I sighed. "Well then stop by the our table after you are done with fostering your 'comradeship.' I am not going to serve as a go-between for your apologies. Tell her how you feel, or leave the poor girl alone already."
Alex released me with a groan. "You are no fun, Ry."
"Neither are you when you are hurting my best friend." I didn't feel sorry for my twin – he'd had his chance and blown it. I loved my brother – but he knew I was no fan when it came to his relationships. Especially his last one. Handsome, lovable Alex was a scamp when it came to the heart. It served him right that the one to break his was Ella.
"Ry." His eyes were somber.
"Yeah?"
"I miss her."
"I know."
****
By the time I had returned to my faction everyone had already left the training grounds and started their third session of the day: Strategies in Combat. It was the final class before our lunchtime break and my favorite since we had started our desert training.
I quickly ran up the four long flights of stairs nearest our barracks to the local regiment's council chambers. Protruding out of a rocky cliff face, the fourth floor of the great, many-pillared building contained a large hall for the outpost's Commander, highborn officials – including Baron Eli - and the local regiment of soldiers, knights and mages to gather and discuss various strategies for dealing with any and all topics of military interest. Though the Crown's Army served the capital and made official decisions in times of war, it was the duty of each city's assigned regiment to enforce Crown law and deal with local issues unless brute force was needed.
Finding Ella in the crowd I quickly made my way to the back of the hall. Ella made room on her bench and eyed my bad arm with interest. "Ouch," she whispered. "Maybe Byron will feel bad for yelling now that he knows you broke it."
"Ha." The man was incapable of remorse.
"Will you two be quiet already? I've got better things to do than listen to Ryiah complain." Priscilla, one row in front of us, shot Ella and I a nasty look.
"She wasn't complaining," Ella hissed back. "Certainly not like when you broke your shoulder last month!"
"I did not!"
"You made Darren carry you to the infirmary." The words fell from my lips before I could stop them. I immediately regretted it. Why – why did I say that?
Priscilla narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I see what this is about." She twisted her lips in a small, cruel smile. "Ryiah, I am sorry you still harbor that sentiment – but please do try to move on. It makes me uncomfortable to see you pining for my betrothed after all this time."
My fists clenched. "Darren and I are just friends."
"And that's all you'll ever be." She scowled. "Whatever happened back at the Aca-"
"What is this? Have you second-years no respect for your study? I demand an explanation at once!"
Priscilla paused as Master Byron came barreling toward the back of the room, his face livid with anger as he fixated on the three of us. His frown was particularly poignant.
"It was Apprentice Ryiah, sir!"
Ella's and my jaw dropped in blatant disbelief.
"I tried to stop her, sir, but she kept complaining about her injury and whining that Darren didn't carry her to the infirmary!"
My cheeks flamed as the non-heir – who had been immersed in a history scroll just moments before - whipped his head around to stare.
"I was doing no such thing!" I avoided Darren's gaze as I turned to face the Master of Combat. "I would never say that." I hoped the prince would hear my emphasis.
"And why would I believe a troublemaker over the soon-to-be wife of our noble prince Darren? Are you suggesting I should distrust the Crown's future princess?"
My mouth soured at Master Byron's obvious discrimination and I forced myself to exhale slowly. Ian had not been exaggerating the man's bias: Byron had lived as a palace mage for several years before taking over the apprenticeship training – already a classist highborn, and a sexist, he was the last thing we needed for our study.
"Ryiah isn't lying, sir." Ella stood and put her hand on my shoulder in a show of support.
"You aren't a source of veritable truth either, Eleanor."
"It's Ella," Ella said through clenched teeth.
The master scoffed. "That is of no consequence. I expect the two of you to assist Apprentice Ian with the cleaning of the barrack privies during your evening hours for the remainder of this week. A small price for interrupting the rest of your classmates' study. It is my hope that the extra duty will illuminate the error of your ways." He gave a loud, exasperated sniff. "Though I suspect it will not. Now, pay attention to the rest of the Commander's address or I will see to it that you never have free time again."
Silently fuming, I forced myself to sit tall in my seat and focus on the regiment leaders at the front of the room. Beside me Ella did the same. Now was not the time to complain. Despite the drama just moments before both of us really did want to hear what the Commander and her regiment leaders were saying. Unlike the lessons we'd had back at the Academy, these officials' information was formed entirely by first-hand experience.
Today's topic was continuing a three-week lecture on chariot combat – what the desert regiments were famous for.
Ishir Outpost was located at the northernmost boundary of the Red Desert, which encompassed the entire southern region of Jerar. The city and the rest of the desert's border were made up entirely of tall desert bluffs and steep crags with only one man-made gate allowing travel between the desert and the rest of the country. The desert's tall, rocky walls overlooked the middle plains and provided perfect vantage points for the Crown's Army in the event of a full-scale invasion on the capital, Devon. Mostly, the desert's local regiments serviced the walls as lookouts. There hadn't been a war between Jerar and its northern neighbor Caltoth in over ninety years.
