The Mage Trials

Path of the Magi 1

Charles Cackler

Copyright © 2020 Charles Cackler

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9798636676263
ISBN-10: 1477123456

Cover design by: Art Painter
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America

This work of fiction is dedicated to: Chrystal Cackler, Steven Cackler, Coeur Al'Aran, Christina Iglesias, Natalie Millman and Evan Cackler

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Interlude One

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Interlude Two

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

About The Author

Chapter One

It was just past noon, according to the stone sundial in the courtyard, and a horde of locusts seemed to have descended upon the halls of the Miel family. The horde attired itself in silken tunics and wide pasted-on smiles. Sweet nothings and claims of honor came from every lip, all the better to conceal the knives that would strike when their victim was at their most vulnerable.

Rian would have preferred the locusts.

There was no way around it, though. Their liege, Lord Genthru Tolthor, had come to show his appreciation and make plans for the coming year, and with him came what seemed like half the nobility of the Kingdom of Rasgor. Each of the noble families under Lord Genthru had sent representatives, cousins, and lesser members of their family to ensure no agreements or the like would be made without their valued advice.

Of course, it wasn’t like they could come alone; each brought an entourage of servants to aid them and attend to the sort of matters a noble wouldn’t dare sully themselves with - accounting, supplies and other matters of necessity, but not glamor.

The scents of various perfumes filled the feasting hall, cloying and over-sweet, mixing together into a chalky reek that threatened to overwhelm the more honest smell of roasting mutton and ham. Scratchy whisperings of robes trailed past him as the teeming multitude slipped into their seats at the great table, each one eying their assigned spot and comparing it to those of others.

One particular woman had a wide smirk upon her face at how close she was to the head of the table. She spared a moment to sneer at less-fortunate rivals before turning her attention to the thickly-bearded man sipping at his goblet beside her. She inclined her head to him politely. “I must say, you have certainly outdone yourselves this year. The decorations are exquisite and the wine is warm all the way down.”

“Of course. We would not have it any other way - broke out some of our finest stock just for the occasion, more to the better.” Setting down the drink, Uncle Garian settled back in his seat with a satisfied groan. “Tell me, how was your journey through our southern fields?”

The woman, whose name escaped Rian - someone from the Gazif family perhaps? - held her goblet gently, letting the red liquid swirl inside. The smile on her thin and pale face was friendly, but the way her eyes narrowed gave a feeling like that of a spider looking at the fly flitting near its web.

“The land was gorgeous, golden wheat as far as the eye could see, corn as high as my head and free of bandits besides, but sometimes my carriage was fit to shaking.” She chuckled lightly, twirling a lock of her long brown hair around her finger. “I wonder if I am still bumping about, I confess.”

Uncle Garian chortled right along with her before lowering his voice as if he were confiding a secret with his words, “Well, we are careful to make sure that the trade roads are smooth and flat, but the farmers are not so attentive with their own. Which route did you take to get here?”

Polite conversation with the ease of old friends gabbing over no more than the bumpiness of a road, but Rian knew that the Soren would chastise him if he didn’t pay the closest attention to the discussion. He could see the man in his mind’s eye, sternly regarding him with a pointed ‘Look deeper, young lord.’

From where he sat, a couple of seats further down the table from the pair, Rian sipped at his own beverage, trying to figure out what the Gazif noble was really trying to achieve.

Servants with the House Miel crest over their tunics placed the first course of garnished ham beside them, making only the slightest whisper of sound in their wake.

The woman tapped her chin thoughtfully as she cut the food into little pieces before consuming them one by one. “I do not recall the route myself, although I do know that we started at the Rat’s Gate and made our way as quick as we could along the main thoroughfares. But what concerns me is whether the roads are truly built for transporting what we ship. A few bumps will not harm me - the strong must grin and bear it, after all -  but some of our cargo is volatile. It would become worthless if jarred too much.”

“Ahh, that would be troubling...”

“Do not worry too much, Lord Garian,” she said with a smile, squeezing his shoulder as her voice dropped to a low purr. “House Gazif and House Miel have been friendly for generations. Half our trade goes through the Rat’s Gate. In honor of this bond, could we perhaps request just a bit more for our cargo? Not too much, just enough to make up for the times it is damaged.”

Uncle Garian stroked his beard thoughtfully before nodding. “I have not heard any complaints from the caravan masters, but we truly value our long friendship with the Gazif family - all five years of it. It might be a little inconvenient, but if it is as bad as you say, we can reroute your caravans to come through the Goat’s Pass to the northeast.” He grinned, perhaps with a little too much teeth. “If you like, Agatha, I can even let your great-aunt know that the request was made on your behalf.”

Her face paled more and more with each word he spoke. “That will not be necessary,” she quickly said, “much like us, our caravans are familiar with enduring the hardships we face...”

As Agatha further backpedaled in her panic, Rian took a sip of wine to cover his own smile. Of course she didn’t want that to happen - she was trying to manipulate and cajole in an effort to get a better trade deal from House Miel, not cause a delay in their own endeavors. If the Gazif matriarch received word of her causing their caravans to take a less profitable route… to say she would be furious was an understatement.

Such trickery... He sighed, yet this was typical for the nobility. Intrigue, double-dealing and manipulation were tools they all used. The banners of all the noble houses underneath the Miel family flew overhead today, bright in the afternoon sun, yet the position of each had been carefully considered for just the sort of message House Miel wanted to send. They had summoned some of the men-at-arms from the borders to swell the ranks at Houndstooth, the family’s citadel. Each weapon and armor gleamed with polish, all to give the impression of greater strength and power.

As his mother explained to him, subtle strength had its place but to be respected, one must not only be strong, but one must appear strong.

He continued his meal, eating with a patient sort of laziness like that of a chimera resting on the eastern plains, fat from its kill… or well, he hoped he appeared that way, cold and unaffected, someone nobody would dare bother unnecessarily. Far better than them noticing the nervousness that lurked behind his eyes. Vultures preyed on such.

The scent of crushed berries filled the air with a welcoming aroma. “Why, hello there, Rian,” came the lilting voice of the woman seating herself beside him. She was perhaps a few years beyond him with wavy, dark hair that framed a somewhat chubby face. Even as he strained to recall her, she grinned at him. “It has been quite a while, has it not?”

It took a moment, but the small scar under her left eye caught his gaze and jogged his memory. “Scrylla, it is good to see you once again.”

Her smile widened. “You, as well. It has been far too long.” After a draught of wine, she set the goblet back on the table with a thump and leaned closer to him. “And what have you been up to lately?”

Rian hid a frown with a bite of ham.  A first cousin of the Gazif’s main branch, with a voluptuous figure that was hardly hidden by her red silken dress, Scrylla had the appearance of a teasing maiden, but he recalled from experience that there was a more conniving side to her. Some of her tricks, he remembered, had been quite nasty.

“I have been busy with my studies in the art and will be taking the Mage Trials very soon.” He decided to change the subject before she could press further. “But my tales are far less interesting than yours, I am certain. Your son would be two years of age now... How is he?”

Her eyes lit up, each the pale blue shade of the summer birds flying outside. “Oh, he is just the sweetest little thing you could possibly imagine. He has yet to truly grasp our language, but he is learning. It is such a shame that you could not meet him today. He was left with his father, of course. This sort of gathering is no place for one so small.” She grinned. “Of course, you will know what it is like when you have your own. Have you and your family decided who you will be wed to?”

“Not yet. We have not discussed the matter in detail.”

She leaned closer, which did rather interesting things to her figure - he averted his eyes for both propriety and his face not resembling the color of a beet.

“Well,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I suggest you pay close attention and keep in mind what you truly want, or you might find yourself marrying an old goat for the sake of your family...”

As she trailed off, the bitterness in her words caused sympathy to swell within Rian. She might be a Gazif and thus a rival of House Miel, but he understood what it was like to have to endure unpleasant things for the good of the family. “Are you… how are you doing?”

“It is… difficult, sometimes,” she admitted. “I wanted to marry someone handsome, clever… charming. Still, it helps to have someone to talk with.” She looked at him and, for all his memories of trickery, she seemed so small and slight. Vulnerable. “How about you? What sort of person would you like to marry?”

Before he could respond, there was a tap on his shoulder.

“My apologies, milord,” came the grave voice of Chancellor Soren Spinner, an equally grave man in a tunic somewhat like the servants but finely-embroidered and several shades lighter. “However, we need to discuss a small matter with the travel plans for tomorrow.”

Rian frowned, but turned to the woman beside him. “My apologies, but I must be off. I will remember your advice, though.”

Scrylla smiled sadly. “That is all I can ask.”

Soren nodded to her in turn before leading him away from the table.

They made their way through a crowd of various servants and courtiers, only about a third bearing the House Miel colors.

Chancellor Soren had been serving the family since Rian was learning his first words, but he still moved with the grace and alacrity of a man half his age; he smoothly cut through the multitude surrounding them without so much as a need to slow. He took them to a small door off to the side, one whose dark coloration matched the stone so well that it was almost invisible at first glance.

At the sight of them, the guard beside it stood aside, bowed deeply and opened it without a word.

They made their way through, the door shutting behind them with a soft click. Out of sight of the guests now, Rian frowned and turned to Soren.

“Correct me if I am mistaken, but we handled all the travel arrangements last week, did we not?”

“Ah, you remembered?” Approval flitted briefly across the man’s visage, the stern lines of proud middle age quirking into a small smile. “Yes, we did, but you looked rather uncomfortable out there, so I thought it best to give you the opportunity to relax.”

Rian weighed Soren’s words. They didn’t seem false but given the importance of the meeting… he sighed. “She wanted something from me, I take it. And I failed to notice.”

“Of course.” He continued leading them through far smaller and less grand hallways, the torchlight glimmering against the sky blue of his tunic. “People do not spill their hearts out to someone they barely know for no good reason. She was looking to lower your guard and get something from you. Perhaps your view on internal family politics, any hopes and goals you might have or even a thought as to what sort of match your family was seeking for you,” he smirked, giving him a sidelong look, “Or perhaps she was looking to invite you to her quarters tonight for a more private discussion.”

Rian’s cheeks flushed at the prospect. Whatever his family’s concerns with House Gazif were, Scrylla was not an unattractive woman. An imagined vision of her undoing the back of that red dress of hers and the straps sliding down bare shoulders filled his head for a long moment.

A moment perhaps too long, as Soren began to chuckle. “Ahh, the young, so easily undone at the first glimpse of skin. You do realize that I didn’t actually say anything of that sort, yes?”

“But - I...”

“I meant nothing more than she would ask for the chance to talk to you more privately… Of course, it would not be much of a problem for her if she were to bed you,” Soren mused, stroking his chin. “She and the ‘old goat’ already have a confirmed heir, after all, so what’s the harm for one bastard? Of course, it would be the worst for you, as you have yet to be matched for marriage. It would be quite the scandal...”

At that point, any workings in Rian’s mind came to a complete halt and stammered sounds were the only thing that escaped his lips.

Soren’s smirk widened and he led them to one of the castle’s sitting rooms, where a couple of well-upholstered armchairs sat beside an open window overlooking the courtyard, with a small table between the two. An unlit fireplace completed the design, small yet cozy, a place for relaxation. He ordered a servant to get them some refreshments before settling down.

The walk had given Rian the time needed to regain his composure and he allowed himself to relax for the first time since the multitude of guests had arrived. He leaned back, letting the soft cushioning absorb the stress he’d had all morning as a gentle breeze blew across his brow. An unwelcome thought came to him, however.

“I was the weak point, I imagine.” At Soren’s raised eyebrows, he continued, “She was attempting to target me, in one fashion or another. You came to fetch me because I was the weakest target.”

At first, there was no response, but then Soren gave a small nod. “Well deduced, but you should not worry about it. You’re young, not even two decades. It takes time to learn to play the game - do you think Nyna came into this world knowing how to navigate all its political intricacies?”

“No, but I also know that Nyna would not have needed rescuing.”

“Well, that is a question of experience, isn’t it? Your sister spent her summers learning all the little secrets of rulership, how to decipher the plans of some while persuading others to willingly serve with but the wave of a hand or the turn of an ankle, while you spent your childhood with your nose buried in those spellbooks of yours. Of course you are not as skilled as she is!” He chortled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry though, I will teach you, and one day, you will be like Baron Garian, not missing so much as a single trick.”

Perhaps… Rian smiled politely but didn’t respond. Looking down at his pale hands, uncalloused and unused to seeing the light of day save for through a window across the room, he could understand Soren’s point of view. Studying his spellcraft had taken years of work that could have been spent learning the ways of the nobility or politics.

Still, it had been worth it, and soon he was going to prove it. “There will be little chance of that for some time to come though, for tomorrow we make our way to Sirala.”

“Ah yes, days of journey to the capital of the Rasgorian empire, the shining jewel, where common folk cluster about, the streets smell of sweat and decay, and you go to complete some trials created by robed people older than time itself. How incredible.” He shook his head derisively. “The worst part is, we have to leave before Lord Genthru’s visit is complete. There is so much left to be done - trade deals, responsibilities handed out and possible marriage negotiations just to begin with - and we will not be here for any of it!”

“You underestimate it, surely. The Royal Academy of Mages is the center of all mystical learning, and think of what knowledge is there for the taking.”

“Knowledge, yes, but none of import or value. You will have greater concerns in the years to come than whether or not you can cast a few spells. Just consider all the responsibilities you will have! You cannot merely sit around. You are going to be representing the family; there will be balls and courts, and …”

Soren continued in that vein, discussing the duties he would soon face even as they ate by the window.

The sounds of whispers and laughter came up from the courtyard below, as some of the guests had slipped outside for private discussions of the type Soren was so worried about missing. More deals of the sort Agatha had been hoping to make, alliances being brokered, feuds being started and stopped, and yes, perhaps a few sordid liaisons as well. A young man emitted a rather high-pitched giggle at whatever his companion had just whispered in his ear.

Rian sighed at it all. The colorful panoply and friendly demeanors might disguise it, but the ruthless politicking was always there, just beneath the surface.

