Part II - The Trial

Nárhin listened as the procedure of the Trial was explained to him and the other children. Apparently, they were to be tested by a committee of special examiners, to determine if they had the gift of magic or not. However, the test would say nothing about their type of gift; that was something that every mage had to figure out by themselves. 1

Ramara continued to a brief summary of the different types, or Schools of magic, there were at Ingolë. First there were the Illusionists, who specialized in the manipulation of visible light to create illusions or render things invisible. Then there were the Transmuters, who could briefly alter the properties of the physical world. 2

“For instance, a Transmuter can temporarily turn water into ice while it still is at room temperature,” she explained, “or he can melt iron without heating it, among other things.” Nárhin felt a surge of pride. Those were things his father could do! 3

“Then we have the School of destruction,” Ramara continued, “the followers of which are commonly known as Battle-mages.” A murmur of excitement went through the crowd at the mention of this, and children everywhere looked at each other with gleaming eyes. Ramara smiled knowingly. “I don’t think that it needs any detailed presentation, as I’m sure that most of you know that this school deals with the use of destructive forces, like electricity or extreme heat, to be used in battle. However,” she went on, “what you might not know is that those who follow this school will, later in their education, study partly at the Royal Academy of Warfare to learn other necessary things about battle as well. This is absolutely essential to a Battle-mage, but the option is open for most other specialisations as well if you should so wish.” 4

Nárhin and Nolwëndil nodded at each other; they knew most of this from before, but it was still exciting to hear it like this. It somehow made it so much more real, as if they could almost see themselves as graduated magicians in the future. 5

“Then we have the last School,” Ramara said. “It is the one with the fewest practitioners, because this particular talent is very rare, and even more difficult to master. I’m talking about the School of enchantment, the ability to imbue objects with unnatural properties. Where the Transmuter makes temporary changes to suit the moment, the Enchanter weaves threads of the Source into the very fabric of the matter, and creates permanent changes that will last as long as the item is intact. 6

I’m sure that you have all heard of the legendary dwarf-crafted weapons and armours that are inherited in noble families through the generations, never loosing their edge or breaking in battle. Those artefacts are good examples of enchanted items, and also the finest there is. Unfortunately, no one has ever come close to the dwarves’ skill at forging, whether it be enchanted items or not, so those ancient pieces are extremely valuable.” Ramara smiled and added, “If it, against all odds, should be discovered later that anyone here has the talent for enchantment, I can assure you that you will still be able to make very good money on it. Very good indeed.” At this, Nárhin had the impression that the School of destruction had suddenly gained a contender as the most popular School. 7

“But enough of me talking now!” Ramara put her hands together. “You must be eager to start your Trial, and I shall hold you back no longer. The examination will start over there in about ten minutes, and continues all day so there is no need to rush.” Her outstretched arm indicated a big cream-coloured pavilion at the far side of the Arena, separated from the rest of the busy marketplace by a stretch of empty grass. A couple of guards stood by the entrance, dressed in ceremonial armour. The gold engravings on their helmets and breastplates reflected the sunlight with brilliant clarity, and Nárhin couldn’t help but marvel at their splendour as he moved with the crowd towards the pavilion. 8

***9

A large queue had already built up in front of the entrance when Nárhin, Nolwëndil and Vanrod reached it, so they decided to take a stroll among the shops while awaiting their turn. Talking excitedly, Nárhin and Nolwëndil walked over to the closest tent while Vanrod continued on to a booth selling weaponry. Inside the tent, an old woman was busy arranging her assortment of pearls, necklaces and other various trinkets. Upon seeing the young kids, her entire face lit up in a wrinkled smile and she spread her hands in a welcoming gesture, indicating her goods. 10

”Welcome, welcome! Here for the Trial, hmm?” she croaked in a voice burdened by age, but her eyes were surprisingly sharp as she peered at the two boys. Before they had time to respond, she added, “perhaps a small charm for luck, mmhm? One can never be too prepared in a situation like this. Mmhm-hmm.” She sucked at a bad tooth and grinned at them, her entire face screwing up like a raisin. 11

