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“Is there a problem, Mr. Anderwood?” Crillin asked from the platform.

  Krys couldn’t locate the strange old hag. He sat up in his seat and straightened his tunic. “No, Wizard Crillin.”

  “Good,” said the wizard. He returned his gaze to the frightened girl next to him. “Please make a brew to render the stare of a leopard scorpion useless.”

  Krys craned his neck to get a clear view as she tested. Suddenly he was wrapped across the chest by a strong embrace. He struggled to free himself. Peering down, he saw no arms encircling him, but the pressure of the embrace tightened.

  “You must go to the castle,” the old woman repeated. “Death and evil is enveloping the land.”

  Turning his head to face her, fear gripped him when he saw no one behind him.

  “You must seek the great wizard,” her voice continued.

  He thrashed about to free himself from the invisible grip.

  “Mr. Anderwood!” Head Elder Myt stood and yelled above the whispers and giggles of the students. “Disruptions will not be tolerated!”

  “B-But,” Krys stammered. Needing to break the grip which held him, he threw his hands over his head and tried to scoot to the next log. He missed and fell to the ground.

  Crillin wrung his hands and blew out his breath as he stood next to the head elder.

  “You will leave the Choosing,” Myt said.

  Krys jumped to his feet and stared at the leader of Ravenwood Village. His heart hammered in his chest.

  “Respectfully, Elder Myt,” Crillin said. “I believe that to be unnecessary.”

  The two wizards peered at each other for a long moment.

  “Very well,” Myt said. “But there will be no other interruptions.”

  Crillin gave a slight nod. “Thank you, elder.”

  Krys’ tense shoulders relaxed and he lowered himself to the stump only to have his arm grasped by an invisible force and his body pulled toward the trees behind him. He thrashed to release his captor, but hit the ground once more.

  “Mr. Anderwood, you were warned,” Myt said, a stern expression skewing his features.

  “Master Wizard, please! I can explain.” Krys stumbled to his feet. He gaped at Wizard Crillin, needing his support again. But the instructor broke eye contact and averted his gaze. Krys returned his attention to the head elder. His knees felt as if they would not support his body. “Wizard Myt, there was a…”

  “Now, Krys.” Myt bowed his head slightly. “There will be no more discussion.”

  Krys’ gut twisted into a tight knot and heat rushed to his head, making it pound incessantly. His mouth hanging open, he peered from Myt to Crillin and back to Myt.

  Behind the two wizards, the other mentors whispered disapprovingly to each other.

  Krys scanned the area surrounding his and Peter’s seats, desperate to find the old woman and prove his innocence. He didn’t see her anywhere.

  He turned to Peter. His friend shook his head slightly; his jaw set and his mouth held in a tight, straight line.

  Before Peter could say anything, Krys turned and ran from the clearing, angry at the woman that had destroyed his dreams. He knew Peter couldn’t jeopardize his own exam.

  He felt the stares of the wizards and his peers burning into the back of his head. “Great!” he muttered. “Just great!” He yanked a small, dead branch off a tree trunk, snapped it in two and threw the pieces at the tree. They exploded into a shower of wood fragments on contact, hanging in the air unnaturally. They formed into the face of the troublesome crone. Then in an instant fell to the ground.

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  Chapter 2 - Crillin’s Warning

  Krys sucked in large amounts of air in an attempt to calm his racing heart. The old woman had ruined everything. She stalked him and then used some strange sort of magic to hold him in place. He couldn’t help but fight her, and that got him thrown out of the Choosing. He hung his head.

  From the clearing behind Krys, he heard Crillin call out, “Vrelk Zandur.”

  With all the commotion caused by the strange old woman, Krys had no idea how far the exam had progressed, nor how many students were finished. Now, Zandur, the bane of his existence, would take his place on the platform to be tested, dazzling the wizards as he did everyone else.

