Shaman's Crossing (The Soldier Son Trilogy #1)

Shaman's Crossing (The Soldier Son Trilogy #1) Page 174

“Oh, that was so enlightening,” Trist said. He had been silent up until then, though I had twice seen him roll his eyes during Gord’s discourse. “Do you honestly think there’s a man in this room who hasn’t already seen what is going on and given thought to it?”

Instantly it seemed that every cadet at the table was nodding, though I seriously doubted that any of us had pondered it through as Gord had.

“Not all of us must take a beating before we understand what the currents are in the Academy,” Trist added, somehow making it seem Gord’s own fault that he had been attacked.

I took a deep breath to say my piece on that, but closed my lips as I heard a too-familiar voice say, “Perhaps you shouldn’t blame a beating on politics. Some of your fellow cadets think having a pig in their midst is bad for the Academy.”

I wondered how long Caulder had been standing out of sight beside the door before he chose to enter.

“What do you want here?” Spink asked him waspishly.

Caulder smiled nastily. “You, actually. Not that I want you; quite the contrary! But for some reason my father wishes to see you. Immediately. You are to report to him at his office in the administration building.” His gaze slid from Spink to Trist. I thought I saw a shadow of pain in his eyes, and he sounded almost like a scorned lover as he said, “Still laughing over your fine jest on me, Trist? How stupid of me to trust someone like you and think you might want my friendship.”

Trist should have been an actor, not a soldier. He looked puzzled. “A jest between us, Caulder? I don’t recall one.”

“You poisoned me. With chewing tobacco. You knew very well how sick it would make me. Doubtless you all sat up here laughing about it afterward.”

We had. I tried not to look guilty. Trist made it seem effortless. He opened his hands as if to show he had no weapons. “How could I, Caulder? You might recall that I was with you. I walked you home afterward.”

“You made me puke on purpose. In front of everyone. To mock me.” Caulder’s voice was very tight, and I felt a small twinge of sympathy. He yearned so badly to be wrong about Trist.

Trist looked mildly wounded. “Caulder, I’ve told you this already. I have never seen anyone get as sick as you did from a simple plug of tobacco. Where I come from, mere children are known to nibble a bit, and suffer no bad consequences. Truth to tell, it’s supposed to have medicinal values. I once saw my mother give some to my little sister. For colic.”

Did some subtle cue pass between Trist and Oron? The redheaded cadet chimed in with, “I cannot understand it, either. I’ve chewed tobacco since I was eight, with no ill effects.”

“Cadet Jaris told me that chewing tobacco makes nearly everyone sick the first time it is tried. He said you deliberately made me sick, and that it served me right for trusting a new noble’s son. He said you did it to mock me. And he, and the others with him, laughed at me.” Caulder fought to keep his voice steady as he spoke. In the silence that followed his words, he stood very still, obviously divided. I could see the boy wanting Trist to be upright and sincere in his offer of friendship. I felt sad for him, so young and so needy, and yet I also felt vindictively satisfied to see him mistreated. I was certain he had been involved in Tiber’s and Gord’s beatings. He was treacherous, and as the Writ says, the treacherous one earns only treachery from his fellows.

Trust spread his hands helplessly. “What can I say to you, Caulder? I myself will not speak ill of a fellow cadet and cavalla man, so I cannot make you see that perhaps others would lie and slander to make you mistrust me. All I can say is, quite sincerely, I am sorry that something I gave you made you so ill. And here is my hand on that.” And the golden cadet stepped forward, hand outstretched to the lad.

Caulder looked as if the sun had suddenly risen just for him. He stepped forward eagerly to clasp Trist’s hand, even as Spink muttered disgustedly, “May the good god witness all you do.” It’s a saying my father once called as much a curse as a blessing, for few of us would willingly call the good god to witness all we do every day. I wasn’t sure if Caulder even heard what Spink said, for he turned a quick snarl at him, saying, “My father does not like to be kept waiting!”

I saw Spink struggle not to respond to that, and win. He stood, closing his books and tidying his space. “It seems odd for the commander to still be in his office at this hour,” I observed, and Caulder looked nearly triumphant as he said, “For matters of discipline, where else would he meet with the cadet in question?”