Just over a week later, on a warm summer's evening, little Liam was dropped
from a trader's wagon into a dusty field already scattered with small
children, some as young as four. His governess had wanted him to be sent
by carriage with an escort, but his father had refused. If Liam was going
to be a Shang, he'd have to start the way he was going to continue.
Liam looked to be one of the oldest there, although definitely not the biggest, since he could see one muscular boy in particular that would tower over him whatever age he was. He unconsciously pulled his fiery hair into a semblance of neatness as he saw a small man coming over to him. He was dressed very plainly in a simple black tunic and breeches coming over.
"Ten and that's the lot of you," he said, smiling at Liam. "Thank you trader, may Mithras's blessing be upon you. Over you go, boy."
Liam smiled shyly at him, thanked the trader, and ran off to join the rapidly growing group around a tall, dark skinned man in the same robe as Liam's visitor.
"Over here please everyone!" the man was calling. "Over here, lad, that's it. Stand up, kid, you're here to work, not laze around. Now, you're Shang class one. Your names have been sent in by various soldiers, who all believe that one day you could all become great warriors, so work hard and don't disappoint them."
"We won't, mister," said one boy, his voice betraying his origins as a street child, probably from Port Caynn if Liam remembered his father's lessons correctly.
"You'll be living here at least until you're thirteen. That's going to be longer for some of you than for others, but if you aren't ready you'll stay here until we give up on you or you reach the required standard. After that, you go out into the world with a full Shang warrior to get some advanced training. Think of this as an apprenticeship, that as a journeyman period, before you become a master. You all share a barracks while you're here, and you'll train together in small groups. The Shang Rat is going to look after your class. When I call your names, go over to him. This is your very first roll call, so don't mess it up now. Martin Farrier."
"Here sir," piped up a small boy. He looked very young, Liam wasn't really convinced that he was even four yet, although he knew that to be the minimum age just as seven was the maximum. He toddled over and trustingly took the Rat's hand. Then the man called out some more names.
"Liam Cooper."
"Here sir," Liam said, and followed the others over. At last, the huddle around the Rat was complete. There were nine boys there and one girl.
"Now I'll take you to your barracks home," said the Rat. He had a nice voice, Liam thought, deep and sort of velvety. "When you've all had a chance to rest, we'll go and find you your uniforms, and after that you can have supper."
He was speaking very gently and simply, and Liam appreciated that this was probably necessary with some of the younger ones, although Martin seemed to be far more intelligent than that.
The barracks he took them to was stone, with a wooden floor. The bunks lined the two longer walls, with five end to end on each side. They were simple, a raised wooden pallet with a straw mattress on it. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as his special feather bed at home, in the bedroom he'd had all to himself. Liam took a bed at random and dropped the small bag treasures he'd been allowed to bring onto it. When everyone was busy, the Rat beckoned him over, although Liam couldn't think of what he'd been doing wrong.
"You know and I know Cooper, that you were born a noble, but it needn't pass the two of us if you don't let it out yourself. Call yourself Liam Cooper after your father and you'll be all right, although with a name like that and your hair and eyes, I know that many of the warriors will guess who you are."
"Yes sir."
"I also know that you've been trained to respect ability and experience as well as birth, and that had better be the case. You have a reputation to uphold, son, and I will be expecting you to work as hard as anyone else, if not harder, because of who your parents are. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir, I won't disappoint you."
"Excellent, welcome to Shang, Trebond, I know you'll get on fine here."
The uniform the Rat had mentioned earlier was brown, made of a coarse, heavy cloth. It consisted of a long, brown tunic worn over breeches of the same colour. The tunic had a thick white band stitched onto the left arm. That, they were told, was to show they were new. Everyone older than them had a streak of black running through the white - the thicker the strip of black, the better fighters they were. Journeymen still wore brown but had a black strip around both arms.
At supper that night, Liam sat next a boy of about his own age. He was, well, ordinary was the only word he could find to describe him. The boy had brown hair, brown eyes and was of a normal sort of height and build for their age.
"Hello," he said, not at all shy at being in a strange place. "I'm Gary, from Maren." He spoke in the language commonly used in both Tortall and in Maren, which was where the training camp was located. Liam spoke that as his first language, although he was also practically fluent in Carthak, Scanran and Yamani.
