They jogged back from the market to the First Field, and again, had to deal with the Fieldkeepers. The orcs let them pass through the gate, but only because they had the big brass keys to their room.

  When they were in the hallway, Rynn turned to him. “Could you wait out in the hall while I change?”

  He agreed and leaned against a dirty wall, trying to ignore the heat, the smell, the noise. It had to be better at night because it couldn’t get much worse.

  The elf girl came out in a tight tunic which hugged her curves as well as some sandals she carried over her shoulder. “I can strap these on once you are, uh, finished.”

  Her blush went from her cheeks to her chest. A rash reddened the skin above her heart.

  She caught him looking him. “It’s the mana itch starting for my first mana mark. Ever since Captain Sevanya visited me, I’ve been as diligent as a soldier in my studies. I hope to start getting the neophyte ink soon.”

  “The tattoos,” he said. “I’ve seen them around. I think they’re called mana marks?” He recalled his last conversation with Lilian. She’d been right about so many things.

  She nodded. “I could tell you more, but it would cost you a shekel.”

  “Let’s wait on that. I’ll try and get the price down.”

  He went into his room, changed into a brand-new running tunic and found new sandals in the trunk. Everything fit perfectly. Settie must’ve spent a fortune on him. A uniform, exactly like Rynn’s black and green ensemble was folded in there nicely.

  Rynn had hung that uniform over a metal chair along with a white silky-soft undershirt. It must’ve cost hundreds of shekels. Her sweet scent lingered in the room, and for a moment, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Not only was Rynn beautiful, she had a kind soul. Yes, she was shy, awkward, and could ramble like a river, but she wanted to do better.

  He dressed and reminded himself that Rynn was his comrade and nothing more. Sex—when mixed with magical cores—would be too risky for them. He liked Rynn. But would he want to bind his life to hers? He didn’t think he would make a very good clothes merchant.

  He left the room to join Rynn. They hurried away, and he wondered if he’d had a lust resonance if his core would’ve been filled being in the same room with her folded undershirt and her sweet perfume.

  They were the only ones out on the training field for a good reason. The sun was high in the sky, and it was the hottest part of the day. They stood on the running path near a small building, probably the storage room for all the equipment.

  Rynn squinted at him. “Is this a good idea?”

  “No!” A feminine voice said in an even but very loud voice. “But I do like your dedication.”

  From behind the building slithered out a sleek red dragon, her scales fading to white at the edges. Her wings were tucked back as she slithered over to them. “I’m the Field Matron. I could tell you my real name, but in the end, you’d call me Mama Cinders whether I wanted you to or not. Everyone does.”

  From the little he’d seen of Settie’s reptilian form, Mama Cinders was far smaller, about eight feet long. She did have powerfully built muscles, however, and her orange eyes were filled with power.

  Gray took a step back.

  Mama Cinders snorted fire. “Never seen a dragon before, have you? We hide. Oh yes, we hide. I don’t need to, however. It’s too hot, and I’m too old, and the heat of the sun is a joy. Besides, no one would be stupid enough to try and kill me for my mana. Murder is prohibited at the First Field. All crime is prohibited. If you are caught, you are killed, but you knew that.”

  Oddly enough, Rynn seemed perfectly at home with the dragon. “I’ve heard rumors of the zero tolerance policies at First Field. I suppose it makes sense. There will be death enough once Testing season begins.”

  Mama Cinders snorted flames. “Oh, pish. A few die every year, just enough to put the fear of the butchering gods in our neophytes. It’s not like we lose ten percent. More die in the Kill Squads. We even have a resurrectionist on staff. If the core still has enough mana, we can fix a little death. Now, you didn’t come here to talk with an old dragon. You’ve come improve yourselves through exercise. What did you have in mind?”

  Rynn glanced over at Gray.

  “I usually run in the morning and in the afternoon,” he said. “I like the heat. Then I spar. Today is our first day. I find it odd that people are executed for crimes. My friend’s trunks were stolen just this morning. I spoke to the Dame Hekla about it, and she saw it as all part of life at First Field.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Yes,” the dragon agreed. “You can commit all the crimes you want as long as you don’t get caught. Pit City is an unforgiving place, but First Field is worse. We have sun shirts to cover you, and hats. You, elf girl, will burn if you’re not careful. You, too, human boy. You both are so pale. Too bad you have skin and not scales. But we can’t all be as perfect as dragons.” She smiled, showing a good many gaps in her otherwise frightening maw. “I jest. Are you going for distance or speed?”

  “Endurance,” Gray answered.

  “A fine answer. Impressive, even. I would suggest you run the perimeter trail. It will take you across the river, through the trees, and that will give you some shade. You’ll go around the coliseum, and then you’ll have to brave the sunshine because there is precious little shade near the pink palace. Those are the administrative offices as well as faculty housing. They would want me to call it Bloodhome, but most everyone finds that name overly dramatic. After the palace, you’ll come back across the river, back into the sunshine, and then back here. It’s three miles in total and should give you sense of the grounds. Drink as much water as you can now. I have very nice water for you, unlike the sewage they serve in the canteen. They do that so you drink the mana wine, which you should be doing anyway. However, sometimes nothing is as fine as simple, refreshing water as cold as an unvirtuous heart.”

