The Mage Trials

by Charles Cackler

  Once again, it was all his fault.

  ***

  He was woken from his slumber by the sun fitfully spilling its light into the ward, a feeble and greyish cast that drained all color from the room.

  The healing magic had done its work, the last of his aches and pains had now gone away save for a normal morning’s tiredness. Whatever wounds he’d had were gone, leaving healthy pink skin beneath.

  He found himself barely caring. What did it matter if he was healthy and safe when he had failed so completely? Even without the assassin, it would be two more years before he could have another chance, and even that was only if he could balance the demands of his position with the time he’d need to practice and prepare.

  If only there was some way he could succeed now, without years of struggling. After passing the first two trials but failing the third, it was like reaching the final leg of a great journey only to find out he’d have to start it again.

  He’d been so close, damn it! If he’d just used his brain rather than underestimating his opponent… He slammed his fist into the bed beside him, once, twice, then again, but none of it helped. How could it?

  There was a knock but he couldn’t bring himself to respond to it.

  A few moments later, the door opened and Alensia shuffled in, creeping her way over to the chair beside his bed. She no longer wore her threadbare attire, dressed instead in the fresh blue robes of a mage-in-training, the robes she’d won by defeating him. They didn’t fit her, being too big to fit on her frame and too long, pooling down at her feet. Her gaze fell upon him and she bit her lip.

  “Sorry,” she said awkwardly, “I didn’t know you were awake.”

  His eyes began to sting. He would have given anything to wear those robes. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to cry again. “So, the victor comes to see the one she vanquished,” he said, his voice sounding like a piteous whine even to his own ears. “Alensia, why are you here?”

  “You were hurt and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  “Feeling guilty for what you did to me?” At her hurt expression, a dark pleasure surged through him. He wanted her to feel the same pain he was.

  Still, although she was the one who defeated him, it was his own fault for being so foolish. Trying to tamp down his anger, he took a deep breath and continued, “Rest assured, I have recovered.”

  Alensia picked at her overly large sleeves, trying in vain to pull them back over her wrists. “That’s good to hear…” She forced a smile. “Listen, I spoke to the proctors and there was some good news. They said the next set of trials is coming up a little sooner than we thought. By winter next year you’ll be able to try again.”

  “A year and a half from now.”

  “Right, but I’m sure you’ll succeed then. You almost made it this time…” She trailed off, avoiding his gaze once more.

  His anger burst. “After getting me thrown out of the academy, the least you can do is look at me!”

  She recoiled, eyes wide. “Rian?”

  “I spent years preparing for this day and now it is gone! And the worst part is that you do not even want it.” Rian laughed bitterly. “You just wanted to take care of your damn son, which I would have been happy to help you do anyway! Instead, I tutored you and was repaid by you taking my dream away!”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean to -”

  “To what? Take everything that mattered from me?”

  Alensia bowed her head, her expression as brittle as glass. “Do you truly think I was trying to harm you?

  He glared at her, wanting nothing more than to scream in the affirmative, to make her the cause of all his troubles and tribulations, but he knew she hadn’t deliberately wanted to ruin this for him - she’d been thinking of damn Maleth.

  “No, I do not,” he finally said, “but I still should have been the one to win.”

  She reached out, tentatively patting his arm. “Listen to me, young lord, I know you’re angry now, but give it time. Everything will be alright in the end, you’ll see.” She forced a laugh. “Why, when I was your age -”

  “Do not speak to me like a child!” When she recoiled, Rian drew a hissing breath into his lungs. Blood still pounded in his head, but he managed to calm himself slightly. “Alensia, whatever help you are trying to provide, please stop. All I want from you is to leave me alone.”

  “I just wanted -” She faltered.

  He didn’t hold back. “Every moment I look at you, I keep thinking about how you ruined everything and I lost the one thing that mattered to me! So please, if you are truly my friend, leave me be.”

  “I…” Her eyes were bright with hurt but she drew her robes around herself with a nod. “Very well, young lord. May… may we meet again.”

  Rian said nothing, but when she left, he slammed his fist into the bed again, the tears already starting to fall.

  ***

  His face had only just begun to dry when Soren came, letting him know that they would be leaving tomorrow after the afternoon meal and that his parents wanted to speak to him one last time beforehand. The man’s face was drawn the whole time, his bearing tired. Even with his dislike of Rian’s goal, it was clear the man felt for him.

  Ambrose was ready for them when they arrived, having finished casting the necessary spells before leaving so that they would have the necessary privacy. The chairs, the mirror and the workshop, everything was identical to that of before, save for the feeling of it all. Rather than pride and excitement, or even anger and fear, only emptiness remained. He was a beaten man.

  But that is only for now.

  Alensia was right. Once the assassin was dealt with and the marriage suit completed - one way or another - he would be free to return and finish the trials, having learned all he needed to pass them. On that day, he would succeed and attain what he so desperately desired.

  Nothing would stop him, Rian vowed, not friends, assassins nor even that damn Dalmarn. He would be a mage regardless of what stood in his way.

