Reg left early in the morning after a quick round of goodbyes and started the hike to Ithilia at a fast pace. He’d stayed an extra day to help wrangle the beetles, and it meant that he needed to make the trek to Ithilia in two days rather than three. The hike to Ithilia was easy, even at a fast pace. Druid-crafted branch roads were well maintained, vegetation was pruned back, monsters were non-existent, and bridges and ladders were sturdy and plentiful.
There were lots of other people on the roads, especially as Reg got closer to Ithilia: farmers pulling travoises full of supplies, merchants with pack-trains of goats heading towards larger cities, families taking their children to drop off at their local village school, a gnome family riding a beetle outfitted with a wooden platform singing songs, porters with satchels of mail and deliveries jogging between villages, and a tinker-wizard who was advertising to passersby as walked “Mending, crystal stove repair, sharpening wooden blades, and more!”
After the winter, the Tree was coming back to life as well. You could almost see it regrowing its massive leaves after the fall. The vines, bushes, mosses, fungi, and trees that grew on its branches were also coming back to life and were full of color. On bridges and ladders, Reg would slow down to enjoy the views of the branches below, full of villages, farms, and spring.
Near dusk on the second day, Reg arrived at Ithilia. The next morning, he would go sign up at the Achivian Guard Headquarters, so he thought he’d spend the night in Ithilia and take the chance to explore the big city. It was just as overwhelmingly full of people as the last time he’d been here. City folk were rushing every which way; it seemed even busier now that it wasn’t winter. After wandering lost for a bit, Reg flagged down a guard -- a dour-looking elf who was patrolling around the market circle -- to ask where he could find cheap lodging. The elf took a long look at him, “in from the twigs, eh? Blackbird Bush Lane is your best bet. It’s cheap and close to the platform.”
After thanking the guard, Reg followed signs towards the platform and then to Blackbird Bush Lane. The platform was huge with the largest crystals that Reg had ever seen, but at this point in the evening it was stationary and there wasn’t anyone loading or unloading anything into the nearby warehouses. Blackbird Bush Lane was narrow, and unlike much of the city, most buildings weren’t druid-crafted. Rather than natural curves rising out of the trunk or branch, only the foundation pillars were shaped, and the rest was constructed with planks slotted into place. Signs outside hostels advertised shocking prices for a night: the cheapest he saw was several days’ wages. He’d gotten paid for the herding season, but that money wouldn’t last long with prices like that. He quickly resolved to spend the night camping outside the city limits, but he still wanted to spend time exploring and enjoying the city, so when he saw a cheery-looking tavern advertising cheap moss-wine, he ducked inside.
It was early enough in the evening that it wasn’t too crowded. The bar was full of a good mix of humans and gnomes. Reg was relieved to see a few other folks dressed in clothing similar to his simple jerkin: he wasn’t the only one traveling in from the twigs. Folks in the bar were chowing down on a hearty-looking stew, and Reg slid up to the bar and ordered some stew and a mug of mosswine. The gray-haired bartender ladled some of the stew into a bowl and pulled a mug of mosswine for him, after perfunctorily asking him, “you old enough to handle this? Can’t have you puking in my bar.”
Reg found a stool at a table with an open spot and chowed down. The stew was great, hearty and delicious. Reg could understand why the mosswine was being sold so cheaply: it had a slightly unpleasant fungal aftertaste. His tablemates were three older men who had the look of laborers: strong and tanned from spending time outside. They were in the midst of a friendly argument about throwball and whether the 2-2-1 defensive zone that the Verdant Goats had adopted was working better than the traditional 1-3-1 zone or doing defensive assignments one on one. Reg had never played -- he’d never gotten the hang of even the simplest cantrips -- but he’d picked up enough from listening to Barkle grumble about throwball to follow the conversation.
The throwball conversation died down, and the man in a red jerkin to Reg’s left turned to him, “so, what’s a kid like you doing here?”
Reg swallowed the gulp of stew he’d been working on, “you hear about the Achivian Guard opening up? I’m going to join.”
Red-jerkin looked surprised, “mist and ash, really? Bold. I figure things must be getting bad if they’re letting humans and gnomes in. I wouldn’t want to be you.”
