The Black Mage: Apprentice

by Rachel E. Carter

  Why are you stalling, Ryiah? It was ridiculous. Darren was with Priscilla. He was a prince. There was no hope in saying yes to the boy with the garnet eyes who left me reckless and confused at every turn. There was no future with him. None. Darren had duty. To the Crown. Gods only knew Priscilla and Blayne had spent enough time reminding me of that.

  And I was not – would never be - a mistress.

  "Concentrate, apprentices, if I have to say it one more time I am going to have all of you take turns serving as your partner's mark for this exercise."

  No matter how well he can kiss.

  A surge of heat sprung from my hands and I sent my casting crashing into sky beyond. The bolt shimmered in the air, a brilliant flash of gold, and then it was gone. My jaw dropped. Lightning. I had just cast lightning.

  "Ry," Eve said to my left, impressed. "How did you do that?"

  Several others had turned to stare as well and I felt myself blushing under the attention. The younger apprentices had been trying for weeks to successfully cast the most infamous of all weather magic… I had been the first one of my year to successfully manage it.

  "I – I don't know," I stammered. I tried again, holding my breath and summoning the same projection as before. Nothing.

  "Weather castings feed off emotions," Master Byron noted dryly, "they are a charge to heighten one's magic. Whatever Ryiah was thinking about before her casting clearly had the intensity she needed. Lightning requires focus, but it channels emotions with it… Apprentice, perhaps you would like to share what you were thinking of before?" His words had a bitter edge and I could tell he was disappointed his favorite, the prince, hadn't been the first one to cast the magic.

  "I…" Darren's lips on mine, a dark hallway with just the two of us. No, there was no way I was going to tell the class about that. "I don't remember."

  "I highly doubt that, Ryiah. The charge to produce lightning requires a very intense emotion – one that would not be forgotten so easily." Byron was frowning and by this time I could see Darren and Ian further down the line looking at me with interest – and suspicion.

  Why? Why did I always have bad timing? Why couldn't I be good at the one thing that demanded focus – not fevered daydreams in the middle of class? Embarrassment crept up the back of my neck and I willed myself to pretend I was anywhere else, somewhere quiet and alone where the Master of Combat couldn't draw attention to my secret fantasies.

  "Perhaps it's something Ryiah would prefer to keep private." My gaze shot to Darren as he added, "Something she'd rather not describe…"

  My whole face was aflame. When I finally looked I could see Ian scowling at the non-heir who had turned back to the sky with a not-so-innocent expression.

  A second later there was a bright flash of yellow and a stark white display as lightening crashed in the air above. Only this time it hadn't come from me.

  "Well done, Darren!" Master Byron was full of praise for the prince. "What did you use to cast it?"

  Darren's eyes found mine. "Something I don't regret."

  There was a tightening, something pulling at my lungs. I made myself look away.

  "D-don't regret?" Byron was lost, unsure how to respond to Darren's vague answer. The rest of the class, all of whom had been in the ballroom during my fight with Ian, had a pretty good idea. Priscilla was glaring daggers at me. I didn't have the slightest doubt that if she tried to cast her lightning from her emotions now, she would be successful. That seemed the last thing on the girl's mind, however, as she stormed out of practice – not caring that we hadn't been formally dismissed.

  The Master of Combat didn't seem to notice. He was too busy studying the prince and me. A sour expression formed on his thin lips. The second Byron released our faction I took off, not wanting to be there when the man aptly deduced why Darren and I had been the only ones to successfully cast in the day's lesson.

  I had just readied myself for the evening meal when I heard a loud crash beyond the barrack walls.

  Ella rushed out of the adjoining bathhouse to find me. "What was that?" she breathed. "It sounded like it came from outside…?"

  As the two of us stared at one another there was a loud curse and a subsequent thud. We raced out the barrack doors to find Ian and Darren grappling on the ground just a couple paces away from the wooden building. The non-heir had a bloodied nose and Ian didn't look much better, half his tunic was ripped in two and there was a large welt on his shoulder where he had fallen against something hard.