Still, the sun was warm, the food delicious, and tomorrow, he would be making the journey he had looked forward to for so long. As images of what was to come filled his head, he couldn’t help but grin. This would be the start of many great things, he was certain.

***

The morning dawned without the sun’s light, courtesy of thick grey clouds that blotted out the sky. They rumbled in the manner of bitter, old men, grumbling and growling as a thin drizzle spilled from them.

Rian, his father and his mother stood alone in the courtyard, save for a few servants who kept to the areas under the great stone walls. The rest of the extended family had chosen to stay indoors, and with his sister unable to come due to her own responsibilities, it was essentially just the three of them. Even Soren had preferred to focus on organizing for the official farewell ceremony.

He preferred it this way. While the others were certainly valued members of House Miel, each of whom he would miss in their own way, this morning was for him and his parents alone.

His mother, Jela, in spite of the light sprinkling that had already started to mat her hair, was as unaffected by it as the walls of Houndstooth itself. Underneath the interwoven set of black braids, her steel-grey eyes suited her well, perfect for giving people hard looks. In her only concession to the rain, she wore a thick woolen dress that left nothing bare and was dyed in the forest green of House Miel’s heraldry. Strapped to her waist was her Sacrelith, a slim dagger that might have been crafted from a single shard of ice, and gleamed in spite of the lack of sunlight. As enchanted as it was, she didn’t need it - her every movement spoke of both power and the experience in using it.

In contrast, while Rian’s father, Eldrie Miel, had once been a warrior of some skill, the years had softened him and his long, dark mane of hair had begun to gain the slightest tinge of grey at the edge. The calluses of the past remained upon his hands, but even they had begun to fade and the smartly cut emerald tunic he wore was unable to hide a bit of a growing gut. However, he carried himself with strength and poise, and his eyes were still as keen as any hawk’s.

Eldrie peered down at him with a proud smile. “Look at you, a young man of House Miel going off into the world for the first time. That is always something to see… What might you find there, I wonder?” He chuckled and patted Rian on the shoulder. “Now, do not just be hiding in that academy. Sirala is quite the place to explore - I should know, I traveled there several times in my youth. Enjoy its splendors, although do be sure to keep an eye out for danger.”

“Indeed, be safe and be happy,” Jela said, her eyes having their normal sternness but mixed this time with a tinge of worry. “Just make sure not to forget the one thing the Miel family requires from its members.”

“Act in a manner befitting House Miel.” The words were easy, courtesy of long repetition.

“Indeed, and what do those words mean?”

”Do not let my actions bring shame to House Miel.”

She weighed him with her gaze but finally nodded. “Good, and much like your father, I look forward to what stories you will have to share when you return home.” Her tone grew more serious. “However, you are almost of age, and as such there will be new responsibilities you must handle, even on your journey. Not too many, of course, as we recognize that you will be occupied by other matters, but if Soren asks for you to do something, please be sure to do it. He will be speaking with our authority.”

“I will.” In spite of his words though, a shiver of concern ran through him. Would this prove a distraction?

As if reading his mind, her expression softened just a little. “Worry not. If you need assistance, Soren will be sure to provide it. Now, bow as per the traditions.”

He did so, the normal requirement of getting down on his knees suspended due to the water that soaked the ground.

She stood, the grey clouds looming overhead, yet she held her head high. “As matriarch of the Miel family, I bestow upon you my blessing. I pray that you go with fortune and plenty, that you avoid peril and cleave to safety. May your path be fruitful now and forevermore.”

”Let it be so,” he said, and although he feared his words too soft to penetrate the rain surrounding them, she nodded.

“Good, now let us make ready for the procession.”

Rian and his father looked to each other and while Jela’s noble demeanor was unaffected, the sighs of both father and son could not be concealed.

***

At least the rain had stopped, allowing the family and courtiers to come out. They were all dressed as colorfully as the day before, although perhaps a smidge more practically - the rain’s stopping did not mean the ground was any less muddy. Still, the water droplets reflecting the sun’s rays made the courtyard glitter like countless little stars.

A pedestal had been erected where his parents stood, observing with the pride and dignity typical of the Miel family, each having changed their previous attire for something far grander, as, unlike their guests, they could not sacrifice appearance for practicality. Each stood in ceremonial armor befitting the importance of the occasion, the gleaming steel so polished it was difficult to look at them from certain angles lest one be blinded by the sun.

The visitors stood off to the side, watching with interest and polite smiles, the more prestigious staying close to the pedestal but Lord Genthru was the only one save for his parents to be atop it.

His parents would be pleased with that, Rian suspected. Their liege lord’s position, standing near but not overshadowing them, was a sign that the Miel family was valued to him, a symbol of respect.

A triple line of servants stood across from where the nobles sat, a sea of blue and green with not so much as a single collar out of place.

Rian and Soren stood not too far off from the servants, unarmed and unarmored, instead wearing tailored tunics and breeches; Rian was in a jacket with the hound’s head that served as the House Miel coat of arms upon the back while Soren wore the family colors but no coat of arms.

His duty was simple yet important: complete the ceremony as they had rehearsed. Easy enough, but he didn’t dare mess up. Failure would mean humiliation, humiliation leading to apparent weakness and that leading to real danger. His body ached, the ceremonial jacket itched terribly and beads of sweat dripped down between his shoulder blades in the humid summer air, but he remained still. It won’t be much longer.

Behind them stood a carriage of the finest cedar. Engraved with symbols of one of the branch families on each side and furnished to be comfortable for easily triple the small group that would be making the journey, it promised to carry him away as soon as everything was done.

Whisperings and mutterings, the normal part of any ceremony, filled the courtyard until Countess Jela raised her hand. At the regal look that swept the sodden field, the voices all fell silent.

“The time has arrived. My son Rian, Chancellor Soren, step forth.”

As protocol demanded, each made their way before the pedestal, bowing before the matriarch of the family. Soren bowed deeply while Rian was careful to make his bow a little shallower - Soren had been quite insistent in that, saying that while in practical terms, his mother was equally above both him and Soren in the family hierarchy, as her son, Rian’s bowing too low would imply that their child was a person of little import, thus implying that the family was not of much import either.

The air was still, the crowd surrounding them all not daring to utter so much as a single word.

“Today is a most blessed day.” Jela’s voice was strong and firm as it echoed through the courtyard. “My son Rian, the second-in-line to the main branch of House Miel, will begin an important journey. He will gain strength and knowledge, empowering the family as a whole as his ancestor Arnla did before him. For the talent this demonstrates and the work befitting of his bloodline, we honor him.”

The other nobles murmured words of approval, a low buzzing. Rian closed his eyes, trying not to think of how hard it was to maintain his posture.

“When he returns, it will be to the glory of the Miel.”

“To the glory of the Miel,” came the rumble from all.

With the appropriate words said, Rian and Soren stood straight, but the ceremony was not yet done, as the various nobles came to them, each with their own well-wishes.

Many offered generic words of good fortune, polite but distant, to which he was careful to respond in the appropriate manner for each - another matter Soren had drilled him in, as treating an ally poorly or a weak house too kindly could easily offend.

A few were more notable: Uncle Garian gave him a firm hug and whispered, ‘don’t forget to enjoy yourself’, Scrylla smiled at him to his embarrassed recollections of the talk he and Soren had exchanged yesterday, but it was at Lord Genthru’s approach that he swallowed, him and Soren inclining their heads.

The nobles around them parted to give their liege room but Genthru seemed not to notice, looking down at him over a thin little nose. He was perhaps half a head taller than Rian, but the smoothness of his cheeks showed that only a few years difference laid between them.

The young lord stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose you see today as an opportunity for you, the chance to prove yourself.”

“I can only hope that fortune favors me,” Rian said, trying to inject every note of submissiveness and humility into his words as he could. Offending his family’s liege lord… that would be something beyond horror.

“Good fortune?” Genthru snorted, causing his throat to tighten in fear he had angered the man. “Success is not about hope. It is about everything you have done and will do. Your success depends on that, not some roll of the dice.”

“Yes sir,” he said, only barely able to keep from stuttering. “I have prepared thoroughly for this day.”

“Hmm…” Genthru searched his face for a long moment. He seemed to find what he was looking for as that hard expression softened, if just a little, “Then I look forward to seeing what honor you bring your family.”

Rian didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief, but he felt it all the same.

By the time those remaining had all had their say, the courtyard sundial said two hours had passed. The crowd had thinned, nobles making their way in ones and twos back inside now that they had paid their proper respects. The only ones remaining were either kin to House Miel, friends to them or those who wished to appear friendly to them.

As the door to the carriage shut behind him with a gentle thud, he peered longingly at the seats, his legs aching for the cushioning after all the time spent on his feet. It was time to leave, after all.

Soren’s gaze followed Rian’s and he gave a slight shake of the head. “Not yet. We’re almost finished. Now for the ‘adoring subjects’.”

Indeed, the servants who had come waved and cheered as he left, tossing prepared bouquets and clapping, all wishing him farewell as the carriage began to move. Their faces all had wide, beatific smiles pasted on them.

In turn, he and Soren waved out the window, careful not to let themselves so much as sway with the carriage’s movements. By this point, his smile felt frozen, a mask grafted upon his face.

As they passed through the gate and turned the corner, each man collapsed into the seat beside them and Soren let out a tired chuckle. “Do not worry. It is not so bad once you get used to it.”

Rian didn’t say anything, instead rubbing his sore knees. The bit of theater was done at least. Now to travel to Sirala, where his dreams awaited.

Chapter Two

The academy was an incredible, almost ethereal structure. Sleek spires rose perfectly straight past even the tallest buildings around it to grasp at the clouds above. Crafted of mirror-bright marble, it reflected the sun’s rays in such a way as to send an aurora of silvery light cascading across the streets surrounding it, while high windows adorned it as jewels did a necklace.

The Royal Academy of Mages lit up Sirala like a candle’s flame.

It lit Rian’s mind aflame, also. The spires caught his eye, the windows his imagination. Unbidden, he licked his lips. What secrets and mysteries laid within those halls? He had heard stories of the academy, of course, but it had seemed almost a dream sometimes to imagine that he might be here, standing before a golden gate as thin and graceful as a maiden’s tresses, waiting to enter the courtyard beyond.

Sometimes the thought had seemed no more real than a young man’s idle fantasies. When he made his way through the cramped avenues and muddy streets of Sirala, careful to watch his money-pouch for thieves, he had wondered if perhaps he had expected too much, that the legends outstripped the reality.

Stood before it now, his heart beat frantically, confirming every dream and rumor. The dingy city around the academy had been merely a shell, and the shining citadel in front of him was the truth. The weight of centuries of tradition and magic were within his grasp and -

A spear slammed into the ground, the force behind it enough to make the gleaming gates rattle.

They lay open, but they were not unguarded. A meaty giant of a man stood there, with eyes like black beetles and a long red cloak. It signaled his position as one of the king’s soldiers. The man looked out over those before him as though their very presence offended him.

“Right then,” he slammed the butt of his spear down once more, “which one of you ugly sods is next?”

Rian was far from the only one there. In addition to Soren accompanying him, three-dozen men, women and children stood waiting to be allowed into the Royal Academy.

A woman stepped forth; her black hair flowed down past her shoulders but the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes speaking of oncoming twilight years. Clutched to her side was a trembling boy of perhaps seven summers. Each of them wore clothing that could charitably be called threadbare.

The guard looked the woman up and down and sneered through his thick, dark beard. “Spread your arms,” he barked. “The king’s decree says each is to be searched. No knives or weapons allowed.”

When the woman raised her arms, the guard strode forward, patting her down. The crowd watched on, nervously chattering to themselves. The woman bore it without complaint, even as the man’s hands roved over her body. Her eyes were closed, almost hidden under her long mop of dark hair, until one finger passed too close, brushing up her thigh.

She flinched but dared not complain. “P-please, may I pass?”

“Not done yet. Give me a minute.” As if to taunt her for speaking, he brought his hands higher, trailing across her stomach and even over her breasts at one point. The woman flinched, the child standing, confused and afraid.

Finally, he finished. Ignoring the boy, he gave the woman a satisfied smirk as she shrank back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Aye, you can go through.”

She vanished inside with a speed that only just maintained propriety, clutching her child close to her and refusing to meet the eyes of any others in the courtyard or beyond.

Rian clenched his hand into a fist. “Did you see that, Soren? Such despicable actions.”

“He could have done worse, I’m afraid,” Soren grimaced, shaking his head. “I saw the Crimson Order strip a man once. Things were different under King Iruel.”

“That they can do such things is horrid in itself. Wearing the king’s cloak should not make them beyond answer.”

Soren didn’t respond, instead withdrawing a scroll from the pocket of his breeches and beginning to read it with an indistinct muttering.

He narrowed his eyes at Soren’s turning away but sighed. He couldn’t blame him for not wanting to discuss the matter - he didn’t want to think of it himself. Besides, Soren was the family’s chancellor and had far greater duties than just keeping an eye on a young lord stepping out into the world. He could have stayed in their castle but he’d come to both teach Rian and make sure he was safe, while still performing what duties he could manage so far from the castle.

The next man in line was searched and allowed into the academy, and as he left, the guard turned his eyes on Rian and slammed the butt of his spear down once more. The message was clear.

Rian maintained proper decorum when he strode forward, but his spine was rigid as he stood before the vile man. He met the guard’s gaze with a confidence that belied the difference in their height.

The guard looked him up and down, more amused by said confidence than intimidated. Neither the fine clothes nor chancellor beside him gave the man pause. “What have we got here, a little lordling fresh from his mother’s teat? What’s got you out of your moldy castle?”

“My business is my own,” Rian replied, meeting the man’s beady eyes. “I have no need to answer to someone like you.”

“Ahh, the lordlings got a mouth to him,” the guard sang out mockingly.

“I have far more than a mouth to -“

The man surged forward, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him close. “Now listen good, brat,” he growled, all levity vanishing. “See this here cloak on my back, all red and shiny? This gives me the king’s authority. So either you answer my question or we see if a day in the stocks loosens that noble tongue of yours, aye?”