The man across from Reg, slugged red-jerkin on the shoulder, “Greg, don’t worry the lad. You know less about politics than you do about throwball.” He turned to Reg, “Dunno why House Raberos changed how they were voting in the conclave, but it’s something political. Probably getting concessions to let the House Torhana coalition try out their pet project.”
For a second, Reg was tempted to pretend he understood what the man was talking about, but he only had vague memories of the differences between the high houses from Mrs. Moonleaf’s classes. There were three of them, and the only house he knew anything about was House Adat; some of the greatest circle duelists of all time were from House Adat, and many moves and training routines were named after members of that house. He quickly asked, “So, why does House Torhana want humans and gnomes in the guard?”
Red-jerkin jumped in before his friends could, “Torhana are the good ones. They actually like non-elves, even adopted some into their family. Plus, lots of ‘em join the guard for a bit. Figure it’s just that.”
His two friends nodded and the one across the table from Reg added, “yup, that’s about it. Torhana has been angling to get non-elves into the guard for centuries, but the Conclave moves slow and the other two high houses haven’t been on the same bough.”
Reg nodded and then asked, “how about House Adat and Raberos? Any idea why they didn’t want us in there?”
The third laborer, a brawny man with a thick black beard, was the first to answer, “ground-touched elves don’t like us. Likely don’t want to rub shoulders with us.”
The laborer across from Reg waggled his hand, adding “Sort of. I’m sure some of them don’t like us. Robert, it’s not like you like them all that much, eh?” He paused for a second to mull over his words, “way I heard it explained, they like us fine -- just think we’re incompetent. Oldest humans are still children by their standards, so they don’t want to put kids in charge of anything important.”
Red-jerkin jumped in, “but Numen is showing ‘em!”
Reg thought for a second. Hadn’t Barkle been saying something about her a bit ago? “Is she the striker for the Goats?”
Red-jerkin shook his head, “I wish she still was. Just got traded for a bunch of picks, but she’s been far and away the top scorer these past few years. Seeing a human dominate the league has got to change a few elf minds.”
Black-beard jumped back into the convo, “Numen has been good, no doubt, but there’s no way you can say she’s dominating the league! Absolute rubbish on defense. I’d say either Vladok or Leafcry have easily been better. They might not have the flashy mage-hand scoring that Numen does, but their teams have won a ton more matches. There’s a reason the Goats haven’t won the cup the past few years.”
The conversation quickly went back to throwball and a vociferous debate about who the current best player in the league was. After finishing his stew and moss-wine, Reg said goodbye to the laborers and headed out of the city to find a good spot to make camp.
The next morning, Reg headed to the Achivian Guardhouse. He’d walked past it on the way into town, so he knew exactly where to head. It had a large campus a little bit outside of town. The main tower was shaped into the trunk, and it looked like it could house thousands of guards. The wide bough before the tower had been shaped into the largest open-space that Reg had seen. Some guards were doing spear drills in that space, others were practicing their archery, and still others were jogging. Around that open-space, Reg saw entrances to smaller buildings that were built into the branch.
At the entrance to the tower, Reg could see a large group of humans, gnomes, and elves that must be the new signups for the guard. As he walked over, he eyed the group of forty or so applicants.There were people from all strata of the tower: everything from a male elf wearing a phase silk cloak inscribed with shimmering glyphs to a gnome wearing a tattered robe who looked like she hadn’t washed in months.
The majority of the crowd were elves, many of which were standing off to one side and seemed to be catching up. Unlike the rest of the waiting crowd, these elves weren’t carrying heavy packs. As he walked by that group, a muscular elf with short brown hair in a sharp-looking blue doublet pitched his voice louder saying, “I still can’t believe they’re letting children like that one try out for the guard. It’s offensive. He probably shaves even less than I do.” Reg pretended not to hear: fighting with a noble elf was a good way to get kicked out of the guard before even having a chance to join. Still, he started to worry: he should have realized there’d be some sort of selection to get in. Was he really going to need to compete with elves?
