As they exited the forest, Bowie and Jack caught their first glimpse of Strongthorne Academy several miles off in the distance. The fortified castle was large enough to be a city unto itself. From their vantage point, they could make out the stone curtain walls connected by four watchtowers with crenellated tops serving as observation posts. The castle was not as beautiful in design as the structures in Fronisi but impressive in its own right.

The castle was surrounded by three concentric circles of land, each comprised of a high stone wall. Each ring of land in turn was divided by a moat. There was a single passageway down the center but multiple draw bridges between the rings provided alternative avenues of ingress and egress.

To the east of the castle stood the town of Concordia filled with shops, inns and the dwellings of about two thousand citizens. South from the town and academy were acres of farmland. Between the farms and the forest was approximately a mile of uncultivated land.

The road to the academy was deceiving long. It took about an hour and a half to reach the entrance on foot. Jack and Bowie walked up to the entryway at the first ring circumventing the academy with student centuries posted on either side. Though only a few years older than Jack and Bowie, the armed guards looked very adult in their plate armor. Behind them stood an older student wearing leather armor and a handsome dark green cloak. Jack and Bowie felt very grubby in contrast. The older student came forth and bowed slightly upon their approach. “Good day to you both,” he said. He held a scroll in his hands. “Are you new cadets to the academy?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Bowie.

Once the student confirmed Jack and Bowie were new students, his demeanor quickly changed to curt condescension. He was an upperclassman after all and they were just plebes, freshmen, scum, a.k.a. “dung huggers.” Respect would have to be earned from now on. “Names?”

“Jack and Bowie,” answered Jack nervously.

“Your name is Jacknbowie?”

“No,” corrected Jack. “I’m Jack. And he’s Bowie.”

“Strange names. Can he talk for himself or is he a moron?” asked the upperclassman.

Bowie stepped aggressively toward the upperclassman. “Oh, I can talk but I’d rather show you—”

Jack held his hand in front of Bowie to stop him. The upperclassman put his hand on the pommel of his sword. The other two guards drew their swords ready to strike. From the walls, Jack caught a glimpse of two archers with their bowstrings pulled back ready to loose arrows into Bowie’s chest. Without thinking about it, Jack stepped in front of his friend to shield him. The upperclassman looked at Bowie as if he were crazy. Bowie stared back. The standoff seemed to last a lifetime.

Bowie wanted to establish that he was no pushover and not someone to be taken lightly. He also knew he was a second away from getting killed. Bowie smiled which got the upperclassman smiling, then laughing. Bowie laughed back. Jack laughed out of sheer terror. The guards laughed and lowered their swords. The archers lowered their bows.

The upperclassman stuck out his arm to Bowie and they embraced hands to elbows. “I’m Galler Straith, fourth year. Welcome to Strongthorne Academy!” He and Bowie released their grip then Galler did the same with Jack who was feeling a bit weak in the knees but managed to remain upright. “Continue on to the gatehouse. You’ll be directed further from there.”

“Thank you, Galler.” said Bowie. “Come on, Jack.”

     As they continued on, Jack said under his breath, “Try not to get us killed at the next checkpoint.”

“No promises,” replied Bowie.

When Jack and Bowie were out of earshot, Galler turned to the guards next to him shaking his head. “Freshmen!” he commented, then got serious. “But keep an eye on that one,” he said in reference to Bowie. “He shows no fear of death.”

“What about the other one?” asked one of the guards.

“He doesn’t look like much,” said Galler.

“True,” answered the guard, “but he stepped in front of his friend without hesitation.”

“He looked scared,” said Galler.

“As well he should,” acknowledged the guard, “but he still did it.”

In front of the gatehouse was a long registrar’s table attended by several students in leather armor with green cloaks as well as a full complement of student guards also in leather armor sans cloaks. Similar to the first wall at the outer ring, archers stood at the ready on either side of the curtain walls.

Inside, upperclassmen engaged in archery and weapons sparring. Other classmates cheered their friends on. In the distance, a blacksmith’s hammer was heard pounding the finishing touches on a bassinet.

Jack and Bowie approached one of the students at the table expecting another round of insults like the ones doled out by Galler. “Good day, gents,” said the jovial student in greeting. “Names please?” Jack and Bowie looked at each other somewhat surprised.

“I’m Jack.”

“And I’m Bowie.” They each said their own names to avoid another “Jacknbowie” fiasco.

The student looked at his list and checked off both their names. “Ah, there you are! Welcome Jack and welcome Bowie to Strongthorne Academy! I’m Crenn Reggs, fourth year and new student ambassador,” he said with a bit of relish.

“I must say you’re a right bit nicer than the guard at the gate back there,” said Bowie as he pointed to the first checkpoint.

“You mean Galler? He’s a bit rough around the edges but once you get to know him, you’ll probably like him less,” said Crenn. “I’ll take you on a brief tour of the castle and then to the freshmen barracks, your new home for the next year, if you live that long,” he said with an implacable smile though he wasn’t joking in the slightest.

