The Black Mage: Complete Series

by Rachel E. Carter

  Idiot brother.

  My eyes shot to the front of the room in spite of myself, to the object of so many confusing thoughts. He didn’t look my way once.

  Idiot me.

  13

  “I’m sure all of you have been wondering what the trials are going to be like.” Master Eloise entered the giant library, bearing a mountain of scrolls in her arms.

  Everyone stopped talking at once. There were two months left to our year, and those of us left were restless and tired, an odd combination but one that fit. We’d been asking the same question for weeks. There were rumors of past trials, of course, but we needed to hear it for ourselves.

  Ella’s nails dug into my arm; she was just as nervous as me. The final threshold meant everything; if we failed, there was no second chance. The school admitted a first-year only once.

  “Some of you might already be familiar with how the end of year works—through family or friends who attended our Academy in the past—but I can assure you it’s a completely different experience when you are the one undergoing the trials. Students tend to forget everything they knew.”

  Master Isaac joined his counterpart at the podium. “To a contender of Combat, brute strength is everything. I can hardly deny this. You’ve spent countless hours learning how to fight and to cast, but potential and training are not all that make up the great faction of Combat, and they will not be all the judges look for in your trials.

  “The judges want to see a warrior, not a soldier.” His lips thinned. “Soldiers follow other soldiers into battle—they obey orders, fight valiantly. A warrior can do the same, but he is also a commander, an independent mercenary, and a strategist. The warrior fills many roles, and the capacity to do so requires an intelligence that ordinary soldiers are not trained to possess.”

  The room was filled with absolute silence as everyone quietly mulled over the masters’ warning.

  “In the course of your study, Master Eloise and I have attempted to impart the groundwork that would behoove a warrior's learned wisdom. You’ve been introduced to the principles of climate, Crown and Council Law, geography, strategic planning, diplomacy… and, most importantly, the history of Jerar. Each one of these disciplines will play a pivotal role in an apprenticeship, should you be so fortunate. Because of this, there are two trials for each faction.”

  Two? Something churned in my gut. I thought we’d only have one.

  “The first test is a replication of the mid-year duels, but the second is an application of your studies in this classroom.” Master Eloise shifted her grip on the stand. “Each of you will be given a twenty-minute audience alone with a panel of judges. They will provide you the scenarios, and you will be expected to give an appropriate response. They expect to hear citations from Academy lectures, but what they want is to understand how you would make that knowledge a part of your own approach. The tactics of warfare are forever changing. The more creative your answer is, the more they’ll take notice.”

  A couple of students groaned, and I thanked the gods I’d made it a point to carry out my nightly studies.

  “If you feel unprepared at this point, it’s too late.” Master Isaac’s reprimand for the crowd was harsh. “We’ve already entered the final course of your study. Regrets will only get you so far.”

  In other words, welcome to the beginning of the end.

  IF I THOUGHT my peers were motivated before, it was nothing to the final stretch.

  If a first-year wasn't in the library, they were on the field, practicing drills or conjuring spells out by the armory until the servants dragged them back to the barracks kicking and screaming. Most of us weren't even aware of the passing of days. We were far too consumed with our studies to take notice.

  It was a daily occurrence to find my friends vomiting onto the field and crawling on their knees.

  The only reason we took time to eat was to line our stomachs enough to get through the next round of drills. The staff had taken to handheld goods—anything a student could eat on the run. And we were running, always running. To the barracks, the library, our lessons, even in sleep.

  We smelled like something that crawled out of a swamp, even the highborn girls.

  After a couple more days, the servants stopped trying to enforce curfew entirely. There was no point in trying to uphold a rule when the entire student body was in chaos. It wasn’t uncommon for half our year to show up bedraggled at the barracks first thing in the morning with only a quick change of clothes. Ella even started joining me for late-night sessions on the third floor to escape the noise.

  I almost forgot I had a brother. Alex and the rest of Restoration were huddled in the infirmary practicing their magic, desperately poring over scrolls on healing for hours on end. I saw him in passing with some of his admirers, but that was all the time we got.

  There was too much on the line to slack during the final sprint.

  There was too much on the line for all of us.

  ELLA TURNED to me with a quill sticking out of her hair; there were ink stains all over her sleeves. “I don't think I’m ready for this.”

  “Are any of us?” I stifled a yawn, twisting in my seat. It was a new trick I’d learned—never stop moving if you wanted to stay awake. The last month had sucked every last drop of enthusiasm out of me, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself sleepwalking straight out the Academy doors.

  Why did I want a robe so much? Surely the Cavalry wasn’t that bad. I didn’t need to be the best. Life as a soldier would still bring me an escape.

  Or maybe I could be a knight? That was a nice compromise, right?

  I didn’t have to go back to Demsh’aa and take up the family trade. There were still options if I failed the Academy trials.

  If I fail, ha, more like when.

  “Half the faction is sleeping.” Ella’s eyes were red like mine and there were dark circles underneath.

  I repeated our month-long mantra: “Sleep and fail.”

  “It better be worth it.” She gripped the leg of the bench. “I’m dozing off even in this blasted chill.”

