The Mage Trials

by Charles Cackler

  In spite of the cool air, Alensia’s face was a bright pink. “Maleth, you know you’re not supposed to be using words like -” She paused. “Wait, where did you learn words like that?”

  “Father.”

  “Of course you did…” she shook her head. “Still, Maleth is right. Some of the magi are a particular pain to deal with. I’ve been told that the one I was assigned to doesn’t care much for common folk, but at least she isn’t Mage Dalmarn. He’s supposed to be the worst of the lot. Who were you assigned to anyway?”

  Rian’s stomach sank. “Mage Dalmarn…”

  Her expression froze on her face, the corridor seeming to grow colder along with it. Of all the odds, he’d been assigned to the hardest of the proctors.

  She grimaced, her dark eyes having a look of flustered pity. “W-Well, perhaps they are mistaken about how bad Mage Dalmarn is. I’m sure it will be alright, really.”

  “Do not worry. I have prepared thoroughly for these trials and will not be driven away at the first sign of trouble.”

  “You must have trained hard to be so sure.”

  A chuckle escaped his lips at the memories of long hours holed away buried in tomes and dreams. He imagined he’d spent more time studying than sleeping. “You could say that, but how about yourself? Surely, you must have done much the same.”

  “Actually, although I worked hard, I only started a year ago. With taking care of my son,” she indicated the squirming boy with a pat on the head, “I didn’t get the chance until recently.”

  “You are attempting the trials in your second year of learning?” he said, his voice faint. “That is certainly commendable.” Or naive. He couldn’t tell which. “I spent ten years preparing for it.”

  “Well, my teacher did say I was rather talented, but to be honest, I only ever mastered one spell. It’s effective but I would hate to face someone with your experience.”

  “Well, if we do end up facing one another, I will be honored to face such a prodigy as yourself.”

  She snorted, the laugh lines around her mouth quirking upward in amusement, but her expression soon turned more serious. “I really hope I pass. I need to become a mage. If not…” Her words trailed off but her frown deepened.

  A wave of sympathy filled Rian. “I understand your meaning quite well, believe me. Exploring the deepest secrets of the art… it is like nothing else seems to matter sometimes. With the right spell, you can turn sand to stone, summon storms of fire and lightning, even bring life to the dying,” he breathed in and exhaled, “and to think, that knowledge is literally behind one of these doors.”

  Alensia frowned, peering at him a moment before saying, “That’s only if you’re one of the lucky ones who pass. Only a few do and until then, those doors are closed.”

  “Unless… well, it is not as if there is anyone here to stop us from having a little peek, is there?” he whispered, pointing to the door he’d started to look through earlier. “If we are not caught, it is only a preview of what we will learn anyway.”

  “That seems like a bad idea.” She worried her lip, but took a step forward all the same. A complex mixture of curiosity and trepidation warred across her face. “What if we do get caught?”

  ”Well…” He considered it. Given his noble position, there was a chance they’d let them off easily, maybe. Still though… “Look, the halls are empty. Even if the lecturer were to spot us, we would be gone long before they got to the door.”

  That settled her doubts. Her expression cleared and she nodded.

  They inched towards the door, Rian easing it open just enough to see through the crack. This class looked much more promising than the last one. It was smaller but three of the people in the room bore the blue robes of magi-in-training. The fourth person was the instructor, a man so thin he looked almost skeletal in his white robes. They all crouched around the body of an animal.

  He leaned closer to get a better look at the creature. A raccoon perhaps? It still squirmed but the metallic scent of blood came from it.

  “They’re just standing there. What are they doing?” Alensia murmured, pushing him a little to the side so she could get a better view.

  It was hard to see the exact details from where they stood, but one of the magi-in-training started gathering a soft white glow in his hands and Rian’s breath quickened. “I think it might be healing magic. Incredible.” He tried to open the door just a smidge more.

  Maleth let out a soft groan. “Healing? That’s so boring…”

  Alensia gave the boy a reproachful look but was clearly confused as well. “Any trained mage can do healing magic, so why the awe?”

