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WARRIOR’S APPRENTICE
CHAPTER ONE
The tall and dour non-com wore Imperial dress greens and carried
his communications panel like a field marshall's baton. He slapped it absently against his thigh and raked the group of young men before
him with a gaze of dry contempt. Challenging.
All part of the game, Miles told himself. He stood in the crisp
autumn breeze and tried not to shiver in his shorts and running
shoes. Nothing to put you off balance like being nearly naked when all about you look ready for one of Emperor Gregor's reviews—although,
in all fairness, the majority here were dressed the same as himself.
The noncom proctoring the tests merely seemed like a one-man
crowd. Miles measured him, wondering what conscious or
unconscious tricks of body language he used to achieve that air of icy competence. Something to be learned there . . .
"You will run in pairs," the non-com instructed. He did not seem to raise his voice, but somehow it was pitched to carry to the ends of the lines. Another effective trick, Miles thought; it reminded him of that habit of his father's, of dropping his voice to a whisper when speaking in a rage. It locked attention.
"The timing of the five-kilometer run begins immediately upon
completion of the last phase of the obstacle course; remember it." The non-com began counting off pairs.
The eliminations for officers' candidacy in the Barrayaran
Imperial Military Service took a grueling week. Five days of written and oral examinations were behind Miles now. The hardest part was
over, everybody said. There was almost an air of relaxation among the young men around him. There was more talking and joking in the
group, exaggerated complaints about the difficulty of the exams, the withering wit of the examining officers, the poor food, interrupted
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sleep, surprise distractions during the testing. Self-congratulatory complaints, these, among the survivors. They looked forward to the
physical tests as a game. Recess, perhaps. The hardest part was over—
for everyone but Miles.
He stood to his full height, such as it was, and stretched, as if to pull his crooked spine out straight by force of will. He gave a little upward jerk of his chin, as if balancing his too-large head, a head meant for a man over six feet, on his just-under-five-foot frame, and narrowed his eyes at the obstacle course. It began with a concrete
wall, five meters high, topped with iron spikes. Climbing it would be no problem, there was nothing wrong with his muscles, it was the
coming down that worried him. The bones, always the damn bones . . .
"Kosigan, Kostolitz," the noncom called, passing in front of him.