The Slime Farmer 2 Desislaf Rimet 2 Of 3

"Young one," a voice called as Defi entered the Church. "I had hoped to see you again in these halls."

"Lecturer Casmiref," Defi bowed politely to one who had been his teacher for the six years since he entered the capital. "I am glad to see you well."

Casmiref smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling pleasantly. He stroked his bushy gray beard. "Here for the trials then? Straight to the Hall and no plans to see your old teachers? For shame. Maryiz has been grumbling for loneliness since you left."

"I had hoped to succeed first, and visit after. I hope she is well also." He was unsure they would receive him after his abominable performance two years ago. He was happy that it seemed not to be the case.

"Hah, that old hag is a devouring river. She'll outlive us all, to the unfortunate luck of the future striplings that come after you." The Lecturer laughed. "Come then, come. I am watching today, hm?"

Defi decided it was best to address the latter comments rather than the former. "Thank you, lecturer. Your faith inspires me."

"Tsk. Ever the polite lordling. Come, Desislaf. We shall see what you have learned these past two years."

The words were ominous.

Defi felt a sudden chill. He glanced at the man.

Oh no.

It was never a good idea to test the teachers when they looked more mischievous than first-year students.

*

*

The Sacred Trial was a test of philosophy and battle prowess. Both were needed to become a leader of the people, to protect the land, and to ensure the future of Ontrea.

Philosophy came easily to Defi, who was normally so exhausted by using the Current to heal the farm that he could not lift a training sword, when all he could do was read the cla.s.sics.

"Why must a person act?"

"A person must act to prove character, else purpose is lost, and action meaningless. To act is to exist in the world. To act with impeccable character is to honor the Creator."

The questions were rote and the answers were words he had mouthed over and over to different teachers. The lecturer asking the questions, someone he'd never met before, nodded to him.

"A person has committed violence upon another. How does one act?"

"If one acts according to one's character, the situation does not matter. If one's character is of poor quality, then one's purpose is low. If one's character is of good quality, then one's purpose is to the benefit of the most people. However, a person of good character must also strive to act according to the laws of the land. If one acts according to the laws, then the situation would affect the purpose inherent in the act."

"Do you mean the laws of the land are in conflict with the character of a good person?"

Defi paused. That wasn't precisely a rote question.

"The fighting arenas are not in conflict with the laws of the land. It is possible that an act of combat may stem from malice, therefore creating violence. A person who is of good character prevents violence, but should that person jump on into the arena to stop the one committing violence then they would be detained by the guards and charged with causing a disturbance among the population. Unless the person committing violence is lost to murderous impulse, then in this situation the laws of the land prevent an act of good character."

"Should a person of good character not act when witnessing violence committed upon another?"

"A person of good character must always strive against violence. But to not act is also an act that may prove character. To not act in a situation where to act would escalate violence, or in a situation in which the act does not result in the good of the most number of people, is an act of good character. Should a person wish to stop the violence in the arena, then it is possible for one to not act in the situation of the arena but instead move to change the laws that allow the arena to exist."

There was a subtle frown on the lecturer's face, but he only nodded and moved to the next question.

Defi glanced at Casmiref but the old man's face was neutral, as were the other lecturers that had come to watch the tests, until he caught Defi's eye and winked.

Defi's nerves settled.

The test ended with no other occurrences of note, and Defi yielded the room to the next trial-taker with relief.

"Half-slave, it appears you are here," sneered one of the other trial-takers. "It appears that once more, proper n.o.bles have to suffer your presence."

Defi turned, all emotion taken from his face. "I am my mother's son, Ylaf of Maren," he said. "and merely a splitting of my father's line."

Ylaf's face turned ugly, and there were a few hidden smiles among the other youths. Defi did not let himself relax in the small victory – these were the people that smiled at him being called half-slave and while they may not join the taunting, they did nothing to stop it.

He moved past Ylaf. The next test was on the sword dance, then on tactics and strategy, after that the sword duels. He needed to prepare.

"Do you think you will win here, wh.o.r.eson?" the other all but howled. "You will never be a warrior of this Church!"

It took all that Defi had to not scream insults and break the other's face for the insult to his mother. His mother had been a freed slave - this was fact and to call him half-slave was a truism; it was nothing. But to directly offend his dead mother's honor in this way?

He took a moment to chill the rage in him. To be of the Current was to let the pettiness of the world wash away. To be a n.o.ble and a warrior-priest was to be a leader and an inspiration who must not falter or fall to childish bickering.

He had already been toeing the line, referencing the shame of the current line of Maren: they were only a few hundred years descended from unsuitable ancestors only elevated because the rest of the proper family died.

In the n.o.ble society of Ontrea, the prestige of the ancestors was important. Maren was a name millenia in the making, but so were other names.

