The Black Mage: Apprentice

by Rachel E. Carter

  Ten minutes later we arrived at the infirmary. I found Ella as we entered the building, nodding to the guards as we passed. The soldiers grinned and Ian snickered.

  "I think you've got admirers, ladies."

  I rolled my eyes and nudged Ella forward. "I think you should go with Alex. He might need back-up and I can't go since we are going to need my injury to distract them."

  Ella was immediately uncomfortable. "Does it have to be me – what about Ian? Or Loren?"

  "Just talk to him." She trusted me. I hoped I would not regret asking.

  Ella fixed me with a tired expression. "I am doing this for you, Ryiah – not him."

  "Thank you."

  We found the left corridor. Loren, Alex, and I immediately crowded the desk. The three of us began chattering loudly about my arm while Alex and Ella snuck past the attendants into the supply room. I kept my eyes open for any passing healers while Ian and Loren continued to talk. Five minutes passed and then they emerged, proudly concealing a small jar in Alex's fist. The two of them looked happier. I wondered if things were resolved.

  Ella's eyes caught mine and she gave a timid smile. I started to return it – and then my face fell as a young woman in red mage's robes blocked their escape, fixing the two with a steely-eyed frown.

  "Apprentice Alex, just what do you think you are doing? Do you have an authorization for that?" The jar and their guilty expressions hadn't escaped her notice.

  The mages behind us were too busy with Ian and Loren to hear.

  Alex gave the healer his most easy-going smile. "Kyra, my poor sister over there is in pain."

  The mage's eyes flickered to me and her expression didn't change.

  Alex sidled over to the young woman, unperturbed. He leaned in conspiratorially and stage-whispered. "Please, Kyra, you wouldn't want Ryiah to suffer, would you? Master Byron's rules are just silly… what is the harm in a little relief?"

  I watched as the healer's face waivered from resolve to doubt.

  "Wow." My brother breathed loudly. "I just realized your eyes are green. I knew you were beautiful but I – I-" He pretended to stutter, flustered by her attention.

  Kyra's cheeks turned pink. "Stop that." But I noticed she said it a lot more gently.

  "Please, Kyra?" My brother gave his most innocent smile.

  She sighed. "Fine, Alex, but just this once."

  "You are as kind as you are stunning." Alex caught her hand and kissed it lightly, winking.

  The Restoration mage watched him, pleased. "You should join the healers for a drink one night," she said abruptly. "We go to the Crow's Nest every Sunday - perhaps I will see you there next time?"

  My twin grinned. "I wouldn't miss it."

  As soon as the young woman had vanished Ella snatched the vial from Alex and turned to me, eyes flashing. "Let's get out of here, Ryiah." It didn't take much to ascertain why her mood had suddenly changed.

  "Ella wait, it wasn't what you - I was helping!"

  "I don't want to hear it, Alex."

  "Ella, I meant what I said back there-"

  "The only person you love is yourself!" Ella cut my brother off coldly. "You just can't help yourself. It's not your fault – when this girl kisses you or that girl misinterprets your gestures you are blameless. Well, I'm not going to wait for it to happen again. We are done." She grabbed my good arm and dragged me out of the building, not waiting to see if the rest of our group followed.

  I didn't protest. As soon as we were outside the infirmary I apologized profusely.

  Ella shook her head.

  "Don't hold yourself responsible, Ry. You aren't accountable for your twin's actions. You warned me that first day at the Academy. I… I just have this bad habit of falling for the wrong ones."

  Thinking about Darren earlier – and my reaction to his hand on my wrist, I said sadly, "I think we have that in common."

  ****

  After a short dinner we were once again on the practice field for our final lesson of the day. We were separated into two groups: those who could cast using pain, and those that couldn't. Ian, Darren, Eve, Lynn and I stayed behind with a small collection of older apprentices. Ella, Ray, Priscilla, Loren and the rest of the class retired to the far side of the grounds to continue the target casting from earlier.

