The Mage Trials

by Charles Cackler

  Sachiel set a kicked-over chair upright and sat atop it gingerly. “After the assassin’s attack, well, I’ve kept a bit of an eye upon you. I heard that the Third Trial didn’t go well.”

  “You are a true mistress of understatement,” he deadpanned. “I lost in humiliating fashion to the very woman I was tutoring out of a combination of hubris, panic, and missing something as basic as how a spell would cast. As a result of this embarrassment, I can never become a mage. No, it did not go well.”

  She frowned. “While I admit that it was not the most glorious of defeats, the Royal Academy will let anyone try as many times as it takes. Yes, you have to wait a couple of years, but -”

  “No, I cannot. My family will not let me, so as long as I am part of the Miel family, I can never return here!” Sachiel looked like she was about to respond, but Rian continued on, “They think of me wanting to be a mage as a joke, some silly hobby they indulged me on because I am their son and brother. And I hate it. I hate knowing that my dream does not really matter. This… this is just the last and final bit. It is for the good of House Miel, they say, you have embarrassed us, they say.” He swallowed. “I know they love me, but I just wish that what I want mattered to them.”

  When he finished, he felt… strangely peaceful. He wasn’t happy, but he’d let out something that had been secret for a long time, perhaps too long.

  Her face was grave but at the same time kind and there was an understanding in it that he saw so rarely in others. “Then you truly do have a hard choice to make,” she said, her voice soft, like furs brushing his cheek.

  “What choice do you refer to?” He asked bitterly. “To forgo my dream or abandon my family to live as a commoner, trying desperately to maintain my skill and practice as I struggle to survive?” He shook his head. “Even if I were somehow able to manage that, my family would lean upon the academy until they forbade me coming. That is no choice. There is no choice, save for submitting.”

  “You’re wrong.” Hefting her red cloak in one hand, she said, “When I was little, I dreamed of wearing this. I was going to be an honorable knight for my king, protect and serve Rasgor and I would let nothing stop me.” She smiled softly. “And nothing did. I trained and practiced until my arms bled and my legs felt like they were on fire but I persevered, and the moment I was old enough, I volunteered for my liege lord’s army to join the battle against the orc invaders. A few years and a war later and that cloak was mine.”

  The feeling of kinship with her caused his anger to die down, just a little. He understood years of hard work all too vividly, but sympathy that didn’t change anything about his situation. “A fine story, but did you have your family refusing to let you? Did you have to choose between abandoning your family or your dream?”

  “No… I did not,” she admitted after a long moment. “My family was proud of my decision even as I joined the Crimson Order - things were different then.”

  “So then, what choice would you have me make?”

  Sachiel’s eyebrows drew together and she bit her lip as she considered. She peered at him with those honey-brown eyes, looking for something he couldn’t imagine her finding in the broken shell of a man he’d become. Finally, she nodded. “There is nothing I know that would let you become a mage if a noble family stood in your way… but there is someone who walked that path himself: Dalmarn. I don’t know the details but he does, and if you ask him, he might help you.”

  He stared blankly at her. “Dalmarn? Dalmarn, of all people, help me? That is your answer? He despises me! Every trial, he tried to make me fail. He may not have been responsible for making me face Alensia, but I am certain he loved every minute of watching me fight and lose to my friend! The bastard would not help me if I gave him all the gold in the kingdom!” He shook his head. “This is no help, just a waste of the little time I have left.”

  “Perhaps you are right, but are you really going to give up the last chance at your dream because you might have to convince someone who doesn't like you?”

  Rian opened his mouth, then closed it again. When she put it that way… “No.”

  “Very well,” Sachiel smiled, before giving him a gentle shove toward the door, “for what it’s worth, I think he hates you more because of how everything was so easy for you rather than anything you have actually done. Now that you have suffered like him, his opinion of you may have changed… or perhaps not.” She shook her head. “I could be wrong, but even if I am… I’m not sure it would matter. If becoming a mage means as much to you as you say it does, there is a way to do it. I’m sure.”

