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The next morning saw Tarun up before daybreak, already hard at work pulling weeds from around the foundations of the barracks buildings. Some like pigweed with its broad, flat leaves and sturdy stalk came up without a fight. Others, thistles especially, had to be dug out of their nooks and crannies, sometimes in spiny pieces. Tarun grumbled internally as he worked. If the army would just let a nice thick carpet of wild grass retake the yard, the hardy green blades would handily overtake even the most determined of weeds. Trying to keep the entire barrack grounds plant-free just seemed like a losing battle. Still, Tarun had been ordered to clean up the weeds, and so that was what he would do. At least he wasn't one of the unlucky bunch assigned to dig and frame a new set of lavatories on the outskirts of Geristan...after filling in the old ones.

Squatting back on his heels to give his neck and shoulders a break, Tarun spotted a few familiar faces in the area. Hengar, Borse and a handful of the Fourth's biggest, strongest men were working to carry all of the trestle tables out from the mess hall so that the floors could be mopped. Meanwhile, under Pedrum's supervision, a few of the soldiers with backgrounds in carpentry were sanding down and refitting the gates of the compound to get rid of a hitch in their swing. Up on the palisade walls, Garrit and Berin were bringing down armloads of red, black and gold flags for washing. There was activity every which way one looked, bringing to mind an overturned anthill, its frantic workers skittering back and forth in an all-consuming effort to reorder their colony.

The door of the bunks swung open a few feet from where Tarun was working. Arms laden with blankets, Andris stepped outside and grumbled at Tarun.

"Either Jerriod does his spring cleaning really late in the season, or First King Amenthis himself is coming to visit!"

Tarun's mouth quirked in what could have been a smile, if there had been his habitual huff through the nose to give it substance. Andris couldn't tell the difference though, and carried on complaining.

"They're even having us turn over and air all of the mattresses in the bunks. Can you believe that?!"

That caught Tarun's attention, but not for the reasons Andris might have though. Abandoning his bucket of weeds and trowel, he scrambled to his feet and rushed for the bunks.

It was too little, too late though. He almost collided with the soldier in the doorway. The boy fell back a pace, a loose sheaf of parchment escaping his grip to flutter to the ground. In the light of day, the dried blood-ink printed across the page turned up a dull, cracking maroon.

"Give me those," Tarun growled. He blocked the doorway with an arm, glowering at the rangy youth. The boy was about the same height as Tarun, but all knobby knees and bony elbows. Tarun reckoned he could probably beat the sod out of him if need be.

The boy jabbed a finger at Tarun's face, accusation pursing his lips tight. "So it's you! You've been spyin' and makin' secret notes, haven't you?! You just wait 'til the captain sees these letters, you mountain-bred giant spawn!"

"Spying?!" Exclaimed Tarun indignantly. "Are you blind, or just stupid? Now hand them over or I'll-"

"You'll what, ash head?"

A second soldier, this one built like a barn door with hands like spades emerged from inside the bunks behind the skinny boy. Emboldened by his friend's arrival, the youth holding Tarun's carefully copied pages made a break for it. Ducking under Tarun's arm, he rushed headfirst into a bewildered Andris, sending blankets falling in heaps. Tarun made to try and grab for him, but the boy's beefy friend was ready with his fists. A solid punch to the jaw sent Tarun sprawling.

Those men of Trosk close enough to notice the fight break out were quick to come to Tarun's aid. When Borse dropped an entire bench and came loping across the yard, his black-bearded face like thunder, even the beefy soldier backpedaled.

"He's bin' hidin' treasonous stuff under his bunk, your friend! If you stick up for him, yer no better!"

While Andris and Hengar helped Tarun to his feet, Borse closed the distance between himself and Tarun's attacker. As quick as blinking, the tanner was in the other man's face, the thick bristles of his mustache practically close enough to count.

"No better than what...an 'ash head'? 'Cause even I've never seen a Factionist land a first punch on someone's turned head."

"Traitor scum!"

A crowd was quickly gathering at the entrance to the bunks, with a very clear distinction between Fourth Company soldiers and their newest, mountainfolk recruits. Pedrum came running over from the crew working on the gate, dark eyes flashing with fury.

"Stand down soldiers, NOW! Borse, Tonny, if you don't step back from each other immediately, I will have you both whipped like dogs!"

Still glowering blacker than an autumn hailstorm, Borse only retreated to where Tarun and the other men of Trosk were standing after twitching his enormous shoulders toward Tonny in a way that made even the heavyset fellow flinch. Looking around, Tarun already knew that the boy with his papers was long gone. Surely the fool couldn't cause any real trouble for him with a few lines and diagrams extolling the beauty of Derbesh's minaret towers and the functionality of their citywide aqueducts? Even so, there was already one infuriated commanding officer to deal with today.

And infuriated Pedrum was. Unfortunately though, he seemed to focus his anger on Borse rather than Tonny.

"How dare you threaten a fellow soldier? These men will be your brothers in arms, the only people standing between you and death in battle against the Factionists! To attack one of them, a member of the king's army, may as well be an attack against the king himself!"

