Sam waited until the last sound of his parents moving about the house had quieted, signaling that they were both in bed. Even then, he waited another half hour, just to be certain that they were deeply asleep. It wasn’t that he thought what he wanted to do was wrong, but he didn’t want his mother to worry over him, or his father to complain about the energy he was about to waste on a frivolous task–energy that would be better conserved and spent on work in the morning. Sam had to see for himself if he truly had what it took to be a mage, and he had to see that evening.

  ? The kitchen still carried the lingering scent of his name day meal, setting his nose tingling with the smell of roasted meat. It had been an excellent meal, and not just for the fact that Sera had helped his mother cook it. Somehow, his father had raised a cluster of asparagus without his noticing, and the slightly bitter greens were his favorite. Steamed to perfect tenderness and coated in rich butter and salt, they had been the best pair to the dark roasted meat and mashed potatoes that had been his treat after reaching his eighteenth year. He just hoped they wouldn’t come to regret making him the meal after tonight.

  ? The sword lay exactly where he remembered it from the previous day. Shivering slightly against the chill of the night, Sam strode over to its place in the yard and paced around it several times, viewing it from every angle. He’d already confirmed that lifting it like he would any other sword would do nothing. Still, he tried again just to confirm it. Wrapping both hands around the hilt, he planted his feet in a wide stance and pulled for all he was worth. It didn’t even budge an inch.

  ? Sam’s next attempt was to move it via magical means. He recalled from one of the books his mother had on magic that, when experimenting with unknown artifacts, slow, careful examination was key. So he covered the sword in his mana, trying to feel for whatever was locking it in place. It couldn’t be a matter of weight, as wood could only become so heavy. What he found was another’s mana–he presumed it belonged to Lucian–holding it in place.

  ? Closer inspection showed that the wood wasn’t perfectly smooth, either. Some nicks and dents were expected in a weapon used for training, but beyond that, there were thin lines carved into the spine of the blade. They were on the side facing down, so he hadn’t noticed them at first. Runes. That discovery sent a surge of excitement through him. He’d never seen a proper rune with his own eyes, even if he’d done a lot of reading on how they were discovered and used.

  ? The runes were in old Elvish, so he had no chance of discerning their meaning. He recognized the characters only because of some religious texts that his mother kept in her things, but he’d never taken the time to learn what they meant. In any event, he found quickly that he didn’t need to understand their meaning. The runes sucked in his mana the instant they both made contact, and he was able to lift the wooden sword with no effort. It suddenly weighed just as much as the one he’d held when Lucian had *tested* him.

  ? “Well,” he muttered to the thin air, “That was easy.”

  ? At least, it was until he stopped his mana. As soon as the flow of energy ceased, the sword became too heavy to hold once again, and he was forced to drop it and jump back, narrowly saving his foot. “What the-”

  ? Scowling, he stooped to pick the weapon up again, feeding it in a trickle as small as he could manage. It became lighter. It was only then that he understood the nature of Peran’s challenge. Yes, lifting the sword was easy. He’d learned how to pour his mana and ki–and even his aura, though that was challenging–into objects long ago. But he’d have to continue that all the way to the tavern. That was two miles, he thought, his mouth going dry at the monumental task.

  ? He leaned the weapon carefully against the wall of the lean-to before letting go of it once again and thought for a while. He knew he didn’t have enough mana for that long of a trip. Even at a slow trickle, he’d maybe reach the halfway point before having to let it go. Could he wrap it in cloth and dangle that? He didn’t think so, somehow. Such a simple trick would have been obvious to the one who set the test. Still, he tried it anyway, undoing his cloth belt and wrapping it around the crossguard before pulling. It refused to budge.

  ? “So then, how can I guarantee that my mana will last long enough to make the trip?” He began pacing back and forth in front of the sword, a habit he’d picked up from his father on the occasions he considered a problem. Yet another reminder of how unlike his graceful elven mother he was.

  ? The obvious answer that came to him was to find a way to store his mana. The energy used to fuel arcane magicks recharged rather quickly. Over the course of an entire day, he could regenerate himself from empty to full. But that required gems or pure metals, both of which he definitely didn’t have.

  ? He tried balancing the sword on his shoulders so that he could more easily spread its weight across his shoulders. While he could take small steps under such a load, he made it no more than ten or so feet before being forced to power the blade again, and let it drop to the ground. Growing frustrated, he threw the sword then, but of course it dropped like a rock the instant it left his fingers, and stuck point-first into the ground.

  ? He decided to give up on the matter for the time being. He had chores to finish in the morning, and though he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he could abstain from tiring himself out with this. He’d think of a solution before the deadline came, he thought. Definitely. Probably.

  ? “Sam, go and let the chickens out! Then collect the eggs! We’re going to market!”

  ? “Already on it!”

  ? Sam slid open the lock keeping the chickens in their coop, and immediately the small feathered creatures poured out in a flood, weaving effortlessly around his legs as he stepped inside, his nose scrunched up against the stench of their droppings. The rooster tried to challenge him as he stepped into the enclosure, but one gentle kick of the boot sent the angry bird flying over to a corner. He tried once again, then eventually left with the hens.

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  ? Collecting the eggs was fast, and within ten minutes, he’d placed the large basket, covered with a cloth, onto the back of the hand-pulled cart that he and his father would lug up to Harbard’s Reach. Most of their month’s produce was there, along with a few good-quality hides. Sam had taken a few rabbits in snares over the past weeks, and he’d kept their fur in good condition. They’d fetch a good price in the markets, letting them have a bit more coin to last until their next harvest.

