The Mage Trials

by Charles Cackler

  Yet, such would be foolish. Today of all days, he could not afford to get into trouble. The consequences would be disastrous.

  Worse, the man’s cruel smile seemed to know as much. It dared him to try to do something, anything, that he might use it against him.

  Anger burned in his gut, righteous indignation mixed with bruised pride. He had never hated himself more than when he lowered his gaze, conceding defeat. “I am here for the Mage Trials,” he said. “I am Rian Miel, of House Miel.”

  The guard sneered but let him go, pushing him back just hard enough that he staggered and landed awkwardly. “Good little lordling. Now run along.”

  Fury filled his chest, but he turned away and stormed inside. As he passed through the golden gates and into the courtyard beyond though, he felt hollow. In spite of what the guard had done to that woman, he still cowered before the threat. Was this what she would have wanted of him?

  Soren trailed behind soon afterward. After giving Rian a once-over to make sure he was okay, he shook his head. “That insolent bastard. Some people just don’t respect the Miel name like they should.”

  The Miel name… Was this what a member of House Miel would do? Shame pooled in Rian’s stomach but he reminded himself of what he had risked. If he hadn’t submitted, it would have been another two years before the Mage Trials were open again. Surrendering was the smart thing to do.

  It was little comfort.

  ***

  As he entered the academy proper, Rian’s gaze was caught by the multi-colored light that splashed down in hues of red, blue and yellow over the corridors, cast through stained-glass windows depicting scenes from lore and legend.

  The corridors bustled with activity, full of men and women of various ages. Some were deep in conversation, perhaps discussing the intricacies of magic or other mysteries. Others were more focused, moving with the clear purpose of those with a place to be. The corridors were wide and sweeping, the stone looking like it had come from one smooth piece with not a crack in it and wide enough for five men to walk abreast, yet many more seemed to try.

  He watched it all in awe. In truth, he’d assumed the Academy would be quieter, the robed individuals making their way back and forth in silence, like one of the cathedrals in the North. The bustle before him now showed that such expectations were gravely mistaken.

  Over the archway above and before him, traced in the gleaming white marble, was written:

  Knowledge to the Foolish

  Rest to the Weary

  Despair to the Conceited

  The Royal Academy of Mages Welcomes You

  More than just me, Rian realized, which made sense; yes, there were other magi outside of it, such as the tutors he’d had the fortune to work with and the mages who served as retainers, but this was the center of magic for the entire kingdom.

  Perhaps part of it was due to the Mage Trials. He noticed that while a fair number bore the white robes of the magi and a significant minority had the blue robes signifying they were magi-in-training and had passed their trials, the majority bore neither.

  Those people were like him, preparing to take the tests which would cull the unprepared, letting only the best and brightest move onto the blue robes and eventual magehood. Many more would go home denied.

  He idly wondered how those blue robes would fit him. He was about as tall as most young men his age, but much of it was in his limbs. His father always said he gave the tailors plenty of work, as his arms and legs always stuck out the ends of ‘normal’ clothing, and he doubted that these would be any different. Still, he envisioned the robe flowing around him majestically, his dark hair trailing behind him like a mane, and smiled.

  Still, it would be best that he found a good local tailor if he passed.

  Soren, however, was less impressed. “Where exactly are we to go with this rabble?” he asked, clutching his tunic to himself as though the slightest brush with the surrounding crowd would contaminate it.

  Rian frowned, peering more closely. Although there were people heading everywhere, he noticed a definite flow to the milling horde, especially those dressed like him. “It looks like those taking the Mage Trials are going that way.”

  “Very well. Good luck, and - ack!” Soren glared at the large woman who’d accidentally bumped into him. Rubbing his shoulder, he snarled, “You…” He paused, grinding his teeth. “You go deal with that. I will secure our lodgings, along with another matter. Once you’re finished with whatever it is you need to do, meet me at the gate here.”

  He nodded and Soren stalked off into the endless crowd.

  Taking a deep breath, Rian squared his shoulders and made his way down the corridor, jostling and shimmying his way through. As he pushed through the multitude, he wondered how many of those here would actually manage to pass. The purpose of the trials was to winnow out the weak, foolish and untalented, but given how many bore blue robes compared to those who didn’t… half, no, surely far more than half would fail the trials.

  A sliver of fear worked its way through his body at the thought. He’d studied hard, but would it be enough?

  The corridor led him to a grand, golden arch that overlooked a hall filled with unfamiliar faces. The windows on the flanks of it were slender and tall, stained glass once more, and while the hall was gargantuan, it was curiously lacking in furniture. There was a raised dais toward the back end, upon which he could imagine someone speaking, but apart from the six marble pillars which kept the ceiling supported, the hall was empty.

  Empty, that was, but for the immense crowd of people.

  There must be four-hundred, no, five-hundred, maybe more! Standing at the back of the crowd, he felt light-headed at the sheer multitude. Many would fail, but even so, he hadn’t thought the number of aspirants would be so great.

  Some of them wore fine silk tunics embroidered with the symbol of noble houses like his while more were clad in the sturdy wool and leather of the merchant class. Even more were common folk, clad in patchwork clothing that had clearly been mended multiple times. All of them faced the dais. They stood shoulder to shoulder, some scowling and hissing complaints to those who jostled them as they waited.

