In the end, Liv only picked at her food.

A combination of nerves, and, though she didn’t want to say it out loud, the fact that the food simply wasn’t very appetizing caused her to finally give up and push her trencher away. “I really need to talk to someone about getting mana-enriched food,” she said, as much to herself as to either Tephania or Arjun, who were sitting next to her. Cade had been rounded up, along with a whole crew of other older students, to help Professors Norris, Blackwood and Every go through all sixty-seven examinations. She did not envy him in the least.

“Leave it to someone rooming at High Hall to turn her precious nose up at the food,” a sandy-haired boy three seats down and across the table commented, and Liv frowned.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” she said. Though, in all honesty, she could cook better: the roast chicken was overdone and dry, while the carrots were undercooked and hard. Liv tried not to think badly of the kitchen staff: cooking for so many people was something of a madhouse, as well she knew. “I’m half Elden. I need to get enough mana in my diet, or I start to have problems.”

“That explains the knife-ears,” a second boy commented, elbowing the first. This one had dark hair, and a thin fuzz on his upper lip that was trying to be a mustache. “You come here to find yourself a real man? I heard Eldish men can’t get it done.” He grinned.

Next to Liv, Tephania gasped, but it was Arjun who spoke up. “That’s a rude thing to say to a woman. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners, Pearson?”

“I don’t need an easterner telling me how to behave,” the dark haired boy said. Pearson, Liv reminded herself, and tucked his name away in her memory as someone to avoid.

Liv extracted herself from the bench and stood up. “Let’s get down to the training yard, then,” she suggested. Arjun stood up, and after a moment of hesitation, Tephania followed. Together, they made their way out of the great hall and outside into the courtyard.

“Those boys are horrid,” Tephania said, as soon as they were in the fresh air.

“Pearson is two doors down from me,” Arjun said. “He’s part of a little crew that are all just as unpleasant.”

Wren, who’d been leaning against the wall of Blackstone Hall, pushed off the stone and strolled over to them. “Thora’s got your armor down at the training yard,” she told Liv. “Are you ready?”

“That depends on what they have us do, I suppose,” Liv said. She and the others followed Wren toward the old, crumbling walls that surrounded the inner campus.

“I’m not,” Tephania said. “I came here to learn magic; I can’t cast any yet. And if they expect us to fight someone, I don’t have a clue what to do.”

“If it involves magic, I’m fairly confident,” Arjun said. “Though, as far as fighting is concerned, I feel about the same as you.”

The practice yard was a large circle of well-beaten earth, surrounded by wooden benches raised in tiers on scaffolding. It reminded Liv of the fencing club in Freeport where she’d gone to watch Matthew and Triss spar - though, in hindsight, she realized what they’d actually been doing was flirting. In their own, strange way.

There was a crew of about ten older students lounging about in the stands, while Thora sat off to one side with a small group of servants, all of whom were watching over the gear of their lords or ladies. As soon as she caught sight of Liv, Thora sprang up and came over with the bag she’d packed the armor in.

“I brought the gold bracelet and rings, also, m’lady,” Thora said. “I wasn’t certain if you would want it, but I thought it would be better to have it and not need it, than the other way around.”

“Keep it aside for now,” Liv said. “But help me get the armor on, please.”

Arjun took a seat with only passing interest, and Wren found a place to lounge next to him, but Tephania watched with wide eyes. Thora began with the cuirass and backplate of white leather; she’d gotten quite good at strapping everything on, over the past few years. For the most part, Liv simply stood there and let the maid work. She did have to unbuckle the leather belt she wore over her dress, so that she could strap the wand back on over the armor.

“I can’t believe you have armor,” Tephania said. Hesitantly, she reached into the bag and lifted out a pauldron. She traced a finger over a scrape that marred the surface. “It’s been used, too, hasn’t it?”

“In the eruption at Bald Peak rift, less than a week ago,” Liv said. “And when I go to visit my father.”

“You fought on a culling team, first year?” An absolutely massive young man ambled over from the crowd of waiting students.

“I have,” Liv said. Thora set to work attaching her pauldrons, accepting the left one from Tephania when the blonde girl handed it over. “You know Matthew Summerset and Beatrice Crosbie? With them.”

The young man nodded, and Liv couldn’t help but stare at the way his neck moved. It was like someone had attached his head to his torso using a tree trunk. “They were here when I was a first year,” he said, and then extended his meaty hand. “Name’s Gamel. Be watching to see what you can do. What’s your name, girl?”

“Liv,” she said, and noticed the main crowd of first year students coming down the road, led by that Journeyman who seemed to have it out for her, Venetia. “How’s this going to work?”

