PART I - COLOR CODED

Callie, Lena, Vanis and Xin all watched stunned as Tazrok retook his position at the back of the line. “I’m sure I should say something profound right now,” Vanis finally said, “but I must admit I’m at a loss for words.”

“As am I,” Lena said.

Tazrok abruptly sat on the ground with a groan, the adrenaline rush suddenly ebbing. “Why I do that? Was stupid thing. Got so angry.” The Ogre groaned again as he put his hand to his head, almost as if he had a headache.

Callie looked up into Tazrok’s big brown eyes and saw something she hadn’t seen before. A caring and a depth that was so easily hidden by the image of a giant Ogre. She wasn’t sure why, but she rushed forward and hugged his arm. “You were great, Tazrok.” She really wasn’t sure that tossing the Dwarf, and probably breaking something, was the best of responses, but she knew Tazrok’s caring for the poor Pixie was genuine.

“I’m just glad you didn’t really hurt someone this time,” Lena said.

“Why? What happened before?” Callie asked.

Tazrok put his hand to his face and groaned in embarrassment.

“Should I tell them, or do you want to?” Lena asked.

Tazrok took a deep breath and said, “Lena Elf being hurt. I save. People may have lost legs.”

“May have lost …” Callie trailed off.

Tazrok shrugged.

“Let’s just say I would not be here if not for Tazrok,” Lena said, before adding, “and two of the men coming for me will be on crutches for a long time while getting their legs regrown.”

Tazrok half-smiled sheepishly. “I protect small and weak. Lena Elf small and weak. Callie Gnome small and weak. Blue Pixie small and weak.”

“I’d like to take exception to that!” Lena said with a scowl, but it was a half-hearted objection.

“You itty bitty,” Tazrok said in response, holding out a space between his thumb and finger. Callie couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange.

Down the line, several people were taking the poor Pixie away, face-down on a litter. She also saw that Major Celeste had been joined by one of the earlier speakers, Legate Galin and another high-ranking officer with a rat-like face. Celeste was using her hands to help explain everything that had happened, and Callie easily followed along. She was curious how the officers might respond, worried Tazrok was going to get into trouble.

Callie watched Celeste relay the whole story. The injured Pixie. Tazrok storming towards the Dwarf and how Celeste tried to stop him, before finally allowing the Ogre to pass. Turning the Dwarf around and slicing off his beard. She pointed towards the courtyard bell and Galin put his hand on her shoulder, laughing. The rat-person officer was laughing too. Finally, she mimed Tazrok throwing and jerked her thumb at the still groaning heap of Dwarf, where two medics had finally arrived with another litter to start treating him. Legate Galin gave Major Celeste a smile and a ‘good job’ pat on her shoulder and all three started to walk off together.

For a little while, Callie was concerned about the Dwarf’s injuries. But the fact that nobody really seemed concerned about them made Callie fairly sure the Dwarf’s injuries could be addressed quickly. Magic probably. It was always magic to explain what didn’t make sense.

“Pretty sure you aren’t getting in trouble, Tazrok,” Callie finally said.

“This is good!” Xin said. “Your first time being Corporal.”

Tazrok could do nothing more than cover his eyes and shake his head in embarrassment. “Don’t like being mean,” he said.

“I know,” Lena replied, comforting hand on Tazrok’s arm..

They stood there for a few minutes, with Tazrok still sitting nursing his headache, all saying nothing, just being there for the Ogre as he wrestled with emotions over what had happened. He may not be in trouble, but you could tell he hated playing into the universal belief that Ogres could only be a brute, and nothing more. Around them, slowly the lines got reorganized and started moving again, and eventually, with a heavy sigh, Tazrok finally stood.

As a group, they shuffled forward slowly as the line moved. No one was feeling talkative, and the other recruits avoided eye contact, not sure how they should react to the Ogre or the people with him. Then, nervous but with an encouraging push from another, one of the Fairies left her line and reluctantly approached.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” Lena responded, not pressuring the nervous Fae.

The nervous Fairy looked up at Tazrok, easily three times taller than she was. “I just … We just wanted to say … by that I mean … to thank you for what you did. It means a lot to me … to us all … to the Fae here.”

Tazrok looked down at her. “Protect the small. It is Ogre way.”

“Ah … right. Um. Thank you again.” She turned to leave.

