“Don’t be. I’m not. We’re both alive and that’s what matters. It could very easily have been otherwise.”
In spite of the warm sunlight, a shiver ran down his spine. She was right. If she hadn’t come with him, helping him along, he would be dead now. Someone had tried to kill him and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. His spell had shattered like glass on the assassin’s attack.
He drew the blankets around himself. There were so many little things that could have gone wrong. It had been a long time since he felt that helpless.
Sachiel must have noticed his mood as she gave his shoulder a squeeze. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! Dalmarn wanted me to let you know that the Third Trial would be postponed another day to give you time to recover.”
Rian was thrown by her change of subject, wondering how she could take these matters so lightly, but then again, given how she’d fought, this must be far from her first encounter with mortal peril. He was no soldier though and was glad to discuss an easier matter. “That is much appreciated. Did he tell you anything about what it consists of?”
“Well, he told me to remind you that he has no intention of giving you an unfair advantage, regardless of your noble birth -”
Of course not, that would make things far too easy for the man who’d nearly died.
“- However, he also said that since everyone is supposed to be informed ahead of time for this trial, I am to inform you that the Third Trial consists of one-on-one combat against one of your fellow apprentices, with success or failure to be based on your performance.”
He digested that. Dalmarn might have asked her to explain this but after two times where the mage left out key bits of information that nearly led to his defeat, he definitely wanted to make sure there were no details missing. “So I need to win against my opponent to become a mage?”
“Not necessarily. If you perform well and demonstrate skill, you can still pass even if you are defeated. They are judging your capability so victory’s less important than showing what you can do.”
That made sense. The Royal Academy was famous for only accepting the best to join their ranks. Being able to defeat another apprentice who had passed the first two trials was a sure sign of skill, but if two of the best apprentices were to face each other, that didn’t mean that the defeated apprentice was bad, just not quite as good as the other. “Was there anything that he wanted me to know?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“What about any details you think I should know?”
Sachiel frowned but visibly considered before shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure those are the same details that were shared with the other applicants. I can ask another proctor though if you like?”
Rian thought it over but… “If this was another attempt at sabotage, it wouldn’t be something so easy to undo. So I suppose he is telling the truth, which means that is… actually somewhat helpful of him.”
“He may have grown a little fond of you, I think…” she smiled ruefully, “Well, as much as he can for a noble, anyway.”
That was still below a positive opinion, he was sure. “So, my final obstacle is the day after tomorrow. I will have to be ready.”
“From what I saw, you just have to stay calm next time and you’ll be fine. I doubt a fellow student will pose more threat than a trained killer.”
Her words were kind but after the Second Trial and the battle with the assassin, he knew better. If he wanted to win, he would need to be stronger, cleverer. He could not afford to get by on luck twice, especially if he was attacked again.
Attacked again? He tried to ignore the thought and focus upon the trial to come. It wouldn’t do to shatter like glass right before the test that would decide if he were to become a mage… if he survived that long.
The healing ward was quiet; even what other patients or magi were in other rooms were no louder than the skittering of mice. It looked welcoming - it was welcoming - but after everything that had happened, not even Houndstooth would feel safe. He could still hear the blades whistling as they hurtled toward him, eager to tear him to pieces.
There was a rustle and Sachiel cleared her throat. “You know, it’s rather rare to see a noble trying to become a mage. What has you so determined?”
‘It was his fault.’
“There are certain magics only an official mage can learn,” Rian said. ”Why did you want to know?”
She tapped the hilt of her sword, eying him. “Curiosity, I suppose. The magi are important, but ever since they learned how to craft Sacreliths, fewer among the nobility are choosing to join their ranks. I wondered what inspired you to take that step.
“I see…” Her questions were innocuous, but he felt twitchy under her gaze nonetheless. Before he could say more though, the sounds of approaching footsteps and a familiar drawl caught his attention.
“You are certain he will be alright, no permanent injuries?” Soren said.
“Yes, yes,” the answering voice was a woman’s, and rather gruff and nasally, “the boy will be fine. The attacker didn’t harm him. It was just a bit of spell-exhaustion.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Soren’s voice took on an edge that Rian hadn’t heard in five years. “Magi Meralda, this young man is the second in line to House Miel’s main branch. His parents, his sister and I are all very concerned as to his well being. If you are mistaken, there will be consequences. Now, I ask you again, are you certain that he will be alright?”
Meralda backpedaled immediately. “M-My apologies, honorable sir. I am certain he’s alright. Our healing ward’s care is provided by only the most experienced magi.”
The door opened and Meralda tottered in. Short and thick in body, she was hunched over a knobbled cane and her darting eyes were sunken into her face, surrounded by the wrinkles of time’s long march. Her nose must have been broken several times in the past and her visage was not improved by presently being the color of goat’s milk, but she wore her white robes well. She noticed his state of wakefulness and smiled tremulously. “How are you feeling, milord?”
He sat up without difficulty. Truthfully, if he didn’t know what had happened, he wouldn’t have had any idea he’d strained himself to begin with. “Much better, thank you.”