"I'm Liam," he replied. "My parents live in Tortall."
They were eating in a large hall. There were eleven tables there, seating ten each. Ten, Liam noted, seemed to be the standard size for a class. The Shang warriors took up two, the students filled the rest. There was one boy seated with the warriors who still wore the brown uniform, but he looked to be about the same age as Thom, Liam's fifteen-year-old brother. The food they were eating was plain, peasant fare, served on heavy earthenware plates, but it was filling, and far tastier than some of the so called delicacies that Liam had been forced to choke down in the past.
After they'd eaten, they were sent straight to bed. To Liam's surprise, even the twelve and thirteen-year-olds seemed to be returning to their dormitories at the same time - he'd thought they'd be allowed to stay up much later. The curtains over the small, high windows were drawn and the children were left in darkness.
Liam suddenly found thoughts of his roguish, funny father, his heroic mother and his mad siblings filling his head uncontrollably. He longed to be able to hear his mother come in to check on him or to have Thom creep in to talk about his latest crush to the one person who was always happy to listen. Tears flooded into his eyes, and he wiped them hurriedly away, ashamed of showing weakness when he was a warrior now, with a reputation to uphold.
Liam concentrated hard about how he was going to become the greatest warrior the world had ever seen and managed to calm himself down. The boy on the next bed along didn't. He began to cry audibly in the silent room, and stifled sobs came welling up unwanted from many of the other beds as the boys weakness let down their walls.
Feeling that he had to do something, Liam slipped out of bed and along to him. It was Martin, the baby of the group. He'd seemed cheerful earlier, but tired and lonely the events of the day were catching up with him at last. Liam sat down on his bed and Martin clung to him desperately like a lifeline. He was aware that his shirt was becoming soggy, but didn't really care. At last, Martin's sobs eased and he relaxed a bit. The others two had quietened again. Liam extracted himself from the boy's grip.
"Think you can sleep now?" he whispered.
"Y-yes I think so, but I have a headache!"
"I'll be gone by the morning, so try and get to sleep, then you'll feel a lot better. Remember, we start training tomorrow, and we've got to be at our best for that."
Liam slipped softly off the bed and tucked Martin in carefully. He grinned with satisfaction as he heard gentle snores from behind him even before he'd been in his own bed a minute.
Liam looked to be one of the oldest there, although definitely not the biggest, since he could see one muscular boy in particular that would tower over him whatever age he was. He unconsciously pulled his fiery hair into a semblance of neatness as he saw a small man coming over to him. He was dressed very plainly in a simple black tunic and breeches coming over.
"Ten and that's the lot of you," he said, smiling at Liam. "Thank you trader, may Mithras's blessing be upon you. Over you go, boy."
Liam smiled shyly at him, thanked the trader, and ran off to join the rapidly growing group around a tall, dark skinned man in the same robe as Liam's visitor.
"Over here please everyone!" the man was calling. "Over here, lad, that's it. Stand up, kid, you're here to work, not laze around. Now, you're Shang class one. Your names have been sent in by various soldiers, who all believe that one day you could all become great warriors, so work hard and don't disappoint them."
"We won't, mister," said one boy, his voice betraying his origins as a street child, probably from Port Caynn if Liam remembered his father's lessons correctly.
"You'll be living here at least until you're thirteen. That's going to be longer for some of you than for others, but if you aren't ready you'll stay here until we give up on you or you reach the required standard. After that, you go out into the world with a full Shang warrior to get some advanced training. Think of this as an apprenticeship, that as a journeyman period, before you become a master. You all share a barracks while you're here, and you'll train together in small groups. The Shang Rat is going to look after your class. When I call your names, go over to him. This is your very first roll call, so don't mess it up now. Martin Farrier."
"Here sir," piped up a small boy. He looked very young, Liam wasn't really convinced that he was even four yet, although he knew that to be the minimum age just as seven was the maximum. He toddled over and trustingly took the Rat's hand. Then the man called out some more names.
"Liam Cooper."
"Here sir," Liam said, and followed the others over. At last, the huddle around the Rat was complete. There were nine boys there and one girl.
"Now I'll take you to your barracks home," said the Rat. He had a nice voice, Liam thought, deep and sort of velvety. "When you've all had a chance to rest, we'll go and find you your uniforms, and after that you can have supper."
