Maybe you could use the practice bullying someone else. I held my tongue and set to work on 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 it.
“If you drop me, I won’t hold it against you.”
I tried to give Ian a reassuring smile, but that did little to mask the anxiety in my throat. Concentrate. I gently dug the blade into the center of my palm, refusing to flinch as the pain roared up along my hand.
The magic was instantaneous, a wavering beast and my mind was the reins. Pain called the unsteady casting, and Ian was instantly hovering in the air.
I inhaled and exhaled, waiting for him to level.
Another minute passed, and I added to the pressure in my palm, alternating between light spurts of pain. Ian remained two yards above.
I took turns nicking my fingers and slicing deeper into my palm, trembling as the pain fought for control. I willed the magic to hold and braced myself as the pain continued to pulse.
My eyes watered and burned. Every little injury opened a floodgate of magic, and if the pain was bad enough, I wasn’t always able to hold it back.
I’d broken a barrier—the one that usually kept my pain magic at bay. During the trials, I’d speared myself with a sword and sent an entire building crumbling in its wake. It 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 pain casting, slowly, with incremental levels of pain—not the other way around. Master Byron had implied as much when I’d asked. “They avoid teaching that magic to the first-years for a reason, Apprentice. You lost control of a power you do not—and will not – have control over for many, many years.”
Blinking, I realized that Darren and I were the only ones still casting. The other two mentees—two fourth-years—had already quit.
A couple seconds later, I lowered Ian to the ground, releasing the pressure of the knife. My casting had started to waver and I didn’t want to risk my luck.
Ten minutes later, the prince followed suit.
“Well done, Darren.” The master directed the mentors to cast.
I braced myself for Ian’s inevitable misstep… but nothing happened. The third-year seemed to be concentrating extra hard. I wasn’t thrown once.
When Ian’s casting started to tremble, he returned me to the ground with the smoothest landing of the night.
If it weren’t for my injury, I would’ve thrown my arms around his neck. “You didn’t drop me!”
He winked. “I just need 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. “Right.”
The third-year shot the prince a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Darren.”
The prince arched a brow. “Sorry that I’m not a pretty red-haired apprentice, or sorry that you knocked me into the sand?”
I wanted to knock the prince into the sand with that comment.
“Might be a bit of both, if I’m honest.”
My whole face was on fire. I couldn’t look either in their eyes for the rest of the lesson.
He thinks I’m 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’d been thinking of.
3
“It’s time, apprentices. It’s the moment you’ve all been preparing for.”
Yes! I could barely contain my glee; I’d been counting down to the mock battle for weeks. The apprenticeship hosted one in each city at the end of each initial training before we returned to the Academy.
Master Byron marched up and down the row of students, the deep lines of his face set in a glower. “Today Commander Ama and her mages will observe your skills in battle. They’ll evaluate your level for field service after solstice.”
The other two faction masters, 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 from Combat.” Master Byron brandished a black cloth. “Whoever you designate will wear this band around their forearm. If the leader is captured, your team immediately loses, so do yourselves a favor and give the other side a good fight first.”
Commander Ama joined the masters and the rest of her infantry under the shadow of a nearby tree. 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 crags. Strange flowers and crooked cacti dotted the distance.
“This is a true-to-life battle.” The commander’s shaven head gleamed under the blistering desert sun. “During the exercise, I expect you to treat the opposing team as a true enemy. If we suspect any of you of are failing to do so, you will not like your placement come field training in the spring.”
Ella elbowed me with a grin. “You heard her. No special treatment for Ian. He’s your enemy now.”
I shoved her back in good spirits. “Hush.”
“Apprentices, report to your teams!” Master Byron’s command ripped through the air. “You have two hours and a limited number of supplies to prepare.”
Ella and I followed the rest of the second- and fourth-year apprentices to the shade of a large overhanging peak. At its base were fifteen single-horse chariots, a giant crate filled with empty flasks and common desert ingredients used in Alchemy, bandages, and thirty-one sickle swords, the most common melee weapon of the Red Desert regiments.
Third- and fifth-years clustered behind a large mesa a mile away. From the loud clamor carrying through the canyon, I suspected they were already arguing over a leader.
Scratch that, an argument had already broken out for us.
“It should be Darren.” Priscilla’s drawl rang out above the din. “If anyone knows how to lead an army, it’s him, not an insignificant lowborn.”
“Leaders are fourth-years, not second!” Jayson, a fourth-year and former lowborn, bristled. “It should be Tyra. Last year her advice brought our team victory in Ferren’s Keep.”
“Darren trained as a knight before the Academy.” I had to strain to hear Eve’s counter from the edge of the crowd. “He was going to be commander of the Crown’s Army like my father.”
“Your father is Commander Audric?”