Nárhin responded automatically. “No thank you, we’re just looking.” He only cast a brief glance at the table and immediately discarded it as junk. He was just about to continue when his gaze swept up to the woman, whom he had not really paid attention to until now. His heart almost skipped a beat. “Hey, you are a human!” he exclaimed in surprise. 12

“Why, yes I certainly am. How kind of you to notice,” she answered calmly. “And if my eyes are not deceiving me, you are too, my child.” 13

Nárhin realized how he must have sounded. He blushed and added, “sorry, I was just surprised, that’s all. Most humans aren’t allowed inside the gates.” This didn’t sound much better he realized, but she didn't seem to take offence. 14

“Yes, you are absolutely right,” she said. “But I have some useful contacts which allow me to trade here today.” She gave him a wink and added, “so, what is your story then? How come you are here, and at the Trial at that? Mmhm-hmm.” He eyes bore into him with an intensity that made him uneasy. 15

“I live here, he mumbled,” avoiding her gaze. He already regretted bringing up the subject. 16

“Really?” she said. “That is interesting. How come?” 17

“I’m adopted,” he answered, unease crawling over him like ants. “Look, I really need to be going,” he blurted out, and before she could inquire further he hurried away. 18

A surprised Nolwëndil followed in tow. “What was that about?” he asked. 19

“I don’t know,” Nárhin answered, “but I had an uneasy feeling about her. Besides, I don’t like talking about my life with strangers. There’s enough gossip as it is.” He felt a little stupid however, and gave a sheepish grin. 20

“Well, she was very interested, wasn’t she?” Nolwëndil said sympathetically. “I don’t think she gave me more than a brief glance before trying to eat you with her eyes.” He laughed. “I guess I would have been intimidated by that look too.” 21

Nárhin laughed. “Yeah, she was a scary old hag.” He shuddered in pretended fear, but said no more. The matter was dropped as they reached Vanrod, who was discussing some of the finer points of blade quality with the salesman of the weapon booth. They seemed to know each other from before, because their debate was lined with a few colourful nicknames, mainly concerning the authenticity of the so-claimed enchanted blades. Upon seeing the kids, Vanrod turned to them with a mischievous smile. 22

“This is Loche,” he introduced. “If you ever are in need of a good weapon, make sure you do not buy it from him,” he said with a laugh. 23

“Vanrod, I’m hurt,” Loche said, acting offended. “It’s not my fault you do not recognize a good sword, even if I were to poke it up your nose.” He smiled to take the edge off his words. “So, this is Nolwëndil I assume?” he continued, turning to the youngster who nodded. He eyed him critically. “He is taking after his mother, I can tell. Something we should all be thankful for. One of your ugly faces is quite enough,” he said with a sideway glance at Vanrod, who laughed. Nolwëndil looked slightly confused by the quick exchange of friendly insults. 24

“And who might this be then?” Loche asked as he turned to Nárhin. “You are quite a way from your kin, are you not?” 25

“Nah, this is Nárhin, Fendil's son,” Vanrod said before Nárhin even had time to reply. “You remember Fendil, don’t you?” he said to Loche. “I believe we all went on a couple of missions together, back in the days.” He smiled at the memories. 26

“Ah, Fendil. Yes, I remember him,” Loche said. “Short, very muscular fella’? He chopped a goblin in half with a dull sword once, didn’t he?” For some reason he didn’t question the fact that Nárhin couldn’t possibly be Fendil's biological son, something Nárhin only was grateful for. 27

“No, no, that was Valos,” Vanrod said as answer to the question. “Gosh Loche, how were you able to survive all those battles? Fendil was our magician; he must have saved your sorry hide on several occasions, considering your recklessness.” He shook his head. 28

“What? Oh yes, now I remember. It was a confusion of names, that’s all. Could have happened to anyone,” Loche said, but at least he had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “So, how is the old chap getting along nowadays? Still doing his hocus pocus is he?” 29

