and their swords,’ she said and with that she began to unpack her saddle bags onto the wooden shelves that stood beside her bed.
The boys grinned at each other and began to do the same. Beside each bed was a low table with a single drawer and a tall wooden unit with three deep shelves and pegs from which to hang weapons and armour, while at the foot of each bed lay a large wooden chest. Malaki gave a satisfied nod and began to unpack his blue-steel armour onto the three shelves of the unit while Bryna hung up her bow and quiver. She put her bracer and shooting glove into the small drawer along with a leather pouch that contained spare arrowheads, white goose fletchings and stag-horn nocks for repairing arrows.
Watching them Falco felt a twinge of anxiety. Both extremely skilled in their chosen disciplines, they were clearly meant to be here but what about him? He felt a strong connection to the weapons and armour in the room and the sight of a well forged sword had always struck a chord in his soul, but if he were honest, he shared Jarek’s misgivings. He looked down at his skinny hands and thin wrists.
Not exactly the stuff of a great warrior.
Still, he would not let the likes of Jarek tell him what he could and could not do. He would trust in the confidence of the emissary and in the instincts of a crippled boy who had never learned to walk. He stared back at the distrustful glances cast in his direction. If for no other reason he would become a battle mage just to spite them. In the dim light of the lanterns Falco’s green eyes flashed with a light that was anything but weak and one by one the onlookers turned away.
He gave a soft snort of satisfaction. ‘Shit wipes,’ he breathed, and smiled.
30
Darkness Rising
Deep in the Forsaken Lands the night was illuminated by a patch of glowing earth. The rock was fractured and split apart by unearthly flames that burned in the darkness. Above the flames the blackened bodies of a dozen tormented souls turned slowly in the air, their bodies horribly burned and mutilated by the flames. But they were not dead. The unholy power of the Possessed would never allow them the blissful escape of death. They moaned and wheezed through seared throats and the fat dripped from their flesh like tears.
Around them stood half as many cadaver-like figures known as the Enlightened, pale, thin and utterly desolate. Their skin had a waxy, translucent quality and their eyes glistened like orbs of wet bone. Apart from a few scant rags they were naked and in their hands they held the tools for working metal, tongs and files and hammers. In their former lives they had been swordsmiths and armourers. Now they were spared the worst of hell’s afflictions in return for the service of their skills.
For weeks the Enlightened had stood beside this rift in the fabric of the world but now the servant of darkness was rising and it was time for their work to begin. In the boiling maelstrom of hell the entity possessed no earthly form but here in the charnel world it would become a thing of flesh and it was their task to create the tools that would serve it best.
Slowly the Enlightened began to form an impression of its nature. Would it be encased in heavy armour, slow and heavy, a thing of unstoppable force? Or would it be nimble and fast, furnished with light armour and a slender blade?
The Enlightened leaned over the terrible flames eager, despite themselves, to know what weapons they would forge. They stared into the glaring heat as they sensed the needs of the emerging demon and then,
as one, they settled back and let out a dry sigh of precognition. They saw what was rising and they saw what they must make for it...
A helmet, with layered sides and a high narrow ridge.
Plate for shoulders, chest and arms.
And blades, large, curved and cruel.
Blades to cleave a dragon’s scales.
In the cold dark of a bleak Forsaken night, the Enlightened set to work.
31
The Academy of War
Despite the nerves, the hostile reception, the snoring, farting and seemingly endless coughing of the other cadets, Falco slept surprisingly well. There was only one moment in the night when his dreams had been particularly bad and he could only hope that he had not cried out or made any sound that might draw attention to himself.
He woke to the combined miasma of bodily aromas, coffee and the camphor smell of liniment. People were talking in low voices and, blinking through the half-light of morning, he saw that most of the cadets were already up. As promised, curtains had been erected around Bryna’s sleeping area and as Falco swung his legs out of bed he saw her emerge, towelling her hair as she drew the curtains back. Her skin had the bloom of someone who had recently bathed.
‘I swear the piggeries in Caer Dour smelled better than this,’ she mumbled but Falco could see the satisfaction in her eyes. Smelly men or not, she was definitely happy to be here.
‘Good morning to you too,’ he said and Bryna replied with the flash of a smile.
Falco was amazed by the change that had come over her since the battle. She no longer seemed haughty and unapproachable, although she could still silence you with a look that made you feel about two inches tall.
‘He’s up!’
Falco turned to see Malaki at the bottom of his bed. He too had a towel draped over his shoulder and his thick brown hair was still damp and uncombed.
‘They’ve got amazing baths,’ said Malaki, rubbing his head vigorously with the towel. ‘Hot water and everything.’
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