Free Ruins of Gorlan by John Flanagan

long.
    After breakfast, there were classes for two hours in military history, the theory of tactics and so on, then the cadets were usually required to run the obstacle course-a series of obstacles designed to test speed, agility, balance and strength. There was a minimum time standard for the course. It had to be completed in under five minutes, and any cadet who failed to do so was immediately sent back to the start to try again. It was rare that anyone completed the course without falling at least once, and the course was littered with mud pools, water hazards and pits filled with nameless but unpleasant matter whose origin Horace didn't want to even think about.
    Lunch followed the obstacle course, but if you'd fallen during the run, you had to clean up before entering the mess hall-another of those famous cold showers-and that usually took half the time set aside for the meal break. As a consequence, Horace's over-whelming impressions of the first week of Battleschool were a combination of aching muscles and gnawing hunger.
    There were more classes after lunch, then physical jerks in the castle yard under the eye of one of the senior-year cadets. Then the class would form up and perform close-order drill until the end of the school day, when they would have two hours to themselves, to clean and repair gear and prepare lessons for the following day's classes.
    Unless, of course, someone had transgressed during the course of the day, or in some way caused displeasure to one of their instructors or observers. In which case, they would all be invited to load their packs with rocks and set out on a twelve-kilometer run along a course mapped out through the surrounding countryside. Invariably, the course was nowhere near any of the level roads or tracks in the area. It meant running through broken, uneven ground, up hills and across streams, through heavily overgrown thickets where hanging vines and thick underbrush would claw at you and try to pull you down.
    Horace had just completed one such run. Earlier in the day, one of his classmates had been spotted in Tactics I, passing a note to a friend. Unfortunately, the note was not in the form of text but was an unflattering caricature of the long-nosed instructor who taught the class. Equally unfortunately, the boy possessed considerable skill as a cartoonist and the drawing was instantly recognizable.
    As a result, Horace and his class had been invited to fill those packs and start running.
    He'd gradually felt himself pulling away from the rest of the boys as they labored up the first hill. Even after a few days, the strict regime of the Battleschool was beginning to show results with Horace. He was fitter than he'd ever been in his life. Added to that was the fact that he had natural ability as an athlete. Though he was un-aware of it, he ran with balance and grace, where the others seemed to struggle. As the run progressed, he found himself far in front of the others. He pounded on, head up and breathing evenly through his nostrils. So far, he hadn't had much chance to get to know his new classmates, He'd seen most of them around the castle or the village over the years, of course, but growing up in the Ward had tended to isolate him from the normal, day-to-day life of the castle and village. Ward children couldn't help but feel different from the others. And it was a feeling that the boys and girls with parents still living reciprocated.
    The Choosing ceremony was peculiar to Ward members only. Horace was one of twenty new Battleschool recruits that year, the other nineteen coming through what was considered the normal process-parental influence, patronage or recommendation from their teachers. As a result, he was regarded as something of a curiosity, and the other boys had so far made no overtures of friendship or even much attempt to get to know him. Still, he thought, smiling with grim satisfaction, he had beaten them all in the run. None of the others were back yet.