“What if they don’t like me?”

“Like and dislike mean little here. The bond that binds us is beyond friendship.” He gave Frentis a nudge. “Don’t worry. You already know more than them, they will look to you for guidance, just don’t be too cocky about it.”

“Are you and the others still gonna teach me?”

Vaelin shook his head. “You will be under Master Haunlin’s care. He will teach you now. We cannot interfere. He is a fair man, sparing with the cane as long as you don’t push him. Mind him well.”

“Will I be allowed to steal for you, still?”

This was something Vaelin hadn’t considered. Frentis’s effortless ability to procure items of considerable value would be sorely missed. They were now rich in extra clothing, money, talismans, knives and myriad other sundries that made Order life a little more comfortable. True to his word, he had never been caught although the other boys had been quick to connect Frentis’s arrival with the upsurge in missing valuables leading to a particularly bloody fight in the dining hall one night. Luckily they now possessed both the skill and the strength to defend themselves, even from the older boys, and the incident hadn’t been repeated although Master Sollis had told Vaelin to make Frentis lay off for a while.

“You’ll have to steal for your own group now,” Vaelin told him, not without regret. “But you can trade with us.”

“Thought I wouldn’t be allowed to talk to you now.”

“We can still talk. Let’s say we meet here every Eltrian eve.”

“Will Master Jeklin let me have one of the puppies?”

Vaelin looked at Scratch, noting the wary hostility of his gaze and the tension in his stance, knowing even he would earn a bite or two if he attempted to enter the pen. “I don’t think it’s up to Master Jeklin.”

Chapter 2

The Test of the Melee came after the Winterfall feast mid-way through the month of Weslin. Their swords were exchanged for wooden blades and they were divided, along with the fifty or so other boys of their age, into two equal contingents. On the practice field a lance adorned with red pennant had been thrust into the frost-hard earth. Vaelin was surprised to see the other Masters standing on the fringes of the field, even Master Jestin who was rarely seen outside his forge.

“War is our sacred charge,” the Aspect told them when they had been arrayed before him. “It is the reason for the Order’s existence. We fight in defence of the Faith and the Realm. Today you will fight a battle. One contingent will seek to capture that pennant, another will defend it. Masters will observe the battle. Any Brother failing to show sufficient courage and skill in battle will be required to leave on the morrow. Fight well, remember your lessons. Killing blows are not permitted.”

As the Aspect walked from the field the two contingents eyed each other with mingled trepidation and excitement. They all knew what this meant, no killing blows and wooden swords or not this would be a bloody day.

Master Sollis came forward and handed Vaelin’s contingent a number of red ribbons and told them to tie them to their left arm. Nearby Master Haunlin was handing out white ribbons to their nominal enemies. “You will attack, the whites will defend,” Sollis told them. “The battle is over when one of you gets his hands on the lance.”

As their white ribboned enemies trooped off to arrange themselves in a loose line in front of the lance Vaelin saw the Aspect greeting three unfamiliar onlookers. There were two men, one large and broad the other lean and wiry with long black hair trailing in the wind. The third figure was small, muffled in furs, and clung to the side of the large man.

“Who is that, master?” he asked when Sollis handed him a ribbon but it was clearly not a day for questions.

“Worry about the Test, boy!” Sollis cuffed him angrily on the side of the head. “Distraction will kill you this day.”

When they had all tied the ribbons to their arms they stood eyeing the defenders about a hundred yards away. Somehow they seemed to have grown in number.

“What do we do, Vaelin?” Dentos asked, looking at him expectantly.

Vaelin was about to shrug when he noticed they were all looking at him expectantly, not just the boys from his group, all of them. Nortah was the only exception, blithely tossing his wooden sword into the air and catching it again. He seemed bored. Vaelin struggled to formulate a plan; they were taught combat but not tactics. He had heard of flanking manoeuvres and frontal attacks but had no real idea how they worked. Most of the battle stories he knew concerned heroic brothers winning victory through individual effort and even then they were usually trying to storm a city wall or defend a bridge not capture a lance. The lance…What value is there in a lance?

“Vaelin?” Caenis prompted.

“This isn’t really a battle,” Vaelin said, thinking aloud.

“What?”

Battles are not over when a man gets his hands on a lance, they’re over when one army destroys the other. That’s why it’s called the Test of the Melee. They want to see us fight, that’s all. The lance means nothing.

“We’ll go straight into them,” he said, raising his voice, trying to sound both confident and decisive. “We’ll charge into the centre of their line, hard and fast. Break it open and the lance is ours.”

“Hardly a subtle stratagem, brother,” Nortah observed.

“Do you want to lead this?”

Nortah inclined his head, smiling. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure your plan is sound.”

“Form up,” Vaelin told them. “Keep it tight. Barkus you’re in front with me, and you Nortah. You two as well,” he picked out two of the beefier boys he knew to be more aggressive than most. “Caenis, Dentos stay close, keep them off when we go for the lance. The rest of you heard what the Aspect said. If you don’t want your coins in the morning get in there, pick an enemy and beat him to the ground, when you’ve done that find another.”

The cheer surprised him, a ragged yell punctuated with a small forest of upraised wooden swords. He joined in, waving his sword and yelling and feeling silly. Incredibly, they yelled even louder, some of them even began shouting his name.

He kept it going as they began to advance, walking at first. The hundred yards to the enemy seemed to shrink in a few heart beats.

“Vaelin! Vaelin!”

He took the pace up to a jog, hoping to save as much energy as possible for the fight.

“Vaelin! Vaelin!”

Some of the boys were almost screaming now, Caenis amongst them. The pace began to quicken as they covered more than half the distance to the enemy. Seemingly his small army was eager to get at their foes. Some of them breaking into a run.

“Steady!” Vaelin shouted. “Keep together!”

“Vaelin! Vaelin!” He glanced around seeing faces distorted with rage. Fear, he understood. They hide fear in rage. He didn’t feel enraged. In fact, his overriding concern was that he didn’t get another scar. He had only just had the stitches removed from his last one, a deep cut on his thigh earned from a nasty fall when riding.

“Vaelin! Vaelin!”

They were all running now, their formation starting to break up. Dentos, despite instructions, was out in front, yelling with manic fervour.

Oh for Faith’s sake! Vaelin broke into a sprint, pointing his sword at the centre of the enemy line. “Charge! CHARGE…”