The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)
The Will of the Many: Part 2 – Chapter 43

I’VE BEEN BADLY INJURED BEFORE. Fairly often at the Theatre in Letens, of course. After beatings and whippings at the orphanage. Even from the physical training I underwent as a prince, when my tutors were instructed never to hold back because of my youth or position.

I don’t remember ever waking up in quite such complete pain before, though.

I sleep late; everyone’s already at breakfast when I pry my eyes open. No one bothered to wake me, of course. I groan as I drag myself out of bed, every inch of me tender, every muscle feeling as though it’s been stretched to breaking.

Remarkably, though, after a preliminary check, all the damage seems limited to the superficial. Bruising, strained muscles, sore joints: things I know I’ll recover from in days, if not sooner. There’s nothing broken. Nothing that inclines me to report to the infirmary for treatment.

I dress stiffly, then ignore my fiercely growling stomach and take the time to stretch out every single muscle I can before leaving for the mess. That, and the walk over, loosens me enough that by the time I’m making my way down the stairs—long-sleeved tunic on, cloak over the top—I don’t think anyone would even be able to tell I’m sore.

There’s a moroseness to the hall today, I notice as soon as I enter. Murmured conversation, fewer smiles, any laughs kept to a low, restrained chuckle. Half the students in Class Four are absent. I catch a strange look from Aequa as I enter, though she makes no move to talk to me as I pass. There’s no line for food—one benefit to being late, I suppose—so I fetch my meal and then join an expectant-looking Callidus at the Class Seven table we usually frequent.

“Who died?” I ask lightly as I sit, cocking an eyebrow at the rest of the room.

“Feriun.” Callidus nods sagely as he watches my reaction. “That’s right. You’re a terrible person.”

I’m caught between dismay and a horrified chuckle at Callidus’s jest. “Gods’ graves. You’re serious? Taedia was waiting for him last night, but…” I shake my head dazedly. “How?”

“The announcement wasn’t exactly overflowing with details,” Callidus observes, his flash of humour fading to something more serious. “But from what I’ve overheard, suicide’s the popular conclusion.”

I blanch. Caeror’s supposed suicide still haunts his family more than six years on. The awfulness of even the suggestion is hard to shake. “Why?”

“He thought he’d be in Three by this stage, apparently. As did his family. The Necropolis must have been the final pressure.” Callidus grimaces. “Expectations can be a terrible thing.”

I never really interacted with Feriun, but I feel a kind of melancholy at the idea that anyone my age might sink that far. There’s a brief, aching sadness that a face I can picture is gone from the world forever.

Callidus watches me sympathetically. “Not the way I would want to move up, either.”

I hesitate, spoon halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Well. Dultatis is going to have a hard time holding you in Class Six now.” Callidus gestures to a girl with long black hair and sun-browned complexion a couple of levels above us. “Ava is ranked first in Five, so she’ll be moving up. Which—and follow the complex logic closely, here—leaves a spot open for the top student in Six.” He gives me a cheery, albeit somewhat forced, smile to indicate who he thinks that is.

“Dultatis will just choose someone else.” The Praeceptor’s rankings within the class are rarely confirmed, but there’s no way he’ll have me at the top.

“He can’t. Everyone knows you should be higher. Taedia might not have been willing to risk the fallout of moving someone down to force the issue, but you can bet she won’t accept anyone else coming up.”

I say nothing to that, taking a mouthful of bread and chewing. Callidus is right. As awful as it is, this will mean I move on to Class Five. Realistically, it might have been the only way it could have happened.

Relucia would have known that, too.

“Don’t feel bad about it,” observes Callidus, my queasiness clearly showing. “You’re not to blame.”

I try not to bitterly laugh. It could still be a coincidence.

We lapse into silence, and then Callidus stretches. “How was the Necropolis, anyway? Strange, I assume, meeting most of your family for the first time?”

We make small talk about the past couple of days for the rest of the meal. Callidus delights in hearing about Milena’s dislike of me, in particular, insisting on every awkward conversational detail. Thankfully the night’s sleep and my careful clothing choices this morning have done enough to conceal my injuries, because he doesn’t mention anything.

