The Black Mage: Apprentice

by Rachel E. Carter

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 RACHEL E. CARTER

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters,
and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to
actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are
assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used
only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these
terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of
this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically,
constitutes a copyright violation.

THE BLACK MAGE: APPRENTICE

Copyright © 2015 RACHEL E. CARTER

ISBN 978-1-62135-396-6

Cover Art Designed by CORA DESIGNS

To The Boy Who Never Reads,

Too bad you are marrying an author.

I am sorry for all the times I ignored you to
write this book.

Thanks for putting a ring on it anyway.

I watched the two figures dance, twisting and
turning as they exchanged matching blows in the stifling morning
heat of desert sun. The sand shifted and clouded beneath their
feet, small swells of dirt temporarily blinding my vision as the
two continued to reposition their lightning-quick blows.

I studied their forms. Lissome, dangerous. I
couldn't help but notice how the sweat glistened off their tanned
skin, highlighting the contours of well-taut arms and shoulders. It
was an observation I had partaken in many a time but had yet to
grow tired of watching.

The two fighters continued their match. The
taller of the two, a young man with sandy brown curls and laughing
green eyes, seemed the most at ease with the procession. He
countered his partner's rapid attacks with an almost lazy defense
that spoke of a lifetime of training. The second young man was the
opposite, trying to hide his building frustration in every blocked
attempt. Garnet eyes flared underneath black bangs and my heart
skipped a beat. The shorter of the two might have been less skilled
in hand-to-hand combat, but it was he my gaze clung to just a
second too long.

The bout carried on for several more minutes.
I fanned myself with my hand, wishing desperately our faction had
been assigned a cooler terrain to train in. The desert certainly
hadn't been my expectation and I had not grown used to its
sweltering heat. Many of the other apprentices seemed to share my
opinion; there was not a full water skin to be found anywhere in
our audience.

The tall boy caught the second off-guard with
a swift, sweeping kick that sent his partner sprawling into the
sand. The second didn't look too happy at his outcome, shooting the
older boy a look of pure venom that would have sent most people to
their knees. The tall boy just chuckled, offering the second his
hand – which the second blatantly ignored – as the rest of the
class clapped.

A man in stiff black robes stepped forward,
frowning. "That will do, Ian." He turned to the young man on the
ground and said in a much more friendly tone: "Darren, that was
very good for a second-year, you have no reason to be
disappointed."

The expression on Darren's face didn't change
as he pulled himself up off the ground. His eyes stated very
clearly he did not share Master Byron's opinion, and I had not the
slightest doubt that the non-heir would be training in private for
weeks to come as a result of today's practice. Though we couldn't
be more different, it was amazing how similar the two of us were
when it came to performance. The master had been praising him for
weeks, but it was clear that until he was the best, Darren would
not be satisfied.

"Ryiah. Lynn. You two are up."

Nerves tingling, I made my way to the front.
A young woman with dark bangs and amber eyes gripped my elbow as I
passed. "Good luck, Ry," Ella whispered.

Standing where the two boys had fought just
moments before was a girl of Borean descent that I had sparred with
many times before. Lynn gave me a reassuring smile. I tried to
return the sentiment as I took my position across from my mentor.
Palms sweating, I waited for the Master of Combat to announce the
drill.

"And start."

Lynn was the first make a move, ducking into
my circle with a low jab to the ribs. I held my guard and countered
her strike with a low block of my own. She pulled back, long black
ponytail flying, and I quickly placed a high kick, narrowly missing
as she fell out of reach. My fingers itched to extend it with a
casting and I quickly squelched the urge.

No magic, Ryiah.

Refocusing on the task at hand, I studied my
opponent, seeking any shift in her stance that might foreshadow her
next attack. Lynn's hazel eyes met mine, sparkling with a delicate
innocence that matched her doll-like features. It was a lie. She
might be petite but I had long ago learned the truth. The
olive-skinned third-year was lethal in hand-to-hand combat and
anything with a pole.

I exhaled slowly.

I had lost every single match to Lynn thus
far, and while I could take some comfort in knowing she was a year
ahead, I knew there were others who had already started to win some
of their mentor duels. A snicker sounded in the audience, one that
was reminiscent of wind chimes … sarcastic, cruel,
vexing
wind chimes. I didn't need to shift my focus to identify which
second-year was behind the sound – Priscilla of Langli was
impossible to miss.

Lynn gave the slightest alteration to her
stance, weight shifting ever so lightly to her right heel. I jumped
in with a hasty outer block while my right fist shot out at her
abdomen. Lynn pulled back just in time, my hand barely grazing the
thin material of her shirt.

Without hesitation I launched into a low,
rounded kick and she parried it with an easy blow of her own. I
fell back and instinctively angled my hips so that I was just out
of reach, fists raised and ready to counter her next offense. When
it did not come immediately I sprung forward, feigning a two-fisted
punch while my real attack came in the form of a high kick aimed at
her ribs.

