Free B00B15Z1P2 EBOK by Larry Kollar

time to a laugh and stifled snickers from Hen’s counterparts.
    “I’m Charn sim Bas,” the new boy said. “You’re a brave’un, facing down that braggart.”
    “Eh,” said Mik, “I’ve seen scarier things than him.”
    “Oh? Like what?”
    Mik grinned. “My aunt. She’d have cuffed me if I let a tater intimidate me.”
    “A tater?”
    Mik pitched his voice higher and rougher, mimicking his aunt’s voice and Low Speech dialect: “Yar, a tater, about his ancestors goin’ on. Best part of him’s buried, it is!”
    Charn whooped with laughter, rocking back on his bed. “Oh, that’s one to remember! I’ll have to tell my mentor that, she has to deal with taters all the time!” They bumped fists, and Mik had a new friend.
    “Are you first-year too?” Mik asked.
    “Second,” said Charn. “But that’s all right. We’ll have a fine time.”
    Several other younger apprentices gathered to see what the commotion was about. The older ones ignored them, except for a brief glare from sim Miran. Only the latest comers missed the confrontation, and even they were drawn to an animated low-voiced conversation. “Why did your mentor name you Dragonrider?” one of them asked.
    “It’s a long story,” said Mik.
    “Good, you can tell it tonight,” said a brown-sashed Eastern boy. “After His Imperial Highness over there goes looking for a girl to impress.” He held out a fist with the pinky drooping away, an insulting gesture that he made sure Hen sim Miran could not see, and was rewarded with a chorus of snickers and stifled laughter.
    • • •
    “The First Gathering,” Bailar told his apprentices over breakfast, “includes the Resolution of Grievances. If any has a grievance against a sorcerer, then this is the time to bring it forward.”
    “How long does that last?” asked Sura, spooning the last of her eggs into a biscuit. “This is nice. A meal I didn’t have to cook.”
    “I thought you’d been here before?” Mik gave her a puzzled look.
    “Only as an attendant. They sent us to help in the kitchen right away. Now I don’t have to cook!” She leaned into Mik’s shoulder for a moment. “So how long will it last?”
    “Most years, it’s very brief.” Bailar looked amused. “Most grievances are petty enough that the accuser feels ashamed to bring it before the Conclave. One year, though, two fellows contrived a elaborate prank based on an outlandish story. That was most memorable, and we laughed about it for the entire Conclave.
    “One thing.” Bailar’s gaze fell on Mik. “Whatever is said, do not speak unless you have been addressed directly. You are still an apprentice, no matter how directly involved you may be in a dispute.”
    Mik gave his mentor a curious look. Surely a wrong-foot beginning, even with a haughty senior apprentice, would not merit a hearing before the entire Conclave.
    “So when that’s done, what comes next?” Sura asked. “This biscuit is a little dry,” she muttered, and gulped some tea.
    “Then the apprentices are dismissed and sent to learn things that their mentors have not had time or inclination to teach,” said Bailar. “Apprentices are separated by years of service, so you two will see each other often. Meanwhile, your elders will tend to other matters. Updates and corrections to records, and other such tedium.” He laughed. “The things you may look forward to when you earn your own sashes!”

    “It is said, before the Age of Heroes, that the Great Hall would be full to capacity and beyond.” Bailar led his charges down an aisle, lined with endless rows of seats, occasionally catching himself on a chair. “Apprentices sat in the aisles and lined the walls, and spilled out the doors. Today, we will need no more than a tenth part of this place.”
    “Where do we sit, then?” Sura asked, as Mik tried to take in the entire vastness of the hall.
    “Anywhere,” said Bailar. “We should find seats near the aisle though.” He looked