I could barely breathe.
I had fifty more minutes. Fifty minutes of sprints, endless sprints, and the horrible obstacle course we were required to complete at the end of each mile's lap.
Today, after all, was our third week of orientation. In other words, Combat.
Today's drill, Piers had promised, would make it clear whether we were “cut out for the hard life of Combat, or the cushy life of the other two factions.” None of us wanted to disappoint him with that kind of introduction, but his new routine was proving quickly how difficult that would be.
I ran my fastest mile ever—seven minutes to the second—only to lose the momentum I’d built during the second half.
The obstacle course was Piers's worst invention yet. Somehow he, his assistants, and the constable's staff had created a breeding ground of misery.
Now we had sacks of barley to haul, a towering rope to climb, a tightrope to cross, flying arrows and throwing knives to dodge on the way to each station, and, last but not least, a quick three-minute joust with one member of the constable's staff.
All ten of the constable's men just happened to have some experience wielding a pole. They weren't very apt, but after twenty minutes of trying to complete Piers's course, it didn't seem to matter much.
“I’m not joking. Pick up the pace, first-years!”
I kept running, trying to block out everything but the goal.
My feet were in pain. Raw, excruciating pain. A couple slivers of glass had somehow made their way through the supple leather of my boots, and it was all I could do not to sit down and pull them out. I'd managed to avoid any flying arsenal, but I still had three more laps to complete. We had healing mages on duty to treat us once we completed the program, but unless we were near the point of immediate death, we were stuck fending for ourselves.
“All of you are still here.” Piers marched along the field with a scowl. “I promised Master Barclae that I’d send five packing by the end of this week. It's time to sink or swim, my children, sink or swim.”
I was halfway into my second lap when the weather changed.
Gone was the hot and sweltering sky, the temperature had dramatically plunged. I could hear the soft rumble of thunder. The sky was drenched in a purple haze.
“D-doesn't… look… good.” Alex caught up to me on the turn. “Not… natural…”
I nodded. It cost too much to speak.
Seconds later, the class was being pelted with rain and small pellets of hail.
Lightning flashed, and I scrambled to make it to the next destination: the climbing rope. My arms were still weak from my last attempt. Lucky for me, there were three people ahead, so I had a couple minutes to recuperate.
Grimacing, I bent down and slowly, carefully, pulled a protruding shard from my boot.
“No more sheltered training!” Sir Piers’s voice was louder than thunder. Sheeesh. “All of you want Combat—no, don't you dare shake your head at me, Karl! You want a black robe, prove it. I don't want to see a single one of you stopping unless every bone in your body is broken! If you are waiting in line, you had better be jogging in place, or giving me crunches!”
The class groaned, and I hastily jumped up to begin running in place. This was insanity. I had no idea how I would complete the course two more times.
When I finished climbing the rope, my hands were raw and my arms were limp noodles. Thanks to the rain, I’d slipped on the rope, and now I had a hefty burn to show for the effort.
The hail was getting bigger and the little pebbles hurt. The ground was turning to slush, and my clothes were soaked through.
I made my way over to the next station: the tightrope. Broken glass glittered in the mud beneath it, waiting for the victims to slip.
The tightrope wasn't particularly challenging. It was maybe three yards across, no more than a yard above the ground. But I wasn't exactly known for my balance—I’d already slipped once, and now with the rainstorm and my slippery boots, I was especially wary.
“Hurry up.” Jake, one of the two stocky brothers from the prince's following, shoved me to the front.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to take one solid step after the next.
At first, everything was fine. I was gingerly making my way across, inching one foot in front of the other, but then the wind picked up, and I slipped.
My foot started to slide and only an awkward twist saved my balance.
Whew.
I crossed the remainder and hopped to the ground. Two down, two more times to go.
The first-year after me charged the rope. A second later, Jake was cursing and hopping on glass. Ha.
I grinned and started jogging to the final task in the course—
A dagger came whipping through the air mere inches from my face.
I ducked with a second to spare. That was close. Too close.
One of the assisting mages had probably seen me laugh; I resolved not to do it again. I wasn’t so sure the attack was by chance.
I snatched up a staff from a pile on the ground and turned to face a swallow-faced manservant. This one was thin and wispy, and he clutched his weapon awkwardly. Then again, he wasn’t a fighter.
I made the first move.
Feigning a downward swoop and attacking from the left, I caught my partner off guard and placed a satisfying hit.
My partner snarled, undoubtedly angry at his new bruise, and he lunged at me with vengeance.
I deflected his oncoming blows. It was a short three minutes, but it was tiring just the same.
One of the assistants gave an approving nod, and I set onto the next lap.
By the time I reached my final sparring session, I was at the point of collapse.
The disgruntled servant was scowling at my approach. I’d barely beaten him in our last round, and he was determined to punish me for the second. I had a feeling most of the constable's team was doing the same—seizing the opportunity to take vengeance on all the first-years who had made their lives difficult, even if our only crime was inhabiting the Academy.
