23

Michael, as well as the rest of the irregulars, spent the rest of the week preparing for the upcoming exercise. There was additional instruction about how to “kill” your opponents that basically amounted to whaling on them until they agreed they were down or harming them until they could no longer move. After that they’d surrender whatever colored rag represented their team. A number of soldiers would be walking in the midst of the exercise to ensure nothing was taken too far and to remove anyone who became too harmed to continue so that they could be taken to the healer they were bringing from the capital. Michael was told that he may be removed from the exercise to help if there were any severe injuries, though that wasn’t expected.

His usual routine of training with the Diviner and helping the infirmary to heal everyone was unchanged. Thanks to that, he visited Marcus often, but he was moody, and very often he was in the company of Crim, who was checking on his injuries. Michael healed him slightly whenever he could, but the issue of his power requiring touch and a golden hand was that it was very visible. Still, he seemed to be able to ease his suffering, at least a bit. Seeing Crim was maddening, but Michael was old and experienced enough to remain professional with people he hated. He’d worked in an office most of his life, after all.

Still, this was definitely the greatest test of that skill he’d ever had. He’d thought she was, if not kind, at least neutral and capable, but seeing her forcing down a smile as Marcus was caned had shown him otherwise. Michael was certain she was manipulating him, and he guessed that she was doing so just for the fun of it. She might have had a reason beyond that, he supposed. A brother that had been stolen away by a Taker or maybe a child of her own—she was old enough that it could’ve happened. Michael didn’t particularly care, though. She’d hurt his friend, and while he generally felt a need to redeem himself for the life he’d taken when entering the world, Marcus hadn’t deserved that.

He wanted to hurt her but couldn’t see any wisdom in that, at least not yet. She was literally injecting things into his arm every day as well as those of his friends, so even indirect action against her would be foolish. If he took action before Marcus realized what she was doing to him, it could also blow up in his face. Still, the injections were slowing, and he had far more access to the infirmary than anyone else. He had subtly tried bringing up the idea that she was using him, but Marcus had shut him down quickly, his hormones and her manipulations too fresh for him to overcome in spite of the fact that Marcus would’ve been the last person to show this kind of naivety. Michael knew from raising his children that if he pushed too hard, it would just further solidify Marcus’s attraction, so he left him alone. His other option, of telling Kline what had happened, had issues as well. Crim seemed to be a longtime fixture of the academy, a person whose words had weight. Michael had no way to prove his suspicions about her to him. It would likely be his word against hers, and he worried that he could bring more suffering to himself and the others if he said something without solid evidence. Even with proof there was a good chance anything he said would be ignored. No, he needed to wait for the right opportunity.

At the end of the week, he was finally allowed to fully heal Marcus, and by the time he was done there was not even a scar to remember the injury by. He waited on Marcus to get into uniform, and they were escorted under two guards to the morning classroom for their final instructions before they moved to begin the exercise.

“All other recruits are currently being given final instruction on what their roles will be in the exercise. Those being groomed for command roles are being told their orders, those acting as messengers are being given their routes. You may have noticed that all of you have not received any instructions. This is because you’re irregulars. The jobs you’re going to do on the front will be varied and seemingly random. I’ve seen irregulars ordered on raids, assigned to kidnap nobles, forced to hunt titled beasts that have grown fat on corpses, assigned to guard nobility visiting the front, or even made to kill rats for the cook. The jobs that you do will be decided on by whoever your leader is for this exercise. I will not be there with my brand to keep you from doing anything foolish, but there will be others with a similar brand in the field, watching you. Perform the roles as you are required to, and you will be rewarded. This and the Festival of Blades are the two best opportunities for recruits to earn Titles and Deeds before reaching the front. It should’ve already been made clear how much those can impact your survival.”

There were some nods from the others and a few muttered questions about what the Festival of Blades was. Michael had heard about it from Meera. It was a floating holiday based around a week when all three of the moons became sharp slivers in the sky. It happened around once every two years and was celebrated with tournaments and jousts in the “old style.” It was frequently used in Meera’s books as a way for a beautiful maiden to be seduced by a visiting knight or for a young maiden to receive the favor of a gruff man she’d never noticed before.