He forced the corners of his lips to rise, and it caused Ylaf to pause. "Perhaps not," he said lightly. "And of yourself?"

Ylaf lunged and Defi's smile turned a little more real, a little more pointed.

Ylaf had lost composure, and everyone knew that the lecturers had spies in the waiting area.

He had to evade the other's hands once before the rest of the trial-takers took action and restrained him. He looked at Ylaf, straining to get free, and silently turned on his heel and left.

The animosity the boy had for him was longstanding. Defi was not now certain where it came from, only that he held the same animosity since the first year he'd been sent to learn at the Church. It was eight years ago, and now it felt like a lifetime.

Had two years on a farm, away from the capital city and the society of n.o.bles, truly changed him this much?

Ylaf had been his counterpart for the duels during the last Trials, and their animosity had colored their use of the Current. Their duel had been halted and they failed the Trials in disgrace.

Defi took a deep breath. The Trials emphasized character and control of self, wisdom and honorable conduct. He had spent two years preparing for this. The six years before that were prologue. Failing the Trials had ripped away boyish a.s.sumptions and left truths in their place.

The toxic rivalry between them now seemed illogical. He would not be held to it any longer.

This was the beginning of the rest of his life.

*

*

The tests went as expected, and with someone not Ylaf as opponent during the duels, he was positive about his results.

It appeared his old teachers were too. Was this perhaps too much faith, he asked the universe dryly.

"The results cannot have been debated this early, lecturer," Defi reminded Casmiref.

"I have spoken to each of the testing lecturers. They all spoke well of you. Eh, but for that one snag where Ivarof complained you were disrespectful and halfway inciting rebellion, but of course he's just a stickler for reciting the faff in the books."

"Disrespectful? Rebellion?" Defi's face was all horror. "Lecturer, I never –"

Casmiref waved his concern away. "Of course not. But he just went on and on."

"What, what words could I have said that made him think that?" Defi frantically went over the whole day.

"The ones where you implied that the fighting arenas still stood because of a lack of goodness in the character of all who came before, as they watched and did nothing to remove them, not speaking of course of the one whose laws allowed the fighting arenas in the first place."

Ivarof, Defi now knew, was the one who facilitated the philosophy test. And the one who made the laws was...

He paled even more. "I didn't…"

"I know that, Ivarof knows that. You just stung him a little. The stiff deserves a little sting now and then, the rule-bound young fool. He'll get over it."

Defi was unconvinced. The philosophy score took the greatest percentage of the Trial grading. He could not afford to falter even a little, as his tactics were book-learned and unpolished while his sword dance had deteriorated a little in the last two years.

"Nonsense," said Casmiref, when Defi voiced his concerns. "Your sword dances were beautiful, every movement full of power. Perhaps lacking in refinement and you should work on the stances of the twelfth and fourteenth forms but it was more advanced in character than the average student of this Hall. Your tactics were correct in essence and some of your insight surprised Romer. You did well. If Ivarof fails you, then he is truly a fool."

"Then why did he call for me?"

"That, I wish to know. He called for me as well."

They neared the lecturer's Hall and heard voices. Defi stopped in his tracks.

"Odd," said Casmiref. "Ivarof is usually more discerning of proper social timing than this."

"That," forced out Defi quietly. "is my father's voice."

"Oh?" Casmiref perked up. He tiptoed exaggeratedly to the door, and gleefully put his ear to the wood. "How fortuitous. We must –"

The playfulness fell from his face. He straightened, grabbed Defi's arm and pulled him away. "Come."

"Lecturer?" Defi was confused by the sudden turn in the old man's demeanor.

"Where was it?" muttered Casmiref. "Ah."

He tugged Defi behind a pillar and up a stair he never knew about. The stair curved and at intervals along the curve, the old man stopped and put his ear to the stone briefly.

Defi let himself be dragged along patiently.

The old man looked angered – Defi was certain his teacher would explain or else he wouldn't have brought him. Probably.

Then the lecturer stopped altogether. He listened at the stone grimly, then waved for Defi to do the same.

He raised his brows. This was not honorable behavior.

The lecturer lifted one brow in return. In the doing of a crime, one must implicate all witnesses. He grabbed Defi by the collar and pressed his head insistently to the wall.

"...understand my concerns." His father's voice came clearly.

Defi paused to regret all the times he could have eavesdropped on the lecturers' Hall if only he had known of this stair during his time in the learning halls.

"I do, I merely question why such concerns would be the purview of the Church." That was Lecturer Ivarof.

There was a weighted silence before the lord of Rimet spoke, words measured. "He looks naught like a Rimet."

Defi's stomach dropped to the vicinity of his ankles.

He could not even look up when a new voice intruded, close behind him, female and the tone nearly as grumpy as Casmiref's.

"Well, isn't that a shock."