He started eyeing the rest of the crowd, wondering how many people would make it in. That grandmotherly-looking human woman with a shield? They probably wouldn't even let her try out: she looked frail and tired. There were two large looking men with the hammers of lumberjacks: they looked strong and ready. A gnome with a shortbow and thick leather armor looked tanned and scarred from years hunting on the wild branches would make it for sure. Most of the crowd looked older than him, there were only a few like Reg who looked a year or two into adulthood.
As he looked around the crowd, a sharp crack suddenly rang out. He had his sling out before he realized it had been an elf mage who’d made the noise. He caught the gnome hunter’s eye: she’d drawn a dagger, one that gleamed of metal, before shoving it away again. At least he wasn’t the only one who was on edge. The elf mage cleared his throat, “Ahem. Yes. There will be a full welcome tomorrow once everyone has arrived, but for now I need to go through everyone to see if you’re of sound mind and sound body. Please come into my office over here one at a time. Thank you.” With that, the elf mage walked back into a low building marked with the crossed holly branches of a healer that had been built into the branch.
There was a bit of a mad scramble to follow the healer, before the elf in the phase silk cloak raised his voice in a loud drawl, “I know the lower branches are far from polite society, but surely you all have heard of the concept of a queue? Nothing will happen today anyways.” There was still some jostling for position in the line outside the healer’s office.
Reg ended up behind the grandmotherly looking woman and ahead of the filthy gnome in tattered robes. This close, she smelled strongly of body odor and cedar and some of her matted dreadlocks had been turned into a nest for a squirrel that was chittering away in her ear. The squirrel caught him staring, and turned its face towards him and chittered angrily in his direction.
The gnome looked up at Reg and said, “hello there! Don’t listen to anything Bartholomew says, he’s had his breakfast already. My name is Valseria, but you can call me Val!” Her voice was lilting, excited, and younger-sounding than Reg had expected. The layer of twigs and grime covering her made it hard to guess how old she was.
After a second’s hesitation, Reg held out his hand, “I’m Reg. It’s nice to meet both of you. What do you think they’re going to be checking for in there?”
Val looked excited, “oh, I bet it’s lots of things! Uncontrolled scourge-blight, the withering, major marks, geases, seemings. Standard stuff like that. I just hope it goes quickly! The library here is supposed to have some books about the mist that even Nest’eff doesn’t and I want to go look. Can you believe they opened up the guard to us? Best thing ever!”
Reg nodded, “yeah, it’s exciting.” He wasn’t used to small talk with strangers, but the line wasn’t moving, so it didn’t hurt to chat and be polite. “So, what were you doing before this?”
Val gestured with the staff she was holding in her left hand, “Freelance druidry! I’ve been wandering and doing whatever work comes up, you know? Convincing angry beasts to move, fixing up carpentry, enriching crops, repairing bridges, a bit of healing here and there. I’m not the best at any of it, but there’s always a need for something, and it’s let me see so much of the Tree. How about you?”
Reg had guessed something like that: a strange person having a conversation with a squirrel is either going to be insane or a druid, and despite the filth, Val seemed sharp and eager. He answered her question, “I was a herder, down near Willowbend. I mostly did beetles and goats, but we had a good number of spiders too.”
Val lit up even more when he mentioned that he was a herder, “oh, I love goats! They always have such good gossip about herd problems and the tastiest grazing spots. I’ve never gotten along with beetles though. They. Talk. Like. This. And. It. Takes. Forever. To. Say. Anything. To. Them. You know? And it’s not like they have anything interesting to talk about anyways. I guess you probably don’t talk to them that much, huh?”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Reg nodded, “yeah, I wish. I mean, I’d mostly want to talk to Ankie. She was my herding partner. Smartest and cutest spider on the whole Tree. I wish I could have explained to her why I had to leave to try to join the guard.”
Val looked pensive, “if there’s ever the chance, I’d be happy to translate for you. That’s easy to do.” She looked around, “do you have any guesses what they’ll have us doing for tryouts? I hope there’s a written test! I bet knowledge must be super important to them.”
Reg felt green. He certainly hoped there wasn’t a written test. “Maybe fitness? I bet they want to make sure we can march and stuff like that.”
Val frowned, “hmmm, that makes sense. Oh, I know! I bet they’ll test our spell forms. See what we can cast and how much juice we can put into it.”
