Those in my section eagerly flooded the field, nearly all of us – myself included – swarming Aphos. Our Head of Hall looked even more magnificent now as he descended the faux mountain, his skin more brightly aglow and, I swore, a touch taller. His gaining of a Mastery had clearly been different than ours the night before, happening instantly and without any help from Boast. Whether we could all do that now or only when we reached upper levels I was certainly curious about, but I didn’t bother to try and ask while so many were speaking to him.

Aphos accepted our accolades for a time, his brilliant smile seeming genuine despite his near death experience, but then he moved onward, and none of us dared stand in his way. With him gone, my attention fell on the other Neophytes who had joined us at the base, and I instinctively began counting. There were only three from the Assassin’s Hall in black tunics, but they weren’t the smallest of the groups. Both the Alchemist’s in blue and the Summoner’s in purple had only a single member. Maphen stood beside Chorazin, the Summoner Neophyte, who oddly seemed better looking than last I had seen him. That was only a momentary thought though, as Maphen’s situation was much more mysterious. He wasn’t wearing a colored tunic, at least not one of the solid seven. Instead, unless I missed my guess, he was wearing the same gray pants and loose fitting shirt he had when we had been in the Thresher together and then the Scrying Pool.

I was puzzling over what that could possibly mean when the Elders spoke.

“There are twenty-eight of you today,” the Healer rasped, the blazing aura behind his head hurting my eyes again when I looked his way. “Making this one of the smallest Neophyte Melees in Tower history.”

I stiffened. It was as I thought: fewer of us were joining the Tower, which meant less awakened would rise, leaving those fighting the Everwar unreinforced and in danger of being overrun.

“The Support Orders of Artisans and Alchemists will not normally participate in Melees,” the Healer Elder continued in his rasping voice.

“But everyone must take part in the first,” the Artisan said. She turned to look at her own brown tunic wearing members standing among us, of which there were two: Iles who had solved the sphere puzzle, and a rather jolly boy I knew named Bask. “It is an important indoctrination I know none of you will forget.”

“Yes,” the Healer said, a smile gracing his lips for the first time I had seen – it was not a pleasant sight. “Pain can be a great teacher.”

“Fighting two different demons and dying who knows how many times wasn’t enough for them?” grouched Aldric. “They’re masochists.”

“Sadists, actually,” short Esmi said from beside us. I had never paid much attention to philosophy class no matter who the instructor was, but I did notice that Esmi had the same mastery as Aldric, crystal growing from her skin. However, unlike the general coating I had seen Aldric use on his fists, she had managed to make a single sharp edge across the top of her knuckles – an edge she was using to slice her inner forearm. I saw she had a few other cuts farther down, the others already crusted over, likely due to the speed of healing our Mantle gave us.

The Elders had paused after the Healer’s last comment, perhaps to let us think on the importance of pain. However, a shift in the Artisan Elder’s stance sent the interwoven coins of her long tunic into a cascade of tiny clinks, and my attention snapped back to her – I didn’t want to miss any of the wisdom they planned to impart upon us today.

“As you saw from watching the Devouts,” she said, “you may bring equipment and companions with you into the Melee. Of course, only a few of you have such items already.”

I didn’t need to look at Tamra to know she would be grinning with pride, especially not when Chikra and Ivun to my right, with their spear and flail, looked so very pleased.

“Today,” the Healer rasped, picking up the explanation, “we shall provide you basic instruments which you may use to murder one another.”

The Artisan Elder snapped her fingers, and Acolytes from the stands approached. They were from my own Order but carrying barrels from the brown Artisan section of the stands. The containers were smaller than the barrels of beer that had been brought down for our celebration last night, so the large members of the Warrior Order easily ran these across the space to us. The Acolytes in red and brown seemed to get along well, talking amiable while doing this work, which made sense to me since it was surely the Artisan Order who supplied us with all of our weapons and armor. In a short space of time, it was done, half a dozen metal-strapped wood barrels sitting in front of our line of Neophytes.

The contents could be seen poking out of the top and were decidedly underwhelming. So much so, that Tamra cackled with laughter when the last barrel was placed in front of us.

“They have to be joking,” Aldric said, and I was inclined to agree.

The instruments we had been provided where nothing more than some sticks, a few of which seemed to be sharp, and large rocks. There had to be some purpose behind the choice, but Neophyte that I was, I couldn’t tell what that might be.

“If you are thinking that we are trying to impress upon you the importance of having quality equipment,” the Artisan Elder said, the oily, metallic smell of the forgefire that surrounded her growing stronger, “you are correct. While mantles and masteries are all well and good, you should not rely on them alone when going into battle.”

“And that is what every Melee is,” the Healer rasped. “A battle with only one survivor.”

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“When you have the means,” the Arisan Elder continued, gracing us with a motherly smile while the ring of a hammer on anvil punctuated her words. “Come visit the Artisan Hall. A portion of it is always open for trade.”

Means? I wondered. Was she referring to the odd teeth I had seen people exchanging? If so, how did we procure them? Was that another thing I had missed by not talking to the Acolytes yet?

“And so is the Alchemist Hall!” a voice called from the stands.

I couldn’t believe that someone would dare speak while the Elders were instructing us. Turning to find the offender, I saw that it was the blue-haired Alchemist Devout who had sold Ender the concoction he had used to nearly win the previous Melee.

