The second day of trials was even more disheartening than the first.
From the start of the day, Reg kept waiting for someone to take him aside and tell him that his performance on the written examinations meant that he had to leave. Thinking through the number of questions that he’d answered that he’d had a clue about, he calculated that he’d be lucky if got fifteen correct out of the hundred-plus questions. It made breakfast a dismal affair at the table of non-elves that Reg was sitting at. He was glad when Instructor Brilleye, a willowy elf with a breathy voice, called the recruits together for target practice. She was one of the Achivian Guards who always wore her Achivian Guard mask within the campus. The Achivian Guards always wore their masks on duty -- dark wood masks inlaid with protective sigils that covered the face from the nose upwards -- but few continued to wear them when they weren’t on active duty. Instructor Brilleye’s mask was carved to look like a horned owl, but it was a horned owl that looked like it was melting. On the cheeks, silvery sigils that looked like eyes peered out at the world underneath Instructor Brilleye’s own golden ones.
Instructor Brilleyes gathered the recruits and took them to an archery range. There were many fewer recruits around today: all of the elves were still here, but forty or so of the non-elves were missing, so they were down to equal numbers of elves and non-elves. Archery targets twisted and turned on long silken ropes that came down from the crossbeam of a triangular frame high above. She stood in front of the gathered trainees, lovingly caressing the upper limb of a longbow and started rhapsodizing about archery in her quiet, breathy voice: “Archery is the foundational skill of the Achivian Guard. The mist twists that hunger to assault our Eternal Tree are monstrously large and the only effective way to fight them is at range. The beautiful longbow is the tool that lets us do that. It has power. It has range. Arrows are the perfect medium for devastating enchantments that can cut into the hearts of even the most dangerous twists.
“Some of you might erroneously believe that skill with the longbow isn’t necessary for you. Perhaps you are an evoker or enchanter. Magical energy runs out. What then? You pick up a longbow and fight behind your brothers and sisters in the guard. Perhaps you fancy yourself a duelist? You can’t duel a twist that’s taller than the tower behind me. But you can string your bow and help take it down. Perhaps you plan to be a battlefield healer? The best healing you can do is proactive: killing the things that are trying to kill your patients.
“Today, I shall be examining your skill with the bow to see if you’re worthy of the effort it’d take to instruct you in the bow to the level that our guard requires. The speed and accuracy of our Achivian Guards is a thing of legend because it is the skill on which our safety rests. Now, line up and in groups of five, I’ll have you shoot ten arrows at these targets and assess your form.”
The first group was all elves. Reg was happy to see Fenjor, the muscular elf who delighted in tormenting the “lesser” non-elves, have three of his shots entirely miss the target and thunk into the loam butt that was set up behind the archery target. After each hit, the dangling butts swayed and twisted in the air, but almost every shot still remained on target.
Reg had shot a bow a few times before: even on the lower branches, it was still a required part of the primary school curriculum, but he was far from proficient and was dreading his turn to show another skill at which he was deficient. Watching the first group made that feeling even worse: every single one of them seemed like a master archer.
The next group had Dun, the elf who’d been first in the run, and Val. Dun caught Instructor Brilleye’s attention and asked in his slow drawl, “Is it acceptable to shoot a star instead? I don’t like splitting arrows. It’s a waste.” After the nod from Instructor Brilleyes, all ten arrows hit home on the target over the course of a few breaths in a perfectly regular star shape. The swaying of the target seemed to have no impact on Dun’s accuracy; how were the rest of them supposed to compete with that?
The Instructor’s smile at this display of shooting quickly turned into a frown as Val started wrestling with her bow. The longbow was far too large for her, and she swung the six-foot plus longbow around wildly as she tried to get it squared up with the arrow nocked. Instructor Brilleyes quickly grabbed the bow out of her hands when she came close to pointing her nocked arrow back at the recruits waiting to shoot. Instructor Brilleye curtly told Val “I’ve seen enough” before gesturing that she should wait with the other recruits who’d finished their turn. Val turned, and Reg caught Val’s crushed expression. Bartholomew, perched in her hair, looked as murderous as a squirrel could possibly look.
