“Erm, Verlig Master.”

“Oh dear.” Master Grealin held up a toffee and shook his large head sadly. “No reward for Dentos. In fact, remind me little brother, how many rewards have you received this week?”

“None,” Dentos muttered.

“I beg your pardon, Dentos, what was that?”

“None, master,” Dentos said loudly, his voice echoing in the caverns.

“None. Yes. None. I seemed to recall you received no rewards last week either. Isn’t that right?”

Dentos looked as if he’d rather be suffering under Master Sollis’s cane. “Yes master.”

“Mmmm.” Grealin popped the toffee into his mouth, chins bobbing as he chewed with gusto. “Pity. These toffees are quite superlative. Caenis, perhaps you can enlighten us.”

“Verulin commanded the Cumbraelin forces at the siege of Baslen castle, master.” Caenis’s replies were always prompt and correct. Vaelin suspected sometimes his knowledge of the Order’s history was equal if not superior to Master Grealin’s.

“Quite so. Have a sugared walnut.”

“Bastard!” Dentos fumed later in the main hall as they ate their evening meal. “Fat, smart-arsed bastard. Who cares if we know what some bugger did two hundred years ago? What’s it gotta do with anythin’?”

“The lessons of the past guide us in the present,” Caenis quoted. “Our Faith is strengthened by the knowledge of those who have gone before us.”

Dentos glowered at him over the table. “Oh piss off. Just because the big mound of blubber loves you so much. ‘Yes master Grealin,’” he dropped into a surprisingly accurate impression of Caenis’s soft tones, “the battle of shit-house bend lasted two days and thousands of poor sods like us died in it. Let me have a sugar cane and I’ll wipe your arse too.’”

Next to Dentos, Nortah chuckled nastily.

“Watch your mouth, Dentos,” Caenis warned.

“Or what? You’ll bore me to death with another bloody story about the King and his brats…”

Caenis was a blur, leaping across the table in a perfectly executed display of gymnastics, his boots connecting with Dentos’s face, blood erupting as his head snapped back and they tumbled to the floor. The fight was short but bloody, their hard won skills made fights dangerous affairs which they usually tried to avoid even during the most fractious arguments, and Caenis was sporting a broken tooth and dislocated finger by the time they pulled them apart. Dentos wasn’t much better, his nose broken and ribs severely bruised.

They took them both to Master Henthal, the Order’s healer, who patched them up as they stared sullenly at each other from opposite bunks.

“What happened?” Master Sollis demanded of Vaelin as they waited outside.

“A disagreement between brothers, Master,” Nortah told him, it was the standard response in situations like this.

“I wasn’t asking you, Sendahl,” Sollis snapped. “Get back to the hall. You as well Jeshua.”

Barkus and Nortah left quickly after giving Vaelin a puzzled glance. It was unusual for the masters to take a close interest in disagreements between the boys. Boys were boys after all, and boys would fight.

“Well?” Sollis said when they had gone.

Vaelin had a momentary impulse to lie but the hard fury in Master Sollis’s gaze told him it would be a very bad idea. “It’s the test, Master. Caenis is sure to pass, Dentos isn’t.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Me, Master?”

“We all have different roles to play in the Order. Most of us fight, some track heretics across the kingdom, others slip into the shadows to do their work in secret, a few will teach, and a few, a very few, lead.”

“You… want me to lead?”

“The Aspect seems to think it’s your role, and he is rarely mistaken.” He glanced over his shoulder at Master Henthal’s room. “Leadership is not learned by watching your brothers beat each other bloody. Nor is it learned by letting them fail their tests. Fix this.”

He turned and left without another word. Vaelin rested his head against the stone wall and sighed heavily. Leadership. Don’t I have burdens enough?

“You lot are getting meaner by the year,” Master Henthal told him brightly as he entered. “Time was boys in their third year could only manage to bruise each other. Clearly we’re teaching you too well.”

“We are grateful for your wisdom, Master,” Vaelin assured him. “May I speak with my brothers?”

“As you wish.” He pressed a ball of cotton to Dentos's nose. “Hold that until the bleeding stops. Don’t swallow the blood, keep spitting it out. And use a bowl, get any on my floor and you’ll wish your brother had killed you.” He left them alone in strained silence.

“How is it?” Vaelin asked Dentos.

Dentos could speak only in a wet rasp, “Id bokken.”

Vaelin turned to Caenis, cradling his bandaged hand. “And you?”

Caenis glanced down at his bandaged fingers. “Master Henthal popped it back into place. Said it’ll be sore for a while. Won’t be able to hold a sword for about a week.” He paused, hawking and spitting a thick wad of blood into a bowl next to his bunk. “Had to pull what was left of my tooth. Packed it with cotton and gave me redflower for the pain.”

“Does it work?”

Caenis winced a little. “Not really.”

“Good. You deserve it.”

Caenis face flashed with anger. “You heard what he said…”

“I heard what he said. I heard what you said before that. You know he’s having trouble with this but you decide to give him a lecture.” He turned to Dentos. “And you should know better than to provoke him. We get enough chances to hurt each other on the practice field. Do it there if you have to.”

“’E pisshes me od,” Dentos sputtered. “Bein’ shmart alla time.”

“Then maybe you should learn from him. He has knowledge, you need it, who better to ask?” He sat down next to Dentos. “You know if you don’t pass this test you’ll have to leave. Is that what you want? Go back to Nilsael and help your uncle fight his dogs and tell all the drunkards in the tavern how you nearly got to be in the Sixth Order? I bet they’ll be impressed.”

“Shod off Vaelin.” Dentos leaned over to let a large glob of blood fall from his nose into the bowl at his feet.

“You both know I didn’t have to stay here,” Vaelin said. “Do you know why I did?”

“You hate your father,” Caenis said, forgetting the usual convention.

Vaelin, unaware his feelings were so obvious, bit back a retort. “I couldn’t just leave. I couldn’t go and live outside the Order always waiting to hear one day about what happened to the rest of you, wondering maybe if I’d been there it wouldn’t have happened. We lost Mikehl, we lost Jennis. We can’t lose anyone else.” He got up and moved to the door. “We’re not boys any more. I can’t make you do anything. It’s up to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Caenis said, stopping him. “What I said about your father.”

“I don’t have a father,” Vaelin reminded him.

Caenis laughed, blood seeping thick and fast from his lip. “No, neither do I.” He turned and threw his bloodied cloth at Dentos. “How about you, Brother? Got a father?”

Dentos laughed, long and hard, his face streaked with crimson. “Wouldn’t know the bugger if he gave me a pound of gold!”

They laughed together, for a long time. Pain receded and was forgotten. They laughed and never spoke about how much it hurt.

They took it on themselves to teach Dentos. He continued to learn next to nothing from Master Grealin so every night after practice they would relate a story of the Order’s past and make him repeat it back, over and over again until he knew it by heart. It was tedious and exhausting work undertaken following hours of exercise when all they wanted to do was sleep but they stuck to their task with grim determination. As the most knowledgeable, much of the burden fell on Caenis, who proved a diligent if impatient mentor. His normally placid nature was tested to extremes by the stubborn refusal of Dentos’s memory to store more than a few facts at a time. Barkus, who had a sound but not exhaustive knowledge of Order lore, tended to stick to the most humorous tales, like the legend of Brother Yelna who, bereft of weapons, had caused an enemy to faint with the remarkably noxious nature of his flatulence.