Chapter 1 Part 1

INITIATE

Dylan saw the sword fall towards him. In disbelief, he watched as the point clove through his shield and pierced his breast. Blood spattered, and Dylan's breath grew short as he slumped to the ground dropping his own weapon and useless shield. His conqueror stood over him watching the death scene with detached amusement. Dylan reached out in futility as his vision dimmed.

"Dylan," a voice called from behind his enemy.

The victorious warrior turned and scowled at the caller.

"Dylan," the voice repeated. "It's time to come in. Mother says so."

Dylan's eyes snapped open. His younger sister, Mari, had the uncanny talent of showing up right when he was busy. This time she ruined a perfectly good death scene.

Matt, the other combatant who had just killed him was Dylan's best friend and rolled his eyes in frustration. He saw Mari skipping towards him on her mission to interrupt their play. She always took pleasure in informing them when their parents reined them in for the evening.

Matt glanced up at the sun sinking in the west. "It's no where near dark," he observed disappointed. "Why do you have to go in so soon?"

Dylan stood and brushed himself off. Mari came upon them, her bare feet kicking up a tiny cloud of dust. Her stringy hair was badly tangled and dirty as were her cheeks and most of the rest of her. She was only six and had very little interest in looking pretty. "Mother says that you have to go home now 'cause you have to get cleaned up 'cause them people are coming to take you away tonight." Her tone was expertly pitched to annoy the two older boys as efficiently as possible.

Matt kicked at the dust. "Already?" He tossed his sword in the dirt. "I thought you weren't leaving for several more days."

Dylan hung his head slightly. He didn't want to go either. He had been born on the farmstead. He was only ten years old, but had spent the entire ten years growing up among the other children and farm hands that worked Sandy Hollow, one of the huge plantations in the Teverak region south of the Karnal Mountains. Each farmstead was both plantation and village and all of its inhabitants worked together for the common cause to support the community. Most of his people had lived on the plantations all their lives and probably would die there.

Dylan's father was the head storesman. He was in charge of supplies and the buying of materials. He also was one of the more influential men of the community, and he intended for Dylan to follow in his footsteps. That was why Dylan was going to be sent away to be schooled.

Matt, on the other hand was the son of the plow master. His heritage was tilling the dark earth of the vast plains. Not much of an education was needed for that. Matt was twelve, and already spent much of the earlier hours of each day in the fields hitching the teams of oxen to the plows and sharpening spades and hoes. He was generally free after noon, but soon he would begin spending the entire day in the fields along with his father and three older brothers.

"Mother says," Mari began in a voice that grated on the nerves of both boys.

"We heard," Dylan cut her off. "I'm going now."

Mari, successful in ruining the rest of her brother's afternoon, skipped merrily off to find one of the other girls to play with.

Dylan left Matt fretting in the open area behind the barn where their private mock war had been taking place each day for as long as either of them could remember. He walked around the warehouse where all the community stores were kept. Adjoined to the rear of the building was the family's cottage that he and Mari shared with their parents.

When Dylan walked in the door, he could smell the freshly baked bread. His mother worked in the kitchen and was second only to the head cook there. She had set a table and it was obvious that they were going to dine at home instead of in the community hall as was normal. Private dining was saved for special occasions. Private dining with fresh baked bread was even more rare.

"How is it that boys seem to not feel they have had a successful day unless they can end it covered in dirt,” his mother, Gayla, muttered as she reached across the counter and cupped his chin turning him to face her.

She inspected the fruit of her womb critically. Then she passed him a wedge of lye soap and a cloth. "Your clothes are on the chair by your bed in the loft," she told him. "Take them and go out to the creek and wash thoroughly. Use the soap and come back clean. If you come back dirty or with dirty clothes on, I will whip you until you can't sit down for a week."

Dylan took the soap and cloth. He retrieved the bundle from the room he shared with Mari and then made his way down to the men's cove. It was a sand bar on the small river where the men bathed each evening. The women bathed around the bend during the early part of the day. The women’s cove was a mysterious place only talked about in whispers or by field hands during the long days.

