The Black Mage: Apprentice

by Rachel E. Carter

  "Don't worry," Ella added wickedly, "No one cares that you kissed the prince."

  I was wrong.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The second half of my day didn't get much better.

  I was on my way to the fourth floor to begin a lesson on desert castings when I ran into Darren.

  "So I heard that you wanted me to carry you to the infirmary."

  I gave the prince what I hoped was my most disdainful expression. "I don't know what you are talking about."

  A corner of the non-heir's lips twitched, and I had the distinct impression he was on the brink of laughter. "Don't worry," Darren said, "I have a hard time imagining you'd let anyone help you."

  I held my stance – praying that my friends were taking their time to catch up. "You know me well." Apparently, he hadn't made the connection to his mentor's earlier absence – but I wasn't about to tell him. Ian had joined me because he wanted to – not because I was some inept apprentice in need of rescuing.

  "Even if you had asked, I wouldn't have carried you."

  This was the person I had spent half a year 'pining' over? I must have been mad.

  "I'm not saying it to be mean, Ryiah. You don't need to give me that look."

  I continued to glare at him.

  "Byron is good for you."

  I put my hands on my hips. "I don't need another 'adversity builds character' speech, Darren. That man is a chauvinistic pig. Where's your adversity?"

  Darren raised a brow. "I'm looking at it."

  I gave an exasperated huff and went to go find a seat in the back of the room. I was so distracted I didn't notice when Ian slid into the bench next to me.

  "Lover's quarrel?"

  I glared at the third-year. Ella, Lynn, and Loren were chuckling. "I hate all of you," I told them.

  None of my friends paid the threat any heed. Grumbling, I resigned myself to two hours with fools.

  ****

  "You heard those Combat mages earlier. Distance is everything. You do not want to get close to the enemy – a mage's life is far too valuable to be wasted this early in battle! If the Crown wanted to send in someone expendable they would be using soldiers, not mages!"

  Grimacing, I set to projecting my next attack. Thank the gods the local infantry isn't with us to hear him today.

  Three hundred yards in front of me was a long wooden fence, six feet high and dotted with dangling wreaths. Normally the backside of the regiment's horse pasture, today the horses had been stabled – as per the last three weeks of practice. Now, the fence served as an imaginary enemy line – and the target? Sloppily woven wreaths that represented the weak spots in the opposing forces' defense: the armpit, the eyes, and the plate armor nearest the chest. The goal of the exercise was to hit a wreath with casted arrows – a type of long-range magic similar to the longbow exercises we had been drilling on every morning for weeks now.

  If we hit a wreath but the arrow fell, or the arrow did not hit our target at all, then our casting was considered a failed attempt. Our projections needed to be just right to travel the great distance and embed themselves into a target's armor. It wasn't an easy feat.

  Most of the second-years, myself included, had only had one or two successful castings since we'd begun the afternoon drill.

  As the Commander had mentioned earlier, chariot attacks were Ishir's preferred method for initiating battle. Combat mages would be the first to strike – and even though we would be discharged at the same time as the knights, our castings would give us the ability to reach our targets from a much greater distance, much faster than non-magicked weapons. Long bows were usually limited to four hundred feet, and other ranged weapons even less – but that was without magic.

  If a mage mastered the technique for long casting, not only would he or she be able to project arrows further than any knight, but eventually much heavier artillery as well.

  It would be a great advantage.

  Out of the corner of my eye I watched as Lynn cast out her arrows. No physical weapon in hand, the entire casting was formed by a projection in her mind. She barely flinched as physical shafts manifested themselves from thin air – pulling back against an invisible force and then racing into the distance, embedding themselves deep in a wreath already brimming with arrows directly across from her.

  "Apprentice Ryiah it should not take this long for you to form a casting!"

  Snapping out of my thoughts, I hastily cast out three conjured arrows in succession. They fell uncomfortably short of the target. As soon as the missiles hit the ground I let them dissipate, dissolving into empty air. I took a deep breath as I prepared for another casting.

