Kaleb Cooper's seventh journal, senior sergeant in the capital city of the country Tortall

April 3, 155

We lost one of our trainees this week out on the street. I knew it was coming. It was strange that it hadn't happened earlier in the year. We lost a few in the first few months because they couldn't deal with the pressures of training but we hadn't lost any in weeks.

Half of the trainees that came to the barracks in July remain. Now, we're down one more. This is the smallest group we have had in years and there are still two more months of training left.

The funeral was this morning. All of the trainees attended, as well as all of the guards not on duty. The Lord Provost attended as well.

Like most funerals, it was a solemn affair. All of our trainees had seen death before—death is as common as hunger and pain in our city—but this was probably the first time a comrade of theirs had died. The first time the risk of our life truly crossed their mind.

Like all boys, our trainees refused to show how Nevin's death had affected them. Boys like to believe that they are invincible and that nothing can bother them but I remember the first time I attended a guard's funeral. I had nightmares for weeks afterward, imagining in my sleep all that could go wrong on the street. I had gone through my training without any doubts in my mind of what I wanted to do as a guard but after the funeral, I experienced doubt for the first time.

Was our life truly worth it?

The ranks of the guards were a safer option that the army for most boys. We didn't receive the glory and honor and girls that the men in the army did, but we never had to leave our homes for months on end.

Our barracks is the place boys went when they wanted to serve their country but also wanted time to have a family. Guards had a longer life expectancy than most soldiers in the army, with more room for advancement.

But we couldn't accept any boy that walked through our front door. So, we made the training harder than anything they would experience in the army. Guards had a different range of talents than soldiers. A wider range.

But, just like the army, we had a high death toll.

And now, with our intense training and high death toll, our numbers were suffering. Every year, less and less boys came to the first day of training and every year the number of those who dropped out increased.

The Guards of Corus need to go under a large reformation. Otherwise, we would dwindle in number until there would be nothing left.

That isn't the way I want to see the Guards of Corus go. I want us to flourish but some days, especially on days like today, I can't see any other future.

The funeral was simple and short. Nevin's family came and I couldn't bring myself to meet their eyes. I never can. The grief and pain in their eyes is too raw and I often find that I blame myself for their child's death, even if I had nothing to do with it.

Nevin's death was not unusual. He got too excited at the prospect of a case and stopped paying attention to his surroundings. When the suspect fled, he gave chase and ran straight into a trap before the guards that were supposed to be with him could catch up.

The boy's throat was slit when they finally did catch up. The suspect got away.

Everyone has their own ways of dealing with their grief. The pair of guards Nevin had been placed with have thrown themselves into their work, intent on catching the cricket that was responsible for Nevin's death. Well, I call him a cricket. The other guards have taken to calling him a rat, because in their minds only a rat would kill a defenseless boy. I wonder how fast that term will spread around the barracks. The term cricket had spread fast when Valeska had let it slip and I had a feeling that rat would travel even faster. More and more, slang has been making its way into our vocabulary.

Walking around the barracks, I can smell the stench of alcohol. No doubt our trainees wanted to have a drink in Nevin's honor and things started to get out of control. The trainees would not have a fun time tomorrow morning at training.

Alcohol is the most common way of dealing with grief but there are other ways of dealing among our trainees. Already tonight I have caught a pair attempting to sneak out of the barracks in hopes of finding some girls to use to erase their sorrows. I sent them back to their buddies.

I also caught a few sneaking into the kitchens. I debated about sending them back to the barracks, to spare them the embarrassment of when Cook found out but the woman was already in the kitchen, welcoming them with open arms. I had forgotten that in the week after a guard has died, Cook opens up her kitchen to those that seek comfort in eating.

Valeska was inside the kitchens, sitting on a barrel of ale, staring blankly at her surroundings. There was a mug beside her, filled with hot cider. It hadn't been touched.

I gave Cook a look. The woman shrugged as she served the trainees some freshly baked fritters stuffed with meat. The trainees glanced at Valeska before digging in. Cook handed me a fritter as well. I sat down on the bench next to the trainees. They avoided looking at me.

"Death is a part of our life," I said quietly, thinking that now would be the best time for a lesson. "We deal with violent deaths every week. It's a part of our city that can't be hidden, no matter how hard we try. As a guard, you are going to see sides of Corus that you couldn't even imagine. The horror stories your mothers told you? It's our reality."

"So we're just going to die on the job?" One of the trainees, Jaime, asked. I shook my head.

"I've seen guards retire at a prime age to spend time with family. And those that get older and don't want to retire usually take on desk jobs. You can grow old here. There's danger, yes, but there's reward. You haven't experienced it yet, but there's great reward in solving a case or in saving someone."

Jaime sighed. I continued.

"It's a tough life, but it can be worse. Discipline and keeping your head on the job will take you far. Don't go running off alone and don't make stupid decisions."

"Easier said than done," the other trainee, Herison, mumbled. I nodded.

"It's hard to think clearly when you have adrenaline rushing through you," I agreed. "But to think through the adrenaline and make smart decisions is what separates a good Guard from a dead one."

"There's rumors that the Rogue was behind it," Herison said. I sighed.

"Whenever a guard dies, there's always that rumor," I told the pair of boys. "And the Rogue loves to claim that those rumors are true, though we can often prove that they aren't. Besides, Nevin was a trainee. He hadn't had time to deal with the Rogue yet. There was no reason for the Rogue to kill him."

I had hoped that my words would be able to calm the trainees but Valeska spoke up. She was no longer staring blankly into space.

"The Rogue doesn't need a reason to kill," she said quietly. "He's the type that kills because it's fun. Because he—" she cut herself off and shook her head.

"Because what?" Jaime prodded. Valeska's hands tightened into fists and she rested them on her lap.

"Because he gets high on it. He enjoys killing people, especially young ones, like a man enjoys being with a woman. He may not have killed Nevin but it's something that he would do."

"Tell me you're joking," Jaime said. Valeska shook her head.

"According to my neighbors, he took my mother into his room and killed her. As the light went out of her eyes, he violated her and when he was done with her body, he cut off her head and threw her into the river," she said. "Our Rogue is capable of anything and he gets crazier with each year. He shouldn't be allowed to live much longer."