“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Me, Master?”
“We all have different roles to play in the Order. Most of us fight, some track heretics across the kingdom, others slip into the shadows to do their work in secret, a few will teach, and a few, a very few, lead.”
“You… want me to lead?”
“The Aspect seems to think it’s your role, and he is rarely mistaken.” He glanced over his shoulder at Master Henthal’s room. “Leadership is not learned by watching your brothers beat each other bloody. Nor is it learned by letting them fail their tests. Fix this.”
He turned and left without another word. Vaelin rested his head against the stone wall and sighed heavily. Leadership. Don’t I have burdens enough?
“You lot are getting meaner by the year,” Master Henthal told him brightly as he entered. “Time was boys in their third year could only manage to bruise each other. Clearly we’re teaching you too well.”
“We are grateful for your wisdom, Master,” Vaelin assured him. “May I speak with my brothers?”
“As you wish.” He pressed a ball of cotton to Dentos's nose. “Hold that until the bleeding stops. Don’t swallow the blood, keep spitting it out. And use a bowl, get any on my floor and you’ll wish your brother had killed you.” He left them alone in strained silence.
“How is it?” Vaelin asked Dentos.
Dentos could speak only in a wet rasp, “Id bokken.”
Vaelin turned to Caenis, cradling his bandaged hand. “And you?”
Caenis glanced down at his bandaged fingers. “Master Henthal popped it back into place. Said it’ll be sore for a while. Won’t be able to hold a sword for about a week.” He paused, hawking and spitting a thick wad of blood into a bowl next to his bunk. “Had to pull what was left of my tooth. Packed it with cotton and gave me redflower for the pain.”
“Does it work?”
Caenis winced a little. “Not really.”
“Good. You deserve it.”
Caenis face flashed with anger. “You heard what he said…”
“I heard what he said. I heard what you said before that. You know he’s having trouble with this but you decide to give him a lecture.” He turned to Dentos. “And you should know better than to provoke him. We get enough chances to hurt each other on the practice field. Do it there if you have to.”
“’E pisshes me od,” Dentos sputtered. “Bein’ shmart alla time.”
“Then maybe you should learn from him. He has knowledge, you need it, who better to ask?” He sat down next to Dentos. “You know if you don’t pass this test you’ll have to leave. Is that what you want? Go back to Nilsael and help your uncle fight his dogs and tell all the drunkards in the tavern how you nearly got to be in the Sixth Order? I bet they’ll be impressed.”
“Shod off Vaelin.” Dentos leaned over to let a large glob of blood fall from his nose into the bowl at his feet.
“You both know I didn’t have to stay here,” Vaelin said. “Do you know why I did?”
“You hate your father,” Caenis said, forgetting the usual convention.
Vaelin, unaware his feelings were so obvious, bit back a retort. “I couldn’t just leave. I couldn’t go and live outside the Order always waiting to hear one day about what happened to the rest of you, wondering maybe if I’d been there it wouldn’t have happened. We lost Mikehl, we lost Jennis. We can’t lose anyone else.” He got up and moved to the door. “We’re not boys any more. I can’t make you do anything. It’s up to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Caenis said, stopping him. “What I said about your father.”
“I don’t have a father,” Vaelin reminded him.
Caenis laughed, blood seeping thick and fast from his lip. “No, neither do I.” He turned and threw his bloodied cloth at Dentos. “How about you, Brother? Got a father?”
Dentos laughed, long and hard, his face streaked with crimson. “Wouldn’t know the bugger if he gave me a pound of gold!”
They laughed together, for a long time. Pain receded and was forgotten. They laughed and never spoke about how much it hurt.
