The interview chamber is dim and large. I expect most applicants would find it dark, with the intent to obscure the five figures sitting behind the grand table, though with my boons I can easily make them out. Two men, two women and one I can’t tell.

I almost laugh at their first attempt to intimidate falling so flat. I was nervous, but that instantly flees my body when I realize what is going on. It is of course meant to be intimidating, or rather stressful, and not for anonymity since if that was the goal they would use better methods. Not that the privacy element matters to me, since I don’t recognize any of them, nor would my connections be able to pressure them if I did.

How much would it take to bribe one of them? Since they put so little effort into privacy, perhaps it’s expected. Since anyone who can see them through the gloom would have a higher chance of being able to make it worth their while.

I’m probably overthinking – Alan would have mentioned if bribery was the norm.

Two of them are watching me as I walk in, while the others are busy going over papers. I decide to put on a show for the two and go confidently to the lone chair in the centre of the room and casually sit. I look the two watching me in the eye and give them a respectful nod.

One of the two, a short (a little taller than Erika), very muscular woman on the end who is obviously a knight of some kind from how she moves, the handful of scars and the knightly emblem on her tunic, smiles back. “Well, no reason to delay,” She says, causing the three paper handlers to give her annoyed looks. “Good to meet you, Malichi. Since you can obviously see us, I might as well introduce myself. I’m Tasha Wilimhal, the commander of the Wyvern Riders. I asked to be part of this panel because I was wondering if you had any plans to join my order.”

It’s all I can do not to gape. Of all the questions I was expecting, this was not one of them.

“Tasha!” the woman in the centre whisper shouts in reprimand. “We asked you to be a judge because we thought you might have insights on the tests, not to recruit new members.”

Tasha shrugs and leans back on her chair, causing it to rest on the back two legs. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know full well the only reason most of us agree to be judges is to get unrestricted access to exam records and scout out prospects.”

“Scout, yes, not interfere with the proceedings to offer them a job.”

“But isn’t asking them about their planned path a normal part of the interview?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then no problem.” Tasha interrupts, slamming the front two legs of the chair back on the floor for emphasis. “So Malichi, what do you say? Want to be a wyvern rider?”

“I thought only chevaliers joined the order,” I finally manage to say.

“That’s a common misconception,” Tasha says with a smile. “About forty per cent of our riders are actually mundanes, it’s just that most people never see them. They’re all patrolling the Synthian mountain range, and a few other high places we’ve been granted jurisdiction over, since natural Wyverns, unlike those bound to Chevaliers, require cliffs to leap off from to fly.

“You’ll be a natural fit. Besides fulfilling the first requirement of being small and light, your magic would be great for us. First, obviously, your animal communication would be a plus. Both to bond with your own mount and help with the mundanes. Second, if I understand how your missile spell works, it would be super effective from wyvern back. Any spell that’s affected by gravity will be better from the air, and while you could just learn a spell to fly on your own, that will come at the cost of other spells you might want up at the same time. The way I see it, you’ll just have to learn to extend your shield spell over the wyvern, and something to help it keep up with chevaliers. A simple wind spell would do. Though your healing spell and interest in anatomy and plants would help you learn more permanent solutions.”

I wince slightly as I realize she’s talking about learning to make chimeras. Memories of being chased by grotesque fire-breathing, armoured giant hounds flash through my mind.

“I had no plans to seek your order, though I will consider it,” I say diplomatically to hide my unease at the suggestion.

“Speaking of chimeras,” the chastising woman speaks, “I was wondering if you had an interest in making them? The empire is presently short on mages who can.”

I resist smiling at the reminder of perhaps the greatest blow the resistance made to the empire. Our first and perhaps only major victory. Chimeras were an obvious solution to partisan fighting, but logistical problems meant the cabal of chimera grafters had to work locally. The first year of fighting was constant misery and terror as we were perpetually chased by packs of grotesque horrors, but then we located the cabal’s compound.

They were frankly sloppy, though with fair reason. At the time they still thought of us as disorganized dissidents, and had no reason to believe we could still organize a strike of that scale. Cells from all over Caethlon took part in the raid. It was costly, bloody fighting against spell, steel and fang, but worth it. By the end of the night we had killed a large majority of the empire’s Chimera grafters, and either stolen or burned dozens of rare texts needed to train more. I’ve heard estimates that it’ll take decades for the empire to recover.