She nodded and my jaw dropped the same time as Jayson’s.
No wonder I’d felt so underprepared last year. Eve and the prince had been training for roles in command while I’d still been playing with dolls.
“Let’s take a vote!”
“Fine,” Priscilla snapped at the crowd, eyes flashing, “you better not be bloody fools.”
Jayson looked 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?”
“Darren.” Priscilla didn’t even hesitate.
“Tyra!” Two Restoration apprentices shouted 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.
“It’s fifteen to fifteen, Ry,” Ella whispered.
I swallowed. My sometimes-friend, or the girl Priscilla didn’t want to lead? It was tempting to spite my nemesis, but doing so would be a direct slight to the boy who’d helped me more times than I could count.
Darren’s lip twitched at the corner of his mouth. It was clear he expected me to vote for Tyra, the same as my brother and friends. And who would blame me? She was older and she had led her team to victory…
“Darre
n.” I couldn’t let him down, even if I wanted to.
The prince’s eyes flared in surprise, and I ducked my head before he could see me blush, but not before I caught Priscilla’s scowl.
Apparently she’d wanted me to vote against the prince.
“Only the mentees have chariots.” Darren recovered his shock and set to work outlining the strategy for today’s battle. “That’s an advantage we’ve got to press. Tyra, how do you feel about offense?”
The fourth-year studied the prince, dark skin glistening under the shade of desert rock. From her expression, it was clear she respected him taking the time to seek her council, even if she wasn’t our leader. “We held off a siege last year,” she admitted, “but we won concentrating our strike on a small section where the weakest apprentices were located.”
Darren gave an approving nod. “I’m sure the mentors will be prepared for an attack like that again. They’ll probably alternate fifth- and third-years down the line instead of keeping all of their weakest in one spot, but I wonder…” His voice trailed. “Last year, where did they keep their Restoration and Alchemy apprentices? Were they helping the defense or hidden away with the leader?”
“Hidden.”
“Perfect.” The prince straightened and faced the rest of our group. “That’s how we’ll beat them. All of our factions will charge—not just Combat.”
A couple of Restoration and Alchemy apprentices stirred, not quite brave enough to voice their protests aloud.
“Restoration, those chariots all hold two riders. Each one of you will be paired with someone from Combat. You have two jobs: steer the cart and see that your partner is safe. The Combat apprentice will be busy leading the assault, so if things go wrong, it will be your job to turn the cart around and heal them when it is safe to do so.”
The prince addressed the other faction in turn. “I want Alchemy to start preparing any airborne potions you can think of: liquid fire, gas, sludge, anything that can blind the enemy or help break down their defense. Make as many as you can in the next two hours… Each of you will lead a second chariot strike behind the Restoration-Combat teams. Should things go wrong, you will throw those flasks to startle the enemy, and give the rest of us a chance to escape.”
He saved the best for last. “Combat, you already know your role. I want you to cast whatever long-range weapon you are comfortable with. You’re going to lead the attack and focus on the left side of the mentor’s defense. After we break it, we’ll charge the mentor’s leader together as a unit, cutting our way through the rest of their defense on foot.”
For a moment, there was absolute silence. I was incapable of doing anything but stare. Darren had outlined an entire battle in minutes. Even Jayson and Tyra were speechless.
“We might actually win this,” Ella murmured.
I couldn’t help but agree.
MASTER BYRON WAS COUNTING down from sixty, and we had ten seconds to start.
Alex readjusted the reins of our chariot with a grumble. “Should have known she’d say no.”
“You’re my partner,” I warned. “If you are too busy staring at Ella and steer me into a mentor’s javelin, you will be very, very sorry.”
“Three.”
“But Ronan—”
“Two.”
“He beat you in the first-year trials,” I hissed. “If anyone can protect her, it’s—”
“One.”
The chariots took off.
Three rows of carts and horses raced across the sandy plain, kicking up dirt and sand as we charged the leftmost enemy lines. Alex and I, along with the rest of the second-year mentees, rode at the center of the formation. Fourth-years maintained our lead, and the Alchemy apprentices covered the rear.
I didn’t need to look to know Darren was watching the procession from the top of a southern butte behind us. Our leader needed to observe from a distance. Should something go wrong, he would still be safe from enemy fire, and he could still project commands using magic to amplify his words.
If he needed to, he’d come down to join the fight. A part of me wondered if he wished he were with us, casting attacks instead of directing the force.
As Darren predicted, the mentors had prepared for a strike. Almost immediately I could identify Ian on the far right of their line, stuck between two fifth-years as they held formation. The Alchemy and Restoration mentors hid behind those of Combat. I could see their leader Caine at the very back of the defense, a black armband fluttering in the dry canyon wind.
The mentors weren’t taking any chances.