“I’ll be assigning you each to groups of four or five. Blame the foolishness of the dead for a few of the groups being short. The groups are based on who we’ve noticed spends the most time together. When you are sent to the front, all of you will be separated. Enjoy the company of your fellows while you can.”

He arranged a few slips of paper in front of himself on his desk.

“I’m going to call out the names of each group. Your instructions on who to report to are on the desk in front of me. You will have time to pack your own bags, then report to supply for a breastplate and your weapons. After that you’ll be escorted to the woods north of the campus. The area of the exercise is heavily guarded and monitored. Do not be foolish. There will be much less hesitation to hang you now that you’re grown.”

That statement was met with silence, and he started to call each group.

“Michael, Pyotr, Marcus, Davi, Ollie.” All of them stood up, and Michael was the one to retrieve the orders.

Kline held up a hand to stop them from walking away immediately.

“You are allowed to use any advantage you have, except you,” he said, looking pointedly at Ollie and Michael. “You must stick to shielding and your staff. No fire or lightning. Our healer will only be able to do so much.” He turned to Michael specifically. “You cannot ‘heal’ someone who is already dead by the rules of the game, but if you see a broken bone, do not hesitate to make our visiting healer’s job easier.”

They nodded in response, and Kline dismissed them.

Michael peeled open the letter as they moved to their barracks to grab their packs.

“We’re reporting to the Black Team in the northwest corner of the woods. Leader is a recruit named Lance.”

“Lance?” said Ollie with a raised eyebrow. “Bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

“It’s funny. Word for a lance here is different from English, but still, he has the name. I wonder what other names are like that here?” said Pyotr.

Ollie shrugged. “A wizard did it.”

“How does that apply here?” asked Michael.

Ollie shrugged again. “Ask the wizard.”

They made it into the barracks and grabbed their packs. Michael made sure to pack an extra blanket and uniform. Being in the woods for two weeks was not going to be a good time. He hadn’t enjoyed camping in his old life, and he didn’t expect that was going to change in this one. Still, it was definitely something he’d need to get used to.

Once they were packed, they went to supply. There was a long line, but none of the other recruits gave them any trouble. In general, they’d seemed to grow used to the Takers, and many of them even acknowledged or made small-talk with Michael in particular since he’d been healing so many of them so regularly.

When they reached the counter, Dugan waved Michael forward.

He reached behind the counter, away from where he’d grabbed everyone else’s things. “This breastplate is newer and should be a bit more comfortable, and I just re-wrapped this sword’s hilt.” He spoke without expression, ignoring a dirty look from a nearby regular that had heard him.

“Thank you, Dugan. I’m surprised you went to the trouble.”

“You’re a good man. Saved me a lot of work. Crack some skulls.”

“Will do.”

The rest of them picked up their breastplates, helmets, swords, scabbards, staffs, black pieces of cloth, white pieces of cloth, and a sack of rations. The black cloth was to mark their team, and the white cloth would mark them as dead so they could walk themselves safely back to the campus if they’d been eliminated. They stepped to the side and slipped on the armor, tightening it with magic, though Marcus had to do it by hand. Ollie’s armor was made of boiled leather since too much iron could interfere with magic at a high level.

Once they were prepared, they made their way to the north exit from the academy. Michael was surprised to see the horsemanship instructor, Desdin, on the way toward the gate, mounted on a white mare. He was staring at them, and when Michael gave him a wave of acknowledgment, he seemed to be looking right through him. Michael assumed the man was going through something and put his hand down. It felt odd, passing through the gate with only a nod from the guards, but they followed the path outward and found a number of smaller trails that led them to their destination.

The black camp was marked by a large flag in the team’s color, and it was already full of a number of recruits building simple fortifications, patrolling, and generally keeping themselves busy. Two acne-faced guards at the gate noted their arrival.

“Mark the flag, then head toward the large tent straight back. The Commander will give you your orders.”

Michael went to the flag and channeled some magicka before whispering “aqui” to mark the flag so he could easily navigate to it later when they were returning from the thick forest. He and the rest of the Penitents then made their way toward the large tent in the back.

It was darker inside, and their eyes took a moment to adjust.

“Ah, looks like our murderers have arrived,” came a voice from deeper inside.