The bout carried on for several more minutes. I fanned myself with my hand, desperately wishing our faction had been assigned a cooler terrain to train in. I certainly hadn’t expected the desert, and I had yet to grow accustomed to its sweltering heat. Many of the other apprentices seemed to share my opinion; there was not a full water skin to be found anywhere in the audience.
The tall boy caught the second off guard with a swift, sweeping kick that sent his partner sprawling into the sand. The second shot the older boy a look of pure venom that would’ve sent most people to their knees. The tall boy just chuckled, offering the second his hand, which the second blatantly ignored, as the rest of the class hooted and cheered.
A man in stiff black robes stepped forward with a scowl. “That will do, Ian.” Then he addressed the young man on the ground in a much friendlier tone: “Darren, that was very good for a second-year. You have no reason to be disappointed.”
The expression on Darren’s face didn’t change as he stood, brushing sand from his breeches and belt. His eyes stated very clearly he did not share Master Byron’s confidence. I hadn’t the slightest doubt that the prince would be training in private for weeks to come. Though we couldn’t be more different, it was amazing how similar the two of us were when it came to performance. The master had been praising him for weeks, but until he was the best, Darren wouldn’t be satisfied.
“Ryiah. Lynn. You two are up.”
Nerves tingling, I made my way to the front. A young woman with dark bangs and amber eyes gripped my elbow as I passed. “Good luck, Ry,” Ella whispered.
Standing where the two boys had fought just moments before was a girl of Borean descent, who I had sparred with many times before. Lynn gave me a reassuring smile. I tried to return the sentiment as I took my position across from my mentor.
Palms sweating, I waited for the master of Combat to start our drill.
“And begin.”
Lynn was the first to make a move, ducking into my circle with a low jab to the ribs. I held my guard and countered her strike with a low block of my own. The girl pulled back, long ponytail flying, and I quickly launched a high kick, narrowly missing as she fell back out of reach. My fingers itched to send a casting, but I quickly squelched the urge.
No magic, Ryiah.
Refocusing on the task at hand, I studied my opponent, seeking any tell in her stance that might foreshadow her next attack. Lynn’s hazel eyes met mine, sparkling with a delicate innocence that matched her doll-like features. It was a lie. She might be petite, but I had long ago learned the truth. The olive-skinned third-year was lethal in hand-to-hand combat and anything with a pole.
I exhaled slowly. I’d lost every single match to my mentor since we’d started these duels, but like Darren, I wanted to win. I was the sixth apprentice to join Combat months before, and I still had something to prove.
Every time I lost, I wondered if the others were questioning the Black Mage’s decision to admit me to their ranks.
A snicker came from somewhere in the audience. I didn’t need to look to identify the girl. Priscilla of Langli was impossible to mistake.
Lynn shifted her hips, weight transferring ever so lightly to her right heel.
I jumped in with a hasty outer block and sent my right fist to the girl’s abdomen. Lynn pulled back just in time, my hand barely grazing the thin cotton of her shirt.
I launched a low, rounded kick, and she parried it with an easy blow of her own. I fell back and instinctively angled my hips so that I was just out of reach, fists raised and ready to counter Lynn’s next offense. When it didn’t immediately come, I sprung forward, feigning a two-fisted punch while my real attack came in the form of a high kick aimed at her ribs.
My mentor wasn’t fooled. She easily countered, stepping into the kick the second she saw my knee rise, and rammed my body with the full force of her weight.
I stumbled.
Lynn rushed forward, kicking and punching in a quick succession of blows. I struggled to block, but I was still off balance from her previous attack. A hard-packed fist collided with my stomach and another with my face.
Lynn sent a quick kick to my shin and gravity shifted from under my feet.
I fell to the side, and my right elbow hit the hard-packed dirt with a craaaack. Sand billowed up as something snapped under my skin.
Pain rushed my arm like shards of glass as my control on my magic splintered and broke.
The pain casting rushed out of me uncalled. It slammed into Lynn and sent her back-first into a nearby palm. Lynn slumped to the ground with a hard thud as my magic dissipated, the casting complete.
“Blast it, Ryiah!” Master Byron swore. His aristocratic face was beet red, a common expression around me. “If you can’t control your magic, you’re never going to be allowed anywhere near a battlefield!”
I scrambled to my feet, my face aflame. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”
“The Black Mage made a mistake.” The man puffed his chest. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what Marius was thinking, granting you an apprenticeship. You may have gotten away with that trickery in your trials, but it will not fly here.”
“Yes, sir.” My elbow was on fire, and I was too busy looking to Lynn across the way. She had pulled herself up, and her expression was full of pity. She was far too patient—this wasn’t the first time my magic had accidentally knocked her into a tree.
It wasn’t as if I’d intentionally cast; it just happened. Other apprentices lost control too—but in the two months since my apprenticeship had started, the training master only seemed to criticize me.