He choked in the man’s grip, eyes bulging out both in outrage and shock that he would go so far. The man’s breath, foul and smelling faintly of ale, washed across his face, forcing him to scrunch up his nose. He is a beast, Rian realized. True scum. The way he had treated the woman proved as such and now this. He wanted little more than to challenge him and stand firm against his cruelties.

Yet, such would be foolish. Today of all days, he could not afford to get into trouble. The consequences would be disastrous.

Worse, the man’s cruel smile seemed to know as much. It dared him to try to do something, anything, that he might use it against him.

Anger burned in his gut, righteous indignation mixed with bruised pride. He had never hated himself more than when he lowered his gaze, conceding defeat. “I am here for the Mage Trials,” he said. “I am Rian Miel, of House Miel.”

The guard sneered but let him go, pushing him back just hard enough that he staggered and landed awkwardly. “Good little lordling. Now run along.”

Fury filled his chest, but he turned away and stormed inside. As he passed through the golden gates and into the courtyard beyond though, he felt hollow. In spite of what the guard had done to that woman, he still cowered before the threat. Was this what she would have wanted of him?

Soren trailed behind soon afterward. After giving Rian a once-over to make sure he was okay, he shook his head. “That insolent bastard. Some people just don’t respect the Miel name like they should.”

The Miel name… Was this what a member of House Miel would do? Shame pooled in Rian’s stomach but he reminded himself of what he had risked. If he hadn’t submitted, it would have been another two years before the Mage Trials were open again. Surrendering was the smart thing to do.

It was little comfort.

***

As he entered the academy proper, Rian’s gaze was caught by the multi-colored light that splashed down in hues of red, blue and yellow over the corridors, cast through stained-glass windows depicting scenes from lore and legend.

The corridors bustled with activity, full of men and women of various ages. Some were deep in conversation, perhaps discussing the intricacies of magic or other mysteries. Others were more focused, moving with the clear purpose of those with a place to be. The corridors were wide and sweeping, the stone looking like it had come from one smooth piece with not a crack in it and wide enough for five men to walk abreast, yet many more seemed to try.

He watched it all in awe. In truth, he’d assumed the Academy would be quieter, the robed individuals making their way back and forth in silence, like one of the cathedrals in the North. The bustle before him now showed that such expectations were gravely mistaken.

Over the archway above and before him, traced in the gleaming white marble, was written:

Knowledge to the Foolish

Rest to the Weary

Despair to the Conceited

The Royal Academy of Mages Welcomes You

More than just me, Rian realized, which made sense; yes, there were other magi outside of it, such as the tutors he’d had the fortune to work with and the mages who served as retainers, but this was the center of magic for the entire kingdom.

Perhaps part of it was due to the Mage Trials. He noticed that while a fair number bore the white robes of the magi and a significant minority had the blue robes signifying they were magi-in-training and had passed their trials, the majority bore neither.

Those people were like him, preparing to take the tests which would cull the unprepared, letting only the best and brightest move onto the blue robes and eventual magehood. Many more would go home denied.

He idly wondered how those blue robes would fit him. He was about as tall as most young men his age, but much of it was in his limbs. His father always said he gave the tailors plenty of work, as his arms and legs always stuck out the ends of ‘normal’ clothing, and he doubted that these would be any different. Still, he envisioned the robe flowing around him majestically, his dark hair trailing behind him like a mane, and smiled.

Still, it would be best that he found a good local tailor if he passed.

Soren, however, was less impressed. “Where exactly are we to go with this rabble?” he asked, clutching his tunic to himself as though the slightest brush with the surrounding crowd would contaminate it.

Rian frowned, peering more closely. Although there were people heading everywhere, he noticed a definite flow to the milling horde, especially those dressed like him. “It looks like those taking the Mage Trials are going that way.”

“Very well. Good luck, and - ack!” Soren glared at the large woman who’d accidentally bumped into him. Rubbing his shoulder, he snarled, “You…” He paused, grinding his teeth. “You go deal with that. I will secure our lodgings, along with another matter. Once you’re finished with whatever it is you need to do, meet me at the gate here.”

He nodded and Soren stalked off into the endless crowd.

Taking a deep breath, Rian squared his shoulders and made his way down the corridor, jostling and shimmying his way through. As he pushed through the multitude, he wondered how many of those here would actually manage to pass. The purpose of the trials was to winnow out the weak, foolish and untalented, but given how many bore blue robes compared to those who didn’t… half, no, surely far more than half would fail the trials.

A sliver of fear worked its way through his body at the thought. He’d studied hard, but would it be enough?

The corridor led him to a grand, golden arch that overlooked a hall filled with unfamiliar faces. The windows on the flanks of it were slender and tall, stained glass once more, and while the hall was gargantuan, it was curiously lacking in furniture. There was a raised dais toward the back end, upon which he could imagine someone speaking, but apart from the six marble pillars which kept the ceiling supported, the hall was empty.

Empty, that was, but for the immense crowd of people.

There must be four-hundred, no, five-hundred, maybe more!  Standing at the back of the crowd, he felt light-headed at the sheer multitude. Many would fail, but even so, he hadn’t thought the number of aspirants would be so great.

Some of them wore fine silk tunics embroidered with the symbol of noble houses like his while more were clad in the sturdy wool and leather of the merchant class. Even more were common folk, clad in patchwork clothing that had clearly been mended multiple times. All of them faced the dais. They stood shoulder to shoulder, some scowling and hissing complaints to those who jostled them as they waited.

He must be in the right place. The atmosphere was charged like a midsummer storm; a mixture of excitement and fear filled the air, and it intoxicated him as much as any other. Soren would have had a fit if he acted in an impolite manner though, so Rian swallowed and forced himself to stand still, rather than follow his instincts and push his way to the front.

Others were not so patient.

“What are we waiting for?” a heavyset woman grumbled, scowling at those around her as if the situation was their doing. “I’ve been here for almost two hours!”

“Aye, quit your whining,” retorted the man beside her, shuffling his feet himself in spite of the cane supporting him. “They’ll get to it when they get to it, and there ain’t no use crying about it.”

The woman growled, brushing pale yellow locks out of her face to better glare at the man. “Well, the least they could do is - wait, look over there! Someone’s coming!”

And indeed, a woman climbed to the top of the dais. She was small, almost two full heads shorter than Rian, but her long flowing robes were the red and gold of an archmage. Peeking out from them was the face whose calm gaze showed the strength of one who had been long tested. Wrinkles traced her expression, but her movements were quick and sure. She surveyed the crowd with a toothy grin and a bow that made her look even shorter, yet when she spoke, her voice was cool and deep.

“I am Theia, the headmistress of the Royal Academy of Mages. Welcome, and it is a pleasure to meet you all. We come from many walks of life, but all of us know the long hours spent practicing and studying, and the struggles we have faced. You should all take pride in having reached this point. Only those with true determination choose to walk this path.”

At her words, nods came from many, some with drawn faces as they remembered a painful past.

“I know that you have all come for different reasons: for learning, for power or wealth, to protect the ones you love or for many reasons besides. I would love to discover them all and for some,” Theia said, “I will receive that opportunity. For those lucky few, these walls will be your home while we instill in you all the knowledge we possess.” A sigh escaped her. “But for many, I am afraid that your stay at our beloved academy will be a short one.”

The words caused the crowd to go still, the only sound that of distant footsteps in the corridor that they had come from. No one dared move, and even the slightest rustle of cloth made Rian flinch.

“I want you to look to your left and your right,” Theia said, her voice strong and carrying. “Between yourself, the two people to your left and the two to your right, only one will be allowed to join our ranks. So prepare yourselves, as you will be tested to the utmost extremes. There will be three trials, each designed to measure your prowess as a mage, your cleverness, and your adaptability. To successfully pass the Mage Trials, you must be victorious at all of them. The First Trial will be today, with the other two following in the coming days.”

“What will the trials be like?” someone called from the audience.

“A good question but sadly, I cannot reveal the answer. The trials are meant to test your capability against that which cannot be prepared for, so for the first two trials, we will only tell you how they work just before they begin. For those who pass them both, the Third Trial will be explained then.”

The crowd digested the information quietly. For some, their expressions of nervousness mirrored his; they all wondered what sort of challenges they would face.

“Now, there are many of you, so you’ll each have to take the First Trial at assigned times. It’s quite a bit of organization. Luckily, being headmistress means I have help for that.” She clapped her hands, and five white-robed individuals stepped into the hall. Each one had a thick scroll in their hands. “Now take your time and please don’t try to cut in line. If you do, you’ll regret it.” She smiled. “For those who pass all three trials, I will see you again soon. I look forward to discovering which of you possess what is necessary to join our ranks.”

There was a small bit of jostling as the crowd tried to get to the five scroll-carrying mages, but overall, people did as she said, putting themselves into five single-file lines.

Rian let his fellow applicants go first. He’d arrived later than most and they were surely tired. Besides, he had a lot to think about. Three trials, each of which he had no idea what he would be facing. He believed he was well-prepared but there was a difference between practice in the comfort of his home and a series of tests designed to winnow away four out of five applicants. He would have to be exceedingly careful.

When it was finally his turn, the mage working with him blinked at his name on the scroll before offering a polite bow. A tiny woman whose dark curls were more than half grey now, she tottered about on a cane, a polite smile upon her wrinkled face as she looked up at him.

He shivered instinctively at the sight. Her hair might be shoulder-length, but it did little to conceal the great chunk missing from her left cheek, gouging it deeply enough that one could see her teeth.

Mastering himself, he bowed deliberately low in turn. Whatever had caused her injury - the same sort he’d seen on veterans from the Orc Wars - she deserved his respect.

She was amused at his discomfort if anything though, her smile widening and growing more genuine… which unfortunately drew more attention to her ruined face.

“Ah, a pleasure to meet with you, your lordship. You will be taking the First Trial with Mage Dalmarn at,” she traced a finger down the scroll, balancing deftly against her cane, “about four o’clock. Will you be able to make it on time?”

“Hmm.” He’d just come in that day but he wasn’t too tired and three hours would give him enough time to deal with whatever Soren needed him for. He nodded. “That will be fine.”

The time had come. Today, he would take the first step to magehood.

***

Although Soren no doubt expected him to return and meet with him as soon as possible, Rian couldn’t resist the opportunity to explore the halls of the Royal Academy, which would hopefully become his home for the next few years.

Breaking from the teeming multitudes, he soon found himself in a different hallway, one whose smooth stone walls were dotted with many doors. Unlike the chaotic crowds of what he assumed was the main hall, this corridor was peaceful. Only eyes of stained glass - images of heroes long since gone - looked down upon him; he wondered what they might think.

Under other circumstances, he might have taken the opportunity to examine them in further detail - Sir Camryn’s battle against the Black Dragon of Xeris was a favorite of his - but right now, his curiosity guided him in a different direction, because through the doors came voices.

“... The first theorem explains why we cannot simply …”

“... you have to channel slowly at first …”

“... careful not to run out of stamina. If you do …”

Apart from the Mage Trials, the Royal Academy dealt with many students, he knew, ranging from apprentices just beginning to call upon their first spells to magi delving ever deeper into their art. This was where he would learn the greater secrets once he passed his trials, magics the likes of which he could barely comprehend. Yet for now, although those lessons were right behind the doors, he wasn’t supposed to learn them.

Temptation called to him with a maiden’s whisper, however, along with a thought. While the law stated that he wasn’t allowed to be taught the secrets of the magi, nothing said he couldn’t happen to peer in on their studies… Drawing closer to one of the open doors, Rian peeked inside.

The classroom was darker than the corridors outside. There were no windows; instead, its insides were lit by only a single enchanted crystal embedded in the ceiling, no brighter than an oil lamp and casting a warm yellow glow. Around the center of the room, two dozen students sat in a semicircle. None of them wore blue robes.

They didn’t notice him, their gazes fixed on their teacher. She was a hefty, middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back in a bun and her white robes lacked even the smallest wrinkle.

She paced back and forth, and in a crisp, clear voice that echoed off the ceilings, she said, “The first step to truly mastering a new spell is understanding how to channel your inner strength into the proper designs to form it. Using the appropriate Spellstone simplifies this. And yet,” she looked from student to student before her gaze fell upon one off to the side, “Brannon, can you explain why the Spellstone is not enough?”

“Uh... ” muttered a young man whose unkempt brown hair matched the clothing that fit too loosely upon his gangly frame. He looked from one classmate to the next in an unspoken plea for help, before sighing in defeat. “M-mastering a new spell is hard, sort of like,” he stuttered his words, “learning to walk for the first time… again.”

Several members of the class laughed.

Rian frowned as the young man blushed and ducked his head in shame, trying to hide his face behind his hair. It had been a simple way to put it, yet not inaccurate.

The instructor agreed, as she narrowed her eyes at each disruptor in turn until they fell silent, before favoring Brannon with a nod.

“He is correct. The first spell isn’t too difficult to master, but each spell following will be more and more challenging to learn than the one before it, which is why even the greatest of archmages rarely master more than a handful of spells…”

Rian backed away, shutting the door with a click. While it was enjoyable to watch others learning the same teachings he had long ago, there was more to learn and he had the opportunity to observe the lessons of the magi now. He didn’t dare waste it.

Creeping over to another door and making a mental note to make sure the students wore blue robes this time, he peeked inside.

A hand fell upon his shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be doing that, young man.”

He jumped, whirling around. “My apologies. I was only curious to…” He trailed off when he realized who stood before him. It was the woman who had been harassed by the guard when he first arrived at the Royal Academy… the woman he had done nothing to help.

“Is something the matter?” She peered at him, a frown upon her face. She didn’t recognize him.

He turned away, unable to bring himself to look her in the eye. “Nay, I apologize. I should not have been listening in, Mage…?”

“I’m not, I haven’t, that is to say... “ Realizing she wasn’t making the slightest bit of sense, she cleared her throat, before awkwardly adding, “My name is Alensia, but I am not a mage, not yet. I have to complete my trials first.”

