Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (26 page)

It was too sweet to pass by.

He lifted the mace from the rack, walked a little
distance away until he was clear of the others, and placed his lantern on the
floor. He gripped the mighty weapon with both hands, heaved it over his
shoulders and held it aloft. He stood tall, and he stood proud. He filled his big
lungs with the brave air of his nation, twirled the heavy mace above his head
with big hands, and gracefully compensated for the momentum with a big step. The
whole spectacle changed in an instant as he tripped over one of his big feet
and fell in a long, ponderous arc that ended on the stone floor, driving the brave
air from his lungs and sending the mace clanging and skidding across the ground.

Two other weapons were dropped out of sheer
fright.

Nobody spoke. All were listening, fearing that the
noise – utterly shocking in the deep silence – had been overheard.

A door creaked open and light poured into the room,
revealing the outline of a broad cloaked man with a spreading tent of untamed
hair. Instantly, six flames were extinguished, sinking the great hall into
darkness. Something about the bushy outline looked familiar to Aedan.

“Names?” a voice boomed.

Silence.

“I was not addressing the statues. It would be
better that you give your names than I find them out.”

The silence was spoiled by shuffling which ended
with, “Hadley.”

“Aedan.”

“Bede.”

“Huh? Don’t try lie now. His name is Peashot and
mine is Lorrimer. Ouch, you little vermin!”

“My name’s Bede. I just don’t like it. Haven’t you
ever heard of a nickname, Ladderboy?”

“Enough! Next.”

“Vayle.”

“Kian.”

“Kian? You’re from a different dorm. How did you
find your way into this little band?”

“One of the boys on my dorm was bellying – sorry,
bullying of me. Hadley and the others are making him to stop.”

“That would be Warton?”

“Yes, sir.” It was Hadley’s voice.

“You met him then, Hadley. Good. Did you hit him?”

There was a thoughtful silence. “Not yet, sir.”

A slight tremor in the outline of the robe suggested
quiet amusement. “Candid. I had hoped as much. Well, I should inform you all
that, according to the rules, you have reached greater heights of trouble than
have ever been attained by new arrivals. Nobody has ever found their own way
down here before. Some might think it necessary to flog you. Fortunately for
you, I have a different view. Who, may I ask, worked it out?”

“Aedan, sir.” It was Hadley’s voice.

“Hmm, yes. That lines up. Aedan, try not to discover
anything more until the administrators are ready. And the rest of you, put on a
good show of astonishment as the entrance is revealed, again, tomorrow morning.
I enjoin you to hold your tongues as tightly as you would hold struggling fish,
or you will prove my suspicion about the flogging. Boys, it is always a
pleasure to meet the young and enterprising. Now as you seem to prefer the
dark, I leave you to feel your way back. Aedan, don’t forget the steps. They
work just as well on the way out.”

The door closed and all was darkness and silence.
The sound of a funnelled gust preceded a sharp cry.

“Ouch! That was my ear, you stinking rat. Where
are you?”

“Wasn’t really aiming. Not my fault your ears fill
half the room.”

“I think we need to thump him together,” said
Lorrimer. “Aren’t any of you going to help me?”

“You
were
trying to be selling the rat on
him, remember?” It was Kian.

“We say ‘Sell him out’, or ‘rat on him’,” came Vayle’s
quiet voice.

“Oh, thanks again.”

“Lorrimer,” it was Hadley, “I think you were
asking for it. And you have to admit that in the dark it was a ripper of a
shot.”

“Actually, considering the size of his …”

“Oh shut up, Peashot! Don’t you know when to drop
your weapons?”

“Lorrimer does. Let’s get out of here before he
gets bored and drops something on one of us.”

“So who do you think he was?” Hadley asked as they heaved on
the drape and drew the ramp back up against the wall where it settled, looking
once again like a panel of decorative slats.

“Probably some kind of caretaker,” said Vayle. “I
bet he lives down there.”

“Don’t know lots of caretakers what can do writing,”
said Kian.

“How do you know he can write?”

“He was holding of a quill in his hand and I’m thinking
that there was ink dripping off his hand also. Maybe he was dipping of the
quill when he got the scare from Lorrimer. Probably made him to be wrecking all
of his parchment.”