He and Matt had once tried to sneak up the creek to take a peek at what the mystery was all about but he had been caught and punished soundly and in public. The beating had been painful, but not lasting. Discipline on the plantation in the form of whippings was not allowed to leave bruises or draw blood. There was enough work to do without having to care for the injured. What had hurt most, was the humiliation of being whipped in front of everyone and for them to know why he was being whipped.

Dylan removed his clothes and scrubbed his body diligently. The lye soap tingled, and left a funny smell, but between the soap and the sand, he managed to get all visible traces of dirt from his person. Then he lathered his hair and dunked himself to rinse.

Dylan walked out of the creek and dried himself off with the cloth his mother had given him. He sat on a log polished clean by many bare bottoms over many years and brushed the sand from his feet. Then he opened the bundle to get his clothes.

There were brand new clothes in the bundle. Not only had his parents obviously traded for fresh bread, but they had also traded for new clothes for him to wear. It was beginning to dawn on Dylan just how important this was to his parents. They were using up favors and trading hard to make him presentable to the guests who were coming that evening.

His new clothes were a pair of dark gray trousers with a white button shirt, and matching gray doublet. Buttons were a thing of luxury, and Dylan would have doubted that he would ever own anything with buttons. There was also a pair of black stockings and new sandals, the most common type of footwear for farmers on the plains.

Dylan dressed in his new clothes and admired the quality. It was the finest thing he had ever owned. He felt unworthy, and ashamed that he had so resisted the idea of leaving to be educated. To have gone through so much trouble, it must be terribly important to his parents.

Dylan gathered up the soap, towel, and his old clothes. He avoided all of the popular spots in the compound on the way back to the house. He certainly didn't want Matt to see him dressed up. He was not sure why, but he didn't want anyone to be see him.

When he entered the house, his mother took one look at him and burst into tears. She dropped her vegetables and ran to embrace him. Dylan didn't know what to do or think. Instinctively he just hugged his mother back and stood there.

After a few moments she disengaged herself from him and wiped the tears from her eyes. "We're so proud of you," she told him as she straightened his hair. "When you leave here tomorrow, I want you to know that you’re taking my heart with you." She placed a piece of cloth in his hand. "Now go up to your room and pack your things. And try not to get dirty."

Dylan entered the short corridor that connected the main room with his parents’ bedroom. There, a small ladder rose into the loft where the children slept. He climbed up and sat at the foot of the small cot that was his bed. He opened his fist and looked at the cloth his mother had given him. It was a piece of linen cut in the shape of a heart. It was a symbol of what she had said.

Dylan fought back the tears. He was ten years old and not supposed to cry, but the undeniable fact that he was about to leave everything he knew behind was crushing him like a mountain.

Dylan placed the cloth heart in the small wooden box that he kept his treasures. The cloth heart accompanied a small piece of colored rock, a piece of paper with a sketch of a bird, a pressed flower that a girl from another plantation had given him, and a copper coin from Keron, the king’s capital city.

He picked the flower up and looked at it fondly. The girl and her parents had come through the year before. She was the same age as Dylan and had accompanied her parents as they had come to trade for supplies. One of the other plantations' warehouses had burned down and they were short on stock.

Dylan's father had made his best inventory available at half price. Such was the way of the plantation people. Word of the fire had spread and every other plantation would do what it could to help.

The girl, Reni, and he had enjoyed the two days that they had shared before her parents moved on. She promised him that she would choose his plantation when it became time for her to seek a home. For it was common practice for girls of age to travel to other plantations to seek husbands. Such a practice prevented inbreeding and strengthened the ties of cooperation between them. She had given him the flower as a token of her intention to seek him out for herself.

His father and mother had thought it cute, but had assured him that it would be at least seven years before she would leave her family and that her mind was apt to change many times before then. In fact his father thought it most likely that she had given a flower to a boy in every plantation that they had visited. Dylan preferred to think otherwise.

