The Black Mage: Complete Series

by Rachel E. Carter

  “There's a first time for everything,” I challenged. “Maybe I'll try a royal next.”

  “Ryiah!” Alex snatched my wrist just before I could throw my tray at the smirking prince.

  Darren laughed and sauntered off to join his table of admirers while I was left brimming with rage.

  “What has gotten into you?” my brother hissed.

  “It's not fair!” I growled. “I am going to fail this place—”

  “Then let's have you try something new, not challenge the school prodigy to a duel.” My brother dragged me back to the table with Ella and the rest of our study group.

  Ruth gaped at me. “Did you just threaten a prince?”

  I stabbed at a cherry tomato on my plate. “Wouldn't matter if I did. I can't keep up with Piers's drills to save my life. Darren would have disarmed me in a second.”

  Alex glanced at Ella. “Anything you can do to help her, beautiful?”

  My friend scowled. “Am I or am I not the daughter of a knight?”

  “Does that mean yes?” I asked wearily.

  Ella smiled wide. “For the girl who challenges arrogant halfwits, it’s most definitely a yes.”

  AN HOUR LATER, I met up with Ella at the armory for our first lesson. She was practicing some sort of complicated footwork when I arrived, much more advanced than what we’d gone over in class.

  Another highborn advantage—I stopped myself. I had no right to resent my friend who was taking time out of her day to train me. My frustration was making me petty.

  “Thanks again.”

  Ella tossed me a weighted staff and shrugged. “I should be doing this anyway. I need it after watching Piers sing Darren and his minions praises all week long.”

  I laughed and matched Ella's starting stance. “It's pretty obvious, isn't it?”

  “It's downright depressing,” she griped. “I grew up around weapons, and I've trained with them almost as long. At no point should people who grew up reciting their family’s lineage be besting me at those drills… Hold that pose, Ryiah.”

  My sore muscles protested as she adjusted my form. “Don't I need a blindfold?”

  The girl snorted. “Let's not test your luck just yet.”

  We began the drill again only to have her stop me once more.

  “Stop being so tense!” Her order was terse. “If you don't loosen up those muscles, you’re going to strain something. You need to be relaxed and fluid when you block, like you are dancing.”

  “I hate dancing.”

  “Well, like you are water then.” We began to spar again. “Really, you hate dancing?”

  “You would if you saw what the boys in Demsh'aa had to offer.” I attempted a block and overcompensated, swinging wildly to my right.

  Ella chuckled. “You'll be doing this dance every day now.”

  “At least it’s with a partner I respect.”

  We were practicing in the shade of the armory building, but the air was still thick with humidity. Flies swarmed about. I was almost tempted to use them for my target. At least then I'd get some satisfaction out of our endless drilling. I was so exhausted from parrying blow after blow. And after so many endless deflections, it didn't matter that Ella was holding back. I could have been facing the great Sir Piers himself.

  I took my turn leading the assault. “Will I really get better?”

  “I know it doesn't seem that way now.” Ella blocked easily, her voice a relaxed lull to my heavy gasps for air. “But all this—the soreness, even the fatigue—if you keep at it, it’s worth it.”

  The burning in my arms challenged her claim.

  I swung a more concentrated pass, and for the first time, it met its mark with a resounding smack. Ella actually faltered for a second, more from surprise than the weight of my blow.

  “Pain is a sign you are working your body to its limits,” Ella continued as we kept on. “My dad always said that is why lowborns usually outperform nobility in their first year at the war schools.” She paused and remarked somewhat ironically, “Though you wouldn't guess it here.”

  No, you would never guess it here. I held onto my groan.

  Ella lowered her staff and glanced up at the darkening sky. “Well, I guess that does it for today.”

  I followed my friend to the armory to dispose of our weapons. My entire body ached, but for once, I was happy it did.

  Not time to give up yet.

  “COME ON, RYIAH, PAY ATTENTION!”

  “I am!” I groaned and deflected another blow, scrambling to get my defense up in time.

  I barely managed.

  “Again,” Ella shouted.

  I made another mad attempt to defend myself.

  And then another.

  And then I cried out as my friend's staff came into contact with my ribs, and I dropped my pole. I'd guessed wrong again.

  “Once more, where am I coming from?” She held her stance, willing me to try and see what it was I had missed the first time.

  I watched my friend closely, trying to figure out where her next strike would be. All signs pointed to a low upswing from the left, but I had made that mistake before, and my ribs were paying dearly for it now.

  I frowned. Her shoulders were deceptively loose with her eyes drifting ever so slightly to my right, and her hands gripped the staff at a crooked angle. I had seen it all before. What was I missing? Pay attention… but to what?

  The grass crunched beneath her boots.

  Ella had spent enough time reminding me not to be too sure of myself. Any good opponent will try to trick you, she'd said. Anyone who practiced close range fighting would know the importance of deceit. Let your enemy think they've got you figured out, make it look like they can see when you're coming—not too obvious, just enough so that they get cocky. If someone thinks they know your next move, they are more likely to let their guard down for any other attack.

  “Look at me, Ryiah,” Ella said again. “Where is my staff going to land?”

