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crescent jaw around the
crucible and clamped down. She lifted the melting pot and swung it
over to the mould. She tipped the beak toward the mould, trying to
balance speed with precision. The molten silver almost caught her
by surprise; it flowed far quicker than she had anticipated. The
silver spilled into the mould, tendrils of heat rising from the
clay.
    “Please hold,” she
pleaded as the mould filled up.
    *
    Academia Amlor library
held a wealth of books and scrolls, and not only those with regard
on healing, but also on philosophy and theology.
    Candle light flickered
as Roland paged through a leather bound volume. He was surprised to
learn that until recently, healing was the exclusive domain of
priests. Of the seven gods, Rivander was considered the deity of
healing and treatment consisted of prayer and fasting. Roland shook
his head. This was a mere century and a half ago. How could any
sick person in their right mind forgo food in order to heal? That
humans had managed to survive through such a period was a mystery,
although Roland realised that modern illnesses were uncommon that
long ago. It seemed to him that whenever people conglomerated, it
became a breeding pot for new diseases.
    According to the volume
he read, healing techniques were in its infancy and progression was
slow. The author theorised that failure to break from age-old
traditions was the most likely culprit. Roland disagreed. Where
healing was first the exclusive domain of priests, it now turned
into a coin-gathering business for the nobles. He was but the sixth
commoner since Amlor’s founding allowed to attempt the entrance
exam. Did nobles really believe that their blood alone gave them
superior abilities?
    The library held
several volumes theorising that blood could be transferred between
humans. If that were true, would it mean that noble blood was of a
different sort? Were they not human, also?
    Roland closed the
volume and returned it to its shelf. He had three days left until
the entrance exam and he felt confident that he had covered all the
work. The first few days he had spend copying diagrams showing
human bones and organs. Since then he had been reading up on the
history of healing and even more so on predictions of possible
future techniques and cures.
    The only light in the
library came from candle; the sun had set hours ago. Roland
hurriedly gathered his notes and left the academia. Oldon would
have his hide if he were to miss the tavern’s closing time.
    *
    Roland ran toward the
tavern, his footing sure. Nighttime in Darma meant the City Watch
lit torches found on the corners of buildings in the busiest areas,
and Roland had no trouble navigating the dark.
    Upon reaching the
tavern, Roland entered through the backdoor and went up to his room
to stow his library notes. He had bought a new set of clothes for
when he visited the academia, which he also changed out off,
putting on his regular brown trousers and a grey woollen shirt.
    As he entered the
tavern floor, the last patrons were leaving. Roland immediately
gathered the empty mugs and plates and passed it to the kitchen
where the serving girls were washing it, and set to wiping the
tables clean. Once done he moved the tables to the side of the
tavern and started sweeping the wooden floor.
    Alfreed was busy behind
the counter, putting stoppers into open wine bottles and ale
barrels. That done he wiped his counter for the hundredth time,
watching Roland as he swept the floor.
    “Did you get enough
time to study?”
    Roland looked up. “More
than enough, I can take the exam anytime.”
    He only really worked
in the early mornings and during closing times. Sometimes Oldon
sent him into the city to buy stock for the tavern, but on the
whole each day saw him with plenty of time to spare. If he failed
the exam, it would be due to his own lack of ability.
    Alfeer grunted. “A
commoner becoming a Healer. What is the world coming to?”
    “Learning new skills
has nothing to do with