Despite his aptitude Master Hutril seemed oddly distant from Caenis, his praise restrained, if expressed at all. Sometimes, during one of the overnight treks Vaelin would catch Hutril staring at Caenis from across the camp, his expression unreadable in the firelight.

Heldrian was the hardest of days, hours of running around the practice ground with a heavy stone in each hand, freezing swims across the river, and hard lessons in unarmed combat under Master Intris, a compact but lightning fast man with a broken nose and several missing teeth. He taught them the secrets of the kick and the punch, how to twist the fist at the last instant, how to raise the knee first then to extend the leg into a kick, how to block a blow, trip an opponent or throw them over your shoulder. Few boys enjoyed Heldrian, it left them too bruised and exhausted to appreciate the evening meal. Only Barkus liked it, his large frame best suited to soaking up the punishment, he seemed impervious to pain and none relished being partnered with him for the sparring.

Eltrian was supposedly a day of rest and observance but for the youngest boys it meant a round of tedious drudgery in the laundry or the kitchen. If they were lucky they would be chosen to help Master Smentil in the gardens which at least provided the chance at a stolen apple or two. In the evening there would be extra observance and catechism, this being the Faith’s day, and a solid hour of silent contemplation where they would sit, heads bowed, each lost in their own thoughts or succumbing to the overpowering need for sleep, which could be dangerous as any boy caught sleeping would earn the harshest beating and a night walking the walls with no cloak.

Vaelin’s favourite part of each day was the hour before lights out. All the discipline would evaporate in a round of raucous banter and horseplay. Dentos would tell another story about his uncles, Barkus would make them laugh with a joke or an uncanny imitation of one of the masters, Caenis, normally given to silence, would tell one of the thousand or more old stories he knew whilst they practised their sign language or sword strokes. He found himself spending more time with Caenis than the others, the slight boy’s reticence and intelligence a faint echo of his mother. For his part Caenis seemed surprised but gratified by the companionship. Vaelin suspected his life before the Order had been somewhat lonely as Caenis was clearly so unused to being with other boys, although neither of them talked of their lives before, unlike Nortah who had never been able to shake the habit, despite angry responses from the others and the occasional beating from the masters. You have no family but the Order. Vaelin knew the truth of the Aspect’s words now; they were becoming family, they had no-one but each other.

Their first test came in the month of Sunterin, nearly a year since Vaelin had been left at the gate: the Test of the Run. They had been told little about what it entailed except that each year this test saw more expulsions than any other. They were trooped out into the courtyard along with the other boys of similar age, about two hundred in all. They had been told to bring their bows, one quiver of arrows, hunting knife, water flask and nothing else.

The Aspect led them in a brief recitation of the Catechism of Faith before informing them of what to expect: “The Test of the Run is where we discover who among you is truly fit to serve the Order. You have had the privilege of a year in service to the Faith, but in the Sixth Order privileges must be earned. You will be taken upriver by boat and left at different places on the bank. You must be back here by midnight tomorrow. Any who do not arrive in time will be allowed to keep their weapons and will be given three gold crowns.”

He nodded to the masters and left. Vaelin felt the fear and uncertainty about him but did not share it. He would pass the test, he had to, there was nowhere for him to go.

“To the river bank at the run!” Sollis barked. “No slacking. Pick your feet up, Sendahl, this isn’t a shitting dance floor.”

Waiting at the riverside wharf were three barges, large, shallow draught boats with black painted hulls and red canvas sails. They were a common sight on the Corvien river estuary, running coal along the coast from the mines in the south to feed the myriad chimneys of Varinshold. Barge men were a distinct group, wearing black scarves around their necks and a band of silver in their left ear, notorious drinkers and brawlers when not plying their trade. Many an Asraelin mother would warn a wayward daughter: “Be a good girl or you’ll wed no better than a barge man.”

Sollis exchanged a few words with the master of their barge, a wiry man who glared suspiciously at the silent assembly of boys, handing him a purse of coin and barking at them to get aboard and muster in the centre of the deck. “And don’t touch anything, lack-brains!”