  He suspected she was wrong… but hoped she was right.

  “Now, go find Dalmarn and perhaps the next time I see you, you will have blue robes around you.”

  ***

  The academy’s depths were as black as ever, the few light sources glinting like little stars. Rian staggered through the shadowed pathways, still weak from his ordeal but feverish desire pushed him on. He went through the darkness, ever deeper until he found himself in front of the familiar stone door.

  He knocked, timidly at first, but when the owl’s cry went unanswered, he hammered on the door until it opened.

  Behind it, Dalmarn stood, attired in a thick, woolen resting robe. His face was as hard as iron and a vein throbbed in his forehead at the sight of Rian. “I hope you have a good reason for disturbing me. I am not your servant, boy.”

  His stomach squirmed. This was not how he should have began the conversation, he realized. He should have remained calm but it was too late to try anything different. “I apologize but I heard you know another way to become a mage.”

  Dalmarn raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a nasty little smile. “So, after your abject failure, you wish for me to help you circumvent the system. Tell me, what would you offer for my support?”

  “Offer…? Do you want a reward of some sort?”

  The man’s expression grew so cold it reminded him of the northern winters. “So, you expect aid simply because you are of noble status, that I should allow you to pass in spite of your abject failure thanks to the blood running in your veins?”

  “Allow me to -” He realized what Dalmarn was implying. “I am not here to cheat! I failed the Mage Trials and deservedly so. I hate that I did, but I would not want you to alter that result in any way.”

  “Then tell me, why have you come here if it’s to waste my time?”

  “Sachiel told me that you failed the trials yourself, but you found a different way to join the magi. I need to know, how did you do it, sir?”

  Dalmarn stared at him, an indecipherable expression on his face... then started to laugh.

  “Sir?”

  The man waved him off. “Never you mind, little lordling. Go back to your manor, enjoy your silks and delicacies, study for the next time and forget that you ever heard those words. The path I took is far beyond what you are capable of.”

  “If that were an option, I would, but I cannot simply try again.” Rian had endured much from Dalmarn, from sabotage to casual cruelties, and the very thought of this made his skin crawl, yet in the name of becoming a mage, he bowed low. “I have no other choice. If nothing is done, I will be unable to ever join the ranks of the magi, so I beg of you, please tell me how you became a mage.”

  “Oh trust me, I understand your... desperation,” Dalmarn sneered at the word. “Just like every spoiled noble brat, you went through life getting every trifle you desired. Toys, jewels, any tiny morsel that caught your eye. You were so proud when you mocked me, so sure of yourself and your heritage. Now the only thing you ever truly wanted is lost to you and not for all the castles you own or the noble blood that flows in your veins can you get it.” He chortled. “Truly, I can think of no more fitting end for someone like you.”

  His blood boiled. “Do you think I did not work? That I did not struggle? I dedicated everything to becoming a mage! Yes, my family helped me, yes, I had advantages, but I did all the work myself. It was my sw
eat that got me as far as I did, nobody else’s. Yet because of my family, none of that will matter! Do you not have the slightest sympathy, you -” Dalmarn’s eyes glittered and he cut himself off, remembering that he needed to persuade the man to help him. Taking a deep, hissing breath, he continued, “You had to go down a different path because you could not complete the Mage Trials. It is the same for me. I do not want special treatment, just a chance to succeed.”

  Dalmarn ground his teeth. “I have a little - very little - sympathy for you, but it does not matter. Do you even know why you lost?”

  “Because I misused my spells and underestimated my opponent.”

  “That was a rhetorical question, boy,” he grumbled to himself. “Still, while accurate, that misses the larger picture as to why you truly lost. Your defeat wasn’t just because of a misused spell or a miscalculated strategy, but because of what you lack: instinct and talent. You might work hard, but you don’t have that knack that goes beyond books and practicing. When you face actual challenges, instead of rising to the occasion, you panic and fall apart. You are your own worst enemy.”