Mentees had an advantage with the chariots, so Caine had known better than to tell his team to try and outrun our attack… But he’d also made a mistake by only utilizing his Combat apprentices to defend. The third- and fifth-years made up only ten against our thirty.
The mentors were in for a surprise.
I launched into my long casting. My pulse jumped as the chariot bumped and groaned. Blast Alex, he wasn’t very good at avoiding rocks. I fought to block out everything but the sensation of drawing a bowstring taught against the back of my jaw.
My target was a Combat apprentice second to the left. I prepared the casting until the shaft was strumming with tension and magic, ready to cast.
The chariot drew close, and I recognized my target as Lynn. Mentor versus mentee, how ironic. I swallowed and picked the odd dent in her breastplate to visualize.
Then I relaxed my casting’s draw, letting the phantom string slide as the arrow zipped across the divide.
Two, three, four… I sent ten castings in the span of a breath. The barrage continued all around me as Combat mentees targeted Lynn and her partner’s defense.
At first our castings fell harmlessly, barely grazing the mentors’ barrier. But then the wall started to flicker, temporary lapses of a strange purple hue that looked like veins whenever a new casting slammed the defense.
A hundred yards away from the mentors, the Alchemy apprentices joined us, tossing out fire flasks with a practiced finesse. I was grateful all factions, not just Combat, maintained such rigorous conditioning. If they hadn’t, Alchemy would never be able to lob such distances now.
The mentors’ barrier emitted a loud, ear-piercing shriek. Then the left side crumbled in a cloudy mass of gray and purple haze.
Our missiles began to land hits on the leftmost apprentices. Screams echoed across the canyon walls.
There was a loud, panicked shout from Caine, and then the mentors dropped their remaining defense and what little attacks they’d started to cast.
What are they doing?
“Mentees, fall back!” Darren’s panicked voice shook the air.
Alex jerked the reins to the side, and I clutched our cart’s railing as it began to swing around wildly.
Before we completed a full circle, the ground beneath us fissured and broke.
Mentees cried out in alarm as their carts tipped over and fell. Horses panicked and took off in every direction. Riders were stranded. Mentee apprentices fought to find balance in the aftermath of the mentors’ manmade quake.
“Alex, get up!” I grabbed my brother and attempted to drag him away from our vehicle. When the ground broke, our cart had capsized. I’d managed to roll away unscathed, but Alex hadn’t been quite so lucky.
My brother struggled to right himself, using my shoulder to stand while I guarded against potential attacks. In front of us, I could see the rest of our team doing the same: Restoration was retreating to the butte while Combat mentees attempted to hold off the mentors’ charge.
We were losing. The mentors had started to push forward with a counter assault. The mentees’ first line of defense was dissolving. Fast.
Near the front, Priscilla surrendered; she was surrounded by a pack of fifth-year mentors.
“Don’t attempt to take the mentors on! Fall back, fall back, fall back! Alchemy, toss those flasks now!”
“Let’s get out of here,” Alex wheezed. He didn’t have to say it twice. I
immediately took off at a sprint—only to realize too late my brother was limping. There was something wrong with his leg. He wouldn’t make it out on his own.
I looked across the plain to the mentors just fifty yards behind us. The others were emerging from the fire our Alchemy apprentices had chucked, slightly worse for wear, but still formidable. One of the mentors was casting javelins at a handful of fleeing mentees.
That same mentor spotted Alex…
My brother saw my hesitation and shook his head. “Run, Ry.”
I didn’t budge.
The fifth-year cast out his spear.
I didn’t have time to think. I was already running back with my fist in the air. Seconds later my magic knocked the javelin off course.
I swung Alex’s arm over my left shoulder and began to run-walk as fast as I could. The mentor was already preparing his next attack.
Ella appeared, coughing and sputtering through smoke. Without hesitating, she threw Alex’s arm around her shoulder and we started to run.
The mentor’s next casting missed.
We managed to make it to the butte. I wondered at our luck until the haze cleared and I saw Darren, Eve, and Ray casting defense near the rear. They were keeping the mentors at bay.
As soon as we were close enough to hear without shouting, Darren pointed to a narrow trail behind him. “There’s a gulch just past this rock. Keep following the stream until you find the grotto. I surveyed the whole site from the butte. If you can get to the cave, you should be safe for now. I want to make sure we get every Combat mentee out of the canyon before we retreat.”
We followed his directions, no questions asked. I could hear the shrieks of pain and explosions of castings gone awry from the other side of the wall.
There wouldn’t be many of us fighting for long.
IT WAS a half-hour later when Darren reached the grotto, half-carrying an injured Jayson as Eve and Ray shielded his approach. Four more mentees had come in after my group, and there’d been eight present when we arrived.
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