My meal is still mostly uneaten when the chime sounds, but I stand immediately, unwilling to risk being late to class this morning. I wouldn’t put it past Dultatis to use tardiness as an excuse to try and pass me over for promotion. And while I desperately hope Relucia had nothing to do with Feriun’s fate—the very thought makes me nauseous—it’s not as if refusing advancement would change anything.

Callidus stands too. “Enjoy Class Five,” he says, slapping me on the shoulder. He moves to leave, then his cheer fades a little. He looks awkward. “And, thanks.”

“For what?”

He coughs. Flushes, keeps his voice low. “I’ve never been there, but… I can see what Feriun might have been thinking. Trapped. No way out. A disappointment.” He shuffles. “But he didn’t have any friends, really, either. It’s just… it’s the sort of thing that makes a difference.” He screws up his face and shakes his head in embarrassment, then hurries off.

I stare after him, then smile and join the trail of students heading for Class Six.

EIDHIN SLIDES INTO THE SEAT next to me.

There’s a lot of chatter today before class, low and restrained but with a thread of anticipation. Excitement at the prospect of a promotion, tamed by the manner in which it came about. I don’t think anyone here really knew Feriun, though. The muted interest seems to be for good form rather than from any genuine sadness. There are a lot of sidelong glances being cast in my direction this morning, even more than usual.

“A good day for you,” Eidhin says gruffly in Cymrian, gaze focused ahead.

I eye him. “Not so much for Feriun.”

“Not so much for Feriun,” he agrees. There’s silence, and then, “Will your injuries mean you are unable to start tutoring me tonight?” There’s a strange inflection to the question. I realise after a moment that he’s really asking whether I’m going to bother fulfilling my end of the bargain, given I’m slated to move up a class.

“What injuries?”

Approval touches his face. “Tonight, then.”

Dultatis soon arrives and launches immediately into a dry lecture on the mathematics behind basic harmonic imbuing, much to everyone’s surprise. Despite trying to temper my expectations, I replace myself with a sinking feeling. No mention of Feriun, no indication that anyone is about to be promoted. That’s… worrying.

The day passes in an uncertain haze. It’s hard to concentrate, and I can tell from the confused glances and muttered conversation within Class Six that I’m not the only one. When I eat lunch with Callidus, he hasn’t heard anything. Even Eidhin, stoic as always, admits to puzzlement.

The sun’s dipping low, class only minutes from over for the day, when the door opens. Taedia walks in, her abrupt, tense entrance drawing every eye.

“Praeceptor Dultatis.” She waves a piece of paper at him. “We need to talk.”

Dultatis frowns. “It’s my decision, Taedia,” he says mildly.

Taedia strides over and they engage in whispered, furious conversation; though everyone’s supposed to be attending their own work, I can see most stylii have stopped moving as everyone listens intently for a hint of what’s going on. Taedia’s getting more and more annoyed, Dultatis getting more and more defensive, until suddenly the Class Five teacher straightens and turns. “Vis Telimus. Can you please come up here.”

She sounds angry. I’m fairly certain it’s not at me.

Everyone does stop what they’re doing now, watching with open curiosity as I walk to the front of the room. “How can I help, Praeceptor?”

“Would you like to advance to Class Five?”

“Very much so.”

Dultatis’s face is red. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not his decision, and it’s not yours. My assessment is the only one that matters.”

Taedia’s cheek twitches. She looks like she’s having to deal with a small child. “Class Five is much harder than the nonsense you get to teach, Dultatis. Show me one student here who can perform one task better than Vis, and I’ll take them instead.” There’s no doubting her exasperation, though her voice remains low enough to keep it from the rest of the class.

For a hopeful moment I think Dultatis is going to concede. Then his scowl deepens. “Alright. Ianix Carenius. His blade work is exceptional.”

“Swords?” Taedia scoffs. “We’re looking for future senators, not gladiators. Anyone in my class who ends up wielding a weapon will be forging a Razor first.”

