When Clay finally approached the gates of the Academy for a second time that week, he was still very much feeling the drag of fatigue.

Even once he'd finally gotten back to sleep, his dreams had been a horror-strewn battleground. He'd been tormented by images of gods and goddesses fighting things that defied description, flashes of a future where those things had won and crept across the world in a wave of darkness. He had been forced to see Pellsglade transformed into a place of horrors, where his brothers and sisters ran from spiders through a world of webs, or where his father and mother labored alongside skeletal serfs.

It had not been the greatest rest in the world.

The only small ray of sunshine—in every sense—was the fact that the day had dawned without more rain. In fact, the grey ceiling of clouds had broken to reveal a sky of such a deep blue that the few remaining wisps seemed to shine against the backdrop. A chill of early autumn was already retreating from a morning filled with sunlight and drying soil. He could smell the scent of wet wood as they walked to the capital, and it seemed to reassure him somewhat that the world was not burning yet.

Even the city itself bustled with life in defiance of what he'd been shown. The people of Crownsguard appeared to be making up for lost time, crowding through the streets and getting on about their business with impressive vigor. Criers shouted the news above the hustle of the passersby, and minstrels strummed songs. Lana nudged Clay as they passed one who was singing a horrible rendition of his antics in Rodcliff; Clay had rolled his eyes and tossed the man a coin before continuing on.

It would have been impossible to reach the Guild without some of the people in Crownsguard recognizing him, unfortunately. There were plenty of minstrels who had seemed to memorize his face the first few times he'd been there; more had apparently taken to sketching out images of him and distributing them along with written versions of his adventures. Now as he walked, Clay tried not to notice the occasional clusters of people staring at him in shock, before gathering in a group to whisper and point. Andrew hunched his shoulders as he attracted similar stares just through proximity; Mitchell grumbled sourly and tried to walk a little faster.

Olivia, on the other hand, simply kept searching the crowds for any sign of danger. People who walked by instinctively seemed to avoid her as she walked; the scythe that she carried might have had something to do with their caution. At the same time, the look in her eyes might have been just as intimidating. She strode the streets of Crownsguard as if she was hunting something, looking for prey to reap with the deadly blade she held.

Yet Clay suspected it was actually the scarf she wore across the lower half of her face. It was a dark piece of cloth that trailed back over her shoulders, about as long as her ponytail. The part that covered her face, however, had a pattern that made those who looked closer start and veer away from her. Many turned to stare at her as she went past.

He couldn't blame them. After all, the scarf had been decorated with the snarling visage of a swinefolk, complete with tusks and jagged teeth. It had been created by Samantha Grouper, a [Weaver] who had been at the Lair in Zelton. Her skills had meant that the image almost seemed to be alive, and it only contributed to the aura of menace around Olivia, one that actually sent a pack of children running at one point. Even the city's [Guards] had been taken aback when they looked at her, a fact that had almost made Clay worried for a moment.

It had been enough of a reaction that he'd almost regretted getting it made for her as a birthday gift the week before. Almost.

Still, they'd made it through the city well enough, and he breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the gates of the Academy.

There were four sentries on duty today—apparently, the Council had felt the need for additional reinforcements after the encounter the day before. They seemed relaxed at first, at least until their eyes went to the weapons the [Commoners] carried. Then they began to grow tense, especially when one of them looked at Olivia and jerked backwards like she'd been stung.

The sentries weren't alone, though. Three members of the Council were there as well, their expressions stern. Sir Richard was absent. In his place was Sir Bartholomew, the Master Archivist, as well as Syr Alia, a more formal and less flexible member of the Council. They stood on either side of Sir Evan, the Guildmaster and leader of the Chapter in Crownsguard. He did not appear to be amused by the sight of the [Commoners] approaching him, though his expression flickered with a hint of surprise as he noted their equipment.

He recovered quickly enough, however, and looked at Clay with a stern expression. "Sir Clay."

Clay inclined his head in a nod of respect. "Sir Evan." He glanced at the sentries. If they intended to attack, he was sure that they would have gathered more than just four to make the attempt. "Are the trials ready?"

Evan nodded, his lips twisting slightly with amusement. "Yes, Sir Clay." He glanced back into the Academy. "The [Guards] who were sent carried a… request for you to meet with the King once you were done here. I'm sure you would be happy to accommodate him."