Vanrod sighed as he answered. “Loche, Fendil is the ranking mage of this town. He has managed way better than both you and I together. What century are you living in, man?” 30

“Ranking mage? Well, well, that’s not bad. Not bad indeed.” Loche gave a slightly nervous laugh. “I guess I should show him my wares instead; it sound’s like he should recognize genuine magical artefacts better than you. Aha-ha.” It was obvious that he wanted to change the subject. “And speaking of that, I really must be getting back to my business. No rest for a hard-working salesman, no there isn’t.” As if on cue, a couple of people were approaching the booth. 31

“It was nice talking to you though,” he said. “If you ever are in need of a good, reliable sword, you know where to find me.” 32

Vanrod couldn’t help but laugh at the shifty merchant. “Actually, I don’t. You tend to never stay for long in one place, Loche. I wonder why…” He winked at the suddenly very innocently looking man, raised his hand in farewell and continued on, Nárhin and Nolwëndil in tow. 33

“Who was that?” Nolwëndil asked as they slowly ambled over to where a large group of people had assembled. 34

“Loche and I have known each other since when we studied at the Royal Academy, back in Miramoon,” Vanrod said. “But he never truly liked the warrior’s life, so now he makes his living as a merchant instead, selling weaponry mostly. Pretty decent stuff I think, as long as you don’t expect to really get enchanted blades.” 35

He was about to say something more, but realized that the boys were no longer listening. They had reached a group of people who had gathered just outside a low rope, enclosing a small cleared area of trampled grass. Inside, a couple of fighters were busy sparring; Vanrod noted that they were using live blades and not wooden ones, which probably was the reason to the large number of spectators. With his trained eye he could tell that they were no beginners. Every strike was measured, calm concentration directing their moves. The ring of steel against steel vibrated through the air as their blades clashed together in a complicated dance. He noted the banner swaying in the breeze, and realized that this was a show put up by the Royal Academy of Warfare, to inspire and hopefully recruit some new members. 36

Nárhin and Nolwëndil were standing at the very edge of the enclosure, drinking it all in with big eyes. Vanrod smiled inwardly; he if anyone could appreciate their fascination. He had been just like them when he was young, something which had eventually led him into pursuing his current career. 37

They stood there watching the fight for some time before finally heading back to the pavilion. 38

***39

The queue crawled forward slowly, but at least it did not continue to fill up at the rear anymore. It seemed that they were the last to do the test. Nárhin watched as a small boy exited the pavilion, tears streaming down his face. It was obvious that he had not passed. He stood there for a moment, looking forlorn, before finding his relatives. To comforting words he was led away through the crowd. Nárhin reflected darkly that there would be no big family there to comfort him, in the all too possible event of his failure. 40

Thoughts like these whirled through his head as they moved ever so slowly towards the entrance of the pavilion. He was starting to feel sick again; the nervousness was almost a physical thing now. He was just entertaining the thought of running away and throwing up somewhere when the queue took a big step forward. A group of five children had been let inside at the same time as several others left through the side entrance. This left Nolwëndil and Nárhin as first and second in line. 41

“This is it,” Nolwëndil said enthusiastically. “Good luck, Nárhin!”42

“Yeah,” Nárhin said, still queasy. “Thanks, and good luck to you too.” He gave a faint smile, but Nolwëndil didn’t seem to notice. His eyes shone with excitement. 43

“Move forward, please,” the guard said as he stepped aside, a few minutes later. With a sense of foreboding, Nárhin followed Nolwëndil into the murky interior of the large pavilion. 44

At the back there was a long table, behind which sat five regal-looking elves in colourful robes. They each had a child standing in front of them and seemed to do nothing except stare at them intently. After several minutes the examiner farthest to the right blinked and seemed to return to reality. Leaning forward he held a quiet conversation with the young girl in front of him. Then he scribbled something down a piece of paper and gave it to her. Looking slightly shocked, she curtsied and left on wobbly legs, clutching the paper tightly. 45

Then Nolwëndil was beckoned over to the empty spot and Nárhin was left alone. He watched as Nolwëndil talked with the examiner and then began the test. He was so concentrated on his friend that initially he didn’t notice the new empty spot, off to the left. 46

