A thick stack of silver ingots slammed onto the cedar table with a heavy, metallic clatter that rattled the porcelain teacups.
Outer Sect Elder Tegan rested his calloused hand atop the cold metal, running his fingers over the freshly stamped mint marks. He sat inside an elevated private pavilion overlooking the sunbaked admissions courtyard, where hundreds of common candidates stood waiting in the dust below. A white messenger hawk rested on the wooden windowsill, pecking at bits of dried meat while preening its feathers; bound to its leg was a hollow copper tube marked with the stylized wax seal of the Harper merchant house.
Becker Harper had emptied a substantial portion of his remaining personal reserves for this delivery. The accompanying letter did not ask for a favor or plead for l