  It really was colder on the third floor, but it also kept us awake. Now that we weren’t in hiding, we could take up space on one of the other floors, but that would mean proximity to them. Besides, I liked my little alcove; I’d grown fond of it over the year.

  I jerked my chin to the second floor. “The other half is here, like us.” Three tolls past midnight. They were still pouring over a mountain of scrolls for the hundredth time while Clayton snored loudly on the study's couch below. As long as they were awake, we would be too.

  “Do you think they are threatened by us?”

  We’d improved a lot over the course of the year; I shrugged. “Jake and William, maybe. But not Priscilla or Eve, they still outperform most of the year.”

  “And not him.”

  Never him. I bit down on my cheek, fighting to keep focus and not return to the questions best left untouched. Ever since the hazing, we’d avoided one another like the plague.

  “For a while, I really thought he wanted you to succeed.” Her weary eyes met mine. “I know what happened to me… but I thought… well, I suppose it doesn’t matter either way.”

  No, it didn’t.

  “You know,” she said, “that’s only three.”

  Ella was implying that there were still two spots for an apprenticeship; I sighed. “There’s also Ray, Myron, and Torrance. That’s six at the top of our faction.”

  “No one is a guarantee. Those last three… we’ve beaten them in practice.”

  “Once for every three times they beat us in drills.” I didn’t like those odds.

  “Once is all it takes.”

  Gods, I hoped so. Because after everything, I needed to win.

  I gave Ella a weary smile, and the two of us returned to our books.

  Throughout my entire stay, I'd been able to tell myself the trials were months away, that I had plenty of time to become the greatest Combat mage th
e school had ever seen. Now ten months had come and gone, and I had no more room to pretend.

  I was as good as I was going to get. I only hoped it would be enough.

  “WELCOME, proud families, friends, visiting mages, and nobility. Today marks the beginning of our first-year trials. I am Master Barclae, the current master of the Academy, and I will be your guide to all that encompasses the competition for the next seven days…”

  Master Barclae continued on as I scanned the rows of high-rising benches across the training field. I knew my family was somewhere in the audience, but with the sheer magnitude of people and the dramatic costumes of the spectating nobility in front, I couldn’t make out one face from the next.

  Right now, all forty-three of the remaining first-years, myself included, were lined up facing the stands so that the audience could get a good look at the surviving applicants. It was a bit degrading to be introduced by each of our factions’ training masters while the first couple of rows whispered amongst one another.

  I had no idea who most of the spectators were, but they all had opinions about us. Which one looked the strongest. Who was the weakest. Who would be apprenticed. And who would fail.

  Barclae had gathered all of us that morning before the visitors had started to arrive. He and the rest of the staff had explained exactly what we could expect to see in the next few days.

  The trials were to be a weeklong affair, and our families were not the only ones to be present.

  There were also graduated mages and the Crown and its ensuing court. Until that morning, I hadn’t even realized the king and his court came every year. Since the Crown was funding the Academy, the trials were an opportunity to check on its progress, and the trials made for entertainment for the court. Nobility contributed donations just for the privilege to attend. They made sport of the event, taking bets and wagers on the rest of us.

  A part of me was appalled, but Barclae was quick to note that extra coin helped fund the training of the apprentices. First-year study was financed by the Crown, but the training of apprentice mages and the salaries of the Academy's prestigious staff, those were financed by the trials.

  Sjeka also made more than half of its yearly income from a week's worth of board. The village raised the rent on all of its housing, which the nobility and visiting mages easily afforded. The king and his family, apparently, had rooms in the Academy. A part of me wondered why Darren had slept in the barracks, but that thought was squandered as quickly as it came.

  Further south was cheaper board, much less accommodating and nearly a two-hour walk from the Academy, but that was where many of the visiting lowborn families, including my own, were expected to stay during the trials.

  So now here we were, forty-three fumbling first-years for all the world to see. Fifteen of us would become mages. The rest would be a courtier's joke for a month or two until the shame was finally forgotten.

  Before a sea of hungry faces, at their own private bench just beyond my row and facing the audience, were the Three. In glistening, many-layered silk robes edged in gold, the Black Mage of Combat, the Red Mage of Restoration, and the Green Mage of Alchemy sat patiently awaiting the end of Barclae’s welcome. Our reigning Council of Magic, the three Colored Robes, was to serve on the panel of judges for our first-year trials alongside the master of the Academy.

  When they’d first arrived, the stands had gone wild, and for good reason. The Three were the most important and powerful mages in Jerar. Fame like that followed you for years to come.

  When Barclae was done giving his speech, the crowd had still not gotten over its initial excitement. Half the stands rushed after the departing three, while the rest of the mass, undoubtedly the visiting families, stumbled across the field, attempting to greet the students they had come to see.

  I didn’t bother to move. The crowd was a sea, and I had a much better chance waiting for the commotion to pass.

  “Ryiah!” a high-pitched yelp was all I needed to hear.

  My younger brother was near.

  I barely had time to turn before a mass of gangly limbs crashed into me. Derrick squeezed my ribs so tight I could barely breathe.

  “I missed you too!” I choked out.