“I have no plans on becoming a chimera grafter,” I say more firmly. It would be ridiculous for me to help undo the one lasting harm we managed to inflict. Besides, I don’t think I would enjoy twisting animals into war forms.

“Pity,” the woman says, glancing down at her papers. “If you don’t plan on making chimeras though, could you explain the reasoning behind your spell selection?”

Finally, an expected question. “Yes of course. My territory is very isolated and small in population, so I decided that the ability to grow medical herbs and food even during winter when the pass is buried would be the greatest non-combat benefit to our subjects. I learned anatomy and medicine to supplement this ability, and my healing spell for emergency wounds. Animal communication is to help patrol the difficult terrain with birds, and not for fighting. I learned missile guidance to use with slings, since my slight frame coupled with a strength boon makes it very effective, especially when at a higher elevation as Ser Wilimhal pointed out.”

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“It is an interesting spell,” one of the judges, a rotund man, says. “Rather obscure, it took me a while to find a copy of it, but effective. The accuracy of the spell mitigates the problem of magic archery being so expensive, but historically mages could never use weapons powerful enough to be worth it. The proliferation of those crossbows changes that. Very clever of you to realize.”

“It’s largely a coincidence, but thank you.” I nod to the man.

“What about your firestream spells?” the chastising woman asks. “They’re rather short ranged for real combat.”

I nod in acknowledgement. “The lesser version was learned for starting fires – very useful high up in the mountains. Since I learned the basic version, I thought I might as well learn the combat one. While the range is short, the casting time is too, and the damage is good. It can be very effective in the dense woods at the base of our mountain, and if I need something longer ranged then I have the missile guidance.”

I was hoping they wouldn’t mention those. I learned firestream because it was the easiest to learn high damage area spell available, and could always rely on my concealment spell to get close. But since I’m pretending to not know that spell, I had to come up with another reason that I hope will hold up to scrutiny.

“You speak as if you have experience using it in such situations.” Another judge asks.

“Once.” I nod. “Rebels crossed the old border and caught us by surprise during a hunt, no doubt seeking to take me hostage. I managed to reduce their numbers with the fire enough for my retainers to take care of the rest.

“Did rebels frequently cross into your territory?” Another asks.

“A handful of times, but I only joined the party that dealt with them twice besides the time they attacked me.”

“Is that why you did so well in the breakthrough test?” Tasha asks.

“Did I do well?” I ask. “It said my score was tentative.”

“We’ll discuss that after you answer the question,” the chastiser says.

I nod. “Yes, I based my tactics in the team breakthrough test on the ways the rebels would exploit our mistakes. That and what I was told by Caethlon veterans who I met on their way back from being recalled. That was the point of the test, yes? To see how we would handle Caethlon type situations?”

“We don’t advertise the fact, but yes, it’s fairly obvious given the timing of its introduction.” One of the judges, a knight, says.

“Now to your other question,” the chastiser says ominously. “The tentative score, as you no doubt guessed, is due to the trick you pulled with the lights. Some of the administrators are very angry and want to punish your team.”

“Tricking the enemy into friendly fire wasn’t against the rules,” I say, “at least at the time.”

“Yes,” she says, “but exploiting the arbitrary circumstances of the test is generally frowned upon, even when not explicitly forbidden. Your team had a much easier time getting through because of it. Beyond killing a few mundanes, and the squire and mage you got lucky with, you caused chaos and confusion which allowed your illusionist to slip through without resistance.”

“But I only thought of the ‘exploit’ because that same arbitrary circumstance nearly killed me,” I counter. “Besides, one should always be looking for ways to confuse your enemy. Not only should we not be punished, but I should be getting the points for those kills too.” I’m perhaps a bit too forceful, but punishing me for a novel solution is absurd.

She raises an eyebrow in an amused and bemused expression. “And you’ve been in situations that reflected your emulating the light walls?”

Should I make up a story of being tricked into shooting one of my own, or… “No, not exactly. But my point still stands that the walls were as against me as for me. Tell me, if I had died from the fire blasts targeted at the lightwall, would you be giving my killer the same scrutiny?”