The tour started at the inner courtyard which contained the weapons training area dubbed “The Bone Yard” due to countless students breaking bones during training. Midway through the tour was the stadium at the north end within the castle walls which could house ten times the garrison for tournaments and other outdoor gatherings. After that, they toured the Great Hall where the entire student body, faculty and support staff dined. Tables could also be moved for indoor entertainment and gatherings.

The castle itself was built on top of bedrock. The architects had designed a “basement” layer carved out of the rocky foundation for storage that could hold enough food to sustain a siege for a full year, though no enemy had ever dared try. It also contained the dungeon filled with iron-barred cells, suspended cages, racks, shackles and devices intended to extract information from reluctant participants and/or just inflict good old-fashioned agonizing pain.

“Does the castle house prisoners?” asked Bowie.

“The town has its own dungeon,” answered Crenn.

“Then what’s this dungeon used for?” asked Jack.

“Let’s just say you don’t want to get detention,” answered Crenn dryly.

They returned to the ground level and Crenn finished the tour by pointing out the various barracks. “Over there is where the seniors live. Next to them are the juniors, though they’re off on active duty the first half of the year. Across the way is the sophomore barracks and next to the stables is where the freshmen reside.”

“Next to the stables?” said Jack somewhat disgusted.

“Lovely,” said Bowie. The image of four-post beds with warm and comfy sheets, down pillows and a roaring fireplace quickly dissolved. 

“Well, not exactly,” said Crenn. Jack and Bowie looked relieved.

Crenn continued with a smirk that was anything but subtle. “The freshmen barracks is directly connected to the stables.”

He wasn’t kidding—the horses whinnied as the boys entered the barracks. The stables were on one side with nothing separating them from the freshmen’s living quarters. And the smell was, well, “horsey” to say the least. Bowie wrinkled his nose a bit. Jack nearly passed out from the stench.

There were a hundred cots laid out in the room, two rows of fifty on either side. Each cot was nothing more than a wood frame with a flat board on top that stood a little over a foot above ground. The mattresses, if they could be called such, were course burlap sacks filled with two to three inches of straw. A folded woolen blanket was laid at the foot of each cot. Next to each cot stood a tall open box with a bar toward the top and a dozen crudely constructed hangers—those were the “closets.” Next to the closets were wooden chests for other personal belongings.

In the middle of the room stood wrought iron fire pits to provide some warmth during cold weather. Jack looked warily at Crenn. “What if an ember catches a mattress on fire?”

“It happens from time to time. That’s why we keep those buckets of water around.” Crenn pointed to the buckets spread every twenty feet or so around the periphery of the room.

“The good news is since you’re the first to arrive, you get first pick of the beds. Jack and Bowie immediately headed toward the far end of the barracks, as far away from the horse smell as they could get.

A wise choice,” acknowledged Crenn.

Crenn left them to settle in and told them their consilium would check in with them later in the day and take them through “orientation.” Neither Jack nor Bowie knew what a consilium was but Jack figured it had something to do with a counselor or advisor. They had no clue though as to what orientation would be like.

Their new classmates arrived piecemeal throughout the day and all had the same disappointed expression when they saw the rural décor of the freshmen barracks and an even sourer expression when they smelled it. Bowie made a point of introducing himself to each new classmate as he walked in. Jack was still shy around new people but Bowie’s friendliness was infectious and soon the two became the unofficial welcoming committee of the freshmen class.

As boys that age often do, they bonded instantly. Because they were not allowed to talk about their backgrounds, they asked each other questions about the school itself, if anyone knew what the training would be like, and most importantly, what time meals were served. In total, there were a hundred new students/knights-in-training as it were in the freshmen class, one for each dilapidated cot.

Among their new classmates was Gaul Delain, a snobby though good-natured boy with dark skin, well-manicured braids and an athletic build. Then there was Scurra Tarn, pale as a ghost with spiky reddish blond hair who was likely to become the class clown. There were also two brothers a year apart in age but starting the academy at the same time, Yor and Narro Skere. Each brother praised the other for his hunting prowess and each had a fair share of scars from their hunting expeditions to prove it.

One of the last freshmen to arrive was a small, mousy boy who made Jack look like a linebacker in comparison. The boys stared at the newcomer as he walked in and several whispered their doubt of him making it past the first week, let alone the first day. Always one to support the underdog, Bowie greeted him warmly. “Hello, I’m Bowie. Nice to make your acquaintance.” He stuck out his arm to shake hands as warriors but the newbie didn’t know what to do, clearly not up to speed on warrior etiquette. Bowie continued, “We’ve got a bed right here for you.” Bowie took the boy’s pack and led him to one of the two remaining open cots which was closest to the stables. “The smell is a bit ripe, but you’ll get used to it!”

“Not likely!” said Scurra.

Bowie set down his pack on the cot. The boy looked around as if the slightest sound would send him into a panic. “I didn’t get your name,” said Bowie.

The boy started to speak but was barely audible. “Grrrr—”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” said Bowie compassionately.

“My name is Grob, Grob Mealy.”

Bowie winced a bit. As kind as he was, he couldn’t mask his real feelings. “Grob Mealy? That’s a terrible name!”

“I know,” said Grob.

Bowie patted him on the shoulder. “Come join us once you get settled in.”

