Chapter 8

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   "Alright, everyone, look lively! Come out, and get in a neat line, tallest to shortest." Martin shouts to the kids. Being so short, Errol is at the end. Timothy is at the other end. You can guess what he wants. Baron Arald watches as the craftmasters enter the room. He also notes with surprise at the shadow that slips into the room. Will rarely comes here.
   "First candidate, please." Timothy steps forward. "Name, and craft?" "Timothy Devon, sir, and I choose battleschool." Bellows Timothy. Sir Rodney steps forward to inspect him. "Hmmm. He's pretty strong and sturdy. A bit arrogant, but that can be cured." Timothy's face remains still, though it burns red a bit. "I accept him as my apprentice. Arrive at the school at 6:00 a.m. sharp." The line goes on until they reach Errol. "Name and craft?" Errol takes a deep breath. She uses something in place of her nonexistent surname. "Errol Noname and I want it to be either battle school, courier, or ranger." A clamour rises at the last word. "Ranger! Why would he want to be a ranger?" Soon, everyone quiets and the battlemaster steps forward. "I'm afraid he is too small and skinny for battle school. I do not accept." Lady Pauline gracefully steps forward. "He sounds fine for a courier, but he looks a bit clumsy to be my apprentice. I'm sorry, but I don't accept." Martin nods. "And you can't be a ranger, so you'll go be a farmer tomorrow." The ranger in the corner steps forward. "I'll take him." Baron Arald stands up. "Are you sure, Will? He looks a bit sickly for that." Errol's shoulders droop in disappointment. Will stands firm. "Yes. I do want him to be my apprentice. It is final." Baron Arald nods and writes it down. "Ok, everyone. Thanks for coming, and I hope you enjoy your apprenticeship. You are dismissed." Everyone files out. Will comes to Errol. "You will report to me, 5:30 tomorrow. Is that understood?" Errol nods.

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