Realizing that her clothing hadn’t changed from what he’d seen her wearing earlier that day, Rian felt foolish. What she wore was neither blue nor white, nor did it consist of robes; instead a roughspun woolen dress laid tight over a somewhat stocky frame.

He coughed, wishing his hair hung low enough to hide his flushed cheeks. “I am Rian Miel, of House Miel, and much like you, I am taking the Mage Trials.”

Her eyes widened at the mention of his family name and she quickly bowed. “Your lordship, I am sorry for - I meant no offense.”

Her apologizing only made him feel worse. If anything, it was him who should have been begging her forgiveness.

“None was taken, I assure you,” he said, before quickly changing the subject, “It does not seem right, that we are so close to becoming magi, yet we are not allowed to look into the classrooms until we pass our trials.”

“If we pass them is the better way to put it. I heard that nearly a third don’t even make it to the Second Trial. Some of the proctors are particularly challenging.”

A little voice piped up. “I heard they’re all assholes.”

For a moment, he wondered who spoke, then he remembered the small boy that originally came in with Alensia. Indeed, looking down, he saw the child in question peering out from behind her dress, a skinny, mop-haired boy whose head made it just past his mother’s waist.

In spite of the cool air, Alensia’s face was a bright pink. “Maleth, you know you’re not supposed to be using words like -” She paused. “Wait, where did you learn words like that?”

“Father.”

“Of course you did…” she shook her head. “Still, Maleth is right. Some of the magi are a particular pain to deal with. I’ve been told that the one I was assigned to doesn’t care much for common folk, but at least she isn’t Mage Dalmarn. He’s supposed to be the worst of the lot. Who were you assigned to anyway?”

Rian’s stomach sank. “Mage Dalmarn…”

Her expression froze on her face, the corridor seeming to grow colder along with it. Of all the odds, he’d been assigned to the hardest of the proctors.

She grimaced, her dark eyes having a look of flustered pity. “W-Well, perhaps they are mistaken about how bad Mage Dalmarn is. I’m sure it will be alright, really.”

“Do not worry. I have prepared thoroughly for these trials and will not be driven away at the first sign of trouble.”

“You must have trained hard to be so sure.”

A chuckle escaped his lips at the memories of long hours holed away buried in tomes and dreams. He imagined he’d spent more time studying than sleeping. “You could say that, but how about yourself? Surely, you must have done much the same.”

“Actually, although I worked hard, I only started a year ago. With taking care of my son,” she indicated the squirming boy with a pat on the head, “I didn’t get the chance until recently.”

“You are attempting the trials in your second year of learning?” he said, his voice faint. “That is certainly commendable.” Or naive. He couldn’t tell which. “I spent ten years preparing for it.”

“Well, my teacher did say I was rather talented, but to be honest, I only ever mastered one spell. It’s effective but I would hate to face someone with your experience.”

“Well, if we do end up facing one another, I will be honored to face such a prodigy as yourself.”

She snorted, the laugh lines around her mouth quirking upward in amusement, but her expression soon turned more serious. “I really hope I pass. I need to become a mage. If not…” Her words trailed off but her frown deepened.

A wave of sympathy filled Rian.  “I understand your meaning quite well, believe me. Exploring the deepest secrets of the art… it is like nothing else seems to matter sometimes. With the right spell, you can turn sand to stone, summon storms of fire and lightning, even bring life to the dying,” he breathed in and exhaled, “and to think, that knowledge is literally behind one of these doors.”

Alensia frowned, peering at him a moment before saying, “That’s only if you’re one of the lucky ones who pass. Only a few do and until then, those doors are closed.”

“Unless… well, it is not as if there is anyone here to stop us from having a little peek, is there?” he whispered, pointing to the door he’d started to look through earlier. “If we are not caught, it is only a preview of what we will learn anyway.”

“That seems like a bad idea.” She worried her lip, but took a step forward all the same. A complex mixture of curiosity and trepidation warred across her face. “What if we do get caught?”

”Well…” He considered it. Given his noble position, there was a chance they’d let them off easily, maybe. Still though… “Look, the halls are empty. Even if the lecturer were to spot us, we would be gone long before they got to the door.”

That settled her doubts. Her expression cleared and she nodded.

They inched towards the door, Rian easing it open just enough to see through the crack. This class looked much more promising than the last one. It was smaller but three of the people in the room bore the blue robes of magi-in-training. The fourth person was the instructor, a man so thin he looked almost skeletal in his white robes. They all crouched around the body of an animal.

He leaned closer to get a better look at the creature. A raccoon perhaps? It still squirmed but the metallic scent of blood came from it.

“They’re just standing there. What are they doing?” Alensia murmured, pushing him a little to the side so she could get a better view.

It was hard to see the exact details from where they stood, but one of the magi-in-training started gathering a soft white glow in his hands and Rian’s breath quickened. “I think it might be healing magic. Incredible.” He tried to open the door just a smidge more.

Maleth let out a soft groan. “Healing? That’s so boring…”

Alensia gave the boy a reproachful look but was clearly confused as well. “Any trained mage can do healing magic, so why the awe?”

Rian blinked but remembered that her training was still relatively new. “That is correct, but in the opposite sense of what you said. It is not that all trained magi can heal, but that only trained magi can learn healing magic.”

“B-But why? Surely it would be better for more people to know about it. If there were -“ She glanced at Maleth. “People could be saved if apprentices could learn healing spells.”

He frowned, trying to remember what little his tutors had been willing to state about the subject. ”I believe there are dangerous side effects if the magic is done improperly.”

“Like what?” Maleth asked, peering back inside the room as if one of the people there might suddenly explode.

Rian was about to respond when there was a sound that made his stomach shrivel right up: approaching footsteps from up the hall.

The three of them took one look at each other before they all tried to huddle behind the doorway’s recess, not daring to so much as breathe.

A shadow pooled on the corridor floor. “Who’s out there? I heard you…” came a woman’s low voice, drawing ever closer.

That was it. “Run!” he shouted. Putting the word into action immediately, Rian dashed off, his companions following right behind him.

“Stop right there!’

He wasn’t that foolish, instead dashing around the corner with Alensia and Maleth behind him and the pursuer on their collective tails. If he didn’t know better, the woman seemed to be gaining on them. The sound of her footsteps drew closer, and her shouts grew ever louder.

“We’re not going to outrun her like this!” Rian said. For the first time in his life, he wished he’d spent less of it learning magic and more of it outside like his sister. His breath was harsh and ragged, and his legs were already beginning to ache from the exertion.

Suddenly Alensia dashed down a side corridor to the left. “This way!”

“What are you doing?” The woman was gaining. Any second, she’d be close enough to get a good look, then they’d be caught.

“Trust me!”

He hesitated but desperation and the sound of their pursuer closing in provided all the faith he needed. He followed her in one rapid turn, then another.

Their pursuer was quick and agile, but she didn’t notice when they ducked behind a doorway, and when she went running past, the three of them doubled back, quickly moving to rejoin the main corridors and disappear into the crowd once more.

Finally, Rian was able to catch his breath. “Thank you, you saved us both.”

“It wasn’t much,” Alensia panted out, mopping the beading sweat off her face and adjusting the neck of her dress to allow a little more air. “I’ve just got experience in needing to make a quick escape.”

“Regardless, I am in your debt. As such, I -“ He happened to glance outside, only to see the sun high in the sky through the colored glass. He did some quick mental math. Damn. “My apologies, but I have a meeting with my chancellor to get to. I promise though, as soon as I am able to. I will make this up to you. It was my recklessness that nearly got us both in trouble.”

“You don't need to do that,” she said, “but if you're serious, they gave me quarters on the bottom of the southern wing for the rest of the Mage Trials.”

Rian nodded before racing off to find Soren.

Chapter Three

Soren was waiting for him at the gate. Upon noting Rian’s arrival, he handed him an ornate, loopy bronze key.

“We are staying on the third floor of the north tower for the duration of the trials. Now, let us move quickly. We have family business to attend to and we’re already late.”

He followed without complaint. Even though Soren hadn’t directly blamed him for their lateness, Rian knew perfectly well he was at fault. Besides, while he would have preferred some time to himself to prepare for the First Trial, Soren wouldn’t have asked him to come if it wasn’t of importance.

He wasn’t quite sure what to expect - perhaps some hiring of caravans at the nearby markets or a meeting with a local noble who might be of aid to House Miel. Rather than going out the gate though, Soren guided him back through the Royal Academy halls to the tip of the northern wing, where a thick, oaken door was tucked away in an otherwise empty corridor. The knob was bronze, crafted in the shape of a lion glaring at them. He imagined it was supposed to look fearsome, but in his opinion, it only managed to appear sickly.

Soren turned to him. “As second-in-line to House Miel, you’re going to have a number of duties. Negotiations like this are one of them. In the future, this may be one of your roles but this time I ask that you remain quiet and merely observe.”

“Are you certain you do not want my aid? I am not helpless.”

Soren raised an eyebrow, amused by the offer, if anything. “I’ll have you know that my negotiation skills are without peer. Just watch and observe a master at work.” Straightening his tunic, he knocked.

Mere moments later, a thin, reedy mage opened the door; he had a nervous demeanor, not helped by the way his white robes trailed several inches past his hands and his chin was dusted with dark and uneven stubble. He had a pair of particularly protuberant grey eyes which widened further as he saw them before he quickly waved them inside.

“W-Welcome to my workshop,” he said with a stuttering voice, bowing before guiding them to a trio of solid, sturdy armchairs. “My name is Ambrose and it honors me greatly to be of assistance to such fine people as yourselves.” He tapped his fingertips together, his smile awkwardly wide.

It was the expression of someone far more comfortable with spellbooks and delving into the various magics than having an actual person sitting across from him. Rian’s sympathy went out to the man. He knew that look. Sometimes, he was that look.

“It is an honor to meet you as well,” Soren said, lowering his portly frame into one of the chairs, flawlessly congenial as Rian knew he only was in matters of particular importance. There would be no sarcasm or bawdy teasing here. “We have been looking forward to seeing your creation. Is it ready?”

“Yes, and if you wish for me to ship it out, I can have it delivered by caravan within...”

They continued discussing materials, second copies, transportation and the like, and Rian’s attention soon began to wander in spite of himself.

Despite the importance of the matter, it just wasn’t very interesting… and he was in Ambrose’s workshop. His tutors had been a varied bunch, but they’d always come to his family’s castle. This was the first time he’d ever been in a mage’s true workshop, and an opportunity he might not have again for quite a while. While he maintained an expression of polite curiosity on his face, his eyes began to rove.

The whole chamber had a welcoming feel to it. It was bathed in sunlight from the wide-open windows, causing all the little odds and ends to glimmer. A dozen Spellstones were held gently atop plinths, beside one of the largest collections of books on magical knowledge he’d ever had the pleasure to see. But this was no mere library and it was clear that this workshop saw a great deal of use. To the right was a pair of long, thin workbenches, atop which a multitude of different tools laid, ranging from the simple to strange and unusual designs whose purpose couldn’t be determined. Each was well-worn, yet clean and placed in a careful order that flowed from one end of the bench to the next. A few half-completed projects - currently looking like a mishmash of gears, bolts and metal plates - were atop one of the benches, and it was all he could do to keep from drawing closer to see them in greater detail.

However, it looked like the only completed project to be found consisted of several beetle constructs tucked unobtrusively in a corner; they were crafted of stone and half as long as a man was tall. They didn’t move and the semi-precious gemstones that served for their eyes stared sightlessly, not even the slightest glimmer of light sparking within them.

That would change soon, he knew. Ambrose would slowly but steadily layer a series of enchantments upon them, granting the creatures strength, toughness, and mobility; it would last for at least a few years, at which time the enchantments would need to be refreshed. Were these Soren’s reason for coming here?

He stole a glance at the two as they negotiated over something about design. Soren was matching some of the other man’s mannerisms in a manner that was subtle but deliberate.

Mirroring, he called it, Rian half-remembered from one long-ago lesson. Something about causing the other person to subtly trust him through similarities.

It is possible, he decided. Still, although certainly useful, constructs are quite expensive. As his mother had explained once, for the price of a dozen enchanted constructs, she could equip an entire company of soldiers with weapons enchanted to bite deep and they were hardly lacking in those willing to swing a sword for a small bit of coin.

Yet something that neither ate, slept nor needed training was a benefit all its own. Would these be some of the enchantments he would be learning after passing the Mage Trials? The thought made his heart beat faster, but he knew that wasn’t the reason Soren brought him, so he kept the excitement from his face as best he could and returned his attention to the conversation.

“So,” Soren said, “where is it, my good fellow?”

“Right in my quarters, your lordships,” Ambrose said with a bow. “If you’ll wait but a moment…”

“Very well, gather what you need and we shall await your return. If it is even close to what you claim it to be, you will be greatly rewarded.”

At his words, Ambrose smiled and vanished through a door off to the side.

Rian raised his eyebrows, mentally raising his opinion of Soren’s interest along with them. Even if the mage did have something Soren wanted, he was being awfully polite.

Soon enough, Ambrose returned, an ornate blue halberd in his hands. Traced with runes from the bottom to the top, the blade was polished to mirror-brightness. The enchantments upon it were layered so thickly they were visible to the naked eye, flowing about like water. A sapphire as thick as a man’s wrist was embedded in the hilt where the blades met the shaft, and every so often a pulse came from it, rippling over the entire weapon. The halberd had to be taller than the mage holding it, yet he carried it as if it were no lighter than a stick.

The breath caught in his throat. “A Sacrelith,” he whispered. Ambrose had brought them a Sacrelith. If he was offering it for sale… no wonder Soren was being so polite. Rian had seen what his sister was capable of when wielding hers.

Ambrose knelt before them, presenting the weapon with all the solemnity of a priest pronouncing a benediction. “This is Khaldun, Blade of the Tides.” He offered it to Rian with a flourish. “Would you like to try it, young lord?”