  Now more than ever, I was grateful for the arnica. I was finding it much easier to control my castings when the pain in my arm was not fighting my magic.

  "No, no! Slowly, Ian!" Master Byron's command echoed across the cold night air. "If you keep that up you are not going to be able to control it."

  "Again." Darren's voice was thick with sarcasm. The two of them had been trading barbs for the past hour – mostly because Ian kept losing control of his castings. We were supposed to levitate our partners – only Ian hadn't quite mastered the correct pressure to use. Darren had been dropped and tossed backward more times than any of the others, and he appeared to be growing less and less patient.

  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Ian was miserable at pain castings – and Darren was amazing, second only to two of the fifth-years that were with us.

  "Mentees, you are up."

  Lynn slowly withdrew the blade from her hand, letting me drift gently to the floor. To my left I heard a loud thump and Darren's subsequent curse.

  "Master Bryon, I need to change partners for this exercise. This is ridiculous."

  All heads turned to Ian and Darren: the former looked sheepish and the latter, furious.

  "Fine. Darren, Ryiah, change mentors."

  As I passed the non-heir by I glared at him for making me take Ian. The last thing I needed was to be dropped repeatedly on a bad arm. "I have a fracture."

  "Good thing you have the arnica."

  Some "friend." I sat down cross-legged in front of Ian, returning to the start position as I reached for Darren's knife. At least it was my turn.

  "All right, mentees, this time in your castings I want you to focus on time. Try to hold your partner in the air for as long as you can. Once you feel comfortable, try alternating the pressure and keeping the same five feet level. Being able to maintain a stable pain casting – no matter the pressure - will help train your magic should you be caught off guard with an unexpected injury." The man paused, his ice blue eyes locking onto me. "Some of you could certainly use the practice."

  Ignoring the disparaging comment, I set to work in my casting. I would gladly practice Byron's drills all night, if only so he could see me try. Not that the man would ever acknowledge I was. Trying, that is.

  "If you drop me I won't hold it against you."

  I tried to smile at Ian but it did little to mask the anxiety in my throat. Concentrate Ryiah. I gently dug the blade into my right palm, refusing to flinch as the sudden pain released my magic. Ian was instantly hovering in the air.

  I let him float for a minute more before I decided to test the pressure, alternating between light spurts of pain. Ian remained level. I took turns nicking my fingers and sliced deeper into my palm, trembling as my casting fought to increase and dissipate in union with the hurt. I willed it to hold and braced myself as magic and pain continued to surge through me, struggling to break free.

  My eyes watered and burned but I ignored them. Ever since the incident during my first-year trials pain had made my magic unstable. Which meant the past three months were a nightmare to train in. Every little injury opened a floodgate of pain magic – and if it was bad enough, like in the case of my fractured arm earlier, I wasn't always able to hold it back.

  Ella suspected a barrier had broke – the one that usually kept my pain magic at bay. During the trials I had attempted a pain casting, spearing myself with a sword and sending an entire building crumbling in its wake. The act had been rash, and it only made sense that so much magic and a near-death experience would leave a large crack in my defense. Normally people built up to that level of casting, slowly, with incremental levels of pain – not the other way around. Master Byron had implied
as much when I had first come to him with the question.

  "Practice. It is the only way you are going to exert any control over your pain castings. We avoid teaching it to the first-years for a reason, apprentice. Now because of your ill-chosen act you will be battling powers much stronger than a second-year should deal with."

  It was the reason the masters saved the method for apprenticeship.

  "A mage is always fighting against pain castings during injury – usually they spend years working up to the magic you will be fighting now. You broke a barrier that requires a control you do not – and will not - have for many years."

  I had been crestfallen and angry when I'd first heard the master's diagnosis. But Darren, in a random moment of kindness, had pointed out something I'd missed. Yes, I would be forced to battle stronger forces than everyone else who had pain magic, but I would also be competent faster as a result. "I did something similar to you two years before I joined the Academy," he'd confessed. "I still fight pain magic when I get hurt, but if you were to watch me pain cast now you would see I have a lot more control than the others." And he'd been right.