The statement didn't seem to be a question, but Clay nodded anyway. "I will. Thank you." He glanced at his companions. "These are the [Commoners] who want to swear the Adventurer's Oath. They are Mitchell Eldsman, Andrew Cooper, Lana Towers, and Olivia Newfeld."

Evan's eyes ran over each of them as they were introduced. He paused for a moment on Olivia; Sir Bartholomew made a slightly surprised noise, and Evan silenced him with a look. When he looked back at Clay, his expression warned against anything even approaching humor. "We welcome them and their enthusiasm to join our work here. Come."

The eyes of the sentries tracked them as the [Commoners] filed past, but Clay ignored them. They seemed to relax a little as the group entered the Academy, which he took as a sign that they were more worried about getting attacked than springing a trap. A small voice in the back of his head suggested that maybe the trap was waiting a little further in, but he tried not to let his paranoia take control as they wound their way deeper into the building.

He felt a pang of nostalgia as they reached the courtyard where his own trials had taken place. The Academy seemed fairly empty by comparison to his memories; there were fewer people sparring and training in the other courtyards, and it seemed like there were far more clustered around the single space where they were headed.

Clay frowned as he looked over the crowd. There were at least a couple of dozen soldiers, which was something he'd expected. He hadn't expected there to be nearly that many adventurers, however, all of whom had the practiced motions of cadets rather than initiates. He glanced at Evan, who offered him a sly smile.

"The Academy has not had nearly as many adventurers remain at the initiate level this year. The last of them left months ago." His smile grew as he shrugged. "For their second trial, your [Commoners] may be expected to face a cadet in combat, rather than a series of initiates. I hope that is acceptable."

He glanced back at the others. Olivia summed up all of their reactions with a disinterested shrug. "That should be fine."

Sir Evan nodded. "Good." The crowd parted as they approached, and he raised his voice. "We are here today to welcome four new applicants to the Guild of Adventurers. They have chosen to immediately face the trial in order to become initiates. In order to achieve this goal, they must face five [Guards] and win at least three times."

The Guildmaster looked back at the others. "Who among you will begin?"

For a moment, there was no response to his question. Then Lana stepped forward, humming idly under her breath. "I will, Guildmaster." She set her weapons aside, beginning with the bow on her back and the Pell knife on her hip. Her armor followed, set against the nearest pillar that formed the courtyard.

As Lana walked over to put on the training armor and pick out a set of sparring weapons, Clay noticed that Sir Bartholomew had sidled up next to Olivia. He appeared to be muttering a set of observations to her, but she steadfastly ignored him. Perhaps he had wanted to persuade her to become some sort of library apprentice, but his chances of success were near zero, unless Clay had completely misjudged the situation.

Syr Alia, for her part, stepped over next to Clay. The Councilor watched as Lana finished preparing for the fight. "You seem troubled, Sir Clay. Are you worried about their success?"

Clay shook his head. There was a dull ache of fatigue behind his eyes as he watched her enter the courtyard. "No. I just… had a rough dream last night." She glanced at him, her eyes sharp, but he raised his voice rather than wait for the questions she'd probably ask. "Lana. They are level one. No combat [Chants] or full-strength hits, all right?"

Lana gave him a baffled look. Then she nodded and turned back to face her first opponent, a burly looking man who held the traditional spear and shield of the King's soldiers. He was about a head and half taller than her, and was built like a brick wall.

"Your confidence is to your credit, Sir Clay." Sir Evan's voice was conversational. "What level have your students reached?"

Clay waited until the match started, begun by a journeyman who made a sharp hand gesture. "Ten."

The Guildmaster and Syr Alia both jerked in surprise—apparently Sir Richard had not shared his claims about the [Commoner]'s levels—and before they looked back, the match was already over. Lana hadn't even reached for her bow. Instead, she simply darted forward, the practice Pell knife held in her hand as she darted around to the [Guard]'s side. Two sharp jabs, and the [Guard] crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath and holding his side.

Clay shook his head and spoke up again. "Lana…"

Lana glanced back at him. "Sorry, Sir Clay." She reached down and tried to help the man up; he eventually regained his feet, before limping back to the rest of the group. "I'll try to take it easy on the next one."

"Thank you."

There were mutters among the remaining [Guards]; several that had seemed fairly confident now seemed far less excited about stepping into the ring. Lana smiled and waited, humming softly to herself. Clay recognized the tune as one that the minstrels had been singing as they arrived. He sighed and shook his head. It was going to be a long day, after all.