Rian blinked. This wasn’t for him, was it? “Err…”

Luckily, Soren rescued him. Laughing lightly, he said, “Although an understandable mistake, I am the one purchasing this item, Mage Ambrose.”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies! Then do you want -” He offered the weapon to Soren, only to receive a polite shake of the head.

“While appreciated,” Soren said with a kindly smile, “I have no need to handle the Sacrelith myself. It looks well-made, but what is truly important is what it is actually capable of. Rather than toy about with it, why don’t you demonstrate what it can do?”

At Soren’s request, Ambrose frowned before quickly forcing a smile and bowing again. “Do not worry, your lordships! Allow me but a moment to prepare and the demonstration will begin.” He vanished through the door once more.

“A bit nervous,” Soren said softly in the man’s wake, “but if the weapon works, he can wear dog ears atop his head for all I care.”

Soon Ambrose returned, this time with a young man beside him. The youth was perhaps a couple years older than Rian, and tanned from what looked like a few too many hours working under the sun. He had a bit of chubbiness to his frame, but wore it well, with blond hair hanging past his chin all the way to a set of broad shoulders. In spite of being indicated as a mage-in-training by his simple blue robes, he looked more sure of himself than his master did, surveying the visitors without the slightest concern upon his face.

Rian couldn’t help the surge of envy in his chest as he saw the young man. He, unlike Rian, could learn every single secret of the magi and  his skill and prowess were being trained to ever greater heights. Still though, if he passed the trials to come, he would earn the same robes, and discover everything that laid behind guarded doors now.

Ambrose indicated his apprentice with a nod. “For this trial, Sideb will not be using any of the spells he has mastered, nor indeed any Spellstones at all. He will have only the Sacrelith I have given him. As for that… well, you will soon see.” He handed the halberd to the young man before moving off to the side.

Grasping the weapon’s shaft in both hands, Sideb spoke for the first time, his voice soft yet carrying, “Khaldun, let the waves rise, filled with power. Unleash your might!”

The sapphire on the hilt shone like a blue flame. Water gushed forth from it, rushing over the weapon and Sideb in turn, engulfing him in wave after wave until he was submerged completely. For a moment, all could be seen was a sphere of water, half again as wide as a man was tall before it began to recede, revealing a figure girded by armor that looked as if it had been crafted by the sea itself. Azure ripples shimmered up and down the gauntlets, shoulder guards and all the rest of the full-plate mail that now coated the man before them. Only the grey eyes peeking out from the helmet’s visor reminded them of the person within.

The weapon in Sideb’s hand pulsed like it possessed its own heartbeat, droplets ever dripping along its blade.

Soren nodded in approval. “So the Sacrelith activated successfully. Excellent, but can you show us what it does?”

For the first time since they’d met him, Ambrose smirked. Then the sound of grinding stone came from behind them.

Rian whirled around.

The stone beetles he’d seen nestled in the corner earlier clicked and whirred, wings buzzing as compound eyes started glowing a pale green, turning left and right before their gaze fell upon Sideb. A wordless cry escaped mouthparts of steel and gears.

“I prepared an opponent for the demonstration,” Ambrose said proudly. “I hope you like it.”

Sideb leveled his weapon at the beetle constructs and the azure ripples pulsed, concentrating in cresting waves of light around both it and his armor.

The beetles surged forward. At their size, their mandibles were as long as swords, and their wings sent them hurtling along with the same speed as full-grown horses to impact in a flash of blue.

Sideb was sent skidding back, but the power he’d gathered blunted the assault and while a few dents had been added to the armor, he was unharmed.

“As you can see,” Ambrose shouted over the din of battle, “where someone wearing a normal suit of armor would have been impaled, the Sacrelith allowed Ambrose to escape unharmed! Beyond the normal enchantments of greater durability and sharper weaponry though, it possesses powerful destructive magic of its own, as Sideb will demonstrate!”

The sapphire burned like a blue sun dragged down from the sky but there was no response from within the armor and the beetles rocketed into the air once more.

“I said, ‘as Sideb will demonstrate’!” Ambrose yelled again, but there was still no movement from within the armor. “Err, Sideb?”

The beetles closed within five feet before Sideb finally moved. In an instant, the power he’d gathered crackled around his halberd in an azure corona and, with a growl, he brought it across in one mighty swipe.

A massive wave erupted from it, backed with the strength that only the most devastating tsunamis could bring. The beetles were mere inches away, too close to have the slightest chance of escape as the wave crashed into each of them with the force of a cannon. With barely the slightest resistance, the water-spell tore through their bodies, crushing like their smaller vermin kin… and sending water spewing about the room like a dozen thunderstorms at once.

It blasted everywhere, splashing walls, floors, the bookshelf, even the audience itself, bowling over Rian as if he had jumped headfirst into a tidal wave. Over the roar of the water, he could barely hear Soren cry out.

“Sideb!” Ambrose roared, gripping a chair to keep from getting washed away, “stop the spell, you idiot!”

An instant later, the light around the weapon blinked out, the spell ended and what water remained crashed to the floor, all force behind it gone.

Surveying the results of his mistake, Sideb visibly winced through his armor. “I’m, err, so sorry, sirs.”

The effect of Ambrose’s glare was somewhat ruined by the water that trickled down his face. “Next time, boy, pay some damn attention!”

Turning back to Rian and Soren, the mage smiled, his hair half-covering his face in a bedraggled mess of what looked like seaweed over a spit of land. “W-Well, as you can see, Khaldun is completely functional, granting the wielder access to a wide spread of water-based magics as well as enough power to punch through solid stone. It is the perfect weapon for a young noble or master at arms,” he stuttered out, gesturing to Rian.

Rian spat some water out of his mouth.

Soren snorted, visibly having trouble keeping a straight face. He had managed to use the armchair as a shield and avoid the worst of it, the lucky bastard. “I agree that it was quite effective, in spite of the chaos of the ‘demonstration’,” Ambrose winced and Soren’s smile widened, “and I would be happy to take it off your hands for perhaps… three-thousand gold pieces.”

He knew that smile. It was the kind that told him Soren was expecting to get it at a steal. Even considering the soaking, it was a terribly low offer, but given how nervous Ambrose was, Soren decided now was time to move in for the kill and -

“Five thousand and not a gold piece less.”

Rian blinked.

Soren blinked too.

Both turned to look at the awkward mage. In spite of the way his robes dripped on the floor, Ambrose’s eyes bore the glint of hard steel and his smile was all teeth.

By the time the two of them had left the chambers, almost half an hour later, Soren had managed to talk Ambrose down to four-thousand gold pieces and get a favor thrown in, but only if he agreed to purchase a second one at the same price upon creation.

Still, Soren smiled as they made their way down the corridor, “I really thought that after that disaster of a demonstration that we would get the Sacrelith on the cheap, but he stuck at it. Damn that man!” Despite his words, his admiration was clear.

Rian hid a smile. So much for Soren’s ‘peerless’ bargaining skills. “Getting a legitimate Sacrelith is worth it though, is it not?”

“True enough,” Soren admitted, mopping the last bits of water off his forehead. It gleamed like the marble walls in the afternoon sun. “I would have preferred a better deal, admittedly. Still, it’s good to meet with a man who knows his worth, even if it is inconvenient.”

“If only I had not needed to be soaked for it,” Rian said, wringing the dampness out of his sleeve with a low squelch. “So why were we here for this Sacrelith?” He paused. “Surely it is not for me, is it?”

Soren eyed him thoughtfully before shrugging. “Not unless you wish it to be.” At Rian’s deepening frown, he explained, “Like all noble families, House Miel will always have need of more Sacreliths. If you have no wish to use it, we’ll just give it to one of your aunts or uncles, or perhaps Nyna’s child. If you do need it though, for whatever reason, it’s there waiting for you.”

He shivered at the thought. It was only an offer, and only if he needed it… but he also knew there was only one reason he would need one. To the magi, a Sacrelith was an object of little value, so the only reason he could possibly need one was if he failed.

He clenched a hand into a fist. He would not fail.

***

Unlike the brightly lit and colorful upper levels, entering the bowels of the Royal Academy of Mages meant stepping into a world of darkness and shadows; the only sources of illumination were small enchanted crystals whose glow was weak and fitful, sucked away by an endless gloom. There was so little light that it was impossible to see anyone until they were nearly in front of him, the only warning coming from the whisper of robes trailing along the ground. The wide hallways were no longer a blessing, only giving the feeling of being alone in the infinite darkness.

He would have avoided this place, save for the fact that the First Trial would take place here, Mage Dalmarn apparently keeping his quarters down amidst these catacombs.

Taking the trials was the only way to become a mage, so there was little choice. Necessity or not though, every noise caused him to twitch, and his still-damp robes clung around him with every step. He shuffled along as best he could though, trying to ignore the way he shivered. Confidence had been easy in the warmth of day and when surrounded by bright marble and stained glass, all glimmering in the sun. Here, the darkness swallowed it all.

Still, he followed the directions as best he could, hoping he hadn’t gotten turned around at any point. He imagined Arnla would have walked these halls without fear. He would do the same.

Eventually, the path led him to a door of black stone upon which an owl’s head was etched. It glared down at him, so lifelike that it looked ready to swoop down on any fool that dared get too close. A gleaming bronze door-knocker served as the bird’s perch. It matched the description he had been given for Mage Dalmarn’s chambers.

His hands trembled, but with a steadying breath to fortify himself, he knocked.

The resulting boom rattled his bones, echoing through the blackened passages. He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to cover his ears. The noise was a mild enchantment, he told himself, and as nervous as he was, he was a noble of House Miel. It wouldn’t do to be found huddled up like a child afraid of the dark.

There was no response from within, but the owl let out a low caw and the door swung open.

He hesitated, but what was the point of the journey if he would not go inside? He stepped past the threshold.

A thick, green moss coated almost everything within and the air was hot and moist, like breathing a thick stew. The thin light of the few enchanted crystals wasn’t enough; they looked  as if they had seen the gloom below and given up halfway, their feeble rays fading out before reaching the ground and casting dim shadows that only served to draw attention to the bookshelves that were even now half-submerged in greenery. The tomes and scrolls had escaped to a haphazard pile on the topmost shelves in a desperate bid to escape the fate that would soon befall them. The oaken desk in the center of the room had escaped the worst of it, but even then the invading tendrils of moss had already begun creeping up its legs.

Perhaps underneath it all, this chamber resembled Ambrose’s upstairs, but for all that could be seen, it had become a grotto buried under the earth long ago.

He wondered fleetingly if maybe he had made a wrong turn. Surely nobody would make their home in a place like this.

“Enjoying the view?” came a harsh voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once, sounding through the gloom.

A bead of sweat trailed down Rian’s neck. Polite, he needed to be polite. “Your rooms are quite impressive... Mage Dalmarn?” he guessed.

“Who else were you expecting in my quarters?” the man stepped out from behind one of the shelves, setting down the book he’d been reading. His appearance was hard to discern through the shadows, but rather than the normal white or blue robes, he wore robes that were so dark they made him resemble the owl carved upon the door-knocker, or perhaps a vulture. A lean man, his skin was so pale that his complexion reminded one of chalk, but his every step was strong and sure.

Briefly glancing at Rian’s damp attire, Dalmarn sneered. “And do listen attentively. I’ve had enough trouble with you lot to last me the year.”

Unsure of how to respond, he nodded in as placating a manner as he could manage. At least he’d made it with time to spare. Given Alensia’s words and the already-biting reception, he shuddered to think what might have happened if he were late.

“Now, who are you and why are you here?” Before Rian could respond, Dalmarn grabbed a roll of parchment from the bookshelf and glared at it. “Mmhmm, spare of the Miel brood… wants to be a mage… taking the trials… very well. Now stop wasting my time and sit down!”

Gulping, he took a seat in front of the desk, just in time for Dalmarn to set the scroll atop it, along with a golden-brown sphere - most likely a Spellstone of some sort. Both were accompanied by a hide-backed book, a piece of charcoal, and some parchment covered in various runes.

Settling himself behind the desk, Dalmarn glowered. “Ready to start?” he said, biting off each word.

“Y-Yes?” Rian stuttered, unsure himself if his words were a question.

“Very well,” Dalmarn leaned forward, an expectant look upon his face, “you may begin. You have five minutes to complete the trial.”

He waited for him to explain more, but the mage merely waited placidly. “What exactly am I supposed to do, sir?”

Dalmarn raised a single eyebrow. “Expecting aid during the trial because of your nobility, your lordship?”

What did he - his eyes went wide as the significance of what Dalmarn stated crashed down around him. ‘During the trial’. Somehow he had agreed to start the trial without even knowing what it was!

“You had best start. Only four minutes to go,” Dalmarn said, confirming his thoughts. “Surely you are prepared enough to finish the first trial, aren’t you?”

Rian swallowed the urge to scream. How could he finish the trial without any idea what in God’s name he had to do? If he failed, not only was there no chance he could become a mage, he would be a laughingstock! A fool whose name would be mocked for generations to come, bringing shame to the Miel family.

He could imagine it now, going to his mother and father and trying to explain to them that he’d failed the first trial because he hadn’t even asked what he needed to do. No! He’d come too far, spent so much of his life preparing for this. There had to be something he could do, anything!

He looked down at the desk before him, hoping for something that would give him an idea. Still just the book and the charcoal, the parchment and the Spellstone. No instructions listing the steps he needed to take, nothing.

“Three minutes,” Dalmarn said, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

When the time was up, his quest to be a mage would be over. He had to pass. There must be some way, he just had to think. Taking a deep breath, he tried to ignore his thudding heart and think as logically as he could manage.

Alright, he had been told to sit down, so whatever the Trial entailed, logically it could be completed from where he sat. That made sense. Also, it had to be something any competent apprentice was capable of doing, as it couldn’t be reliant on him carrying any particular Spellstone. Really all Dalmarn had done before asking he was ready was sit across from him and set down the scroll and the Spellstone -

Rian’s eyes shot open. The Spellstone!

He wanted to smack himself for his stupidity. He was supposed to activate the Spellstone! Well, probably, anyway. Hoping he was right, he grabbed the Spellstone and peered closer at it.