  I tried to see the impossible. Sweat stung my eyes as my gaze traveled up and down my friend's form, searching desperately for a sign.

  Then I saw it.

  Her knees were slightly bent, feet apart, with the right heel slightly off the ground. It was easy to miss—her dark boots were bulky and obscured sight easily—but there was a slight indent in the leathers on the right front of the foot that betrayed where she had shifted her weight on the grass.

  “You're going to come from the right with a top-swing,” I announced confidently.

  Ella relaxed her form. “Good job!” Her reply was a little too enthusiastic for someone who constantly assured me I was doing well. I briefly wondered if she’d really believed that, and then buried the thought at once.

  “It's funny.” I changed stance. “Each day Piers and Cedric ask me to practice in a blindfold, and then you make me watch whenever we train out here.”

  “Well, four days with me is far from an eternity. And you need to know the basics first.” She gave me a nudge with the staff. “Just think, one day you’ll be able to knock that prince from his gilded throne without batting an eye.”

  That would be the day. Though I wondered why she didn’t want to do it herself.

  FOR THE REST of that week and the next, Ella and I continued our extra drills. It was an endless cycle of madness, but fortunately I did not fall any further behind.

  Except in meditation. But I needed those naps…

  Two straight weeks with Ella correcting my form and watching my every move had paid off. I was still as sore as that first day I’d arrived, but I could tell my breathing was much less labored in our daily sessions. Even my arms felt stronger. The weighted staff no longer felt like a foreign extension of my arm.

  Sir Piers had since stopped criticizing my technique and moved on to some of the other, less fortunate first-years who were still grappling with the concept of a proper guard. They didn’t have a knight’s daughter to train them like me.

  I had to hold back a sm
all smile when Piers informed Priscilla she could learn from my approach after she complained about the “unnecessary repetition for highborns.”

  The commander jerked his chin in my direction. “That one may not have your skill, but at least she's willing to learn.”

  “The ones who need to learn shouldn't be here,” the girl retorted hotly. “Highborns learn to fight with staffs in their sleep. I was fighting with swords at twelve.”

  Several students gave loud hoots of agreement. It didn't take a mastermind to figure out which.

  “You would think that.” Sir Piers was unruffled by Priscilla and her friends. “And, most of the time, you'd be right. But each year I've been here, there's been one or two lowborns who shame all that extra coin your families put to use. It’s the ones who need to learn you should be worried about. They work twice as hard.”

  Priscilla flinched.

  “The worst thing wealth does is give those who have it a false sense of security.” Piers chuckled as he moved on to another student to correct. “You stop trying as hard, and there's always another who will gladly take your place.”

  LATER THAT EVENING, my glee was still in full swing when Ella and I retired from the armory. It seemed that Piers's speech had instilled a newfound sense of urgency to some of the more confident first-years. We were now one of six small groups who practiced near the armory after our evening meal.

  Most of the students, I noticed, were practicing more advanced techniques than Ella and me, but it was a compliment that they’d shown up just the same. Maybe they didn't view me as a serious contender, but at least they were willing to consider the possibility.

  Ella turned to me as we entered the library. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

  I just smiled brazenly.

  Alex greeted us with a hand over his nose. “Ry, you smell terrible!”

  Ella gave him a look.

  “Ella, beautiful flower that you are, that comment was for my dear sister alone. You—”

  “Save your prose, pretty boy.” Ella waved her hand with a snort. “We've got enough to worry about without your attempts at romance.”

  Our study session came and went without much ado. We were mostly silent because the night was our last review of the fundamentals. Starting the next day, we'd begin orientation. That meant one faction a week, beginning with Restoration. And factions meant actual magic.

  We wouldn’t be picking our factions until the end of the month, but everyone knew the next few weeks were important.

  Tension was thick in the air as we poured over our scrolls, each silently hoping that we’d learned enough to not humiliate ourselves in the weeks to come.

  The months after were when we’d lose the most students, according to Master Barclae's ominous admission that evening at dinner. “You can't fake it for long here,” he'd warned.

  I wasn’t trying to fake it; I just wanted to survive.

  The entire library was quieter than usual.

  When Barrius came round for his usual dismissal, it took twice the time it usually did for him to clear the first two floors. Everyone was reluctant to leave. That also made it impossible for me to escape to the third floor unnoticed.

  Irritated, I retreated with the rest of the crowd to my barracks, resolving to sneak my way back at the earliest opportunity.

  After the room went dark, I pushed back my blankets and reached for my bag.

  Ella rolled over in her bunk. “Still at it?”

  I clutched my materials and squeezed my way past the scattered belongings strewn across the floor. “I'll see you in the morning,” I told her quietly.

  “Don't be up too late,” she whispered. “We've got our work cut out for us tomorrow.”

  “I know.” I grimaced. “I’ll try not to.”

  “Will the two loud mouths please keep it down!” a girl groaned. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  Shooting Ella an apologetic shrug, I ducked out of the barracks in seconds.

