Soldier
Page 40
“I told him everything about the war, and what the Order does, sir,” Benedict replied. “I’ve prepared him for this day as best I could. He knows our enemies, and he understands what is at stake. Now, I leave him in your capable hands, to turn into a true soldier for the cause.”
A quiet chuckle came from the second man in the room. “If I know you, Lucas, the boy can already outshoot and outfight every recruit in his class,” he mused, gazing at me with piercing black eyes. “I hear he could reliably hit the center of a target at fifty paces when he was eight. How old is he now?”
“Eleven,” Benedict replied.
The man shook his head. “He’ll already be singled out, coming in late and being younger than everyone by at least a year. You’re not doing him any favors.”
“That can’t be helped,” Benedict replied. “I’ve been assigned to the South America mission and I leave the country in a week. They’re not certain how long we’ll be gone—better that he’s here, learning, and not sitting on his bunk, staring at walls. Sebastian is old enough to begin training, and he knows what he has to do. The Headmaster has agreed to take him a year early. He’s learned everything he can with me.
“Besides,” he continued ruthlessly, “I’ve never done the boy any favors. I don’t want things to be easy for him—I want him to be the best. So make it hard for him. Push him beyond what everyone else can take.” I felt his gaze on the back of my head. “When his training is done, I expect him to be the perfect soldier.”
The perfect soldier. I swallowed hard. I had to excel, to be the best. The better I was, the sooner I could go to war and start killing the monsters that slaughtered my family.
“Very well,” the Headmaster said, nodding slowly. “If that is what you wish, Benedict. We will see what your recruit can do.” He turned to me, and there was a new interest in his expression now; a master sizing up his latest apprentice. “I’ll have someone show you to your room,” he said. “Dinner is at five thirty in the main hall, and classes begin promptly at eight a.m. I expect you to be early for both, Sebastian.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door opened, and a monk appeared as if summoned by magic. “Please show our newest recruit to his quarters,” the Headmaster told the monk. “I believe there is one room left. The chamber closest to the outer wall. Put him in there.” His hard gray eyes fixed on me once more. “You have until dinner to familiarize yourself with the grounds,” he told me. “Tomorrow morning, if I don’t see you in the correct room on time, your entire class will receive a punishment detail. Succeed or fail together. That is how we do things here, recruit.” He gave a humorless smile that was a clear challenge, an invitation to impress. “Welcome to the Academy of St. George.”
The monk didn’t take my bag or make any gesture to follow. He simply stood just inside the door with his hands clasped before him, waiting. I turned to Benedict, who gave me a short nod.
“Work hard,” he told me. “Remember what I taught you. This is what you trained for, what you were always meant to do.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied simply, and turned away. No goodbyes, no sentimental farewells. I followed the monk into the hall, but paused when my mentor called my name. Lucas Benedict stood in the door frame with a peculiar expression on his face, one that seemed torn between defiance and an almost angry pride. My gut prickled. It wasn’t the first time he had looked at me like that. Every so often, when I did extraordinarily well, or when I recited the St. George teachings I knew by heart, he would smile faintly and nod. As if, despite everyone’s misgivings, I was coming along just fine.
“Knock ’em dead, soldier,” he stated, and shut the door between us.
That was the last thing he ever said to me.
* * *
“Hey, Sebastian!”
I looked up warily. It had been three months since my arrival at the academy, and in that time, I’d made as many enemies as I had friends. The school itself was quite small; in my class there were only eight of us. The recruits, I’d learned, were drawn from temples and monasteries around the world. St. George was an ancient order, with ties to the Church and other religious organizations that stretched back for centuries. Every year, a few boys were chosen to serve the Order and were sent to the academy to be raised as soldiers in the holy war against demons. It gave St. George a constant supply of troops while allowing them to control their numbers, as they were still a secret organization and could not afford to draw attention from outsiders. With few exceptions, most of the recruits arrived with little to no training and only the barest knowledge of the war. They knew they had been chosen to battle evil and protect mankind, but didn’t truly understand what it meant to be a soldier of St. George, or the truth of what the Order really fought, until they came to the academy.