“No, but getting that close to the light wall was a mistake you made, rather than a trick by the enemy.”

“…Fair enough. At the very least though the team shouldn’t be punished for something that wasn’t even against the rules at the time.”

“Oh? A noble sacrifice?”

I shake my head. “I’m part of the team, am I not?”

She lets out the slightest of laughs. “Well, it’s not like the points really matter at this stage, and it’s obvious how effective you were during the rest of the test. So, it would be absurd if any of us voted no on the basis of that performance.” The emphasis of ‘that’ tells me what’s coming next. “Which brings us to your law test. Would you care to explain why a noble did so poorly? It’s clear from our debate just now and your other exploits of the rules that you’re capable of understanding legal systems.”

I grimace at the expected inquiry. I have prepared answers, but they’re not good. “I lived in an isolated territory. I didn’t have cause to learn aspects of the law that didn’t involve my daily life, and so focused mostly on knowing my noble rights and duties and business laws that our territory’s finances depend on for seasonal trade.”

“You didn’t think to learn more after you decided to venture into the wider world?” she asks.

“Oh, come on!” Tasha interrupts before I can speak. “He passed it, didn’t he? It’d be foolish not to take him after the breakthrough test, and his other scores are good too. Plenty of students take supplemental classes during their first year. Besides, I agree with him about the friendly fire points. That was hilarious. Being a judge would be a lot funner if more applicants tried stunts like that.”

The chastiser glares at Tasha who leans back again, placing her boots on the table and making an open palmed ‘what’ gesture. The chastiser suddenly sighs and looks at me.

“In general, Monhal, I would describe your exam as ‘chaotic but competent’. In almost every test you searched for ways to push against or exploit the rules. You threw sand in the sword tournament, not explicitly disallowed, but generally understood to be. People complained about your approach to archery, you pulled a trick in the occulter game that reduced half the tournament to brute guesswork and you hid in the starting area of the fugitive hunt. Then of course we have the team fights in which you sacrificed half your team in an instructor challenge and the wall stunt you pulled in the breakthrough. Do you have anything to say to this?”

“What is there to say other than nothing was disallowed?” I ask. “Surely I wasn’t the only one to come up with novel interpretations of the tests?”

“Yes, but typically those with ability don’t feel the need to exploit the rules.”

“Are you saying I lack ability?”

“No, in fact the opposite. It’s the policy of this exam to look at strengths for those who score low, and weaknesses of those who score high. Since ultimately the points of each test is arbitrary and we cannot merely look at total points. Ability is necessary, but not sufficient. We have admitted those with less than you, and rejected those with more.”

“I see,” I say, uncertain how to feel at the revelation that after all my effort and studying I might be rejected not for inadequacy but for some undefined trait.

“Oh, don’t be like that Clarisa,” Tasha interjects once again. “The point of this is to find capable servants of the empire, not sift for those who match your accepted list of virtues. Besides, we both know his performance in the breakthrough test fulfils her majesty’s recent mandate better than any other applicant.”

“You might only be interested in finding capable servants for the empire, but I have a duty to the students too.” ‘Clarisa’ counters. “If I think that admittance would cause them harm, then I must consider rejecting them no matter how capable.”

“Oh? How would admitting him to the best school in the world harm him?” Tasha asks.

“Because if he views rules as something to combat, then spending nearly a decade under ours will be torment.”

“What, like I did? Like you?” Tasha asks, causing Clarisa to recoil as if struck.

Clarisa sighs after a moment of silence. “Why are you pressing for his admittance anyways? He’ll be much more likely to accept your offer if we reject him.”

Tasha blinks. “I hadn’t thought of that. Is it too late to change my vote?”

“We haven’t voted yet.”

Tasha smiles. “Sure, I want him, but he’ll be a lot more useful once you’re done with him.”

Clarisa gives a weak smile, then looks at me. “Fine, he fulfils the mandate. Unless anyone has any objections, I vote to accept him now, rather than sending it to further committee. Everyone in agreement raise your hand.” Everyone does. “Congratulations Monhal, you’re in. Don’t make a mess of it.”