“He cooled off pretty quick if that’s the case,”
said Aedan. “My father would have skinned the lot of us.”

“Also mine.”

“I reckon he is important here,” said Vayle. “I
think a less important man would have been more worried. He sounded amused.”

“Maybe he’s a magician pretending to be a
caretaker,” said Lorrimer, his eyes growing big.

“I must have missed something,” Peashot piped up.
“Did someone here ask for a bedtime story?”

Hadley turned to Aedan, “Is Peashot always angling
for a fight?”

“No,” Aedan laughed. “You’ll see. It doesn’t
happen nearly as much when he’s sleeping.”

Hadley’s eyes crinkled as he laughed and clapped
Peashot on the back, ignoring the smouldering glare.

Late into the night they stared at the dark ceiling and talked
of swords and axes and secret tunnels and legendary warriors. Then they got
onto the topic of Warton and they all said what they would have done to him if
he hadn’t backed down, and each boy told of the other fights he had been in and
how he’d won them. Nobody remembered any he’d lost.

Aedan told of his brawl with Emroy and his snobby
friend from town when they had been rude to Kalry. He made most of it up because
the real one hadn’t turned out so well – and in the context of the glorious
battles being narrated he felt some adjustments were necessary.

So as the stars travelled the skies unseen, the boys
leapt and tackled and kicked and swung and conquered until the golden haze of
victory shimmered and settled down upon a room of quiet smiles and eager
dreams.

“What you think you’re waiting for? Daylight?”

The voice reminded Aedan of Skeet, only with a
little more of that abrasive insistence, that special nuance attained by expertly
combining the rude notes of clanging kitchenware with the hard blare of an iron
bugle.

The apprentices leapt from their beds, dressed by
lamplight, and stumbled into a dizzy line in the passage.

“From now on this is the time you rise. Follow
me.”

The stocky man led them through to a dining hall
filled with long tables and benches, and billowing with the steam of oatmeal
porridge. There were several other sections in the hall filling up with older
boys that Aedan assumed to be the more senior apprentices. The looks weren’t
threatening, but there was a definite territorial air.

“I don’t care if you are not hungry,” the man
said. “You empty your bowl. I promise that you’ll need it. Think of the past
two months as rest.” There were a few smiles from the adjacent gathering of
senior apprentices.

The new recruits lined up, collected their bowls
of oats mixed with cream, and settled at the long tables. Lorrimer looked
disappointed when his was finished. Peashot’s expression began to reveal mild
panic as he forced down a mouthful and looked at a bowl still half full.

“Swap?” asked Lorrimer.

Peashot nodded. It looked like the beginning of a
mutually satisfying arrangement.

When the bowls were emptied, the man stood and
called for silence.

“I am Commander Dun. This is Matron Rosalie. She
will do the nannying; I’ll do the whipping. Got that?”

Twenty heads bobbed. Twenty pairs of eyes looked
hopefully towards the middle-aged, soft-featured matron who regarded them with a
pitying smile.

Dun was wearing a different kind of smile. Aedan
had never seen a shark, but he imagined they would show their teeth in the same
way while circling unfortunates. And Commander Dun was just as muscled and eager
as some restless carnivore. His eyes were sharp and his hands ready. He had no
need to swing a cane against his boots and glare, showing just how dangerous he
could be. Something about his open manner – hands on hips, easy grin – almost welcomed
trouble. There was no bluff or bluster here. And the boys knew it. Even Peashot
sat rigid.

“Now, those of you whose fathers did not explain
matters before you enrolled, there is something you need to know. For the rest
of the students at the academy, expulsion is a danger. Within the marshals’
quarter we have two levels of discipline – punishment and prison. Misconduct
will not lead to expulsion because the things that are revealed over your years
in training cannot be put out on the street. From this day on, behaviour that
renders you unsuitable as marshals will send you to jail. Behaviour that can be
corrected with punishment will be punished. If anyone feels he is not prepared
for this, I ask you to remain behind in this room and you will be dismissed
from the academy.”

He picked up a sheet of paper and scanned the
details on the page before resuming.