  He faced his mother and father once again.

  This time, their faces were grave and lined with worry at the sight of their son. Jela was the first to speak. “Rian, I’m glad to see that you are well. When Soren told us how your Third Trial ended, I was afraid you would be permanently injured, but here you stand before us...” She trailed off, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

  “Our little warrior,” Eldrie broke in with an awkward smile. “Good to have you standing tall once again.”

  In spite of their words, both looked at him as if they feared he might start bawling at any moment.

  He couldn’t blame them for their concern - they’d probably expected him to be in tears as a result of his failure, and the only reason he wasn’t was that he’d cried them all out.

  After everything he’d been through, he wanted nothing more than for them to hold him and tell him it would be alright… But he was also his mother’s son, and just like her, he wouldn’t let defeat be his end. He couldn’t bring himself to smile, but he nodded to try and show that he was fine, more or less. “Thank you, both of you. Rather than focusing upon the past though, let us discuss our plans for when I return home.”

  His mother understood his intent and nodded, the awkwardness fading from her face to be replaced by a stern pride. “Very well. First, we have to reach out to the prospective marital matches. One declined, but the others are willing to meet with you to find out more.”

  “One of them is that Isabel girl,” Eldrie winked. “She even said that she is looking forward to meeting you.”

  The marriage matches… with everything that had happened since the assassin attacked, they’d seemed so meaningless. Still, it was good news. Isabel seemed like a decent young woman and, given her family’s heritage, she would likely let him study as much as he needed. While he would still have to deal with the assassin and his responsibilities, this would give him the chance to prepare thoroughly for when he would retake
the Mage Trials again.

  Eldrie’s expression grew graver. “More than that though, we did some digging into the Gazif’s attempt to murder you.” He nodded toward Rian. “Your supposition was right - the Gazifs have been moving a large amount of coinage through Sirala lately for a trade route. With such vast sums of money being sent about, it would be easy for the cost of an assassin to go unnoticed. We should keep quiet for now though. The more proof we have, the better it will be for us, and besides, Nyna still has a strong claim against some Gazif holdings through her marriage. If the Gazifs lose legitimacy and strength, we can easily press them.”

  “It will not take long enough for that to matter,” Jela said with a frown and the air of someone having heard these arguments several times before. “As soon as we can conclusively prove the Gazif’s responsibility, I am summoning our levies. Our liege-lord will have to aid us or open murder of nobles will become the order of the day, up to and including him. Besides, once their castles are sacked and their armies are broken, the only claim that will matter is that of the sword.” She smirked, “Speaking of Nyna though…”

  “Hello, my dear brother.” The woman in question stepped before the mirror. She waved up at Rian with a grin, the family resemblance showing in her green eyes and the same high cheekbones as her mother and brother. Her pale blue dress trailed along the floor behind her, yet her movements had a loping grace to them that no garment could conceal.

  “Nyna!” he exclaimed. “It’s been months since I have…” He paused. “Err, did you change your hair?”

  Her smile widened and she posed to emphasize the tips of her dark braids that had somehow turned bronze. “Oh, this? A man came by from the east, said this was very popular in the lands beyond Rasgor. Soldiers in Intelli wear it to intimidate their enemies in battle.”

  “I hardly think altering the color of your hair would be needed to make you more intimidating,” Jela said, her stern expression demonstrating her point brilliantly before she allowed it to soften into an almost-smile. “Still, I have no objections.”

  “And the colors do contrast well,” Eldrie added. “It looks lovely on you.”

  “I like it,” Rian said after a moment’s thought. “Not that you need to be much more intimidating - we both know what happened last we sparred.”

  Nyna waved it away. “Oh, that was the last time, and you were still practicing your spellwork. Now that you’ll be using a Sacrelith, I expect it to be much closer.”

  “A Sacrelith? Why would I be using a Sacrelith?”

  Silence fell, the expressions on each of his family members freezing upon their faces. For a long moment, they peered questioningly at one another in turn before their hard gazes fell upon Soren.

  Eldrie gave the man a particularly cold look. “I thought you were going to discuss it with him.”

  Soren was unable to meet the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry, I… I hoped it would have been obvious…”

  “No, you had a responsibility and you shirked it.”

  “That what would be obvious?” Rian said, fear trickling into his mind. It can’t be. “What is going on? What have you not told me?”

  Eldrie looked sick to his stomach. Closing his eyes, he cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to Rian. “My son, there comes a time that… it’s necessary to give up on some ambitions, to realize that some goals... exceed one’s reach.” He fumbled for the words and grimaced. “What I am trying to say is… your mother and I agree that... it is time that you give up on becoming a mage.”

  The words were tentative and so quiet that Rian didn’t understand them at first; the air was sucked out of the room, leaving an empty void in their wake. His father kept talking, but he couldn’t hear him over the soft tinkling of everything about him shattering into pieces. Years of work, struggles and dreams… all of it thrown away in an instant.

