Garrick Maven's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Garrick reached the capital gate at dusk and passed under it without a single guard turning his head. The braided cord on his wrist stayed warm against his skin. He kept his hand loose on the reins and rode straight to the training grounds, where the new recruits were being counted in by torchlight. The yard smelled of horse sweat and cold stone. Weathered platforms ringed a packed dirt circle. Wooden rings hung from chains for mounted drills. Recruits stood in a line along the low wall, saddlebags at their boots, waiting their turn at a table where a man in a gray corps coat checked each face. Garrick took his place near the end and set down the bundle of red vine-lilies he had brought as the customary offering. The recruit ahead of him, a farm boy with cracked hands, kept glancing at the flowers. "Rich gift," the boy muttered. "He won't smile at it. He never does." "Who?" "The inspector. Fought thirty years in the corps. They pulled him out of retirement to screen us. He's the one who wrote the fae clause into the oath." Garrick looked at the table. The inspector was thin and square-shouldered, with a scar that split one eyebrow. He held each recruit's chin and turned the face slowly toward the torch. He looked at the ears. He looked at the eyes. He took his time. The boy in front went up. The inspector grunted and waved him past. Garrick stepped forward. He set the flowers on the table. The inspector did not touch them. He took Garrick's chin between a thumb and finger and turned his face into the torchlight. Garrick kept his breath even. He thought about the warmth of the cord, then made himself stop thinking about it at all. "Older than most," the inspector said. "Yes, sir." "Country hands." "Yes, sir." The inspector tilted Garrick's head the other way. He stared at the ear a long moment. Then he let go. "Ride tomorrow at first bell," he said. "If you can't seat a corps drake by noon, you go home." He pushed the flowers back across the table without looking at them. "Keep those. I don't take gifts from men who haven't earned the coat." Garrick took the bundle and moved past the table into the recruit barracks line. His knees felt loose. He had passed. Inside the barracks he found a cot near the wall and sat. He turned his wrist under the blanket and looked at the cord. The weave had darkened along one edge, the color of wet bark. A single strand near the knot had frayed thin. He pressed the fray flat with his thumb. It sprang back up. First bell was at dawn. He had to seat a corps drake in front of the inspector, in daylight, with a bracelet that was already coming apart.