The lieutenant’s eyes flashed with surprise. “You have papers?” It was not possible that this young man had papers. The bequeathing of a Sheyalin was a grand public spectacle, an opportunity for the bearer to receive acclamation and notoriety for his feats. Criers and news posts across the land would announce the event with almost as much reverence as crowning a new king. It was the highest honor of the land, one that had not been granted in nearly two decades.

Rezkin nodded once. “I do.”

“Yes,” said Lieutenant Jimson, certain he was speaking his final words at this very moment. “I am afraid I must.”

Jimson tensed as Rezkin reached slowly into his chest armor, but rather than drawing the dagger the lieutenant expected, the young warrior pulled out a small metal cylinder about the width of his finger. Rezkin broke the wax sealing the cap and withdrew a rolled parchment. He held the small scroll out to the lieutenant and waited.

Lieutenant Jimson took the scroll with a shaky hand. He was not a coward by nature, but the things he had seen this night were astonishing. Never had he seen a man defeat so many with such ease. He still had not had time to process it all. If this scroll did not provide the warrior with the proper Certificate of Authority, which it surely could not, the young warrior’s life was forfeit by law, and the lieutenant was required to carry out the sentence then and there. The lieutenant did not expect to survive the encounter.

But, why would the man known as Rezkin bother to provide any papers at all? Perhaps this was a forgery, or maybe he was simply giving the lieutenant a way to save face with his men and pretend he had seen a proper certificate, thereby enabling Rezkin to spare his life.

Lieutenant Jimson nervously unrolled the small scroll, anxiously pondering what he would do if such were the case. He was not sure what he would find, but he certainly did not expect what lay in his hands. His eyes widened to giant saucers, and he unconsciously let out a slow whistle. This was no forgery. He had seen the old king’s hand and seal often enough for recognition, but this one was also backed by a hint of magic that forced the viewer to accept it as real—a mage certification. He glanced back into Rezkin’s firm but expectant gaze and released his pent up breath.

“We’re good,” the lieutenant said hastily. He glanced around at his men and repeated, “We’re good.”