The man was now flustered and angry. He ran to the rack of weaponry against the wall at his back and took down a sword. Before Layol could turn to get to his own, the man was charging him – the blade raised over his thick shoulders. Right before his competitor swung the blade, Layol stretched his legs as wide as he could, and fell to the grass. The man wasn’t fooled, though, swinging the blade down to split the boy’s skull in half. Layol lowered his head – his eyes went shut… The world went into darkness – then to the pool of colors. The sound of a rushing torrent grew louder and louder… until it began to shake the boy. When the sound had reached its peak, Layol clapped his hands together. When he opened his eyes, the blade of the sword was clutched between his open hands. Layol began a low guttural chant, and shortly thereafter, the blade started to melt.

The boy grabbed the hilt of the ruined weapon and thrust its blunt side into the forehead of the stout man. His opponent staggered backward and collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The gong rang a final time. The elders above the gardens stood and bowed to the boy. Layol returned the salute, and then jumped up in the air, unable to contain his excitement.

“Congratulations, Layol!” Ardymon shouted. “Let it be known throughout all of Sicon that on this day, Layol, apprentice of Bennegraf, has attained mastery on the final of the lower levels of the art! Layol, as a mage, you may elect to enter into the Order to study the higher levels of mastery – Do you enter?”

“Yes, Master Kanja – I elect to enter!” the boy shouted back – his voice full of life.

“Then, Brother Layol – report to the Engraver to receive your mark. We feast in your honor at suuldown!”