Her smile widened. Nodding toward Soren, she said, “There, as you can see, he’s perfectly fine, the very image of healthy youth thanks to the spells we used.”
Curiosity surged in Rian’s mind at her words. “Oh? I know that healing magic is particularly complex due to all the things that can go wrong. Were the spells cast on the spot or did you use a Spellstone to achieve the desired effect?”
“I - well…” Meralda had been caught flat-footed. Clearing her throat to regain her composure, she said, “I am afraid I cannot divulge that to you, young lord, as only mages can be taught those mysteries. Healing magic is not for the untrained.”
“True, but I have only one more trial to go. Surely, it would be possible to give me just a few of the details…”
Before Meralda could respond, Soren interrupted. “Yes, yes, that is all very good. The point is that you are well and -” his gaze fell upon Sachiel’s red cloak and his expression hardened. He took a step forward, placing himself between her and Rian. “My apologies for any rudeness but what is a member of the Crimson Order doing at my injured lord’s bedside?”
Sachiel’s smile grew visibly more tired. “Nothing much, just saving his life from an assassin. All in a day’s work, I suppose.”
“Oh, I’d known there was an attack but didn’t realize... “ Chastened, Soren bowed his head in apology. “I apologize for the suspicion but with what’s happened…”
‘...and the fact that you’re a member of the Crimson Order,’ was almost audibly tacked on.
The way her jaw tightened made it clear that the message had indeed been received. “Of course it was, but I suppose I can’t fault you for being concerned about your young lord.”
�
��Yes, and House Miel is grateful for your aid, miss…?
“Sachiel, Sachiel Licourt.”
“Miss Licourt then.” Soren cleared his throat and straightened himself up. “Can you tell me more about the attack? As you can see, specifics have been rather… lacking.”
“Certainly.” She relayed the tale, starting from spotting the crossbow bolt heading toward them, through her clash with the assassin and all the way to Rian’s falling unconscious and the assassin’s escape. The way she explained it, he had fought bravely, doing his utmost even as he used up the last of his strength.
He certainly didn’t feel brave. He wanted to go home, lock his bedroom door and never come out again.
When she was finished, Soren slowly nodded to himself. “So after you left this Dalmarn’s chambers, the assassin struck. He must have been waiting... “ He frowned before turning to Sachiel. “Thank you, Miss Licourt. If you will both permit me though, I would like to speak to my lord alone.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” With an easy grace, Sachiel bowed and left, Meralda hurrying out behind her.
Once they were gone, Soren let out a sigh and collapsed into the chair Sachiel had vacated, massaging his forehead.
This close, Rian could look past the man’s combativeness and see the wrinkled robes, the dark circles under the eyes and the unshaven chin. He must have been up all night worrying. No wonder the man was exhausted.
“How could this happen?” Soren finally said. “To have an assassin strike in the Royal Academy… It isn’t Houndstooth, but it is still one of the safest places in the kingdom. The Crimson Order guard it and the magi guarantee safety for those inside. For an assassin to penetrate it should be nearly impossible.”
“Why would an assassin come after me anyway?” Rian whispered. “I’m not even the heir, only second-in-line after Nyna!”
“Are you certain he was after you? You were not the only one there, after all, and there are many who despise the Crimson Order.”
The desperate hope in his voice was palpable and the fear that had Rian’s stomach squirming wanted nothing more than to tell Soren that of course the assassin was going after Sachiel and that he didn’t need to worry. It would be so easy to dismiss it and pretend that it had never happened… but it wasn’t Sachiel who had been mere seconds from death.
“Every single chance he got, he tried to kill me. He nearly had me with a poisoned crossbow bolt at the beginning of the fight and ended it by trying to turn my guts into a pincushion.”
“Perhaps it was…” Soren’s weak words trailed off. The logic was inescapable and they both knew it.
“Beyond that,” Rian continued, “there was someone watching me before my trial. Which makes more sense? Him there waiting for someone who had probably just arrived that very day or him waiting for someone who was already heading to and from Dalmarn’s chambers for his Mage Trials?” He took a deep breath when Soren looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Someone tried to kill me, that is certain. The question is why.”
“You’re right, and I think I have the answer to that,” Soren murmured, visibly sick to his stomach. “When you selected Isabel as your potential match, I was pleased, even eager to annoy the Gazif matriarch.” He bowed his head in shame. “I didn't think it would lead to this.”
“You think the Gazifs are trying to murder me over a marriage match?”
Soren’s dour expression didn’t change. “It is an overreaction, yes, but the Gazifs are capable of it. They have a long history of nasty tricks. Earlier this year, they fabricated charges to arrest a member of one of our allied houses when it looked like he stood to inherit land from an offshoot branch of their family.”
“I know they are crooked, but to stoop to murder over a marriage…”
“Don’t be naive, Rian. A smart marriage means allies and greater holdings, more strength for the Miel both in this generation and the ones to come, and it’s not murder if they hide their tracks, only a tragic accident.”
He wasn’t naive and was quite familiar as to the purpose of his marital matches. To accept Soren’s logic though was to have a dagger aiming for his back based on a mere marriage, that Countess Gazif would have him killed because he liked the look of a girl. He stared at his hands, the blood in his veins feeling like chunks of ice. If Sachiel hadn’t been there…
“There is one other detail to mention,” Soren softly added. “Do you remember how Baroness Pable died?”