After the written examinations, Reg was sure that he didn’t have a chance to join the guard, so it was an easy decision to step forward and call out to Instructor Brilleyes, “Instructor Brilleye, could I run to the armory and find shortbows? That longbow is more than twice Val’s height: I’m sure she’d do better with a more appropriately-sized weapon.“
Instructor Brilleye sniffed, “Request denied. The longbow is the weapon of the guard and this is a test of proficiency with it. Shorter bows simply don’t have the range and stopping power that we require. We aren’t going to relax any of our requirements simply to make it easier for you.”
Reg swallowed an angry retort and instead simply said “understood, sir” and stepped back into line. A policy that didn’t let people use the weapon they were best with seemed foolish, but arguing with an instructor wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
As he stepped back into the line, he heard a mutter from behind him, “‘stopping power’ is a dirt-licking foolish excuse. A short composite has plenty of oomph. She just don’t like us.” The heavily scarred gnome who had seemed like a hunter was the one who’d said it, pitching her hoarse voice so that it wouldn’t carry much beyond Reg’s ears. At least, it wouldn’t have if the crowd hadn’t been full of keen-eared elves. Reg saw some uneasy shifting from those who’d heard the hunter’s words, and was relieved to see a few nods: at least some of the elves could tell a bush from a vine. Reg gave Val and the scarred gnome behind a helpless shrug: nothing had been fair about these trials so far, so why should this be any different?
Reg’s turn came quickly enough. The non-elves were a mix. The gnomes all struggled with the overlong bows, and some of the humans weren’t much better. Many arrows didn’t even make it to the loam butt behind the targets; Yeva and others weren’t even able to draw the lightest of the longbows. A few humans did OK: one of the two lumberjacks and Annise, the friendly throwballer who’d encouraged Reg during yesterday’s run, were both able to shoot their arrows in tight clusters.
Not every elf was as proficient as Dun, Fenjor, and the other elves who had stepped first, but they were all able to at least draw the longbows and send their arrows downrange. As more and more of the non-elves stepped up and shot poorly, Instructor Brilleye’s mouth curled into more and more of a sneer.
All too soon, it was Reg’s turn to step forward and choose a bow. He grabbed one that looked like it was only a bit too tall for him, but he only had dim memories of how to choose a bow from his primary school classes. He stepped up to the mark that he was supposed to shoot from. A quick glance to his right helped him feel certain that it was his left leg that was supposed to be in front. He nocked his first arrow, and did his best to let his vision fill with nothing but the target the same way that he always did for shooting his sling. His first shot went far right. The next, high and to the left. After each shot, he tried adjusting his form, but his shots still flew everywhere but the target. After each shot, Reg heard Fenjor laughing and jeering, and Instructor Brilleye seemed to have no interest in stopping him. Too quickly, he was out of arrows. Fenjor let out one last jeer, “the boy shouldn’t have left his mother’s teat,” and Reg felt himself snap. His right hand dropped to the sling that he habitually wore on his right hip, and his left dipped into his heavy pouch of bullets and grabbed one. With smoothness from many hours of practice, he twirled the swing around his head before sending the bullet whipping downrange. The bullet hit the center of the target hard and sent it swinging back and forth.
Instructor Brilleye hissed, “put that blundering thing away or I’ll take it from you.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Fenjor laughed even louder, “oh no, the boy has a savage’s weapon! Terrifying.”
Reg put his sling back on his belt and stalked in affronted silence to join the recruits who’d finished shooting. Val gave him a pained smile as he walked over, but didn’t say anything. They stood next to each other watching the rest of the recruits.
The only surprise was how well the scarred gnome hunter did. She braced the lower tip of the bow against a ripple in the bark and then angled the rest of the bow across her body. It looked incredibly awkward, but it didn’t stop her from hitting the target on all but her first arrow.
The next trial was more of a failure than archery.