“What good is a girl in Combat if she is always embracing her gender’s weak-minded ways? Learn to deal with your pain, Ryiah, or go back to a convent.”
That’s it—
Ella’s fingers clamped over my left wrist before I could retort. I bit down on my cheek until I tasted blood. If I angered the master enough, I’d find myself at the end of more than just his insults, and I had four years left.
A throaty chuckle broke the tension nearby. “If the girls are the only ones who feel pain, then I’m living a lie.”
“Your sarcasm, Apprentice Ian, is not appreciated.” The master glowered at the tall boy from earlier. “I was simply making a point to Ryiah that she would be better suited elsewhere—”
“For accidentally using her magic?” The boy kept on. “Sir, we’ve all done that. In my second year alone, I—”
“Perhaps she is not the only one who shouldn’t be here!” The master bristled as he turned on me. “Ryiah, see to that arm. You will have to make up the rest of the exercise later.”
I couldn’t see how with a broken arm, but I didn’t bother to reply.
All twenty apprentices stepped to the side to allow me to pass, although none of them met my eyes as I did. Most of them hated Master Byron as much as me; the difference was they had learned to avoid his wrath.
Holding my head high, I began the short trek to the infirmary. At least there would be one bright spot to this day. Alex would be with the rest of the Restoration mages—which meant I would get to see him when I checked into their base.
I’d barely seen my brother since the start of the apprenticeship—our factions kept us busy training in opposite ends of Ishir Outpost. Any excuse to see Alex was welcome at this point.
“Hey, Ryiah, wait up!”
I turned and found Ian jogging to catch up with me. His hair was windblown, and his eyes crinkled as they locked on my own. Even out of breath, the third-year was handsome—not like the prince, but then again, no one ever was.
Ian was just Ian. When the apprentices had arrived at the Academy to pick up their newest recruits, most of the older students had been wary of me. I was the sixteen-year-old girl who destroyed the school’s armory during the first-year trials. I was also the sixth apprentice to join our faction’s year—a rarity since the Council of Magic only ever selected five students to apprentice per faction.
I was surprised the boy even remembered me from our short time during the solstice ball, but he assured me he’d remembered “everyone that counted.”
Since the apprenticeship started, Ian had quickly become one of my closest friends, after Ella. The third-year’s sarcasm matched my own, and he knew firsthand how horrible Byron could be. After all, until I arrived, Ian had been the master’s least favorite apprentice.
“What are you doing?” I scolded the third-year. “You should be mentoring Darren.”
Ian chuckled. “That self-important prodigy? He’ll be fine without me…” The boy gave me a disarming smile. “You, warrior girl, are the one who needs help.” He hooked my good arm with his own. “That prince has the training master worshipping the very ground he walks on. Darren could be us and Byron would still insist he was the next Black Mage.”
“Byron’s going to stick you with latrine duty.” I grinned despite myself.
Ian’s green eyes danced wickedly. “He can try—but I’ll just tell him it interferes with my mentoring, and we know how the master feels about his precious prince.”
I laughed loudly. “You are trouble.”
“Anything for Byron’s least favorite apprentice. It’s the least I can do since you took over my torch.”
“I wouldn’t be so—argh!” I ducked under a low palm’s hanging branches and skimmed my bad arm against the side of its trunk.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I gritted my teeth. “I just want this pain to end.”
“We’re almost there.” Ian pointed to a set of wooden doors protruding from the base of a large cliff, a quarter of a mile away.
Like most of the city’s housing, the infirmary was built into the rocky face of desert crags, a seemingly endless elevation that separated the Red Desert from the northern plains of the capital city, Devon, and the rest of Jerar. I’d always heard tales of a desert city carved into mountains, but I had still been speechless the first day we arrived.
“Thank the gods.”
The two of us continued along the dirt path, through the doors, and into the dank, torch-lit passage of the building. The air was cooler here. There were only two guards posted at the entrance. They recognized us by our apprentice garb and let us in without hesitation. The passage split into three separate channels, and I led Ian down the one to the right.
As soon as we’d taken a couple of steps, I heard the master of Restoration’s sharp, clipped voice instructing on the proper non-magical treatment for scorpion stings. Ugh. Ian and I exchanged looks and entered the Restoration apprentices’ classroom.
Normally, one would seek out the city’s main healing center to the left of the main corridor, but students were only allowed to be treated there if their injuries were grave enough. If they weren’t, we were “lessons” for the Restoration apprentices.
They had to practice on someone.
Master Joan’s lecture ceased the moment we entered the classroom. “What are your grievances, apprentices?”
“My right arm.” I tried to avoid the curious stares from the rest of Alex’s faction. I knew they wanted to be healers, but it still sent an unsettling quiver down my spine. No one should look intrigued—instead of horrified—by our injuries. No one should ever be excited to see blood.
“And you, boy.” The master fixated her cross expression on my friend. “Why are you here?”