Reg was feeling worse and worse. A written test? Spell forms? Hopefully Val was wrong about what the tryouts would be, because if she was right, he’d be headed back to the ranch tomorrow. It’d almost be a relief. He’d have tried to join the guard and keep the Tree safe and figure out what had happened during that primary branch fall and he could return home having tried his best to make a difference. He could get back to herding, where he belonged.
The line moved slowly. Reg and Val kept chatting. It turned out she’d been near Willowbend a year prior helping out with recovery from a borer beetle infestation, so they were able to talk a bit about sights around the area.
Eventually, Reg reached the front of the line. He wished Val and Bartholomew well, and headed into the healer’s office. There were multiple healers on duty, and he was sent into one of the rooms where an older healer with droopy ears introduced himself as Healer Leafwatch, and then brusquely asked for his name and primary residence before running a battery of examinations on him. He was asked to hold a sweet-smelling burning twig while answering a series of questions: “What’s your age?” “Are you under any compulsions?” “Why do you want to join the Achivian Guard?”
Some of the questions were stranger. “If you saw a group of people dancing in a tavern, what would you do?” “If your mother were to cut herself while making dinner, how would you help her?” “When both moons cross the sky deosil, what portends?” “Whence the raven?”
Reg’s confused answers seemed to satisfy Healer Leafwatch, who then had him strip down to his underwear. The healer pulled out a small holly branch with three silvery bells on it and walked around him three times while ringing the bells. He then pulled out a satchel of wands, all made of different woods and inscribed with glyphs, and spent several minutes poking and prodding Reg with different ones while taking copious notes and muttering to himself. After a few minutes of this, he pronounced, “you’re clear. Head through this hallway and follow signs to the cafeteria. And eat something for the Heart’s sake: you’re too skinny.”
The hallways to the cafeteria were lined with crystal lights. Achivian Guards, most out of their normal masks, went hurrying by, only giving the new recruits a quick glance. The cafeteria itself was at the base of the large tower that was built into the trunk. The barkward side had huge windows that let in huge amounts of morning light and illuminated long trestle tables that were empty except for the waiting recruits. A single gnome cafeteria worker manned a small bar with gruel, nuts, fungal toppings, and some fruit. Reg grabbed a bowl, topping it generously with mushrooms and almonds, and headed towards one of the tables that the recruits were waiting at.
He sat down next one of the two bearded men who looked like lumberjacks. The man introduced himself as Dugan and explained that nothing interesting was going to happen until tomorrow to give folks enough time to arrive and get settled in. Every few minutes, servants came by in clothing similar to the cafeteria worker to guide a recruit to their room. Reg turned to the red-bearded man next to him, “Am I hearing that right? We all get rooms? I thought they’d have us in bunks somewhere.”
The man grunted, “yup, seems like. Fancy. Figures the poncy elves would all need their own rooms. I guess we get the benefit. Food’s good too.”
Reg dug in: it was. He listened to his tablemates speculate about what tryouts would be like. A human woman with a spellcaster’s staff across the table was saying that they’d probably have to fight a summoned monster. Dugan was saying he bet they’d be dropped down into the mist to survive for a bit, “easiest way to see if we can hack it, right?” Those both sounded intense, but twigs to staves better than the written test that Val was talking about.
About fifteen minutes later, Val sat down at the table with two bowls of food. She sat one down for Bartholomew, who jumped into the bowl to start picking through the nuts and fungi, and then started shoveling food into her own mouth.
Reg gave her a smile, “what took you so long?”
Val didn’t wait to finish chewing before answering, “oh, I had so many questions! Healer Thaddeus was nice enough to explain what he was doing and answer questions. Did you know that ash wands do a better job of detecting the withering than holly ones? They increase the resonance at least ten times, which is important if you’re doing bulk examinations. He was full of fascinating facts like that. Oh, I’m so excited to get through tryouts and start going to class!”