  Each sentence stung like wasp stings but the pain did not come from rudeness or cruelty. Rather, it came from something that might well be the truth. He wanted to ignore the words but forced himself to consider them, no matter how painful they might be. Was Dalmarn right? Was it truly that he just lacked the ability?

  He had studied for many years but his defeat had been humiliating, both for him and his family. Even before that though, his successes at the first two trials had been by mere inches or moments. A little worse for each and he would have failed. Was it a question of talent? Alensia had talent - her victory over him had been because of his own mistakes but she passed the Second Trial without difficulty - but he had spent ten years preparing only to fail. He hesitated… then shook his head.

  “You were not wrong in saying that I was foolish and weak…” Rian swallowed, his words sticking in his throat, “but I think you are wrong now. Perhaps I do lack talent but that does not mean I am incapable of becoming a mage. I was hampered by my own mistakes and never tested my limits, never facing a challenge where victory was uncertain. But I will learn from those mistakes if given the opportunity to do so. That is all I ask, and truly, what cost is there to you to allow me this chance? If I fail, you never see me again.”

  Silence fell in the wake of his words. Dalmarn peered at him strangely, an expression of consideration upon his face, perhaps for the first time looking at him as more than just some noble brat. His eyebrows knit together and he tapped his fingers against his chin.

  Finally, he spoke, “The path I took would be too much for you, but I suppose it will not hurt to explain why. Very well, let me tell you how I became a mage and you can be the judge.”

  Rian nodded, listening intently.

  Dalmarn paced, gathering his thoughts, then said, “When I came to the academy to take the trials, I… was not like you in the slightest. You are rich and noble-born, with all the opportunities in the world laid before you. I had nothing, save for a couple of spells I’d learned and a purpose. Still, I passed the first two trials with ease, then for the third, I faced a noble much like yourself,” he smirked, “and I crushed her without effort. It was even more one-sided and humiliating than your own battle with Alensia yesterday,” the smirk widened further, “and we both know how that went.”

  “Yes, she was utterly defeated. Your point is made, but if you won, then why did you -”

  “Why didn’t I pass my Mage Trials?” Dalmarn’s voice descended to a growl. “Because of that lying bitch. Since I ‘didn’t know my place’, the woman accused me of cheating. And in a dispute between a wealthy countess ready to spread her money around and a commoner with nothing to his name, you can imagine how that ended. Not only was I unable to pass that year but I was forbidden to ever take the Mage Trials again.” He sneered. “Luckily, that was not the end of my story.” He turned to Rian. “Do you remember what I said about the purpose of the magi?”

  He’d said quite a bit, actually, but in summary… “To protect Rasgor, correct?”

  “Exactly, to become a mage, you must demonstrate that you are skilled, powerful and cunning enough to merit the robes. The Mage Trials are the primary method, but I proved myself a different way: I fought for Rasgor in the Orc Wars under King Iruel and was recognized as a war hero by the king himself. That proved my capability so far beyond doubt that the noblewoman’s maneuvering became irrelevant and I was allowed to join the magi.”

  “So if I were to do what you did…”

  “You would have to do something so great, so magnificent, that nobody could doubt your ability; something that would make even those who are against you grumble and nod reluctantly as they admit that you are indeed worthy.”

  Understanding struck him and his knees buckled. Dalmarn’s path did have the advantage that his family couldn’t stop him if he succeeded; yet that was the problem, to succeed, he would have to not just demonstrate capability, but true brilliance. Dalmarn had, but he had been a prodigy. Rian… wasn’t. Achieving the same thing would be difficult beyond words and he could lose his life all too easily.

  It was his dream, but was he willing to risk his life, perhaps never see his family again to obtain it? For all his words, he hesitated.

  ‘It’s your fault...!’

  Rian clenched his hand into a fist.

  “You understand, don’t you?” Dalmarn said. “What you seek is an impossibili-”

  “Where do I begin?”