The remaining matches for Lana ended roughly the same way. Two more [Guards] stepped into the courtyard and were almost immediately dispatched, both using the oversized practice knife. After the last one, the journeyman had a quick conversation with Sir Evan before announcing that the [Minstrel] had achieved initiate rank.

When they asked her if she was going to attempt cadet rank, she simply nodded and sheathed the practice knife. Several of the cadets frowned as she drew out the bow, but one of them stepped forward to face her almost immediately. Clay resisted the urge to check their [Class], but judging by the staff and the elaborate robes, the woman was probably some sort of [Mage] or [Oracle].

The journeyman made his gesture to start the fight. Across the courtyard, the cadet raised her hands, preparing to launch a [Charm] at Lana. She likely was trusting in the enchantments to keep the strike from being lethal; Syr Katherine had mentioned as much when Clay had first made his own attempts to gain Academy rank. A fireball quickly gathered in the cadet's hand, ready to launch itself at her target.

Then Lana shot her directly in the head with a dull arrow.

The impact snapped the cadet's head back like she'd been kicked by a mule. She collapsed immediately, falling into a boneless pile on the stone of the courtyard floor. Lana nocked a second arrow, watching to see if the cadet would recover their feet, but it was clear she was completely unconscious. As a healer hurried over, the journeyman announced Lana's victory in an increasingly uncertain voice.

When he was done, the announcer queried whether Lana would like to continue the trials for journeyman. There was a note of desperation in his voice, as if he dearly hoped she wouldn't.

Lana looked over at Clay, and he made an encouraging gesture. She shrugged and nodded. "Why not? We're already here."

The journeyman's shoulders slumped a little, and he asked for more cadets to step forward. She'd need to fight three of them and win to advance, as well as approval from the Council. Sir Evan muttered darkly about that last part, even as the first of her opponents stepped forward.

Lana's first challenger was a bulky man in heavy armor. He stepped in, idly swinging a massive sword, and eyed the distance between them. His confident grin turned into a grimace of pain as soon as the battle started, when the first arrow smacked him square in the chest. A second arrow, placed a small distance from the first, knocked him down and out completely.

The next two cadets were not any more successful. An agile man with a bow of his own managed to dodge her first shot and return fire. She leaned out of the way of the arrow and caught him with her second as he gawked at her in surprise. Her next opponent was lugging around a tower shield, obviously counting on it to defend him. It meant Lana's first arrow clipped his ankle and knocked his feet out from under him; the second one caught him in the shoulder as he was trying to rise.

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With the third cadet down, the announcer looked to Sir Evan and winced. Lana bowed to the crowd as he announced her trial was over. She was practically skipping as she returned to stand with the others. Her fingers flickered in a familiar pattern from their customary hand signs: simple enemies, no threat.

Clay grimaced as the cadets continued to mutter. Some of them were glaring at the [Commoners]. Others were sending hostile stares in the direction of Sir Evans.

The Guildmaster didn't appear to notice. He was still glowering at Lana as he raised his voice again. "Who will face the trials next?"

Andrew raised his hand, smiling uncertainly. "I will." He'd already shed his armor and set aside his hammer in favor of the padded clothing and practice hammer the Academy had prepared. With only a momentary hesitation, the [Crafter] stepped forward into the courtyard and waited.

There was a short, sharp debate among the [Guards]. Several of them were now giving Andrew nervous glances. Even with a practice hammer in hand, the young [Commoner] looked both heavily built and ready to dish out plenty of punishment. None of the [Guards] appeared ready to face him, at least not without plenty of encouragement.

Finally, one man was urged forward with promises of drink and coin. He grimaced as he stepped into the circle, giving Andrew an uncertain smile. "Try not to break anything, lad. Some of us have to work in the morning."

Andrew nodded, his face serious. He brought his hammer up and into position, waiting for the announcer to begin the match. The journeyman hesitated, his hand raised in the air. Then it descended.

Moments later there was a crack, and the [Guard] was flung out of the ring with a shattered shield tied to his arm. Andrew stared at him, looking incredibly guilty as the announcer recited the numb declaration of victory. The healers, already preoccupied with reviving Lana's victims, abruptly ran over to where the new catastrophe had struck.

Clay looked at Sir Evan, who was openly glaring at him. He sighed.

Andrew managed to be a bit gentler with the next two [Guards], and his sincere apology to the first one went a good way towards soothing any resentment among the soldiers.