“You have already been introduced to history, law,
navigation and cartography, foreign relations, and war strategy. To this we
will now add combat and weaponry, woodcraft, languages, and field surgery. Some
of your classes will overlap with the ladies of the medical quadrant, and we
expect nothing less than impeccably honourable behaviour. We will happily
punish anything less. These fine girls are being trained as Queen’s Envoys.
Their training is even more guarded than yours and I heartily recommend that
you do not ask many questions of them or about them.”

Several faces around the tables had shown an
interest at the mention of ladies. Some of the smaller boys pulled faces.

“You will have eleven classes a day, beginning and
ending with combat and weaponry. The learning is fast, faster than you could
imagine. If you want to pass your end-of-year exams and proceed to the next
year, you will need to apply yourselves like never before. In eight years you
may just have a grey cloak of your own. Now, follow me.”

He led them through the passages to the large room
with the central feature. Aedan’s group exchanged nervous glances.

“I’m sure that all of you tried exploring the
place last night and found the building to be a complete disappointment.”

Heads nodded. Aedan nodded. He threw a sharp look
at the others who quickly followed his example.

“Can anyone see something strange about this
room?”

Peashot looked like he was about to burst. Aedan
glared at him. The rest of the boys shrugged and made suggestions about the
statues and the designs on the central feature.

“No, none of you have it. No one has ever worked
it out though it’s such a simple trick. What I am about to show you is never to
be discussed with anyone who is not a master or student within this quadrant.”
He proceeded to give instructions for lowering the ramp and lifting the
panelled floor on top of the central feature, for which he had a special tool. Aedan’s
little band ooh’d and ah’d with the rest of them as the opening was revealed
and Dun gestured with a grand sweep of his arm like a conjurer making an object
appear out of nothing. Peashot was fiddling with something in his sleeve. Hadley
stepped in front of him and shook his head.

“Our facilities extend beneath ground level,” Dun
said. “There are several entrances. This one is yours and will remain yours for
the duration of your studies. I would not call this a terribly great secret; there
are other secrets far more closely guarded. This is really just a bit of fun. The
entrance remains open during the day, so it is possible that trespassers could
discover it. But there is another surprise in store for them. Watch very
carefully where you tread. The steps beside the marble pillars are the triggers
of traps. They won’t kill you, not the way we have things set these days, but
you will have a long fall and a cold swim.”

He led the way down and waited for them to
assemble on the landing where the passage split. “That direction,” he said,
pointing to the dark and barred way, “is forbidden to you, to seniors, and even
to most of the masters. Head that way and you are simply heading to prison.
Understood?”

When he was satisfied that the warning had been
heard by all, he led them along the other passage that now looked regal and
imposing in the glow of dozens of the ornate wall-mounted torches. Dun stopped
before the heavy doors and heaved them open without assistance – drawing a few
furtive glances of respect – and led the way into the weapons hall. Aedan’s
group did not need to affect amazement here; the sight was every bit as awe-inspiring
as it had been during the night.

“Take a good look, and be sure you take nothing
more. If I catch anyone so much as touching a weapon until I say so, I’ll set
your bones a-rattling.”

Lorrimer gulped.

“In these classes you will learn combat, from
fighting with your hands tied behind your back, to managing an assault tower.
By the time you are done here, every one of these weapons will be a personal
friend. You will each specialise as your skills develop.”

The boys’ eyes danced through the racks that lined
the walls, singling out weapons that called to them.

“Perhaps one of you will choose a miniature crossbow
or blow-dart.” He looked at Peashot, who dropped his eyes and tucked the tube
back into his sleeve.

Aedan decided it would be unwise to underestimate
this man.

Dun had them sit down on the cold stone floor, and
paced as he spoke.

“Unlike soldiers, marshals are not sent out with
the direct purpose of fighting, but the reality is that you will often be
opposed in your duties by violence. It is never for you to pick a fight, but if
one is unavoidable, you are to win it because the knowledge that marshals carry
during their duties is the kind of knowledge to save entire cities. You will be
trained by many marshals over the years, each an expert in his weapon. When I
say weapon, I expect you are all looking at the sharp and shiny tools around
you. What is the biggest problem with all of these?”

