Loremaster a progressi.., p.10
Loremaster - A Progression Fantasy Adventure, page 10
Though he still sucked in a breath, aware that he was out of his depth; at least on the outside, he resolved to not let any of the wonders of the academy phase him. He needed to act like he belonged here. Instead, he chose to look at his papers, where row upon row of questions were visible, each with a small box beside it.
“The Test of Knowledge is fairly simple,” the bearded man said, his voice carrying through the auditorium. “Simply answer as many questions as you can in the time allotted. There are questions on all sorts of topics, from history to general magical theory, so make sure to skip past questions you aren’t sure about answering. The criterion for a pass is at least twenty correct answers. You have one hour, good luck.”
With that, the test began. Scanning the paper quickly, Rowan’s face paled. Although he understood the words, the sentences they formed were complete gibberish to him. Matron Redfang had once praised his extensive vocabulary, unaware that it had come about due to the illicit activities she frowned upon. But her teachings had not gone far beyond ensuring that Rowan could read, write, and understand as many words as possible.
History, geography, and all those other scholarly pursuits had not been part of the limited curriculum. Or if they had been, they had only been covered to the extent that impoverished street waifs and penniless farmers’ sons would need. After all, what use did a boy, who did not know when his next meal was going to be, have with knowledge about ancient history? A brief history of the Valendian Empire was all he needed to understand his place in the world. With that in mind, Rowan looked at question one.
‘What were three of the primary factors behind the fall of the Terrmian Empire?’
There was a Terrmian Empire? Rowan blinked. Alright, let’s skip that one.
‘Name three of the five emperors.’
This question was a little better as Rowan did at least know the name of the emperor that had ruled over Taureen: Emperor Baltaff. However, the names of the other four were completely foreign to him. He’d never left Taureen, and his only interaction with visitors from other regions had been with the contents of their pockets. Praying that other sections of the test would be easier, Rowan began to flip through the sheets in front of him, doing his best to answer as many questions as he could.
The other sections were not easier, and it was with difficulty that Rowan forced himself to write down answers, knowing they were weak at best. Although there were a few general trivia questions, such as the two at the start, they were mostly things that would have been taught to nobles, not street rats such as himself, and thus could not be relied on for easy points.
The rest were more abstract, such as the question asking him which out of several strangely marked cubes a length of oddly shaped paper would create, or the question about which number came next after four other seemingly random numbers.
There were two things that worked in Rowan’s favor. The first was his now lost collection of books. What had for years been useless information to him now made itself useful in the strangest ways. They did not help him with every question, or even a slim majority, but every so often a familiar name or turn of phrase would leap off the page at him, and he excitedly penned in answers to those questions.
The second was the time he had spent with Darm. Every evening, they had engaged in chats, discussing various topics over the embers of the campfire. At the time, Rowan had thought the tales the halfling mage had spun to be just that, tales. Nothing more. Now though, he saw them for what they really were: lessons.
What had seemed to be random stories of far-off lands had actually been Darm’s way of teaching him about the world. And somehow, the halfling’s stories had an uncanny tendency of being relevant to the questions in front of him. Though, it seemed that even Darm could not know what would be asked, and only a fraction of the information Rowan had absorbed ended up being useful. It still allowed him to answer several more questions than he would have otherwise. Saying yet another silent thank you to Darm, Rowan continued to write, doing his best to put answers down for every question, no matter how wrong they may be.
An hour later, Rowan’s right wrist ached from the continuous usage of the quill, and his palm was covered in ink. Dipping his quill into the inkpot, he was just about to finish answering the question he was on when the sound of a bell rang out through the room.
“Alright, quills down,” the bearded man shouted.
Hurriedly, Rowan jotted down two more words before dropping his quill and leaning back in his chair, relieved to finally be done with the Test of Knowledge.
Silently, he thanked Matron Redfang for teaching him how to read and write, not that it seemed to have helped much. Rowan watched as his test vanished, sucked back into whatever magical space the bearded examiner had released them from.
All things considered, Rowan felt that he had done fairly well considering his upbringing, which meant that he would be lucky to just barely squeak in over the line with a passing grade when the tests were marked, and that was being generous.
Although he knew that he had done absolutely terrible on the history and other specialized knowledge sections, he felt that he had done reasonably well on the more general questions about mathematics and logic. But that was just a guess, much like the vast majority of his answers. It was equally likely that he had gotten everything wrong—a possibility Rowan did his best not to entertain.
Praying that he had not failed the exam already, Rowan did his best to remind himself that he merely needed to pass, not excel. Even if I did fail, there are still three more tests. I can’t panic here. Employing the breathing exercise that Darm had taught him, Rowan soothed his frayed nerves, watching the bearded man to see what they would be doing next. He did not have long to wait.
“The next test shall be the Test of Skill,” the bearded examiner announced, pointing to a door opposite the one they had entered from. “Form a line in front of the door. We’ll lead you to the testing ground once everyone is ready.”
Skill, eh? Hopefully a skill I know, or I might be screwed, Rowan thought darkly as he grabbed his things from beneath the desk. The first test had gone badly, he could not afford for the same to be true of the second.