“Will your friend be okay?” Callie asked before the other recruit could walk away.

“My friend? Oh, the injured Pixie? We … we do not know her. She’s kept to herself and doesn’t talk much to anyone. But, I think her wing should be mendable by the Healers, though, because they were there so quickly.” Again the Fairy started to walk away.

“You should make friends with her.”

She turned back to Callie. “Yes. Maybe. We will try.”

Callie watched the Fairy walk back to her place in line. “She won’t try,” Callie said, coldly, narrowing her eyes.

“I know,” Lena said as she looked forlornly towards where the Pixie had fallen, the area now empty of people, the Fae and Dwarf both long taken away for medical treatment.

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It took some time, but gradually the lines grew shorter and the number of recruits in the courtyard dwindled towards single-digits as they finished being processed, before moving on to what appeared to be the next flag. The chatter for a while was focused on what had occurred, with a lot of glances towards Tazrok, but still, nobody seemed concerned about the Dwarf’s injuries. As a result, Callie was all the more sure that some kind of magic would be able to easily fix him. Finally, Callie and her group reached the front, and Lena was the first to be processed.

“Name and class?” an Elf behind a table asked with a tired voice. You could tell he was quite ready to be done with this task, and was looking forward to finishing with these last recruits.

“Before we get started, we have a situation with this Little One that needs to be…” Lena began.

The pointy-nosed Elf cut Lena off with a hard look, almost seeming to dare her to continue. “Name and class,” he repeated with an annoyed flatness.

“Lena. Lena Mosswood, Bladedancer,” she replied, properly chastised.

“Is that your full first name?”

“Lenora.”

The Elf scribbled a few things in a notebook before standing up. He held up a reddish gem and pointed it at Lena.

“This may tickle, but won’t hurt. Please try to be still.”

“Of course,” Lena said as she straightened.

“Let's see,” the processor said as he looked through and slowly rotated the gem. “You are indeed a Bladedancer. You have two unlocked Bladedancer skills; Flashstep and Triple Riposte. Very good, very good. You have also learned the Scholar skill Truthseeking. Interesting choice for a Warrior specialist. Finally, I see two Specialist Thief skills: Hide in Shadows, and Nimble Fingers.” The Elf paused and gave Lena a wary eye before continuing. “You are a pickpocket? Or a burglar?”

“No,” Lena said simply. “At least not any more.”

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“Good to know. We won’t permit that kind of thing here. Do you have any Thief perks as well?”

“Just Parkour. It came to me when I learned Hide in Shadows. I’m fairly skilled with it.”

“Most excellent. That perk is a very helpful addition to your class.”

The Scryer returned to the gem, squinting a bit. “You also have the Conscription Curse with no current negative effects.”

“No effects? That’s good at least.” Lena said with relief.

The pointy-nosed Elf put the gem on the table, then bent over to dig through a basket of wooden blocks, pulling one out. Clearing his throat, the Elf made a final pronouncement. “I have confirmed you are a Bladedancer, a Warrior Specialist, Recruit Lenora. Your color is brown with an emblem of crossed-swords in red. You will need to carry this block with you and go to the tent with that color and insignia when the assembly bell tolls later this afternoon. That will confirm to your trainer that you are indeed a Bladedancer. Do not lose it.”

Lena took the offered block of wood. “Uh, thank you. Duwana.”

The Elf, returning to his seat, waved vaguely towards Lena. “Duwanai,” he said dismissively before making a couple notes, and finally looking up. “Next!” he called out before pointing at Xin. “You. Name and class.”

Xin stepped forward. “I am Xinchaine. I am a Shaman.”

“Last name?”

“I do not have one. Lizardkin take on the name of our tribe.” Xin cocked her head and then added questioningly, “You might call me Xinchaine of the Sunset Valley Tribe?”

“Oh that’s right. Strange custom. Fine, I will note your name as just Xinchaine, but also note your Tribe’s name. Prepare for Scrying.”

Xin swallowed a little nervously, and then straightened to attention.

“This may tickle, but won’t hurt. Please try to be still.” The Elf’s tone was well-practiced and utterly bored. Again the Elf stood and peered through the gem as he rotated it. “I can indeed see that you are a Shaman with one unlocked Skill, Ball of Light. You also have two Spearmaster skills, Multi-Strike and Unerring Throw. Interesting. Did you train as a Lizardkin Spearmaster?”

