Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (57 page)

“I do.”

“So how are we meant to get in?”

“With great care and delicate planning. There are
many secrets to that fortress; Culver and I happen to know a few. You’ll see –
we have more in mind than tiptoeing through the front gates.”

“But there’s no other way in.”

“Ah, there we have a topic for our first lesson. Can
you detect the problem with what you just said?”

Aedan ran through the words a few times and then
smiled. “I should have added ‘that I know of.’”

“Just so. You tried to establish a fact from a lack
of evidence. Unless the inquiry has been so exhaustive as to explore every
possibility, the lack of evidence should never be used to ground a statement of
fact. Unlikelihood certainly, but no more. A prematurely assumed fact blocks
further inquiry.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“The sea north of Lorfen is endless.”

“But isn’t it? Haven’t ships travelled for a month
in that direction and found nothing?”

“Indeed. But the very fact that there was still
water to the north when they turned back means that the exploration was
incomplete. Who can say that they would not have sighted a great landmass one
day on? Another is this: There are no spies in the academy.”

“Are there?” Aedan asked with shock.

“I hope not. But it would be unwise to assume not.
Where easier for a spy to hide than in a place where no one believes a spy
could exist? People never look beyond an assumed fact. One more: Lekrans have nothing
worth respecting.”

Aedan stiffened. “That’s not a good topic for me.”

“But it is a necessary one. Prejudice creates
blindness; it is too busy hating to think. No matter how justified it might
feel, prejudice will shackle you.”

“But they –”

“Aedan. Use reason, not emotion. Have you made an
exhaustive search of the whole population of Lekrau and found nothing worth
respecting?”

Aedan’s eyes were hard. “I take your point, but
please could we discuss something else.”

As they made their way back to the camp, Fergal
illustrated the same principle by detailing several political and military
defeats, and Aedan began to see how dangerous this little flaw in reasoning
could be.

When they arrived at the camp, Aedan helped Osric
with the meal. He understood now that there was no anger in the general’s eyes,
only concern. Though it was unpleasant to be in the company of those who had
seen him shamed, he bore it. Fergal had given him just a thread of hope to
which he clung with slowly recovering tenacity.

Tyne called him aside. “Aedan,” she said in a voice
that was as steady as the commander’s. The eyes that Aedan had been avoiding
held him, and he did not look away. He realised now that the intensity of her
look was perhaps better understood as sincerity.

“I was not aware of your background,” she said. “You
have my apologies. The only thing I can find against your behaviour is that you
should have warned Liru about your malady. She had a right to know because it
was your responsibility to defend her. But I am not angry with you, and I’d be
glad if you would count me as a friend.” She put her hand on his shoulder, gave
a gentle squeeze, then turned and walked to the fire, allowing Aedan the chance
to speak to Liru alone.

Liru did not greet him when he sat. He fiddled
with a twig he had broken off a sapling, peeling the bark away, exposing the
pale wood.

“Liru, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I
thought that in a battle it might be different. It’s just very embarrassing to
talk about. I’ve actually never talked about it. I hoped it wouldn’t happen.”

“You are right, Aedan. You should have told me.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I deserve it. Thank you for stepping in
front of me. It was brave of you. I hope you don’t regret it.”

“I regret it with every aching breath.”

“You would rather have me dead?”

“I am happy that you are alive and unhappy that I
had to save you.”

Aedan shuffled. “Well, I’m glad that you are
feeling strong enough to speak your mind,” he mumbled.

“I am Mardrae. Even dead Mardrae will speak their
minds. Now go away. You are giving me a headache.”

Aedan slunk back to his fire. Liru was angry and
would stay that way for a long time, but at least she would talk to him. That
was something. Tyne went back to her, leaving Aedan and Osric alone.

They had not spoken openly since the battle.
Neither seemed to know how to begin. When they did overcome their silence they
spoke at the same time. Both stopped and insisted the other proceed, pressing
with equal vehemence. It was Osric who got frustrated first.

“Have you eaten?” he asked with a huff of
exasperation.

Aedan looked surprised by the question. “Oh. Yes,
I ate a little earlier. But I’m not that hungry.”

“Not enough exercise today?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Oh, of course,” Osric mumbled. “Did you see the
spoor outside the camp this morning? There are deer for the taking. Maybe you
should head out with Merter. It might help to … to get back into the motions
again.”

Aedan stripped off the last of the bark from his
twig, threw the shreds onto the coals where they twisted up and shrivelled
before being consumed. “Maybe,” he said.