Well, damn his soul to wander starless if he was going to let a longtime neighbor and friend catch Pedrum's wrath for him. Clearing his throat, Tarun made to step forward and point out that it was Tonny who had struck first. Borse's hand shot out though, catching Tarun square in the chest and preventing him from interrupting.

Pedrum seemed not to have noticed. He continued on with his tirade under the approving eyes of the other Fourth Company soldiers. The men of Trosk however did not shy away from Borse's back.

"-and for causing such disorder on today of all days, I'll have you pulling double duty on all-"

"Tarun Thrymmson!"

Captain Jerriod's voice boomed above Pedrum's like thunder over the bleating of a ram. The training officer immediately stopped short in mid-rant. All eyes fell on Tarun. Slowly, a curious ringing in his ears, Tarun turned to where Jerriod stood on the other side of the yard.

The captain of the Fourth Company frowned severely at him, arms folded across the crown on his tunic and a handful of rolled parchment in hand. Tarun's stomach dropped. Surely Jerriod didn't actually believe whatever ignorant twaddle the skinny soldier had told him? The snitch hovered by Jerriod's elbow, a nasty grin making him look more like a ferret than a young man.

Trying not to so much as glance as his accuser, Tarun squared his shoulders and crossed the yard. He could feel every eye in the barracks on him. Jerriod waved him to follow. It was some small relief at least that, when the snitch tried to follow, Jerriod ordered him back to his duties with a tone that brooked no argument. Tarun still couldn't believe this was actually happening though as Jerriod led him into the officers' rooms above the mess hell. The door latch caught with an ominous click as it closed behind him.

Jerriod wasted no time in getting right to it. "Warin has levied some fairly grave accusations against you, Thrymmson. He showed me unauthorized writings he found beneath your bunk, several pages of them, and seems to firmly believe that you, being a fresh conscript from Trosk, have more than enough motive to spy on the king's army for the Factionists. On that count I agree with him; you and most of your village did side with the Factionists when given the choice."

"Sir, I-"

"Did I give you leave to speak, soldier?" Jerriod's admonition cracked like a whip. He rounded the desk – a beautiful old creation if a bit worn and faded on the top – and gripped the back of his chair without sitting. He still held Tarun's rolled up pages in one hand. "If you thought to smuggle messages out in code, know that I have been fortunate enough to receive extension training on pattern recognition and coded language."

Jerriod tossed the pages onto his desk, where they unfurled to reveal their bloody text. They betrayed Tarun with their complexity. No doubt Jerriod suspected such writing from a shepherd...no doubt he believed Tarun too educated for the mountainfolk...no doubt-

"It took me less than a minute to see that you have had no such training, and that there is nothing more to these pages than what first meets the eye. No Trosk-born lad could ever hide a code from an officer of the royal army."

Tarun didn't know whether to be relieved, or insulted. His mouth opened, wanting desperately to say something...what he wasn't quite sure. With a scrape of wood on wood, Jerriod pulled out his chair and sat. The captain's eyes betrayed a twinkle of satisfaction.

"I can see you have much you wish to say, but first I have a question of my own. Where did you get all this information from? Surely you're not an architect, and soldiers do not keep books in the barracks."

"I..." Tarun stopped and re-gathered his wits before he made an even bigger fool of himself. "I memorized it, from a book I owned in Trosk."

Jerriod's coal-black eyebrows shot straight up. "You've been copying this all down from memory? Even the diagrams and illustrations?"

When Tarun nodded, Jerriod leaned back in his seat and reached for one of the desk drawers. When he produced a book bound in red leather, Tarun's mouth went dry and he had to restrain himself from exclaiming. There on Jerriod's desk sat...

"From Sand to Sky; a Study of Derbesh's Architectonics by Raiida D'Van," said Jerriod, finishing Tarun's amazed thought. "Yes, I've read it. Several times in fact, which is how I recognized the text which you were copying straight away. You have an impressive memory, Tarun, very impressive. Your writing echoes D'Van's almost word-for-word."

"Thank you, sir."

"Does it surprise you to learn that I've read about Derbesh's architecture? It shouldn't; if the Fourth Company was ever ordered on a campaign to Derbesh, I would have to be able to recognize landmarks I've never seen in person before and guide your unit through the city's vast, sprawling districts. Knowledge is of vital importance to a leader."

"What about to a soldier?"

The words were out of Tarun's mouth before he could stop himself. The slightest bitter edge hung around the question. Mentally scolding his own lack of care, Tarun cast his gaze downward to his standard-issue boots.

Jerriod leaned back in his chair, hand still on the cover of his copy of From Sand to Sky. His eyes bore into Tarun with a keen intensity the likes of which almost reduced Tarun to squirming.

"You're smart, Thrymmson, but not at all wise if you don't learn to keep a tight hold on that bold tongue of yours. Still..." Jerriod reached again into his desk, this time coming up with a medallion. He held it up to the light so that Tarun could clearly see the crossed sword and scroll flashing in silver. "You know what that is?"

"No sir?"

