The guard loomed ominously over the potentials - his shoulders still at least a foot taller than Zan, even as he stood.
"These are the splits." He held up a piece of paper close to his face and bellowed the names out.
Zan listened intently as he jostled for position against the two people trying to pincer him, defiantly offering a sharp elbow jab into them which garnered a look of anger across the face of the one with the golden tunic.
As he looked around, he noticed that all the others seemed a little taller, and had more seasoned faces than his. They were still youthful, but to Zan they somehow seemed more comfortable in the surroundings.
"Zan Kivani." The man read out his name as the first call for the third dorm. Zan's ears pricked back as the guard continued. "Salan Ziga, Vox Novo, Arg Daran," he said before looking up. "You will follow the guard and proceed to dorm Dimsopa."
Zan remained still for a moment, looking around to see who else had started to move. Striding past the front bench was a tall Rilaris, his muscular green skin burst through the short sleeves of his clothing. No-one else moved initially, and Zan put a foot forward to follow the well-built man. The Potential beside him stuck his leg out which Zan stumbled over and he fought to keep balance, but lost the battle and crashed to the ground. A wave of giggles travelled around the chamber as he pushed himself back up and straightened his cloak. The two dead black eyes of the culprit never flinched, but neither did Zan, and the man smiled in amusement. Suddenly Zan felt a hand on his shoulder shoving him out the door. "Move along boy," the guard said. Zan turned to walk out, while his thoughts were overridden by the relief that neither of the people sat beside him were walking in the same direction.
They paced down the corridor, transferring to a slow jog intermittently just to keep up. The sound of quick steps echoed behind him, and he was confronted by a running, and ever closing, Zal girl. She had pale yellow skin and was trying to avoid eye contact. Behind her was another Rilaris. He was smaller and, like Zan, had a hooded cloak which he seemed to be trying his best to hide behind while attempting to stay in touch and not lose his way.
The guard in front halted, and a flickering firetorch lit an arched wooden door which had 'Dimsopa' written on it in large iron letters. He clicked a key into the door and pushed it open. "You will be staying here for the duration of the assessment. You will report to the chamber when you are woken tomorrow."
"Wait, how do we –." The guard was gone in a flash, hidden from view by the haze.
Zan followed the tall one in, and surveyed the room. It was small and crude, and the chamber was carved out of the bedrock with little precision or attention to comforts. Small jagged corners jutted out randomly and in the dim light it was easy to nick an arm on the sharp tips.
"Well," the tall Rilaris said, "This is about the worst possible end to how I imagined it. I'm not accustomed to such a dank place. A man of my talents deserves better." He jumped onto the top bunk as if he had springs in his heels, before shuffling around on it, and climbing down.
"It's pretty good I think," Zan said.
"Salan," the tall impressive figure said while shoving his hand in front of Zan's face. "Arrowmaster of Bladensong five years running," he added with a cocksure smirk across his face. He looked directly into Zan's eyes without a hint of anxiety, and yet his brash and over-confident demeanour was strangely inoffensive.
Salan held his stance for a slightly longer time than necessary, before Zan realised he needed to respond before it became uncomfortable. "Zan," he said, while shifting his eyes downwards.
Salan let go of his hand. "Zan eh? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. And what qualities have brought you here? Let me guess," he said without giving chance of a response. He looked Zan up and down. "Long legs and a powerful gait – it must be speed? Or riding perhaps?"
Zan turned his head without responding.
"Well, okay then," Salan said, raising his eyebrows. "That's something for later I guess." He switched his attention to the other Rilaris, who was sitting on the floor in the corner, with his arms wrapped around his legs as he pulled them in towards his chest. "Nice to meet you," Salan said, as he knelt down. The young man had his head drooped forward, and he didn't move an inch. "Come on, I bet there's a warrior underneath that cloak," he said. Still there was no response.
Salan shrugged his shoulders. "Please yourself," he said as he jumped back onto the top bunk. There were two bunk beds at opposite sides of the room, and just two lit torches hanging from the frames at either side of the door.
Zan walked over to the other bunk and clambered up to the top and lay down on his side facing Salan, while the Zal girl sat on the one below him.
Salan twisted and turned on the thin mattress with a look of displeasure as he sat up against the wall, adjusting his back to a more comfortable position.