Ian grinned sheepishly. “Too much sun?”
“Out!” The master pointed to the door.
Ian winked at me—fully expecting the master’s response—and departed the room with a friendly wave. As soon as he disappeared, several of the female apprentices sighed.
I hid a smile. I wasn’t the only one who noticed Ian’s good looks.
“Everyone, we will continue the lesson after we have finished Apprentice Ryiah’s healing. Ryiah, please list your symptoms so that we can begin to consider a treatment.”
I described my injury—pain up and down the arm, swelling, and stiffness in the elbow. I wondered if it was broken.
“Break.” Alex was the first to volunteer.
“And how would you confirm the diagnosis?”
“If there are any physical deformities or skin breakage, we wouldn’t need to do anything. Those symptoms alone would confirm. If not, we’d project a casting to mirror bone placement.” That was Ronan—my brother’s friend and sometimes rival, a fellow second-year who’d ranked first in their trial year at the Academy.
Master Joan chose a fifth-year to perform the healing. The girl stood proudly, eyes alight with anticipation as she began her casting. I braced myself—the last time I visited the infirmary for dehydration, a painless casting had resulted in a skin rash and pain for days. Nothing like trial and error.
Lucky for me, the girl appeared to know what she was doing. I didn’t feel anything above a faint, humming vibration as my arm slowly took on a translucent outline with glowing green lines shining through my skin. My stomach turned a little as I realized those bright orange things were my bones.
There was an unnatural break in the nook of my forearm connecting to the elbow.
“Minor fracture,” the girl said proudly. “Nothing we would need to realign with plating. I would recommend conservative treatment since there is no breakage and her bones do not appear to be displaced.”
I swallowed, immediately grateful they would not be inserting metals into my arm.
“How would we treat with magic? And without?”
The same fifth-year replied with the proper response for both. I was thrilled to hear neither detailed anything complex.
“Good. Now splint her arm as you would without magic. Byron will want her to heal naturally since it’s not severe.”
It was a good thing I was getting used to pain; I’d be keeping this broken arm for weeks.
WHEN THE APPRENTICE finished wrapping my arm and securing it in a sling, I was dismissed.
I started to pass, but Alex called after me.
“How is she?”
There was a twinge in my chest. I’d hoped he wouldn’t bring Ella up; it was easy to pretend things were fine when there was a distance between the two of our factions. “She’s moved on, Alex.”
He swallowed. “Can you tell her—”
Master Joan glowered at the both of us; I couldn’t stick around.
My eyes met my brother’s. “You need to let her go.”
Alex had his chance and lost her. I wasn’t sure I would ever forgive myself for encouraging the two of them to try. Heartbreak followed my brother around like the moon.
All it had taken was a couple of weeks.
BY THE TIME I’d returned to the training grounds, everyone had already left for their third session of the day: Strategies in Combat. It was the final class before our afternoon break and my favorite since we’d started our desert training.
I raced across the square to the local regiment’s command across the way. There were four long flights of stairs from the fortress’s base.
The building contained a large hall for the outpost’s commander at its top. Local highborn officials—including Baron Eli—and their regiment of soldiers, knights, and mages gathered and discussed 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.
I found Ella in the crowd and made my way to the back of the hall. My friend made room on her bench and eyed my bad arm with sympathy. “They only wrapped it?”
“Still, they—”
“Can you two go whine about your injuries somewhere else?” Priscilla, one row in front of us, shot Ella and me a nasty look. “Some of us are trying to learn.”
“She wasn’t whining,” Ella hissed. “Certainly not like the day you broke your shoulder last month!”
“I didn’t sound anything like that.”
“You made Darren carry you to the infirmary.” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them. Why? Why did I say that?
Priscilla’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Oh, I see.”
“You don’t see anything, because there’s nothing to see.”
“You’re still pining for him.” She rolled her eyes, batting her lashes. “Really, Ryiah, you couldn’t be more pathetic if you tried. You’re blushing with your little convent girl crush.”
My fists clenched. “I’m not—”
“What is this?” Master Bryon came barreling toward the back of the room, sweat beading on his brow. “Have you second-years no respect for your study at all? This is a lecture, not a gossip around court.”
Priscilla was quick to throw Ella and me to the wolves. “It was these two, sir. Ryiah kept complaining about her injury and whining that Darren didn’t carry her to the infirmary.”
My cheeks flamed as the prince, who’d 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. “I’m a Combat apprentice, not a damsel in distress.”
“She’s lying, sir. She’s—”
“Enough!” Master Byron cut Priscilla off. “You three are exactly why the apprenticeship should be male.”
Our sexist training master was a chauvinistic pig.
The master went on to address Ella and me on our own. “Since the two of you seem to have so much time on your hands, you’ll be cleaning the barrack privies with Apprentice Ian during your evening hours for the remainder of this week.”
The Black Mage: Complete Series Page 25