  Krys kicked a stone, disbelieving his misfortune. He ducked behind the tree and glanced around the edge, watching Zandur execute a flawless transformation of a stink beetle into a morning dove. He then divided a hovering leaf into six miniature wyvern dragons that flew around the clearing in perfect formation. The band of dragons dissipated into orange smoke that formed a vortex and disappeared into the treetops.

  Show off! Krys let out a ragged breath. “I could’ve done that.”

  The wizards smiled and whispered, their pointy hats bobbing up and down as they discussed Zandur’s performance.

  Zandur jumped from the platform and strutted back to his seat. He glanced up, as if knowing exactly where Krys would be, and gave him a smug grin from across the wide expanse of the clearing.

  Several students turned their attention to Krys, along with many of the parents gathered around the clearing.

  Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, Krys retreated to the cover of the tree once more. Cold sweat poured down his face and neck. “I’ll never live this down,” he whispered to himself and tapped his forehead against the rough bark a few times.

  The faint growl of Falunsaar drew his attention. He looked at the small creature. It stared back, screeched, and belched a small ball of blue fire from its maw.

  Krys rubbed his temples. Why did the thing have to squeal so loud? “You’re not helping this headache I have,” Krys said under his breath.

  The dragon ripped pieces of meat from the squirrel he must have caught in the tree, nibbling certain parts, and spitting out others, never taking his small eyes off Krys.

  Krys extended a shaky finger at the dragon, wanting to fry the creature where it sat on the branch.

  “Peter Greenleaf,” Crillin announced.

  Krys’ head snapped in the direction of the clearing when he heard his friend’s name called. He peaked out from his hiding place and watched Peter bound to the platform.

  Peter levitated a tuft of saw-grass and then transformed it into a butterfly. It performed a mid-air dance in front of the wizards, and then burst into dozens of blazing stars. They exploded into silver vapor, which curled around the feet of the wizards.

  Krys blew out a breath and shook his head. Peter’s the best magician I’ve ever seen.

  The vapor lifted the mentors from their seats. The old wizards burst out laughing as they hovered in mid-air. As the mist evaporated, the wizards sank back onto the bench. Krys noted the excited scribblings as the mentors graded Peter’s performance. His friend then waved his hand in a series of elaborate motions, changing the color of each wizard’s robe, and finally returned them to their original hue.

  The clearing filled with ecstatic mutters of approval from the other young people. Krys sighed.

  Peter jumped off the platform, thrust his fist into the air in victory, and jogged to his seat.

  Krys retreated to his cover behind the tree and pressed his back against the trunk.

  “The great wizard needs you.” The scratchy voice of the woman and her unwanted intrusion made Krys’ skin crawl.

  He scanned the area and found her standing in the shadows of a wagon nearby, her penetrating gaze locked on his.

  “Leave me alone,” he said through clenched teeth. “You messed everything up.”

  “You have greater things to accomplish. You must find the wizard.” She flicked her gnarled hand at the clearing. “This silly test means nothing.”

  “Nothing? This exam is everything.”

  She approached Krys and tapped a shaking finger on his chest. “Save Lanterra.”

  His insides twisted as her words sank in. “Save Lanterra?” He backed up a few steps. “You have me confused with someone else.”

  �
�Your magic is required for this task.”

  “My magic? Ha! Now I know you have me confused with another.” He thrust a finger toward the clearing. “It’s Peter you want.”

  “It is Anderwood magic I seek.” She grasped his wrist and pulled.

  He yanked his arm free. “This Anderwood doesn’t have the magic you’re looking for.”

  “You are wrong, young mage.”

  Krys stared at the old woman, not sure what to think or say.

  “The testing of the prospective apprentices is now complete.” Crillin’s voice jolted him from his conversation with the crone.

  The sharp pain of failure gnawed at Krys’ gut as he looked upon the clearing of perspective apprentices and the mentors. His gaze met Zandur’s as the bully’s quiet snicker reached his ears.

  He turned and opened his mouth to shout at the old woman who had caused all this trouble, only to find her gone once more. He kicked a clod of dirt, then rested the back of his head on the tree and exhaled. “Mother and father are gonna kill me!”