  "Don't let him get to you, Ry."

  I shot Lynn a grateful smile and then returned to the task at hand. I had let the pain in my arm - and Master Byron - detract from my focus. This time I would not be so careless. I recounted the three-foot arrows and the long, elm bowstave we used in practice. I imagined the horrible, heaving tension from drawing eighty pounds of force against my left side. Then I let the shafts fly, soaring toward the wreath with as much strength as I could summon. The mental exercise was just as exhausting as the physical act.

  Halfway into their flight I was building the next projection, concentrating on the mental image with everything I had. The ground beneath my feet trembled and I dug into it with the heels of my boots, holding my stance and casting steady as I released another assault on my target. Master Byron was undoubtedly testing us – seeing if we could hold focus in a chariot's bumpy floor.

  My second and third castings met my target with success: each time at least one of the three arrows hit a wreath.

  I kept going. Thirty minutes flew by before I realized it. My luck continued – at least half of my castings met with success, and the others were not far off.

  After five more minutes my stomach began to turn and a nauseous feeling spread up into my lungs. I tasted something bitter and my vision flickered in and out in a familiar warning. My skin was instantly clammy, and a thick perspiration broke out across my tanned skin that had nothing to do with the stifling heat.

  As soon as my legs started to shake I called off my magic and watched as the arrows disappeared mid-flight.

  Then I bent low with my head between my knees and waited for the dizziness to end. After a couple minutes I began to feel better. I straightened, taking in the rest of the class.

  With a small flash of pride I saw that Priscilla, Ella, a third-year named Bryce, and Ray – the dark-skinned boy I had lost to in the previous year's trials - had already quit. Lynn looked like she was about to follow suit, and Darren and Eve were little better. The older apprentices were fading equally fast… though some had been casting with more advanced artillery than arrows.

  During my trial year at the Academy the Combat master had always urged us to cast until we had nothing left to give. It had been the fastest way to build our magic's stamina – but it had always had an unpleasant aftereffect, and more often than not it left us sick, fainting, or even unconscious.

  Now that we were apprentices our training had changed. After midwinter we would be actively serving with the local regiment for five months in desert patrols. All of our drills now were preparing us for actual combat. Which meant that stamina was no longer as important as survival.

  Testing limits had made sense in our first year when the masters had been trying to build our magic as quickly as possible, but now the focus was strategy. We all had different levels of potential – the point in which our magic would stop developing – and after the trial year its ascension was usually much slower.

  No one's power was infinite. The closer we were to our limits, the slower our magic progressed. Even then, most mages' stamina stopped building by the time adolescence was over. A couple might continue on into their early-twenties – but that was not the norm. Once a mage reached his thirties it would begin to decline even if that person was diligent in their daily practice. It was the main reason our Candidacy took pl
ace so often: we needed the strongest Council possible, even if that meant changing our Colored Robes every twenty years.

  "You are preparing yourself for a true-to-life battle," Byron had declared on our first day of apprenticeship. "If you are approaching your limits you need to turn back and call off your magic. The only time that I ever want to see you fainting is if you are at no risk of danger, or the casting's outcome is worth your life."

  In the simulation today we were preparing for chariot attacks. Casting just one more arrow on the enemy's front line – undoubtedly made up of "expendable" foot soldiers - was not worth losing consciousness and falling from a moving chariot. The casting wouldn't kill me, but it would leave me an open target to those who could. The point of the exercise was to attack and retreat – not attack-and-then-fall-out-of-your-chariot-and-be-killed-by-an-angry-mob-of-enemy-soldiers.

  The rest of the class finished minutes later. As soon as they had Byron launched himself into a full-blown speech praising Darren and insulting the girls at the same time. It always ended the same way.