  Blinking, I realized that Darren and I were the only ones still casting. The other two mentees – two fourth-years had already quit. Moment later my own palms trembled and I knew it was time to end.

  I lowered Ian to the ground, releasing the pressure of the knife.

  Two minutes later the non-heir followed suit.

  "Well done, Darren. Ryiah that was… acceptable." The master seemed to be pulling the words from his teeth.

  The mentors took over casting. I braced myself for Ian's inevitable misstep but nothing bad happened. The third-year seemed to be concentrating extra hard: I was not thrown once during his attempt.

  After a couple of minutes Ian returned me to the ground, finishing before the other mentors.

  I smiled at him, grateful he had managed to avoid dropping me and jostling my bad arm. "You did it, Ian!"

  He winked. "It would seem I just needed the right motivation."

  My heart skipped a beat. Don't be a fool – he doesn't mean anything by it.

  Darren, still levitating nearby, snorted. Lynn lowered the prince and fixed her gaze on Ian. "Very impressive, Ian. I am so happy Master Byron's lessons are coming along."

  The third-year chuckled and then glanced at her partner. "Sorry about earlier."

  Darren raised a brow. "Sorry that I am not a pretty red-haired apprentice, or sorry that you were not trying?"

  Ian grinned. "Might be a bit of both."

  I hardly remembered the rest of our lesson. He thought I was pretty.

  It was only much later as I was shoveling waste out of the barrack privies that it occurred to me to wonder which one I had been thinking of.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Alright, second-years. It's the moment you have all been preparing for: today you will be participating in your first mock battle. We host one of these at the end of each initial field training. Which means that by the end of your apprenticeship you will have completed four."

  Master Byron marched up and down the student line, preening in the light of his audience. "When we return to the desert after the solstice you will no longer be completing the schedule we've had you following the past few months. From January through May you will be deployed in regiment missions patrolling the Red Desert.

  "Today Commander Ama and her mages will be observing your skills. They will be using this exercise to evaluate your level for future placement."

  The other two masters – cold Master Joan from Restoration and Master Perry of Alchemy - took over, detailing their expectations for our simulated encounter. All sixty-one apprentices would be divided into two teams: the second - and fourth-year mentees against the third - and fifth-year mentors. It wasn't intended to be a fair match, but it would give us the opportunity to showcase what we had learned.

  "Each of the teams will have a leader." Master Perry brushed back a strand of her short blonde hair and continued. "I leave it to you to elect a Combat apprentice for each. Whoever you choose will be in charge of strategy. You will have two hours to plot amongst yourselves before starting." She paused. "Please remember this is a group effort. You will not be doing yourself any favors by neglecting your teammates: if your leader is captured you will automatically lose. This person will be recognized by a black cloth they tie around their forearm."

  Commander Ama joined the masters and the rest of her infirmary under the shadow of a nearby crag. We were three miles outside of the outpost, immersed in a true wasteland without a building in sight. Behind us was an endless expanse of steep cliffs, sand, and desert wildlife. Strange flowers and crooked cacti dotted the landscape.

  "This is a true-to-life battle," the bald woman declared. Her voice was coarse and gruff, and the expression she wore was grim. "I expect you to treat the opposing team as a true enemy."

  Ella elbowed me, snickering. "You heard her. No special treatment for Ian. He's your enemy now."

  I shoved her back in good spirits, "I don't know what you are talking about."

  "Apprentices – report to your teams now! You have two hours and a limited number of supplies to prepare for your battle."

  Immediately our factions dispersed. Ella and I followed the rest of the second - and fourth-year apprentices to the shade of a large overhanging peak. Beside its face were fifteen single-horse chariots, a giant crate filled with empty flasks and common desert ingredients used in Alchemy, and thirty-one sickle swords, the most common melee weapon of the Red Desert regiments.

