Robin Hobb - The Complete Soldier Son Trilogy - Shaman’s Crossing, Forest Mage, Renegade’s Magic

‘What’s going on here?’ Dent demanded angrily before he’d even got all the way into the chamber. We made a fair show of innocence as we lifted our heads and stared at him in perplexity.

‘Corporal?’ Trist asked him in apparent confusion.

Dent gave a furious look to our erstwhile monitor, then glared around at us. ‘There was an altercation here!’ he asserted.

‘That was my fault, Corporal,’ Spink said earnestly. He looked as if butter would not melt in his mouth. ‘I’ve made a bit of a mess. Knocked over my ink; fortunately, it’s only my own book and work that I’ve ruined.’

I could almost feel how keen Dent’s disappointment was. He salved himself with ‘Five demerits for disrupting study time, to be marched off during your Sevday, Cadet. Now back to your books, all of you. I’ve better things to do than come rushing up here to settle you.’

He left the room, and after a disconsolate stare at all of us so meekly occupied, our monitor followed him. We heard him say, ‘But, Corporal, they were—’

‘Shut up!’ Dent rebuked him crisply, and then, several stairs down, we heard a flood of angry whispering, interspersed with our monitor’s whiny protests. When he returned to us a few moments later, his freckles were lost in his angry flush. He stared around at us and then said, ‘Wait a moment! Where did the fat one go?’

We exchanged baffled looks. Rory attempted to rescue us. ‘The fat one, Corporal? You mean the dictionary? I have it here.’ Rory helpfully lifted the hefty volume for him to see.

‘No, you idiot! That fat cadet, that Gord. Where is he?’

No one volunteered an answer. No one had an answer. He glared round at us. ‘He’s going to be in big trouble. Big, big trouble.’ The proctor stood, working his mouth, perhaps trying to come up with a more specific threat or a reason why Gord would be in trouble simply for not being there. When he could not come up with anything and we continued to stare at him like worried sheep, he slapped the table. Then, without another word, he packed up the rest of his books and papers and stamped out of the room. Silence held amongst us. I don’t know about the others, but that was the moment when I realized what we had done. By collusion, we had deceived those in command of us. We’d witnessed fellow cadets breaking an Academy rule and had not reported it. I think our collective guilt was seeping into the awareness of my fellows, for without speaking, the others were closing their books and carefully putting their work away for the evening. Trist was humming to himself, a small smile on his face, as if he were enjoying Spink’s attempt to salvage his book. Spink looked grave.

‘You fought like a plainsman, grabbing and strangling and rolling around on the floor. You’re no gentleman!’ This belated accusation came, unsurprisingly, from Oron. He looked both disgusted and triumphant, as if he had finally discovered a legitimate reason for disliking Spink. I glanced at the small cadet. He didn’t look up from blotting ink from his book. It was ruined, I thought to myself, the print obliterated by the soaking ink and well I knew he had no money for a new one. What was a minor mishap to Trist, little more than an impulsive prank, was a financial tragedy for Spink. Yet he didn’t speak of it. He only said, ‘Yes. My family had no money to bring in Varnian tutors and weapons instructors. So I learned what I could from whom I could. I learned wrestling and fighting alongside the plainsboys of the Herdo tribe. They lived at the edge of our holding, and Lieutenant Geeverman arranged for me to be taught.’

Caleb made a sound of disgust. ‘Learning to fight from savages! Why didn’t the lieutenant teach you to fight like a man? Didn’t he know how?’

Spink folded his lips and his face got that mottled look it did when he was angry. But he spoke calmly when he replied. ‘Lieutenant Geeverman was a noble’s son. He knew how to box and yes, he taught me. But he also said I would be wise to learn the wrestling of the Herdo. He had seen it useful in many circumstances, and as I did not look to grow to be a large man, he judged it would work especially well for me. He also counselled me that it was a good form to know, for when I only wanted to immobilize someone and not to injure them.’

And that was a sting to Trist’s pride and he was happy to seize on it as an insult. He slapped his last book shut. ‘If you’d fought me as a gentleman instead of as a savage, the outcome would have been different.’

Spink stared incredulously at him for a moment. Then a stiff smile spread over his face. ‘Doubtless. Which was why, free to choose my tactics, I chose one which allowed me to win.’ He tapped a textbook that had escaped the spill of ink. ‘Chapter twenty-two. Selecting Strategy in Uneven Terrain. It pays to read ahead.’

‘You’ve no concept of fair play!’ Trist insulted him ineffectually.

‘No. But I’ve a good one of what it takes to win,’ Spink shot back unrepentantly.

‘Let’s go. You’d be better off talking to the wall. He can’t even grasp what you’re trying to tell him,’ Oron huffed. He took Trist’s arm and tugged at it. Trist shrugged him off and walked away from the table, his neck flushed. I think Oron’s words had only embarrassed him more.

When Trist slammed the door of his room behind him, the flush of victory left Spink’s face. He looked down at the table and his ruined book in dismay. He put his intact books away and then came back to the table with a cleaning rag to scrub at the ink stain on it. I realized that I was the only one still sitting there. I shut my books and gathered my papers to be out of his way. I closed Gord’s books and set them aside. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him. Then he spoke, a very soft question.

‘Do you think Gord went to report us?’

His voice was full of dread and pain. I had been so busy with my own thoughts, I hadn’t even worried about where Gord had gone. I considered what must have been going through Spink’s mind: that alone of all his fellows, Gord had betrayed him, by upholding the honour code that we were all sworn to. And if Gord had done so, Spink might very well be sent home from the Academy, for he had, indisputably, struck first. And then the cowardly thought followed: if we all stuck up for Spink and Trist and said there had been no fight, Gord would appear to be the liar. Only he would have to leave.

And there we all were, stretched tight between loyalty to our patrol and the honour of the Academy. Which side would I stay with? Spink? Gord? I suddenly saw that all of us could be expelled over this. I felt weak and sick. There was no possible way to be completely honourable, to keep my oath to the Academy and to keep faith with my friends. I dropped back into my seat at the table. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. And added, ‘But if he had, surely they would have come up here by now. So perhaps not.’

‘Then where did he go? And why?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t even have any ideas.’ Worry crept through me. Where could he have gone? The rule for first-years was clear: evenings should be spent in study and housekeeping tasks followed by an early bed. Outside, the barracks the weather was intemperate and walking about the grounds that we traversed several times each day on our way to classes offered little attraction. The physical rigours of the day sapped our interest in visiting the gymnasium in the evenings. Occasionally we had guest lecturers or poets or musicians who performed for us in the evening, but attendance at those events was mandatory and not regarded by any of us as recreational. Nothing like that was scheduled tonight. Surely Gord would not have attempted to venture past the guards at the gates of the Academy? I could only picture him walking by himself about the grounds in the evening drizzle. It was a sad image, and yet I felt little sympathy for him. More than half the evening’s disaster was his fault. If, from the beginning, he had stood up to Trist’s taunting, it would never have come to blows between Trist and Spink. For that matter, I seethed to myself, if he could simply control his appetite at table, he would lose the girth that made him such a target for mockery.