  He must be in the right place. The atmosphere was charged like a midsummer storm; a mixture of excitement and fear filled the air, and it intoxicated him as much as any other. Soren would have had a fit if he acted in an impolite manner though, so Rian swallowed and forced himself to stand still, rather than follow his instincts and push his way to the front.

  Others were not so patient.

  “What are we waiting for?” a heavyset woman grumbled, scowling at those around her as if the situation was their doing. “I’ve been here for almost two hours!”

  “Aye, quit your whining,” retorted the man beside her, shuffling his feet himself in spite of the cane supporting him. “They’ll get to it when they get to it, and there ain’t no use crying about it.”

  The woman growled, brushing pale yellow locks out of her face to better glare at the man. “Well, the least they could do is - wait, look over there! Someone’s coming!”

  And indeed, a woman climbed to the top of the dais. She was small, almost two full heads shorter than Rian, but her long flowing robes were the red and gold of an archmage. Peeking out from them was the face whose calm gaze showed the strength of one who had been long tested. Wrinkles traced her expression, but her movements were quick and sure. She surveyed the crowd with a toothy grin and a bow that made her look even shorter, yet when she spoke, her voice was cool and deep.

  “I am Theia, the headmistress of the Royal Academy of Mages. Welcome, and it is a pleasure to meet you all. We come from many walks of life, but all of us know the long hours spent practicing and studying, and the struggles we have faced. You should all take pride in having reached this point. Only those with true determination choose to walk this path.”

  At her words, nods came from many, some with drawn faces as they remembered a painful past.

  “
I know that you have all come for different reasons: for learning, for power or wealth, to protect the ones you love or for many reasons besides. I would love to discover them all and for some,” Theia said, “I will receive that opportunity. For those lucky few, these walls will be your home while we instill in you all the knowledge we possess.” A sigh escaped her. “But for many, I am afraid that your stay at our beloved academy will be a short one.”

  The words caused the crowd to go still, the only sound that of distant footsteps in the corridor that they had come from. No one dared move, and even the slightest rustle of cloth made Rian flinch.

  “I want you to look to your left and your right,” Theia said, her voice strong and carrying. “Between yourself, the two people to your left and the two to your right, only one will be allowed to join our ranks. So prepare yourselves, as you will be tested to the utmost extremes. There will be three trials, each designed to measure your prowess as a mage, your cleverness, and your adaptability. To successfully pass the Mage Trials, you must be victorious at all of them. The First Trial will be today, with the other two following in the coming days.”

  “What will the trials be like?” someone called from the audience.

  “A good question but sadly, I cannot reveal the answer. The trials are meant to test your capability against that which cannot be prepared for, so for the first two trials, we will only tell you how they work just before they begin. For those who pass them both, the Third Trial will be explained then.”

  The crowd digested the information quietly. For some, their expressions of nervousness mirrored his; they all wondered what sort of challenges they would face.

  “Now, there are many of you, so you’ll each have to take the First Trial at assigned times. It’s quite a bit of organization. Luckily, being headmistress means I have help for that.” She clapped her hands, and five white-robed individuals stepped into the hall. Each one had a thick scroll in their hands. “Now take your time and please don’t try to cut in line. If you do, you’ll regret it.” She smiled. “For those who pass all three trials, I will see you again soon. I look forward to discovering which of you possess what is necessary to join our ranks.”

  There was a small bit of jostling as the crowd tried to get to the five scroll-carrying mages, but overall, people did as she said, putting themselves into five single-file lines.

  Rian let his fellow applicants go first. He’d arrived later than most and they were surely tired. Besides, he had a lot to think about. Three trials, each of which he had no idea what he would be facing. He believed he was well-prepared but there was a difference between practice in the comfort of his home and a series of tests designed to winnow away four out of five applicants. He would have to be exceedingly careful.

  When it was finally his turn, the mage working with him blinked at his name on the scroll before offering a polite bow. A tiny woman whose dark curls were more than half grey now, she tottered about on a cane, a polite smile upon her wrinkled face as she looked up at him.

  He shivered instinctively at the sight. Her hair might be shoulder-length, but it did little to conceal the great chunk missing from her left cheek, gouging it deeply enough that one could see her teeth.

  Mastering himself, he bowed deliberately low in turn. Whatever had caused her injury - the same sort he’d seen on veterans from the Orc Wars - she deserved his respect.

  She was amused at his discomfort if anything though, her smile widening and growing more genuine… which unfortunately drew more attention to her ruined face.

  “Ah, a pleasure to meet with you, your lordship. You will be taking the First Trial with Mage Dalmarn at,” she traced a finger down the scroll, balancing deftly against her cane, “about four o’clock. Will you be able to make it on time?”

  “Hmm.” He’d just come in that day but he wasn’t too tired and three hours would give him enough time to deal with whatever Soren needed him for. He nodded. “That will be fine.”

  The time had come. Today, he would take the first step to magehood.