"You should, because if I've read you right, and I suspect I have, what I'm about to tell you will have you coveting one of these more fiercely than a whole shelf full of books. This is a Medal of Mastery from The Academy in Amenthere. I earned it six years ago for graduating from their program for royal army officers. First Class Honors, with an emphasis in strategems. Every ranking officer in Goran's army is mandated by law to attend at least a year at The Academy, with lieutenants and captains being required to obtain a Medal of Mastery."

Jerriod was right. Just like that, suddenly Tarun was seeing that piece of silver through new eyes as if it were the moon come down to earth in a man's hand. Tarun wanted one, wanted everything it represented so fiercely that he could scarcely stand to look at it.

With a heavy 'thunk', Jerriod set the medallion down on top of Tarun's copied papers strewn across his desk. It was close enough that Tarun could have reached out and touched it. He didn't dare though, as much as he wanted to. No doubt his face said it all anyways.

"Now, I already know that you've got a superb memory, and make no mistake, the ability to remember fine details is an important one for a soldier. What defines the difference between a soldier and an officer though is leadership. All of my marshals and lieutenants have demonstrated to me their ability to not only lead by example, but also their commitment to service of king and country." Jerriod laced his hands, covered in the calluses of a swordsman, together and rested his elbows on the desk, leaning forward to peer at Tarun. "You've got a mark against you on that account, having fought with the Factionists at Trosk. I could give you the benefit of the doubt though, and chalk that up to having thought you were defending your home. However, if you ever aspire to the rank of officer in the Fourth Company, you'll have to earn both my trust and my respect. Show your friends and neighbors how an honorable man serves his country, with dignity and devotion, and it may just come to pass that someday I recommend your name to The Academy for their officers' program."

It was not lost on Tarun that Captain Jerriod had brought Frandel, the Red Obad to Trosk, and that same Red Obad had been the direct cause of both Marden and Yelaina's deaths. The choice to fight with the Factionists hadn't been one he had made based on personal belief though. After Marden decided to throw in with Nadathan and Sula and their people, following him had been only natural. Marden had always been the natural leader, not Tarun. Marden was...he was dead, and that was simply that. Passing up this road to The Academy that Jerriod was offering him out of protest just didn't make sense, not to Tarun.

"I'll do my best to be worthy of recommendation, Captain," he said, drawing up to full attention.

Jerriod's lip quirked in a half smile. "Do better than your best, soldier. Do the best, and one day you might find yourself walking through the doors of The Academy with a black officer's tunic on your back and a Medal of Mastery around your neck."

OoOoO

Tarun did not get off completely free, even after his private talk with Jerriod. Although it was largely done to pacify Warin, the snitch, and prevent any assumptions of favoritism, Tarun was still put on the night watch for the next month. Warin's churlish expression over dinner and refusal to so much as walk by the table where the men of Trosk sat said exactly what he thought of that 'light' punishment, but at least there were no more confrontations. Tarun's mood was so high that he didn't even mind when the other men headed off for the bunks for the night, and he parted ways with them to head for the armory.

Night watch essentially involved standing up on the barrack's palisade walls in full armor with a bow and quiver on his back and a spear in hand. It was a cool evening; the first chill of autumn was beginning to creep into the wind from the north. The stars were out in full force though, winking pinpricks of blue, orange and white. The Teeth loomed tall and impenetrable against the night sky, their blackness as flat as the stars were bright. Tarun still wasn't used to seeing them from the outside. Still, their presence was comfortable.

As the time-keeper – a length of wax-coated rope that burned a marked distance upward with every passing hour – reached midnight, Tarun paced along the wall behind the bunk. As he drew near, he could hear a muffled voice in the dark. It was hard to tell, but it sounded like Calder, awake and talking to himself again.

Tarun groaned internally. If Calder didn't quiet down, one of the other night guards were going to hear him. By rights, Tarun himself ought to be going in there now to make sure all was well. That would mean taking down a torch, alerting another watchman to accompany him, and making an all-around production of what had until now been a perfectly quiet night. Instead Tarun followed the wall to the corner, hoping that Garrit or another one of the mountain men had settled Calder by the time he returned.

It seemed they had; as Tarun passed back alongside the bunk, there was only silence and the chirping of crickets. Pleased, he completed his circuit and settled himself once again at the halfway point of the wall.

'Do the best, and one day you might find yourself walking through the doors of The Academy with a black officer's tunic on your back and a Medal of Mastery around your neck.'

Oh, but Tarun wanted that image to become a reality. He hadn't really ever had a clear plan for how he was going to secure a place at The Academy, but now he did. Perhaps everything was working out the way it was meant to. After all, as a random peasant with nothing to his name but persistence, Tarun didn't imagine it was likely that he would have ever been granted entry before joining the army. As a solider, and with a recommendation from Captain Jerriod behind him...Tarun could almost hear the scholarly murmurs echoing already.

With these pleasant thoughts to occupy him, staying awake through the long hours of the night watch was no hardship. Little did Tarun imagine though what kind of gruesome discovery the dawning would bring to light.

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