Shaman's Crossing

Page 88

But at the time I knew nothing of that, only that my father had judged all three of my roommates to be worthy companions. He bade me walk him down to the carriage to say good-bye. We stood beside it for a time, talking. I was torn, not wishing for him to go and yet anxious to begin my new life and return to my new friends. My father cautioned me, as any father must on bidding farewell to a son, to remember all I had been taught and to cling to the rules of my childhood. Then he added a further warning.
“Be above reproach, son, especially for the first few months of your education. There is a good reason I did not recognize Colonel Stiet’s name. He’s not from a cavalla family, although his wife is. Our good king, for reasons I shall not question, has seen fit to put a regular army officer in charge of the Cavalla Academy. Moreover, even as an army officer, he has not served in warfare, but here at home, keeping track of numbers and enforcing petty regulations about uniforms and weapons ordnance. Most recently he was in charge of organizing parades for state occasions. And he trumpets this as an accomplishment! I will not speculate that his wife’s connections had more to do with him receiving this appointment than his own record.” My father shook his head. In a lower voice he added, “I fear he will be more concerned that his troops look good on a drill field than that they be able to shoot from a moving horse or keep their heads cool in a tight situation.
“Now, you look shocked, and well you should to hear me speak so of a fellow officer. But there it is; it is how I have judged him, and though I pray to the good god that I may be proved wrong, I fear I shall not. I have seen the horses he bought for his cadets. Pretty little things, all of a size and color, that will doubtless look well in a parade but would jolt a man to death on a long day’s ride and die after two days with no water.” My father paused abruptly and took a deep breath. I do not know what else he had thought to say, but whatever it was, he seemed to change his mind.
“I think that your uncle was correct when he said that Colonel Stiet has little love for the sons of the new nobility. I wonder if he has any love for the cavalla at all. We are expensive if all a man looks at is the flow of coins it takes to keep us horsed and equipped and does not reckon up the lives that would be lost if we did not. He does not understand our place in the military; I think he believes we are but a showpiece, an entertainment, and a spectacle, and thus he will build his career on fostering that image of us.” He drew breath again, and then he said what I think he had hesitated to say before. “Remember that he is your commander. Respect and obey his orders. Do things as he wishes them done, even if you think you know a better way to do them. Perhapsespecially if you think you know a better way to do them.
“Stay true to your upbringing. Avoid bad companions, and remember, you were born to be a soldier. The good god has granted you that. Let no one steal it from you.”
And with those words he embraced me tightly. I knelt for his father’s blessing. I know I must have watched him get into the carriage and drive away, and certainly we must have waved farewell to one another. But all I recall is standing on the edge of the drive looking after the departing carriage and feeling more alone than I had ever felt in my life. I felt suddenly cold and hollow, and nearly queasy as I turned and hurried back to my new quarters.
My fellows awaited me and let me know that my father had left a fine impression. “There’s no mistaking a cavalry man; it’s in his walk. Your father is the genuine item. I’d wager he’s spent as many hours in the saddle as he has on foot in his life.”
“More, I think,” I replied to Kort’s compliment. We spent the rest of the early afternoon settling ourselves into our room. Three fellows from across the hall came and introduced themselves. Trist, Gord, and Rory were all the sons of new nobility. Gord was a slab of a boy, pale and fat, his neck bulging over the collar of his uniform and his brass buttons tight on his belly. He stood, smiling awkwardly and saying little, at the edge of our group. Trist was tall and golden, with the bearing and charm of a young prince. Even so, it was squat, affable Rory who claimed all our attention. “I heard that they put us all together a’purpose,” Rory told us solemnly.
“Because we’re not good enough to associate with the soldier sons of the old nobility?” Kort was both astounded and offended.
“Nar. So’s we won’t make their lads feel bad.” Rory grinned as if it were a fine jest. “They may be soldier sons, but they h’ain’t been raised by soldiers like we were. Half of them never had a leg over a horse, save for riding a pony in the park. You’ll see when we get to drill. My uncle’s soldier son was fostered with us, ’cause that’s how we do it in our family. First sons always give their soldier sons to their soldier brothers to raise so the boy gets a good start on his training when he’s still a little feller. My cousin Jordie was through the Academy four years ago, and wrote me letters every month about it. So I’ve got a pretty good idea what to expect here.”