The First Test

What could be more peaceful than falling asleep to the sound of rain?

Thank goodness Martin didn't snore. Annan spent a peaceful night listening to the rain.

By morning, the rain had stopped. Sunlight pierced the broken clouds, and puddles on the damp flagstones reflected passersby. The cool air carried the scent of fresh rain.

The overnight rain heralded summer, but it left the trees too wet to fell easily. The firewood sold quickly anyway—though it still fetched only twenty copper coins.

That afternoon, Annan and Martin arrived at the Dawn Tavern a little earlier than usual.

Evelyn, who lived nearby, had arrived even earlier and was adding up yesterday's takings at the counter. There was no sign of Soluman Copperbeard, the dwarf woman. And for some reason, the bard—who usually arrived with the customers when the tavern opened—had beaten them all there. He was sitting with Mr. Faster.

"...a glass of wine, six mugs of rye ale, a glass of juice, a roast cutlet, and two pounds of bread..."

As Evelyn went through yesterday's bill for the third time, Annan said while passing the counter, "Three silver coins and fifty-six copper coins."

Evelyn's eyes widened adorably. "How did you know?"

"Just ordinary arithmetic."

Evelyn's reaction reminded Annan of Aunt Susan. Once, he had casually calculated their household expenses for a month, and she had praised him all day. He'd thought it was just because she was fond of him, but now he realized that knowledge he considered even more commonplace than the bard's stories wasn't common here—

For instance, the town had no school, only a library that its illiterate residents surely never entered.

Knowledge was usually monopolized by the middle and upper classes. Annan had once asked the seemingly learned bard similar questions, but even he could only add and subtract numbers below a hundred.

What shamed Annan was that, once he realized this, his first thought was how to make money from it...

Not far away, the bard slapped Faster's shoulder with a look that said, Did you see that?!

"That proves nothing."

It only took Annan from fairly unusual to a little more unusual.

"When is the person you called getting here?" the bard pressed.

"He should..." Faster looked toward a figure appearing in the tavern doorway. "He's here."

Annan looked up at the person entering the tavern and couldn't tear his eyes away.

He hadn't even stared at Lady Fine Wine and Tasia like that!

The newcomer wore a loose gray robe and carried a Magic Staff in his right hand. Longish curls covered half his face; the other half looked weary. The gray-robed mage went straight to the table beside Faster and the bard, propped his Magic Staff against it, and declared, "I need your strongest drink!"

This isn't quite how I imagined a mage... Annan thought. He put down his rag and headed for the counter.

"This isn't quite what we agreed on," the bard said, eyeing the man suspiciously.

He carried his staff as though it were a greatsword, looked unkempt, and wore no magic rings on the hand resting on the table.

"As long as he can do the job."

With the two men watching, Annan got some distilled liquor from Martin and brought it to the gray-robed mage's table.

He was still wondering how to start a conversation when the mage picked up his glass and asked, "Boy, you seem awfully curious about me?"

"Are you a mage?"

"Gulp... burp..."

The mage slapped his empty glass onto the table and lowered his head. His curls shifted aside, revealing a vicious scar across his forehead. "I am."

The bard saw Annan's eyes light up. This fellow might fool Annan, but he couldn't fool him. A scar like that looked far too out of place on a mage. "You didn't hire a mercenary to pretend to be a mage, did you?"

"...Burp... Want to know why I'm such a mess?"

His belch reeked of liquor. The gray-robed mage was clearly getting drunk.

Annan nodded along anyway.

It was a familiar story, half of which Annan understood and half of which he pieced together. The gray-robed mage had once been an apprentice at the Mage Tower in Breeze City. He'd competed with another apprentice, but the other had left him behind both in being chosen by a mage and in becoming one himself. More absurdly, that person hadn't even known he existed.

So the gray-robed mage had gone out into the world to gain experience. When he finally returned as a level-three mage, he discovered that the other apprentice was already on the verge of becoming an Elite Mage.

The gray-robed mage slumped in his chair, the drink loosening his tongue. "Kid, tell me—if you can't be the best, why bother trying?"

"Because you work hard for yourself, not to be the best?"

The gray-robed mage merely shook his head like a bobblehead.

Annan tried again. "Some gods are stronger than others, but I've never heard of one getting so angry about not being as powerful as another that they fell from divinity."

That failed to convince the gray-robed mage too. He gave a derisive laugh and turned his head. "Faster, where did you find this Acolyte Candidate?"

"He's just trying to comfort you."

Faster, who had been watching for a while, took a seat beside them. As the owner, he'd give the game away if he didn't come over soon.

The bard joined them too. He hadn't told any stories or played his Lute today.

"Effort means nothing in the face of talent," the gray-robed mage said. "Someone with no affinity for magic could work as hard as they liked and still never become a spellcaster."

"Annan, say something else," Faster prompted.

"Me?"

"Would you rather I, a rough warrior, tried to talk sense into him?"

"All right... Sir, did you become a mage just to compete with that person, rather than to embark on a mysterious journey into magic?" Annan hoped to remind him why he had started. Magic was something Annan himself longed for. "There's a saying: 'It's the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important.'"

The bard cried, "Good heavens, I've got to write that fucking line down!" The gray-robed mage fell silent.

Other customers began entering the tavern. Martin hurried off to help them, leaving Annan free to keep talking with the gray-robed mage.

"You want to become a mage?"

Sudden delight swept over Annan. "Could I?"

"Do you have money?"

That brought him crashing back down.

"If a waiter at the Dawn Tavern became a mage's apprentice, I think I, as his employer, ought to sponsor him in part," Mr. Faster said. "Annan, you're clever. You could have a brighter future."

"What about me, Mr. Faster?" Martin squeezed in to ask.

"You're different. You're too stupid."

The gray-robed mage glanced at Faster. Understanding what he meant, Faster told Annan, "Customers are here, boy. Go serve them their drinks."

As Annan turned away, the gray-robed mage suddenly reached toward his back and uttered a spell. "Arcane Missile."

Annan walked to the counter without noticing a thing. He hadn't understood the words at all.

"That works a damn sight better than your lousy test."

The drunken gray-robed mage lowered his hand and said to Faster and the bard, both of whom had been startled:

"He didn't react at all. Either he's better at hiding what he knows than those old schemers in Breeze City, or he really doesn't understand the Common Tongue."