The Black Mage: Apprentice (3 page)

"Soldiers of the Cavalry are exempt, of
course, since they are immediately placed following their trial
year in whatever region the Crown demands," the Commander noted.
"It is a shame that they can't do a four-year rotation as well, but
they take on much lesser roles in our service and it is not
necessary for them to learn the chariots before they are placed in
our city."

The imposing lady knight continued to explain
the finer points of her strategy – pointing to her colleagues from
time-to-time to explain what each leader would do once the chariots
had left the barrier tunnels. The mounted knights would follow up
with an armed assault – usually the sickle sword if they were
desert natives, or the halbred if coming from the Crown's Army.
Whatever horses remained were given to the soldiers – with the
majority serving on foot with battle axes to break up their
opponent's armor and give the knights an easier target to
dismantle. The Restoration and Alchemy mages would remain in the
tunnels – equipped for battle, but prepared for healing and the
latter for a last minute defense.

They had left no possibility unplanned.

Though we went over various techniques for
breaking up enemy lines and securing a victory, the one thing the
Commander and her council never told us was exactly where those
tunnels were located. We didn't know their number either, and we
never would… unless we were given a position in command or
participating in an actual war.

Because Jerar's capital had never been under
siege, the Red Desert's tunnels had never been used. The laborers
that had helped build them had died several centuries ago. The only
people who knew their exact coordinates were either dead, or
currently serving the commanding post in one of the desert or plain
cities. The only exception was the royal family. Not even the
various barons or ruling lords in the affecting cities knew.

From everything I had gathered the tunnels
were Jerar's most safeguarded secret. It hadn't been said directly
but I was almost certain they punished offenders with death. There
were rumors that those who went looking for them never returned.
And then there was the mysterious death of Ishir's past Commander
who had been in the prime of his health when a sudden illness had
rapidly taken his life after only three years into his reign.

Definitely
a secret.

By the time our two hours were over I had
forgotten most of my earlier problems. Priscilla, Master Byron, and
my new injury were just small, annoying blips in my otherwise
perfect life. Every time I walked away from Strategies in Combat I
felt like I was a part of something great. No one and nothing could
take that away from me.

I was an apprentice now. For Combat, the most
prestigious faction of all.
I
had defeated more odds than
any of the other war schools. In the School of Knighthood almost
half of the first-year pages were made squires. In the Cavalry?
Three-quarters of its applicants made soldier. The Academy? Less
than ten percent.

I wasn't even considered lowborn anymore – as
an apprentice mage I was now afforded the same status as a noble.
Not even squires had that privilege. Magic was rare. And important.
So I was.

And in four short years I would be a mage of
Combat.

"You sure look chipper for someone with a
broken arm."

Breaking free from my daze I spotted Lynn
waiting with Ella's mentor, Loren, a tall dark-skinned youth with
startling blue eyes that my brother loathed. It had been he who had
spoken.

"Thanks for reminding me." I gave Loren a wry
smile. Ella and I followed him and Lynn down the stairs to the
third floor. The great building hosted four levels – the first was
the privies and wash chambers, the second the squire/apprentice
mage barracks (depending on whose year it was to field train – we
were never in the same city together), the third was the dining
commons, and the fourth for regiment meetings. It wasn't as grand
as the Academy – but it was still impressive.

"Is Ian staying behind to do extra mentoring
with Darren today?" Lynn joined me as I found us a seat. The room
was smaller than the one we'd had at the Academy – and there were
only three rows to choose from. Before there had been over a
hundred of us – now there were only sixty, well, sixty-one since
the exception the Colored Robes had made for me last year. Twenty
apprentices from each faction – five for each year.

"I doubt it." The troublemaker was far more
likely to be trying to talk his way out of the chore Byron had just
assigned. I repeated what Ian had told me on our walk to the
infirmary. "Wish I could see him do it," I added.

Ella picked at her plate, avoiding a curry
she had deemed too spicy for her liking. "I'm surprised he would
try."

"What are you talking about?" I stared at my
friend.

Ella did not reply – suddenly too busy
chewing to answer. Lynn, meanwhile, seemed unusually upset. My
mentor hid it quickly though, masking her discomfort with a bunch
of questions about my arm instead. I quickly forgot my own as the
girl barraged me for answers.
Would I still be able to train
with her? Did I think it would affect my castings? Was I sure Byron
wouldn't let the Restoration apprentices cast a healing for
it?

"Ladies. Loren. I hope you didn't mourn for
me while I was away."

Glancing up I saw that Ian had returned,
looking no worse for wear than usual.

"Did you even talk to Byron?" I asked
suspiciously. The third-year seemed too cheery to have just come
from a chat with our training master.

Ian took the seat opposite mine as he slid in
next to Loren. "Nah. I decided it was a wasted effort."

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Ella
and Loren exchange meaningful looks.

"So did anyone else notice how Commander Ama
keeps avoiding divulging where those tunnels are?" I asked, finally
breaking the awkward silence.

Lynn shrugged. "It doesn't matter much. I
don't see Jerar going to war anytime soon." She turned to Ian.
"What do you think?" she teased. "Are we ready for war?"

Ian's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Why don't
we ask our very own royal since it will be his father signing those
summons?" He stood up and pretended to scan the row of Combat
apprentices for the non-heir who was, as usual, missing from the
table. "What a shame, my charming mentee is absent.
Again
."

Darren hadn't taken a lunch with the rest of
our faction since we had started. Instead, he spent the hour
drilling with Byron
personally
in the training grounds. I
wasn't sure whose idea it had initially been – the man
hero-worshipped the prince - but I understood Ian's irritation. No
one else got exclusive training with the master; Byron was grooming
Darren for success and leaving the rest of us – particularly the
ones he didn't like - to rot.