  He picked up the unmistakable feeling of been watched again, but this time, the energy didn’t come from the strange visitor. It was a gentler, kinder liveliness. Krys peeked around the tree once more and met the gaze of his teacher on the platform. He had a great deal of respect for the old wizard. Over the years, Crillin had tried, without success, to build confidence in him. But, no matter how much time the wizard invested, or how he had reassured him, Krys still came off looking, and feeling, less than marginal.

  Crillin’s soft smile was not one of disappointment or anger, but of support.

  Except Krys had disappointed Crillin. Not taking the exam meant he would never have a mentor; he would never be what he’d always aspired to be. He took a deep breath and tried to ease down his feelings of self-loathing. The smell of the performed spells mingled to create a stench that turned his stomach even more.

  “You are dismissed,” Myt announced in the distance. “Results will be posted outside the council meeting cottage at the north end of the village after midday meal.”

  Krys edged around the trunk of the enormous tree and slumped to the ground to wait for Peter.

  The students exited the clearing, elbowing each other and glancing in Krys’ direction. Whispered comments and subdued laughter floated through the air, the loudest of which came from Zandur.

  Krys envisioned himself in the main room of a spacious cottage, Zandur’s five-year-old sister ordering him around as he cared for her, and all the while ‘big brother’ and his friends looked on and laughed. Arrggh! Krys screamed in his head and pounded his fist on the dirt. All I want to be is a wizard... like Peter’s gonna be. He sighed and leaned his head against the rough bark. “What will I be?”

  “You’ll be lucky to get a job shoveling manure for the swineherd.” Zandur sauntered from the clearing and kicked at the ground, covering Krys with a spray of dust.

  Krys jumped up and threw a fist at Zandur. He missed. “Get out of here, you jerk!”

  The creep snorted several times, mimicking a pig, then laughed and ran toward his friends gathered around a merchant’s wagon.

  Krys scanned the area for Peter and found him standing at the far side of the clearing with his father, Rufus Greenleaf.

  “I’ll catch up with you in a little bit,” Peter yelled. He and his father turned and walked away.

  A twig snapped. Krys turned from his receding friend to see the woman standing next to the tree he’d leaned against.

  “You must go to the castle,” she whispered.

  Krys dove to grab her arm, angry with her continued stalking. He found only a wisp of vapor in his grasp. She was gone again.

  “Mr. Anderwood.”

  His blood throbbing in his head, Krys faced his teacher and the head elder of his village. “Master Crillin, Master Myt, please let me… ”

  Elder Myt raised his hand, silencing Krys. “It matters not why you disrupted the Choosing. Only that you did.”

  "B-But, Elder, what I did wasn't that bad. It's not like I hurt anyone or anything. I just…"

  "Krys," said Myt. "What you do not understand is, as an apprentice, you must hold to every word a mentor or elder says to you. No questions, no arguments. If you can not do that, you are of no use as an apprentice. There must be trust between a mentor and his mage. Without trust, there is nothing. When you refused to heed my warning, you proved your inability to trust a mentor."

  It felt as if an anvil pressed upon Krys' shoulders as Myt turned and walked back the way he’d come.

  “I’d wanted so much more for you,” Crillin said.

  “Is there a way I can still be tested by any of the mentors?” Krys’ throat tightened.

  Crillin placed his hand gently on Krys’ shoulder. “I’m afraid not. What Elder Myt said is the truth. Unfortunately for you, the procedures are quite specific and cannot be deviated from.”

  “B-But.” Krys fought down the explosion of emotion brewing in him.

  “No mentor present today can or will accept a student who has been removed from The Choosing, for whatever reason.” The wizard bowed his head and shook it. “You will not be a wizard.” His warm, gentle gaze met Krys’. “I am sorry, but that’s the way it’s always been.” His mouth drooped. He stood, unmoving, for several moments, then turned and took two steps away.

  “Can I still at least practice magic?” Krys asked.

  Crillin faced him, his mouth held to the side and his gaze cast upwards in a moment of thought. “There is no law I’m aware of preventing you from using your talents as a mere magician.”

