The first step nearly did them in. Khollo staggered to the left, dragging Hern off balance and nearly toppling Sermas. They stumbled on for fifty feet before Sermas called for a halt.
“Wait,” Sermas panted. “This is madness.” He stripped off his pack and dumped out its contents. “If Wilkes yells at us, we’ll load him up with three rock packs and a guardsman and see how he likes it.”
Khollo snorted with laughter at that image. “I’d rather feed him the rocks,” he decided as he emptied his pack and Hern’s.
They started off again at a slow jog, minus over a hundred pounds of rock. Under those conditions, they made reasonable time on the remainder of the course, but they were still the last ones back to the fortress. The final ascension to the fortress gates was slow and painful, particularly after Khollo caught sight of Wilkes standing by the open gate, frowning down at them.
They stumbled to a halt before Wilkes, standing to attention as best they could with Hern between them. The injured boy was nearly unconscious, his head lolling to the side.
“Welcome back, cadets,” Wilkes growled. “Did you enjoy lollygagging along among the hills?”
Khollo and Sermas exchanged a puzzled glance. “Sir, we were helping Cadet Hern here. He broke his ankle,” Khollo finally replied.
Wilkes frowned. “You’re the last ones back.”
Khollo glared up at the sergeant, clean out of patience. He was hungry and exhausted, muscles trembling with strain and fatigue, heart pounding in his bare chest. “Would you prefer we abandon a wounded comrade, sir?” he asked, emphasizing the final word. “Where I come from, we never leave a man behind. Especially now.”
Wilkes’ face went nearly purple with rage. Khollo realized too late that he’d let his tongue run away. He sensed Sermas stiffen, prepared to defend himself.
Well, this is it, Khollo thought.
Fortunately, Wilkes managed to control himself. “Get Cadet Hern to the infirmary,” he growled. “And find a shirt. You’d better not be late to morning drill.”
The sergeant whirled around and stalked away. Khollo and Sermas lugged Hern into the fortress, where two sympathetic guards who had witnessed the exchange relieved them of their burden.
“That was well done, cadets,” one murmured quietly. “But maybe don’t rub Wilkes’ nose in it next time.”
“Yeah,” Khollo agreed weakly. “Maybe not.”
The guard grinned. “Keep it up, lad. There’s hope for you young ones yet.”
Khollo and Sermas thanked the guards and watched as they hauled an unconscious Hern off to the infirmary. Wilkes was gone, thankfully, and few others were moving about the fortress. Sermas looked up at the sun, just barely peeking over the top of the fortress wall.
“We’d best get moving,” he urged. “Only ten minutes ‘til drill.”
Khollo nodded distractedly. He couldn’t help but wonder if, had the kingdom had a real enemy out there, Wilkes still would have insisted on leaving Hern behind. No soldier who can be saved should be left behind, Khollo decided. He closed his eyes briefly and fixed the new idea in his mind, into a sort of warrior’s code he had been working on ever since he had begun trying to find his way in the cruel, war-torn world he’d been born into. The war was gone now, but the world was just as bad off as it had been.
“Khollo?” Sermas asked hesitantly.
Khollo opened his eyes again. “I’ll meet you there. Save some food for me, would you?” Khollo stumbled towards the barracks, shaking his arms and legs out as he went. He knew he was in for a world of pain during organized drill, but the pain was tolerable now. He’d done the right thing, whatever Wilkes thought, and maybe gained another friend as well as earned the respect of a pair of guardsmen. All in all, not a bad morning’s work for the most unpopular of cadets.
The young warrior quickly located a spare tunic among his belongings and pulled it on. He went to sheath his sword, then realized that Hern still had his sheath. Shrugging, Khollo tossed his sword on his bunk and left the barracks. The sun was well up now, and drill was due to start in minutes. Khollo broke into a shambling run, his muscles groaning in protest as he headed for the kitchens.
I’d still do it over again, he thought stubbornly.
Chapter 3
After a hasty breakfast of hot, thick cakes and greasy bacon, Sermas and Khollo collected their gear from the barracks and stumbled out to the training field. The brief meal had been long enough for the cadets’ tortured leg muscles to stiffen, and movement was awkward and painful as a result.
As it happened, the other cadets were already formed up when Khollo and Sermas arrived, though Wilkes was not yet present. The two boys found their places and finished buckling on their armor: breastplate, bracers, and a simple open-faced helmet secured by a leather strap under the chin. By the time they were ready for drill, Wilkes had arrived, apparently still in a foul mood from his confrontation with Sermas and Khollo. Khollo looked around quickly to see if Hern was present. He was not.
“Cadets, attention!” Wilkes barked.
The thirteen cadets straightened as one, arms flat against their sides, chins up, chests out, feet together. Khollo fixed his eyes on an invisible point above the south wall.
Wilkes surveyed them critically, searching for the slightest anomaly in the formation. “Parade rest,” he grunted, sounding almost disappointed. The cadets lowered their heads, and their right legs shifted out so that their feet were planted beneath their
