The Cadet of Tildor

CHAPTER 2





Cadet Renee de Winter strode down the long corridor of the Academy barracks, each step carrying her farther from home. She trailed her fingers along the walls, enjoying their cool, uneven surface.

Hanging lanterns bathed the hall with dim, yellow light. Soon the walkway would fill with dozens of rushing cadets, future Fighter and Magistrate Servants of the Crown dressed in black uniforms with the colored trims of their career tracks; magistrate red, fighter blue. Black and blue, yes, that fit Fighter Servant cadets well.

As in any army, most of Tildor’s warriors were common soldiers; uneducated weapons-bearers who’d never lead units. Officers—whose skills and studies reached beyond weapons-handling to strategy, law, mathematics, and more—were leaders.

And then there were Servants of the Crown.

A unique type of officer, a Servant attended a school—the school—the Academy of Tildor, instead of apprenticing in the field. The very few cadets able to endure the Academy’s rigorous regime and fortunate enough to graduate formed an elite cadre, destined for the most vital assignments and missions. Servants were the Crown’s champions. As Renee strove to be. Would be.

Renee took a breath and pushed her father’s ultimatum to the back of her mind. What was done was done, and she had at least been able to carry some coin away with her. Enough to survive the year. Many were less fortunate.

Renee halted by the most beautiful sight in the building, her name etched into a wooden nameplate mounted on the door. Her door. Tucking an escaped wisp of brown hair behind her ear, she fumbled in one, then another pocket for the key. It had to be somewhere.

She was searching still when the door swung open, and a tall, grinning girl let her inside. “I recognized the footsteps. No one in their right mind has so much energy.”

“I never claimed sanity, Sasha.” Renee laughed, embracing her roommate. “Try spending a summer with my lord father, if you wish to know why.” She stepped inside and groaned. Books already lay scattered everywhere, a natural hazard of rooming with a magistrate cadet. Not that sharing quarters with another fighter remained an option; the cuts had left two girls in the fighters’ senior class, but the other had developed mage’s Control last spring. A late bloomer. Renee did not know where the Mage Council placed the girl.

Renee maneuvered around a teetering pile of books and dropped her bag on her bed. “Did you rob the library, Sasha?”

“Being the Crown’s cousin has its advantages.”

“You are a corrupt abomination.”

Sasha picked out a leather-bound tome and held it so its title, Battlefields of the Seventh, was visible. “You do not want this, then?”

Renee snatched the treasure from her friend’s hand. The book’s thin pages bent under her touch. Seven years ago, the Seventh’s leader, Korish Savoy, was a fighter cadet her age. He trained in the same salle, worried about the same exams, followed the same rules. Maybe he opened a book like this too and counted the days to the year’s end, to the two years of field trials, to turning nineteen and graduating. Maybe in another seven years, some other cadet would open a book about Renee. If she made it.

A knock interrupted her musing. Her best friend loitered awkwardly in the open doorway, his hands buried in his pockets. For him, this was positively outgoing. “Alec! The door is wide open.”

“Mmm. Didn’t notice.” He bowed to Sasha before stepping inside.

Renee ran up and hugged him, rising onto her toes to get her arms around his neck. The differences in their physiques had grown pronounced within the last year, when soft curves shaped her previously boyish body. The summer apart accentuated it. Resentment pricked her before she could stop it, and her father’s words bubbled in her mind like a disease. The boys grew. And she did not. Even Alec, who once had looked wide-eyed at her superior swordsmanship, started powering through her parries last spring.

He lifted her off the ground for a momentary hug and then retreated to hide in a corner.

Sasha smiled like a cat with a bowlful of cream. “Your new instructor will come a week late.” She cut her gaze at the book on Renee’s bed. “You may have heard of him.”

Renee looked at Sasha blankly until her roommate chuckled and mouthed the name.

Savoy. Servant Commander Korish Savoy. Renee closed her eyes, sending a thank-you to the gods. Her heart beat faster. At least one cadet would be cut after midyear exams, and she would not let it be her. If anyone could hone her skills by then, it was Tildor’s top swordsman. “How did you find out?”