“Master Jurian’ll explain all that, don’t worry,” Gamel said. “Here he comes now, the crazy bastard.” He nodded up the road, and when Liv followed his gaze, she saw Jurian coming down with a gray haired professor that she recognized as Annora. The fact the college’s senior healer was going to be attending this part of the examinations personally did not fill Liv with enthusiasm.

As the crowd of first years milled about the stands, some taking seats, others calling out to their servants to help them prepare, Jurian strode out into the center of the training ground, planted his staff, and raised his voice.

“Listen up!” The ambient noise of dozens of conversations quieted, and when Jurian was satisfied, he continued. “Feel free to continue suiting up if you’ve brought armor, but do it quietly. I won’t repeat myself. This morning, you took your written examinations, and we’ve got all the older students sorting through them now to see what classes you need. I hate sorting through papers. Fortunately, I don’t have to. Instead, with my assistants here–” he waved to the crew of older students who’d been hanging around before Liv arrived – “I get to watch you lot thump each other on the head until someone falls down.”

Tephania seemed to shrink at the professor’s words, and Liv felt a twinge of pity for her. She was fully armored save for the leather helm, now, and waved Thora off. No need to put the thing on until it was time to fight.

“They leave it to me to explain this because I have a loud voice,” Jurian said. “There are three levels of classes here, in every subject. Who can tell me what those are?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Liv raised her hand. “Beasts, enchanting, grammar and spellcraft, guild law and history, healing, and combat,” she said, confidently. Master Grenfell had made no secret of that: in fact, he and Duchess Julianne had designed her lessons to prepare her for all of it.

“Good,” Jurian said. “If we put you in Remedial Grammar, it means we think you need to start from the beginning. Basic Guild Law and History, that means you’re familiar with about as much as we expect most students to arrive knowing. If you want to be an Apprentice of the guild, you need to finish or test out of every basic course. When you can complete an advanced course in five out of six subjects, you can ask to test for journeyman. By that point, you should know what professor you want to study with.” He paced back and forth as he talked, scanning over the crowd of students and glaring at anyone who looked distracted.

“All of that assumes you’re going to join the guild, of course; if you’re just some noble brat here to learn a little magic, you can take your classes and then move on.” Liv blinked: she wasn’t used to hearing someone talk with such open disrespect about the aristocracy.

“Now my course works a little differently,” Jurian said. “I teach armed combat, magical combat, and tactics, but I only take the top twenty of the school in each of my two advanced classes. Journeymen don’t count, you don’t need to think about that now. That’s forty openings to learn from me personally, and they’re already filled with second and third year students. I save two spots, and only two, for the top incoming students.”

“For the rest of you, what you’re competing for are basic combat spots with my assistants. There are thirty of those open, and sixty-seven of you. That means everyone who doesn’t make the cut goes into remedial.”

A blonde boy in jack of plate raised his hand. “If someone doesn’t make the top two, how do they get into the advanced classes?” he asked. His accent was refined, and Liv pegged him immediately as a noble, not from one of the merchant guilds.

“You challenge for a spot,” Jurian said. “You can make three challenges a month, and my students are required to accept. Beat one of them, and you’re in the advanced class.”

“They make this far too complicated,” Wren muttered.

“It’s because they have so many students,” Liv told her. “None of the professors have time to teach two hundred people, so they have to split things up.”

“My ten assistants here,” Jurian said, “will each run a sparring match at a time. Pairs are drawn randomly. You go until someone submits, someone can’t continue, or your senior student calls it. We begin without magic. There are practice weapons, masks, and padded doublets in the chests.”

“I can’t do this,” Tephania murmured to Liv.

“Then just submit immediately,” she suggested. “You’ve never been trained to fight?” The blonde girl shook her head. “Then it’s better for you to start from the beginning in a remedial class anyway,” Liv explained.

“Apprentice Brodbeck!” Gamel called, from down on the dirt. “Grab a mask and a weapon and get over here!”

“How is she an apprentice already?” one of the boys from luncheon complained – the one who’s name Liv hadn’t caught. She ignored him, tucked her leather helm under her arm, and walked over to the chests of equipment. First, she found herself a rapier with no edge, and a leather tip on the end. Then, she rummaged around for a leather fencing mask. It hadn’t been made to fit her specifically, so she doubted it would be comfortable, and Liv tried not to think about how many other people’s sweat must have soaked into it over the years. Then, she strode over to Gamel.

Liv set her helm and sword down to pull the mask on, and tied the leather cords which held it in place tightly behind her bun. Her first opponent was an overweight boy who couldn’t even hold his sword right.

“Hubert Carver,” he introduced himself. “From the Drover’s Guild.”

“Hold it like this,” Liv told him, once she’d settled on her helm. It took a bit of doing to make it fit with a mask it hadn’t been designed for, but she made it work. She showed Hubert how to adjust his grip.