  They thanked the dragon before slipping on the loose shirts and slapping on the hats. They took off in the heat and soon were sweating buckets.

  Insects ticked in the heat as they passed green fields, and the air cooled a bit around the river. The run through the trees was downright pleasant.

  Running with Rynn was odd because Gray knew she was slowing down for him. She could’ve bolted and run much faster, but she was matching his steps. He decided to test his theory. He sped up, and she kept right up with him, and when he was huffing and puffing, she was breathing normally, as if she had no care in the world.

  The coliseum was a thousand times more fancy than his arena back home, though he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to flood it like they did in Cradleport. Perhaps they could. He’d just had a conversation with aging red dragon named Cinders. Anything was possible.

  Up from the coliseum sat the pink palace, a jewel on a little hill, overlooking both the coliseum and the city. Going the hill slowed him down, though it was then that Rynn took off. He watched her sandals slapping the trail, the gravel the same color as the Hellbinder.

  Speaking of which, the trail took them close to the wall before emerging on the other side of the palace. That was when Rynn slowed down. Again, they ran together, with her letting him choose the path.

  Back in the woods, it felt like heaven that was supposedly on the other side of the Joyful Threshold. Was there really a hole in the sky up at the Crown? He couldn’t conceive of such a thing, and yet, he somehow could picture the seven spires floating around the abyss there.

  As he ran, Gray thought of all that Rynn had told him, going over all the details. Crumblelands had been called Alastria, and dragons had lived there, the first of the blood races, or so he’d heard someone say at some point. What were the blood races? What did that mean? There was so much to learn.

  He saw the fieldhouse in the distance, and the trail was straight.

  He let his inner gladiator shine. “Race you to the fieldhouse. First one who touches it wins a shekel.”

  “I happen to have a single shekel left to my name. We have a deal. You can—”

  He sped ahead, falling into a full sprint. His new heart was singing in his chest. He felt good, joyously so. Faster, faster, faster, he’d tricked the elf girl and now he was outpacing her. His breath was fire in his lungs, and yet, he loved the discomfort because he knew he wouldn’t pass out at the end of the race. His core warmed in his belly. He was so powerful now, in this new life, and he had Settie to thank for every moment of it.

  Rynn was right next to him, running hard, not talking, not looking at him, her eyes on the fieldhouse.

  She pulled ahead, but he was right next to her.

  He could trip her. He could push her. She wouldn’t expect it because her heart was so kind. What kind of resonance did she have? She couldn’t get her mana from one of the sinful aspects of the virtues, could she? No, she had to get magic from a virtue.

  Instead of cheating, he gave it his all, but in the end, she was faster.

  She touched the wall of the Fieldhouse, turned, and laughed. “I get my shekel back. I have two whole shekels. Do you know what Father would say?”

  “No.” He gasped. “Tell me.”

  She seemed hardly out of breath. “An elf with two shekels should start a business so he can have three. What business shall we start?”

  “I have a business, thank you very much.” Then he couldn’t talk anymore because he was holding his knees, bent over, trying to get as much wind in him as he could.

  “Stand straight, Gray,” Rynn instructed. “Let your lungs expand. If you can, focus on your core, and tease out mana for your breath and your muscles. I’m just learning how to infuse my muscles with mana, but I promise, I didn’t do that in our race to win. Captain Sevanya will come back to guide us on how to access for mana, so we can pass the Testing. That should push most of us into being fully marked neophytes, that’s what the first level of manamancers is called. Most of the time, it’s neophytes in the Testing, and then it’s the second marked, the acolytes that start the training. There’s the Testing, the Training, and then the Hunting. Normally, adepts are the only ones allowed to hunt…adepts or higher. But I’ve heard that if the Weeping Well is really active, they’ll allow acolytes onto Kill Squads. Anyway, by the time we’re adepts, we’ll have a solid idea of who will be on our squad. Then we’ll go into Old Town to hunt demons. It’s then that most people progress the most. Adepts quickly become mages who then become archmages. Very few will advance to Sovereign Masters. Even rarer is the Grandmaster Mage, but a lot of people think that no one can become a Grandmaster Mage anymore because there’s not enough mana.” She sighed. “Drat. I’m rambling again. I’m sorry.”

  “Ramble on, Miss Yes.” Gray continued to walk around, keep his back straight. He was still breathing hard but focusing on his core did make him feel stronger. “Finally, I’m getting answers. Testing, then training, then hunting. Neophyte then acolyte then adept. First marked, second marked, third marked. This is a joy. Thank the gods.”

  “Do you believe in the gods?” she asked.

  “I’ve lived this long.” He punched her arm playfully. “There has got to be something watching over me.”