A shorter-than-usual gnome wearing the thick robes of a professional mage gathered the recruits and had them follow him up the guard tower to a large room near the top of the tower. On one side of the room, there were twenty circles, all made of metal, inlaid into the floor at regular intervals. Reg was shocked, how much would all that metal have cost? A dark wooden shelves against one wall was full of dried plants, most of which Reg didn’t recognize, despite all his time on the wild branches; stoppered flasks labeled things like “milk of the lost spider”, “lotusian pus”, and “longing”; careful piles of different kinds of dirt; and more besides that Reg didn’t have a chance to examine. The room was frigid: many of the recruits started shivering as soon as they entered.
Despite the size of the room, it felt almost full with eighty people standing at attention in it, and the warmth from nearby bodies did a little to combat the icy chill of the room. The short gnome magus rapped his staff on the ground, and then began lecturing them. “My name is Professor Ashsprocket. It is not Instructor Ashsprocket or Mr. Ashsprocket, it is either Professor Ashsprocket or Professor. Understood?” At the murmured “yes,” from the crowd, Professor Ashsprocket continued, “I am a visiting professor from Nest’eff University’s Department of Evocation. My research foci include spell elisions and cantrip efficiency improvements.
Now, almost none of you will have the skill and control necessary for evocational combat, slower workings, or imbued enchantments, but control over your magical energies is a useful tool for any guard and I shall be testing all of you to ensure that you meet that mark.
Let’s do our best to move through you all quickly. When I call your name, step up and attempt to cast a single cantrip. The spells you choose and whether you succeed at them doesn’t matter, I’m looking for your control and ability to externally shift your mana. After I finish with you, you can head for lunch. Please target any offensive spells into the bucket of magivore sand here.
First, we have… Oh, hmm, Annise, you can head to lunch. I remember you from my Introduction to Evocation class. Not pursuing your Staff then, I see. Next, Anderral Hart?” Annise, the friendly aquiline-nosed throwball player, waved to the professor and headed back down the stairs to lunch, while the shorter of the two lumberjacks headed forwards and stood in the metal circle in front of Professor Ashsprocket and started waving his hands while chanting in a deep voice. Reg didn’t see any effect, but the Professor smiled and then called for “Belladonna Raberos,” a cheerful elf who often hung around Fenjor. She snapped out the sharp words to a spell, and then dropped a handful of golden fire into the bucket that Professor Ashsprocket had indicated.
The professor whipped through the recruits. Belladonna was followed by Bodrick Illumia, Busker Tricksome, and then Carmina Kitar in short order. Some attempts had no apparent manifestations; others created showers of burning silver sparks, a small bit of spider’s web, a small translucent pane of force, or small breeze. Dun Adat conjured a fully opaque hand that waved to the professor before disappearing. Fenjor barked a single word that left his mouth in a blaze of fire. A few of the recruits whose cantrips didn’t have visible manifestations were directed to wait off to one side, while others were directed to head down to lunch.
As the professor worked his way through the alphabet, Reg was grateful that his name would be near the end. He’d never been able to cast a single cantrip, and he had the dreadful feeling that he’d soon be joining the group waiting off to one side.
Oakal Twobridges, the taller of the two lumberjacks, had a cantrip produce nothing and was sent to wait, and it was then it was Regulus Olverspiel’s turn. He strode to the circle as confidently as he could, and started the slow chant for the trunk-finding charm that had been the first he’d been taught in primary school. After a few seconds, Professor Ashsprocket jerked his head to the side and said, “wait over there with the other remedials.” Reg headed that way with his head still held high: he hadn’t expected anything else to happen, but it still hurt a bit.
The remaining recruits went quickly. Reg silently cheered as Val created a small, dark cloud that rained and shot lightning into the bucket. She was beaming as she headed to lunch. Yeva, on the other hand, joined Reg after thirty seconds of hand gestures that produced nothing. She looked as resigned as Reg felt.
After Zella Tun, a tall woman who produced a dim shower of sparks and was dismissed, Professor Ashsprocket turned to the eight shivering humans and gnomes who’d failed his test. The room felt like it had gotten even colder over the course of the trial.
