“Well that’s sort of the thing,” John started, biting his lip. “They don’t.”
“Huh?” He cocked his head to the side.
“The test is the same for everyone, only . . . you’re not supposed to pass it. It’s supposed to be a test to see whether or not you’ll follow the Priest Code and never forsake your vow of pacifism. To really test your mettle, you know. No one else has ever . . . won.”
“Huh.” Lyrad said again. “Then how did I pass the test?”
John rubbed his chin. “Honestly, I’m not really sure. It sure was fun to watch you succeed, though, get some payback for when that man in black beat me up. I know it’s all illusionary, but I swear sometimes that roundhouse kick to the neck still stings.” His friend rubbed the skin on the back of his neck.
At that moment, the hooded figure from before came racing back up the hallway towards the two friends. “Lyrad, the Head of the Order would like to have a word with you,” he said. Both Lyrad and John gulped loudly in fear. “Please come with me.”
The two followed the hooded figure through the halls of Seminary in complete silence, as was customary, even though they already knew the way. Soon, they were in the center of the complex, the Great Hall of Priesthood. Here was where all the great priests were honored for their deeds. At the end of the hallway stood the Head Priest’s private room. The hooded figure beckoned them on, so John and Lyrad walked up to the doors, and the guards admitted them.
“John, Lyrad, thank you for coming,” a voice in the back of the room called out to them.
“Thanks, but why are we here?” John asked, looking around in amazement.
“We wanted you here, John, because you mentored this lad originally,” an elderly man said as he walked out of the shadows. “And you, Lyrad, we wanted you because you won the test.”
“Thanks . . . I guess,” Lyrad replied, his limbs starting to shake involuntarily. It didn’t sound like that was a good thing. “Am . . . am I in trouble?”
“By the light of Jheriem, no! You have done nothing wrong, my child,” the voice assured him as an older man stepped into the middle of the room. He had white hair and a clean-shaven face. His robes hung loosely on his skin, giving the impression that he was frail.
“Still, we wanted to make sure everything is . . . right with your priesthood candidacy. We would like take a look at your back and make sure that there truly is a Ward of Priesthood there, and not something else.”
Lyrad nodded. “Go right ahead,” he said, as if he really had a choice in the matter. The man’s request was odd, but he knew he really had no other choice if he wished to continue on as a priest. And in spite of everything – his memories coming back, the thrill of combat – he still very much wanted to be a priest.
The Head Priest walked over to him, stripped off his shirt and took a good look at his back with a small tool made of glass. He stood there for what felt like hours, examining the young trainee’s back and tracing the Ward of Priesthood tattoo with his hands, occasionally mumbling something incoherent.
“Well, you most certainly have a Ward of Priesthood on your back, just like we were told,” the Head Priest related, sounding uncertain. “But I also see something else, something almost hidden.” He turned his head and barked at another semi-hidden robed figure in the room. “Tim, go and fetch me the Book of Wards so that I might take a look!”
“The Book of Wards?” the younger man inquired in a raspy voice.
“Yes, and hurry up!” the old man grumbled.
The guy named Tim ran away scared. As he scurried off, Lyrad caught sight of the rather odd-colored cloak Tim was wearing. It was old and tattered in spots, and practically the color of blood. He found it odd a servant of the Head Priest would have such a strange uniform, but let the thought slide. He had never seen the guy before.
“Hired help,” the Head Priest muttered, shaking his head and cursing under his breath.
Soon enough, the man named Tim came back, brandishing an ancient tome in his hands. This time, his robes looked to be the standard white and freshly pressed, making Lyrad do a double-take. His eyes were deceiving him.
The Head Priest looked in the tome for several minutes before doing anything. Then he looked up from the worn pages with a sense of accomplishment.
“Ah, just as I thought. You have a Ward of the Dragon on your back under that Ward of Priesthood. No wonder you won that fight, you were born to do so.”
Lyrad’s eyes grew wide in amazement. “A Ward of the Dragon?” he repeated. “Not even most Dragon candidates have those. Only those worthy of sitting on The Dragon Council are said to have that ward on their bodies. How is this possible?”
“I must admit, I do not know,” the old man admitted, rubbing his chin. “But we must honor it still.”
“What does that mean, exactly, Your Excellency? Must I leave here? Can I still become a priest?” So many questions were racing through Lyrad’s mind beyond those few he’d uttered.
The Head Priest pulled on his face with one hand and sighed. “You are still a priest, my child. Do not mistake that. But you are also a warrior. You may spend a little more time here to finish learning your prayers and magic, but then you must depart. You must return to Druuk and complete your training as a Dragon of Martial Arts as well.
The old man’s eyes took on a distant, glazed look. “From