With a scraping sound, a hundred chairs were pushed back as the applicants rose from their desks. Relieved to finally be free of the cramped pose he had been stuck in for the last hour, Rowan stretched broadly before following the other applicants down towards the already forming line at the door.
Taking his place in the line, Rowan was mentally reviewing every skill he had ever learned when a small tap on his shoulder grabbed his attention.
“How do you think you did?”
Turning around, Rowan was confronted by a boy of impressive stature, his skin the color of wheat and his hair a sort of dirty blond.
“Sorry?” Rowan asked.
“How do you think you did?” the boy repeated. “I felt that I did fairly well on the history and geography parts. But I stumbled on the numbers a bit. Arithmetic’s never been my strong suit. I’m Dugan by the way.”
“Rowan,” said Rowan, shaking Dugan’s offered hand. “I feel I did okay?" he lied, as if hoping that, by saying it, it would become true. "But as long as it was enough for a pass, I’m fine with it.”
Dugan laughed at this, a hearty chuckle that seemed to shake his entire frame. “Fair enough. Faebrook only has a twenty percent acceptance rate, and that’s not including the countless applicants who were already rejected before even making it to this stage. Aiming for a pass is the smart move.”
“Only twenty percent?” Rowan asked, his jaw dropping. “I knew Faebrook was tough to get into, but that tough?”
All of a sudden, his nervousness intensified tenfold, as the fact that he had almost definitely failed the first test weighed down heavily upon him. Doing his best not to show any sign of weakness to Dugan, Rowan felt a bead of sweat drip down his back.
Dugan regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t know that? Faebrook’s entrance exam is one of the tougher ones among the top ten academies. It’s not uncommon for less than a tenth of all applicants to pass, and even failing the exam is nothing to sneeze at. Only ten percent of those that apply even make it to the examination stage, and that's not even counting all those who don't even bother applying because they know they won't get in. Unless you’re a standout student, or have a strong backer, it’s difficult to be accepted to Faebrook, let alone any of the other great academies.”
“Right.” Rowan nodded, secretly wondering to himself what he had gotten himself into.
Living on the streets of Taureen, he had heard tell of the reputation of Faebrook as the ‘Adventurer Academy’, but he had not known that their requirements for admission were so high. Were Tethis and Darm really important enough to have secured him a spot in the exams of an academy with only a twenty percent acceptance rate? And more importantly, did they really think he had the capability to pass such a difficult exam that even nobles struggled with?
Fortunately, Rowan was saved from his torturous thoughts by the bearded examiner, who ushered them from the auditorium into a large hallway.
Traversing the empty hallways at a brisk walk, the bearded man led them out of the school proper and into the grounds. A large obstacle course had been set up at the edge of the lawn, looking down over the river that flowed past below, its width engorged by the summer rains.
Large brick walls, thorny hedges, moats, sandpits, and more had been packed into a narrow strip of land, extending for several hundred feet to where a large platform could be seen in the distance. As the applicants came to a stop, the bearded man turned to face them.
“As you can see, the Test of Skill is an obstacle course. There are many ways to showcase your skills, but the easiest is by reaching the final platform. Five applicants will run the course at once. The first to reach the platform will automatically pass the test, while the other four will be graded based upon their performance. Are there any questions?”
“Can we use magic?”
Searching for the owner of the voice, the bearded man pointed to a well-dressed man with dark skin, the crowd around him parting to reveal him to the examiner. While the questioner’s clothes were of fine, if practical, make, his most striking aspect was a tattoo upon his left cheek: two lines that reached from his jawbone to just under his left eye.
“You can use whatever you feel will give you an advantage,” the bearded man replied. “Magic, weapons, anything. So long as you cross the finish line, we will not begrudge you the method.”
Murmurs went up among the applicants at this announcement. Clearly, they had not expected this answer. For his part, the tattooed youth merely smiled, bowing slightly to the examiner as he retreated back into the crowd.
Calling forth the first five students, the bearded examiner put them into position at the beginning of the course, pointing to the finish line before raising his hand. The moment his hand fell, the five were off, darting into the course like rabbits fleeing a fox.
A tall girl with short hair took the lead, her hands flashing as she used magic to forcefully clear away obstacles in her path. Various explosions of flame and ice could be seen both in front and behind her as she forged forward with the other four applicants hot on her heels.
Holding a spear, one of the applicants lunged forward, having finally caught up to the frontrunner. Viciously, he thrust his weapon forward, the tip of his spear colliding with a magical barrier conjured by the short-haired girl, forcing her to turn and deal with her pursuer. Magic blossomed as the spear danced, both contestants evenly matched. Behind them however, their competitors were catching up.
Before either of them could do more, a girl with braids passed them, waving cheekily as she ran by. Her footsteps were light as she effortlessly dodged under and around a forest of hanging vines, and she picked up speed, having clearly paced herself so as not to suffer the same fate as the mage who had been the original frontrunner.
So it’s not just the obstacles you have to be wary of, Rowan thought as the braids girl arrived upon the platform. Behind her was the spearman who had cut down the short-haired mage as well as both other participants, all of whom failed to finish.