  Women were weak. We were silly, temperamental, and emotional. We should always follow, never lead. We shouldn't try to overreach in our magic. Men would always be able to cast better. It was simply a part of their disposition as warriors; women had never intended to be seen in such jarring roles and would therefore always be "lacking" in Combat.

  While the master occasionally gave Priscilla good remarks I was certain they were only for the prince's benefit. Byron didn't even pretend with the rest of us.

  I wondered what Eve thought of the master's bias – but the violet-eyed second-year never spoke up, and I suspected she didn't care. I could sometimes sense Priscilla's irritation, but the highborn was smart enough to keep her temper in check. Ella was just as outspoken as Ian and I – but since the master didn't target her quite as much she tended to spend more time pitying me rather than contradicting the man directly. The older female apprentices were few in number – my year had an uncommon ratio, four girls and two boys - but they seemed to maintain the same strategy as Eve. Stay silent, and the master would ignore you. Unless you were me.

  "And Ryiah. Stay focused next time. I will not let that arm be an excuse for your casting to suffer."

  Today had been my best castings yet. I'd hit the target more times than most of the second-years. And only that one attempt had failed to reach the fence. I had even outperformed Ella's mentor Loren, and that other third-year, Bryce. But, as usual, the master had failed to notice anything other than my faults.

  I let the anger slide off me – albeit very slowly - and started my retreat to the dining commons. Our training took place a mile from the main building that housed our barracks and the rest of the amenities. Normally I resented the long walk after a full day of practice but today I was happy to have some time to clear my head.

  My apprenticeship is more important than strangling Master Byron. I repeated the motto over and over again. If I said it enough times it would become true, or so I hoped. Each time it was getting harder and harder not to counter the master's critique. I'd lost my temper a couple of times during that first month – and now three months into our training the tyrant was still punishing me for it.

  "Oops, so sorry!" A horrible jolt shot across my bad arm as someone came barreling into it. Biting back a yelp I glowered at Priscilla.

  "You did that on purpose!" My pain was making me see all sorts of crazy colors, and I no longer cared if the master had rules about casting during non-lessons. The girl needed to be put in her place – and if today's practice was any indication then I had a good chance of beating her.

  "You can't prove it."

  "Prove it?" I snarled. I hoped Master Byron was too far away to hear us. "I don't need to prove it. Why don't you challenge me directly instead of acting like the coward you are!"

  "Ryiah!" Darren's hand closed around my good arm. His voice was stern. "Don't."

  "Why are you stopping her?"

  "Why are you stopping me?"

  Priscilla's and my questions were instantaneous. The non-heir regarded his betrothed and I coldly. "Because if you duel Ryiah this time, you'll lose."

  "She cannot beat me," Priscilla scoffed.

  Darren kept his iron grip on my arm. "She can. And if you do anything else to taunt her I won't stop Ryiah from trying."

  I had the pleasure of seeing the raven-haired beauty turn an unattractive shade of red. "I-I'll tell Byron she attacked me!"

  "Priscilla." Darren's patience was growing thin. "If you do I will tell him the truth… We may be betrothed but Ryiah is my friend. I try to stay out of your disagreements, but if you do this I will take her side."

  The girl let out a frustrated huff and stormed off. A scattered clapping rose up from the rest of the class – some of my friends even whistled. I blushed uncomfortably and Darren dropped my arm like it had scalded him.

  I noticed Master Byron wasn't as far away as I thought, but it was quite obvious he had refrained from interfering since the prince got involved. He stayed silent, watching me with an irritable expression.

  I guess there are perks to his bias.

  "How's your arm?"

  I jumped as I realized Darren was still standing next to me, waiting for an answer. It was the nearest we had been since that day in the Academy towers – only then I had been trying to figure out whether or not to trust him.

  "I - I'm fine," I stuttered. I felt unusually light-headed. I wasn't sure if it was from Priscilla's bump or the former pressure of Darren's hand on my arm. I hoped it was the former. "Thanks," I added quickly, "for saying what you did."