“They can rust?” a large boy offered.

“A small problem.”

“Many of them are heavy?”

“Another small problem.”

“They can be dropped?”

“Ah. A big problem. A thundering big problem. Complete
dependence on these tools is potential disaster. What then is the solution?”

“Learn to run really fast,” said Hadley.

Everyone laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” Dun demanded. The noise
died down. “There is most certainly a good time to run, just as there is a bad
time. When the nation has more to gain by your getting away and living than by
your standing proud and dying, then you run. Any argument?”

The boys shook their heads.

“Good. So, what weapons cannot be dropped?”

“Fists.”

“Yes, though not my first choice.”

“Elbows, knees and feet.”

“Good. We carry many weapons around with us.” He
began to indicate shoulder, elbow, palm, fist, knee, and so on. “But I have
left something out. It is the one weapon each of you carries that can defeat
anything in this room.”

Aedan touched his head.

Dun nodded and motioned to the stacked walls. “We
will train you to use all these with perfect standard forms and combinations.
But we will never allow you to fall into that lazy confidence in which your mind
shuts down and you apply set motions like a donkey circling the mill. You will
be taught to think beyond the conventions. Constantly. Everything around you
can be used as a weapon to your advantage, even your opponents themselves. As
marshals, your first weapon is your mind, and this you will exercise every time
you enter these halls. A basic example: Let’s say that one of you is armed with
only a staff and is attacked by two soldiers in heavy armour. The unthinking approach
would be to stand and hack it out, applying perfect technique, hoping that the
staff holds together and that you are fast enough to parry blows from two sides.
Now what might a thinking man do?”

“Run,” Kian reminded him.

“Fine, but let’s assume you had to defeat them.”

There was a brief silence. The whirring of thought
was almost audible.

“Men in heavy armour move slowly,” Aedan said. “They
are protected, but they are also clumsy and they get tired quickly. I’ve seen a
badger kill a snake by dancing around, always just out of range of the strike,
waiting for an opportunity.”

“Good. How could you dodge two at the same time?”

“Maybe circle them in a way where one always
shields you from the other? You’d have to move quickly though.”

“That is an excellent suggestion, and it happens
to be one of the exercises you will be given during the week. There are dozens
of possibilities to each encounter, and circling might not always be the best
solution given additional factors such as treacherous ground. What is important,
though, is that during any encounter your mind is as active as a mouse in the
larder. That’s enough talk. Everyone on your feet and follow me.”

They filed into another large hall that was like
the first, only that all the weapons here were wooden or strapped with
protective leather, and the floor was covered in an assortment of beams,
blocks, sand bags, and wooden constructions of unknown purpose. Ropes and
ladders rose to platforms and walkways just under the frighteningly high roof.
Mounds of hay made potential falls less than fatal.

“Break into pairs about the same height,” Dun
said, his voice rising to a new level, “and one from each pair collect a sand
bag.”

Aedan and Vayle were roughly the same height. Kian
chose Peashot, Lorrimer found another tall boy who was still a head beneath
him, and Hadley stepped up to Warton with an easy smile. Warton had no choice.

“I don’t encourage you to punch freely,” Dun
began, when they were all paired up. “The bones in our hands can break more
easily than we would like. There are better ways to strike an opponent, but a
punch is still the most natural reflex, so you may as well learn to do it
right.”

He demonstrated in slow movements how to begin
with stance and to throw not just from the shoulder but from the feet. He paused
at various stages in the movement to point out the line of force from ground to
target. He showed how to strike with the thumb folded away, fist lined straight,
and the wrist tensed to avoid the all-too-easy buckling.

“Think of the motion as a spear being driven home.”

Once they had all practiced the movement slowly
under his scrutiny and correction, they were told to put some weight and speed
into it. It wasn’t long before a few knuckles were skinned. The sandbags had
rough surfaces.

He then showed them the palm punch which he
recommended over knuckles, and something he called the thunderslap – a movement
that looked like someone throwing a stone and ended with the base of the hand striking
the target at numbing speed. Last for the day were the elbow strikes – forward
and backward.