“Alright recruits. We had some issues along the way, but I’m sure that by the end of this examination you’ll be fit to serve the great nation of Danmer in its stalwart defence from the Elven aggressors. For the benefit of the spectators, there will be three tests today: the Test of Heart, the Test of Mind, and the Test of Soul. Each are vital components to effective magecraft, as well as something we demand in all of our soldiers. You must pass at least two of the three to succeed, but those who excel will be assigned to even higher positions for greater glory at Brimstone.”
Sergeant Mallroy did not need to magically enhance the volume of his voice for the assembled crowd to hear him. His voice boomed around the arena, and Wyll doubted anyone could miss a word. He demanded attention in all aspects, from his voice to his gargantuan stature to his spotless uniform that gleamed with various medals of gleaming gemstones. Wyll privately thought he looked like a disco ball, casting coloured light across the faces of the lined up recruits as he paced before them.
Wyll stood in the standard formal rest pose for Brimstone. Heels together, feet at an eighty degree angle, legs and back straight, with one hand in a fist resting by his lower back, the other flat palmed against his chest. His head was bowed towards the ground, and as trained he didn’t take his eyes off the floor while Mallroy was speaking. He wanted to glance up to see if he could spot his family in the crowd, but it wasn’t worth risking a penalty to his assessment before it had even begun.
Mallroy continued his spiel about glory and conquest, high expectations and the burden of humanity, but Wyll’s mind was too occupied going over his game plan to pay attention.
Once, not that long ago, Wyll would be nervous about what was to come. He’d missed countless hours of training while in the hospital, and when he’s being judged against the other recruits here that would be a huge disadvantage. The test didn’t have a standardised metric of pass or fail, it was simply about proving yourself in comparison to the others. Outside of major blunders, nobody really failed here. Brimstone held these events publicly as a display of power as much as anything else, and if they thought someone wasn’t up to scratch they wouldn’t let them enter. That said, if something like the incident with the fireball had happened here, it could end up with Wyll being put on mandatory leave for an indefinite amount of time. It was likely he would have already been asked to step down had it not been for his Father’s influence.
The Test of Mind was a simple enough one. Wyll would be asked to perform a wide range of different spells from the standard-issue Brimstone spellbook, most of which were focused more on utility than combat. This was something he was fairly confident in - his Father had been insistent on thorough study of the spellbook even while he was in hospital, and Wyll’s new abilities with Wild Magic would be able to cover any gaps.
The Test of Heart would be a bit of a challenge. It was a fitness test that essentially amounted to a last man standing-style marathon. The recruits would run as long as they could in laps around the arena until nobody could run anymore. Magic enhancement was heavily prohibited, and trying to skirt that rule would lead to immediate disqualification. Same goes for performance-enhancing potions or items. Wyll would just have to try his best for that, but as long as he didn’t drop first he should be fine. Most people hold out until the first person gives in before stopping too, leading to a chain reaction of dozens of people dropping out within minutes of each other.
The Test of Soul was Wyll’s true goal. A training dummy - more of a statue, really - would be conjured in the center of the arena for each recruit. It was made with various materials that were weaker and more brittle near the extremities but obscenely reinforced near the center. The goal was to simple damage the statue with a single spell as much as possible. Officially, this was to test if the “Soul” of the candidate could manage a larger spell without “succumbing to the corrupting influence of power”, but in reality it was to test their firepower. Most of the Artillerists in Brimstone like Cas chose here to show off. Wyll wasn’t worried about this test at all.
“...and with that, bring glory to Brimstone. BRIMSTONE!” Mallroy concluded, barking out the last word loud enough to hurt Wyll’s ears.
“BRIMSTONE!” roared the recruits. The crowd cheered and applauded, and the recruits were released to prepare for the first test. There were shouts from the crowd for different squadmates, but Wyll didn’t need much help finding his family. The Darters had a private balcony above the gathered crowd, usually for watching the various different shows, combat sports, or sporting events the arena was used for most of the year. More than that, it was one of several locations that Mother used to host her various galas, gatherings, and soirées. Wyll made his way through the crowd to the stairs, and found Gralax standing guard outside the door marked “Darter” with polished gold lettering. Conjured guards weren’t really there for security - who would cause trouble in a building full of Brimstone? Instead Gralax stood here as a status symbol, much like the balcony was. Appearances were everything, after all.
“Hi Gralax.” said Wyll, giving him a short nod.
“Raugha graagh.” gurgled the imp, returning the nod before stepping aside.
Wyll continued through the door to another set of stairs, this time plush red carpet instead of hard concrete, and a movement near his collar caught his attention. The fabric had become pinched, folding itself into a rough approximation of a smile.