There was a sound downstairs and Dylan heard several voices one of which was that of his father, Learth. The other voices were subdued and hushed, but Dylan could tell that there were two of them.

"Dylan," his father called. "Please come down. There are some people here to meet you."

Dylan stood and took one last moment to straighten his clothes before he mounted the ladder to climb down to the hall. From there he entered the main room.

His father and mother sat on one side of the table. Both of their eyes were full of pride and his mother’s watered freely. Across from them sat two men, both of whom were wearing black robes. One, an elf, smiled comfortingly at him. The other, a gray haired human watched him with dark penetrating eyes.

Both of the newcomers stood. The older man wore a black robe with blue lining and a gold sash at his waist marking him as master while the elf's sash was the silver sash of a journeyman and the lining of his robe was red.

"This is my son, Dylan," his father introduced him. "Dylan this is Master Tesron of Allentown, and his companion Gage, a journeyman wizard from the Tycarian region."

Dylan did as his father had instructed the night before. He stiffly bowed to the older man and then nodded politely to the elf.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the air and Dylan felt as if he were expected to say something but could not think of anything. Fortunately the elf broke the silence. "He is a cautious one, is he not?"

Dylan's father laughed. "There’ve been times when I’d give all I owned for such silence in him."

Dylan's mother stood and began to serve the food while the men talked. Dylan was surprised that the conversation never included him nor was it about him. The old man asked only about weather and storms on the plains. The elf remained silent for the most part throughout the meal and listened only.

After about an hour of discussing winds and storms, the elf leaned over and whispered into the other mage's ear. The old man nodded and the elf stood and addressed Dylan. "I feel the need to walk," he said in a pleasant voice. "Would you care to accompany me, Dylan?"

Dylan was caught off guard, but soon recovered. Wordlessly he stood and followed the golden haired elf to the door.

As they left the house, Dylan took advantage of the moment to study his companion. The elf was not much taller than some of the bigger boys, and far shorter than most of the men, but he had always heard that the elves were small people, so that did not seem very unusual except for the fact that this was the first real elf he had ever seen.

Night had fallen so there were very few people outside. The evening meal was being served in the commons hall and that was where most of the noise and people were. As a result the plantation was quite deserted.

"It is a beautiful night ," the elf noted. "The stars in the southern skies are very lovely. Did you know that where I grew up, we can not see those stars?"

"No," Dylan answered nervously.

The elf smiled and stood next to Dylan. "There is no reason to fear," he assured the boy. "No one is going to hurt you. There are thousands of boys who have been through what you are about to go through and none have ever been killed or harmed."

"I'm not scared," Dylan lied.

"Sure you are," the elf accused. "I was. Master Tesron was, we all were." He looked at Dylan closely and seriously. "You are not officially a student, but perhaps I can teach you a quick lesson here and now."

"There is no shame in being afraid," the elf told him. "Fear is always good. It keeps you from making mistakes and underestimating your tasks. The trick is not to banish fear, but to control it. Even the bravest knight knows fear. Courage is not the absence of fear, but is the ability to do what is needed in spite of the fear."

Dylan listened almost hypnotically at the impromptu lecture. "I am afraid," he admitted after the elf was done.

"Admitting that you are afraid is a beginning," the journeyman wizard assured him.

"What are my parents doing with your master?" Dylan asked.

"They are discussing what kind of student you will become," the elf explained. "There are two kinds of students at the Academy. Some come to get an education and study magic. Others come just to get an education. There is nothing wrong with this, but knowing up front what you will do is important. We do not want to waste time and effort trying to teach you magic if you have no intention of studying it."

"Do you think I could learn magic?"

"That remains to be seen," the young wizard replied. "You seem intelligent. I do not foresee you having any trouble learning to read, write or cipher. As for magic, that I can not tell. But from what I was told, you are only going to learn to do your father's job. That is an honorable and important task."