I had confronted Darren about the injustice a
couple weeks back and the prince had just laughed in my face.
"What did you expect, Ryiah? Not everyone is going to treat us
like equals. You got lucky with the first-year masters at the
Academy but you are going to have to learn to accept the injustice
now - it's
always
going to be here. Especially while
I'm
around."

He'd made a good point – even if I hadn't
liked what it meant.

Since Ian was Darren's mentor he took the
prince's absence more personally than the rest of us. The
third-year didn't trust Darren. I think the prince's aloof nature
unsettled him. And Darren's competitive drive only made things
worse.

I sympathized. More than anyone else at our
table, I understood Ian's plight. I had gone through the same thing
the first time I'd met the non-heir - and it had taken me ten long
months to stop second-guessing Darren's actions.

Normally, the mentor-mentee relationship was
a good thing. It gave two apprentices the opportunity to bond over
shared trials and common goals in training. Each pairing lasted a
year before the partners were switched. We would have two years
leading others and two years following them. The varied approach
would give us the chance to be the best and the worst, and the
experience was supposed to make us better for it. Ian undoubtedly
interpreted Darren's extra training as an affront instead of what
it really was: a lifetime of expectation.

I think there were very few who understood
why Darren acted the way he did.
I
wasn't an expert by any
means – but the prince had made certain remarks last year that had
led me to believe his role was more demanding than people realized.
Otherwise, how else could one explain why a
prince
was more
accustomed to injuries than the rest of us? Darren had never once
lost control of his magic in training – and as one of the few
apprentices that could pain cast that was
highly
unusual. It
led me to two possible conclusions: Darren was perfect, or he had
trained in far worse pain than the rest of us.

It was hard to accept the latter, but no one
– not even the current Black Mage - had ever had a flawless
apprenticeship. I knew firsthand how hard Darren worked. After all,
his ambition was the reason we had become friends – though it had
taken
many
misunderstandings to get there.

"I understand wanting to be best, I do," Ian
continued. "But there is nothing wrong with a little bit of amity.
Would it kill the prince to take a meal with his factionmates?" He
directed the attention to me. "I mean, look at Ryiah. She is just
as stubborn, but she still manages to have a conversation with the
rest of us."

Ella winked at me conspiratorially. "Oh,
Darren still has 'conversations' with some people."

I glared at her. She knew very well there was
nothing going on between Darren and I. Maybe there had been at one
point – but it was long gone. His betrothal to Priscilla of Langli,
one of the wealthiest young women in the kingdom – and my personal
nemesis, had made that perfectly evident.

Ian's eyes met mine. "That's right, Ry. You
and Darren are actually
friends
." He pronounced the last
word with mock distaste, grinning. "So how did you do it? What
makes the cold-hearted princeling mortal like the rest of us?"

I fidgeted in my seat. The last thing I
wanted was for the others to find out about last year's
transgression. Especially Ian. I suspected my feelings for the
curly-haired third-year weren't strictly platonic - and I didn't
want him to think that I was, as Priscilla put it, "pining" for
Darren.
Because I wasn't.

Ella giggled. "Oh I don't think it's
something you would want to attempt yourself, Ian."

"Why?" Ian raised a brow. "What did she do
that I can't?" He turned to me and gave me his most disarming
smile. "Ry, just tell me whatever you said to convince him to make
him give up that ridiculous pretense."

"It's not an act." I kept my eyes averted as
I said: "Darren just has a really hard time opening up to people he
thinks are beneath him…"

Ian gave a fake gasp.

"…But I'm sure after a couple months he'll
realize you
are
trying."

Ian stole a handful of grapes off my plate.
"That, my dear, is the worst explanation I have ever heard." He
added half-serious, "If I didn't know better I would say you were
defending
him."

"I'm not," I said quickly. Too quickly.

"Did something
happen
between the two
of you?" Ian leaned across the table to look at me.

I flushed. "No."

Ella coughed loudly.

Ian withdrew, grinning. "So that Priscilla
girl
was
right. You are a terrible liar, Ry."

I wished I were anywhere other than the
commons. My humiliation could
not
get any worse.

"Don't worry," Ella added wickedly, "No one
cares that you kissed the prince."

I was wrong.

The second half of my day didn't get much
better.

I was on my way to the fourth floor to begin
a lesson on desert castings when I ran into Darren.

"So I heard that you wanted me to carry you
to the infirmary."

I gave the prince what I hoped was my most
disdainful expression. "I don't know what you are talking
about."

A corner of the non-heir's lips twitched, and
I had the distinct impression he was on the brink of laughter.
"Don't worry," Darren said, "I have a hard time imagining you'd let
anyone
help you."

I held my stance – praying that my friends
were taking their time to catch up. "You know me well." Apparently,
he hadn't made the connection to his mentor's earlier absence – but
I wasn't about to tell him. Ian had joined me because he wanted to
– not because I was some inept apprentice in need of rescuing.

"Even if you
had
asked, I wouldn't
have carried you."

This was the person I had spent half a
year 'pining' over?
I must have been mad.

"I'm not saying it to be mean, Ryiah. You
don't need to give me that look."

I continued to glare at him.

"Byron is good for you."

I put my hands on my hips. "I don't need
another 'adversity builds character' speech, Darren. That man is a
chauvinistic pig. Where's
your
adversity?"

Darren raised a brow. "I'm looking at
it."

I gave an exasperated huff and went to go
find a seat in the back of the room. I was so distracted I didn't
notice when Ian slid into the bench next to me.

"Lover's quarrel?"

I glared at the third-year. Ella, Lynn, and
Loren were chuckling. "I hate all of you," I told them.

None of my friends paid the threat any heed.
Grumbling, I resigned myself to two hours with fools.

****