“Are you coming or what?” Nárhin almost jumped at the sharp whisper. Panicked he realized that he had let the examiner wait for him. Hurriedly he walked forward, blushing heavily. 47

“Sorry, I… I was watching my friend,” he stuttered. 48

“Yes, I could see that,” she said testily. “But since this is a purely telepathic test, I cannot see what was so interesting.” Irritation made her words snap like twigs in her mouth. “And keep your voice down, noise tends to disturb these delicate tests.” 49

Nárhin wished the earth would open up and swallow him. He mumbled yet another apology and then fell silent. 50

She watched him intently for a while and then said, “I don’t remember there being any humans living in Aldëa Osto. How come you are here?” She did not sound pleased about the unexpected encounter, and her tone did not pass Nárhin by. A spark of indignation flared to life and replaced some of his earlier nervousness and embarrassment. Who was this woman, coming here and questioning his right to be here? 51

“I’m adopted,” he said with just a hint of an edge to his voice. 52

“Really?” she said, sounding slightly disgusted. “What might be your name then?” She turned her gaze down a long list at her table. 53

“I’m Nárhin Gilthanel,” he said, unsuspecting of her reaction. 54

“Gilthanel?” she said, looking up. “Gilthanel, as in Fendil Gilthanel? Fendil is your adoptive father?” She made a sound in the back of her throat as he nodded, somewhere between a scornful laugh and a snort. “Well, he was a compassionate one already back in school. I guess I should not be surprised.” 55

It was not the actual words as much as the way she said it that made Nárhin blush with indignation. She made it sound like he was the subject of some act of charity. Nevertheless, he could not stop from asking, 56

“You know him?”57

“Yes, yes. I was his teacher, years ago. Very talented and very stubborn, he was.” Her gaze had drifted off into the distant past, and Nárhin thought he could see a faint smile touch her lips. Then she seemed to remember herself and her scowl returned. She made a note in her list and then looked at him again. 58

“I expect you know how this works?” she asked. 59

Besides the general info earlier, Fendil had also given Nárhin a detailed explanation of what this would be like. He could not be sure, but he had a nagging feeling that she was a little disappointed when he nodded, as if she had been looking forward to yet another lecture. 60

“Then let’s get this over with,” she said, and with no further notice he felt her mind pressing in on him. She was not gentle, that was for sure. He had some trouble relaxing, slightly revolted as he was by her presence, but stoically enduring her probing mind he let her sink deeper into his being. He knew that she was searching for the link to the Source that should be there, but it felt as if she was dissecting his very soul. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and a shiver ran up down spine; this test was giving him goose bumps all over. 61

After what seemed like a very long time, the sensation changed. The probing tendrils of icy thoughts turned away from the depths of his being and slithered up into his more conscious mind. There they continued to search, but for what he did not know. They were very subtle now he noted, almost on the very edge of being perceptible; somehow they were spreading out like a fog over his mind, nestling in everywhere. 62

The fog made it hard to think. Nárhin felt slow and lazy, as if he was in the shadowy lands on the border between sleep and fully awake. Just like when falling asleep, random images started flashing by his inner eye. Memories of Fendil and their house came and went as he stood there, swaying on his feet. Images from the last couple of years passed by; as the memories became older they turned more dizzy. His vision was swimming and he was starting to feel a bit sick, as if he had been spinning around very fast for some time. As he closed his eyes, loose images from his early childhood flashed by, only a blur of colour and sound, unable to be recognized clearly. Then there was a moment of respite, a brief period of total darkness when nothing happened. The fog gathered, became more focused and pushed harder, as if to breach that darkness, but to no avail. 63

His dizziness lifted a little, but before he had time to realize what was going on, the fog concentrated in a singular, sharp needle of focused intent. Without warning his mind exploded in a red flash of pain, and it was all he could do to keep from falling over. 64