Since the start of our training in Ishir I had learned that at the base of this wall were several hidden tunnels interspersed every fifty miles or so to help the central plains evacuate and give the Red Desert's regiments easy passage out. According to palace historians, no country had ever attacked Jerar's capital due to the threat just south of it.
Because of the desert tunnels and the plains' level ground, one of the first things the Crown's Army had done was order up several hundred two-manned chariots to be stored in all of the desert's northern cities – ready to be used for swift-assault should the need arise.
The chariots were intended to be the first charge with a soldier steering while either a skilled archer-knight or Combat mage led the attack. The quick speed of such a light vehicle allowed the mages and knights the ease of a distanced approach that enemies would have a hard time countering. The Red Desert's knights and mages were known for their long-range attacks, and since Ishir Outpost was the most populace city with the largest regiment it had become one of the four territories mage apprentices and knights' squires trained in during their four-year apprenticeships.
"Soldiers of the Cavalry are exempt, of course, since they are immediately placed following their trial year in whatever region the Crown demands," the Commander noted. "It is a shame that they can't do a four-year rotation as well, but they take on much lesser roles in our service and it is not necessary for them to learn the chariots before they are placed in our city."
The imposing lady knight continued to explain the finer points of her strategy – pointing to her colleagues from time-to-time to explain what each leader would do once the chariots had left the barrier tunnels. The mounted knights would follow up with an armed assault – usually the sickle sword if they were desert natives, or the halbred if coming from the Crown's Army. Whatever horses remained were given to the soldiers – with the majority serving on foot with battle axes to break up their opponent's armor and give the knights an easier target to dismantle. The Restoration and Alchemy mages would remain in the tunnels – equipped for battle, but prepared for healing and the latter for a last minute defense
.
They had left no possibility unplanned.
Though we went over various techniques for breaking up enemy lines and securing a victory, the one thing the Commander and her council never told us was exactly where those tunnels were located. We didn't know their number either, and we never would… unless we were given a position in command or participating in an actual war.
Because Jerar's capital had never been under siege, the Red Desert's tunnels had never been used. The laborers that had helped build them had died several centuries ago. The only people who knew their exact coordinates were either dead, or currently serving the commanding post in one of the desert or plain cities. The only exception was the royal family. Not even the various barons or ruling lords in the affecting cities knew.
From everything I had gathered the tunnels were Jerar's most safeguarded secret. It hadn't been said directly but I was almost certain they punished offenders with death. There were rumors that those who went looking for them never returned. And then there was the mysterious death of Ishir's past Commander who had been in the prime of his health when a sudden illness had rapidly taken his life after only three years into his reign.
Definitely a secret.
By the time our two hours were over I had forgotten most of my earlier problems. Priscilla, Master Byron, and my new injury were just small, annoying blips in my otherwise perfect life. Every time I walked away from Strategies in Combat I felt like I was a part of something great. No one and nothing could take that away from me.
I was an apprentice now. For Combat, the most prestigious faction of all. I had defeated more odds than any of the other war schools. In the School of Knighthood almost half of the first-year pages were made squires. In the Cavalry? Three-quarters of its applicants made soldier. The Academy? Less than ten percent.
I wasn't even considered lowborn anymore – as an apprentice mage I was now afforded the same status as a noble. Not even squires had that privilege. Magic was rare. And important. So I was.
And in four short years I would be a mage of Combat.
"You sure look chipper for someone with a broken arm."
Breaking free from my daze I spotted Lynn waiting with Ella's mentor, Loren, a tall dark-skinned youth with startling blue eyes that my brother loathed. It had been he who had spoken.
"Thanks for reminding me." I gave Loren a wry smile. Ella and I followed him and Lynn down the stairs to the third floor. The great building hosted four levels – the first was the privies and wash chambers, the second the squire/apprentice mage barracks (depending on whose year it was to field train – we were never in the same city together), the third was the dining commons, and the fourth for regiment meetings. It wasn't as grand as the Academy – but it was still impressive.
"Is Ian staying behind to do extra mentoring with Darren today?" Lynn joined me as I found us a seat. The room was smaller than the one we'd had at the Academy – and there were only three rows to choose from. Before there had been over a hundred of us – now there were only sixty, well, sixty-one since the exception the Colored Robes had made for me last year. Twenty apprentices from each faction – five for each year.
"I doubt it." The troublemaker was far more likely to be trying to talk his way out of the chore Byron had just assigned. I repeated what Ian had told me on our walk to the infirmary. "Wish I could see him do it," I added.
Ella picked at her plate, avoiding a curry she had deemed too spicy for her liking. "I'm surprised he would try."
"What are you talking about?" I stared at my friend.
Ella did not reply – suddenly too busy chewing to answer. Lynn, meanwhile, seemed unusually upset. My mentor hid it quickly though, masking her discomfort with a bunch of questions about my arm instead. I quickly forgot my own as the girl barraged me for answers. Would I still be able to train with her? Did I think it would affect my castings? Was I sure Byron wouldn't let the Restoration apprentices cast a healing for it?
"Ladies. Loren. I hope you didn't mourn for me while I was away."
Glancing up I saw that Ian had returned, looking no worse for wear than usual.