As healers tended to the wounded applicants, the next heat began. Similar to the first race, the winner was a boy who did not get caught up in the fighting but used it as a way to pass his competitors. Several more heats passed by in a similar manner before Rowan’s turn came, the course magically repairing itself as he arrived at the starting platform.
With a nervous glance, Rowan took in his opponents. The most dangerous looking one was a coyote beastman, his fur a light brown that rippled with hidden muscles. At his side was a hand-axe made of bone, its shaft well-worn from repeated use. Apart from the beastman, the other three competitors were a short girl with grey eyes and golden skin, a man with Girscaw features hidden beneath his heavy furs, and a mousy girl whose hands glittered with rings, each one bearing a different gemstone.
Checking that his shortsword was still firmly in place on his hip, Rowan handed the new sword to the examiner for safekeeping. Although Tethis had said it suited him, he had never used it before, and he didn’t want to use an unfamiliar blade for such an important exam. Better to stick with what he knew for now and learn the new blade later. And since he didn’t plan to use it, the sword would only slow him down; best to give it to the examiner and hope that he wouldn’t be forced into combat.
Although he would have liked to leave the shortsword behind as well, Rowan felt that disarming himself completely might not be in his best interest, especially with the way the coyote beastman was regarding his competitors. No, best to keep the shortsword with me, Rowan decided. Even if it’s of no use as a deterrent, I can still use it as a tool.
Putting his choice of weapon aside, Rowan regarded the course. Although it was visible from afar, the starting platform offered a much better view of both the obstacles and the various paths through them. As he gazed at the course in front of him, a plan started to form in Rowan’s mind.
Until recently, it was not a joke to say that he had lived half his life on the rooftops of Taureen. This course was not so different to the many times he’d had to plan his escape from the window of a mark’s bedroom, leaping and sprinting across rooftops and over walls. Often with much less friendly pursuers than those next to him.
“Ready?” the bearded examiner asked, his hand raised in preparation to begin the race. As the five applicants nodded, he brought it down. “Go!”
Like lightning released from a bottle, the coyote beastman took off, his enormous hind paws giving him an explosiveness unmatched by his fellow racers. All of his fellow racers but one, that was. Years of running from guards, merchants, and other street scum had given Rowan a speed known only to those who had been forced to regularly run for their lives, and he put it to use now.
Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, Rowan had forgotten how many times he had been forced to run with only the knowledge that, if he slowed down, he would die. Now he ran not to preserve his life, but to begin it anew.
Paths presented themselves naturally in his mind’s eye. Leap that wall, roll under that hedge, grab a vine and kick off the stone gateway, hurdle through an opening without dropping speed... This was his element; no one could flee through the jumbled streets like Rowan.
For the first half of the course, Rowan paced himself, mindful of the lesson he had learned watching the short-haired mage girl. Despite that, he remained in second, forced to stay within striking distance of the coyoteman. The other three were not so fast, or had been stymied by the many obstacles of the course, which meant it was just the two of them out in front, racing for the finish line.
On more than one occasion, Rowan had been forced to avoid that deadly hand-axe, its gleaming white edge threatening to strip him of far more than just flesh. A single exchange of blows had been enough to convince Rowan that force of arms was not his path to victory in this race, and the beastman knew it, swinging his axe at Rowan whenever he got too close. Unwilling to engage the superior fighter in combat, Rowan hung back, keeping pace with the beastman but not getting too close.
While others had been able to win simply by dominating their fellow applicants, that was not a path available to him. The skill this beastman showed with his axe made it clear that Rowan’s half-baked swordplay would pose little resistance in a fair fight, and that meant that he would have to find other ways to pass him and claim victory in this second test. It did not take long for that opportunity to present itself.
Ahead of them, a dangerous obstacle could be seen: four enormous stones levitated above a flat, sloped sheet of rock that emerged from the earth like a primeval anvil. Each levitating stone was as tall as a person, and every second, one fell and another rose, letting out echoing thuds as they struck the rock like hammers wielded by a giant blacksmith. A second after striking, they then rose to do it again, creating a succession of blows that caused the ground around them to shake.
Next to the giant hammer and anvil was a wall, about forty feet high by Rowan’s estimation, its craggy surface broken by small holds. Climbing it was possible, but it would slow him down. The hammers on the other hand would be much faster to traverse, but would also provide him with a much more concrete end to his trial, whether he succeeded or not. For a moment, Rowan grappled with the decision. Was winning this race worth his life? He dismissed the thought—of course it was.
Fifteen feet ahead, the beastman was confronted with the same choice. After a brief second, his left shoulder dipped, and he headed for the wall. That was all the opening Rowan needed.
As his competitor slowed to begin his climb, Rowan picked up speed, timing his approach perfectly. Just as the first hammer was about to fall, he vaulted atop the stone block and, leaning backwards, slid his body beneath the pistons, his thighs sliding smoothly on the well-worn stone. The noise was thunderous, and he barely cleared the first hammer before it slammed down behind him, flattening anything unfortunate enough to have been beneath it. There was no time to rejoice, however, and Rowan leaned back even further, streamlining his body as he allowed his momentum and gravity to carry him through the obstacle.