  ? As he placed the barrier onto the back and tied it in place with rope, Sam glanced over toward the lean-to, spotting the sword. It lay exactly where he’d put it the previous night, which meant his mother hadn’t attempted to move it or thwart the challenge in some way.

  ? “What’s the matter?” His father had noticed his wandering attention. Sam shook his head slightly, finishing the last knot, then stepped away from the hand cart.

  ? “Nothing. Is this all of it?”

  ? George Bragg, in the eyes of his son, was far from a clever man. He wasn’t unintelligent, but he lacked any of the finer learning that could lend its aid in most situations he encountered. But what he was was a perceptive man. Decades of watching over his farm, gauging the seasons and wildlife to ensure he got the best crop growth possible, had given him a keen eye. Becoming a father had broadened that sense. In the same way that he could tell when vermin were digging for his crops, he could tell that something was troubling his son.

  ? “Spit it out, boy.” he insisted, his voice gruff but not uncaring. “Is it something to do with that elf man what came down to the house the other day?”

  ? Sam suppressed the sigh that nearly escaped him. “Of course not. Why would you even bring him up?”

  ? “Well, as I see it, and from what your mother told me, he’s got you doing some kind of test.” His father pushed on with all the grace and tact of a bull. ?”Elena seems to think you’ll manage it in the end, but you’re just as much me as you are her, and I know what I’m like when I find a problem I can’t solve right away.”

  ? “I’d say I have a lot more in common with you than I do her,” Sam retorted, without quite meaning to. He clenched his jaw, resolving to not say another word. His father merely watched him for a few moments in silence, then walked around to the front of the cart and stooped, picking it up.

  ? They were perhaps halfway up the twisting track that led to the main road when his father finally spoke again. And, to Sam’s surprise, he didn’t attack the problem directly as he usually would. “Sam, let me tell you a secret. Something I’ve only ever told your mother.”

  ? He turned to look at his father, one eyebrow raised. The older man merely plodded along, his spine slightly bent against the weight of the cart. “When I got my Assessment, I was offered a position as a druid’s apprentice.”

  ? That was indeed a surprise. Sam’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What? You were good at magic?”

  ? He shrugged slightly. “Don’t know. Never found out if I could be any good at it. I just knew what they offered me. But I had… Well, let’s just say I wasn’t terribly fond of magic. I nearly hated it, in fact.”

  ? Sam *had* heard some rumors to that effect when talking to the wives of the village. Nobody knew why, but there were tales of the older man reacting negatively to the presence of magic, of all kinds. But the idea of hating it? That was anathema to Sam. “Why?”

  ? “That’s a story for another time,” His father said, shaking off the question. “The point of this one is that I chose not to pursue that life for myself. I wanted to do something that didn’t need nor want magic, just like me. The most enjoyable answer was farming. You know that magic only messes with crops, don’t ya?”

  ? Sam nodded. He’d heard it first from his mother, then later found the fact confirmed in a book about the ‘laws of magic’ that most mages agreed upon. Magic could conjure water, burn away weeds, and even mend a broken stem or branch. But it could not affect the speed at which crops grew, how they grew, or save them from rot. A mage could control many aspects that affected living things, but it was nigh impossible to fundamentally alter the living thing itself.

  ? “Well, obviously you changed your mind somewhat,” he offered, by way of prompting his father to continue speaking. “You married Mom, didn’t you?”

  ? “Aye, that I did. Nearly shouted her out of the village the first time I met her, though. But she was a kind heart. Still is, of course. She saw right through me and opened me up with that gift of hers.”

  ? “With magic?”

  ? His father did stop then, to level a glare at him. Sam immediately took a step to the side and put up his hands. “Sorry, sorry.”

  ? That interruption put away, his father began pulling the cart again. “Your mother’s gifts aside, I realized something the other day. Magic is all around us, lad. Even the ways you help out with the farm is a magic of a kind. It’s all just different types.”

  ? Sam nodded, though he wasn’t sure where his father was going with that. He was looking at Sam with a level, unblinking gaze, as if waiting for some kind of reply, but he had none to give. It was just… true. It was widely accepted that there were three main forms of magic. Physical, Arcane, and Spiritual. Body, Mind, and Soul, Ki, Mana, and Aura. He met his father’s stare, not understanding what he meant by this talk.

  ? “Yep, you definitely get that thick-headedness from me,” His father said, after a lengthy pause. “Use that brain of yours, boy. You’re not just a mage, right? You’re a farmer too. Storms know I’ve been keeping you strong with work.”

  ? “Right, but I can’t carry the sword more than ten steps,” he grumbled, forgetting about his internal promise not to talk about the test. Cursing himself, he clamped his mouth shut again.

  ? “Your mother said you’d get that hint straight away. I told her you’re too stubborn.” His father laughed at his self-imposed silence. He actually laughed. That wasn’t a sound he’d heard from the man in some months. “Think it through, boy. You don’t perform magic by thinking about it, do ya?”

  ? “Well, no,” he admitted. That was obvious. “I use my mana.”

  ? And then, with another flat look from his father, it clicked into place in his mind. He didn’t have enough mana to power the sword for the entire trip. But mana wasn’t all that he had. His body constantly produced an energy that, while not as powerful or plentiful as his mana, was still responsible for ensuring that he could lift heavy things, work long hours, and then rest and recover any damage or fatigue he got. He didn’t have to just use his mana, he thought. He could also use his Ki. Together, the energies would be more than enough to get the sword all the way to the tavern. Definitely, he thought. Probably.