They took it on themselves to teach Dentos. He continued to learn next to nothing from Master Grealin so every night after practice they would relate a story of the Order’s past and make him repeat it back, over and over again until he knew it by heart. It was tedious and exhausting work undertaken following hours of exercise when all they wanted to do was sleep but they stuck to their task with grim determination. As the most knowledgeable, much of the burden fell on Caenis, who proved a diligent if impatient mentor. His normally placid nature was tested to extremes by the stubborn refusal of Dentos’s memory to store more than a few facts at a time. Barkus, who had a sound but not exhaustive knowledge of Order lore, tended to stick to the most humorous tales, like the legend of Brother Yelna who, bereft of weapons, had caused an enemy to faint with the remarkably noxious nature of his flatulence.
“They’re not going to ask him about the farting brother,” Caenis said in disgust.
“They might,” Barkus replied. “It’s still history isn’t it?”
Surprisingly Nortah proved the most able teacher, his story telling technique straightforward but effective. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to make Dentos remember more. Instead of simply telling the tale and expecting Dentos to repeat it word for word he would pause to ask questions, encouraging Dentos to think about the meaning of the story. His usual taste for ridicule was also put aside and he ignored numerous opportunities to laugh at the ignorance of his pupil. Vaelin normally found much to criticise in Nortah but he had to admit he was as determined as the rest of them to ensure the continuance of their group; life in the Order was hard enough, without his friends he might find it unbearable. Although his methods bore fruit, Nortah’s choice of tale was fairly narrow, whilst Barkus favoured humour and Caenis liked parables illustrating the virtues of the Faith, Nortah had a taste for tragedy. He related the Order’s defeats with relish, the fall of the citadel of Ulnar, the death of great Lesander, considered by many the finest warrior ever to serve in the Order, fatally flawed by his forbidden love for a woman who betrayed him to his enemies. Nortah’s tales of woe seemed endless, some of them were new to Vaelin and he occasionally wondered if the blond brother wasn't just making them up
Vaelin, with his added duties of seeing to Scratch in the kennels every evening, took on the task of testing Dentos’s acquired knowledge at the end of each week, firing questions at him with increasing rapidity. It was often frustrating, Dentos’s knowledge was growing but he was fighting years of happy ignorance with a few week’s effort. Nevertheless he did manage to earn some rewards from Master Grealin who confined his surprise to a raised eyebrow.
With the month of Prensur the remaining time narrowed to a few days and Master Grealin informed them their lessons were over.
“Knowledge is what shapes us, little brothers,” he told them, for once his smile was absent, his tone entirely serious. “It makes us who we are. What we know informs everything we do and every decision we make. In the next few days think hard on what you have learned here, not just the names and the dates, think on the reasons, think on the meaning. All I have told you is the sum of our Order, what it means, what it does. The test of knowledge is the hardest many of you will face, no other test bares a boy’s soul.” He smiled again, gravely this time, then brightened into his habitual humour. “Now then, final rewards for my little warriors.” He produced a large bag of sweets, moving down the line and dropping a selection into their upturned hands. “Enjoy little men. Sweetness is a rare thing in a brother’s life.” Sighing heavily he turned and waddled slowly back to the store room, closing the door softly behind him.
“What was that about?” Nortah wondered.
“Brother Grealin is a very strange man,” Caenis said with a shrug. “Swap you a honey drop for a sugar bean.”
Nortah snorted. “A sugar bean is worth three honey drops at least…”
Vaelin resisted the temptation to barter his sweets and took them to the kennels where Scratch rolled and yelped with delight as he tossed the treats into the air for him to catch. He didn’t miss a single one.
The Test began on a Feldrian morning, two days before Summertide. Those boys who passed would be rewarded not only with the right to stay in the Order but also a pass for the great Summertide fair at Varinshold, the first time they would be allowed out of the Order’s care since the day of their joining. Those who failed would be given their gold coins and told to leave. For once the older boys had no dire warnings or ridicule to offer. Vaelin noted that mention of the Test of Knowledge around their peers provoked only sullen looks and vicious cuffs. He wondered what made them so angry, it was only a few questions after all.
“The only brother to journey through the great northern forest,” he demanded of Dentos as they made their way to the dining hall.
“Lesander,” Dentos replied smugly. “That was too easy by half.”