Osric rubbed his stubbly beard. “Perhaps I should
also give you some specific training, simulate some charges. I think Dun might
not put enough into the practical aspect, the real situations.”

Aedan threw the bare twig into the fire so hard
that it produced a shower of sparks and sent a few coals tumbling. He glared at
the pale wood. Moisture fizzed to the surface until there was none left, and
then the flames had their way with the lifeless wood.

He hated this – the questions, the advice, the
examination. Was he to be stripped and grilled before everyone who had seen his
humiliation? The darkness beyond the camp called to him, the loneliness where
he could hide, where the inhabitants of the forest would not try to mend him.
They would not pierce him with their eyes or their words. They did not care.

That was the thought that stopped him from walking
away. He looked at Osric and saw the honest concern, the generous hope behind
his awkward and confused expression as he clearly wondered what he had said
wrong.

“It’s not Dun,” Aedan said. “It’s not familiarity
or practice. You can’t get me used to it because I would know it’s not real. And
if it was real it would be like trying to catch five-ton boulders rolled off the
top of the city wall.”

Osric stared into the coals. “Is this why you
never spoke of your father?”

“There’s another reason.”

“Crime?”

Aedan was silent.

“It would go poorly for him if we were to meet,”
Osric said.

Aedan shifted and glanced up. “He may have hurt
me, but he stood up for me too. He was the one who taught me to track and hunt
and move through the woods. He taught me better than Wildemar could ever hope
to. I have lots of good memories of those days.”

After saying this, he wondered why he had. Why shield
his father? He wanted to repay him. Yet somehow he felt the strangest need to
defend when somebody else took up the attack.

“Any son should have those good memories,” Osric
rumbled. “But no son should have the other memories he left you. I would very
much like to give him some of what he gave you.”

Aedan looked away. He remembered the beatings. He
remembered them well. Sometimes he still felt the creeping pain of bruises. But
as he imagined his father under Osric’s blows, there was an old sadness that
welled up in him. He shook his head and turned to Osric.

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! I’ll never
forgive. Even in his grave I’ll hate him. I hate him for how he ruined me and
my mother, and if I ever see him again he’ll be dead to me. But I don’t want to
see him beaten – I don’t know why.”

Osric sat long in silence, the corners of his
mouth pulling down and his fists clutching. When he answered, his voice was strangely
thick. “I chose differently,” he said.

By the end of the week, they were ready to travel. Of the
fourteen soldiers they had set out with, ten remained alive and eight were fit
for service – though many of these had light wounds. The two with more serious
wounds were sent back to Eastridge to rest and await reinforcements.

The party travelled slowly on account of the
convalescents, taking all of three weeks to reach the foothills of the DinEilan
Mountains. It was the first time Aedan had seen snow on the peaks. A month
earlier the slopes and some of the hills would have been under a cold sheet of
white, but now the season was shifting and the lingering caps and pockets of
snow receding. As the land rose up around the travellers, it also began to
change its character.

Gone were the gentle hues of beech and lime; ridges
grew hooded and ravines thick with the more sombre shade of blackthorn, fir and
elm. Herds of deer flecked the slopes – speckled bounders and the noble errak,
tall as horses with horns like spears. The grass that now dominated was soft
and furry from a distance, but tough as wire underfoot. Though it could be bent
into a comfortable bed, each blade was like a miniature reed ending in a needle
tip. It became increasingly difficult to find suitable grazing, something Aedan
remembered from his first journey here.

The company was large enough to keep wolves at a
distance, but the lonely howl, that most haunting of songs, was often to be
heard on the night air.

Fergal conducted his lessons with Aedan and Liru
while they rode. They were astounded by the man’s knowledge – he seemed to know
more about any subject than any of the masters at the academy. They began to
think he knew more than several put together. It was no wonder Culver had
claimed him as a personal assistant. Whatever disappointment Aedan had
experienced at being passed on to a mere clerk for tuition evaporated rapidly. Fergal
showed himself fluent in each of the foreign languages Aedan and Liru had
studied, and it soon became clear that he spoke a great many more. Occasionally
he would even use illustrations from works in what he termed lost languages – languages
no longer spoken, whose sounds were no longer known and had to be guessed when
reading the words that lingered in clay tablets and fragile parchments.

Fergal set challenges that had to be solved using
many fields of knowledge – languages, culture, politics, strategy, and of
course, history.