  The Academy was two hundred yards away, the path to the barracks barren and treeless. I made a mad dash, hoping for the best. The prince did this every day after curfew, but it was still early enough that Barrius’s staff was patrolling the halls, and I didn’t know the servants’ routine like he did.

  Safety. Whew.

  I’d just shut the doors behind me when something squeaked to my left.

  Please, please be a mouse.

  It was too dark to see anything. Holding my breath, I waited, praying whoever was there hadn't heard me.

  Silence.

  I waited a couple moments longer.

  Up ahead of me, a chamber door slammed open and flooded the end of the hall with light.

  The servants’ torches were quickly eating away the shadows and illuminating the dark.

  Panic filled my gut. Who knew how far Barrius would go if he found me breaking curfew? I couldn't get caught.

  I felt my way along the rough sandstone wall, inching toward the light, trying to remember if I'd seen a room this close to the back entry of the Academy. Surely the staff had quarters nearby. I was in the servants’ wing after all.

  The voices were drawing nearer, as was the light, and I had only a minute or so left before I was spotted. I continued my blind fumbling, ignoring the pain in my hand as I shoved it against something sharp, desperately seeking a handle in the dark.

  My hand caught on a smooth panel, and I felt around for the door’s knob. I twisted and something caught my wrist, yanking me inside. The door slammed shut just as a hand covered my mouth to muffle my cry.

  There was the slightest bit of light coming through the cracks in the door, but it was enough for me to recognize the face of my so-called captor.

  The prince dropped his hand and motioned for me to be silent just as the two servants approached.

  “—know I heard something in there,” the first was saying. “I'm sure of it.”

  “Well, come on then.” There was a rattle as a man withdrew a ring of keys from his belt. “I bet you there's a first-year hiding on the other side.”

  I swallowed and looked wildly to Darren who stood closest to the door. The two of us were crammed in some sort of storage closet. Giant sacks of flour and wheat lined the shelves, and there was nowhere to hide. We barely had enough room to stand, let alone disappear.

  Darren didn't look worried. Instead, he put a finger to his lips and then shut his eyes, leaning against the nearest shelf.

  Meditation isn't going to do much good when they catch us, I thought crossly.

  The knob rattled, and I held my breath as I prepared for the inevitable result.

  Nothing happened. The rattling continued, but the door stayed shut.

  “That's strange… This key doesn’t work.”

  “Let me have a go at it.”

  The metal knob continued to shake, but it was no closer to opening.

  I looked to Darren in the shadows, suspicious and relieved. The door had opened easily enough for me.

  “It's not letting up.”

  “Well, let's check the gardens. Maybe whoever we heard made it to the outside.”

  “Must have,” the second agreed. “This door is locked.”

  The rattling stopped, and the servants' steps retreated. After a couple of minutes, I willed myself to breathe more easily, taking slow gulps of air.

  “They're gone now. Come on.” Darren seemed impatient as he stepped out of the closet. The door swung open as if it’d never been locked.

  I eyed him warily. “How did you do that with the door?”

  The prince ignored my question. “Are you coming or not?”

  I sighed and joined him in the hall.

  Darren started off, heading toward the west corridor, and I called out after him. “Where are you going?”

  He turned and gave me an odd look, or what I was convinced was one. I couldn't be too sure since it was dark again without the servants’ light to guide us.

  “The library. Where else?”

 
I felt like a fool.

  “That's where you're headed, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Try not to get us caught this time.” His brow furrowed. “And don’t make any noise.”

  I didn't reply, deciding silence was better than the retort I had half a mind to say. He had saved us after all, even if he was being conceited about it.

  We made it the rest of the way without any trouble. It seemed the two men we’d encountered were the only servants concerned with patrolling the east wing of the Academy, and we didn't run into anyone in the west passage leading up to the library.

  Entering the giant study, I watched as Darren shut the doors behind us and conjured a bit of magic in his palm. There was just enough light to cast a dim glow on our surroundings.

  I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. “Thank you for helping me back there.”

  The prince scoffed. “I didn't do it for you.”

  “Just take my thanks.” I was agitated. After all, I was thanking him. Whatever Darren’s motives were, he’d helped me twice now.

  The prince looked amused. “Your thanks?” His expression seemed to imply that they didn't amount to much.

  I balked. “Well, you've been nasty enough that I guess fate was bound to have you do one decent thing for me.” Two, but I wasn’t about to admit that aloud.

  The prince recoiled. “And I suppose you think you've done nothing wrong?” His jaw was hard. “In case you fail to remember, you and El—that girl you always go around with tried to get me thrown out of here.”

  “Well, you are a prince. You still have a chance at the throne.” Even if you are the non-heir.

  “I will not apologize for my birthright.” Darren narrowed his eyes and added callously, “I don’t need to explain myself to people like you.”

  I glared right back. “I might not be a princess, but even if I were, I wouldn't use bloodlines as a means to demean everyone else.”

  “I wasn't referring to your trivial heritage.” He looked at me contemptuously. “I care little enough whether you grew up in the fields or a damned palace.” He took a step closer and looked down at me, speaking the next few words slowly. “When I say ‘people like you' I am referring to the ones who so clearly have no real magic or potential of any kind.”