“I have my birdies.” Sasha nodded toward Battlefields. “Make certain you return that. I may have forgotten to obtain Master Librarian’s permission.”

Alec shifted and stared at the floor.

Renee frowned at him. “What bothers you?”

He glanced up, rubbing his arms. “With Savoy in charge, everyone will be watching us.”

“True.” Sasha scratched the side of her nose. “Having the commander teach cadets is like, well, asking the palace’s mage to Heal scraped knees. If Savoy’s here, someone wanted it so.”

Renee shrugged and resumed her search for the missing door key. The Academy always pulled instructors from field duty. Even those permanently stationed at the Academy split their time between teaching and other work. Headmaster Verin, a Servant High Constable in rank, was the Crown’s top military advisor, while Servant Magistrate Seaborn, the cadets’ favorite law teacher, regularly addressed real cases. But Sasha would look for hidden meaning if the kitchens served pudding in place of custard. All magistrates did. The lack of a door key presented the more immediate problem for Renee, since reporting it lost would doubtlessly trigger some official inquiry. She checked her pockets for the third time.

“I know a smith in town,” Alec said quietly.

Sasha cleared her throat and rose, placing her own key on the bureau. “If you’ll both excuse me, I think I will indulge in an extended bath before Lys’s welcome address. My dear cousin the now king will be sweating enough for all of us.”

A smile tugged Renee’s lips. It was good to be back.

* * *

By the time Renee and Alec had copied the key, a slow breeze cut the warm afternoon. The trees surrounding the Academy grounds rustled companionably. Inside, servants scurried about the main courtyard, adding final touches in preparation for the Crown’s speech. Curiosity tickled the air. King Lysian III had ascended to the throne barely two months earlier, following his sickly father’s passing.

Before them, a small boy and his dog ran circles around the dais now mounted on the manicured lawn, while Guardsman Fisker, his horse-face pinched into a scowl, watched from a distance. Renee sighed. Fisker had left his position at the Academy a year ago for a new assignment as a Senior Guardsman in the Palace Guard—much to the delight of most cadets. The man would hunt down anyone who even thought of breaking the rules, if he could. He was likely here to safeguard the king, which meant they’d be rid of him soon. Renee sighed again, then staggered back as the boy’s dog, an enormous wolf-like creature, made a dash for Alec.

Alec dropped to one knee to greet the disaster. The habit was bound to get him bitten one day, but that day stubbornly refused to come.

“Khavi likes you.” The boy, no older than eight, cocked his head, blond hair ruffling in the wind. He was eleven hands tall or so, temporarily matching heights with the kneeling Alec.

“Most beasts do,” muttered Renee, staying clear of the dog’s muddy paws. “The courtyard is closed for the ceremony,” she said pointedly.

The boy crossed his arms. Green eyes came up to meet hers. “How can grass close?”

Alec turned away in an apparent coughing fit, leaving Renee to conjure a response. “What’s your name?”

“Diam.” He held out his hand. “I’m gonna be a page and then a cadet and then a Servant.”

“Young.” Alec rose to stand beside her but continued scratching his new furry friend’s ear. “Few students come before ten.”

“Korish Savoy came at eight,” Diam shot back.

Renee smiled. “Are you our next Commander Savoy?”

He stood up straighter. “I am.”

“Well, be careful, Master Savoy, because the real one will soon be here,” said Alec.

“I know. He’s got a huge horse named Kye, who is all black and can kill a man.”

Alec whistled. “You know all that?”

“More.” The boy opened his mouth to say something further, when Fisker approached waving his four-fingered hand to banish them from the yard.

“You let that beast bite anyone, and I’ll cut its head off myself,” Fisker grunted, throwing Diam and his dog a dirty look.

“Bloody gods, the man’s skull has grown even thicker since getting posted to the palace, and a promotion to boot. You’d think he has half the army—not ten junior guardsmen—under him,” Alec mumbled when they parted paths with the boy and headed to barracks. “What security breach were we possibly creating?”

Renee chuckled. Fisker’s perfection crusade was not the true cause of Alec’s irritation. “I’m certain the dog will play with you again tomorrow,” she told him.