He also began to coach them in something new – intentional
observation – the habit of constantly noting and interpreting details. This was
something Aedan was familiar with from the origins game he used to play at the
Mistyvales, though he had never applied the technique broadly. He decided to
test Fergal.

“Can you describe the first inn we stayed at?” he
asked.

“You’ll have to be a lot more specific than that,”
Fergal said, “or I’ll be talking all day.”

“Alright. Describe the cook.”

“The cook,” Fergal mumbled, “Hmm …”

Aedan smiled, preparing for a small triumph over
his new master.

“I won’t bore you with the details that were of no
aid,” Fergal began, “but I will mention a few that were of interest. She was
the mother of the tallest serving girl –”

“How –” Aedan attempted to interrupt.

“The initial resemblance was minimal until one
noticed them in profile – they share a unique forward bridge of the nose and
deeply sunken chin. But if the resemblance was not enough, the mother removed
all doubt by her behaviour. At first I thought her sallies from the kitchen to
be random or brought on by rowdiness, but she looked too purposeful for the
former and the latter link was inconsistent. I soon realised that she was
overseeing every time her daughter made her rounds between the soldiers.
Another thing that presented itself as interesting was that on her first
appearance she walked evenly, and every time she appeared after that, she
limped.”

“Ah,” Liru said. “A weapon strapped to her leg. It
would make sense if she was worried about her daughter.”

“I assumed just that and made sure to avoid
looking at the daughter. As a result, I spent a fair amount of time examining
my table – oiled pine – on which I read a dozen names and learned that Alburn
will always love Fern, though I fear the giddy letters indicate powers at work
other than affection.”

“Yes,” laughed Aedan. “He was probably being
beaten over the head by the cook with her brass spoon while he scratched her
table.”

Fergal grinned. “Good. You noticed her spoon was
brass, and it did have some dents in it. She held it in her right hand and she
was left handed – it was her writing that gave that away.”

“Was her left hand against the supposedly injured
leg?” Aedan asked.

“Very good. It was indeed. The next thing she
revealed was the existence of a back door to the kitchen when she appeared at
one point with hair blown loose and spots of rain on her shoulders. I could
carry on, but I think you get the idea and hopefully see the usefulness of
observation. Now Aedan, seeing as I have answered your question, what do you
remember of her husband?”

“Uh … He was really small, and he had a beard, and
… a white shirt, no brown, no, well he had a shirt.”

“Green.” said Fergal.

“Well it was dirty, so you have to admit that
brown is partly right.”

“It was not dirty. I have seldom observed a neater
or cleaner chap in my life. Brown, I’m afraid, remains wrong.”

Liru was even worse.

Fergal began drilling them, asking them regularly
what they had noticed about a clearing recently traversed or about an
interaction between soldiers. Aedan found it difficult to pay attention to his
surroundings while listening to Fergal’s instruction, but he improved over the
weeks. Liru, after growing deliberate about it, showed herself to be something
of a sponge for details.

Once Fergal was satisfied that they were on the
right track, he had them study one soldier at a time without staring, observing
each for potential threats and weaknesses. They learned that one was concealing
something beneath his saddle, another was nursing a sore head, a third was
uneasy about the soldier behind him. Aedan was also uneasy about him. It was Rork,
that leering eel who still mocked with his eyes. As casual as he seemed, he never
let his coat fall over the handle of his sword and showed by his reactions that
he took in a lot more of his environment than his lazy eyes suggested. Aedan
marked him as dangerous.

Any curiosity on the part of the soldiers was left
unsatisfied, as none of the discussions were held in Thirnish. Orunean, the
most common second language, was also avoided. Instead, they used Fenn,
Vinthian and Sulese. Fergal began teaching them some basic words in two more
languages – Lekran, to Aedan’s disgust, and Mardrae, to Liru’s delight. She was
unable to hide her surprise and joy when she discovered her new master to be
fluent in the language of her childhood. Soon they were singing songs, telling
jokes and reciting poems together. Fergal was considerate enough to explain it
all to Aedan.

These would be Aedan’s fifth and sixth foreign
tongues. Lekran was compulsory, but for the sixth language, the students were
given a few choices. He had been wavering between Krunish and Mardrae and
leaning towards the latter, so he did not object.

He was determined to catch up to Liru as fast as
he could, so every night he wrote down the new words and phrases and practiced
until he spoke them in his dreams. Mardrae was a fascinating language full of rich
vowel tones and soft consonants. It almost sounded dreamy.

