Two bck tongues of the Eastern Cliff cascaded their long way downwards. The phoenix banners of the Academy rippled in the high winds to the facade's left and right.

  The gymnasium our css is in resides on ground level. It is a simple rge open space. The design is simir to other gymnasiums, only this one is a bit rger than most.

  Bde Grandmaster Cariocecus sms the sword into the ground.

  I expected the Bde Grandmaster to make us run and ssh at each other with stonewood swords but he just told us to sit and listen to his lecture...for the better half of the morning.

  Grandmaster's visage beams down at us, his eyes alight with joy. ''What is the most important part of the sword?'' He stares at the students sitting on gymnasium's sandy expanse for a few moments. ''Well?''

  ''Bde,'' Jax says, and some of us repeat the word in a weak, poorly choreographed chorus.

  Jax is a tall boy, and almost as strong as Peter, but less stupid. I believe Jax is the leader of that former bread-throwing quartet in the Hall. Gabriel, Peter, Jax, and Cassius are inseparable. Something like blood brothers, I suppose.

  ''It is not the bde. Nor the guard or hilt.'' He points at each mentioned part. We simply look at the thing in confusion. Suddenly the grandmaster points at himself, smiling. Bde Grandmaster's left index finger runs across his right arm and ends up pointing at his head. ''The sword is a thing. A useless thing without a wielder. Let us say we leave it somewhere in the Wastes. Will an animal know how to use it to its own benefit? Will the stone ssh air with it? No. Therefore, the swordsman is the key element. Until the key element is properly forged, you will use sticks.'' He just smiles at us again. Grandmaster Cariocecus had a genuine-looking smile, the type that touches the eyes.

  Grandmaster Cariocecus is also, an adult. He tells our css what to do. He smiles too much. Naturally, I want to hate him. And yet, I can't. The future is still young, though.

  Even with sticks, we are clumsy. I'm good with spear and polearm, but swords are just not my thing. I can understand archery and honing the body being a required curriculum. Yet I will never understand the point of us learning how to use close-range weapons. No one is mad enough to strike a Wraith at such a short distance. Besides, most of us will adorn ourselves in gray or violet. Can't they just teach us more of the stuff we can actually use?

  We spend hours in a cold shallowish channel, about neck deep, sshing through the water with steel rods, roughly the length of an average sword. This cold channel connects to its much rger counterpart: the wide river-channel bordering Academy's main courtyard. Everyone calls it ''the Channel,'' or ''the Eastern Channel,'' but I prefer my designation better.

  ''A sword does not need to cut to know it is sharp. Sadly, my mbs, all of you are as sharp as those sticks,'' grandmaster says. If I ram this stick through your eyeball you'd be surprised at how sharp it can be. I'm tired and cold. If my mom was here she'd make me some nice camellia tea with a smidgen of miner's honey from high southern leas.

  I'm starting to sound like an old person.

  It must be past midday now as the Bde Grandmaster decres our misery is over.

  The drenched, blue, woolen tunic that clings to my body is an iron weight. I move to throw the steel rod at a nearby pile and search for some linen towels—all the while I exaggerate my breathing and even pretend to stumble a bit upon exiting the water.

  In mere moments after she left the cold water, Janna Erdene, pale, skinny, and usually a quiet girl, drops on the ground like a log. There is a bit of shouting as we begin to group near her.

  Grandmaster Cariocecus did give us a few breaks, but those were few and far between.

  Two caretakers assigned to watch over us are already amidst of wrapping Janna in two bnkets as Grandmaster Cariocecus approaches.

  ''Css dismissed! Scatter.'' His smile is gone now.

  Our group slowly disperses, save for Janna's two closest friends who linger, only leaving after the grandmaster almost pushes them away.

  With well-practiced ease, the two caretakers pce the unconscious girl on a simple stonewood lectica. Nearby, there is a cart attached to a lion-sized ram that will take her to the Healing Hall. Familiar's name is Nibbles the Ram. I need to find the person responsible for naming the Academy's many crystalborn and punch them in the gut.

  Hebe's palm is marred by blisters. I've never had any, but it can't be pleasant. The tender flesh had small pockets where the top yer of skin has almost peeled away.

  I untie one of the linen ribbons holding my hair back. My thick three-strand braid unravels a bit.

  ''Give me your hand,'' I tell Hebe.

  She waves her hand at me. ''The cloth will get dirty.''

  I almost roll my eyes. ''I have dozens. Give.'' I point at her palm. In no time, I wrap the strip of cloth securely around her left palm.

  ''Do you think she will be fine?'' Hebe looks in the direction Janna was carried away.

  I have no idea. ''Yes,'' I reassure her. ''Come. Let's go inside to dry up.''