“You’ve done this before,” he said, and shook his head. “Well, at least it’ll be over soon, then.”

Liv extended her blade in front of her, settled into third guard, and waited.

“Begin!” Gamel called. Liv lunged forward, beat Hubert’s practice sword aside, and took him in the chest. The leather tip of her sword stuck in his padded doublet, and the blade bent in a curve from the force of her thrust.

“Brodbeck’s match,” Gamel declared, after the single hit. It must have been obvious both to him, and to anyone watching, that she had training while the drover boy didn’t. “Carver, put your things back and take a seat. Brodbeck, stay up here.”

If Liv understood correctly, she’d just all but guaranteed herself a spot in the basic combat course. Sixty-seven first years, which meant only thirty-three would win their initial matches. She wondered how they’d handle the odd person out. As she waited for her next opponent, she looked around the yard. Things were going quickly: she saw Tephania walk out to face Pearson and immediately concede.

“I’m fighting the Eldish princess, am I?” Liv recognized the sandy-haired boy from lunch, though she didn’t know his name. Rather than a rapier, he was carrying a practice mace, made of wood rather than steel, and with the round ball at the head covered in leather. In his other hand, he carried a buckler.

“I have a name, and I’m not a princess,” she shot back. But in truth, she was more worried about that mace than his mouth. They were old-fashioned weapons, from a time when heavier armor was common. Liv didn’t have experience fighting against them.

“Mine’s Jasper Teller,” the boy said. “So you know who beat you.”

“Enough jawing,” Gamel said. “Fight!”

Again, Liv lunged immediately - she didn’t want to take a shot from that mace if she didn’t have to. Unfortunately, Teller was well trained and practiced: he interposed his buckler, and her practice sword skidded off to the side. With his right hand, he swung the mace at her head.

Liv leapt back, silently thanking Piers, Matthew, and everyone else who’d ever drilled her on footwork. She was faster than Teller, she could already tell: but he was bigger and stronger. Who was she fooling? Everyone here was bigger and stronger than she was.

She circled to the right, and Teller followed. Over the next three exchanges, Liv was repeatedly rebuffed by the rusted buckler. She was absolutely certain that Matthew or Triss would have no problem with this fight, but she’d never put nearly as much work into learning weapons as they had. If she could use her magic, the match would already be over, she was certain.

Finally, Liv decided that she was going to have to take a hit. She feinted to draw out the buckler, then lunged in, stabbing the tip of her sword into Teller’s fencing doublet, directly above his heart. The padded mace came around again, and Liv threw up her left arm, taking the hit on her leather vambrace instead of her helm. Despite the armor and the padding on the practice weapon, she cried out, dropped her rapier, and grabbed her arm out of reflex.

“Brodbeck wins!” Gamel declared. “Teller, you’re dead. Brodbeck, you’ve got a broken arm. If this were a real fight, anyway. Shake it off while I get your next opponent.”

Liv unstrapped the vambrace, leaving her rapier on the ground, and rubbed at her forearm. She could already tell it was going to have a nasty bruise, but she could circulate her mana that evening to speed up the healing process. Thirty four people - that meant seventeen would make it through the second round of matches, unless someone was too injured to continue. Call it four more wins for her to get into the advanced class.

When she saw the blonde boy who’d asked a question earlier come over, Liv strapped her vambrace back on. “Liv Brodbeck,” she introduced herself.

“I know who you are,” he said, in a hard voice. “Merek Sherard.”

“You’re the princess’ cousin, then?” Liv asked, heart sinking.

“Second cousin,” he clarified. “I don’t care that you embarrassed her, so much; she’s a spoiled brat. But you embarrassed our house, and no one gets to do that without consequences.”

At least he used a rapier, Liv thought to herself. She fell into first guard, and when Gamel called the match on, she managed to get off a parry that prevented Merek’s sword from taking her in the face. It was a bit frightening, even with her mask on: what if he’d gotten her in the eye? Even with a padded tip, he could have really hurt her.

When her opponent retreated, she lunged back in return. Faster than Liv could track, Merek slid inside her guard, got his hand on her wrist, and twisted her arm around somehow, with his other hand on the outside of her elbow. She tried to yank her sword away, but he used his leverage to extend her right arm out behind her.

“Sherard!” Gamel shouted, and Liv felt a flash of disappointment. No advanced weapons class for her. She hadn’t really expected to make the cut, but it would have been nice. At least she was confident about her spellcraft, and she’d have a chance to catch her breath before it was time to show off her magic.

Then, instead of releasing her, Merek Sherard struck the outside of her extended elbow with the heel of his palm, like a hammer. With an audible crack, Liv’s right arm broke, and she screamed.