Instead of the languages becoming jumbled, he
found it easier to learn and store each subsequent one, though the boundaries
were not impenetrable. There were times when a Sulese word, for example, would try
to pass itself off as a native in a Vinthian sentence. Fergal was sharper than any
border inspector and caught the little imposters every time. Nevertheless, he
declared himself to be impressed with the effort and progress of his students.

Aedan’s application to Lekran, however, was
another matter. He felt as though the words polluted his mind and he let them
trickle out as fast as they reached him.

One day, during a spell between questions, Aedan
changed the topic to something that had been gnawing at him for a long time.

“What’s under the academy?” he asked.

Fergal directed a long look at him. “I gave my
word not to speak of it. Anyway, you would have difficulty believing me.”

“Now you are setting my curiosity alight.”

“Good. Curiosity is an excellent fuel. You will
find out what is down there, but not through me.”

“How? There’s no longer an entrance.”

“Did we not cover this in your first lesson? No
entrance you say?”

Aedan considered for a moment. “Are you saying there’s
another entrance?”

“I am not. And I could not say so, even if I knew
it to be true. I am addressing a flaw in your reasoning – a fact constructed
from the material of ignorance, a brick made of air.”

“And that is all the satisfaction you are going to
give me on this?”

“Very good Aedan. You are making fine progress.”

Aedan huffed for a while, but soon thought of
another question. “This one you might not like,” he said, “but I need to know.”

“I’m listening.”

“Are you teaching us because Malik’s father – or mother,
in reality – told Culver not to?”

Fergal looked up at the clouds, apparently
dreaming. When he turned around to Aedan there was a hint of amusement in his
eye. “Then this is why you were so surly to begin with.”

Aedan dropped his eyes.

“Yes, I suspected your little pre-departure conference
with Malik might have run along those lines. It is true that his mother has
great influence, and also true that such a demand was made, but even if it had
not been, Culver would not have taught you. You will learn to forgive him once
you understand him. The chancellor is a man who keeps himself apart. He is
someone very few people understand, but perhaps you will learn something of him
before we return.”

It still sounded like academic snobbery to Aedan,
but he didn’t really care. Fergal was proving to be the best tutor he had ever
known. Liru said the same. If Malik had known this assistant better, he would
have included him in the veto against teaching.

Camp was usually made during early afternoon,
allowing time for the two apprentices to train with weapons. They never trained
within view of the soldiers, and leather sleeves kept the noise of weapons down.
Even Aedan was sworn to secrecy as he began to work with Liru.

Osric and Tyne acted as their instructors. Though he
had known Osric for many years, Aedan had never actually trained with him. The
oversized general was not capable of shifting as quickly as his smaller
opponents, but the depth of each movement easily made up for this, and the
speed of his arms was devastating. The blade would move so quickly and with
such weight that he could parry and cut before anyone realised the offensive
had shifted.

Tyne, though she was taller than most women, drifted
over the grass as lightly as a summer breeze. She slipped around lunges and
darted in with a fluid grace that sometimes even put Osric on the retreat. Aedan
and Liru watched with dropping jaws. It was poetry.

Aedan had begun to like Tyne as he had grown to
understand her. She was not the domineering, starchy woman he had first thought.
She could command if needed, and she was strong, no mistake. But behind it all
was a shy lady who smiled with the most endearing dimples, coloured slightly
when complimented, and who was always quick to soothe any bruise. Whatever ill
will she had borne Aedan was long gone, and she laughed with him as freely as
with the others.

Once, as he watched her stepping and leaping
around Osric, her long copper braid sweeping behind her and a half smile always
tugging at her mouth, he leaned over to Liru and whispered, “They make good
dancing partners.”

He would say nothing when Osric and Tyne demanded
to know what all the whispering was about. It was not the last such comment that
passed between the youngsters. Aedan had never seen the general smile so often
– and there was no doubt as to the cause. Sword-sparring was usually marked by
glittering steel and ringing strikes; Tyne’s bouts with Osric were marked by
glittering eyes and ringing laughter.

The teaching and training covered unarmed combat,
knives, swords, clubs, and quarterstaves. They alternated partners, fought in
pairs, and then all fought Osric. Then they fought Osric with one hand tied
behind his back. Then Tyne suggested they tie his arms and legs, put a bag over
his head and give him Aedan’s cheese knife to hold between his boots.

Thormar, the steady, silent commander was always
to be seen around the camp, thick white smoke curling up from his pipe, and his
heavy glance bringing instant order to any disturbance. His constant presence allowed
Osric to move around freely.