It took a moment before Rian remembered his grandmother’s cousin, a jolly old woman with a belly that stretched even the great dresses she loved to wear. “Some sort of fungus in her castle, as I recall.” His eyes widened. “Wait, are you saying the Gazifs were responsible? Surely my mother would have done something, wouldn’t she?”
“We never could prove it. It was a common fungus, native to her land and there were no Gazif holdings for a hundred miles, but it occurred merely a week after she attempted to bar their caravans through her territory.” Soren’s expression hardened. “Some said it was mere coincidence, but I am not so charitable. If they were responsible, they murdered someone over some trade routes. Your marriage, on the other hand, would represent them losing holdings they’ve been trying to obtain for a generation.”
“So an assassin is after me over my choice in marriage. To think we were worried my association with Alensia might cause trouble!” He laughed but it came out stilted and hollow.
“I’m sorry it has come to this. I knew the matter of your marriage prospects would attract interest, perhaps some mild trouble, but I didn’t expect the Gazifs would attempt something so brazen. I thought it would be some warnings, perhaps a lost trade deal or two. Damn them!” Soren slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, but his fury seemed to burn out with it, leaving behind an old and tired man. He buried his head in his hands. “I am so sorry. It was foolish of me not to consider how low they might sink. I never should have given that girl as an option!”
Rian swallowed and his hands shook. There was a price on his head and he could die for merely trying to better his family. Worse still, he hadn’t really been all that interested in Isabel; he’d picked her simply because she was the best of the options forced on him. He’d never wanted to get married. This was all because his family needed it of him.
He stared out the window, where the sun shone over the academy grounds. The silver spires still held their siren’s call of warmth and knowledge, but it was overcome by the chill inside him.
This was supposed to be a place of learning and growing but family politics had come even here and now might take his life. Part of Rian, the part that desired nothing more than to hide in his room, wanted to scream and shout at Soren for what had happened, to castigate the man for not realizing this sooner, but he was supposed to be brave and understanding. Wasn’t he? He had a duty to his family, no matter how his soul ached.
‘Act in a manner befitting House Miel…’ Rian didn’t feel brave but looking at Soren’s wilted form, he would try.
Squeezing Soren’s shoulder as much to support himself as the other man, he just barely managed to keep his voice from quavering. “My mother… She always tells us ‘House Miel will always have enemies. It is a consequence of our importance.’”
He swallowed, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes and the wetness trickling down his cheeks. “If it wasn’t this woman, it would be something else, wouldn’t it? Perhaps Nyna would have been the target over her own marriage, or some dispute over title heritage would have started this. The day would come one way or another regardless, so does it really matter what caused it?”
His voice trembled at the last bit, but his words had the desired effect.
There was a fire in Soren’s eyes once again and he got to his feet. “You’re right! They saw a weakness and sought to strike us. But we are House Miel. We don’t clutch our blankets in fear at the thought of an enemy attacking us. We make them regret the day the idea of harming us ever crossed their damn minds!” He
took a deep, hissing breath and grinned ferally. “It’s a hard trial you’re facing, Rian, but it isn’t one you need face alone. Tell these healers you’re coming with me. I have an idea.”
His hands still shook, but at Soren’s determination, the coldness receded from his chest. No matter what, he could count on the help of his family.
***
All the little items and tools were in their places within Ambrose’s chambers but the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different when they stood before the enchanted mirror. This was no negotiation or family chat; it was a war council.
“The Gazifs are after my son. The Gazifs are after my son!” Jela Miel’s eyes blazed and she clenched her hands into fists as she stalked back and forth. “Who do they think they are!? If they want his blood then I shall take theirs. Every. Last. Drop!”
She’d been annoyed at being awoken so early until their explanation had sunken in. Said annoyance was replaced by first confusion, disbelief, and then horror in rapid succession before finally settling on murderous rage. She still wore her sleeping gown and her hair was bushy and bedraggled, but those were mere details behind the iron in her jaw.
Eldrie was no less affected. His cheeks were ruddy with blood rush and his grey eyes were now little points of steel. Ever since he’d heard the word assassin, his gaze had been hard enough to pierce stone. Still, he was a little calmer, “As outrageous as their plan is, we need to keep clear heads. Soren, do we have proof that it is the Gazifs behind this attack or only our suspicions?”
“Not yet, milord.” Soren frowned. “Do you think it might be a third party, perhaps?”
“An assassin goes after my son’s head mere days after we pose a marriage suit for the hand of the same woman the Gazifs are courting and you think it is unrelated?” Eldrie outright laughed at that, a harsh barking sound. “You must be making jest, Soren. No, it is the Gazifs for certain, but we need evidence if we’re to get aid from our liege lord. The Gazifs aren’t some family of jumped-up landed knights but a noble house almost equal to our own. While we might easily defeat them in the field, digging them out of their castles is beyond us alone. If we want to bring them to justice, we will need more than supposition. We need allies and proof.”
The Mage Trials Page 13