The Black Mage: Apprentice

by Rachel E. Carter

  The Black Mage: Apprentice

  by Rachel E. Carter

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2015 RACHEL E. CARTER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  THE BLACK MAGE: APPRENTICE

  Copyright © 2015 RACHEL E. CARTER

  ISBN 978-1-62135-396-6

  Cover Art Designed by CORA DESIGNS

  To The Boy Who Never Reads,

  Too bad you are marrying an author.

  I am sorry for all the times I ignored you to write this book.

  Thanks for putting a ring on it anyway.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I watched the two figures dance, twisting and turning as they exchanged matching blows in the stifling morning heat of desert sun. The sand shifted and clouded beneath their feet, small swells of dirt temporarily blinding my vision as the two continued to reposition their lightning-quick blows.

  I studied their forms. Lissome, dangerous. I couldn't help but notice how the sweat glistened off their tanned skin, highlighting the contours of well-taut arms and shoulders. It was an observation I had partaken in many a time but had yet to grow tired of watching.

  The two fighters continued their match. The taller of the two, a young man with sandy brown curls and laughing green eyes, seemed the most at ease with the procession. He countered his partner's rapid attacks with an almost lazy defense that spoke of a lifetime of training. The second young man was the opposite, trying to hide his building frustration in every blocked attempt. Garnet eyes flared underneath black bangs and my heart skipped a beat. The shorter of the two might have been less skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but it was he my gaze clung to just a second too long.

  The bout carried on for several more minutes. I fanned myself with my hand, wishing desperately our faction had been assigned a cooler terrain to train in. The desert certainly hadn't been my expectation and I had not grown used 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 our audience.

  The tall boy caught the second off-guard with a swift, sweeping kick that sent his partner sprawling into the sand. The second didn't look too happy at his outcome, shooting the older boy a look of pure venom that would have 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 clapped.

  A man in stiff black robes stepped forward, frowning. "That will do, Ian." He turned to the young man on the ground and said in a much more friendly 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 pulled himself up off the ground. His eyes stated very clearly he did not share Master Byron's opinion, and I had not the slightest doubt that the non-heir would be training in private for weeks to come as a result of today's practice. 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 it was clear that until he was the best, Darren would not 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 that 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 announce the drill.

  "And start."

  Lynn was the first 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. She pulled back, long black ponytail flying, and I quickly placed a high kick, narrowly missing as she fell out of reach. My fingers itched to extend it with a casting and I quickly squelched the urge.

  No magic, Ryiah.

  Refocusing on the task at hand, I studied my opponent, seeking any shift 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 had lost every single match to Lynn thus far, and while I could take some comfort in knowing she was a year ahead, I knew there were others who had already started to win some of their mentor duels. A snicker sounded in the audience, one that was reminiscent of wind chimes … sarcastic, cruel, vexing wind chimes. I didn't need to shift my focus to identify which second-year was behind the sound – Priscilla of Langli was impossible to miss.

  Lynn gave the slightest alteration to her stance, weight shifting ever so lightly to her right heel. I jumped in with a hasty outer block while my right fist shot out at her abdomen. Lynn pulled back just in time, my hand barely grazing the thin material of her shirt.

  Without hesitation I launched into 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 her next offense. When it did not come immediately 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 was not 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 seemingly at random. I struggled to block but I had been caught off-balance by the previous defense. A hard-packed fist collided with my stomach and another with my face.

  Lynn sent a quick kick to my shin and I faltered, feeling the gravity shift from under my feet as I fell to the side. I did not have time to adjust my form before my right elbow slammed into hard-packed earth. Sand billowed up all around me as a sharp pop sounded and instantaneous pain flared up and down my arm.

  I cried out as my magic's barrier broke. A swift casting came rushing from my hands before I could halt it, slamming into my opponent and sending her back-first into a nearby palm. Lynn hit the ground with a hard thud and the magic fell away, its damage done.

  "Blast it, Ryiah!" Master Byron swore. His aristocratic face, normally so calm and collected, was beet red. Sweat glistened off his well-kept skin. "If you can't control your magic, you are never going to be allowed anywhere near a battlefield!"

  I quickly scrambled to my feet, my face aflame. Lynn had already pulled herself up as well, and the expression in her eyes was one of pity. I thought it kind of her – I had to be the most frustrating second-year to mentor, yet she was always patient and understanding, even when my magic was knocking her into trees. Master Byron, on the other hand, was anything but.

  "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean-"

  "The Council made a mistake," the man huffed, ignoring my outburst. "You shouldn't be here. I don't know what the Black Mage was thinking, granting you an apprenticeship. You may have gotten away with that trickery in your trials b
ut it will not fly here."

  "Yes. Sir." The words were bitter on my tongue. My elbow was smarting terribly. Hot and cold pains were shooting up and down my right arm and I had less patience than usual for Master Byron's criticism. It wasn't as if I had intentionally cast. It had just happened. Other second-years lost control too – but in the two months since the apprenticeship had started the training master had taken to targeting me personally.

  "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."

  I opened my mouth to retort.