***

After some more socializing, Jack and Bowie walked out of the barracks together to get some much-needed fresh air. A short distance away, four Centaurs on horseback caught their attention. 

Two were adult men, regal in appearance. The other was a teenage boy, slightly older than Jack and Bowie with a brooding look more common among men five times his age. He was lean yet quite muscular.

The last in the party was a girl their own age with long black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and light blue eyes. Her expression was fierce but tinted with nervousness. Bowie didn’t know it yet but he had just experienced love at first sight. “She’s a fine looking tart!” he exclaimed just loud enough for Jack to hear. He starred at her. She felt his energy and turned toward him, catching his eyes with her own. She didn’t know it yet but she had also just experienced love at first sight. They stared at each other for a while. The younger male Centaur harrumphed a bit.

“I might leave out ‘tart’ when you meet her,” mentioned Jack.

“What?” asked Bowie, still lost in the girl’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, right. Good call.”

Shaking himself out of it, brazen Bowie headed right up to the group of four. The two adult Centaurs looked like they could be brothers. The younger male Centaur put his hand on his sword pommel as Bowie approached. The eldest Centaur scolded him. “Jemm, that’s uncalled for.” The adolescent Centaur reluctantly removed his hand.

Bowie extended his arm to the eldest Centaur first. “I’m Bowie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bowie’s boldness delighted the elder Centaur. They shook hands to elbows.

 “I’m Gi’tal,” answered the Centaur. “This is my brother, Arma.” Arma and Bowie greeted each other. “This is my son, Jemm.” Bowie extended his arm but quickly withdrew it when he saw the hateful look in Jemm’s eyes. “And this is my daughter, Shaunteera.” Bowie bowed and she returned the gesture without them taking their eyes off each other. There was a palpable chemistry between them and Jemm didn’t like it at all. Gi’tal and Arma exchanged a quick smile, having been teenager’s themselves once.

The fact that Bowie sounded like a Laidirian and greeted them warmly was a great joy to the older Centaurs who truly wanted peace with their southern neighbors. They had no idea Bowie was actually from a place much farther away. Jemm was not so delighted. He cringed every time Bowie spoke.

Jack suddenly remembered their conversation with Master Lumens—this group was Centaur royalty and Shaunteera was a princess. Even though she would not talk about her background as was dictated by the school’s guidelines, her equestrian skills would surly give her away if the Centaur entourage she arrived with hadn’t already.

Jack bowed low. “Your highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you and your family.”

“What is your name, young man?” asked Gi’tal.

“It’s Jack, your highness.”

“Jack, I appreciate the respect, but while here at the academy, I would prefer it if you called me by my given name.”

“Of course, your—of course, Gi’tal,” corrected Jack.

He bowed to Arma, Jemm and Shaunteera. Jemm wasn’t exactly friendly but didn’t feel as threatened by Jack as his did Bowie.

“We have a long journey ahead of us and Shaunteera should get settled in,” said Gi’tal.

”Are you starting as a student here?” Jack asked Shaunteera out of politeness though he already knew the answer.

  “Yes! Do you have a problem with that?” challenged Shaunteera. Jack was taken back but Bowie just laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Shaunteera asked Bowie.

 “I think she means ‘yes,’” Bowie said to Jack.

“You’ll have to forgive my daughter,” remarked Gi’tal. “She’s the first girl—” Shaunteera cleared her throat.

“Gi’tal corrected himself, “Excuse me, ‘woman’ to enter Strongthorne Academy. Don’t misjudge her, my new friends. She may be beautiful, but she is also deadly.”

“Father!” Shaunteera blushed. Gi’tal and Arma laughed sweetly, albeit at her expense.

Gi’tal leaned down to Bowie and Jack. “I would consider it a personal favor if you both kept an eye on her for me.”

“That won’t be necessary, Father. I can take care of myself!” said Shaunteera scornfully.

“It’s the ones who underestimate you who will need care,” affirmed Arma. “And it never hurts to have friends.”

“I give you my word,” Bowie stated earnestly. Jemm leaned toward Bowie and not so quietly said, “If you harm my sister in any way, I will personally slit your throat.”

Bowie was unintimidated by his new found foe. “Bring friends.”

Gi’tal and Arma had another good laugh. “I like this one,” said Arma. “Jemm, there’s no reason why you and him can’t get along.”

Jemm starred down at Bowie. “I have the only two friends I’ll ever need,” he said as he patted his horse and put his hand on the hilt of his sword and began drawing it.

Arma walked his horse between them. “Nephew, enough! He’s a plebeian!” Wait until he’s trained for a while before you formally challenge him.”

“You’re right, Uncle. It would be dishonorable to challenge one who is so … weak!”

“Bowie, weak?” interjected Jack. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Bowie didn’t find the whole thing amusing and looked at Jemm cold and hard. “Why don’t you and I go somewhere and I’ll show you just how ‘weak’ I am.”

“Arma turned to Bowie this time, “Save energy for your training, my young friend. You two will have plenty of time to get to know each other in the future.”

“Can’t wait,” said Bowie.

“Nor can I,” said Jemm.

It was likely the last time Bowie and Jemm would ever agree on anything.