A quiet chuckle came from the second man in the room. “If I know you, Lucas, the boy can already outshoot and outfight every recruit in his class,” he mused, gazing at me with piercing black eyes. “I hear he could reliably hit the center of a target at fifty paces when he was eight. How old is he now?”
“Eleven,” Benedict replied.
The man shook his head. “He’ll already be singled out, coming in late and being younger than everyone by at least a year. You’re not doing him any favors.”
“That can’t be helped,” Benedict replied. “I’ve been assigned to the South America mission and I leave the country in a week. They’re not certain how long we’ll be gone—better that he’s here, learning, and not sitting on his bunk, staring at walls. Sebastian is old enough to begin training, and he knows what he has to do. The Headmaster has agreed to take him a year early. He’s learned everything he can with me.
“Besides,” he continued ruthlessly, “I’ve never done the boy any favors. I don’t want things to be easy for him—I want him to be the best. So make it hard for him. Push him beyond what everyone else can take.” I felt his gaze on the back of my head. “When his training is done, I expect him to be the perfect soldier.”
The perfect soldier. I swallowed hard. I had to excel, to be the best. The better I was, the sooner I could go to war and start killing the monsters that slaughtered my family.
“Very well,” the Headmaster said, nodding slowly. “If that is what you wish, Benedict. We will see what your recruit can do.” He turned to me, and there was a new interest in his expression now; a master sizing up his latest apprentice. “I’ll have someone show you to your room,” he said. “Dinner is at five thirty in the main hall, and classes begin promptly at eight a.m. I expect you to be early for both, Sebastian.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door opened, and a monk appeared as if summoned by magic. “Please show our newest recruit to his quarters,” the Headmaster told the monk. “I believe there is one room left. The chamber closest to the outer wall. Put him in there.” His hard gray eyes fixed on me once more. “You have until dinner to familiarize yourself with the grounds,” he told me. “Tomorrow morning, if I don’t see you in the correct room on time, your entire class will receive a punishment detail. Succeed or fail together. That is how we do things here, recruit.” He gave a humorless smile that was a clear challenge, an invitation to impress. “Welcome to the Academy of St. George.”
The monk didn’t take my bag or make any gesture to follow. He simply stood just inside the door with his hands clasped before him, waiting. I turned to Benedict, who gave me a short nod.
“Work hard,” he told me. “Remember what I taught you. This is what you trained for, what you were always meant to do.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied simply, and turned away. No goodbyes, no sentimental farewells. I followed the monk into the hall, but paused when my mentor called my name. Lucas Benedict stood in the door frame with a peculiar expression on his face, one that seemed torn between defiance and an almost angry pride. My gut prickled. It wasn’t the first time he had looked at me like that. Every so often, when I did extraordinarily well, or when I recited the St. George teachings I knew by heart, he would smile faintly and nod. As if, despite everyone’s misgivings, I was coming along just fine.
“Knock ’em dead, soldier,” he stated, and shut the door between us.
That was the last thing he ever said to me.
* * *
“Hey, Sebastian!”
I looked up warily. It had been three months since my arrival at the academy, and in that time, I’d made as many enemies as I had friends. The school itself was quite small; in my class there were only eight of us. The recruits, I’d learned, were drawn from temples and monasteries around the world. St. George was an ancient order, with ties to the Church and other religious organizations that stretched back for centuries. Every year, a few boys were chosen to serve the Order and were sent to the academy to be raised as soldiers in the holy war against demons. It gave St. George a constant supply of troops while allowing them to control their numbers, as they were still a secret organization and could not afford to draw attention from outsiders. With few exceptions, most of the recruits arrived with little to no training and only the barest knowledge of the war. They knew they had been chosen to battle evil and protect mankind, but didn’t truly understand what it meant to be a soldier of St. George, or the truth of what the Order really fought, until they came to the academy.