When the cadets came out to fight him, however, Andrew shifted tactics. Clay was relatively sure that the [Crafter] would have won regardless, but the young [Commoner] clearly hadn't wanted to find out what [Charms] and [Feats] felt like the hard way.

His first opponent came flying across the courtyard, a blazing spear in hand, and Andrew sidestepped him and chucked a bag full of some kind of powder in the man's face. Clay had no idea how the [Crafter] had assembled it. He just knew Andrew had called it 'itchdust' and told him not to touch his eyes after poking it.

The cadet who was the unwilling first recipient of Andrew's experiment was still coughing when Andrew laid him out with a well-timed swing of a hammer. Three more cadets—including two magic-users and another armored warrior—got their own little gifts of itchdust, and then Andrew was striding out of the ring, looking relieved.

Mitchell stepped forward before Sir Evan had even opened his mouth. His practice spear and shield mirrored the weapons of his first opponents, and they must have seen a familiar stance as he took up his position. The [Guard] smiled at the King's soldiers and raised his voice. "Come on, then. I've always heard that the King's [Guards] are the best. Let's see if that's true."

One of the [Guards] shouted back at him. "Are you going to shoot us or get us with a dust bag or something?"

The Janburg [Guard] snorted. He glanced back at Lana and Andrew, who were whispering to themselves. "Nah. I'm not quite so fancy. Just a bit of soldiering, and you'll get a free visit to the healers." When mutters and whispers answered him, he rolled his eyes. "Tell you what, you don't even need to wait for the announcer there. The first three can just charge me one after another. Maybe one of you can take me by surprise."

His challenge was met with a lot of skeptical muttering. Then a trio of what looked like brothers stepped up to the circle's edge. The smallest of them entered the ring, and the announcer sighed. "Begin!"

Mitchell and the [Guard] charged each other, their stances equal to one another. Someone unfamiliar might have called it an even match.

They'd have been proven wrong a moment later as they clashed. Mitchell ducked low and slammed into the other [Guard], shattering their shield and flipping them over his head. As the first one hit hard, clearly down for the count, the second charged in with a wild yell, his spear already extended for a thrust.

Mitchell deflected it to the side and then shoulder checked the man. The impact staggered the Crownsguard soldier, and Mitchell reversed the momentum of his spear's swing. It whipped into the man's knees, knocking his legs out so quickly that the man appeared to hover in midair for a moment before bellyflopping on the bare stone.

The last soldier charged with a grim expression on his face, clearly not expecting a good result. Mitchell shattered the soldier's spear with his shield, spun around him, and jabbed the butt of his own spear into the back of the man's head. Clay winced as the impact went home and the man folded up mid-charge, momentum sprawling him out on the stone.

Mitchell looked back at the wreckage he'd made of his fellow [Guards] and shrugged. He looked at the healers and waved them over. Then he turned his attention to the announcer, who began the now-regretful proclamation of the man's new rank.

"What kind of monsters have you created, Sir Clay?"

Syr Alia's horrified whisper only made Clay's grin grow wider. "The kind that will destroy Lairs for us, Syr Alia. The kind we need." He watched as Mitchell stalked back to the middle of the courtyard and waited for the others to get dragged out of the way. There was already a debate over which of the remaining cadets would step forward to challenge him first. "I just wish this farce wasn't needed. At least, not for someone we know will win."

Alia's response was interrupted by a harsh crack. The young cadet who had charged Mitchell blinked in surprise as his axe failed to make any impression on the [Guard]'s shield. Then Mitchell's counterattack struck home, and the cadet went down hard. She winced. "It was decided that we should continue to treat all such [Commoners] as if they were normal adventurers. That way, they could claim a similar authority and protection when operating as members of the Guild."

Clay grunted in agreement. "I see." He sighed and shook his head. "I worry about the resentment it will cause, but if the Council felt it was the best way we can work together, then so be it."

She gave him a quick glare. "It was the best option you and King John have left us, Sir Clay." Alia looked back towards the circle as a spell caster stepped forward, his eyes nervous. "Between your intransigence and King John's machinations, there was only so much we could do."

He frowned, looking over at her. In the ring, there was a sharp crackle of ice, turned aside by Mitchell's shield as he charged. The pained yelp of the cadet swiftly followed. "Machinations? What do you mean?"