“I just wanted to say good luck, Young Master.” spoke Hobbins from the fold. “I couldn’t come in person as I needed to watch the house, but I could not forgive myself if I didn’t pass on my blessings on such an important day.”
Wyll smiled. Hobbins couldn’t normally influence fabrics beyond the house, but he must have hidden a patch of the fabric that made his body somewhere on Wyll’s uniform while preparing his clothes for the day. Technically forbidden, but Hobbins had always followed the spirit of the rules rather than the letter. He wasn’t an automaton.
“It’s appreciated Hobbins. Thank you for patching up my uniform, too.”
“It’s really no bother. The clothes were incredibly damaged from the fire, so it was a pleasant challenge.”
“Even so. You’d better hide before mother sees you neglecting your duties.” Wyll said with a smile.
“Indeed. I’ll see you at home.”
The fold of fabric flattened itself back down, and the creases were neatly ironed out until no sign of Hobbin’s influence remained.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Wyll was met with the familiar sight of the Darter suite. It was furnished more like a lounge than a viewing gallery, with plush leather sofas, standing tables, cabinets full of colourful glass bottles, a magically-warmed buffet table, and a bar staffed by a polite looking young woman in a suit. Holographic screens hovered around the room, displaying different perspectives of the arena at certain angles just in case the huge glass window that took up the entire far wall didn’t offer a good enough view of the action. Though the place could easily accommodate several dozen guests, there were just three here today.
“Wyll! I saw you in the arena!” Milo barreled towards Wyll as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, crashing into his knees with a hug.
“No way! Really?” Wyll said, crouching down to return the hug.
“Yeah!”
“Now now, Milo, Wyll has a big day ahead of him. Let him sit down and rest for a bit.” said Father, standing from a high-backed leather armchair. He was wearing his formal military gear too, complete with evoker hanging from his belt. A large medal with a red gemstone marked him as one of the Heroes of Brimstone who managed to retrieve an artifact, which he displayed with pride.
“Yes Father…” Milo looked a bit reluctant as he ran back to sit with Mother. She was wearing a long, elegant black dress in a modest dwarven style, open-backed but with a high neckline and long sleeves that draped past the hands. The cuffs and neckline were ringed with gold bands that glowed softly. She’d seemingly taken a lot of effort to style her hair into an extravagant curling updo - or more than likely, Hobbins had.
“Look at my little soldier. You look the spitting image of your father at his recruitment day. How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’m fine, honest. I’ve put in a lot of work to get here, and I’m going to make you proud.” Wyll said with as much confidence as he could convey.
“I’m glad to hear it.” said Father. “But, you know… there’s no shame in biding your time for the right moment. If you don’t feel completely ready, it would be preferable to withdraw now before you-”
Confident and self-assured as his Father was, he suddenly withered from the death glare that Mother shot him.
“He’ll be fine, dear.”
“...Indeed”. It was a bit of a rarity to see Father squirm like this. “I just wish I knew more about this secretive training you’ve been doing. Are you sure it’s up to standards?”
Wyll kept his face passive, but internally he was seething. Did Father still not believe in him? He had hoped that after everything he’d worked for, he would be confident in Wyll’s ability to succeed. Practically nobody failed this assessment, but now Father sounded like he feared Wyll messing it up so badly it would bring shame to the family. Wyll tried to calm himself. Father would soon see his capabilities. He was no longer the whimpering wreck afraid of his own power.
The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“I won’t disappoint you, Father.” Wyll said as calmly as he could manage. His mother gave him a curious look, but Father didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.
“Samantha passes on her apologies for not being able to make it.” said Mother. “Whatever new project she has at work has been taking up so much of her time. Such a shame she can’t bring any memories of it home, we’re all very curious. She thinks she might be working on something undercover in the Woods.”
“Hmph.” grunted Father. “If it was that she’d be coming back with more scratches and bruises. If we’re not meant to know, we’re not meant to know.”
It chafed a bit that Sammie was the focus of the topic of the conversation on Wyll’s big day, but this wasn’t the time for that. The first event was about to begin.
“Wyll Darter, could you please make your way to the arena floor.” spoke the woman in the suit behind the bad. “The Trial of Heart is about to begin.”
Wyll nodded. “I’ll see you guys soon, next time as an official member of Blackrock.”
“Do your best, son.” said Father.
“Kick their butts Wyllie!” chirped Milo.
Wyll left the way he came in, giving a quick fist bump to Gralax as he passed his post.