  I dove in and grabbed Darren's arm just as Ella went to catch Ian. "Stop it!" I shrieked. The non-heir immediately stopped struggling but Ella had to drag Ian back hard in order to get him to cease fighting.

  "You stay away from her!" the fourth-year snarled. "You should be lucky I haven't challenged you to a duel for accosting her at the solstice!"

  "Why don't you do it then," Darren retorted, "I have grown restless cooped up in this port for weeks." I could feel him loosening deceptively in my grip, readying for another brawl.

  "Enough!" I jerked the prince back, throwing his balance off as he fell against the barrack wall. "This is enough!" My whole face flushed. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you two – I really am! But this has to stop!"

  Darren's eyes met mine and he said the next words slowly. "It will stop when you make a decision."

  I didn't reply. I turned heel and headed for the commons. The only way I was ever going to make the right decision was if I stayed as far away from the non-heir as possible.

  "You can't avoid them forever, Ry." Ella had caught up with me, panting from the run and looking slightly annoyed. "You have to make a decision soon. It isn't fair what you are doing to either of them."

  "I know." My stomach was a mess of knots and I could feel shame imprinting itself across my face. We'd been having the same conversation for days. "I'm just afraid of making the wrong one."

  "You aren't afraid of making the wrong one, Ry, it's the fact that you want to make the wrong one." She sighed. "I know you have liked the prince for a long time – but becoming Darren's mistress? That's beneath you. People would look down on you, Ry! He's still betrothed to Priscilla! You'd lose any prestige you might earn as a mage and you'd have to live with the fact that your children would never be-"

  "Enough!" I turned on her, suddenly furious. She wasn't telling me anything I hadn't already considered. I knew I was a horrible person for putting poor, sweet Ian through this mess. I knew Darren couldn't afford me the happiness I deserved. I knew better. I did.

  But I was tired of having everyone else point it out to me.

  "If I want your advice I'll ask for it!"

  "Ry." Ella's tone was alarmed. "What has gotten into you?"

  "If you can't accept the way I am handling this then go find someone else to complain to!" I didn't know where the words were coming from. I didn't know why I was so being so cruel. I didn't know why I continued to draw out the problem when the answer was right in front of me.

  "Ry, that's not what I-"

  "Really, because that's all you have done since we got here!"

  "It's been a month." Ella put her hands on her hips defensively. "You aren't choosing, Ry. Admit it, you are stalling."

  Hysteria began to bubble to the surface – unwanted and full of disdain. "You know what? Enjoy your dinner – because I have suddenly lost my appetite!"

  "Ryiah, you need to calm down!" Ella reached out to grab my arm and I pulled away, livid.

  "No, what I need is for my friend to leave me alone!" Without waiting for a response I immediately turned back toward the barracks and stomped away, shoving past both of the boys in question as I did.

  I have to get out of this place, I decided, even if Byron sticks me with scut work. I will volunteer on the first deployment out of here.

  I might not be able to run away from my problems, but I could certainly try.

  ****

  It turned out that I would get my wish. The next morning at breakfast Master Byron annou
nced that he had a surprise for us. A wonderful, rare, important one.

  "Port Langli is not like the other cities we train in. Here most of a mage's time is spent on patrols. The threat is not so much war as the prospect of pirates and local thieves. Langli is the wealthiest port in Jerar, our main trading post, our most prosperous harbor. I know you have all grown restless because it's not the fast action you desire. But that is the way of it.

  "Lucky for you Commander Chen has recently received orders from the Crown itself. Our local regiment is to deploy five of its own tomorrow on a special assignment that will take them out of the city. The commander has graciously offered up one spot on his ship for a Combat apprentice.