“Yes. I did not wish to pursue being a Shaman, and chose to be trained as a Spearmaster. The Army has ordered me otherwise.”

“I see. Honestly, Shamans are far more useful to the war effort than Spearmasters. Have you any Perks to support either class?”

“Only Melee and Ranged Combat with Spears,” Xin responded.

The Scryer nodded, before again squinting through the gem. “Let me verify your Curse.” After a quick pause, he concluded. “You are indeed Conscript Cursed with no negative effects. Very good. I see nothing else out of the ordinary.”

“I am also a Volunteer,” Xin said proudly.

“You are? Well, good for you, then,” the inspector said with a tired dismissiveness. He again dug in his basket of blocks, finally emerging with one. “You are a Shaman, a Hybrid. Your primary color is Blue for Wizard. Your secondary color is White for Healer. You are to carry this block with you and go to the tent with that color pattern when the assembly bell tolls later this afternoon. That will confirm to your trainer that you are indeed a Shaman. Do not lose it.”

“I wonder how many times he’s given that speech,” Callie said quietly to Lena, as Xin stepped back out of the way.

“Too many to count today. Please just let me do my job,” the Elf responded, sounding exhausted and snippy.

“Sorry,” Callie whispered.

“Next! You, the Elf,” he said, pointing at Vanis. “First and last name, and your class.”

“Vanis. Warlock.”

The Elf looked up with an annoyed expression on his face. “Your full name,” he said flatly.

Vanis took a deep breath and let it out. “Vanis del Montano.”

The Scryer stopped in the midst of writing and looked up, a recognition coming over his face. “Seriously? Do you mean …”

“Yes, but please don’t make a fuss.”

“But, your Majesty…”

“No,” Vanis said firmly, “that would be my Father. I am only a recruit.”

Lena, Callie, Tazrok and Xin all looked at each other in absolute confusion, and then all turned their eyes to look at Vanis.

Vanis returned their stares with a shrug. “What?”

“Del Montano?!” Lena gasped. “Your Majesty?”

“What?” Vanis asked again.

“Your Majesty? Spill!” Callie said, her arms crossed. Who the hell was this guy?

“Yes, my father is King Feldwin del Montano,” Vanis said with a heavy sigh.

“You’re a prince?” Callie gasped.

“You’re the son of the Legacy King?” Lena asked, eyes wide.

Vanis sighed. “No, I am Vanis, a Warlock recruit.”

“You’re a prince!” Callie squealed again, bouncing slightly for some reason as her mouth fell open. “A real, live prince?”

Vanis turned back to the intake clerk, ignoring Callie and rolling his eyes. “Please, kind sir. No special treatment. Just scry me for your records and we can move along.”

“Oh … of course, Sire,” the anxious Elf said, fumbling for his scrying gem. His hands shook so much that the gem jumped from his grasp, clattering across the table before falling to the ground.

Vanis bent and retrieved it, then offered it back. As the Elf reached for it, Vanis took his hand and in a quiet voice said, “Please. There is no need to be nervous. My father may be the King, but I never will be. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Earick, Sire. Scryer Earick.”

“Master Scryer Earick, today, I am just another recruit. Please, do your duty.” Vanis dropped his hands and tried to put on a pleasant smile.

Earick paused for a moment before finally realizing he had a job to do. He stiffened, as if bolstered by the Prince’s words, and cleared his throat. “Yes. Um. Of course. Allow me to verify everything, you High… I mean, Master Vanis. This may tickle, but won’t hurt. Pl … Please try to be still.”

Again Earick used the gem to verify all the information. “You are indeed a Warlock. You have three unlocked Warlock skills: Deathbolt, Ritual Circle and Summon Imp. You also know the Illusionist skill Dancing Lights and the Bard skill Inspiring Melody?”

“The Dancing Light spell is just a … hobby. The other is something my mother felt I should know. She insisted on a creative outlet. I have perks with the lute and the flute to support it.”

“Oh. Of course,” Earick said before continuing, as if that all naturally made sense. “Do you have any Warlock perks? I assume you have Nether Manipulation?”

Vanis nodded. “I do. Nether Manipulation as well as my Demon Control perk.”