Alec blushed.

* * *

“Is it strange seeing your cousin as the Crown?” Renee asked Sasha, while wrestling into her dress uniform.

“Like watching an unbroken colt saddled.” Sasha settled a magistrate’s burgundy shawl on her own shoulders. “You can’t tell whether the horse will give or the rider will break his neck.” She shook her head. “The first thing Lys did was arrest three Viper lords, Renee. I’m holding my breath to see what comes of it.”

“Besides three less violent criminals in Tildor?”

Sasha snorted. “Gods help me, you’re just like him. If it was that straightforward, the Crown would have done it years back.” She dropped her voice. “The evidence was broth-weak and now the Vipers’ Madam is pouring underlings into Atham to put the new Crown in his place. A new king’s position is tenuous enough without goading enemies into confrontation.”

Renee winced. The Vipers had emerged as the Family’s top rival about ten years ago, dragging violence wherever they stepped. They’d be an unwelcome addition to the capital. Still, taking decisive action against criminals was a strong opening move, and a good message to send to the Vipers and Family both. Renee liked Lysian as king already.

By early evening, the late summer breeze played across the Academy courtyard, tousling the flag of Tildor and the cadets’ uniforms. White marble buildings, like soldiers, lined the two sides of the lush lawn. A peaked shadow from the temple at the east end of the yard stretched toward the library in the west, slicing into the students’ formation.

As a senior, Renee stood in the front and felt, rather than saw, the whole complement of the school gather in ordered rows behind her. The Crown’s welcome address would hold little content beyond a call to attentive studies, but his visit was a tradition. Most officers and officials pledged to serve Tildor; the fighters and magistrates who graduated the Academy pledged loyalty to the Crown. Personally. And when that day came, the young new Servants of the Crown would all have met their liege. The Academy took pride in that.

Trumpets called the courtyard to attention, dipped and rose again as King Lysian III strode out from behind the temple mound. His footsteps kept time with the Hymn of Tildor, which filled the air, the last step and note ending exactly at the erected dais.

He was five paces in front of Renee.

Lysian was young. Renee blinked at the absurdity of her surprise. Of course he was young, he was nineteen, just a few years older than she. For a moment, standing so close, he was an attractive blond boy whose large blue eyes, so like Sasha’s, reflected the apprehension and excitement brewing within Renee’s own chest. But then he spoke, and the boy in his eyes disappeared behind the steel voice of the Crown.

“My champions.” King Lysian’s gaze swept them. “For years I’ve stood at my father’s side as he offered you words of encouragement and challenged you to great deeds. Tradition tells me to do the same.” He swallowed. “But I must set aside the luxury of tradition. Tildor is sick.”

The eyes of an advisor standing by the dais widened as the king put down his notes and drew a breath.

“A decade ago, we fought off a Devmani invasion. The Servants and others rallied to my father’s call, buying our victory with their blood. Many fell. Too many.” He paused and Renee could see his jaw tighten before he drew breath to speak again. “After our victory, too few swords remained to protect Tildor from its own disease. Now Vipers steal men and children from the streets and cut women’s throats for pleasure and boast. The Family robs the purses of our merchants and nobles while fattening its own with sale of veesi leaf. Today, I wager that there is not one of you who stands before me who has not lost a friend to the violence of a Viper, or coin to the corruption the Family spreads.”

Renee’s fist clenched, fingernails digging into her scarred palm.

Lysian raised his chin. “My armies guard our borders, and my soldiers strain to keep our roads safe for commerce. Some of you will join and lead those troops. But it is the disease of crime on which my reign opens. I will fight it. And you are the champions who will fight beside me.” He paused. “Please, study. Please, train. The Crown needs your Service.”

Trumpets hurried to catch up with the king, who had turned and left without waiting on applause.

The crowd of cadets twitched, necks straining to watch the royal departure and catch the eyes of nearby friends. “What did you make of his words?” one cadet whispered to another while instructors ascended the dais to read schedules of classes and exams.

“What did you make of his words?” the question came around again.

I pray I’m here long enough to give my pledge, thought Renee, and closed her eyes, wondering how she would survive the coming year.