"I've not seen many Zal this way before, not least a girl." Salan tipped his body to the side of the bed to get a better view of her. "I know your skin isn't as tough, and yours is only pale yellow. Which makes me wonder how a girl like you might get through this……er…"
"Vox. My name’s Vox,” she snapped. “I'm not a girl!"
"Right." Salan leaned back straight. "I guess they’re late developers over there in...what do they call it...Zalino..Zaliono—."
"Zaliolonak," Vox replied abruptly cutting Salan short.
"Right," Salan replied. "And you Zan, the shade of your green is too pale. You can't be a pure Rilaris. Are you a half-cast?"
Zan sighed. "My mother was Zal."
"I knew it," Salan said. "Never mind, don't worry about it."
"I don't." Zan pulled his hood tight down to his neck.
"Right," Salan said. "Best of both worlds eh?"
Zan offered no reply. He adjusted his body as it ached from the wooden planks digging into him from below the mattress. The bed creaked as it rocked slightly, and he halted his movements every few seconds before continuing more gently.
"I don't want to be here," a voice said from below. Zan peered over the bedside, and the man on the floor was rocking his body back and forth. "I don't want to be here," he said again.
"Hey, it's ok. You'll get through this," Salan said. The man looked up for the first time. He was a little younger than Salan by the tightness of his face, but still older than Zan. The dark green skin on his face had a trail of tears running down the sides that glistened in the firelight like a slugworm’s slime. "It's just an assessment, and if you're not suitable you can go. You've nothing to lose," Salan said sympathetically.
"I don't like what the teacher said at the end," Vox said quietly. Her voice lacked authority, and there was softness to her words.
"You mean the show of hands?" Zan said, peering over the top bunk edge.
Vox nodded. "I don't know whether I could...you know," she said.
Their voices fell silent for a few moments and the only sound that could be heard were the distant echoes of footsteps and banging doors.
"I wonder what the trials involve," Zan said. He climbed down from his bed and paced around. "They sound difficult."
"They sounded pretty straightforward to me," Salan said, putting one hand behind his head as he lay on his back. "Targets, stealth and combat. I guess 'targets' means shooting practice," Salan said. "And if there's any bare-fist fighting, I got perfect tens in my practice in the Bladensong championship, and can pack quite a punch with these," he said, clenching his fists and holding them aloft. He gazed at them with admiration as if they were trophies.
"Yeah, well you've no chance on stealth, unless the test takes as long as it takes you to pause for breath," Zan said. He looked at Vox who smiled back up at him.
"I can be quiet if I have to," Salan said.
"Then why don't you give that some practice?" Zan said.
"Well, because now, I mean right now, I don't have to," Salan said. "I could test out my hand to hand with you if you'd like?"
Zan shook his head, not quite able to tell if he was being serious or not. "You could test those particular skills out on that tosser in the golden tunic if you want."
"Yes, I noticed the way he looked at you, and it was he who tripped you up wasn't it?" Salan said. Zan nodded. "I happen to know that he's the son of a merchant. Telexin is his name. Do you know each other?"
"No, never seen him before in my life, and I wish I didn't have to see him again," Zan said. "He's a typical higher born, they're all the same.”
Vox nodded in agreement. "I know what you mean...Zan is it?" Zan nodded. "The people I worked for had money. Sometimes I wondered if they had any idea of its value. I was treated like something squashed beneath a rock by them."
"Who did you work for?" Salan said. "Anyone famous?"
"No," Vox said. "They were government officials I'm sorry to say."
"What's a girl....I mean woman doing in a place like this anyway? Salan said.
"I don't know why they picked me. It's my punishment I think," Vox said.
"What did you do?" Zan asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said with venom that inclined no-one to press her any further.
"I think we need to get some rest, who knows what’ll happen tomorrow," Zan said. He tried the latch on the door but it was locked.
"I guess no-one is coming in here in the middle of the night then," Vox said.
"Neither is anyone getting out," Zan said. He walked over to man on the floor, who Zan deduced was Arg from the names that were read out. He was sat motionless on the floor muttering to himself under his breath. "You'd be better in a bed. I know it's not much but I guarantee it's better than where you're sat right now," he said.
The muttering continued and Arg didn't even look up. Zan shrugged his shoulders and blew out the flames before feeling his way back to his bunk.
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