He could not let him know how important Qui-Gon’s visit was to him. He could not let Bruck know how he’d caused the fear to rise in him, fear that he would never be a Padawan.

Obi-Wan smiled. “Bruck, three months from now, when you turn thirteen, I hope you’ll make a great farmer.” It was the single worst insult that he could muster, to suggest that Bruck’s mastery of the Force was so small that he would be fit only for the Agricultural Corps.

Bruck leaped toward him with a snarl, his lightsaber held high. Obi-Wan spun to meet him with a cry on his lips. Flashing blades clashed in a burst of light and buzzing sound as the boys met in the room’s center.

Weary as they were, the boys fought until they could hardly move. By the time they crept from the training room, both boys were badly burned and bruised.

Neither had won, and both had lost.

As Obi-Wan headed to his chamber, Bruck took a lift to the upper rooms of the Temple, where the healers practiced their arts. He limped into the medic’s chambers, pretending to be more hurt than he was. His clothes were slashed and singed from the practice sabers, and blood ran from his nose.

When the medic saw him, their first question was, “What happened?”

Bruck gasped, “Obi-Wan Kenobi…“ and then pretended to faint.

One of the healers looked at him, then said brusquely to a droid, “Go notify the Masters.”

Chapter 2

Obi-Wan Kenobi was bandaging his burns in his room when he got the bad news. He was trying to imagine ways to impress Qui-Gon in the morning. He considered ways to improve his fighting skills — anything he might say or do to convince the Knight that he was worthy to become a Jedi’s Padawan Learner. But then Docent Vant brought a data pad and showed him his orders.