It was warm to the touch and nestled in his hand like it belonged there. The design was a simple sphere, brown with golden runes that repeated from top to bottom, marked with the characters for ‘shine’ or perhaps ‘gleam’.

Like all Spellstones, utilized properly it would aid him in casting one particular spell. He just had to find out what that spell was. He reached out to it with his mind and it welcomed him, establishing a link between him and the stone.

It was a fragile and unsure one though, and the Spellstone started trying to empower it by sucking away  at his strength like a lamprey.

Dalmarn said something but he ignored it. He couldn’t panic. If he panicked with an uncontrolled link, he would be unconscious on the floor in a matter of minutes. Wrestling back control from the Spellstone, he managed to bring the leak to a stop. It was still there though, ready to take his energy the moment he let it. Alright, he commanded, tell me what you do.

It didn’t speak by any means, being little more than a series of simple runes gathered together to create one effect, but its purpose was communicated to him. It would create a basic light spell designed to illuminate the darkness.

Rian slowed his breathing and allowed the Spellstone to draw upon him once more. It wasn’t the same uncontrolled hemorrhaging as before though. Instead, he guided his power to trigger the runes one by one in proper order until finally, he smiled.

The stone unleashed a burst of radiant blue light, enough to chase away the shadows completely… and not a second too soon, as a soft chime sounded moments after.

Dalmarn’s sneer vanished, replaced by an indecipherable frown.

A low, grating sound came from the mage and echoed through the room, confusing him until he realized that this must be the man's laughter.

“Very well, it appears you pass,” Dalmarn’s eyes glinted, “this time.”

Rian’s eyes went wide. He… he’d done it. It was the First Trial but he’d passed it! Only two more remained until he achieved his dreams… but that had been close, far too close, all because he didn’t know what the test was about. He frowned.

“Mage Dalmarn, sir, why did you not tell me the purpose of the test before asking if I was ready? Surely, you must have known I had not been told yet.”

“Ah, but I am not obligated to tell you unless you ask. You didn’t until the trial began, at which point I would have been breaking the rules. Besides,” his lips quirked into a mean little smile, “surely a noble such as yourself doesn’t want to have to listen as someone like me babbles on. I merely asked if you were ready to begin. It was you who agreed.”

It was… my fault? No, that’s not possible, I couldn’t have known, couldn't have realized. The only one who understood what was being offered was… His blood thundered in his head.

“Not obligated? One could claim they are not obligated to do anything while someone stumbles headlong into ruin, but you did worse than nothing. You encouraged me to jump off that cliff!”

Dalmarn narrowed his eyes. “Are you being insubordinate to your proctor?”

Rian glared at him, but in the end, it was an impotent fury and he lowered his head. “No, sir.”

“Very well. Then out with you,” Dalmarn said, waving him away. “I have others coming and haven’t the time to be gabbing.”

Rian turned on his heel and walked stiffly away, snarling the moment he was out of earshot.

Whatever sort of bastard Dalmarn might be, he was not worth losing his chance to become a mage. Rian would remember this day though, and one day there would be a reckoning.

Chapter Four

“Maleth, get to the table, now!”

The boy in question loudly refused, apparently being far too busy with his slaying of imaginary dragons while armed with the mighty stick-sword.

While Alensia tried to get her wayward son to the dinner table, Rian could only sit awkwardly. His only experience with children came from some of his younger cousins and the only thing he’d learned from that was that he had no idea how to deal with children. Instead, he let his attention wander.

When he’d arrived at the door to the quarters Alensia and Maleth had been allocated, explaining he wanted to repay the debt he owed her, she’d taken one look at him, smiled, and dragged him inside, saying something about he was far too skinny and needed to put some meat on his bones. He hadn’t had the chance to argue before he was sitting at their small table, a bowl of thick and steaming stew placed in front of him.

Around him, the contents of three rooms seemed to have been squished into one. Along one wall was a pair of beds, one larger than the other. Both were well-made with sturdy wooden frames, but spiderwebs of scratches adorned both of them. On the other side of the room was a small oven - it must have been enchanted somehow as, in spite of just having finished cooking, no smoke filled the air; only the scents of freshly-roasted beef and vegetables tantalized his nose and made his mouth water. In the middle was the table at which he sat, atop which three bowls sat almost atop one another so all of them could fit.

He was glad for both of them. The room was cramped for two people and the furniture had undergone more than its share of abuse over the years, but considering how worn their clothing was, even this was a major improvement. Right now, it was admittedly a bit plain, save for the blur heading straight for him, but… Wait -

He tried to dodge but was too slow to stop Maleth from bowling him and his chair over, sending both crashing to the ground with the child atop him.

His head swam at the impact and the fallen chair’s arm dug into his side but he fought through the nausea. Counting to three, he glared up at the gap-toothed grin and hissed out. “Would you please get off me?”

“Damn it Maleth,” Alensia cried, “I told you not to run around so much. Get off the poor lad!”

At his mother’s shout, the boy’s bravado was chastened and he scrambled off of his victim with a shouted apology.

Tutting to herself, she helped Rian up. “I’m so sorry about him. He’s a good boy, but he’s been quite the handful of late.”

“It is… not a problem,” he said weakly, massaging his side and seating himself again. He’d been more startled than hurt in any case. “Children are -“

His thoughts were interrupted when Maleth let out a loud belch, having devoured his stew with stunning speed. Alensia scolded the boy for his rude behavior, while Rian couldn’t help but marvel. While growing up, his father made it clear that they were expected to show only the most excellent of manners, so he’d endured quite a multitude of lectures when he was younger. It was nice to be on the outside looking in for a change.

In the end, Maleth admitted defeat so he could get back to filling his stomach. At this, Alensia sighed, shook her head and turned to Rian. “Oh, I forgot to ask, how did your First Trial go?”

Rian tried to swallow quickly - a big mistake. As he had been in the middle of finishing a large spoonful of stew when she spoke, he promptly started choking and spluttering as everything tried to go down the wrong pipe. Perhaps his father’s instructed manners hadn’t quite had their desired effect. Once he managed to get all of it down properly, he cleared his throat and said, “I passed, and actually....”

He told her about the First Trial and how he passed it with seconds to spare in spite of Dalmarn proving as nasty as rumored. He told her the complete and utter truth. “- and of course, I refused to panic and Dalmarn said I was the best apprentice he had ever seen.”

Well, perhaps he embellished it a little.

“Very well done, young lord!” Alensia grinned before waving a finger in mock scolding. “Don’t get too cocky though. From what I’ve heard, the first trial is to weed out the fools who don’t belong, who can’t even activate a Spellstone. The Second and Third Trials are what take out the people who are close but don’t quite qualify.”

That deflated his pride a bit. The fact that he’d needed to work so hard on a simple check of competency made his gut squirm. He resolved to try harder next time and not fall for Dalmarn’s traps. “Have you heard what they consist of?”

“Some told me that we’re going to be fighting monsters, constructs or even dragons. Not sure I believe that though. Those who said they took the trials before told me they shift some from year to year and proctor to proctor.”

“We will not know for sure until the time comes,” he said, before lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “It cannot be dragons though, can it?”

She shrugged her shoulders but her eyes gleamed. “Maybe not alone. What if the entire set of applicants had to face one? The proctors are tricky. Might be they’ve got something really tough ahead for us to face. Let us prove ourselves.”

To stand and face something where he would have to use everything he’d learned in order to defeat it... the thought was intoxicating. He let his breath out in a slow hiss. “With all the enchantments they’re capable of, there must be a multitude of ways they could test us.”

“Yes, and now the real tests begin for you, but don’t forget what you already accomplished. You passed the First Trial, an achievement you should be proud of. You worked hard for it, after all.”

An achievement only difficult because I forgot to ask a basic question. Still, pride swelled up in his chest at her words.  “Have you had the chance to do it yourself yet?”

“Afraid not. I’ll be taking the First Trial later tonight. Still, I’m glad I know what I’ll be facing, more or less. I’m pretty sure… well, I think I can handle it, probably… maybe,” she finished in a mumble, looking down at her hands.

His sister Nyna might claim he was awkward with others, but even he could see something was bothering Alensia. “What is wrong?” He softly asked.

“It’s…” She sighed, her head drooping further. “I’ve been training for this for a year, but there are people like you who have been preparing for far longer. It makes me wonder ‘Am I ready?’ ‘Can I do this?’”

Honestly, he wasn’t too sure either. He gave her a smile though and said, “According to one of my tutors, training is good and important, but what truly matters is your ability. If you are strong and smart, then you will be able to pass these tests,” he bit his lip, “err, well, I imagine so, anyway - the man was a bit of an idiot. Really though, you have probably learned most of the basics already, and all that remains is refining them further.”

Alensia nodded slowly, her expression clearing. “Thank you, I appreciate it, young lord. Regardless of my experience though, I have to do this.”

“Indeed. If we give up, how can we achieve our dreams?”

At first, the only sound was that of Maleth slurping down his stew, then she started chuckling. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t give up, not now.”

There was a grunt from Maleth, who looked dizzy from following the conversation. “So does that mean you’ll make it, mother?”

She grinned and wrapped him in a hug, hoisting him into the air and spinning him around. “Of course I will, my little one. Your mother is going to become a mage, no matter what!” As her son let out a cheer, she turned to Rian. “So, tutors?”

“Yes. In the interest of making sure I brought no shame to House Miel, my family spared no expense when it came to training me. Over all the years I spent preparing, I must have had a dozen tutors.”

Letting her son back down to stumble into his seat, she stroked her chin, eying him with a calculating expression he hadn’t seen on her before. “You must be very learned,” she murmured, half to herself.

“I believe so. All my tutors thought well of my preparation.” Which they still would have said if I had the mental capacity of a stone, admittedly - flattery had been all too common. “I learned everything I could that might pertain to passing the trials ahead of us.”

“Interesting, very interesting.” She clapped her hands together, coming to a decision. “I have an idea - you wanted to come up with a way to repay me, right? Well, how about you tutor me?”

“Well…” His first instinct was to decline - he had to focus upon his own trials, of course - but then he started to consider the idea. While he certainly should be preparing as best as he could, it would be foolish to do too much casting due to the drain upon him.

Any preparation alone would really just be study and review, and for that instructing her would serve just as well as doing it alone. Plus, it would give him a chance to repay his debt and might even be enjoyable besides.

“Yes,” he finally said, “I would be honored to be your instructor.”

***

The corridors widened as the stairs climbed to the north tower, the stained-glass windows were now interspersed with portraits of various people. Some Rian knew as famous magi of the past, others were only recognizable for the gold placard underneath listing their name and thanking them for their contributions to the academy.

On the floor that Soren had told him was theirs, there was a small sitting area, where a circle of chairs was overlooked by a tree the likes of which he had never seen before; its leaves were a pale gold, and a blood-red fruit dangled from its long, spindly branches, flush and ripe. He had vague recollections of his sister telling him of such trees in Eastern Rasgor and the kingdom of Intelli. A pair of nobles sat underneath it, sipping at cool water as they talked to a mage about some business involving enchanted tools and the like.

A guard turned his head, looking him over before nodding and returning his attention to the stairs from which Rian came. He bore a livery jacket showing pale blue over the left breast and yellow over the right, the colors of the academy.

The man wasn’t his servitor so he nodded in return. Soren hadn’t told him which of the doors was theirs, but given that only one of them had the blue background and green hound’s head of the Miel family crest… it was an easy guess.

The door unlocked with a quick turn of the key. Inside was a sitting room, more spacious than the one outside, albeit without the tree. It was cool and softly lit though  with a silk divan that looked oh-so-inviting after the long day and cushioned chairs set on each side of what looked like a single shard of jade that had been cut into a table.

Soren reclined in one of the chairs, absentmindedly nibbling from a bowl of grapes. A half-empty fluted glass sat beside him with a ring of condensation around it, marring the jade. He inclined his head at Rian. “Excellent, I’ve been expecting you. Your parents sent me a few more prospects since we left and we need to go over them as soon as possible.”

He nodded slowly. Prospects… or rather, candidates for marriage. To marry well for his family was his duty. Not today though. “Actually sir,” he fidgeted, unable to hold back his smile, “I have some news I wished to share with you.”

“Oh?”

“I will assist you with the prospects soon, but I hoped to celebrate now, for today...” he took a deep breath, before all the words escaped in a rush, “I passed the First Trial! It was hard, of course, and the proctor is a complete bastard, but -”

“That is all well and good, but the details are not necessary,” Soren said with a polite smile.

“I apologize, but with all the work I have done, it feels… incredible to have my efforts rewarded.”

Soren peered at him for a long moment before sighing. “Rian, I understand that you are happy at your successes today but you must keep your sense of perspective. You are the second-in-line to House Miel. That is what matters. This,” he waved his hand as if to encompass the tower, the academy and everything that laid within, “is merely a hobby. What you do here doesn’t matter, save for what small honor and prestige successfully passing the trials will earn the family.”

“Soren, I will fulfill my responsibilities to my family, but this is important too!”

The man couldn’t hold back a snort. “My lord, take a moment and look at our quarters. The magi gave us silk sheets and jade tables, and the choicest wines and meats in the city. Our rooms occupy almost half this floor. Now, why do you think that is?”

Rian grimaced. He wasn’t blind. He already knew the answer.

“That’s right, because you are one of the Miel, one of the Seventy-Seven Great Families of Rasgor. The Royal Academy of Mages itself only cares about your little hobby as a means to gain favor with us.” He paused, rubbing his gleaming, bald forehead. “I don’t mean to be cruel, Rian, but you must understand the truth. Magic is merely a tool, one of many we utilize for the prosperity of House Miel, and any warrior armed with the enchantments of a Sacrelith is the equal of a mage who spent years of study. Long ago, they had importance and value, but now…? Why would any noble spend years learning to cast enchantments when they could simply pick up that Sacrelith we bought today?”

“There are secrets in magic though, secrets beyond imagining! I want to know more and I never will unless I join the magi!”