  Rian blinked but remembered that her training was still relatively new. “That is correct, but in the opposite sense of what you said. It is not that all trained magi can heal, but that only trained magi can learn healing magic.”

  “B-But why? Surely it would be better for more people to know about it. If there were -“ She glanced at Maleth. “People could be saved if apprentices could learn healing spells.”

  He frowned, trying to remember what little his tutors had been willing to state about the subject. ”I believe there are dangerous side effects if the magic is done improperly.”

  “Like what?” Maleth asked, peering back inside the room as if one of the people there might suddenly explode.

  Rian was about to respond when there was a sound that made his stomach shrivel right up: approaching footsteps from up the hall.

  The three of them took one look at each other before they all tried to huddle behind the doorway’s recess, not daring to so much as breathe.

  A shadow pooled on the corridor floor. “Who’s out there? I heard you…” came a woman’s low voice, drawing ever closer.

  That was it. “Run!” he shouted. Putting the word into action immediately, Rian dashed off, his companions following right behind him.

  “Stop right there!’

  He wasn’t that foolish, instead dashing around the corner with Alensia and Maleth behind him and the pursuer on their collective tails. If he didn’t know better, the woman seemed to be gaining on them. The sound of her footsteps drew closer, and her shouts grew ever louder.

  “We’re not going to outrun her like this!” Rian said. For the first time in his life, he wished he’d spent less of it learning magic and more of it outside like his sister. His breath was harsh and ragged, and his legs were already beginning to ache from the exertion.

  Suddenly Alensia dashed down a side corridor to the left. “This way!”

  “What are you doing?” The woman was gaining. Any second, she’d be close enough to get a good look, then they’d be caught.

  “Trust me!”

  He hesitated but desperation and the sound of their pursuer closing in provided all the faith he needed. He followed her in one rapid turn, then another.

  Their pursuer was quick and agile, but she didn’t notice when they ducked behind a doorway, and when she went running past, the three of them doubled back, quickly moving to rejoin the main corridors and disappear into the crowd once more.

  Finally, Rian was able to catch his breath. “Thank you, you saved us both.”

  “It wasn’t much,” Alensia panted out, mopping the beading sweat off her face and adjusting the neck of her dress to allow a little more air. “I’ve just got experience in needing to make a quick escape.”

  “Regardless, I am in your debt. As such, I -“ He happened to glance outside, only to see the sun high in the sky through the colored glass. He did some quick mental math. Damn. “My apologies, but I have a meeting with my chancellor to get to. I promise though, as soon as I am able to. I will make this up to you. It was my recklessness that nearly got us both in trouble.”

  “You don't need to do that,” she said, “but if you're serious, they gave me quarters on the bottom of the southern wing for the rest of the Mage Trials.”

  Rian nodded before racing off to find Soren.

  Chapter Three

&
nbsp; Soren was waiting for him at the gate. Upon noting Rian’s arrival, he handed him an ornate, loopy bronze key.

  “We are staying on the third floor of the north tower for the duration of the trials. Now, let us move quickly. We have family business to attend to and we’re already late.”

  He followed without complaint. Even though Soren hadn’t directly blamed him for their lateness, Rian knew perfectly well he was at fault. Besides, while he would have preferred some time to himself to prepare for the First Trial, Soren wouldn’t have asked him to come if it wasn’t of importance.

  He wasn’t quite sure what to expect - perhaps some hiring of caravans at the nearby markets or a meeting with a local noble who might be of aid to House Miel. Rather than going out the gate though, Soren guided him back through the Royal Academy halls to the tip of the northern wing, where a thick, oaken door was tucked away in an otherwise empty corridor. The knob was bronze, crafted in the shape of a lion glaring at them. He imagined it was supposed to look fearsome, but in his opinion, it only managed to appear sickly.

  Soren turned to him. “As second-in-line to House Miel, you’re going to have a number of duties. Negotiations like this are one of them. In the future, this may be one of your roles but this time I ask that you remain quiet and merely observe.”

