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

“Discipline?” Spink looked alarmed, as well he might. To be called directly to the commander’s office for discipline, after class hours, bespoke an extreme violation of Academy rules, one that might well lead to suspension or dismissal.

Caulder smiled sweetly. “Of course, I know nothing of what it is all about,” he said in a sugary voice that implied exactly the opposite. He glanced out the window. “I do suggest you hurry, however.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked Spink. Curiosity and dread were devouring me.

“He could hold your hand,” Caulder suggested slyly.

“I’ll be back soon enough,” Spink said with a venomous glance at the boy. He went for his greatcoat, and moments later disappeared down the stairs.

“Did he finish his math before he went?” Gord asked me quietly. Spink’s understanding of the theory was as good as any cadet’s, but his weakness in calculations still undermined his marks.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“We’ve section tests next Fiveday,” Gord commented, and I groaned, for I had pushed that dread to the back of my mind. Section tests meant that we’d be tested in every one of our subjects, and our marks posted to our records. We’d weathered one section test so far that year. I had not done as well as I had expected, but then, no one had. This time I intended to be better prepared.

“Well, all we can do is the best we can do,” I muttered philosophically. I opened my math book again.

“And you new noble sons had best do well at your sections!” Caulder interjected. I hadn’t even been aware he was still there.

“We expect to,” Gord returned mildly.

“Why must we do well?” Trist asked suddenly.

The boy smiled at Trist. “No one is supposed to know,” he said. He glanced around the room, pleased with our suddenly rapt attention. Even Caleb looked up from his latestDreadful Crimes folio. Caulder licked his narrow lips and added almost in a whisper, “But you could say a lot of futures may depend on the posting of the final grades for the half year.”

“Will the commander do a culling?” Rory asked bluntly.

Caulder raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps. But you didn’t hear it from me.” And with that chill remark, he turned to leave the room. Both Oron and Rory shot desperate looks at Trist.

“Hold up, Caulder!” Trist jumped to his feet. “I was just going out for a bit of air. Perhaps I’ll walk a ways with you.”

“If you wish,” the boy acceded smugly, and waited for Trist to join him. After we had heard their boots descend the stairs, Rory spoke. “I don’t like the sound of that. I warned you fellers about cullings before, just like my cousin warned me. They had an exceptionally large class the year he came into the Academy. The commander that year did three cullings. He’d choose a test or an exercise of some kind, without any advance notice to the cadets, and those who fell below a certain score were simply dismissed.”

“That’s brutal,” gasped Oron, and the rest of us nodded grimly.

“It is. But the commander then said that it was as fair as an ambush; that those who were always ready and alert survived, and those who were lax did not.”

I was suddenly reminded of Sergeant Duril’s rocks. I didn’t like the idea of a sudden culling, but the commander was right. It was fair in the same way that battle odds were fair. I scowled. I still hadn’t found the rock I’d kept on my shelf. It was a minor thing, but it irritated me.

I shook it from my thoughts and opened my math book again. I had been solid on the lesson; now I resolved to be absolutely in command of it. At the table, other cadets were doing the same. Gord sat silent, staring straight ahead. When he noticed me looking at him, he said quietly, “I hope Spink gets back soon.”

I nodded. Spink had passed his last section test, but not by much. I breathed a silent prayer to the good god that Spink’s efforts at study would be rewarded, and then hastily added myself to that petition as well. I bent my head over my books and tried to concentrate.

I looked up immediately when I heard boot steps on the stairs. Trist came in. His cheeks and forehead were red with cold from the outside, but his mouth was pinched white with fury. He looked round at us and seemed to be strangling on his news.

“So? What did you find out? Did he tell you anything?” Oron demanded of him.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair at all, and there’s no reason for it!” Trist spoke through gritted teeth. He walked over to our hearth and stood with his back to us, warming his hands.