  Even after his humiliating defeat in the Third Trial, the assassin pursuing him and being sent back to try again another year, he’d still hoped. He’d still planned and dreamed. Now though… there was nothing… and it was all their fault.

  “My son?” Jela spoke, a softness in her eyes that was rarely seen; perhaps it was sadness after what they had revealed to him.

  None of it mattered. “How could you?” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You always said that family was what was important, that we should be there for each other. Even when those outside might strike us, we could always rely upon the ones who share our blood. I… I came so close. I just need one more chance and I will pass.”

  Jela and Eldrie exchanged meaningful looks before Eldrie sighed, bowing his head. “Rian, I understand how you enjoy your spellwork, but you must understand the situation. If you had merely not succeeded, that would be bad, yes, but we could handle that matter. However, you lost in crushing, humiliating fashion.”

  “My son, you are right that the most important thing is family,” Jela said, “but that is exactly why I am calling an end to this. This sort of debacle does not just harm you but the family as a whole. House Miel’s power is not just based on strength and holdings but the perception of that strength. It allows us to avoid unnecessary conflict because weaker foes dare not cross us, letting us save our might for true threats. You are the second-born of our family. Being defeated by a mere commoner? I would not be surprised if our enemies are already sharpening their knives.”

  “I just need a little more time, that is all I am asking!” Rian shouted, his voice cracking. Pleading would not aid him, so he mustered every bit of self-control he could and continued, “I know what mistakes I made and will not repeat them. Next time, I will succeed and not just succeed but succeed brilliantly. If my defeat weakens us, surely a powerful victory will strengthen us.”

  The rest of them looked back, but there was no consideration in their eyes, only pity.

  “Even if your parents were somehow willing,” Soren said quietly, “even if all the business with the assassin were to be dealt with, it will be almost two years before you can attempt the Mage Trials again and two further years to complete the Royal Academy of Mages. How would you do that while performing your duties as the second in line to House Miel?”

  He frantically tried to grapple for an answer, something that might change their minds, when his mother came in for the finishing blow.

  “Rian, my answer is final. We cannot afford to take this chance again. One of your marriage prospects has already changed their mind and declared that they are ‘looking in a different direction.’ I imagine tougher trade demands will follow.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, my little warrior, but as you yourself said, the family is most important. This is not just about you, my son, but all of us, and we cannot let a selfish desire weaken our family. I’m sorry, but you will never be going back there.”

  His lips were dry and chapped, and all he could do was stare.

  Nyna offered an awkward smile. “Don’t look so glum, little brother. Trust me, a Sacrelith is far better than some moldy old books.”

  ‘Too weak. You couldn’t save anyone.’

  He didn’t scream, not aloud.

  ‘You couldn’t even save me.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sky was grey and dark outside the window of his quarters, the rain clouds looming thickly over everything as the inhabitants of Sirala below sought shelter, leaving the academy spires alone in the gloom.

  It matched his mood, the drumbeat of failure playing in his head in time with the downpour. The notes ranged from his family’s pity and Dalmarn’s sneer to Meralda’s sad honesty and Alensia’s guilt. He would never attend classes, never learn more of the mysteries of the magi… never see his friend again. Damn it all. Damn it all to hell.

  How could he have let this happen? It was his dream… no, more than that, his promise, yet he failed miserably. It was all his fault… If only there was another way, he would do anything, no matter how difficult if it had the slightest chance of success.

  It was
impossible though. Just like Pelric, his dream would die fallow, but it was his own family who had put the sword in its breast. How could they do this to him?

  He clenched his hand into a fist, but it fell limp at the memory of his mother’s rebuke.

  It was cruelly logical perhaps but no less true for it. If the Miel family were shown to be weak… there were a number of nobles who would gladly take advantage to sink a dagger into their collective backs. He already had an assassin after him but how much worse would it be if the Gazifs were to gather allies in their murderous quest?

  No, it was hopeless.

  Behind him, propped against the far corner of his room, the Sacrelith Khaldun shimmered, its halberd blade gently pulsing with the rain pattering against the window panes. In mere days, he would begin wielding it, and all the training he had done would become useless, mere memories, as his skill was drained away into rust.

  There was a knock from the hall.

  Soren left earlier, Rian vaguely remembered. Something about the final payment for something or other. He considered that it might be the assassin here but dismissed it - why would the killer knock? He didn’t move from where he stood by the window but managed to croak out, “It’s open.”

  The first thing he saw was a shock of red hair as Sachiel slipped inside. Her eyes flicked over him briefly and worry creased her forehead. “Rian… you don’t look so good.”

  He glanced at his reflection in his room’s mirror and winced. He had physically recovered from the battle but his face was blotchy from tears and his normally groomed mane of hair was a bedraggled mess. He hadn’t changed from the pale green robes the healing ward had given him either. The bedroom was in no better of a state, various objects having been hurled about as the portrait of Arnla looked down disapprovingly at her worthless descendent.

  “I have been better,” he admitted. “Why are you here?”