  “Are you certain you do not want my aid? I am not helpless.”

  Soren raised an eyebrow, amused by the offer, if anything. “I’ll have you know that my negotiation skills are without peer. Just watch and observe a master at work.” Straightening his tunic, he knocked.

  Mere moments later, a thin, reedy mage opened the door; he had a nervous demeanor, not helped by the way his white robes trailed several inches past his hands and his chin was dusted with dark and uneven stubble. He had a pair of particularly protuberant grey eyes which widened further as he saw them before he quickly waved them inside.

  “W-Welcome to my workshop,” he said with a stuttering voice, bowing before guiding them to a trio of solid, sturdy armchairs. “My name is Ambrose and it honors me greatly to be of assistance to such fine people as yourselves.” He tapped his fingertips together, his smile awkwardly wide.

  It was the expression of someone far more comfortable with spellbooks and delving into the various magics than having an actual person sitting across from him. Rian’s sympathy went out to the man. He knew that look. Sometimes, he was that look.

  “It is an honor to meet you as well,” Soren said, lowering his portly frame into one of the chairs, flawlessly congenial as Rian knew he only was in matters of particular importance. There would be no sarcasm or bawdy teasing here. “We have been looking forward to seeing your creation. Is it ready?”

  “Yes, and if you wish for me to ship it out, I can have it delivered by caravan within...”

  They continued discussing materials, second copies, transportation and the like, and Rian’s attention soon began to wander in spite of himself.

  Despite the importance of the matter, it just wasn’t very interesting… and he was in Ambrose’s workshop. His tutors had been a varied bunch, but they’d always come to his family’s castle. This was the first time he’d ever been in a mage’s true workshop, and an opportunity he might not have again for quite a while. While he maintained an expression of polite curiosity on his face, his eyes began to rove.

  The whole chamber had a welcoming feel to it. It was bathed in sunlight from the wide-open windows, causing all the little odds and ends to glimmer. A dozen Spellstones were held gently atop plinths, beside one of the largest collections of books on magical knowledge he’d ever had the pleasure to see. But this was no mere library and it was clear that this workshop saw a great deal of use. To the right was a pair of long, thin workbenches, atop which a multitude of different tools laid, ranging from the simple to strange and unusual designs whose purpose couldn’t be determined. Each was well-worn, yet clean and placed in a careful order that flowed from one end of the bench to the next. A few half-completed projects - currently looking like a mishmash of gears, bolts and metal plates - were atop one of the benches, and it was all he could do to keep from drawing closer to see them in greater detail.

  However, it looked like the only completed project to be found consisted of several beetle constructs tucked unobtrusively in a corner; they were crafted of stone and half as long as a man was tall. They didn’t move and the semi-precious gemstones that served for their eyes stared sightlessly, not even the slightest glimmer of light sparking within them.

  That would change soon, he knew. Ambrose would slowly but steadily layer a series of enchantments upon them, granting the creatures strength, toughness, and mobility; it would last for at least a few years, at which time the enchantments would need to be refreshed. Were these Soren’s reason for coming here?

  He stole a glance at the two as they negotiated over something about design. Soren was matching some of the other man’s mannerisms in a manner that was subtle but deliberate.

  Mirroring, he called it, Rian half-remembered from one long-ago lesson. Something about causing the other person to subtly trust him through similarities.

  It is possible, he decided. Still, although certainly useful, constructs are quite expensive. As his mother had explained once, for the price of a dozen enchanted constructs, she could equip an entire company of soldiers with weapons enchanted to bite deep and they were hardly lacking in those willing to swing a sword for a small bit of coin.

  Yet something that neither ate, slept nor needed training was a benefit all its own. Would these be some of the enchantments he would be learning after passing the Mage Trials? The thought made his heart beat faster, but he knew that wasn’t the reason Soren brought him, so he kept the excitement from his face as best he could and returned his attention to the conversation.