  "There is a great probability this will be the only opportunity to serve in a Langli deployment. Missions like this are far and few between. Most of the regiment mages never even get an opportunity at sea. As such, I will be taking a break from your traditional schedule to host a tourney of sorts…"

  I drew a sharp intake of breath and heard the excited whispers around the room. A tourney. A mission. Deployment. All but the second-years who had missed our time in Red Desert were restless, eager to do something besides the nightly rotations as sentries. Our time assisting the local regiment had been too quiet, too peaceful. The opposite of what a Combat apprentice trained for.

  "I thought long and hard about what type of competition we should have. I considered weather casting which is such a relevant skill to have at sea…" The man paused as his eyes fell on me. "But then I thought better of it."

  I scowled. Of course. The last thing Byron would want was a tourney centered around a skill I actually was good at.

  "I asked myself what might be a vital skill to host. What type of casting do I want to reward…?" The master was taking his time, basking in the light of our anticipation. "Then it occurred to me. Non-magic combat. Time after time I have had you train without magic. Because not only does the experience aid in your casting, it also serves you when your magic runs dry. Because no one's power is infinite and at some point you will have to fight without it."

  Master Byron watched our reaction to his news. There was a scattered murmur of confusion, dissent, and then curiosity.

  Though we spent each morning drilling with weapons and hand-to-hand combat, none of us had bothered to pay our status much heed. I knew my standing in casting: I was better than Priscilla, better than Ray, maybe even better than Ella. But non-magic fighting? I had never bothered to rank myself.

  And I was certain I wasn't the only one.

  "What type of non-magic combat?" That was one of the second-years.

  Byron frowned at the boy. "You will find out when you arrive. You have ten minutes to finish your meal and then I expect all of you in the training yards. Don't worry about which weapon to bring. I will have the servants bring it for you."

  ****

  I was one of the first to arrive. After the master's announcement I hadn't been able to concentrate on the food in front of me. That, and things were still awkward with Ella. She hadn't spoken to me once since my outburst the night before and, though I should have, I hadn't offered up an apology. Alex hadn't known what to do, alternating between talk with the girl he adored and his mule-headed sister. It had grown to be an extremely uncomfortable breakfast.

  Leaning against the edge of the rail I wondered what the contest would be. Hand-to-hand combat, sickle sword, long sword, longbow, crossbow, axe, knife, javelin, throwing daggers, staff, or something new? It would have to be something we had already learned, surely. And since the prince was Byron's favorite it would undoubtedly be something Darren was good at.

  But he was good at everything.

  I hoped it was anything but hand-to-hand combat. No matter how hard I trained my arms remained stubbornly slim, and there were many boys whose arm bore muscle twice the size of my own. If we were forced into a weighted match I would lose to the heavier opponent. At least with a weapon I could keep a distance. I was fast, quick.

  Please, I thought, let it be something I am good at.

  "I hope it's not the crossbow," I heard Ray mutter to my left.

  "I hope it is the crossbow," a second-year said. "Or the knife."

  I wanted the knife too. But I knew better than to hope for it. Byron knew I was good with it. If I knew Byron he would pick the axe. It was Darren's favorite.

  It was also, coincidentally, one of my least.

  "Don't look so sure of yourself, Ryiah," Priscilla drawled. "You know it's going to be a fifth-year, not one of us."

  "Maybe not." Darren stepped in between us. "I happen to be quite good for my age." He looked sideways at me. "Better even."

  There was a flutter in the pit of my stomach. Stop staring! I admonished myself. Now was not the time to be distracted. I drew a deep breath and I saw the corner of Darren's lip twitch in a sly smile. He knew exactly what he was doing.

  "Is everyone here?" Commander Chen glanced around and then back to our training master. When Byron nodded he continued. "Good. Now Byron has been kind enough to let me pick today's weapon of choice. Since this city's most common issue is thieves I thought it best to stick with what my regiment knows best: a street fight with knives."

  Yes. I wanted to kiss the bald man. Thank you! Thank you for giving me a chance!

  A couple of the heavier apprentices groaned.