After another fifteen minutes, a servant called Reg and two other trainees to drop off his things in their rooms. The servant was an elderly woman who nattered about her grandchildren the entire time she was guiding the three of them up the flights of stairs to their rooms. They got to Reg’s room first. It was trunk-side, so it didn’t have any windows, and it was narrow and small, with a bed, a wash-basin, and a small writing table, but it was the first time that Reg had had a room of his own. The elderly woman paused from telling them about her youngest grandchild James (“Oh, he’s a dearie. Reddest little cheeks. Had a touch of colic for a bit, but the local druid sorted him right out. Thank the stars, they live so close to Ithilia. The twigs just don’t have the same caliber of healer.”) to let Reg know that he should clean himself up, dress in the trainee’s uniform that had been laid out on the bed, and head back to the dining hall at the third horn.
The third horn came quickly. Reg had found the washroom and cleaned himself alongside the other recruits before heading back to the dining hall to eat some more food and kill time. Most of the other recruits were already in the cafeteria when the third horn sounded, so only a few trickled in from upstairs. Everyone was wearing the green and white trainee uniform provided, and it made the elves who’d been strutting around in phase silk look more approachable.
Two elves entered the dining hall. The elf on the right was corpulent and wearing some of the finest silk robes that Reg had ever seen. He had long hair with gemstones braided through it and was smiling and waving cheerily at the group. The elf on the left couldn’t contrast more. She was whipcord lean, in an Achivian Guard’s uniform, and her only jewelry were two silvery gems inlaid into an eye-patch that covered her right eye. Her face was scarred, and she looked angry.
The hard-looking guard snapped out, “at attention, recruits. That means you two over there. Get your rotten selves over here.” Within a few seconds, she had the whole group standing at attention.
Reg looked around: more people had trickled in over the course of the day. They were up to about one-hundred and twenty recruits. At least, that’s what he’d guess if this were a group of goats, he was less sure about estimating large numbers of people.
Once the guard with the eye-patch had everyone at attention, she turned to the corpulent elf and said, “they’re ready, sir.”
The other elf gave a cheery grin, “Thank you, Merrin. Hello there, new recruits! My name is Commander Pompadon. Let me be the first to welcome you to the Achivian Guard. The Guard has had an illustrious history of defending the Eternal Tree, and I’m sure that you will all be a credit to it. The Guard is one of the most important organizations under the Thornbound Order, and we treasure the sacrifices that guards have made over the years to keep everyone on the Eternal Tree safe and secure.
I know this is the first year that we’ve welcomed non-elves to the ranks, and I have no doubt that you’ll uphold the finest traditions of the guard as you go through training. The Order has its eyes on all of you and will look to see your flourishing.
Captain Merrin will be overseeing your training, and she’ll have more details about what you’ll be going through. May the Tree’s Boughs shelter you all as you turn over this next leaf in your lives.”
Captain Merrin strode forward, and Reg started when he noticed that she had two small horns growing out of the top of her head. “Thank you, Command Pompadon.” Her voice was harsh and precise. She glared at the recruits for a second before starting her speech, “the next few days will be trying as we try to figure out if any of you have what it takes to become a guard. The Achivian Guard is a calling, and not all are ready to answer it. Our mission is to fight the worst monsters of the mists: there’s no shame in leaving when you realize that you’re not ready to join our ranks.
Some logistics: starting after the first horn tomorrow morning, we’ll have you running through a series of challenges to assess whether you have what it takes to join the guard. This assessment will be holistic, but there are certain marks that we expect every candidate to reach. If you’re not sure where to go at any point, ask someone and figure it out. If you’re unable to navigate something simple like these trials, you’ll be of no use to use as a guard.
Finally, while you haven’t taken any oaths, we still expect you to behave as probationary guards. That means that you should conduct yourself with decorum, stay in the guardhouse campus unless told otherwise by me or one of your instructors, and only cast spells when instructed to do so. Behind me, Private Longleaf has rules manuals that I expect you all to adhere to. I recommend reading that manual tonight. Ignorance of the rules is not an excuse to not follow them. If you’re from a full elven background, you’re dismissed. Pick up a rules manual from Private Longleaf on your way out. Everyone else, there are a few more things we need to cover because you don’t have the same background as everyone else.”
The entire time Merrin had been speaking, she’d been pacing back and forth and choosing different recruits to glare at. Reg did his best to meet her eye when it came his way.