  “So,” Soren said, “where is it, my good fellow?”

  “Right in my quarters, your lordships,” Ambrose said with a bow. “If you’ll wait but a moment…”

  “Very well, gather what you need and we shall await your return. If it is even close to what you claim it to be, you will be greatly rewarded.”

  At his words, Ambrose smiled and vanished through a door off to the side.

  Rian raised his eyebrows, mentally raising his opinion of Soren’s interest along with them. Even if the mage did have something Soren wanted, he was being awfully polite.

  Soon enough, Ambrose returned, an ornate blue halberd in his hands. Traced with runes from the bottom to the top, the blade was polished to mirror-brightness. The enchantments upon it were layered so thickly they were visible to the naked eye, flowing about like water. A sapphire as thick as a man’s wrist was embedded in the hilt where the blades met the shaft, and every so often a pulse came from it, rippling over the entire weapon. The halberd had to be taller than the mage holding it, yet he carried it as if it were no lighter than a stick.

  The breath caught in his throat. “A Sacrelith,” he whispered. Ambrose had brought them a Sacrelith. If he was offering it for sale… no wonder Soren was being so polite. Rian had seen what his sister was capable of when wielding hers.

  Ambrose knelt before them, presenting the weapon with all the solemnity of a priest pronouncing a benediction. “This is Khaldun, Blade of the Tides.” He offered it to Rian with a flourish. “Would you like to try it, young lord?”

  Rian blinked. This wasn’t for him, was it? “Err…”

  Luckily, Soren rescued him. Laughing lightly, he said, “Although an understandable mistake, I am the one purchasing this item, Mage Ambrose.”

  “Oh, my sincerest apologies! Then do you want -” He offered the weapon to Soren, only to receive a polite shake of the head.

  “While appreciated,” Soren said with a kindly smile, “I have no need to handle the Sacrelith myself. It looks well-made, but what is truly important is what it is actually capable of. Rather than toy about with it, why don’t you demonstrate what it can do?”

  At Soren’s request, Ambrose frow
ned before quickly forcing a smile and bowing again. “Do not worry, your lordships! Allow me but a moment to prepare and the demonstration will begin.” He vanished through the door once more.

  “A bit nervous,” Soren said softly in the man’s wake, “but if the weapon works, he can wear dog ears atop his head for all I care.”

  Soon Ambrose returned, this time with a young man beside him. The youth was perhaps a couple years older than Rian, and tanned from what looked like a few too many hours working under the sun. He had a bit of chubbiness to his frame, but wore it well, with blond hair hanging past his chin all the way to a set of broad shoulders. In spite of being indicated as a mage-in-training by his simple blue robes, he looked more sure of himself than his master did, surveying the visitors without the slightest concern upon his face.

  Rian couldn’t help the surge of envy in his chest as he saw the young man. He, unlike Rian, could learn every single secret of the magi and his skill and prowess were being trained to ever greater heights. Still though, if he passed the trials to come, he would earn the same robes, and discover everything that laid behind guarded doors now.

  Ambrose indicated his apprentice with a nod. “For this trial, Sideb will not be using any of the spells he has mastered, nor indeed any Spellstones at all. He will have only the Sacrelith I have given him. As for that… well, you will soon see.” He handed the halberd to the young man before moving off to the side.

  Grasping the weapon’s shaft in both hands, Sideb spoke for the first time, his voice soft yet carrying, “Khaldun, let the waves rise, filled with power. Unleash your might!”

  The sapphire on the hilt shone like a blue flame. Water gushed forth from it, rushing over the weapon and Sideb in turn, engulfing him in wave after wave until he was submerged completely. For a moment, all could be seen was a sphere of water, half again as wide as a man was tall before it began to recede, revealing a figure girded by armor that looked as if it had been crafted by the sea itself. Azure ripples shimmered up and down the gauntlets, shoulder guards and all the rest of the full-plate mail that now coated the man before them. Only the grey eyes peeking out from the helmet’s visor reminded them of the person within.