“What’s special instruction?” Draken asks as they pass the curtain, the older boy grins.

“It usually means you’re either close enough to passing that they want to give you tips or you’re such a troublemaker they need to discourage you from trying again. ”

Draken rubs his bruises. “Gee, I wonder which I am?”

The rat eyed sorcerer lightly coughs as he enters the alcove. The space now smells of fresh ham and cheese. On the table is a platter of meat and a flagon of wine that nobody dares touch without permission.

“Be seated, none of them have hidden manacles,” he chuckles.

Draken isn’t the only one to hesitate before taking his seat.

“From here on out I’ll be referring to you by name.” He turns his creepy eyes to a blond haired girl who Draken remembers hysterically weeping after her trial. She’d be pretty if her eyes weren’t still puffy and red. He imagines she comes from well to do but not wealthy family. She seems privileged and overly soft but not stuck up.

“Hester Briggs, Madame Veronica notes you may have talent but that your inborn timidity is incompatible with her testing style. She recommends you take the test again in the fifth district where the master witch has a gentler hand.”

The sorcerer faces a tan skinned ginger who looks about ten years too old for the trials. Something seems off about him as if he might be slightly unhinged.

“Phillip De Gritz, you have proven time and again that you have zero talent for any school of magic. You’ve taken the trials over a hundred times and it’s been decided that it’s time you face reality for your own good.” The sorcerer reaches out to console him but the man shrugs away.

“My entire family are magicians, it’s not possible!” He objects, the proctor shakes his head.

“It’s actually very common, what isn’t common is your mad persistence. We all like you, Phillip which is why we’re going to fail you on sight from now on.”

“But you can’t do that, I have a right to take the trials!” His ruddy face turns bright crimson as he shouts, his deep breaths and shaking hands make Draken wonder if he’s is about to have a panic attack. The sorcerer sighs, shaking his head.

“Perhaps you do but we have the right to fail anyone for any reason and at any time. We will do what we can to sponsor an apprenticeship for you in a respectable trade, despite your age but you must stop this nonsense.”

“Maybe if I focus on the lesser schools of magic.” He suggests, desperately.

“The ban also extends to them, sit down.”

“Samwise Diggery,” he turns to a plump youth about the same age as Draken.

“This is your final warning about pranks. One more and you’ll be failed on sight just like young Phillip. That said, Morrow believes that you have a spark of a gift. You are to report back here tomorrow for a trial he’s designed especially for you. You are warned that this is your last shot at an apprenticeship, if you fail to make the appointment or cause trouble in any way you’ll be on the blacklist and failed on sight.”

It goes on like this for some time, tips and admonitions handed out like candy.

“Tucker Langly,” he turns to Draken’s tall new friend. “Blackard Hood believes you have a strong talent for wizardry but lack focus and need some extra attention.” He hands Tucker the booklets from the trial. “These booklets contain dangerous practical information on wizardry, Hood is trusting you with them. Study them each cover to cover and come back the last day of the festival to take the wizardry trial and only the wizardry trial. I hope that I do not have to tell you not to attempt to use these books for anything other than study, to do so would endanger your life and the lives of all those around you.”

The beady eyes of the sorcerer turn at last to Draken, he studies him silently for just a moment and clears his throat.

“Draken Crowe, your case is unusual, I ask you to wait until we are alone.”

Draken meets the mage’s eyes defiantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I really recommend waiting to discuss it until your peers have taken their leave.”

He indicates the food on the table. “Please help yourselves to refreshments and if you have questions, now is the time to ask them.”

“Not so fast,”Draken says. “I waited my turn, I expect to be told what’s what.”

The sorcerer sighs, gripping his temples as if he has a migraine.

“Very well, your case is as I said an unusual one. You are aware of the master’s prerogative?”

Draken’s blank stare and dumb scratching tells the mage what he needs to know.

“The masters administering the trials are also responsible for assigning those who pass them as apprentices to various magicians in Gold Seal and are afforded the prerogative of hand picking their own. ”

“Are you saying I passed?” Draken asks, a thrill growing inside him like a weed. The magician nods, smiling slightly enough that it’s almost imperceptible. Draken claps his hands together. “Hot damn!”

He shouts and feels a chill in the air as half a dozen jealous eyes stare daggers at him.

The sorcerer audibly scoffs.

“Exactly why I suggested waiting until they left.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” another boy shouts. “If he passed why’s he here with us losers?”

The magician turns his eyes on the boy with devilish speed and terrifying intensity.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” The firmness in his soft voice brokers no argument.

Draken laughs. “Go on and answer his question, i’m curious about that myself.”

“I don’t recommend it,” the rat eyed mage shakes his head.

Draken ignores the mage’s warning and takes a bite of a big red sausage. He coughs as the blazing sensation spreads past his lips down his throat. He downs a full goblet of wine but the burning only intensifies. With eyes watering he stares at the beady eyed man who takes a bite of his own sausage.

“Spit it out,” Draken says. The magician smiles.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve eaten spicier and lived.”

“Not that, what’s so damned unusual about me passing the trials, they rigged or something?”

The mage chuckles, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Not at all, the problem is actually something i’ve never seen before. One wonders how these situations were dealt with historically but never expects to encounter such problems oneself. Sorry I’m rambling, the basics of your situation are that when the masters give me a list of those who pass their trial they also put the name of the mage they think can best teach the apprentice. If they want to shortlist a possible apprentice for themselves they’ll leave that part blank and only rarely will they put their own name to indicate they’ve made a choice.”

The magician unrolls the scroll on the table in front of Draken.

“Just look,” he says pointing to number twenty-three. Next to the number are three names.

Veronica Tamrin Blackard Hood Zern Morro

Draken runs his finger over the names.

“What does this mean?”

“Your a freak, that’s what it means.” The boy sitting next to Draken scoots his seat back a few paces.

“That is enough!” The mage snaps. Draken feels eyes on him and as he glances around the table notes a common expression of astonishment. A hand clumsily slaps his shoulder.

“You’re gonna be a living legend!” Tucker shouts, wine on his breath and in his voice.

Draken shrugs the older lad’s hand from his shoulder and his eyes quest for answers in shifty rodentish orbs of the mage.

“So, what do we do now?” Draken asks.

“That’s just the thing,” the mage replies. “Something like this has never happened before.”