My mentor was not fooled. She easily
countered – stepping into the kick the second she saw my knee rise
– and rammed my body with the full force of her weight. I stumbled.
Lynn rushed forward kicking and punching seemingly at random. I
struggled to block but I had been caught off-balance by the
previous defense. A hard-packed fist collided with my stomach and
another with my face.

Lynn sent a quick kick to my shin and I
faltered, feeling the gravity shift from under my feet as I fell to
the side. I did not have time to adjust my form before my right
elbow slammed into hard-packed earth. Sand billowed up all around
me as a sharp pop sounded and instantaneous pain flared up and down
my arm.

I cried out as my magic's barrier broke. A
swift casting came rushing from my hands before I could halt it,
slamming into my opponent and sending her back-first into a nearby
palm. Lynn hit the ground with a hard thud and the magic fell away,
its damage done.

"Blast it, Ryiah!" Master Byron swore. His
aristocratic face, normally so calm and collected, was beet red.
Sweat glistened off his well-kept skin. "If you can't control your
magic, you are never going to be allowed anywhere near a
battlefield!"

I quickly scrambled to my feet, my face
aflame. Lynn had already pulled herself up as well, and the
expression in her eyes was one of pity. I thought it kind of her –
I had to be the most frustrating second-year to mentor, yet she was
always patient and understanding, even when my magic was knocking
her into trees. Master Byron, on the other hand, was anything
but.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean-"

"The Council made a mistake," the man huffed,
ignoring my outburst. "You shouldn't be here. I don't know what the
Black Mage was thinking, granting you an apprenticeship. You may
have gotten away with that trickery in your trials but it will not
fly here."

"Yes. Sir." The words were bitter on my
tongue. My elbow was smarting terribly. Hot and cold pains were
shooting up and down my right arm and I had less patience than
usual for Master Byron's criticism. It wasn't as if I had
intentionally cast. It had just happened. Other second-years lost
control too – but in the two months since the apprenticeship had
started the training master had taken to targeting me
personally.

"What good is a girl in Combat if she is
always embracing her gender's weak-minded ways? Learn to deal with
your pain, Ryiah, or go back to a convent."

I opened my mouth to retort.

Ella's hand closed over my left wrist, an
unspoken reminder.
Do not let him get to you
. I attempted to
swallow my fury.

"Surely, Master Byron, you can't believe
there is only one sex to feel pain," an amused voice spoke up. "I,
myself, embrace such 'weak-minded ways' almost daily."

"Your sarcasm, Apprentice Ian, is not
appreciated," the master said dryly. "I am simply making a point to
Ryiah that she would be better suited elsewhere-"

"For accidentally using her magic? Sir, we
have all done that – in my second year alone I-"

"Perhaps she is not the only one who should
not be here," Master Byron snapped. Giving me a dismissive glance
he added: "Ryiah, see to that arm – you will have to make up the
rest of the exercise later."

All twenty apprentices stepped to the side to
allow me to pass, although none of them met my eye as I did. I
groaned inwardly. Most of them hated Master Byron as much as me.
The difference was they, unlike Ian and I, had learned to keep
their tempers in check.

Holding my head high I began the short trek
to the infirmary. At least there would be one bright spot to this
day. Alex would be with the rest of the Restoration mages – which
meant I would get to see him when I checked into their base.

I had barely seen my brother the past few
weeks. Our factions had kept us busy training in opposite ends of
Ishir Outpost. Any excuse to see him – even at the cost of a
possibly broken arm – was preferable to the absence of my other
half.

"Hey Ryiah, wait up!"

Spinning around I discovered Ian jogging to
catch up with me. His hair was windblown and I couldn't help but
notice how, even out of breath, the third-year was incredibly
handsome. Not like the prince. But then again no one ever was.

Ian was just Ian. When the apprentices had
arrived at the Academy to pick up their newest recruits, most of
the older students had been wary of me.
I
was the
sixteen-year-old girl who had destroyed the school's armory during
the first-year trials.
I
was the sixth name to be called –
an occurrence that was unusually rare in the Academy's habit of
picking five students to apprentice per faction.

Ian hadn't cared. The moment the third-year
had spotted me he had let out a loud whoop and set about to
collecting his winnings from the rest of his friends. Apparently
there had been a wager going for which of us first-years would make
it; since I had been considered a long shot during the mid-winter
duels Ian had been the only one to bet on me for an apprenticeship.
I was surprised the boy had even remembered me from our short time
during the solstice ball, but the self-proclaimed "underdog" had
assured me he remembered "everyone that counted."

Since my apprenticeship started Ian had
quickly become one of my closest friends, after Ella. The
third-year's sarcasm matched my own, and he knew firsthand how
horrible Byron could be. After all, until I arrived Ian had been
the master's least favorite student.