  ***

  Although Soren no doubt expected him to return and meet with him as soon as possible, Rian couldn’t resist the opportunity to explore the halls of the Royal Academy, which would hopefully become his home for the next few years.

  Breaking from the teeming multitudes, he soon found himself in a different hallway, one whose smooth stone walls were dotted with many doors. Unlike the chaotic crowds of what he assumed was the main hall, this corridor was peaceful. Only eyes of stained glass - images of heroes long since gone - looked down upon him; he wondered what they might think.

  Under other circumstances, he might have taken the opportunity to examine them in further detail - Sir Camryn’s battle against the Black Dragon of Xeris was a favorite of his - but right now, his curiosity guided him in a different direction, because through the doors came voices.

  “... The first theorem explains why we cannot simply …”

  “... you have to channel slowly at first …”

  “... careful not to run out of stamina. If you do …”

  Apart from the Mage Trials, the Royal Academy dealt with many students, he knew, ranging from apprentices just beginning to call upon their first spells to magi delving ever deeper into their art. This was where he would learn the greater secrets once he passed his trials, magics the likes of which he could barely comprehend. Yet for now, although those lessons were right behind the doors, he wasn’t supposed to learn them.

  Temptation called to him with a maiden’s whisper, however, along with a thought. While the law stated that he wasn’t allowed to be taught the secrets of the magi, nothing said he couldn’t happen to peer in on their studies… Drawing closer to one of the open doors, Rian peeked inside.

  The classroom was darker than the corridors outside. There were no windows; instead, its insides were lit by only a single enchanted crystal embedded in the ceiling, no brighter than an oil lamp and casting a warm yellow glow. Around the center of the room, two dozen students sat in a semicircle. None of them wore blue robes.

  They didn’t notice him, their gazes fixed on their teacher. She was a hefty, middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back in a bun and her white robes lacked even the smallest wrinkle.

  She paced back and forth, and in a crisp, clear voice that echoed off the ceilings, she said, “The first step to truly mastering a new spell is understanding how to channel your inner strength into the proper designs to form it. Using the appropriate Spellstone simplifies this. And yet,” she looked from student to student before her gaze fell upon one off to the side, “Brannon, can you explain why the Spellstone is not enough?”

  “Uh... ” muttered a young man whose unkempt brown hair matched the clothing that fit too loosely upon his gangly frame. He looked from one classmate to the next in an unspoken plea for help, before sighing in defeat. “M-mastering a new spell is hard, sort of like,” he stuttered his words, “learning to walk for the first time… again.”

  Several members of the class laughed.

  Rian frowned as the young man blushed and ducked his head in shame, trying to hide his face behind his hair. It had been a simple way to put it, yet not inaccurate.

  The instructor agreed, as she narrowed her eyes at each disruptor in turn until they fell silent, before favoring Brannon with a nod.

  “He is correct. The first spell isn’t too difficult to master, but each spell following will be more and more challenging to learn than the one before it, which is why even the greatest of archmages rarely master more than a handful of spells…”

  Rian backed away, shutting the door with a click. While it was enjoyable to watch others learning the same teachings he had long ago, there was more to learn and he had the opportunity to observe the lessons of the magi now. He didn’t dare waste it.

  Creeping over to another door and making a mental note to make sure the students wore blue robes this time, he peeked inside.

  A hand fell upon his shoulder. “Yo
u’re not supposed to be doing that, young man.”

  He jumped, whirling around. “My apologies. I was only curious to…” He trailed off when he realized who stood before him. It was the woman who had been harassed by the guard when he first arrived at the Royal Academy… the woman he had done nothing to help.

  “Is something the matter?” She peered at him, a frown upon her face. She didn’t recognize him.

  He turned away, unable to bring himself to look her in the eye. “Nay, I apologize. I should not have been listening in, Mage…?”

  “I’m not, I haven’t, that is to say... “ Realizing she wasn’t making the slightest bit of sense, she cleared her throat, before awkwardly adding, “My name is Alensia, but I am not a mage, not yet. I have to complete my trials first.”

  Realizing that her clothing hadn’t changed from what he’d seen her wearing earlier that day, Rian felt foolish. What she wore was neither blue nor white, nor did it consist of robes; instead a roughspun woolen dress laid tight over a somewhat stocky frame.

  He coughed, wishing his hair hung low enough to hide his flushed cheeks. “I am Rian Miel, of House Miel, and much like you, I am taking the Mage Trials.”

  Her eyes widened at the mention of his family name and she quickly bowed. “Your lordship, I am sorry for - I meant no offense.”

  Her apologizing only made him feel worse. If anything, it was him who should have been begging her forgiveness.

  “None was taken, I assure you,” he said, before quickly changing the subject, “It does not seem right, that we are so close to becoming magi, yet we are not allowed to look into the classrooms until we pass our trials.”

  “If we pass them is the better way to put it. I heard that nearly a third don’t even make it to the Second Trial. Some of the proctors are particularly challenging.”

  A little voice piped up. “I heard they’re all assholes.”

  For a moment, he wondered who spoke, then he remembered the small boy that originally came in with Alensia. Indeed, looking down, he saw the child in question peering out from behind her dress, a skinny, mop-haired boy whose head made it just past his mother’s waist.