Traversing the empty hallways at a brisk walk, the bearded man led them out of the school proper and into the grounds where a large obstacle course had been set up at the edge of the lawn, looking down over the river that flowed past below, its width engorged by the summer rains.

Large brick walls, thorny hedges, moats, sandpits, and more had been packed into a narrow strip of land, extending for several hundred feet to where a large platform could be seen in the distance. As the applicants came to a stop, the bearded man turned to face them.

“As you can see, the Test of Skill is an obstacle course. There are many ways to showcase your skills, but the easiest is by reaching the final platform. Five applicants will run the course at once. The first to reach the platform will automatically pass the test, while the other four will be graded based upon their performance. Are there any questions?”

“Can we use magic?”

Searching for the owner of the voice, the bearded man pointed to a well-dressed man with dark skin, the crowd around him parting to reveal him to the examiner. While the questioner’s clothes were of fine, if practical, make, his most striking aspect was a tattoo upon his left cheek: two lines that reached from his jawbone to just under his left eye.

“You can use whatever you feel will give you an advantage,” the bearded man replied. “Magic, weapons, anything. So long as you cross the finish line, we will not begrudge you the method.”

Murmurs went up among the applicants at this announcement. Clearly, they had not expected this answer. For his part, the tattoo’d youth merely smiled, bowing slightly to the examiner as he retreated back into the crowd.

Calling forth the first five students, the bearded examiner put them into position at the beginning of the course, pointing to the finish line before raising his hand. The moment his hand fell, the five were off, darting into the course like rabbits fleeing a fox.

A tall girl with short hair took the lead, her hands flashing as she used magic to forcefully clear away obstacles in her path. Various explosions of flame and ice could be seen both in front and behind her, as she forged forward with the other four applicants hot on her heels.

Holding a spear, one of the applicants lunged forward, the tip of his spear colliding with a magical barrier conjured by the short-haired girl. Before either of them could do more, a girl with braids passed them, waving cheekily as she ran by, her footsteps light as she effortlessly dodged under and around a forest of hanging vines.

So it’s not just the obstacles you have to be wary of, Rowan thought as the braids girl arrived upon the platform. Behind her was the spearman having dealt with the short-haired mage as well as both other participants, all of whom failed to finish.

As healers tended to the wounded applicants, the next heat began. Similar to the first race, the winner was the boy who did not get caught up in the fighting, but used it as a way to pass his competitors. Several more heats passed by in a similar manner before Rowan’s turn came, the course magically repairing itself as he arrived at the starting platform.

With a nervous glance, Rowan took in his opponents. The most dangerous looking one was a coyote beastman, his fur a light brown that rippled with hidden muscles. At his side was a hand-axe made of bone, its shaft well-worn from repeated use. Apart from the beastman, the other three competitors were a short girl with grey eyes and golden skin, a man with Girscaw features hidden beneath his heavy furs, and a mousy girl whose hands glittered with rings, each one bearing a different gemstone.

Checking that his shortsword was still firmly in place on his hip, Rowan handed the longsword to the examiner for safe-keeping. Although Tethis had said it suited him, he had never used a longsword before, and he didn’t plan to start now. Since he didn’t plan to use it, then the blade would only slow him down, best to give it to the examiner and hope that he wouldn’t be forced into combat.

Although he would have liked to leave the shortsword behind as well, Rowan felt that disarming himself completely might not be in his best interest, especially with the way the coyote beastman was regarding his competitors. No, best to keep the shortsword with me, Rowan decided. Even if it’s of no use as a deterrent, I can still use it as a tool.

Putting his choice of weapon aside, Rowan regarded the course. Although it was visible from afar, the starting platform offered a much better view of both the obstacles and the various paths through them. As he gazed at the course in front of him, a plan started to form in Rowan’s mind.

“Ready?” the bearded examiner asked, his hand raised in preparation to begin the race. As the five applicants nodded, he brought it down. “Go!”

Like lightning released from a bottle, the coyote beastman took off, his enormous hindpaws giving him an explosiveness unmatched by his fellow racers. All of his fellow racers but one, that is. Years of running from guards, merchants, and other street scum had given Rowan a speed known only to those who had been forced to run for their lives. Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, Rowan had forgotten how many times he had been forced to run with only the knowledge that, if he slowed down, he would die. Now, he ran not to preserve his life, but to begin it anew.

The shortsword in his hand flashed, slicing a narrow path through the hedge in front of him. Heedless of the thorns, Rowan hurled himself through the gap, not caring for the bloody streaks that now marked his face and arms. If I slow down for even a second, he’ll surpass me. Rowan shivered slightly at this thought, the heavy footsteps of the coyote beastman hot on his heels.

They had left the other three participants behind long ago, as they engaged in silent, but violent competition. On more than one occasion, Rowan had been forced to avoid that deadly hand-axe, its gleaming white edge threatening to strip him of far more than just flesh. A single exchange of blows had been enough to convince Rowan that force of arms was not his path to victory in this race. While others had been able to win simply by dominating their fellow applicants, the skill this beastman showed with his axe made that an impossibility.

Catlike, Rowan ascended a towering wall of earth, his fingers finding handholds where none seemed to exist. Even as his thoughts raced for ways to defeat his foe, his body moved, reaching the top of the tower and practically launching himself from the top, using only carefully controlled kicks to slow his descent as the skin on his palms deteriorated from the friction.

Rolling to absorb the momentum, Rowan broke his fall, not slowing in the slightest as he continued to sprint forward. Behind him, the beastman could be heard descending from the wall, his claws scrabbling for purchase on the rocky surface.

Basalt columns rose in front of him, forming a forest of uneven stone. Increasing his speed, Rowan jumped to the first column, shifting his balance forward as he leapt to the next, his keen vision identifying a path forward. If I can just gain a lead here, I should be able to ride that through to the finish line, Rowan told himself, ignoring the pain as his bloody hands gripped a column, vaulting over it as he put a little more distance between himself and his pursuer.

With feathery steps, Rowan traversed the columns as if he was not thirty feet in the air, but running leisurely through the streets of Taureen. Kicking off, Rowan descended, his feet hardly touching a column before he leapt to the next. As he reached the bottom, he broke out into a sprint, dashing madly for the final platform.

The finish line was in sight, but the coyote beastman was hot on his heels, his breath a harsh panting that seemed to bite at Rowan’s heels. From the corner of his eye, a streak of light-brown fur appeared, attached to a gleaming flash of white that grew larger in his vision as it approached.

With a growl of rage, Rowan unsheathed and raised his shortsword in a single movement, an incomprehensible scream tearing itself from his lips as he slammed his blade into the oncoming axe. With a harsh crack, something in his forearm snapped, the power in the beastman’s blow too much for his arm to bear. However, the strike which had been meant for his neck soared wide, deflected at the cost of his arm.

64/150

As Rowan’s health dropped precipitously, the beastman’s eyes widened in shock. Taking advantage of the opening he had sacrificed his arm for, Rowan hurled himself sideways, throwing his full weight into his foe. Off-balance, the beastman fell, Rowan’s functioning hand on his throat. With a sputtering sound, the air was driven from his lungs as the two landed heavily, neither having been able to break their fall.

Jaws opening, the coyote beastman looked like he was gasping for air, but no sound emerged, merely a hoarse crackling that seemed to emanate from within his throat. Not sparing a glance for his foe, Rowan rolled off and to his feet, his body moving despite the damage he had acquired as he set his sights on the finish line.