"Did you even talk to Byron?" I asked suspiciously. The third-year seemed too cheery to have just come from a chat with our training master.
Ian took the seat opposite mine as he slid in next to Loren. "Nah. I decided it was a wasted effort."
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Ella and Loren exchange meaningful looks.
"So did anyone else notice how Commander Ama keeps avoiding divulging where those tunnels are?" I asked, finally breaking the awkward silence.
Lynn shrugged. "It doesn't matter much. I don't see Jerar going to war anytime soon." She turned to Ian. "What do you think?" she teased. "Are we ready for war?"
Ian's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Why don't we ask our very own royal since it will be his father signing those summons?" He stood up and pretended to scan the row of Combat apprentices for the non-heir who was, as usual, missing from the table. "What a shame, my charming mentee is absent. Again."
Darren hadn't taken a lunch with the rest of our faction since we had started. Instead, he spent the hour drilling with Byron personally in the training grounds. I wasn't sure whose idea it had initially been – the man hero-worshipped the prince - but I understood Ian's irritation. No one else got exclusive training with the master; Byron was grooming Darren for success and leaving the rest of us – particularly the ones he didn't like - to rot.
I had confronted Darren about the injustice a couple weeks back and the prince had just laughed in my face. "What did you expect, Ryiah? Not everyone is going to treat us like equals. You got lucky with the first-year masters at the Academy but you are going to have to learn to accept the injustice now - it's always going to be here. Especially while I'm around."
He'd made a good point – even if I hadn't liked what it meant.
Since Ian was Darren's mentor he took the prince's absence more personally than the rest of us. The third-year didn't trust Darren. I think the prince's aloof nature unsettled him. And Darren's competitive drive only made things worse.
I sympathized. More than anyone else at our table, I understood Ian's plight. I had gone through the same thing the first time I'd met the non-heir - and it had taken me ten long months to stop second-guessing Darren's actions.
Normally, the mentor-mentee relationship was a good thing. It gave two apprentices the opportunity to bond over shared trials and common goals in training. Each pairing lasted a year before the partners were switched. We would have two years leading others and two years following them. The varied approach would give us the chance to be the best and the worst, and the experience was supposed to make us better for it. Ian undoubtedly interpreted Darren's extra training as an affront instead of what it really was: a lifetime of expectation.
I think there were very few who understood why Darren acted the way he did. I wasn't an expert by any means – but the prince had made certain remarks last year that had led me to believe his role was more demanding than people realized. Otherwise, how else could one explain why a prince was more accustomed to injuries than the rest of us? Darren had never once lost control of his magic in training – and as one of the few apprentices that could pain cast that was highly unusual. It led me to two possible conclusions: Darren was perfect, or he had trained in far worse pain than the rest of us.
It was hard to accept the latter, but no one – not even the current Black Mage - had ever had a flawless apprenticeship. I knew firsthand how hard Darren worked. After all, his ambition was the reason we had become friends – though it had taken many misunderstandings to get there.
"I understand wanting to be best, I do," Ian continued. "But there is nothing wrong with a little bit of amity. Would it kill the prince to take a meal with his factionmates?" He directed the attention to me. "I mean, look at Ryiah. She is just as stubborn, but she still manages to have a conversation with the rest of us."
Ella winked at me conspirator
ially. "Oh, Darren still has 'conversations' with some people."
I glared at her. She knew very well there was nothing going on between Darren and I. Maybe there had been at one point – but it was long gone. His betrothal to Priscilla of Langli, one of the wealthiest young women in the kingdom – and my personal nemesis, had made that perfectly evident.
Ian's eyes met mine. "That's right, Ry. You and Darren are actually friends." He pronounced the last word with mock distaste, grinning. "So how did you do it? What makes the cold-hearted princeling mortal like the rest of us?"
I fidgeted in my seat. The last thing I wanted was for the others to find out about last year's transgression. Especially Ian. I suspected my feelings for the curly-haired third-year weren't strictly platonic - and I didn't want him to think that I was, as Priscilla put it, "pining" for Darren. Because I wasn't.
Ella giggled. "Oh I don't think it's something you would want to attempt yourself, Ian."
"Why?" Ian raised a brow. "What did she do that I can't?" He turned to me and gave me his most disarming smile. "Ry, just tell me whatever you said to convince him to make him give up that ridiculous pretense."
"It's not an act." I kept my eyes averted as I said: "Darren just has a really hard time opening up to people he thinks are beneath him…"
Ian gave a fake gasp.
"…But I'm sure after a couple months he'll realize you are trying."
Ian stole a handful of grapes off my plate. "That, my dear, is the worst explanation I have ever heard." He added half-serious, "If I didn't know better I would say you were defending him."
"I'm not," I said quickly. Too quickly.
"Did something happen between the two of you?" Ian leaned across the table to look at me.
I flushed. "No."
Ella coughed loudly.
Ian withdrew, grinning. "So that Priscilla girl was right. You are a terrible liar, Ry."
I wished I were anywhere other than the commons. My humiliation could not get any worse.
The Black Mage: Apprentice Page 2