{italics}He was lying on his back, caught in a nightmare from his early childhood. A pair of huge, yellow eyes looked down at him from above, the reptilian pupils just narrow, black slits. Rows of sharp, dagger-like teeth glinted in the firelight and a long pink tongue snaked out, reaching for him, coming closer, ever closer… {italics}65

With an effort he opened his eyes, gasping, but the image refused to fully go away. Disoriented he could see the examiner in front of him, her brow wrinkled in concentration, and he could feel her mind like a red-hot iron bar wedged into his brain. He fell over on his knees, retching. Every alarm bell was ringing, and he felt the panic arise, threatening to choke him along with the pain. 66

Nárhin reacted on instinct; he did not stop to consider the possible consequences of his action. Not then and there, not with that horrible woman tearing through his mind. With a strength fuelled by sheer panic he punched out, but not with his fist but with his mind. He later admitted that perhaps he had overdone it a bit, but right then he only felt satisfaction as he forcefully cut off their telepathic connection. It snapped like a taut violin string, and the mental backlash sent her flailing backwards. As she shied away from the unexpected blow she overbalanced, and with a stifled cry she toppled over the back of her rickety folding chair. The expanding waves of energy from the confrontation spread out in circles around them; the other examiners snapped upright and stared at their colleague who lay sprawled on her back, looking slightly dazed. 67

As the pain and confusion slowly lifted, the dawning realization of what he had done hit Nárhin like a bucket of cold water. His examiner was shakily trying to get up on her feet, and everyone inside the tent had their eyes fixed upon the two of them. However, as his mind started to clear he also began to realize what had just happened, and with the understanding came the anger. A fuming, righteous anger that held any thoughts of regret or fear at bay. 68

One of the other examiners was helping her fallen colleague back to her feet; her eyes were still glazed and she appeared to be some distance away, as if she had been knocked out by a physical blow. She just stared into empty space and took no notice of Nárhin whatsoever, something that could not be said about anyone else inside the pavilion. One of the guards had stuck his head inside and was looking quizzically at them, but he was dismissed by a wave from one of the examiners. The blue-robed elf – the same one who had been examining Nolwëndil, Nárhin noticed – approached Nárhin slowly. 69

“Would you like to tell me what just happened?” he asked in a calm voice as he went down on one knee to put himself level with the kneeling boy. He showed no sign of anger, only calm concern. His composed manners made Nárhin’s own ire falter somewhat, but his hand was still shaking when he pointed at his stunned examiner. 70

“She… she did something to me,” he said indignantly. “She hurt me.” He was still wound up, and had trouble expressing what had really happened. 71

“She hurt you?” the blue-clad elf asked. “In what way?” He sounded confused. 72

“She forced herself into... into my memories,” Nárhin answered, realizing what it was she had done at the same time as he spoke the words. “And then she… she pulled out my nightmare, and made me relive it.” His voice trembled slightly as he added the last part. At this, the blue-robe actually showed some alarm. Apparently he had not been expecting to hear such a thing. 73

“And what did you do, when she did this?” he asked carefully. 74

“I severed the connection,” Nárhin said, as if it was a natural thing to do. Judging by the look on the blue-robe’s face, it was apparently not so. 75

“I believe…” he said, “I believe that you better come with me right away.” Standing up he addressed his colleagues. “You will have to take care of the few remaining Trials. We are going to see Ramara,” he said, indicating Nárhin. 76

With a sinking feeling, Nárhin got to his feet and followed him out through an exit at the back of the pavilion. It led out to a small enclosed area, sealed off by an irregular semi-circle of smaller tents and a few empty wagons. 77

They headed straight for the largest of the tents, directly opposite the pavilion. The guard outside was not as ornamentally dressed as were the ones at the pavilion, but he still looked grand, Nárhin thought. As he saw the pair approach, he put his head inside the tent for a second before standing aside and saluting, indicating that it was all right to enter. The blue-robed elf nodded curtly to the guard before sweeping through the entrance, motioning for Nárhin to follow. Stopping for a split second he took a deep breath, and then he followed the swish of blue cloth into the murky interior of the tent.