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sworn.
    The swearing-line drew up solemnly before the platform where Belaal stood, First Lieutenant Ellis at his right and Ladomer at his left. Lord Penrith loomed behind them, his presence lending further authority. Eamon gazed at them for a second before he found his voice, in unison with the voices of the other cadets.
    â€œHis glory!” they cried. The words rang victoriously in the air.
    â€œToday, these men formally make known their allegiance to the Master.” Belaal surveyed the line with a smile. “May their service be to his pleasure and his glory.”
    The captain turned to Ladomer, who graciously uncovered what he carried: a long golden staff with a broad pommel at its head. It was Edesfield’s swearing staff, and had been given from the Master’s own hand years before. Every cadet would lay his right hand on it to make his oath. At the sight of it Eamon’s heart leapt in excitement.
    Belaal took the staff and looked back to the line of cadets.
    â€œOffley Barns of Edesfield.”
    Eamon watched as the first cadet in the line went steadily up onto the platform and knelt down before Belaal.
    â€œWhat do you seek?” Belaal asked.
    â€œService with the Gauntlet, captain.” Barns’s voice was less steady than his walk had been; Eamon could see his jaw quivering.
    â€œWhat is your pledge?”
    â€œI, Offley Barns, do hereby pledge my allegiance to the Master. My blood, my blade, and my body are all given in his service.”
    â€œAnd do you swear this most solemnly to the Master, such an oath as may not be broken?”
    â€œI do swear it.”
    â€œThen receive the mark of your allegiance.” Belaal held forth the staff, tilting the glinting pommel towards the cadet. Barns reached his right hand to it. He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up with wide, ecstatic eyes. The first lieutenant stepped forward to pin a single flame on his red jacket.
    Belaal spoke in a loud voice. “Rise, Ensign Offley Barns. You belong to the Master.”
    Barns stood and left the platform. Belaal called the next cadet: “Geraint Ilwaine of Edesfield.”
    Eamon risked a glance along the line; there were at least two dozen men in it before him. It frustrated and terrified him.
    With ever-increasing nervousness he watched as man after man went forward and did what Barns had done, what he himself would do… He wondered if, somewhere in the crowd, Aeryn was watching him. He remembered the strange look on her face. What was it that had worried her so much?
    â€œEamon Goodman of Edesfield.”
    For a second he couldn’t move. His name, his name! He had been called by name. Belaal’s eyes were fixed upon him.
    He went forward giddily. The steps leading up to the bannered platform seemed steeper than mountains. Pressing his lips together, he drew a deep breath. Then, like so many men before him, he knelt down before Belaal.
    â€œWhat do you seek?” Belaal’s words seemed both grossly loud and horribly intimate in his ear; the sensation disquieted him.
    â€œService with the Gauntlet, captain.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ladomer smiling. He tried to latch on to his face for encouragement, but it slipped away from him.
    â€œAnd what is your pledge?”
    â€œI-I, Eamon Goodman, d-do hereby pledge my allegiance to the M-Master.” A series of paralysing chills ran down his spine. He pressed his quaking lips together.
    Had he not long dreamt of this? But something seemed wrong. “My blood, my blade, and my body are all given in his service.”
    â€œAnd do you swear this most solemnly to the Master, such an oath as may not be broken?” Belaal continued.
    Looking up, Eamon frowned. The words that he had so long sought to say – that he had fought and bled to say – stuck in his throat. What was the matter with him?
    He took a deep, shuddering breath to force down his strange misgivings. Surely it was