As I walk out of my family's quaint home, I see Oriah at the market further down the path. I've got to walk by there to get to the library, so I may as well stop and speak to him. Maybe I can pick up some information on how a veteran like him prepares on the final day before tryouts.

As I approach, he pauses his conversation with a fruit merchant. "Greetings, Mondor. Ready for the big week?"

"Is anyone ever?"

"Not at all. But you can get close."

"Oh yeah? Define close." Maybe he'll gift me with some knowledge.

"Well, your nerves will always be there, but you can quiet them. Distract yourself with some shopping or a hobby. The tryouts shouldn't dominate your thoughts." As he's talking, he flips a coin at the fruit merchant and grabs a cluster of thornberries. After he finishes speaking, he starts plucking berries off the vine and tossing them into his mouth.

He's got to be trying to get into my head. There's no way you shouldn't be thinking about tryouts the day before they start. "Thanks for the advice. I think I'll go practice my Preservia spell. If these tryouts don't work out, gotta earn a living somehow." Yeah, I'm lying. The Invitational is all I've ever wanted. Why would I practice making sure food doesn't spoil? "See you tomorrow, Oriah." As I turn to leave, he tosses me one of the Thornberries. "Thanks."

***

Ah, the library. The smell of old books and scrolls always hit my senses in just the right way. I don't even have to ask the librarian where to go, I've visited the Invitational section more times than you can count on both hands of a Durkallan in the past year alone. They have seven fingers on each hand, by the way. Probably one of the reasons they're impossible to beat at arm-wrestling. That and the fact that they're built like a brick house. Their kingdom, Gurlanorn’s, dominance makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Eighteen wins out of forty-three. Four in a row, same guy every time.

But I'm not here to read about any of that. I need reports on the last cycle's tryouts. Westholender's library only has access to our tryout reports, so we usually go into the Invitationals with less intel than we'd like. That’s the price of being too poor to send scribes or whisperers to the other kingdoms. We walk into the Invitational blind while the richer kingdoms come armed with dossiers. I flip through three-year-old editions of The Westholender Daily Telling. Shigon dominates the coverage, of course. Winners always do. Other than that, there isn't much. I continue the search when, finally, something catches my eye. A small handle on the inside of a chest. I pull it, and the bottom of the chest slides open. Inside is possibly the most valuable document I could find. It doesn't even make sense how it would end up here, considering they're supposed to be destroyed after points are tallied. There must be an insider who slipped out with this document after the tallying. It's one of the judge's notes on every competitor from the last cycle of tryouts! But why would someone want to take this if they were just going to stash it in the library? I get my answer pretty quickly.

As I'm looking through the notes, I hear a voice from down the corridor: Oriah. He's speaking to the librarian, it seems. "-seen a small chest? I must've forgotten it when I left last night." Oh, he's definitely talking about this small chest. Wait, that means he's coming to collect it, and he's probably coming soon. Gotta act quick. Everyone has different ways of controlling their magic through visualization. I like to imagine the magic in my well as an orb that I can manipulate. Stone Skin?  I picture the orb slowly pressing outward against the inside of my skin and then suddenly hardening. Preservia? I imagine the orb wrapping around whatever I'm trying to preserve and then sealing for good. Duplicate? I focus on what I'm duplicating and imagine the orb engulfing it and then splitting into two identical orbs. That's exactly what I do with the notes. I feel the pages in my hands double and put the original copy back into the chest, sealing the secret compartment. Right as I drop the chest back where it was and stuff my duplicated notes into my bag, Oriah rounds the corner.

He seems surprised. "Mondor? I thought you were going to practice one of your spells."

"I was, but since I was passing the library I decided to see if there was any last minute information I could find."

His eyes widen, feigning curiosity. "Ah, found anything useful?"

Well, even if I had found something other than what was in his chest, I wouldn't share it with him. Even before I knew he was a snake in the grass. "No. Nothing new. You know this section is dominated by intel about Shigon."

He grins. The kind of grin that could fool anyone if they didn't know his true intentions here. "That's true, my friend. The great 'Hero of Westholender' who hasn't even made it past the second round of the Invitational. But, I digress. He is still a fearsome rival. Say, have you seen a small wooden chest in this area?"

"I don't believe I have. Would you like help looking for it?" 

"No, no. Don't worry about it. I'm sure I left it somewhere in plain view." He looks right passed me, at the chest. A momentary slip of the eyes that I normally wouldn't have caught, but the grin doesn't disappear. "Did you plan on staying any longer? You really should take my advice. Go relax. Big day tomorrow." 

"Actually, I was just about to leave. Pleasure running into you again, Oriah. See you tomorrow." Quite the opposite of a pleasure, really. That grin never slipped. Not once. If I hadn’t found what I did, I’d still be convinced he was just another calm veteran. He makes my stomach flip. He calls Shigon a failure, but he’s the one cutting corners. I've got to find Pira. She needs to know about this.