Alia eyed him for a moment. Then she sighed. "Shortly after your departure, the Guild attempted to have a provision added to the Treaty of Fraeton, the agreement which shelters all adventurers of the Guild. The change would have extended you the same rights and protections as any other Guild member throughout the known world." She paused. "King John opposed it."

Clay blinked. "He did? Why?"

"I am unaware of the King's motivations, Sir Clay." Alia's haughty expression collapsed a little as Mitchell's next opponent tried pelting the [Guard] with arrows. The projectiles bounced off Mitchell's shield as he advanced. "Perhaps you could ask him yourself when you meet with him. All I know is that his disapproval made sure that any support for the measure quickly collapsed—and your… disagreement with Merarbor now surely will prevent it entirely."

He nodded, adding it to the list of concerns he had about Crownsguard's monarch. Perhaps it was some sort of vengeance for Clay's interference in his attempt to form an assassin group, or maybe it was part of some other plot to draft him into the army. Either way, he had no intention of allowing it to stop him. Not when he had so much more to do.

By the time Mitchell had finished with his last opponent, the announcer looked almost defeated. He looked at Sir Evan, whose anger had apparently burned itself most of the way out. The Guildmaster turned wearily to the last of Clay's group, likely glad to see that the whole experience would soon come to an end. "Olivia Newfeld. Will you face this trial?"

Olivia looked back at him for a moment. She already held a practice scythe, and padded clothing had taken the place of her armor. Then she shook her head. "No. Not like this."

Sir Evan paused, blinking in surprise. "What do you mean? I was told—"

She held up a hand. "We're wasting time. I'll face all of them. At once."

The Guildmaster paused. His eyes flicked over to Clay, suddenly once again burning with frustration and anger. "If you face them all at once and fail, then it will be the same as failing the challenge, Goodwoman Newfeld. You are aware of this?"

"I am." Olivia stepped forward into the circle. She walked until she had reached the middle of it. "I am ready."

Sir Evan looked from her to the crowd of the remaining [Guards]. There were well over a dozen men and women left among the soldiers, all of whom were looking around at each other. He gestured for them to enter the circle. "Very well. You can all participate, then."

Olivia watched as the [Guards] spread out, hesitantly hefting their weapons. She looked back at Sir Evan. "The cadets as well, Sir Evan."

He looked back at her in shock. Clay felt the first stirrings of his own misgivings as Evan looked back at him before answering. "You cannot be serious! Why would you—"

Evan cut off his protest as Olivia turned to look at him. Her eyes might as well have been forged from green steel. "I was told by a friend that these trials were meant to help teach a new cadet about the difference between an adventurer and a [Commoner]. That the lesson was an important part of the trials, and that it would shape our perspectives accordingly."

She looked back at the cadets, who suddenly shifted on their feet uneasily. "Adventurers are not the only ones who can teach, Sir Evan. I would share my own lesson with the Guild today."

Anger seemed to override Evan's awareness of her probable trap. "So be it. All of you. Join the [Commoners]. Now!"

As the cadets shuffled to obey, Sir Bartholomew stepped up beside Clay. The fastidious older man was staring at Olivia in obvious consternation. His hands were clenched in front of him. "This is most unexpected, Sir Clay. Even at level ten, against this many opponents, she cannot possibly begin to—"

Clay shook his head. "Level twelve, Sir Bartholomew." He saw the telltale sign of Olivia's lips moving and grimaced. "And she's going to take some of the gloves off. Brace yourselves."

Both Councilors looked at him with expressions full of worry and surprise, but Clay ignored them. He made a warning sign to the other [Commoners], and they straightened up in alarm. One glance at Olivia's situation—now fully surrounded by adventurers and soldiers alike—and they scrambled for more secure footing.

It proved to be a wise move. The announcer raised his hand, looking to Sir Evan for confirmation. With a face seemingly made of stone, the Guildmaster nodded, and the announcer brought his hand down. "Begin!"

All around Olivia, the circle of enemies abruptly charged in at her. Soldiers and close combat warriors launched themselves towards her with weapons held high, ready to overwhelm her. Archers and magic users stayed at the periphery, their spells and arrows already trained on the single target at their center. In that moment, it looked like Olivia's gamble was already doomed to failure before she could even begin.

Then Drums of the Earth activated, and Clay felt the earth beneath the Academy shake slightly. Vengeful cadets and confident soldiers abruptly staggered, their eyes wide with alarm. Arrows and crossbow bolts that had been carefully aimed went wide, shooting off towards the edges of the courtyard. Spells that should have burned, frozen, or blasted Olivia missed. Those who would have followed up on the attacks were sent stumbling to the side.