Professor Ashsprocket cleared his throat, and then gestured towards a closet that was to the right of the door, “Feel free to grab a mage robe from the closet for now. We didn’t have enough for everyone.” After the eight recruits shrugged on the heavy robes, he continued, “All of you obviously failed to produce the smallest iota of a magical effect from the spell that you tried to cast. We need to determine whether it’s simply your technique that’s deficient, or whether you struggle with exosomatic mana manifestation.” He reached deep into a pocket of his robe and pulled out a bag of small, green crystals with copper filigree that he handed to each recruit. “Hold this empty battery in your dominant hand, and relax. You should feel a slight pulling sensation from your hand: relax into that feeling. I’ll be circulating around the room and giving your mana a little push. Close your eyes and begin.”
Reg screwed his eyes shut and concentrated on his right hand. He didn’t feel anything at all. After a minute, he peeked, and the dark green crystal sat inert in his hand. To his left, Yeva’s battery was shining brighter than the crystal lights providing illumination overhead. Further left, Oakal’s battery had a slight, but unmistakable glow. Reg shut his eyes again and focused on relaxing. The feelings didn’t change. In the background, he heard Professor Ashsprocket murmuring, “Good, it was Gregga right? You can go,” “Oakal, was it? You’re going to feel a little push. Hmmm, good, good. Keep on with that, and I’ll check on you in a few minutes,” and “Yeva, outstanding. Oh, I wish I could curse whoever taught you your spells, they did you a grave disservice. You can head to lunch.” Then Reg heard the professor’s light tread in front of him and felt two small hands rest on top of his right hand. “Interesting. It was Reginald, right? Reginald, I want you to relax. Do you feel a slight pushing around your heart? No? Hmmm, well keep trying and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Time flowed on, and Reg heard more and more of the recruits being dismissed, but try as he might, the feeling of the crystal in his hand remained the same. Professor Ashsprocket came by again, this time chanting three soft words, but the crystal in his hand just felt like a rock. There was no pulling sensation at all.
Eventually, Professor Ashsprocket spoke again, “Alright, I’ve seen what I need to see. I’ll take the batteries from you two. Please, put the robes back into the closet, and then head down to lunch. Fine effort, both of you.” Reg opened his eyes. A skinny boy with wild, blonde hair and a face smudged with soot was the other failure. Reg and the boy, Jashal, headed the long way down the stairs towards the dining hall and lunch.
Reg gave Jashal a grin, “Well, I figure that’s the third failure for me. I never expected to wish that I’d spent more time paying attention in primary.” Knowing that he was surely leaving the guard was freeing: he’d figure something else out. Yeva had talked about the Scavenger’s Guild, maybe he’d try to join them? He might not have the skills to join the Guard right now, but that didn’t mean he never would, and he wasn’t going to give up on being part of a force that was protecting the Tree. And, he wasn’t going to give up on figuring out why the Thornbound had hidden all news of the fallen primary that had killed Reg’s mother, brother, and auntie: that should have been the biggest news on the Tree in decades.
Jashal smiled back, “I’m on the same branch. The food is worth it, though: I ain’t et this good in moons. Plus, I heard it’s a whole ring a day in pay: that’s at least a week’s wage back in Ithilia. How flourishing is that?”
Reg nodded, “Flourishing for sure. Any clue what we’re up to this afternoon?”
Jashal looked around, “I mighta peeked at Brilleye’s schedule when she was busy scowling at us dirty lower branchers. It’s gonna be circle duels and that’s the last thing they got for us.”
Reg grinned, maybe he’d have a chance to thump Fenjor? Or at least give some of the other elves a whack or two and show them that he might be an ignorant lower branch herder, but he could handle a spear just fine.
Jashal and Reg spent the rest of the walk down the stairs gossiping about why Instructor Brilleye always wore a mask, what the dining hall staff would serve for lunch, and which of the elves they’d most want a chance to hit in the circle.