“What's the matter, first-year?” The servant spun the staff in his hands as he circled me, looking for an opening.
I refused to respond and focused all of my senses on the pole in his fist.
“Too good for me, are you?” The man lunged left.
My arms shook as I parried. Again and again.
Two more minutes, Ryiah, I promised, two minutes, and then this is all over.
Smack!
My ribcage stung from a sudden impact. I doubled over, cursing. I'd stopped paying attention for a second, and the manservant had delivered an especially hard blow to my chest.
“Don't know why you first-years bother,” the man taunted. “It's the same every year, and yet you still come here thinking you’re different.” He positioned himself to strike left again, and I braced myself, too tired to read into the telltale signs that he was feigning the movement.
Wait…
Too late, I saw where he intended to land his staff. With all the strength I could muster, I cast out an image of the block I was too slow to carry out. It was the same technique I had been practicing all week, but I’d never tried it in class.
There was a loud clap as wood and wood collided. The casting worked!
The servant turned to Piers a couple paces away. “She cheated!”
The knight shrugged. “She used her magic. Any soldier would use what skills he possessed in a battle.”
The man snarled and stomped off the field while I stood there in shock.
“Very good, first-year.”
My chin shot up and I saw Master Cedric beside Piers. The old man was wearing a smile. “You paid attention to my lessons after all.”
After my lesson with Darren, I’d been casting with success—not every time, but enough. This was just the first time the master noticed. He’d probably written me off until today. I bowed my head and hurried off to join the group of first-years who’d already finished
across the way.
The prince and his friends were present, but so was Ella.
When I reached the stadium benches, I grabbed a flagon of water and sat with my friend to watch the rest of the class complete our drill. Alex was still out there, huffing and puffing across the field.
“Your poor brother,” she said.
“I know.”
The two of us grinned. After watching Alex flourish in Restoration, it was a nice change of pace.
Ten minutes later, the ordeal was over.
Piers ordered everyone to a final hour drilling with the staffs at a more “relaxed” pace while the injured were seen to by a healing mage. Only the worst cuts and bruises were to be treated. The rest built character.
“Build tolerance to pain, not succumb to it” was Piers’s motto.
Only two warranted care, a chubby girl with auburn curls and a horrible gash on her lower calf. The other was Darren’s friend, Jake. Apparently, he'd twisted his ankle while falling and broke the bone in a clumsy attempt to avoid hitting glass.
Alex whistled low as he and I traded blows. “Glad I'm not that chap right now.”
“It could have been any of us.”
“Never me. I’m slow and steady without a cut unlike the rest of you sprinting prodigies.” He was in far better spirits than the rest of us, despite the fact he'd been wheezing just moments before. But he didn’t have a single bruise, while Ella and I were dripping blood. I wondered if he’d healed himself, though Alex would be a fool to try in front of Piers.
“Oh pipe down, you big oaf.” Ella shot him a look. “Those two could’ve been any of us. Even a pretty-boy healer.”
“So you think I’m pretty?”
She groaned and continued down the line.
My brother winked. “I think she likes me.”
“You steal my best friend, and I cut your throat.”
His eyes were dancing. “Come on, Ry. She’s not like other girls.”
“I mean it.” I pointed the staff at his neck and nudged a little harder than necessary. “Stop trying.”
“Fine.” He dropped his weapon in mock surrender. “I surrender.”
“Good.”
An hour later, Master Cedric reappeared with his assistants. My pulse jumped in my throat. It was time for casting in Combat.
“I wonder what he has in store?” Ella mused.
I bit my lip. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be easy.
THE NEXT TWO hours stole every ounce of my will until all that remained was the empty shell of a corpse. I honestly had no idea how I carried on for two hours with Piers, but by the time Cedric's session ended, there was nothing left. No strength, no magic, no resolve.
This was why people left the Academy. Eloise and Isaac took away our brains, Piers broke our bodies, and Cedric took what little magic we had and destroyed it.
The final session started simple enough. Cedric had us pair up and practice violent castings against various trees spotting the field. We were to experiment casting whatever we wanted so long as it contributed to the faction of Combat.
“Show me what you know. Test your limits! If you don't get the desired effect, cast again. Experiment with your magic—don't worry about the field. The staff is plenty experienced seeing to your messes!”
And I wondered why Barrius and the servants hated first-years.
By the end of the first hour, the pine Ella and I had been practicing on was a crackling tower of flames. I was ridiculously proud… until I saw the giant fissure Darren and Eve created. Ten pines lay crumbled in its center. Dear gods.
No wonder those two were the prodigies of our year. Even Priscilla wasn’t far behind.
Silly girl, did you really expect to be at their level? I could practically hear the prince’s voice in my head.
Afterward, Master Cedric had Piers return. Once again, we lined up to spar, one of us clutching a staff, the other empty-handed. The exercise forced one person to depend entirely on their magic to block the opponent's attack. I was tolerable at first, but after twenty minutes, my blocks were so weak that my partner’s staff kept breaking the defense.
Bruises covered every inch of my arms. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected one of my ribs, too.