  Ella's hand closed over my left wrist, an unspoken reminder. Do not let him get to you. I attempted to swallow my fury.

  "Surely, Master Byron, you can't believe there is only one sex to feel pain," an amused voice spoke up. "I, myself, embrace such 'weak-minded ways' almost daily."

  "Your sarcasm, Apprentice Ian, is not appreciated," the master said dryly. "I am simply making a point to Ryiah that she would be better suited elsewhere-"

  "For accidentally using her magic? Sir, we have all done that – in my second year alone I-"

  "Perhaps she is not the only one who should not be here," Master Byron snapped. Giving me a dismissive glance he added: "Ryiah, see to that arm – you will have to make up the rest of the exercise later."

  All twenty apprentices stepped to the side to allow me to pass, although none of them met my eye as I did. I groaned inwardly. Most of them hated Master Byron as much as me. The difference was they, unlike Ian and I, had learned to keep their tempers in check.

  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 had barely seen my brother the past few weeks. Our factions had kept us busy training in opposite ends of Ishir Outpost. Any excuse to see him – even at the cost of a possibly broken arm – was preferable to the absence of my other half.

  "Hey Ryiah, wait up!"

  Spinning around I discovered Ian jogging to catch up with me. His hair was windblown and I couldn't help but notice how, even out of breath, the third-year was incredibly 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 had destroyed the school's armory during the first-year trials. I was the sixth name to be called – an occurrence that was unusually rare in the Academy's habit of picking five students to apprentice per faction.

  Ian hadn't cared. The moment the third-year had spotted me he had let out a loud whoop and set about to collecting his winnings from the rest of his friends. Apparently there had been a wager going for which of us first-years would make it; since I had been considered a long shot during the mid-winter duels Ian had been the only one to bet on me for an apprenticeship. I was surprised the boy had even remembered me from our short time during the solstice ball, but the self-proclaimed "underdog" had assured me he remembered "everyone that counted."

  Since my 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 student.

  "What are you doing?" I scolded my friend lightly. "You should be mentoring Darren."

  Ian chuckled. "That self-important prodigy? He'll be fine without me…" He gave me a disarming smile. "You, my dear, 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 warned, grinning despite myself.

  Ian's green eyes danced wickedly. "He can try – but I'll just tell him it interferes with my mentoring…"

  I laughed loudly. "I look forward to hearing his response."

  "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 – ouch!" I ducked under a low palm's hanging branches and skimmed my bad arm against the side of its trunk.

  "You okay there, warrior girl?"

  "I'm fine," I said through gritted teeth. "I just want this pain to end."

  "We are 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 had 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 – I led Ian down the one to the right.

  As soon as we had 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 amused expressions 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.

  "Ry!"

  Master Joan's lecture ceased the moment we entered the classroom. She shot my twin a dirty look for interrupting her talk as she confronted Ian and I with a cross expression. "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 when they looked intrigued – instead of horrified - by our injuries. No one should ever be excited to see blood.

  "And you?" She eyed Ian suspiciously.

  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 had noticed my friend'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 began to describe my injury – pain up and down the arm, swelling, and stiffness in the elbow. I wondered if it was broken.

  "Break." My sandy-haired twin was the first to speak.

  "And how do we confirm diagnosis?"

  "I would project a casting to mirror bone placement - if there weren't any physical deformities or skin breakage, since those alone would confirm his suspicions without magic." That was Ronan – my brother's friend and sometimes rival, a fellow second-year that had ranked first in their trial year at the Academy.

  Master Joan chose a fifth-year to perform the casting. The girl stood proudly, eyes alight with anticipation as she began her magic. I braced myself – the last time I had visited the infirmary for dehydration a painless casting had resulted in skin rash. Nothing like trial and error to make me wary of my fellow apprentices.

  Luckily this time 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 lines shining through it. My stom
ach turned a little as I realized those bright orange things were my bones. There was an unnatural break in the round nook at the end 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 – and I was happy 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 is not severe."

  ****

  When the girl had finished wrapping my arm and secured it in a sling I was dismissed. As I passed Alex my twin caught my arm – under the pretense he wanted to check my bindings, but really so he could ask about Ella.

  "She hasn't forgotten me, has she?"

  I scowled at Alex, attempting to reposition my arm more comfortably. "Gee, thanks for asking about me."

  "I'm not worried about you, Ry." He chuckled. "You have taken more trips to the infirmary than anyone else in your faction and I never hear you complain – even with that nasty Byron as your training master." Noting Master Joan's frown he quickly examined my wrist, placing two fingers to check my pulse. "Circulation is still steady," he declared loudly.

  As soon as the master's back was turned Alex gave me a pleading look – one that had stolen countless hearts in our hometown of Demsh'aa. It did not work on me. "But, really," he whispered, "how is Ella? I've barely had a chance to talk to her since the apprenticeships started-"

  "You see her every day at meals."

  "But she's with the rest of your faction," Alex pointed out. "They expect me to sit with my own – comradeship and all that nonsense. And all you Combat apprentices have such airs."