Year 1464 of the Holy Calendar – Larethin
The room on the other side of the door smelled faintly of ink.
Alaric stepped in and stopped for a moment. Rows of simple tables filled the space, each with a chair and a sheet of paper laid on top. At the front sat four priests behind a longer table. Brother Seron was among them.
"Take an empty seat," one priest said without looking up.
Most of the boys already seated looked older than Alaric, eleven or twelve, some even close to thirteen. He saw Jarik one row over. Their eyes met for a second, Jarik gave him a quick grin before turning back to the front.
Alaric found a free chair near the middle and sat down.
Everyone here is bigger… but I trained. Just write.
Seron stood.
"This is the written part of the regional examination," he said. "You will be tested on history, geography, basic magic theory, and math. Write your name clearly at the top. When we say stop, you stop. No talking."
A stack of papers went down each row. Another priest set a small ink bottle and reed pen on Alaric's table.
He glanced at the first line of questions.
Name three kingdoms that share a border with Shersia.
Explain in one sentence what "Creo Ignis" does.
If a merchant has twelve sacks of grain and sells four, how many remain…
He let out a breath he had not noticed he was holding.
This is no worse than Corwin's lessons.
His pen moved. Names, short facts he learned, distances he had seen on maps. A few questions made him pause, but he guessed from what he knew and did not linger.
He did not look around much, but once, when he did, he saw Jarik chewing his lip over a history date, then flying through a set of number problems about sharing harvest between families.
Alaric went back to his own sheet.
When his answers filled the page, he skimmed them once more, fixed one number that looked wrong, then set the pen down.
Good enough. I will not make it better by staring at it.
At the front, a priest raised a small bell and rang it.
"Stop writing. Put your pens down."
Chairs creaked as boys sat back. Examiners walked between the tables, collecting papers in quiet stacks. When one of them took Alaric's sheet, he resisted the urge to look after it.
Seron spoke again. "You will now move to the side hall. The magic and body tests will be done there. Follow Brother Calen in an orderly line."
They filed out. The written room emptied, leaving only the smell of ink behind.
They went to the sidehall they previously seated on.
"Sit," he said. "When I call your name, you go through that door. No noise."
Alaric took a chair. Jarik dropped into the seat next to him and let out a breath.
"That was not so bad," Jarik whispered. "I think I only mixed up two dates. Maybe three."
"I wrote what I remembered," Alaric said.
The hall settled into a low murmur. Some boys tapped their feet, others stared fixedly at the floor. Mana hummed quietly under Alaric's skin. The next test mattered more to him than the paper one ever could.
This is where I really show what I did in the yard and behind the shed. Do not choke now.
The priest at the table called the first name.
"Toben of Harrowfield."
Toben stood without a word and went through the door. It closed behind him.
Several minutes passed. Another name was called. Another boy vanished into the next room.
"Jarik of Norvale," the priest said.
Jarik got up, shrugged once as if his shoulders were too tight, and muttered, "See you after," to Alaric before stepping through the door.
The quiet grew heavier.
Alaric flexed his fingers once and let them rest on his knees again.
Mana is full & Hands are steady. That is enough.
The priest looked at the list again.
"Alaric of Horsin."
Alaric rose. His legs felt stiff as his heart beat faster.
He walked toward the door, reached for the handle as it turned from the other side, and stepped forward into the room where the next test waited.