He was speaking very gently and simply, and Liam appreciated that this was probably necessary with some of the younger ones, although Martin seemed to be far more intelligent than that.
The barracks he took them to was stone, with a wooden floor. The bunks lined the two longer walls, with five end to end on each side. They were simple, a raised wooden pallet with a straw mattress on it. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as his special feather bed at home, in the bedroom he'd had all to himself. Liam took a bed at random and dropped the small bag treasures he'd been allowed to bring onto it. When everyone was busy, the Rat beckoned him over, although Liam couldn't think of what he'd been doing wrong.
"You know and I know Cooper, that you were born a noble, but it needn't pass the two of us if you don't let it out yourself. Call yourself Liam Cooper after your father and you'll be all right, although with a name like that and your hair and eyes, I know that many of the warriors will guess who you are."
"Yes sir."
"I also know that you've been trained to respect ability and experience as well as birth, and that had better be the case. You have a reputation to uphold, son, and I will be expecting you to work as hard as anyone else, if not harder, because of who your parents are. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir, I won't disappoint you."
"Excellent, welcome to Shang, Trebond, I know you'll get on fine here."
The uniform the Rat had mentioned earlier was brown, made of a coarse, heavy cloth. It consisted of a long, brown tunic worn over breeches of the same colour. The tunic had a thick white band stitched onto the left arm. That, they were told, was to show they were new. Everyone older than them had a streak of black running through the white - the thicker the strip of black, the better fighters they were. Journeymen still wore brown but had a black strip around both arms.
At supper that night, Liam sat next a boy of about his own age. He was, well, ordinary was the only word he could find to describe him. The boy had brown hair, brown eyes and was of a normal sort of height and build for their age.
"Hello," he said, not at all shy at being in a strange place. "I'm Gary, from Maren." He spoke in the language commonly used in both Tortall and in Maren, which was where the training camp was located. Liam spoke that as his first language, although he was also practically fluent in Carthak, Scanran and Yamani.
"I'm Liam," he replied. "My parents live in Tortall."
They were eating in a large hall. There were eleven tables there, seating ten each. Ten, Liam noted, seemed to be the standard size for a class. The Shang warriors took up two, the students filled the rest. There was one boy seated with the warriors who still wore the brown uniform, but he looked to be about the same age as Thom, Liam's fifteen-year-old brother. The food they were eating was plain, peasant fare, served on heavy earthenware plates, but it was filling, and far tastier than some of the so called delicacies that Liam had been forced to choke down in the past.
After they'd eaten, they were sent straight to bed. To Liam's surprise, even the twelve and thirteen-year-olds seemed to be returning to their dormitories at the same time - he'd thought they'd be allowed to stay up much later. The curtains over the small, high windows were drawn and the children were left in darkness.
Liam suddenly found thoughts of his roguish, funny father, his heroic mother and his mad siblings filling his head uncontrollably. He longed to be able to hear his mother come in to check on him or to have Thom creep in to talk about his latest crush to the one person who was always happy to listen. Tears flooded into his eyes, and he wiped them hurriedly away, ashamed of showing weakness when he was a warrior now, with a reputation to uphold.
Liam concentrated hard about how he was going to become the greatest warrior the world had ever seen and managed to calm himself down. The boy on the next bed along didn't. He began to cry audibly in the silent room, and stifled sobs came welling up unwanted from many of the other beds as the boys weakness let down their walls.
Feeling that he had to do something, Liam slipped out of bed and along to him. It was Martin, the baby of the group. He'd seemed cheerful earlier, but tired and lonely the events of the day were catching up with him at last. Liam sat down on his bed and Martin clung to him desperately like a lifeline. He was aware that his shirt was becoming soggy, but didn't really care. At last, Martin's sobs eased and he relaxed a bit. The others two had quietened again. Liam extracted himself from the boy's grip.
"Think you can sleep now?" he whispered.
"Y-yes I think so, but I have a headache!"
"I'll be gone by the morning, so try and get to sleep, then you'll feel a lot better. Remember, we start training tomorrow, and we've got to be at our best for that."
Liam slipped softly off the bed and tucked Martin in carefully. He grinned with satisfaction as he heard gentle snores from behind him even before he'd been in his own bed a minute.