“I’ve never been to sea before,” Dentos commented as they sat down on the hard planks of the deck.

“This isn’t the sea,” Nortah informed him. “It’s the river.”

“My uncle Jimnos went to sea,” Dentos continued, ignoring Nortah as most of them did. “Never came back. Me mam said he got eaten by a whale.”

“What’s a whale?” asked Mikehl, a plump Renfaelin boy who had contrived to retain his excess weight despite months of hard exercise.

“It’s a big animal that lives in the sea,” Caenis replied, he tended to know the answer to most questions. He gave Dentos a nudge, “And it doesn’t eat people. Your uncle was probably eaten by a shark, some of them grow as big as a whale.”

“How would you know?” Nortah sneered, as he usually did whenever Caenis offered an opinion. “Ever seen one?”

“Yes.”

Nortah flushed and fell silent, scratching at a loose splinter on the deck with his hunting knife.

“When, Caenis?” Vaelin prompted his friend. “When did you see the shark?”

Caenis smiled a little, something he did rarely. “A year or so ago, in the Erinean. My… I was taken to sea once. There are many creatures that live in the sea, seals and orcas and more fish than you can count. And sharks, one of them came up to our ship. It was over thirty feet from tip to tail, one of sailors said they feed on orcas and whales, people too if you’re unlucky enough to be in the water when they’re around. There are stories of them ramming ships to sink them and feed on the crew.”

Nortah snorted in derision but the others were clearly fascinated.

“Did you see pirates?” Dentos asked eagerly. “They say the Erinean is thick with ‘em.”

Caenis shook his head. “No pirates. They don’t bother Realm ships since the war.”

“Which war?” Barkus said.

“The Meldenean, the one Master Grealin talks about all the time. The King sent a fleet to burn the Meldenean’s biggest city, all the pirates in the Erinean are Meldeneans, so they learned to leave us alone.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to burn their fleet?” Barkus wondered. “That way there wouldn’t be any pirates at all.”

“They can always build more ships,” Vaelin said. “Burning a city leaves a memory, passed from parent to child. Makes sure they won’t forget us.”

“Could’ve just killed them all,” Nortah suggested sullenly. “No pirates, no piracy.”

Master Sollis’s cane swept down from nowhere, catching him on the hand and making him release his knife, still embedded in the deck. “I said don’t touch anything, Sendahl.” His gaze swivelled to Caenis. “Voyager are you, Nysa?”

Caenis bowed his head. “Only once master.”

“Really? Where did you go on this adventure?”

“To the Wensel Isle. My – erm, one of the passengers had business there.”

Sollis grunted, bent down to prise Nortah’s knife from the deck and tossed it to him. “Sheath it, fop. You’ll need a sharp blade before long.”

“Were you there, Master?” Vaelin asked him. He was the only one who dared ask Sollis anything, braving the risk of a caning. Sollis could be fierce or he could be informative. It was impossible to tell which until you asked the question. “Were you there when the Meldenean city burned?”

Sollis's gaze flicked to him, pale eyes meeting his. There was a question in them, an inquisitiveness. For the first time Vaelin realised Sollis thought he knew more than he did, thought his father had told him stories of his many battles, that there was an insult concealed in his questions.

“No,” Sollis replied. “I was on the northern border then. I’m sure Master Grealin will answer any questions you have about that war.” He moved away to thrash another boy whose hand had strayed too close to a coil of rope.

The barges sailed north, following the long arc of the river and dashing any thought Vaelin had of simply following the river bank back to the Order House; it was too far a journey. If he wanted to be back in time it meant a trek through the forest. He eyed the dark mass of trees warily. Although the lessons with Master Hutril had made them familiar with the forest the thought of a blind journey through the woods was not pleasant. He knew how easily a boy could be lost in amongst the trees, wandering in circles for hours.

“Head south,” Caenis, whispering next to his ear. “Away from the north star. Head south until you meet the river bank, then follow it until you come to the wharf. Then you have to swim the river.”