Sermas hesitated, then turned towards the drill field, where the other cadets were forming up already. Khollo lurched away and began stumbling forward, leaving the surprised guard behind. Sermas followed, obeying the last order he had been given.
Genal was looking unusually smug when Khollo and Sermas shambled into formation. “It’s about time,” he muttered. “What’s the matter, street rat? A short run too much for you? The rest of us handled it without any trouble.”
Khollo did not rise to the bait. It was taking everything he had just to stand up at the moment. He looked down and frowned. A long, weighted staff was at his feet, surmounted by a thick wedge at one end. Khollo picked it up, trying to make sense of it.
“Never seen a practice spear before?” Genal hissed. “I thought you went to the Academy? Did they actually bother trying to teach you anything or did the instructors give up as soon as they met you?”
“At least I was there, Genal,” Khollo muttered in reply.
“Well, I could have been too,” Genal said airily. “But my father thought that a private instructor would be better for one of my talents, rather than mixing with the riff-raff at the Academy. I mean, they accepted you.”
“Funny, everyone else seems to think rather highly of the riff-raff,” Khollo muttered.
“Cadet! I was speaking to you!”
Khollo looked up quickly. Wilkes was standing in front of the formation, arms crossed, glaring at Khollo furiously. “Well? Are you going to answer my question?”
Khollo’s heart sank. “What question, sir?” he asked blearily.
“What question?” Wilkes snorted. “I suppose you think you’re above all this, don’t you? Lord Kurkan’s pet, the street rat runt.”
Khollo swayed on his feet as a sudden bout of dizziness came over him. His vision blurred, his hearing faded. Khollo shook his head, trying to focus, just in time to hear the tail end of Wilkes’ latest order.
“ – at the ready, now!”
Around him all the other cadets stooped as one and scooped up the heavy practice spears. Khollo reached for his, half kneeling, and ended up on the ground sprawled on his side. The butt of his spear was digging into his stomach awkwardly underneath him. He did not know whether his own clumsiness was to blame or if his fall had been caused by some movement by Genal.
“On your feet, cadet!” Wilkes snapped. “I haven’t got all day to wait while you rest.”
Khollo struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his spear. Everyone else was smirking and standing stiffly at attention, spears held perfectly vertical, the butts planted in the ground.
“We’ll be doing formation drilling today,” Wilkes explained. “There may come a time when you are in open territory and must make a defensive position out of nothing. Possibly with cavalry bearing down on you. In that situation, your strength is only as good as the men beside you. A small, unified force of spearmen can hold off large numbers of foes if needed.”
“Now,” Wilkes said, scooping up a full-sized spear with a tremendous steel point. “Your weapons are weighted like real ones. Until I am quite certain that all of you know what you are doing,” here he paused and looked at Khollo critically, “We will be using these, which are little better than staffs.”
Wilkes then demonstrated how he wanted the cadets to hold their spears to repel an attack, right leg thrust forward, left bent, the spearhead up at a thirty-degree angle, the butt near to the ground but not quite touching it. Khollo absorbed little of the demonstration; his head was buzzing again and his muscles were stiffening, cramping in some places.
“Together now,” Wilkes said suddenly. “Defensive position!”
Twelve cadets moved as one, stomping forward with their right feet and bringing their spears to the proper position. The thirteenth, Hern, watched with interest. The fourteenth, Khollo, tried to copy the crisp movement, but his left leg was seized in a horrible cramp.
With a yell, Khollo collapsed, his spear swinging wildly to the side as he fell. The wood shaft caught another cadet on the side of the head, stunning him, and cracked Genal across his knee. Genal stumbled, lurching into the cadet to Khollo’s right. Khollo meanwhile, lay, panting, as his entire squad was brought down in a tangle of flailing practice spears, tumbling bodies, and muttered curses. In the end, only Hern and Wilkes were upright, having been safely out of reach.
Khollo dug his fingers into his burning thigh muscle, trying to ease the cramp, but to no avail. Breathe, he thought grimly. Just breathe. It can’t stay this way forever.
When the cramp finally faded, Khollo opened his eyes again and saw a pair of boots planted squarely in front of his nose. He looked up and saw Wilkes standing over him.
“Get out,” the sergeant growled. “Now. I’ve had enough. You’ve been trouble ever since you arrived here with Lord Kurkan. I’ll have no more. As far as I’m concerned, there are only thirteen cadets in this squad now. If I see you near this training ground again, I’ll lock you up. Get your things out of the barracks and go.”
“Go . . . where?” Khollo finally managed.
“You can stay in the fortress,” Wilkes replied. “But only because I can’t throw out my superior’s squire. Find someplace out of the way, and stay there.”
Khollo’s face heated with embarrassment. He slowly rolled to his feet and began stumbling towards the barracks, tears of pain and shame cutting tracks in the layer of mud and dirt that covered his face. He felt the eyes of his fellow cadets boring into him, condemning him. He looked back briefly. Wilkes was still glaring, Genal was looking on with something akin to glee. Sermas looked stunned, like he’d just been