  For the first time since he met Dalmarn, he had the pleasure of seeing the sneering man’s eyes go wide, his mouth working silently as no words came out. He could only stare at Rian, unblinking, as he tried to understand and failed. Finally, the man said, his voice faint, “Excuse me?”

  “I want to follow the path you walked. Where do I begin?”

  “You’re - no, you are not joking at all, are you?” At his shaken head, Dalmarn looked at him in disbelief. “You realize that this is impossible, yes?”

  “Not impossible,” he said, “just very unlikely. I can still succeed.”

  Dalmarn exploded in perplexed rage. “This is not some silly game, boy! Forget about succeeding, you could die! Eaten by a dragon or slaughtered by orcs or brigands, and even if you were to somehow do this, you might never be the same again!”

  “I know.”

  “Then why?” Dalmarn roared. “You’re a noble! You can spend every day pampered by servants, eating delicacies common folk could never touch, without ever having to endure so much as an hour of hard work’s sweating. Why risk your life for the mere possibility of joining the magi? Why does this matter to you so damn much!?”

  “Because all of that, everything you just said, tastes like ashes in my mouth.”

  “What?”

  “Do you know why I want to become a mage so badly? When I was young… someone I loved died and there was nothing I could do. Spells can heal many things and, if I had been a mage, maybe I could have done something, maybe she would be alive now to agree with you that I am foolish for risking so much. Because, truly, you might be right,” Rian gritted his teeth, “but I don't care. I have a good life, with riches, respect and a loving family, whatever troubles we might be having now. I am not such a fool to not know how good I have it, but as long as I am helpless to protect those around me, it all tastes like damn ashes.”

  He looked the other man in the eyes. “I will not be able to take the Mage Trials again. My parents will see to it and you know what a noble’s family’s influence can do. Your path is dangerous, perhaps even deadly, but if there is any way it might lead to me becoming a mage… I am willing to accept the risk.”

  Dalmarn drew back, shaken. In his eyes, Rian could see empathy, wonderment and perhaps even a bit of worry. The room seemed to shiver in anticipation as the man opened his mouth to speak, to give Rian what he so desperately needed -

  There was a knock at the door and the
owl’s head cawed.

  There was a long moment, where annoyance warred with reluctant duty across Dalmarn’s expression, then the man sighed and went to open the door, muttering to himself the whole way. As it swung free, he snapped, “Yes? What is it?”

  Their visitor was a man in a blue robe, whose shaggy dark hair had already started to turn grey at the edges. “Sorry,” came the grunting reply. “I’m Bertrard and I was told to speak to you about some enchanting questions I had.”

  Dalmarn frowned, his gaze flickering back and forth between the man and Rian before he said acidly, “One of the new students? Go find one of the other instructors. I was a proctor, not your personal tutor and I have no interest in teaching you brats how to make wood shinier or whatever they have you doing now.”

  “My apologies, sir,” Bertrard muttered, adjusting his robes; they fitted him no better than Alensia’s and were lumpy in a number of places besides. “Mage Meralda told me to talk to you, said you know this spell better than anyone.”

  “Of course she would say that, probably trying to get you out of her own damn hair.” In spite of his words, there was an upwards quirk to the corner of his lips at the flattery. “Very well, come in and let’s get this done quick.” Dalmarn nodded to Rian. “Give me a few minutes and we can continue our discussion.”

  Bertrard frowned, glancing at Rian oddly before following Dalmarn to his desk, where he placed a cube of polished wood that glinted with tiny gemstones and began explaining to Dalmarn what he needed help with.

  Rian paid it no interest. Whatever they were talking about wouldn’t matter as, whether or not he took Dalmarn’s path, it might be months before he would be able to apply the knowledge anyway. He sighed, his gaze falling upon the man who had interrupted them. It was infuriating that he had knocked just when he did - he was pretty sure Dalmarn had been on the verge of saying ‘yes’ - but hopefully, the delay wouldn’t cause him to change his mind. He just had to be patient. To pass the time, he watched the man who had achieved everything he hadn’t.