The recruits were reconverging at the arena, lining up along the outer edges. This was a test of endurance rather than a race, so they lined up single file with a few paces between them. You could overtake if you needed, but it’d be a waste of energy. All you needed to do was outpace the construct at the back that moved barely faster than a jog, which was mostly there to stop people walking their laps. Wyll took his place as Sergeant Mallroy began talking again.
“Alright, as you may know we’re doing some things differently this year. Spectators in the past have complained about waiting hours for this event to be over, so we’re expediting things a bit.” He punctuated his sentence with a nod to a group of robed Brimstone soldiers nearby, each carrying gem-tipped obsidian scepters. They each stood next to a recruit, and Wyll could hear them muttering an incantation as they approached.
“This is a Lesser Fatigue spell. As well as testing your endurance, this test will also measure your resistance to magical effects. It’ll feel like you’re running with a pile of bricks on your back, but each contender will be affected in the same way. Otherwise, the run will proceed as normal.”
Wyll felt the spell take hold, and immediately started to feel heavier. His arms hung down his sides like he was carrying invisible weights, and he fought to keep standing straight. On top of that, he started to feel groggy, like he’d not slept in days. It was hard to imagine how he’d run at all, never mind outpace the others. Fortunately, the other recruits seemed to be struggling too - one even fell to one knee, and had to stand again with great effort. Wyll could see a sheen of sweat starting to form on the contender in front of him.
“Good news is, once the spell is cancelled you’ll feel fresh as a daisy for the next round. The race will end when the last person remains standing. Ready?”
Wyll felt as far from ready as he could be, but heavier than the spell taking hold of his body were the expectations placed on his shoulders by his Father. He could do this.
Mallroy raised a baton-sized invoker above his head, and a small explosion burst from the tip signalling the start of the events. The recruits started moving forward at a slow crawl, some stumbling and needing to get up again. Wyll focused on putting one foot in front of the other, but with each movement the weight made itself known. The construct at the bag seemed like it was going far too fast now.
Despite the handicap, Wyll kept going. To his dismay, he saw some of the recruits ahead peeling away. He was even taken over by someone behind him, likely because he too was just trying to keep moving without accounting for keeping pace. Wyll instinctively tried to think about how he could overcome this with his Wild Magic, but as he passed the last robed soldier he could see them incanting a different spell to spot any use of magic. He started to wish that he had Arryn’s innate resistance instead of his destructive might, which was about as useful as a beard trimmer in Gotlan. He cursed his lack of options, and risked a glance behind him. He had barely made it halfway around the arena.
Near the back, he could see that the construct had already passed several people, who collapsed onto the sand in a mix of frustration and relief. The construct was fairly basic - a simple grey egg-like shape that floated above the ground - but the sight of it filled Wyll with panic. There were only seven people between it and him, and if it caught up to him that would mean he failed. He had to give enough of a good showing before then - final five at least. A quick count told him there were still twenty one people remaining. Wyll had no choice but to keep moving.
Each step seemed heavier than the last. He struggled to keep moving faster than a jog, gasping for breath. It can’t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like he had been running for hours. There were a few runners near the front that seemed to be managing well. The swishing of the red ponytail of the girl in front seemed to taunt Wyll; she must have some innate resistance to magic. That or an inhuman level of fitness.
Mallroy’s voice boomed from the center of the arena. “That’s fifteen remaining! Keep it up, recruits!”
Fifteen? That can’t be right. Wyll had only seen one person fall behind, clutching the wall with ragged breaths. He looked behind again, and to his horror saw that the construct had overtaken five more people. There were only two contenders between him and failure. In his assessment of his precarious situation, he had neglected to pay attention to where he was running. Another recruit had thrown in the towel, collapsing in a heap on the sand. Wyll’s foot caught her on the shoulder, and Wyll crashed down into the dirt. He struggled to push himself up, but his arms shuddered with the exertion. One person ran by. He managed to get on to one knee, but maneuvering his body back onto his feet seemed like an impossible feat of strength. The final runner passed him.
Wyll barely had time to glance up before the grey egg floated by. Immediately he felt the Lesser Fatigue spell dissipate, and he stood easily to watch it go by.
Thirteen runners remained. He had just barely made it into the top fifty percent. Not an awful showing, but a gut-wrenchingly mediocre one. This is not what he’d planned.
“Hard lines, Wyll. That spell is rough, but I don’t think we did too bad.” said the girl he’d tripped over. He thought her name might have been Ella, or Bella, or something.