  "Each one of you will be paired with another student at random. That person may or may not be your year. You will only have one match and your master and I will judge you according to your performance." He cleared his throat. "After all the matches have concluded you will be dismissed. Byron and I will take four hours to rank you and post the results at dinner."

  What if my opponent is a fifth-year? Suddenly the odds didn't look so good anymore.

  I needn't have worried.

  They were worse.

  ****

  "Darren and Ryiah."

  I stood frozen in place. I couldn't move if I wanted to.

  The master frowned and called out louder. "Darren and Ryiah. It is your turn for a match."

  I'm going to lose. I had never drilled with Darren, ever…. except in the armory during my first year at the Academy, and that time I had lost. And he hadn't even been trying then.

  I'm going to lose. I should have hoped for a fifth-year.

  Swallowing my pride I followed the prince to a rack of blades beside the commander and Byron. I picked up a couple of different knives, weighing them in my hands, testing their grip.

  I chose a medium-sized one of quality steel. I wrapped my fingers around the base of the handle so that my thumb overlapped my forefinger. The blade angled up with my wrist, locked and ready to strike. I was ready.

  I stood with my feet a shoulder width apart, comfortable and diagonal to my garnet-eyed opponent.

  The knowing grin on Darren's face was obnoxiously self-assured. I could hear Priscilla cheering him on loudly to my right. You should have known Byron would never let you win.

  It was hard to imagine a month ago I'd been kissing the prince and now I was contemplating the easiest way to strike him down. Before he struck me.

  Let Darren go first, I decided. Wait for him to make the first move and then disarm him. Don't engage – disarm. Do not take him on without disarming him first!

  "Why so quiet, Ryiah?" Darren interrupted my thoughts as I matched him, circling so that we continued to stand across from one another leaving no side exposed. "I should think you'd be pleased Byron thought us equal opponents." He was smiling and waiting for me to take the bait. He knew just as I did our pairing was not, as the commander had insisted, random.

  I stayed silent and continued to study the prince's features, not willing to waste precious energy in banter.

  "Gut her like a fish, your highness!" Merrick screeched.

  I bit down on my lip, hard. It was all I could do not to throw my weapon at my mentee's face.

  Darren took the momentary distraction to lunge – striking in l
ike a serpent, quick and precise.

  I jumped back just in time. I shoved my knife into its sheath and then lunged forward, snatching the prince's right wrist with my right hand. I threw it back behind him while I used my left hand to gouge his eyes.

  Darren swore and swung wildly with his left. I quickly pulled his blade arm and myself behind him. At the same time I grabbed his jaw with my left hand, pulling it left as I attempted to force him to the ground.

  Darren wasn't going to lose easily. I could feel it in the way he pushed back. His legs dug into the dirt, fighting my weight. My arm was starting to hurt. The move hadn't worked as easily on him as it did on Merrick during our drills. I kicked off with my weight, letting my feet bear down on his arm as I tried to break the non-heir's defensive stance.

  But I couldn't break it.

  All at once the hand gripping his arm began to shake.

  Darren was fighting like mad to break free and the pressure became too much. I lurched back, barely avoiding the swipe of his knife as I once again drew my own.

  "Now it's my turn," Darren told me. His eyes danced as he slashed once left and up and then across to my right in an effort to startle me. I used my blade hand to draw each attack away from my body - but my speed was lessening as he continued to slash in a seemingly random pattern of assault.

  I was so focused on blocking that I missed the quick movement when he switched blade hands.

  A sharp, biting pain found its way across my stomach. A long line of blood trailed my waist. I tried not to gasp as I fell back, stumbling to avoid his next attack.

  Darren pressed forward, continuing his gain.

  He used my pain to his advantage and swung down on my blade arm. I cried out, dropping my knife.

  The prince brought up his weapon to my throat and held it there.

  "Surrender yet, Ryiah?" His hot breath tingled against my ear and I was unhappy to notice how pleasant it felt in the midst of defeat. His eyes were dancing.