  “I can't believe… you and Alex… still here.” Derrick’s words were muffled by my tunic. “Never thought… this far!”

  “Neither did I.” I was still drawing large gasps of air.

  “Derrick.” There was a throaty chuckle. “Let your sister breathe.”

  Derrick released his grip, and I winced. I couldn’t believe how much he’d changed in one year. He’d outgrow me soon. My little brother was not so little anymore. Three years no longer seemed like a lifetime apart.

  My parents wore ear-to-ear grins as they stood just a short pace away. They’d patiently waited their turn.

  “Mom, Dad.” I hugged each of them fiercely and then stepped back so I could take them in… My vision started to blur, and I blushed. Was I really crying? It’d only been a year.

  “Has it been that terrible?” My father looked alarmed.

  “No,” I stammered, “it's been…” Amazing? Terrifying? Somewhere between? “I just missed all of you.”

  And it hadn’t hit me until now. I’d been so wrapped up in the Academy, I’d lost sight of anything else.

  Derrick circled me, taking in the changes to my appearance. “You're so fit now,” he crowed. “You look like a knight.”

  I snorted. “Not even close. Wait until you see Sir Piers. Or my master of Combat, Narhari.”

  “You chose Combat?” Derrick whistled. “I knew you would.”

  “Not Alchemy?” My mother arched a delicate brow. “But you and Alex are so well-versed in herb lore and tonic making!”

  I grinned. “Alex chose Restoration, Mom.”

  “You two.” She sighed. “Always one to rebel.”

  “I’m choosing Combat next year,” Derrick volunteered.

  “And there goes our third.” My father shook his head. “Choosing the easiest path has never been a part of our children’s destiny.”

  “Where’s Alex?” Derrick had finally noticed that our brother was nowhere to be found.

  “Where else?” I gave him a look. “Probably off with a parade full of admirers.”

  My mother scowled. “He’s still at it?”

  “He never stopped. He—”

  A familiar voice coughed loudly behind me. “Are you going to introduce me, Ry?”

  I turned to find Ella and her family grinning broadly behind us.

  “This is Ella.” I dragged my friend forward by the crook of her arm for introductions. “She’s the reason I’m still here.”

  The boy at her side chuckled. “She seemed to imply it was the other way around.”

  “Ry.” Her grin widened. “This is my brother Jeff. You know, the one who didn’t last a year.”

  “Why subject yourself to that torture?” He gave a mock shudder, eyes dancing. “I leave that to my little sister.”

  Ella and Jeffrey went on to exchange insults, and then our parents finally stepped in to finish the round of introductions we’d all but forgotten. It was nice. Her parents were a lot less decorated than most of the highborn families here, and they didn’t seem to care that their daughter befriended a lowborn girl.

  “Is that Ruth’s family?” I nudged Ella’s arm. Our friend was standing off the field with a formal looking pair. They looked uncomfortable and stiff.

  “Don’t bother,” Ella murmured under her breath. “They are one of the old families of court. They wouldn’t even look at me because my father was lowborn before he took up the sword.”

  “Ah.”

  My eyes locked on a familiar mass of curls in the distance. “And there’s Alex. Finally ready to abandon his little cult.”

  Jeff looked to Ella with a smirk. “The one you were talking about?”

  My friend stared out at my twin, lips pursed. “He’s trouble, that’s what he is.”

  J
eff turned his attention to the other half of the field, unperturbed. “Is that Priscilla?”

  Ella elbowed her brother, hard. “She hasn't changed one bit.”

  “Priscilla is not half as beautiful as your lovely sister here.” Alex had finally arrived.

  Ella flushed, and I kicked his shin, hard.

  Alex wasn’t perturbed. “Mom, Dad, how are you?”

  “How are we?” My father arched a brow. “Better, now that our son has finally decided to grace us with his presence.”

  “What about me?”

  Alex ruffled our younger brother's hair. “I missed you too, squirt.”

  Derrick gave him a look. “I’m taller than you were at twelve.”

  “Still little.”

  “And this is why I like Ry best.”

  “You two just enjoy picking fights. Some of us prefer to heal.”

  “Enough.” My father interrupted their squabble before Derrick and Alex could go head to head. “Let’s have a tour of this Academy, shall we?”

  Ella’s parents cut in that they would like to see it too, and then we were off. We got five steps into the atrium before Derrick’s jaw dropped to the floor.

  “Is that the king?”

  I squinted up the stairs. Sure enough, leaning against the second-floor railing was Darren, another boy of similar features, and an older man with stark white hair and a dark countenance who I could only assume was their father, King Lucius III.

  The king of the realm held himself much the way his sons did, composed and almost disconcertingly aloof. The man wore his hair short like his heir, but with a meticulously trimmed beard that was his alone. Both father and eldest bore the same piercing blue eyes, and I wasn't sure what was worse, the sharp cobalt of ice or the bottomless fire of Darren's garnet brown.

  Each of them was dressed in the same stiff, fitted brocade that was associated with the Crown. It was a severe, heavy material that gave off little movement. While the king and his heir wore their robes with thick embroidery and chain adornments, Darren wore his simply, though he still bore the hematite stone pendant around his neck.