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vomit was everywhere. Someone always threw up, first time out.
    At least, Vedas reasoned, he had not been forced to knock the weak-stomached girl, Julit Umeda, unconscious. She had covered her mouth and leaned back, causing the sick to run down her red shirtfront. The only sound had been a few drops of fluid hitting the floor. Vedas reminded himself to reward her afterwards. New recruits did not typically think that quickly, especially after standing for so long.
    He watched the square. The abbey master, Abse, had assured him the meeting would occur within an hour of dawn. Vedas closed his eyes for a moment and projected well-being to his superior, to his brothers and sisters. He imagined them walking straight-backed and proud, staff ends clicking on the paving stones, muscles shifting under smooth black fabric of their elder-cloth suits.
    It will be a good day , he told himself.
    He turned from the doorway and regarded the recruits. Those who could shuffled back against their neighbors. Vedas had memorized their faces and names the night before, noting which he thought would hold up well. He was heartened to see he had been wrong about a few of them, and right about those he had appraised highly. As usual, the youngest proved the most resilient, though not always the most patient.
    In the dim light of the stockroom, their faces were washed out and grim, smudged with dirt, painted to look like fierce animals or demons. Not a real whisker among them. Surely, they had spent time in front of mirrors, pumping themselves up. A few had purchased—or more likely stolen—black woolen shirts and trousers for the occasion. One boy even wore a homemade mask to complete the look.
    A brief vision of Vedas’s own first battle as a recruit flashed before him. He had been a little more experienced, though not much.
    He reached into the fold of his hood for the sound-isolation spell, held up the vial so that the recruits knew what to expect, and broke the seal. One boy cursed softly as the pressure in the room suddenly changed. They pinched their noses and popped their eardrums.
    When Vedas spoke, his voice sounded as if it came from a great distance away.
    “The moment is almost upon us. You’ve done a good job of waiting.” A brief flash of white as he smiled. His skin was only a shade lighter than the suit he wore. “I’m proud of you. It seems I’ve chosen well.
    “Remember the signal.” He held up two fingers, one finger, and then his fist alone. “At that instant I will open the door and we will charge. Follow me closely. I will lead you to the enemy’s back. Locate unsuited enemies. Double up on them if you can and don’t play by the rules. Aim for the genitals and the eyes. In close quarters, remember to use your elbows and the weight of your feet. Most importantly, remember to keep focused on your target. Don’t get distracted by anything else. Make me proud.”
    Vedas dropped the spell just before it abated. The pressure lifted. He met the eye of each recruit before stretching the hood over his shaved head. The children regarded the tall, wide-shouldered shadow before them, gazes lingering on the two small horns on his temples. Slowly, he caused the hood to crawl over his face until only his eyes were visible.
    He saw momentary fear in the recruits’ stares. They shuffled against one another. Most likely, few of them had seen a fully shrouded Black Suit up close, and only half-believed the claims that a man could wear cloth made from the skin of an elder and let it become a part of him, an extension of his will.
    Now you know , Vedas thought. He nodded and turned back to the door. He disliked the drama the moment had required, but had grown accustomed to it. Perhaps it was even necessary, as Abse claimed, a brief spell of near-religious awe to steel the mind for what was to come. You become a symbol , the abbey master had once said. More than a man—a figure worth following into battle .
    And indeed, the children had