  To our right, the third - and fifth-years clustered behind a large mesa a mile away. From the loud voices carrying through the canyon I could sense they were arguing, undoubtedly trying to decide a leader.

  "Which one of you do you think it's going to be?" Ella visibly balked as Alex joined us at the edge of our group. It had been two weeks since her outburst in the infirmary, and this was the first time they had crossed paths since. My twin didn't appear to notice, however, as he was too busy staring at the others in front.

  Most of the Alchemy and Restoration apprentices stood quietly to the side, patiently awaiting the outcome. It was clear they expected the Combat apprentices to make the decision. After all, we knew best what our people were like. The problem was that the role traditionally went to the best fourth-year – only Priscilla, Eve, and Ray didn't appear to agree.

  "It should be Darren." Priscilla's condescending voice rang out clearly. "He's better than anyone here. He's a prince – if anyone knows how to lead an army it would be him, not some silly lowborn."

  "Apprentices are not lowborn, you naïve little girl." The angry retort came from Jayson, a fourth-year and former lowborn. He glared at Priscilla. "It should be Tyra. Last year her advice brought our team victory in Ferren's Keep."

  "Yes, but Darren has been training for a career in the Crown's Army since he was five." This time it was Eve that had spoken. "He was going to be a knight commander before he found magic – just ask him. He's had all the best tutors. We all did."

  I bit my lip. Well that certainly explained how the three of them had become friends. I had always wondered how quiet Eve had fit in with Darren and Priscilla's more offsetting ways. I knew they had all lived together in court, but now it was clear they had spent many years training together too.

  No wonder I'd felt so underprepared last year. The three of them had been preparing for Combat - or knighthood, at the very least - since birth.

  "Fine," Jayson barked, "then let's take a vote. Everyone - not just Combat." He turned to the rest of us, hands on hips. "Well? Do you want a fourth-year who knows how to win or Master Bryon's pet, an inexperienced prince who is only in his second year?"

  "I am voting for Darren," Ray said.

  "Tyra," Alex and Ella both spoke up at the same time.

  The rest of the apprentices quickly cast their vote and it was only after a moment of silence that I realized everyone was staring expectantly at me.
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  "It's fifteen to fifteen, Ry," Ella whispered.

  I swallowed. My sometimes-friend, or the girl that Priscilla didn't want to lead? It was tempting to spite the cruel highborn for all the torment she had put me through last year, but doing so would be a direct slight to the boy that had helped me more times than I could count.

  Darren's eyes met mine, amused. It was clear he expected me to vote for Tyra, the same as my brother and friend. And who would blame me? She was older and she had led her team to victory…

  "Darren." I couldn't let the prince down. Even if I wanted to.

  The non-heir's eyes flared in surprise and I was rewarded with a small smile that made my insides melt. Calm down, Ryiah, you've moved on – remember? His betrothed scowled. Apparently Priscilla had wanted me to vote against Darren. What was that about?

  I didn't get a chance to consider the implication as the prince set to work outlining our first line of attack.

  "Only the mentees have the chariots. We have to assume the masters want us to practice the groundwork they've been laying out in our study these past three months. The mentors, of course, will already be skilled in defense – isn't that what you practiced last year in the mountains, Tyra?"

  The fourth-year studied the non-heir, dark skin glistening under the full light of the stifling desert sun. It was clear she appreciated him taking the time to seek out her advice, even if she wasn't a leader. "We learned how to hold off a siege," she affirmed, "but my team won last year concentrating our strike on a small section of their barrier where their weakest apprentices were located."

  Darren nodded. "I am sure the mentors will be prepared for an attack like that this time. More than likely they'll alternate fifth - and third-years down their line instead of keeping all of their weakest in one spot, but I wonder… Last year where did they keep their Restoration and Alchemy apprentices? Were they helping the defense, or were they hidden away with the leader?"

  "Hidden."