Chapter One
A/N: Thanks for sticking with me! Here's the next chapter of the story.
"Will, you really ought to eat something," young Jenny Dalby, pretty, cheerful and blonde, said as she flicked her wrist, causing one of the sliced pieces of corn bread to lift itself up in the air and make its way across the table, landing easily on Will's plate. Before the boy could react, another flick of her wrist brought over a small scoop of potatoes, a slice of ham, and a generous ladle of gravy, all of which were perfectly placed on Will's plate. Despite picking up his fork, Will paused, staring at the plate in front of him; his stomach was so tied up, knotted in anticipation. He wouldn't be able to take a single bite.
"He's probably just nervous," Alyss said, wiping at her mouth delicately before pouring herself another glass of water. "Tomorrow is the big day, after all."
"Nervousness is dreadful," George piped up shoving yet another spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. "Once it gets you, you can't talk, can move, can't breathe for a good chunk of it. And then you'll want to just sort of melt into a little puddle on the floor there. Then they'll have to mop you up, which in turn makes you even more nervous because now you know they'll be passing judgement on how you melted and just what a mess you made and then-"
"George? Please don't talk with your mouth full," Alyss said, silver underlying the tall, graceful girl's words. As soon as they left her mouth, George stopped talking, chewing and swallowing his food before opening his mouth again. He then launched into a long tirade about how nervousness over making a mess led to nervousness and losing control over one's abilities, which in turn would lead to something else. However, privately, Will smiled. Alyss' silver tongue, while certainly not nearly as powerful as it could be when she got older, was highly useful in certain situations; after all, it made people follow her orders, so long as they were unable to resist it.
That being said, of course, George was obviously able to resist it, he simply chose to allow Alyss' order to take over – or so he would argue, with charts and tables and explanations he read, and little facts that he learned and remembered all throughout his lifetime. That was his ability: to instantly learn everything and recall it perfectly even years later, making him a natural for Scribeschool, with its books and legal dealings and mountains upon mountains of paperwork.
"He ought to be," Horace said when George ended his tirade for a moment to take a breath, grabbing at another leg of chicken and tearing off the skin with his teeth. "After all, what Craftmaster is going to take him as an apprentice?"
"Horace!" Jenny said sharply, waving her hand so that a napkin floated up and wiped the crumbs and bits of meat off of Horace's mouth.
"We are all nervous, I'm sure," Alyss, ever the diplomat said, smoothly cutting across Jenny before the other girl could say anything else. "I, for one, was barely able to sleep last night. I'm surprised I can still function this morning."
George immediately started talking again, giving Will some time to think – and smile. It was so typical of the tall, beautiful girl to step in before things became nasty, particularly between Will and Horace. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Alyss would enter Lady Pauline's Diplomatic Services; after all, not only was her silver tongue an absolute boon to the Couriers, but she already had more than enough skills to go with it. What was more, he knew that Alyss had spoken at length to Lady Pauline about entering her apprenticeship, and that she had already been promised a place.
Jenny, naturally, would gravitate towards Master Chubb, the cook of Redmont Castle. She was a gifted cook already, having created many of the dishes being served tonight at the Redmont Castle Ward, and had a natural sense for taste, sight, and smell. Her telekinesis would also be a boon to the kitchen, as she could mix and mold and mash and turn and fry and boil all at once, leaving her hands free to handle any other task that would be needed to cook.
Will next turned to look at Horace, who was now digging into a plate heaped with meat and potatoes, which were continually being piled on as Jenny did her best to keep up with serving her wardmates. Battleschool was his top choice, to no one's surprise; Horace was built like a warrior, large and brawny, and had superhuman strength to boot. He was able to easily crumple a metal shield like paper in his hands, and had more than once dented the castle's stone walls from rough housing a little too much. Battleschool would allow him to take the path towards knighthood, a path normally reserved only for sons of noblemen. On top of that, Will thought with a small bit of snark, Horace thought like Battleschool apprentices as well: not too much.
The Choosing was perhaps the most important moment in the life of any young ward, where they would enter an apprenticeship with any of the Fief's Craftmasters and given the same opportunity as those whose apprenticeships were often decided by their parents' influence or by some connection with the Craftmaster. From there, they would be taught the skills needed to become contributors to life in the Kingdom of Araluen and, once they graduated from their chosen school, would then take on the world as adults. The Choosing was only helped if the ward had gifts; a gift would be a boon to a Craftmaster, as more often than not, the gift would greatly help the ward become a truly talented pupil.
"Still applying for Battleschool, Will?" Horace asked between bites. He wiped off the juices from the chicken with the back of his hand, causing Jenny to tut and bring over a small bowl of water and a towel. While Jenny wiped away, Horace continued speaking. "You should eat up more and bulk up, else you'll be hanging around one of the farms for the rest of your life, growing crops so us warriors can eat well and protect those not strong enough to enter Battleschool."
As Horace laughed, Will merely glowered at him. Horace had overhead Will confiding to Alyss his hopes for entering Battleschool one day, and had since then never ceased teasing Will about it. But of course, he didn't do it without cause; Will was a small, wiry boy, strong enough, but not nearly as strong as Horace, even without his gift. Battleschool was meant for the boys that were built like Horace, tall and broad-shouldered, able to swing a sword as easily as they would be able to tuck into a meal. Will was not like that – but he wanted to be more than anything. And if Sir Rodney would see his passion, his need to prove himself, his penchant for hard work, then surely, the Battlemaster would allow him into the school.
"At least I'll still have strength between my ears," Will murmured before he could stop himself, causing the uncomfortable silence that had fallen around the table to thicken all the more. Jenny let out a small squeak of laughter before she ducked under the table, under the pretense of attempting to get her napkin. Alyss, for her part, held her hand over her mouth, as though covering a gasp, though her shoulders shook ever so slightly. George simply kept eating.
Horace's face burned a brilliant red as he stood up, his hulking form towering over the table. However, Will was much faster; he closed his eyes and briefly imagined the forest around him and moss beneath his feet before he was out of the hall, a graceful deer galloping out into the night.
"Run away then, Will No-Name!" Horace shouted after him. In spite of himself, Will found his chest clenching, causing him to only hasten his hoofbeats. He had been left as a baby at the door of the castle ward, with only a blanket and a note saying that his mother had died in childbirth, and his father a hero, and that his name was Will. That was the reason why he wished to enter Battleschool: to become a knight, just like one he had always envisioned his father as.
"Will, come back!" he heard Alyss say, silver lacing each word. For a brief moment, he was sorely tempted; he faltered in his run, wishing more than anything to return to the gentle arms of the tall, blonde, beautiful girl. But the grief within him, the regret for all that he was, tore at him. Resisting the urge to run back to Alyss, Will imagined the sky and the wind instead, transforming into a falcon and flying up into a tree of the nearby forest, intending to spend the night there until the morning and the Choosing came.