During the last thirty minutes, the training master had us casting individually with the barley sacks from earlier. We were expected to blast our targets from afar, by whatever means necessary.
In the first five minutes, I exhausted the last of my magic. I could barely budge a sack, let alone cast enough force to knock it backward into the air.
Half of the class stalled with me. We were still expected to try, of course. But without a magical reserve, they, like me, spent the remainder pretending as they watched the few still casting with unabashed envy.
The prince looked so self-assured, and had he even broke a sweat? Darren sent the giant sacks flying across the field with the flick of a wrist. I couldn't imagine the power it took to throw fifty pounds with the mind. I couldn't even do that with my hands, and I'd had those all my life.
Darren wasn’t alone, though he did look the most at ease at the front. Some of the others were even smiling. From the looks the victors exchanged, it was clear they considered the practice a game.
They took turns trying to out-distance one another. Darren was good, but Eve, the quiet, pale girl I’d noticed the first day of class, stood out the most. Darren could cast the most power, but Eve was the most controlled.
Darren was hard to beat, but something told me I'd be a fool to think he had no competition. His friends were rivals—and hopefully I would be too, if I were to ever catch up.
When the lesson ended, that last impression stayed with me long after I finished the evening meal.
BY THE TIME I had retired to the library's third floor for the evening, I was fighting sleep with every page I turned. My eyelids kept falling closed involuntarily. At some point during the first hour, I must have fallen asleep, because it was only during the toll of the Academy's midnight bell that my reverie was broken, and I realized how late it had actually become.
It was time to head back to the barracks.
“In case you ever wondered, you snore like a drunken sailor.”
I finished stepping off the ladder's frame and turned to face Darren. He looked pretty worn out himself, but not so much that I couldn't catch the wicked humor in his eyes.
I had no energy left for witty banter. “Not that it's any of your concern—” I tried to stifle a yawn “—but I wasn't asleep the entire time.”
I started toward the door and paused as Darren jumped up, books in hand. Usually he snuck out a minute or so after I left, as a cautionary measure or to avoid conversation, it was anyone's guess.
Darren noticed my stare and shrugged. “It's been almost two months now, if you were foolish enough to get caught, it would’ve happened by now.”
I attempted a frown, but I was too tired to give anything more than a slight grimace. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He twisted slightly to look at me, and for once, the air of condescension was gone. “I guess I never expected you to last this long,” he admitted, “but you aren't nearly as hapless as I expected.”
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”
He smirked. “Interpret it however you like.”
I rolled my eyes as we turned the corner of the hall. “I wonder if you have ever given someone a compliment that wasn't a backhanded insult.”
Darren's grasp on the handle stilled, and he glanced back, eyes dancing. “I prefer not to. It gives people an unsettling impression of self-importance.”
“Me?” I scoffed. “Self-important? Have you checked a mirror?”
He didn't look away. “You’ll thank me one day for not filling your head with false compliments. Adversity teaches one more than flattery ever will.”
“A compliment never hurt anyone.”
He snorted. “The people who tell you what you want to he
ar are the most dangerous enemies you'll ever meet.”
I stared at him. “You must’ve had a dark childhood if you mistrusted anyone who was ever kind to you.”
Darren’s shoulders tensed, and then he cracked his knuckles and gave me a wicked smile. “You'd rather I tell you what you want to hear?”
The prince took a step closer, effectively closing the gap between us, and my breath caught in my throat. “What do you want me to tell you, Ryiah?” His hand was still on the doorknob, leaving me pressed against the wooden frame as he leaned closer, his face only inches from my own. “Or is there something you want me to do?”
My face was on fire.
I could feel tingling from the top of my spine to the tips of my toes. I was lightheaded, shaky, thrown off by the dark, bottomless eyes boring into my own.
What are you doing, Ryiah? Some part of me, conscious of the disaster that was about to unfold, pleaded to return to sanity. But all my senses were in chaos.
I didn't like how Darren was able to turn my body against me. I wasn’t a swooning convent girl charmed by spoiled palace brats, like the one in front of me now.
So why was I staring at his mouth?
“You should never trust a wolf in sheep's clothing.” His voice was faint. “Because the only thing the wolf will ever want to do is break you.” The prince reached down to catch a strand of my hair that had somehow fallen loose, twirling it with his finger and watching me the way a hunter regarded its prey. “Is that what you want me to do?” he murmured. “Do you want me to break you, Ryiah?”
Yes.
Wait…
What is wrong with me?
I snapped free of the fantasy to glare up at the prince. “I don't know what lines you feed the ladies at court,” I snapped, “but they won't work on me.”
He laughed softly. “Are you sure?”
I opened my mouth to protest, and Darren stepped aside. “Rest assured you’re not one of my conquests, Ryiah.”
I choked indignantly. “I would never!” That arrogant, egotistical—
“You have a long road ahead of you, my dear. If you want to join the victor's circle, you are going to have to stop taking offense to everything I say.”
The Black Mage: Complete Series Page 11