“It’s still a measurement of aptitude. Of strength and skill. Of the ability to think on your feet.”

Taedia looks about to argue, then throws up her hands and turns to me. “Is he better than you?”

“I doubt it,” I say coolly, not taking my eyes from Dultatis. Ianix has never liked me—as far as I can tell, simply because he’s jealous of his position as Dultatis’s favourite in Class Six. I don’t like him much, either. He reminds me a bit of Vermes from the orphanage in Letens.

I’ve never seen him fight with a blade before, but nor has Dultatis seen me. That makes me confident. Sword work was something I trained at every day—literally every day—for more than five years at Suus, and I was given the very best tutors. Men and women who actually fought for their lives with the weapon. Swordplay in the Hierarchy, by comparison, is more of a novelty. Considered a throwback to a less civilised time.

“He’s certainly not at anything else. Seems like a terrible choice,” I add.

Taedia covers her amusement, while Dultatis’s red turns a shade of purple. Emissa mentioned that Taedia likes students with backbone, who aren’t afraid to stand up to the Praeceptors when they feel it’s right to do so.

Besides—I’m enjoying this. I glance across at Eidhin, who’s seen Dultatis’s reaction and is making no attempt to hide his delight. I repress a smirk.

“Then it’s settled. A training duel between Ianix and Vis. The Academy will provide the equipment. The winner advances to Class Five.” Taedia’s attention flicks to me. “We’ll hold it tomorrow, just before evening meal. That will give you both enough time to prepare, I hope?” There’s a murmur from behind me; the Praeceptor has raised her voice so that the entire class is able to hear. Ianix included.

“It will.” I respond confidently at the same volume; Ianix signals his agreement too.

“Excellent.” She smiles at me, throws another half-disdainful, half-despairing look at Dultatis, then walks off before the man has a chance to say anything more.

To my surprise, Dultatis, though plainly frustrated at having been so publicly cornered, also seems happy with the outcome as he motions me back to my seat. “You’re in this class until at least tomorrow,” he sniffs. “And I imagine well beyond that. So you should get back to work.”

I retake my seat, noting the wondering glances from those around me. Ianix, sitting a few seats over in the corner, is deep in conversation with one of his friends. He looks pleased about the situation too.

“Bold choice,” murmurs Eidhin once Dultatis resumes his interminable explanation up front.

“Duelling Ianix?”

“Duelling the Catalan Games’ most recent duelling champion. It’s what got him promoted from Seven last trimester. He would not stop talking about it.”

“Oh.” Even with my body aching as it is, I didn’t expect Ianix would be a threat. “I… assume that means he’s quite good.”

“He is better than everyone our age in the Republic.”

“Better than everyone who entered the competition. Let’s not build him up too much.”

“Everyone who has an interest in duelling was in that competition.”

“Well. There’s nothing I can do about it now.” I give him a cheerful, reassuring pat. “I’m touched by your concern, though.”

“I am concerned that our Praeceptor may walk away without being embarrassed.” He glares at me. “Do not dare to take that opportunity away from me.”

I hold up my hands. “I’ll do my best.”

Dultatis chooses that instant to glance up from the text he’s reading aloud to us, spotting our conversation. Looking for it, too; there are a half dozen others whispering idly at this point of the day, but he delights in singling me out.

“Vis! Not paying attention again, I see. For the third time today,” he says, an ugly smile on his rotund face. “A simple scolding is not enough to cure you of this bad habit, it seems. I hear you are no longer on stable duty?”

“That’s correct, Praeceptor.” I say it with every scrap of politeness I can muster, but I already know where this is going. Beside me, Eidhin stiffens.

“Perhaps one more evening of it will remind you of your manners.” As if to underline his words, the chime to end class sounds.

We stare at each other. My jaw clenches. He knows tonight will be my only opportunity to practice. He’s not even trying to hide it.