“Yes,” the Artisan Elder allowed, though I was fairly certain that I saw a touch of annoyance on her glowing countenance. “That is another Hall you may visit if you wish. However, most prefer something that will last,” – she pinged a finger against the strange metal L that had let her fly down from the ceiling – “to something that will be gone in a single use.”

She was right: I would much rather have her angled blade for the Melee than any of the offered sticks or rocks or a one-off potion.

“Well?” the Healer Elder snapped, the sun behind him blazing brighter. “Do not just stand there. Take up your tools if you wish them and ready yourself for this ascent. It is short compared to the Tower, but most of you will fail miserably, dying before your hundredth heartbeat.”

“He needs to get laid,” Tamra said, to which Aldric gasped a rather loud laugh. For my part, I kept it to a single snort – just the one – but the Elder’s eyes found us nonetheless, and I thought they blazed, too, if such a thing was possible.

“And some of you will fare even worse, both today and within the Tower.” He slashed his thin arm through the air in a chopping motion, toward not just us but the group of Neophytes, and people took the cue to begin, moving to the barrels.

I took one step forward to join them and then stopped myself. Would such things really aid me today? Even though only one person could win the Melee, I was sure that Tamra, Aldric, and I would be a team at first. Thinking of my mastery and theirs, couldn’t I serve as a better shield for them instead of an extra attacker, when both of them had superior offensive options?

The answer seemed obvious to me, so I stood there with Tamra, who of course hadn’t bothered to go look. Instead, she was examining her sword, turning it this way and that to check its edge, and then she went through some swings to familiarize herself with its weight. The other two Warrior Neophytes who had chosen The Bond Mastery had stayed with us, but they weren’t using the time to test their weapons, only chat. Both had beaten me in the Crim practice yard before, but I had returned the favor on nearly as many occasions. Perhaps I could use their overconfidence and the surprise of my Toughened Skin to take one of their weapons away. I could always return it after. My attention slid back to Tamra who had started to move quite fast, perhaps the fastest I had ever seen her do a weapon’s form. It seemed that feeling the space the blade existed in within her mind was already making her a more proficient swordswoman. Obviously, I’d never try to take her sword during these Melees. Even if I succeeded, she’d murder me in my sleep.

Aldric came back empty-handed, looking disgusted.

“Didn’t find anything you liked?” I asked him.

“Nothing better than these,” he said, holding up crystal covered hands.

“Makes sense,” I said with a nod. I looked around then to see what others were doing. The two brown Artisans were next to our collection of red. Iles was holding a misshapen and bent stick, which made me think she had grabbed the first one she could get. I felt bad about that, part of me thinking that perhaps I should defend her when things first began. I knew that wasn’t the point of the Melee, but in my mind I still owed her for her role in helping us defeat the Thresher. Beside her, Bask didn’t look much better off, holding an oblong rock in both hands. I would have thought the stone large if some of my fellow Neophytes with strength masteries, like Gimit and Shanel, weren’t returning with rocks as big as overlarge cabbages, one in each hand.

Past the Artisans were four Beast Kin in green tunics, all with short sticks that would be useful up-close. There were the twins Oph and Orm, along with Ralet and Winri, whose hair had turned gray a year ago even though she was our age. After watching the Devout Melee, I expected this group to put up more of a direct fight than the other Orders, and Ralet was grinning wolfishly, clearly excited for it to begin.

Next in the line was a collection of three three Healers wearing yellow, Holri among them. I knew that the Thresher had been hard on her, but she looked determined, her and the other two holding long sticks, probably to keep people at bay. The Healer Elder had said that Artisans and Alchemists didn’t normally participate in the Melee, but that meant Healers did. Was that so they could heal the rest of us? I couldn’t imagine that their mantle or masteries would be much use for fighting, and like with Iles, I felt a touch badly for them.

Circling back to jumpy Tevo in his blue tunic, in place of a weapon I saw he held one of the softly glowing yellow bars that the Healer Devout had been selling. What he planned to do with that, I didn’t have a clue, just as I didn’t have a clue why Maphen was now off on his own, not even near the Summoner Neophyte he had arrived with. Instead of watching Tamra with her sword, I should have gone and spoken with him, but now I felt the moment had grown too late, most Neophytes having made their selection from the barrels.

The three Assassins in black didn’t seem to be carrying any obvious weapons, which finished my count and then some, the totals meaning that the Warrior Order represented nearly half of those present – something I should have deduced as soon as the Healer Elder commented on there being twenty-eight Neophytes. With so many of us, I was starting to understand why Aphos had said that the other Orders would be inconsequential. Surely, some of them would do well, but I couldn’t imagine them beating everyone in red.

The Artisan Elder clanged her metal staff against the stone floor, but it was the Healer Elder who spoke, his almost fevered gaze boring into us.

“Your previous tests should have impressed upon you that death is only a single misjudgment or moment of weakness away. I say again, only one of you can win, and killing your opposition is the best way to ensure that they do not rise up against you.”

I found that advice odd to hear from a Healer, but I did my best to take it to heart. After all, if the Beast Kin Devout or another had finished Aphos instead of just wounding him, he wouldn’t have been able to return to win the Melee. Not that I could imagine seriously hurting Aldric or Tamra, but there were at least two dozen other people I had to defeat before I needed to worry about that.

“Claim the glory that waits for you,” the Artisan Elder said.

“Prove that you can ascend,” the Healer Elder rasped.

And then, together, they shouted, “Begin!”