the austere grounds of the enlisted soldiers-in-training.
Before separating, the party was given a short time for farewells. But Tjaden already had his moment with his father and Elora, and didn’t feel the need for more long goodbyes. He hugged Elora, who had tears in her eyes but also wore an excited expression, and struck hands with his father and Aker.
Tjaden and Ollie were given a brief tour of the building and led to their quarters. Each Elite recruit shared a private room with his Fellow. The quarters were simple, but Tjaden and Ollie were both glad to have enough space to walk across the room without having to scoot around a trundle bed.
The stone walls of the Academy couldn’t be more unlike the friendly groves and small home he was accustomed to, but after a lifetime of imagining himself as a recruit, the walls were perfectly fitting.
After placing their few belongings in their quarters, Tjaden and Ollie retraced the path to the dining hall. Despite the late hour, dozens of soldiers were spread throughout the large room. A group of ten tables near the front of the chamber stood out from the rest. The tables were round, and made of an ornate polished wood with natural streaks of blue. The other tables in the room were sanded pine. Chairs surrounded the tables at the front of the room, as opposed to the benches which paralleled the pine tables. Spread out around three of the finer tables were about twenty men and boys without uniforms, sitting in pairs and talking in the animated manner of children before their first Swap and Spar. Tjaden immediately recognized his fellow recruits.
A heated debate was underway as Tjaden and Ollie sat with their food at one of the Elite tables. One boy, a year or two younger than Tjaden, interrupted the debate to make introductions. He started by telling them his name was Brin-Dar. They went around the table in turn, each saying their name and where they were from. A few recruits were younger than Tjaden, but most were a few years older. Two men were in their mid-twenties and one man with long, unkempt hair looked old enough to be Tjaden’s father.
The dispute began again quickly. A few of the recruits tried to convince the others that the best soldiers came from large cities. Others made the point that small towns produced better soldiers. The younger boys only listened for the most part.
“We have access to the best teachers, private lessons, and battalions of soldiers to observe,” stated a pale young man with blond hair.
A well-tanned, wiry youth spoke up. “Boys in cities grow up soft, selling trinkets in Daddy’s shop or living in mansions with servants to do the real work. Try turning a copse of trees into a home for eight people. Takes four months, but makes you into a man overnight.”
A few in the group chuckled. Ollie, never the timid type, jumped right in. “Let me ask a question—Where did Captain Darieus come from?”
Half of the group answered, “Oblahar.”
“Right,” continued Ollie. “It’s a small town in the western mountains. Most of the residents either raise cattle and horses or grow wheat. No nobles or easy living there. And what about King Barash?”
This time all of the recruits spoke at once. “Palassiren.”
The pale kid asked, “What’s your point?”
Tjaden wondered the same thing, but knowing Ollie, he had something in mind.
“Well,” said Ollie. “One is perfectly suited for military life and has protected the kingdom for two decades. The other excels at sitting on a throne and ordering servants. I think the answer’s obvious.”
The dispute erupted into a free for all, each trying to be heard above the others. Tjaden listened to the conversation with one ear, but his real interest was in his fellow recruits. They ranged from confident and friendly Brin-Dar to the pale young man who was haughty and poised, to a rigid, subdued eleventeen-year-old named Chism.
The old man, probably in his mid-thirties, sat next to
Before separating, the party was given a short time for farewells. But Tjaden already had his moment with his father and Elora, and didn’t feel the need for more long goodbyes. He hugged Elora, who had tears in her eyes but also wore an excited expression, and struck hands with his father and Aker.
Tjaden and Ollie were given a brief tour of the building and led to their quarters. Each Elite recruit shared a private room with his Fellow. The quarters were simple, but Tjaden and Ollie were both glad to have enough space to walk across the room without having to scoot around a trundle bed.
The stone walls of the Academy couldn’t be more unlike the friendly groves and small home he was accustomed to, but after a lifetime of imagining himself as a recruit, the walls were perfectly fitting.
After placing their few belongings in their quarters, Tjaden and Ollie retraced the path to the dining hall. Despite the late hour, dozens of soldiers were spread throughout the large room. A group of ten tables near the front of the chamber stood out from the rest. The tables were round, and made of an ornate polished wood with natural streaks of blue. The other tables in the room were sanded pine. Chairs surrounded the tables at the front of the room, as opposed to the benches which paralleled the pine tables. Spread out around three of the finer tables were about twenty men and boys without uniforms, sitting in pairs and talking in the animated manner of children before their first Swap and Spar. Tjaden immediately recognized his fellow recruits.
A heated debate was underway as Tjaden and Ollie sat with their food at one of the Elite tables. One boy, a year or two younger than Tjaden, interrupted the debate to make introductions. He started by telling them his name was Brin-Dar. They went around the table in turn, each saying their name and where they were from. A few recruits were younger than Tjaden, but most were a few years older. Two men were in their mid-twenties and one man with long, unkempt hair looked old enough to be Tjaden’s father.
The dispute began again quickly. A few of the recruits tried to convince the others that the best soldiers came from large cities. Others made the point that small towns produced better soldiers. The younger boys only listened for the most part.
“We have access to the best teachers, private lessons, and battalions of soldiers to observe,” stated a pale young man with blond hair.
A well-tanned, wiry youth spoke up. “Boys in cities grow up soft, selling trinkets in Daddy’s shop or living in mansions with servants to do the real work. Try turning a copse of trees into a home for eight people. Takes four months, but makes you into a man overnight.”
A few in the group chuckled. Ollie, never the timid type, jumped right in. “Let me ask a question—Where did Captain Darieus come from?”
Half of the group answered, “Oblahar.”
“Right,” continued Ollie. “It’s a small town in the western mountains. Most of the residents either raise cattle and horses or grow wheat. No nobles or easy living there. And what about King Barash?”
This time all of the recruits spoke at once. “Palassiren.”
The pale kid asked, “What’s your point?”
Tjaden wondered the same thing, but knowing Ollie, he had something in mind.
“Well,” said Ollie. “One is perfectly suited for military life and has protected the kingdom for two decades. The other excels at sitting on a throne and ordering servants. I think the answer’s obvious.”
The dispute erupted into a free for all, each trying to be heard above the others. Tjaden listened to the conversation with one ear, but his real interest was in his fellow recruits. They ranged from confident and friendly Brin-Dar to the pale young man who was haughty and poised, to a rigid, subdued eleventeen-year-old named Chism.
The old man, probably in his mid-thirties, sat next to
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