Before the shaking was over, Olivia was already in motion. The soldiers in front of her recoiled in alarm as she lunged forward, her practice scythe already sweeping out in a lethal dance that echoed the practice that Clay had seen her embracing before. Three [Guards] went down in as many heartbeats, along with a spear-wielding cadet that sprawled out beside them.

Olivia left them to collapse in her wake as she sprinted for the edge of the circle. Cadets tried to scatter, but Olivia's charge caught them like a fox among hens. Three more cadets went down, spells flickering in their hands and bows broken. By the time the earth stopped shaking and the remainder of the enemy had adjusted to the tactic, she was already racing along the perimeter of the ring, chasing down the remaining magic users and archers. She ducked beneath panicked shots and dodged point-blank bursts of magical energy before knocking each cadet aside, along with whatever unfortunate melee combatant had managed to catch up to her.

Sir Bartholomew had recovered enough to turn on Clay, outrage plain on his face. "Sir Clay, the use of combat [Chants] within the context of these trials is—"

"Something you'll have to live with, I'm afraid." Clay winced as Olivia slammed the haft of her scythe into the gut of a [Mage] and sent her sprawling out of the circle. A pair of soldiers leapt to confront her, and she whirled through them like a dancer, her weapon laying both of them out in quick succession. He caught a hint of her next [Chant] as she ran by, still pursuing a frantic pair of archers. "Just be glad she hasn't used any fire yet."

"Yet? Sir Clay, we cannot—"

Clay looked at the Master Archivist and sighed. "The Guild wanted to see her fight, Sir Bartholomew. So watch—and believe me, this is her being gentle."

"By the gods." Syr Alia breathed the words as Olivia slipped between two cadets, both of whom had swung blows that would have knocked her across the ring. Both weapons missed her by a hairsbreadth. "What kind of creature is—"

Alia hadn't finished the question when Olivia's next [Chant] activated. The Ballad of Air spawned a mass of tendrils made of wind, each of which wrapped around a limb or a weapon. Soldiers suddenly were yanked off balance, cadets found their weapons frozen in place. For just an instant, half of the remaining opponents within the circle were held captive or knocked to the ground.

Before they could free themselves or regain their footing, Olivia was among them. Soldier after soldier was cut down, cadet after cadet crumpled to the stone, as a [Commoner] wove her way through them. Bartholomew hissed in anger as nearly three quarters of the remaining opponents fell, while those panicked remnants tried to backpedal away from her.

Soon enough, there were only a handful of cadets and soldiers remaining. They grouped together, retreating towards one another as Olivia stalked after them. As she approached, their attacks seemed to lose all cohesion. Swings were meant just to buy them time more than make contact; the [Guards] spent more time hiding behind their shields than attacking with their spears. One by one, Olivia hunted the last of her opponents down, occasionally using a [Chant] to help break apart their fragmented formation.

When the last cadet fell, Olivia spent a moment standing over the broken, groaning piles of adventurers and soldiers. She looked around, assuring herself that they were all down.

Then she looked over at the announcer, who was staring in stunned silence at the carnage. He jerked in surprise, as if she'd roared a challenge at him instead of just meeting his eyes. The journeyman gave Sir Evan a quick glance, but the Guildmaster was just staring in grim acceptance at the defeated warriors. With obvious reluctance, the adventurer nodded. "Syr Olivia is victorious in her trials. We welcome her to the Guild."

A particularly pained groan echoed through the courtyard, and Olivia nodded. She stalked back across the stone, headed back to where Clay was waiting. Her green eyes were filled with triumph and exhilaration above her grim cloth mask, and he snorted as she stepped around or over the fallen warriors she'd confronted. "Diplomatic as always, Syr Olivia."

Olivia gave him a quiet nod, her eyes still dancing with victory, and then went to recover her equipment. Sir Evans and the other Councilors stared after her for a moment, even as the healers rushed into the ring to address the worst injuries.

Then the Guildmaster shook himself, as if trying to wake himself from a bad dream. He glanced at Clay, and there was clear shock still present in the man's eyes. Clay shrugged, and Sir Evans grunted before turning back to address Olivia and the others.

"We welcome you to the Guild as cadets and prospective journeymen." He paused to look at Clay again and then sighed. "We will now bring you to where you will swear your Oath. May you live to fulfill it as well as all who have come before you."

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