Commander Pompadon followed the elven recruits out of the hall. Once the hall was mostly empty, she resumed talking, “I’m convinced that adding you to the guard is folly. You won’t be able to handle the mist, and you’ll get good elves killed. Looking at you all, I see the future deaths of my companions.”
When there were mutters from a few of the humans, Merrin hissed, “be silent unless you want to leave the guard tonight.” Once everyone quieted down, she continued, “my worries were ignored, so now I have a lot of dirt-touched weaklings to whip into shape. I chose this posting because if I’m not able to turn you into reasonable guards, nobody can, and I want to get this experiment settled without too many needless deaths.
Now, why am I telling you this? Two reasons. One, many of the guards and recruits will look at you the same way I do. If they cross the line from words into curses or physical provocations, come to me and I’ll deal with it, although I hope future guards would be able to handle their own problems. Two, I despise prevarication. You should know exactly what you’re getting into and that you will be held to the highest of standards. Now, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning. Dismissed!”
Reg felt a bit shocked as he walked over to Private Longleaf to pick up a rules manual. Rot and canker, that had been a speech and a half. At least Captain Merrin had been honest about what they’d been getting into, but he wished they’d had someone who was more enthusiastic about the whole idea. At least Commander Pompadon had seemed glad to meet them.
After picking up his manual, he headed to a corner in the dining hall to read it cover to cover. He hated reading, but if they were going to be held to high standards, he’d better get on it sooner rather than later. It was deathly dry stuff: the chain of command, how to request time off, uniform regulations, even instructions on how to walk properly. While he was reading through the section on uniforms, the same muscular elf with short-brown hair who’d loudly commented on him earlier strolled by with a few other elves and paused before loudly saying, “so, if you lose your finger, will that make you illiterate? Good thing this one started on the rules early, looks like it’ll take him weeks to get through at that pace. To say nothing of understanding what he’s reading.”
Reg stood up quickly, but struggled to think of a response. “We’ll see who’s laughing tomorrow.”
The elf laughed loudly, “We will! Now, don’t be afraid to ask your betters for help reading the longer words.”
The group of elves walked off, laughing. Reg sat back down to his book and continued to struggle through it. What hurt most was that the elf was right: he needed help with most of the sentences in the manual. They were written in archaic elven with words he didn’t recognize. Working through sentences like “Checking the selvages of thy silk should be quotidian for thy armor is thy bulwark and needs maintained with as much rigorous care as the point on thy poniard.” or “with radiant oil, polish thy apotropaics nightly lest they lose their potency in the brume” were almost impossible to parse.
The elderly recruit who’d been in line in front of Reg plopped down at the table across from him. She let out a sigh, saying “Hey, any clue what ‘cambially enchanted cuirass’ means? This ground-dwelling rulebook feels like it’s as old as the Tree. I signed up to kill mist-twists, not go back to blighted school.”
Reg shook his head, “no, not really. Some kind of armor? Seemed like it could grow or clean or something.”
The elderly recruit shook her head, rattling small charms in her gray hair. “Mists and ash, this is going to take forever to get through. Mind if I join?”
Reg shook his head, “not at all. I could use the help too. Any idea if ‘brume’ is the mist or the ground? Or maybe ice?”
As the afternoon wore on, a few more of the non-elf recruits joined their table, and together they were able to get through more of the rulebook. Things sped up a bit when Val joined them, the little gnome had run into some old texts before, so was more used to puzzling them out, but it was still a slow process. Reg kept glancing over to other tables, where recruits were socializing, playing cards, and enjoying their last day of freedom before the rigors of the guard truly started. Reg wanted to put this book down and join them, but if getting through a boring book was what he needed to do to get into the guard, he wasn’t going to give up.
The group kept working their way through the rule manual through the afternoon and dinner. At dinner, hundreds of Achivian Guards entered the dining hall to eat, but the hall was large enough that it still felt empty. Reg grabbed some food and worked through dinner alongside the elderly woman, whose name turned out to be Yeva, and Val. Other recruits eventually bailed on the manual once they had a rough grasp of the rules: basically, do whatever your commanding officer tells you and keep things cleaner than courting pixie’s nest.
Reg eventually headed to bed with about half of the book well read: he wanted to get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s tryouts.
Please gods, don’t let there be a written test tomorrow. Please.