lately developed what they referred to as Shadow strength, far beyond what they'd once been used to. The thing above him moved, but not by much. But here was a bit of useful information; there was only so much Shadow strength in this body of his. He'd pushed too hard, and now his arms fell weakly to his sides in the enclosed space.
It wasn't good enough. But then again, it never was.
When Ironfoot was a child, his father had always goaded him. 'Don't end up like me, boy,' he'd said as the two of them sheared sheep. The price of wool had dropped for three years straight, and his father had already sold off three of his best ewes. 'You're smart,' he'd said. 'You have to make something of yourself.'
So when Ironfoot enlisted in the army, it was with the determination to do everything he could to get ahead. He knew he was smart, and that he had several of the Gifts, but there was no place for a shepherd's son at a school like Queensbridge. Most of the students at such schools were the sons and daughters of lords or wealthy guildsmen, and they'd all been sent to expensive academies as children. Ironfoot, on the other hand, had gone to the village school until the age of ten and then had gone to work for his father. He'd stayed up late, long after his father had gone to bed, reading, studying basic thaumatics, teaching himself to make the witchlight that he read by.
He'd moved up quickly in the ranks as an enlisted man, but as a commoner, there was a point beyond which there was no advancement.
Then came the Gnomic War. He'd been a sergeant in the Third Battalion of the Dragon Regiment, responsible for Ram Company. In the army, Ironfoot had made a reputation as a perfectionist. He demanded nothing but the best from himself and from his soldiers. Some hated him for it, most complained, but they all respected him. And it soon became clear as the Gnomic campaign progressed, and Ironfoot's company led in kills without losing a single soldier, that he was a fine commander as well.
His own commander, however, Colonel Samel-La, was far less fine. Put simply, Samel-La was a fool, and was totally unsuited for combat. He had no knowledge of tactics, believing that the solution to every problem was to throw battle mages and soldiers at it until it went away. As a commander, he was lax and allowed his junior officers to curry favor with him, listening to those who agreed with him and ignoring those who did not. Even after Ironfoot earned four Laurels serving beneath him, Samel-La refused to take his advice. It didn't take long for Samel-La and Ironfoot to find a way to butt heads.
When they entered the Gnokka River Valley, just south of Cmir, everything went wrong all at once. The Gnomics were waiting for them, having taken up positions along the slope on either side. Ironfoot saw the trap immediately, and warned Samel-La to retreat, but Samel-La claimed that Seelie never retreated, especially against savages like the Gnomics. Ironfoot attempted to explain that retreat was one of the fundamental tactics of war, but Samel-La refused to listen.
The battle very quickly turned ugly. Casualties began mounting by the dozens. More and more Gnomics appeared over the rim of the valley, and still Samel-La refused to retreat.
It was not until they'd been flanked in the rear, when retreat was no longer possible, that Samel-La decided he'd had enough. He took a single company and bolted to the rear, his intent apparently to break through the Gnomic line and flee, stranding his own battalion. He and his entire company were slaughtered moments after they left the main Seelie force.
Confusion reigned for a few desperate minutes, in which none of the Seelie soldiers knew what to do and the lines were folding in. It appeared as though they were doomed to a slaughter.
But Ironfoot stood up in his saddle and shouted orders to his company, taking command of the battalion. He drew in and stitched up the lines, reunited the soldiers into a unified force. Together they not only repelled the Gnomic attack, but took the valley, forcing the Gnomics into a retreat.
When it was over, the regiment commander, General Jeric, explained to Ironfoot that it was not possible to award him a fifth Laurel for his valor in this particular battle. Samel-La had been the son of an influential lord who had his fingers on the army's purse strings. And thus Samel-La would be said to have died of wounds sustained leading the Third Battalion to victory in the battle of Gnokka Valley.
General Jeric, however, understood what Ironfoot had done, and what was taken from him. He asked Ironfoot whether there was anything he could do to cushion the blow.
'I want to go to Queensbridge,' he'd said, without a moment's pause.
Three days later, Ironfoot was honorably discharged from the Seelie Army, just hours after being commissioned a lieutenant. As an officer in the Seelie Army, he was eligible to attend Queensbridge, and with the warm personal recommendation of the Third Battalion's commander, he was happily accepted.
At Queensbridge he'd become more of a perfectionist than ever. He wasn't satisfied unless he got not just top marks, but the top marks. At any task of thaumatics, he demanded success from himself. He never quit. He worked harder and did more and he succeeded.
And he hadn't ever been able to stop.
Here he sat now with the greatest challenge of his life in front of him. It wasn't just that success was important. It was everything. Nothing less than perfection mattered.