  He leaned his upper body toward Krys, his arms behind his back. “But be warned, there are scores of evil sorcerers in Lanterra.” He lowered his voice. “You do not exhibit strong magic, Krys.”

  The feeling of worthlessness stabbed Krys’ gut.

  “What you have is haphazard, and uncontrolled. Take care not to attract the wrong kind of attention.” Crillin shook his head. “I cannot help you if you succumb to evil magic.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Krys said.

  Crillin turned and strode toward the village elders and visiting wizards waiting across the clearing.

  Krys stood for several minutes, staring at the receding form of his teacher. When Crillin and the others disappeared around the corner of a distant cottage, Krys made his way back through the, now empty, meeting place.

  He stopped and stared at the spot on the platform where the wizards tested the prospective apprentices, the place he had dreamed, for his entire life, of standing.

  He caught a flash of red as Falunsaar swooped over his shoulder and dropped onto the platform in front of him, a small mouse clamped in the creature’s jaws. The little dragon laid the rodent on the rough wood then nudged the remains closer. He looked up at Krys, gave a soft squeak, and took flight once more, disappearing into the foliage of the trees.

  Krys flicked the small carcass with his finger, curious as to the meaning of the gift. He picked the dead mouse up by its chewed tail, scanned the treetops for the giver, then tossed it unceremoniously under the platform and then left the clearing.

  Walking aimlessly through the village, the image of bowing to Zandur’s sister in service flashed in his head. The only other person that came to mind was the village swineherd.

  Disgusted with his apparent future, he ran toward the safety of home, passing numerous visitors to his village, merchants, small children, musicians, and the old woman. He skidded to a stop, stared at her, and then turned to run again, not wanting any more to do with the old hag.

  From the shaded path to his left, Peter approached, holding a pair of quarterstaves and two sets of armor. “That Myt’s an idiot!” he yelled. “How could he just throw you out like that?” He dropped the gear to the ground and threw his hands in the air. “It was the Choosing!” He crossed his arms over his chest. “He had no right.” After a few silent moments, Peter leaned toward Krys. “She came back, didn’t she?”

  Kr
ys peered at the ground. “Maybe I should have ignored her.” He stared straight ahead. “She might have gone away.”

  His attention strayed to the pile of battle gear strewed across the path and he spread his arms. “What’s all this for?”

  “A distraction, what else?” Peter picked up a set and pitched it to Krys. “I know it doesn’t fix what happened, but at least we can get in some practice for the championship.” He pulled a griddlecake and some venison jerky from his pack and offered them to Krys.

  Krys’ stomach twitched at the sight of food and he waved away the offer. “Why would Myt do that?”

  Peter shrugged. “Who knows with that crotchety old wizard.” He shoved the cake in his mouth, chewed a few times and then followed it with the dried meat. “He could’ve at least given you a chance to test,” he said through a full mouth. “And he could’ve listened to what that old woman’d done to you.”

  “Not much I can do about it now.” Krys breathed a lungful of air and pushed it back out. The finality of his situation calmed him in an odd way he didn’t understand. He could feel some of his tension ebb and realized there was no reason for him to worry about the Choosing. It was over. Everything was over. He would have to do something else now. Swineherd? Not a chance!

  With his gear slung over his back, Peter broke into a run, heading in the direction of the village arena.

  Krys jogged to catch up.

  In the centuries-long tradition of the Choosing, the annual quarterstaff, rapier, and joust championships corresponded with the Gathering, and Krys had experienced fourteen of them, not that he remembered the early ones. He found it exciting that the village champions of Lanterra traveled for days to defend their titles against their peers for both clan and kingdom titles. I might have failed in the Choosing, but that won’t happen with the quarterstaff championship!

  He skidded to a stop beside Peter and looked out across the open arena. Rows of benches lined three sides, on the forth was the dais that would seat the collection of village leaders and wizards. In centuries past, the King, Queen, and the heirs to the throne sat there. But two hundred years had passed since royalty had presided over the championships.