“Most excellent, your Highness.”

Vanis coughed lightly in reminder that he should be treated only as a recruit. Earick quickly seemed to get the hint, and refocused on the remainder of his exam. “Finally, you are Conscripted with … it does appear to be minor muscle atrophy, due to prolonged time away from an Officer. Are you feeling any effects yet.”

“It was … complicated … to get here,” Vanis said, as if to explain things, before adding, “Minimal effects so far. Just some fatigue.”

“I see. Your Curse Rot is minor enough that a visit to one of the Healers should address it with no long term effects. Please see the Healer later today, perhaps after meeting with your trainer. If not today, you must do so tomorrow. Also, try to avoid anything strenuous for the time being, until you have been cleared.”

“I shall make it so,” Vanis said with a nod.

The Elf shakily put the gem on his table and then fumbled around in the box, eventually coming up with another wooden block. “Here you are, Sire … Master Vanis.”

“Please, give me the speech, too, Master Earick. Vigilance to our duties is a must.”

“Of … of course.” The Elf cleared his throat “I have confirmed you are Warlock, a Wizard Specialist. Your color is Blue for Wizard, with an image of a green flame. You are to carry this block with you and go to the tent with that color and symbol when the assembly bell tolls later this afternoon. That will confirm to your trainer that you are indeed a Warlock.” Earick seemed to conclude, before realizing he forgot one last thing. “Do not lose it.”

“Thank you, Master Earick,” Vanis said with a polite nod. “I wish you a good day. Duwana.”

“You as well, Sire … I mean Master Vanis. Duwanai.”

As Vanis stepped back, Callie was trying to put some of the things she’d overheard together. The words Hybrids and Specialists had come up several times, and she was starting to see a pattern. Assuming the words were descriptive and she understood the Scryer correctly, a Hybrid, like Xin, appeared to actually be two classes, not one. In Xin’s case, both Wizard and Healer. For Lena and Vanis, Earick had called them Specialists, and they had only single colors. She reasoned that instead of being a general Wizard or Warrior, their powers must be focused on something more specific, or as the word suggested, specialized.

Then Callie’s brain made another connection. The Fairy Commandant, Xera, had said all the recruits were ‘advanced classes’. Maybe to be considered ‘advanced’, you had to be one of these Hybrids or Specialists classes, versus a more general one? If that was the case, then it could explain why everyone was getting special training here.

Vanis stepped back and away from the table. Behind him, the last two people in the other line, both having just finished their intake, could be heard whispering, having overheard who Vanis was and standing simply awed to be in his presence.

‘“The actual prince!” one whispered, a female white, tiger-faced person. “Here! Standing next to us! A Warlock!”

“I know!” said the other, a male tiger-person with the same colors. “Do we bow? Or kneel? Or what should we do?”

“You need do nothing, my friends,” Vanis said, turning, exasperated. “Inside these walls I am not the Prince. Legate Galin made that very clear. I ask that you respect his orders and treat me no differently than you would another.”

“Yes, your highness,” the female said quickly, starting to curtsey. Next to her, the other caught himself mid-bow, adding his own, “Of course, sire.”

Vanis sighed. “I know you will quickly run off and tell others, and gossip travels faster than the fleetest of arrows. I ask, please, that you include that I wish to be treated as any other recruit.”

“Yes, Sire,” the tigers said in perfect unison, almost as if they were one person, before turning and running off at a matching pace.

Vanis sighed, shaking his head slowly as he walked back to his new group of friends

Lena glared at him for a long moment, before punching his shoulder, hard. “That’s for not telling me.” Then she punched him a second time, loud enough for the strike to be heard. “And that’s for not telling the rest of us.”

Vanis's face made a mocking, shocked look while rubbing his shoulder. “You would dare to strike the Prince?” he playfully accused. “The penalty for such a thing is most-severe!”

“I would more likely break the Prince’s nose, is what I would do, and take my chances with the Magistrate,” Lena said defiantly, before purposely turning her back on him.

Callie, for her part, was having a hard time wrapping her head around Vanis. This guy was a Prince? Seriously? What the hell would he be doing here? Wouldn’t he be too important to be drafted into the Army? Although, it did explain the rather rigid and exacting demeanor he tried to present, now that she thought about it. Somehow, things had managed to become even stranger than they already were.