“Don’t fucking talk to me.” Wyll said, before storming off. If it hadn’t been for her, he could have kept going. He could feel his Father’s disappointment from his elevated balcony, and he didn’t need to look to confirm it. His throat was tight and his eyes were hot. He reached a bathroom past the crowds and splashed his face with some cold water. He didn’t have time to be emotional. The next event would start soon, and he had to excel in the other two events if he wanted to be anything more than a boot polisher. He needed to impress. He had planned on getting sent to the Woods, fighting side by side with Cas, honing his skills as a mage while refining his Raw Magic. Becoming a war hero like his father, but instead of retiring going off to fight the evils of the world like Araxan was. Maybe an Archdruid, tip the balance in the fight with the Elves. That hero he had planned to become would not have barely come in the top fifty percent.
He heard Mallroy’s voice even here, echoing down the hall. The race was nearly over. He dried his face and rushed back to the arena. The recruits were a curious mixture of being drenched in sweat while looking freshly energised. There were a fair few disappointed faces, but a few infuriatingly smug ones too. Ella/Bella was stood next to the girl with the red ponytail who came first, and they both shot him an annoyed look.
“Welp, it certainly took less time than usual, but maybe a little too much shorter than I’d like. Perhaps next year we’ll use Minute Fatigue instead. Har!” Mallroy’s laugh was more of a single bark. In training, you often only heard it on bad days. “Next is the Test of Mind. Each of you will be assigned an examiner, and you must display for them a spell from the Standardised Brimstone Grimoire at their request. Find yourselves a spot in the arena and an examiner will make their way to you.”
This was fine. Wyll had studied that Grimoire for hours, and he was confident he knew it front to back. The other recruits took spots somewhere relative to where their family was in the crowd, and reluctantly Wyll did the same. Couldn’t have them thinking he was hiding from them. Once everyone found a place, the examiners went to go meet them. They seemed to have been assigned particular recruits, judging by how Wyll’s examiner passed several others before stopping at him. Immediately, Wyll recognised her. It was the woman with the suit from behind the bar at his family’s balcony suite.
A new wave of dread filled him. Was this person hired by his parents to give him an easier time? It was mortifying to think they had made preparations to help him along before he’d even failed, like they had no faith in him from the very beginning. He didn’t want to be someone who only got ahead because of the influence of their family.
“Hello Mr. Darter, my name is EIlin. I will be your assessor today.” she said with a slight bow.
Wyll wanted to ask her if she had been paid off, or beg her to test him normally, but there were so many others around it would be hard to do so discreetly. Before he had a chance to try, Ellin spoke again.
“Now, for your first challenge: please show me a spell that would fell a tree, split it into planks, and turn its leaves into fertilizer”. She completed her statement by gesturing with a gloved hand, and a tree sprouted from the ground, turning from sapling to towering oak in moments. He didn’t recognise the incantation.
Wyll was confused. There were spells for each of those things, but she asked for one spell. Was combining spells into one something that they were supposed to do now? He looked around, and could see other recruits summoning campfires, constructing tents, forming barricades out of the sand on the floor. All things Wyll had studied on how to do. He couldn’t see any other trees. Perhaps he was overthinking it. He cast the spell to fell the tree first, the actions of casting it feeling like a pantomime now he understood how magic truly worked, but with this assessor right in front of him he wasn’t going to try anything more creative. The tree toppled, but before it hit the ground it faded away into green motes of light.
“Unfortunately, you lacked the plank and fertilizer making parts of the spell. That’s a fail. Next question.”
What? Wasn’t this person supposed to go easier on him? Had his parents actually hired her to make him fail? Wyll didn’t understand at all.
“Next question: Cast a spell that would resuscitate a recently killed teammate.” Ellin said without hesitation.
Another gesture, and the green motes condensed into a disturbingly realistic rendition of a fallen soldier, a scorched hole through his stomach. Some of the nearby contestants looked disturbed.
“That’s impossible, and certainly not in the Grimoire’s spell lists.” Wyll sputtered.
Ellin simply smiled. “Please try anyway.”
Panic set back in. How was he supposed to do that? Even with Wild Magic it would be… Wait. Did this person know something? Was she trying to get him to use his true powers? Wyll was desperate, but not that desperate. This person seemed to know something about him. How much, he didn’t know. He wasn’t going to out himself here. After staring at the body for a while, Ellin spoke again.
“Seems this is another fail. As you have not succeeded in two out of three tasks, the Test of Mind is now over. Goodbye, Mr. Darter.” Ellin said, looking somewhat disappointed before moving away. Wyll was left alone, standing amongst the other contestants who were still working on their much simpler tasks. Wyll didn’t know how to process what just happened. He failed? He looked up at the balcony for some kind of answers, and the only thing he could see was his father turning away in shame.