“Curse the stupidity of hopeless dreamers,” Soren growled. “Let’s not waste any more time arguing. See here,” he brandished a sheaf of parchment like a weapon. “In these documents are the profiles of a number of women of marriageable age that would bring us greater strength and power. As the spare to the House Miel, your duty is to wed one of them. Now, either help me in the selection or I swear the first three women you meet will be old hags with teats down to their knees!”

Rian ground his teeth. Why couldn’t Soren understand? Power, prestige, wealth, they were all important things, yes, but this was something he had worked toward ever since he was a child. More than half his life had been spent building toward this moment when he would be tested, and the knowledge he so desperately craved was almost within his grasp! But that day was not today, and his responsibilities remained. They always did.

He closed his eyes and sat down. “Very well, hand me the first one.”

In spite of his words, ten minutes passed without him making it more than halfway through the first page of the first document. His eyes trailed over the paragraphs without comprehension, and even the very comfortableness of the chair was a source of annoyance as it further proved Soren’s point. On a day such as this, to be stuck reading marriage dossiers? He had to prepare for what was to come: his next trial, the teaching of Alensia, and what he would do once he passed all three trials. To have to focus upon this instead was maddening.

“Rian,” Soren must have noticed his distraction, as he peered at him more closely. Finally, he let out a tired sigh. “I can see you have no attentiveness for this matter, so I suppose we can work on this tomorrow. Rest tonight, but we’ll be going over every single one of these first thing in the morning.”

A flash of gratitude surged through him. “Thank you, sir. I promise my mind will be fresh and prepared.”

Despite the argument they’d had, Soren allowed him the better of the two rooms. Finely-garbed portraits of nobles lined the walls, including, to his surprise, one of the former Countess Arnla, the very woman in whose footsteps he was walking. Dressed in robes of purest white, the soft-featured woman stood opposite the bed, dark hair trailing in ringlets down to her neck, while a sly smile implied the cunning of the woman whose power and cleverness had forged the Miel from a house of minor nobles to one of the greatest families of Rasgor.

Rian stood a little straighter at the sight of it. Regardless of how the times had changed, he was going to become one of the magi, just like she had been, and once he wore those same robes, he could do as she had done, and bring pride to his family.

Apart from the portraits, a mirror stood against one wall, across from a bed with silk sheets that was large enough for four to sleep side by side - Soren had rolled his eyes at the last one, commenting about how it was probably for married nobles spending a week or two away from their spouses.

Still, as soft and welcoming as the bed was, sleep was a long time coming. In the darkness, he stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

After the momentous success of that afternoon, Soren had dragged him back down from those joyous peaks. The truth was, the man didn’t care about his passing the Mage Trials… and Rian couldn’t really blame him, not when he thought about how Soren must see his goal to become a mage. There was nothing Rian desired more than learning the deeper depths of magic, mastering it in its entirety... but there were greater concerns. The man was House Miel’s chancellor for a reason, and his focus was on the strength of the Miel family as a whole.

In that light… well, his hopes of matching Arnla’s achievements were lovely to imagine, but that dream was far off. Right now, becoming a mage offered little benefit to the family and came with the possibility of failure, while a smart marriage contract could make House Miel one of the strongest noble families in Rasgor.

The cool night air caressed his brow and he closed his eyes. When he had been young, his family had indulged his wish to study spellcraft, hiring some of the best tutors and providing a multitude of tomes and literature on the subject for his perusal, no different than when his sister had wanted to learn painting, horseback riding and the art of the blade. His parents had given their children the chance to enjoy themselves because they loved them.

They had been too supportive of him then, he couldn’t betray that now. Becoming a mage was important, but nothing was more important than his family.

It was difficult to balance both against each other and he knew his responsibilities would be even greater soon. Now he was young, still having yet to reach his majority. Two or three years from now he would have a castle of his own, with trade routes to negotiate, peasants to rule and protect, armies to lead, a wife and possibly one or more children. If he was to become a mage, the time was now.

His path was clear. He would overcome the Second and Third Trials, become one of the magi, then learn everything he possibly could of their secrets. Afterward, he would fulfill every single duty his family gave him, and do it with pride.

With that thought in mind, he succumbed to sleep’s tender embrace.

Chapter Five

Dawn’s light broke, showering the room in its glow and awakening him from his slumber. In spite of the late night, he’d gotten plenty of rest.

Stretching out the few kinks in his body, he considered what he would do today. Within the next few days, he would face the Second Trial. If he failed… The thought of spending this morning training and practicing was a tempting one, but he shook his head. He’d made a promise and he would keep it.

Getting out of bed, he made his way to the dining room to go over the prospects with Soren, only to find a handwritten note there along with a large and neatly stacked pile of parchment.

Picking up the letter, he read from the graphite etchings:

I apologize, but I had to leave and attend to a few other matters.  I’ve assembled the information on each of the prospects here.

Review them and we’ll discuss them this afternoon.

He frowned but supposed it wouldn’t make much difference if he went over them alone instead of with Soren. At least this way he’d be able to rule out the more odious matches himself.

Looking into the pile, he found to his relief that Soren had already done some work of his own - in addition to the portraits of the women and a list of their family holdings, he had added notes, summarizing much of it and organizing everything into prepared dossiers for each woman. The man might not be here now but that didn’t mean he wasn’t helping.

Taking a few minutes to request a light breakfast from the academy servants before taking the dossiers back to his room, Rian pulled out the first, a woman whose family was an old one, albeit not part of the Seventy-Seven Great Families.

They had plenty of holdings for the bargaining between what she personally had, what she stood to inherit and what her family might be willing to offer. The portrait showed a woman a few years older than him with large blue eyes and a skinny, pale form. Physically, she wasn’t unattractive, but it was ruined by the sour look on her face; it was like the viewer had annoyed her.

Soren’s note of ‘few personal accomplishments, no responsibilities… perhaps lazy?’ settled the matter for him and he set her aside.

Although the most important part of the marriage was the benefit for the Miel family, he and his new spouse would be partners as well. He’d worked hard to reach the point he was at now, preparing for the Mage Trials, and he planned to fulfill his responsibilities to his family with similar thoroughness. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with someone who wasn’t prepared to do the same. Perhaps he was judging her unfairly, but he didn’t want to take chances with a decision of this magnitude.

Sipping some Intellan tea and letting its sweet yet spicy scent fill his nostrils, he turned to the second woman. This one looked a little more promising. She had some personal holdings near House Miel’s, and while the family wasn’t rich, Soren noted that she served as one of the local magistrates - an impressive position for someone only a couple years older than him. She was mousy in appearance and even through the portrait she looked timid and shy. Still, that was alright. He wasn’t much of a talker himself, so as long as they could get along… well, it wouldn’t be too bad, right?

The thought of settling for merely tolerable made him squirm, but he steeled himself and placed her dossier in the yes pile. Peering at the dozens more remaining to review was a tiring thought in itself, but he kept at it.

Perhaps an hour and a half later, he finally reached the halfway point. So far, he’d come up with two women he’d be willing to tentatively consider. None truly interested him, but he could stand meeting them and seeing if some spark was to be found.

A flicker of annoyance flared at the thought that neither his parents nor Soren could find someone who would truly share his interests, excite him and make his world come to life… but then he sighed.

No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t that they were unacceptable, but that he didn’t wish to accept them. Perhaps he would like one of them if he gave them the chance. He hadn’t even met them, after all.

The mirror before him showed a young man, barely out of boyhood, staring back with wide and fearful eyes. The truth was that he didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want to live in an old and moldy castle, fulfilling the responsibilities given to him for his family’s sake. He wanted to become like Theia or Arnla, or the great magi before them, to learn magic and go on adventures.

He didn’t want a cool, sterile marriage to grow his family’s strength. He wanted something that would make his heart sing... but he knew it was a selfish desire. His family had always been there for him before and he should do the same for them too - hadn’t he just been annoyed by the first woman seeming to not take her responsibilities seriously? - and even the desire to set him up for marriage was not in itself a heartless one. His parents wanted to make him happy too, wanting what was best for him; it was why they’d wanted Soren to assist him to begin with.

Rian leaned back in his chair and stared sightlessly at the stonework above, thinking back to days when he’d looked forward to laughter and warm smiles. He’d known that this was one of his responsibilities, marrying for the good of the family, although he’d hoped to experience a match like his parents’, one with love and companionship. Now, companionship was a possibility, but love… it had been years since he’d been that naive, and while a match of love was certainly a wonderful ideal, he knew better than to expect it.

He had a dream and he had a responsibility, both of which he was determined to fulfill. Love? Less of importance. Still, perhaps with luck, he might build a bond with his future spouse, or at least be content with her while providing a couple of heirs.

Resolve firmed, he returned his attention to the dossiers before him. The next woman made him blink. Isabel Carib, he knew her. Frowning, he struggled to remember before recalling his sister pointing her out as a duke’s daughter. He peered down at her portrait.

The artist might have flattered her appearance, but a heart-shaped face beamed back at him, the happy grin bringing out her dimples as she all but waved at him from where she stood within the frame. Waves of golden hair flowed gracefully down her back and she leaned back, one hand tracing down the marble pillar behind her. Big blue eyes only completed the picture of innocent beauty before him. According to the dossier, her family’s provinces weren’t too far north of House Miel’s holdings and they had a heritage of magecraft going back ten generations.

If he married her, then even if Isabel herself turned out to be a disappointment, there would be generations of knowledge for his perusal, and he would be close to his family. He didn’t even hesitate, placing her dossier firmly into the approved pile. She could be the one, the one he would marry. Still, he decided, he couldn’t neglect the other options, so he spent the next hour inspecting each and every one of the dossiers from two perspectives: the benefit toward his family and how they would aid him in his studies of magic.

Rian had just finished when there was… well, he’d call it a knock at the door, except it was like five people smashing their fists into it as loudly as they could. Hastening over, he found Maleth there, grinning from ear to ear.

“Uh…” Damn it, he wished he’d gotten to spend more time with his sister’s daughter. How was he supposed to deal with this? “Hello…?”

“Mom passed the trial! Mom passed the trial!” the boy chirruped, loud as a dragon’s roar. A thin-faced woman passing on the tower’s staircase turned up her nose at the ragged child before marching upstairs.

Ignoring their observer, he blinked at Maleth’s words before a smile overtook him. “That is great news! But where is she?”

“Right… Right here,” Alensia arrived at the top of the stairs, wheezing for breath, “and you spoiled my news, Maleth.“

“Sorry mom!” he shouted, his grin not faltering in the slightest.

She reached the door, still wheezing as she tried to offer a bow. “How… are you doing... young lord...?”  she panted.

“Looking for my future wife, I suppose.”

“Your wife?” Maleth gasped. “Wow, who is she? Is she nice?”

“I do not know yet but I imagine I will find out soon enough. Rather than discussing such matters in the halls though, how about you and your mother come inside? We can begin the instruction after I finish my luncheon and -” He paused, realizing how his words could be taken. “Err, would you like to have something to eat?”

Maleth’s eyes sparkled. “Really? You’d do that for us?”

“It is nothing. Just…” He tried to think of a polite way to say ‘please don’t destroy our quarters’, but his mind came up blank.

It didn’t matter anyway, as the boy let out a loud whoop. “Mother! He’s giving us free food!” the boy cried before knocking him to his knees as he barged inside, paying no attention to his victim behind him.

Rian grumbled as he got to his feet, massaging his side. For his small size, the boy was awfully strong.

“Wait, Maleth! Slow down!” Alensia shouted, far too late. At the lack of reply, she sighed, muttering in a ‘what can I do’ manner. Grimacing, she turned to Rian. “I’m sorry about that. Ever since his father’s passing last year, times have been tough. Sometimes, we came very close to not having enough to survive on.”

“Oh…” Looking back, he felt foolish for not suspecting it. Why else would her son be with her during the trials if the father was around to take care of him? “I am sorry. I did not realize.”

She patted his shoulder, a small smile on her face. “Don’t worry. It’s alright, and it wasn’t too bad until we lost the shop. That’s when things got tough.”

This sort of poverty wasn’t common in the Miel holdings, he knew. His family was careful to provide for their subjects. Beyond kindness, his mother once explained it as ‘full bellies mean fewer revolts’. Still, even in their holdings, there were a few who fell through the cracks. Suddenly, it became a lot harder to be annoyed at the boy. “Well, you both are free to visit me as much as you like.”

“We’re doing better now, but thank you all the same.”

The dining room windows stretched from floor to ceiling, letting in great shafts of light, which reflected off the table and cast the two-course luncheon atop it in a radiant glow all its own.

Overlooking it all was the portrait of another ancestor of the Miel family, who seemed to raise her eyebrows at those who sat in the room today as if saying, ‘You bear my blood, my nobility, so why did you invite them to come in?’

Because in the Royal Academy, they were his equals… is what he wanted to say. Even in the comfort of his own thoughts though, he could hear Soren’s laughter. Two applicants. The noble one got pristine quarters, silk divans and rooms for each individual person, as well as food served to them at all meals while the commoners’ quarters could fit inside the first one’s dining room. He looked down at his baked pork cutlets dipped in a layer of spices and grimaced. The academy’s servants had even gotten extras for his companions upon his asking.

Neither Maleth nor Alensia minded though. Maleth was eagerly spying everything he possibly could, making little gasps at a suit of armor that ‘guarded’ the far corner of the room. His eyes were wide as he peered at the gleaming silver spear before he ran over to jump up and down on the divan.

Meanwhile, although less exuberant, Alensia closed her eyes in rapture at the first bite of her meal, before devouring it so fast her cheeks bulged briefly with how much she’d shoved into them.

Each look of amazement only made Rian’s frown deepen further. Amidst the shine and expansiveness, their ragged clothing and innocent cheerfulness only made them seem more like they didn’t quite belong.

Well, he resolved, if the royal academy won’t treat them as equals, I will.

“So,” he said when they were halfway through, “you told me that you passed, but how did the trial go?”

