The bell rang through the stone halls.
"Main hall," the priest called. "All candidates."
Alaric stood from his seat in the side hall. Jarik fell in beside him. Together with the other boys they walked down the corridor into the wide front room of the church.
Chairs lined the sides, but no one sat. Everyone's eyes went to the wooden board hanging on the front wall. A large sheet of parchment had been pinned to it. At the table nearby sat several priests. Brother Seron stood with a list in his hand.
This is it.
Seron raised his voice. "Listen carefully. Your results are listed here in four groups."
He pointed to the parchment.
"First, those who were not selected for any training," he said. "Second, those chosen to serve in local lords' guard units after some basic training. Third, those the Church will sponsor to attend the Royal Knight Academy in the capital. Fourth, those sponsored to the academy by a local lord, who must join that lord's army after graduation."
He stepped aside.
"Find your name and your group. If you do not understand what it means, speak to us after."
The boys moved forward in a slow wave. Some rushed to see their results. Alaric and Jarik went straight to the front, squeezed between shoulders, and stared at the lines of names.
Alaric's eyes passed quickly over the first column.
Not there. Good.
He jumped to the second. Mostly names he did not know, villages he had never heard of.
Then the third heading caught his eye.
Church‑Sponsored – Royal Knight Academy Track
He scanned down.
2nd name from the top:
Alaric of Horsin
His chest loosened.
There. I really made it.
"Found it?" Jarik asked at his shoulder.
Alaric nodded once, not trusting his voice yet.
Jarik turned back to the list. He checked the third group, then the fourth.
"Ha," he said suddenly. "There."
Under Local Lord‑Sponsored – Royal Knight Academy:
Jarik of Norvale – Sponsored by Lord Hadrik
Jarik grinned. "That is our regions lord," he said. "Looks like he wants his coin back in the form of a knight."
"That means academy with a promise to his army after," Alaric said.
"Training and food is training and food," Jarik replied. "I will take it. I can still help my family after."
Some boys in the first column stared at the board with blank faces or clenched jaws. A few turned away, eyes bright. Others in the second and fourth groups started to talk at once, already imagining armor and positions.
One of the priests called out, "All in the Church‑Sponsored group, stand to my left. Local lord‑sponsored and guard candidates, to the right. The rest, speak with Brother Marlen."
Alaric moved to the left side as told. Only five boys joined him there. Jarik went to the right with the lord‑sponsored group.
Seron stepped in front of Alaric's group.
"You five will return home for now," he said. "In time, the Church will send a letter to your local priest with a date and route to the capital. When that letter comes, you will go. Until then, you are to keep training and studying. Do not waste what you have."
He picked up a small stack of folded papers, each sealed with Larethin's mark. "These are your certificates. Show them to your priests. They prove what was decided here."
He handed one to each boy. When Alaric took his, the wax felt hard and real between his fingers.
Not just words any more. Proof.
On the other side of the hall, another priest spoke to Jarik's group, explaining that their lords would arrange further orders.
Soon after, the hall emptied. Voices faded down the corridors.
Torren met Alaric and Jarik at the door with his usual plain look. "Done staring at walls?" he asked. "Good. Pack your things. We leave at first light. I am not keeping a horse in this city longer than I must."
They slept in the same dorm as before. In the morning, the cart waited again at the church steps.
The priest from Larethin shook Torren's hand. "Safe journey. Bring the reports to your chapel priest as soon as you arrive."
Torren grunted his agreement and climbed onto the front bench.
Alaric and Jarik sat in the back this time, sharing the space with their small bags. Toben and another boy bound for a different town walked behind with another escort.
The city walls fell away behind them as the cart rolled out along the road. Noise faded. Open land returned.
For a while the only sounds were hooves and wheels.
"Church‑sponsored," Jarik said at last, nudging Alaric's arm. "Top group. You really are scary, you know that?"
"You are sponsored too," Alaric said. "Just by your lord instead."
"True," Jarik admitted. "Our paths meet in the academy corridor one day. That is good enough for me."
They spoke on and off over the next days, about drills, about the capital they had not seen yet, about what kind of knights they might become. At night, when they camped by the road, Alaric lay awake a little longer than Jarik, fingers brushing the sealed paper in his bag.
So this is the road I will walk again when I go to the capital.
After several days, the low buildings of Saint Elyss's Rest came into view. The chapel tower showed above the roofs.
Torren slowed the cart.
"This is where we part," Jarik said, standing up and shouldering his bag. "The road north turns to Norvale from here. My lord's man will meet me at the crossroads."
He jumped down to the dirt, then looked back up at Alaric.
"Do not get too far ahead," he said, grinning. "When I show up at the academy, I expect you to still be in reach."
"I will be waiting," Alaric said.
Jarik gave a sloppy half‑salute and started down the side road without looking back.
Torren flicked the reins. The cart rolled on.
The chapel gate opened before they even reached it. Elaina, Corwin, Rin, Mira, Kellan, and Lia all came spilling out, faces eager, calling his name.
Alaric climbed down from the cart, certificate safe in his bag, and walked toward them.