Dylan glanced up at the side of the warehouse. The future was so well ordered and well planned. He would go to the Academy and learn his lessons well. Then he would come back and help his father until he himself was the head storesman. And should the girl who had given him the flower last year move to his plantation, Dylan would marry her and have a nice family.

They walked around for about an hour before the elf led them back to the house. When they entered, Dylan could tell that decisions had been made concerning him. The time had come.

"Dylan," his father began, "Master Tesron has agreed to accept you as a pupil at the Academy of Magic. You are going to study reading and writing under him as well as how to cipher. Undoubtedly he will teach you many other useful things, but those are the skills that you will need to replace me when I am old. I expect you to do well and bring honor to this household."

"I promise to do my best," Dylan told them all, but in particular his father.

Master Tesron stood from his chair and walked around to stand behind Dylan. The boy remained still. When the mage placed one hand upon Dylan's shoulder and the other upon his head, Dylan felt strangely warm.

"I, Tesron, Master of Sorcery, hearby accept the boy, Dylan of the Sandy Hollow Plantation as my pupil. I vow to the best of my ability to educate him in the subjects of the spoken and written languages. I vow to enlighten him to the power of mathematics. I vow to enrich him with the knowledge of science. With knowledge will I armor him against ignorance until he passes the Trial of Acceptance."

When the speech was done, Dylan felt a mild tingle in his head and his breath had become rapid. Then he turned involuntarily as the mage pulled at his shoulder. He looked up in the man's face.

"Dylan," Tesron spoke to him for the first time. "Your feet have been placed upon the path of enlightenment. If you work well, there is nothing in this world that will be denied to you. You are on the path. Whether or not you stay on it is your own responsibility. Do you understand?"

Dylan nodded, and the mage frowned slightly showing disappointment. The elf leaned close and whispered into Dylan's ear. "Yes, master," Dylan responded to the prompting.

This seemed to satisfy the mage and he released the boy. "Tomorrow we depart for Allentown," he announced. "It is time for us to rest for the journey." With that the mage left the cottage to make his way to the guest quarters in the commons building.

The journeyman, Gage remained behind. "Dylan," he advised, "take what is left of this night to bid farewell to your friends and family. Do not fear Master Tesron. No one expects you to know etiquette you have not been taught. You will learn those things as time passes." The elf smiled and then followed his master leaving Dylan alone with his father.

"You'll do fine, son," his father said encouragingly. "The normal service for an initiate declining magic is only about five or six years. They will pass quickly and you’ll soon be back here."

Dylan stared after the two mages. He heard his father but made no reply. After a long few moments his father stood and went over to the doorway. His back was to his son, and he spoke over his shoulder. "Your mother is in her room crying," he said with a sniffle. "Why don't you go and spend some time with her. I need to go get Mari. She spent the evening with Malvin the miller's family."

Dylan watched his father disappear and then he went to his parent's room. He found his mother sitting at a table staring into the flame of a candle. "Mother?"

"Come in baby," she held out her hand. Dylan accepted it and she drew him close. He found his eyes drawn to the tiny flame as well. "I was just remembering how unusual it was when you spoke your first word," she said. "Your father and I spent most of the days before you talked betting each other as to whether you would first say 'momma' or 'pappa'." She laughed and sobbed at the same time. "You fooled everyone one night when sitting before a table full of candles you said 'lights'."

Dylan hugged his mother and for many long moments neither of them said a word. Then when his father returned, she reluctantly pushed him away. "Go get a good night of sleep, dear," she insisted. "Tomorrow you learn to be a scholar."

Dylan turned to go but paused as he stood at the foot of the ladder. He could already hear his sister up in the loft. Glancing back at his parent's room, his father was closing the door and he could hear his mother weeping. The sound brought a lump to his throat. When the door closed, though, he climbed the ladder and got in bed. It took a long time for him to get to sleep, but eventually sleep did come.