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

Shaman's Crossing (The Soldier Son Trilogy #1) Page 195

“We’d just cross,” I said absently. I suddenly knew what was upsetting me. I’d wanted at least one of my friends to see me as a true leader. Even Gord. I wondered suddenly if Trist had also received an order from Maw. Was that why he had given way to me so easily? I felt as if my guts had fallen to the bottom of my belly. Heavyhearted. Was that what that word had always meant? None of my friends had ever looked at me and seen the potential for command. Because they all knew it just wasn’t there.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. I changed into my spare uniform and decided to accept Gord’s offer of taking my other one home to have it cleaned. My bleakness was at odds with the rest of my fellows. Despite the culling still hanging over us, they seemed to have set aside their uncertainties. They were dressing for an evening out in Old Thares and excitedly discussing their plans for Dark Evening. There was to be a night market in the Grand Square, with all sorts of things for sale, at the very best prices. On the adjacent green, a circus with a sideshow had set up its tents and booths. There were acrobats and tumblers, jugglers, wild animal tamers, and all manner of freaks in the sideshow. Everyone was putting on his best clothing and counting up his spending money. I felt like a stranger among them as I left Carneston House and started back toward Maw’s office. No one seemed to notice me leaving or wonder why I’d been summoned.

The sun had gone down behind the distant hills, its meager warmth fleeing with the night’s arrival. The campus was a landscape of gray snow and black trees. The irregularly spaced pole lanterns made pools of feeble light; I felt I was traveling from island to island, and suddenly it reminded me of my journey from column top to column top in the dream where I had first met the tree woman. Such a thought on Dark Evening was enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, and I shivered.

Maw was in his office adjacent to the classroom, waiting for me. The door stood ajar. I tapped and waited until he told me to come in. I entered, saluted, and remained standing and silent until he waved me into a seat. The office was as chill as the rest of the building, but Maw appeared comfortable. He set aside some papers stacked on his desk and looked up with both a sigh and a smile. “Well. Cadet Burvelle, you look a bit cleaner than when I last saw you.”

I couldn’t find a smile to match his. I felt a sense of foreboding. “Yes, sir,” was all I said. He glanced at me, and then looked back at the papers on his desk. He tapped them a bit more into alignment and then said, “Do you remember our little talk earlier this year?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Has the idea gained any appeal for you?”

“I can’t say that it has, sir.”

He wet his lips and sighed yet again. Suddenly he leaned back in his chair and met my gaze squarely. I felt as if he had dropped a curtain between us as he said, “A man faces many difficult tasks in his life, Burvelle. And when he is given charge of promising young men, and he knows that the decisions and choices he makes can affect their futures, their entire lives, well, those are the hardest choices of all. I’m sure you know from rumor that a culling is on the horizon. The cadets always know these things. I don’t know why we pretend they are secret or a surprise.”

I made no response, and after a moment he went on. “The military has changed, Burvelle. It had to. Your own father was instrumental in the first part of the change, when he supported the founding of this Academy. An academy such as this, as a foundation for becoming an officer, says that education may be more important than bloodlines. That was a very unpopular idea, you must know. We were badly beaten in our war with Landsing. Badly. We had clung to our traditions too firmly; we deployed our men, ships, and cavalla as if we were still fighting with swords and spears and catapults. Soldier sons were born soldiers, we said; we thought the idea that they must betaught to fight a foolish one. And, of course, the soldier sons of nobles were born officers, with no need of instruction in that task. In those days, all commissions were bought or inherited. The education we gave our officers was intended more to form an attitude than to instruct in strategy. Six months of polishing and off we sent our young lieutenants. The War College! Was ever an institution so poorly named? It should have been called the Gentlemen’s Club. Knowing how to critique a wine or play a good hand of cards was considered more important than knowing how to deploy a regiment across different types of terrain. So we educate you now, and we send you forth. And we see the sons of new nobles promoted over their better-bred cousins. We see common soldiers rising up through the ranks and assuming command over nobly born soldier sons. General Brodg, named commander in the east, is the son of a common soldier. It goes against the grain, Burvelle. It rasps the sensibilities.”