“Thank you, Praeceptor,” I manage to squeeze out, breathing until the haze of red passes. He’s goading me. If I explode here, make a show of disrespect in front of the entire class, he’ll have enough justification to call off tomorrow and promote Ianix against any objections. I’ve endured more than two months. I can restrain myself for one more day.

I stand with as much icy dignity as I can muster, unwilling to let myself say anything else. My motion breaks the tension in the air, everyone following my example. I join the line walking to the door, refusing to look at Dultatis, and head straight for the stables.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DONE with this.”

I look up, smiling to see Emissa standing at the entrance to the stall, arms crossed as she regards me with good-natured exasperation. “So did I.” I shovel another pile of manure into the barrow. The familiar physical work, while never exactly pleasant, has calmed me. It even seems to have helped loosen some of my aching muscles. Despite Dultatis’s best efforts, as far as punishments go, this could have been a lot worse. “My esteemed Praeceptor had other ideas.”

“The night before you’re meant to duel Ianix Carenius. Convenient.”

I pause, leaning on my pitchfork. “You heard about that?”

“Oh yes. Everyone’s talking about it.”

I make a face. “Of course they are.”

“You do know he won the Catalan Games a few months ago?”

“So I’ve been told. After I accepted the challenge,” I admit, a little ruefully. I resume my work. “It’s fine. It’s been a while since the Victorum, but I’ll replace a couple of swords early tomorrow morning, see if I can convince Callidus to help me shake off the rust.” I see her expression. “No?”

“You’ll need training armour, too.”

“Why?”

“Because… that’s what you’ll be using tomorrow,” Emissa says slowly. “You used training armour at the Letens Victorum, didn’t you? You’ve worn it before?”

“Uh. I’ve seen armour being worn.” I have worn armour, back during my training, but the past I’ve told everyone doesn’t fit with that fact.

“I don’t mean armour. I mean Will-imbued training armour. An Amotus. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I do,” I say uneasily.

Emissa studies me, then chews her lip and looks up at the stable roof. “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

“I’m just trying to remember the last time I so vastly overestimated someone’s intelligence.”

I laugh despite myself. “Fine. I may have been hasty. What makes this training armour so special?”

“Easier to show you. There are sets in Class Three’s storage in the gymnasium—you finish up here, and I’ll go and replace them. Meet me there. I’m not very good, but I’ll be better than nothing. We can practice for a while once you’re done.”

I smile. She says it all matter-of-factly, but the fact she’s willing to help speaks volumes. “Thanks,” I say sincerely.

Then I hesitate. Remember Eidhin. I can almost hear my father’s voice. A man is nothing if he does not honour his debts.

“I… may have another obligation tonight, though.” The words slip reluctantly from my mouth, but I made the commitment. Eidhin has been nothing but patient. I’m not going to abuse that.

“More important than this?” Emissa’s disbelieving.

“No. But I swore I would do it. I have to square it away before practicing.”

“I’ll wait for an hour. After that…”

“Understood.”

Emissa assesses me, looking a little put out, then steps forward and jabs me in the chest. “You make sure you’re there.” She glares at me warningly and stalks off without another word, still shaking her head. I can’t help but chuckle as I watch her go. She’s been hearing from me about Dultatis’s nonsense for weeks. Has been taking a lot of it personally, too. I suspect she may want me to win tomorrow even more than I do.

I finish up my tasks in the stables, amusement fading as I consider what Emissa said. Once I’m done, I head straight for the dormitory, relieved to replace Eidhin at his desk as usual. None of our other roommates have retired yet.

The burly boy looks up as I enter, brow furrowing. “Why are you here?”

“I promised I would tutor—”

“Idiot. No. You need to practice.” He stands, bustles me out the door before I know what’s happening. “We are going to the gymnasium.”

“Actually, I have someone already waiting for me there. She’s getting some training armour?” I end it as a question, trying to indicate I still have no idea what that actually entails.

Eidhin smirks at me. Apparently focusing more on my mysterious female friend than my ignorance. “Even better. It has been a while since I have used an Amotus.”

So he knows what it is, too. Of course he does.

Without anything further, he shoves me into motion, and we head for the gymnasium.