They passed through the gate. The grounds were littered with obstacles: netting strung between poles to their left, large rocks to their right, and more which Sif could only glimpse.
They entered the spire through massive double doors, and Sif blinked at the relative darkness inside. Eventually, it resolved into a cozy room, heavy rugs on the floor and tapestries on the wall, lit by candles glowing merrily from a chandelier overhead.
Falthejn waved her along. She followed half a step behind as they approached an old man leaning against the wall. Falthejn said, “Baltasar Rasmussen, this is the girl I spoke of.”
Rasmussen leaned forward. “Pardon me,” he said. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.” Sif met his gaze as he looked her over.
Rasmussen straightened and raised a bushy eyebrow at Falthejn. “She is quite old,” he said, “is she not?”
Falthejn laughed. “He meant for an aspirant,” he said. “Yes, she is older than most, but she has experience many do not.”
The elder luftsmagiker held up a hand. “Say no more. We will hear what you have to say during the girl’s hearing.” He looked back to Sif. “Will you come with me, young lady? Your friend must wait here until we have begun.”
Sif looked up at Falthejn, who dipped his head briefly. Heartened, Sif nodded. “Lead the way, Baltasar Rasmussen.”