  "I told you we were friends, Ryiah." He was smiling.

  "I know," I began, "but you two are betrothed…"

  Darren's face hardened. "She'll come around," he muttered.

  "Ry, what happened?" Ian, Ella, and Loren had arrived. The three of them had been too caught up in an animated conversation to take notice until Priscilla had marched past them.

  "Priscilla being Priscilla – only this time she managed to clip my arm in the process." I gave a weak laugh. It still smarted terribly and I knew Byron would never let the Restoration mages touch it. For once it wasn't about me, at least. Like the rest of the masters from my first year at the Academy, Byron believed pain was something all apprentices needed to bear.

  Ian noticed my grimace. "You need to get that seen to." He paused. "I bet we can get your brother to take a look."

  I protested – but my heart was not in it. I expected Darren to make a sarcastic remark about how "pain makes a mage" but he was oddly silent.

  "I don't care, Ry. I'll tell Alex not to fix it. Byron would notice anyway if he did, but Alex can at least suggest something for the pain." He gave Darren a small smile – despite what he said about the prince, I knew Ian really did want to be friends. "I can take over from here, Darren."

  The non-heir studied the two of us, brows furrowed. I wondered what he was thinking.

  "Of course." Darren's face had returned to a blank slate. With one last glance in my direction me he said, "Ask your brother about arnica."

  ****

  Alex was peeling a mango when we found him in the commons. He seemed surprised to see all of us, especially Ella – but he recovered quickly.

  "Arnica, huh?"

  "Do you know what it is?" I pressed.

  "Of course." His eyes met mine in mild amusement. "I'm just surprised Darren even knew to suggest it. It's not a common ingredient."

  Ian turned to my twin. "Well? Can you get it?"

  "I can... But I'll need help…" Alex's gaze fell to Ella standing next to us. He swallowed. "The healers keep all their supplies locked away in the main wing. I will need you to distract them while I get the salve. Now would be our best chance, while Master Joan is at dinner."

  Ella did not look at my brother as she said, "Then let's go." She turned to Loren apologetically: "You don't have to come if you don't want to."

  Loren shook his h
ead, eyes dancing. "And miss the fun?"

  A flash of irritation flared in my twin's eyes, but he said nothing.

  The five of us began the walk to the infirmary. Ella, Ian, and Loren spent most of the time in animated conversation – my brother and I in awkward silence. Alex kept stealing jealous glances at Ella and Loren in the back of our group and I had to kick him to finally get him to quit.

  "Ouch!"

  "Stop glaring at Loren!" I scolded.

  "I wasn't."

  "You were."

  My brother frowned. "Are things serious between those two?"

  "They aren't courting if that's your question," I replied tersely.

  "Yet," Alex grumbled. Sliding in closer to me he said in a hushed voice. "You have to get us alone, Ry. Tell Ella to go with me when I get the arnica."

  "Why should I?" The last time the two had been in the same room together was when Ella had walked in on him kissing a Restoration apprentice. That had been a month ago when they'd still been courting. My friend had told me all about it afterwards, sobbing in the barracks and swearing she would never talk to my twin again. She had kept her word and I never urged her to try.

  It wasn't the first time my brother had done this. In Demsh'aa there was a mile long list of the hearts he had broken in his wake. The difference was that this time my brother seemed to regret it. In fact, he had even broken down and cried after a couple of days of silence, begging me to talk to her.

  "I need to explain what happened," Alex continued. "Please Ry."

  His blue eyes bore into mine desperately. I felt a wave of empathy and cursed my twin for his uncanny ability to elicit sympathy. No one could look into those pitiful blue eyes and say no.

  "Fine." I gave my brother my most cross expression. "But if you make her cry I will never help you again, Alex. Ever."

  Alex's face lit up so much so I cringed. "Thank you, Ry!" He reached out to hug me and I jumped out of his way. He chuckled as he realized his mistake. "Forgot about that arm," he admitted.