Alensia coughed as she swallowed a bite the wrong way. Wiping her chin with a napkin hurriedly, she said, “Not bad actually - Mage Malrose was polite enough. Still, she looked like this the entire time.” She wriggled her nose in such a manner that it looked as if someone had broken wind right underneath it.

He couldn’t help but laugh, letting out something that sounded like a cross between a guffaw and a bark.

His companion chuckled too. “She looked so offended to have to teach ‘one of those common folk’ that it was laughable. At least she didn’t try to sabotage me like your’s though; it took me almost the full five minutes before I actually managed to use the Spellstone. Still, I did it!”

“Good for you.” He couldn’t help but wonder though: if she needed five minutes to utilize an unfamiliar Spellstone, would she be able to pass the trials to come? That’s why she had asked him to help her, he supposed. Still... Clearing his throat, he said, “Now, can you tell me the magics you are familiar with?

She winced, lowering her gaze and nibbling at her cutlets for several long moments. “That’s not much, I’m afraid,” she finally said in a volume just over a mumble. “I haven’t had the chance to practice as much as I should have so I only learned the basics. I can channel my stamina into magic, have mastered one Spellstone and know a bit about enchanting. That’s all though.”

That wasn’t bad, honestly, especially for someone who had only started learning last year. Perhaps her difficulty with the first trial had been due to her unfamiliarity with different Spellstones? He’d find out soon enough, he was sure. “Very well…” He tapped his chin, considering. He’d never had a pupil before. ”Anything strenuous could tire us for the trials to come, so we should focus on polishing the basics. Enchanting would be best as it is light effort.”

She beamed back. “That would be -”

“So who are you getting married to?” Maleth had evidently finished the meal, as even the plate had been licked clean. “You said you’d tell us more when we came inside. Now we’re inside. Who is she? What does she look like?”

“Actually, I don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’? How are you going to get married without even knowing who you’re marrying?”

Rian massaged his forehead, taking a deep breath. “Part of my duties include determining who would be a good match for my family. We have to evaluate the titles, holdings and trade routes of my prospective brides. There is a lot that goes into determining suitable matches.”

Maleth made a face. “That sounds boring.”

For once, they were in agreement. “Indeed, I spent hours looking into it already. We will spend days attempting to get in contact with the families about the women in question and weeks arranging meetings to determine compatibility and negotiate over the terms, and that is if any of them are deemed good matches.” A sigh escaped him. “Boring is hardly enough to describe it. It could be a year or more before I find an appropriate partner.”

“My, and I thought my courtship with my husband was complex,” Alensia said. “That sounds like quite the effort.”

“It is all for the good of the family, and could be the most important thing I do in my life - one claim today could mean a province or county for House Miel in a generation, after all. It is still tedious though, I admit. Would that I could spend that time studying and learning the ways of the magi.”

“All this effort for someone you might not even like?” Alensia shook her head. “It may be for the good of your family, but I would rather have married Taleth than any noble. Love is too great to be cast aside like that.”

“Well,” blue eyes gleamed in his mind’s eye, “love is a good thing too, I admi -”

The sound of the door opening interrupted him and Soren came inside with several documents in hand, humming all the while. He seated himself at the table, took a sip of chilled water and glanced across.

The humming stopped. “Rian, I don’t believe you informed me of any,” he eyed their attire, gaze lingering on the patched-up rags Maleth wore, “guests. Now, who are you, exactly?”

Alensia straightened, squaring her shoulders. “I am Alensia and this is my son, Maleth. Rian has agreed to help me complete the Mage Trials.”

“I owed her a favor,” Rian quickly added.

Two eyebrows were raised. “Please do explain.”

Rian did so, telling the tale of how Alensia had prevented him from landing in trouble with the magi, and just how much she had helped him, embellishing it a bit for good measure, but the whole time Soren’s expression didn’t change from its deep-set frown.

Soren finally shook his head. “Of course,” he said, almost to himself, “curiosity kills the foolish.” A deep sigh escaped him, then he turned back to the newcomers with a little more politeness in his voice. “My apologies for the poor hospitality, but Rian and I have some important matters to attend to for the remainder of the afternoon, so if you will excuse us…” he indicated the door with a wave of his hand.

Alensia narrowed her eyes but nodded in the end and she and Maleth gave their farewells before heading out.

Once they were gone, Soren turned back to Rian, massaging his forehead. “I do hope that you didn’t spend the entire morning nattering about with them. You were supposed to work on the marriage dossiers, not waste time.”

“Actually, I finished those before they even arrived.”

“Really?” He started to smile and leaned forward in his chair. “Well done then. I am sorry for doubting you. Show me what you’ve come up with.”

Rian went over the ones he’d selected, Soren nodding along and questioning him every so often on one point or another. When they reached Isabel though, Soren got a particularly smug look on his face. When asked why, he responded with a smirk.

“One of Countess Gazif’s sons is trying to get the Carib holdings, and after the headaches the bitch gave us with our caravan permits last month… any chance to tweak her oversized nose will put a smile on my face.”

Rian frowned. “That seems… unnecessary. I thought the Gazifs were our allies. Are they not Tolthor vassals too?”

It was impressive how Soren managed to convey ‘You’re being a blithering idiot’ with naught but a raised eyebrow. “Do you remember when Nyna married into the Uzviars? The countess had aimed to gain their holdings, only for Nyna’s marriage to block the way. Ever since then, she’s taken every opportunity to get her little revenge.” The man  looked down at the dossier with relish. “I don’t imagine this will improve her mood, not at all.”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He wanted to help House Miel grow stronger, but did his marriage suit have to involve a game of petty tit-for-tat?

“Now then,” Soren said, getting to his feet, “I have something to show you. Follow me.”

***

It wasn’t too surprising to be taken back to Ambrose’s workshop - he was constructing a second Sacrelith for them, after all - but the chamber had undergone a few changes since their last visit. Now in front of the chairs they had used during Ambrose’s demonstration stood a strangely-familiar, gem-encrusted mirror, as high as a man was tall.

Speaking of Ambrose, he and Sideb stood in front of the mirror, silver sparks arcing from them to splash against its surface. Each moved in careful rhythm, Ambrose unleashing great gouts of silver from his open palms while Sideb etched thin lines, as if tracing the edges of some design and - was it his imagination, or did the mirror seem to be rippling? With each arc of color, the air around them buzzed as the magic grew in power and focus.

A spell, and not just any spell. He had never seen anything like it before. Given the object used in the casting, it was clearly an enchantment of some sort, designed to aid or alter the mirror’s properties. A scrying upon an enemy? Perhaps.

Regardless, this was nothing an apprentice could cast or he’d have heard of the method, even if merely in passing. Damn, if only he’d already passed his trials!

“What do you think he’s doing?” He whispered, hoping Soren might have the answer.

“Calm yourself. You wouldn’t want to distract him, now would you?” In spite of his words, Soren’s eyes danced with amusement at his frustration.

Rian ground his teeth but stayed silent as he was bade. Soren was teasing him. It was clear he knew perfectly well what it was.

Ambrose and his apprentice began to mix in different colors, first red, then orange, yellow and so on until the full spectrum of a rainbow had splashed against the rippling glass.

Shapes began to appear within, first grey and indistinct, but growing more defined with each color added until finally the two spellcasters stopped and the spell settled. The rippling came to an end, revealing the oaken table and great statues of the council room of Houndstooth reflected in the glass.

In the corner, A servant in a long cotton dress was diligently cleaning a statue of one of Rian’s great uncles without realizing she was being watched by them.

“It was a scrying spell,” he said softly. “Incredible.”

Soren chuckled. “Not just that.”

Before Rian could ask what he meant, Soren called out to the servant to fetch the lady of the Miel family. The young woman was startled, face pale as she beheld them, but quickly recognized who she was speaking to, bowed and ran off to do as requested.

Once she was no longer in sight, Soren turned back to him. “I’m not particularly knowledgeable as to the details, but the mirror before us and the one in the council room at home are part of a set. A skilled mage is able to link them together so that we may converse, no matter how great the distance. Your sister has one too and, when you come of age, you will receive one as well.” He smiled proudly. “Even if you might be in a castle far away, your family will always be close by.”

A warmth grew in Rian’s chest even as Soren bid Ambrose and Sideb farewell so that they might converse in private. Even with all the wealth of his family plus that of his spouse, it was unlikely he would be able to see his loved ones too often - even Isabel’s holdings were almost a hundred miles away - so this was something to be treasured indeed. Once he passed the trials, the very first thing he would do was find Ambrose and get the mage to teach him this spell, even if he had to beg him for it on his hands and knees.

He didn’t have to wait long before his parents appeared in the mirror, sitting side-by-side at the polished table. At the sight of their son, Eldrie squeezed Jela’s hand.

Her expression didn’t change but she favored Rian with a nod before turning toward Soren. Her long grey dress did not have so much as the slightest wrinkle to it and she sat with perfect straight-backed poise as she frowned down at her chancellor. “Chancellor Spinner. To what do we owe this unexpected contact?

In spite of Jela’s narrowed eyes, Soren was unruffled. Bowing briefly, he said, “While I was escorting Rian to his Mage Trials, I managed to obtain two Sacreliths. One is already complete and the other will be finished in the months to come.”

“That is good news but hardly something that necessitated an immediate contact.” She paused, her eyes flickering back to Rian. “Not that we do not appreciate the chance to talk to our son.”

“Indeed, we always love seeing you,” put in Eldrie as he beamed down at him. “We have missed you terribly. Why, when your mother found one of your spellbooks in her sitting room yesterday -“ the woman in question interrupted with a cough and narrowed eyes. “Err, she misses you very much.”

“I-It is good to see you both too,” Rian said, scratching his head awkwardly as his cheeks heated up.

Thankfully Soren cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “The reason we contacted you actually, my lady, is that we’ve reviewed the marriage dossiers and are ready to start sending out requests for your son to meet his potential spouses-to-be. Rian, would you care to explain?”

He shot Soren a dirty look at being put on the spot before turning to his parents. Nervousness filled his stomach. Yes, they were family, but he wanted to impress them all the same. Bowing low, he said, “As Soren stated, we looked into my future marital options.” Biting his lip, he weighed what next to say before electing to temporize a little. “I have not decided who I would hope to be my partner in life, but there are no less than five individuals I would be interested in learning more of…”

He explained the choices he’d narrowed the list down to, speaking well of each although he was careful to reserve the majority of his warmth for Isabel Carib. His parents listened attentively, his mother leaning forward in her seat as he broke down the strengths, capabilities and assets of the various women and how they might benefit House Miel.

The angle of the mirror made it easy to imagine that he was there, seated across from them in the council room as they talked about his duties to come. It was familiar, warm.

When he was finished, his mother slowly nodded. The smile on her face was small, but her personality was as cold as the ice her Sacrelith could generate. Even the tiniest of grins was a rare sign of warmth. “Excellent work, my son. You have clearly given a lot of thought to this and we will make certain to contact the families of the five women in question. We will be careful to show no signs of favoritism at this point, of course, the better to supplement our bargaining positions.”

“Although we will pay special attention to Lady Carib. Her family is a loyal one to the king, which will benefit us if we are in need of aid. Besides,” Eldrie added, sending him a wink that made his cheeks flush further. “I can tell that you are rather intrigued by the girl.”

Rian could only stutter out his thanks.

Soren coughed once more. “Indeed, Rian did fine work today. However, there is more to the situation that I wanted to bring to your attention. It seems that Rian is not the only one interested in Duke Carib’s daughter. The Gazif family has also made noise about a possible match with one of their sons.”

“They do have a fair number of holdings, almost the equal of our own,” Eldrie said, stroking his beard. “It would be a wealthy match for any family.”

Jela snorted. “As if any upstanding family would want their daughter associating with one of those brats. They have no drive or passion  save for doing as little as they possibly can. They will hardly be competition for our son.

Rian’s heart warmed at the pride in her voice.

“Still,” Eldrie broke in, “that does not mean they will be pleased to have us interfering with their suit.”

“They have been after Nyna’s holdings ever since she got married,” Soren said. “If we were to do this, it is likely they would seize some of our caravans in retaliation. It’s even possible they might use it as a pretext for a declaration of war.”

“Hmm…” Jela leaned back, tapping one finger to her chin in contemplation. “It is possible but doubtful. We handily defeated them the last time they tried to lay siege to some of our holdings. Tell me, Soren, have the Gazifs gained enough allies or strength to encourage them down such a road?”

Soren sneered at the thought. “Hardly. The last match they made of any significance was a cousin getting married off to a baron five years ago, and their levies were hardly a match even before the Uzviar’s allied to us with Nyna’s marriage. On top of that, the recent unrest of the kingdom is to the east and includes their own lands right in the middle of it. At the very worst, I imagine we may wish to consider alternative caravan routes until their tempers cool.”

“Very well, then send the match. I shall inform our caravan leaders to avoid Gazif territory for the time being,” Jela said. “Was there any further business?”

“Nothing certain yet, but our representative at Duke Tolthor’s reported to me that there has been trouble of late between the duke’s heirs. Squabbles over their future inheritance.”

“Are there not always?” Eldrie rolled his eyes, chuckling humorlessly. “The elder brother believes he deserves more due to his experience, the younger thinks he is a better ruler and old Gilbreth is too soft to reign them in. That is no more news than the sky being blue.”

Soren frowned at the jibe. “Apparently Lord Genthru is really trying to press their father to make a decision this time, saying that it’s best that things are settled now rather than at his passing. As Genthru is our liege lord, I wondered if we should attempt to intervene on his behalf - perhaps in the negotiations. Jela’s brother Jerrard is skilled at the various complexities, after all. He could tilt matters in Genthru’s favor.”

Skilled was one way to put it. Rian preferred ‘obsessed’. Certainly, knowing the basics of inheritance law was a necessity of being amongst the nobility, but Sir Jerrard’s eyes turned positively feverish when he talked of lines of succession, wills, claims and the like.

After a few moments’ thought, Jela shook her head. “I think not. Genthru may be a good lord, but that sort of trickery often results in war, an expensive proposition when the only gains would belong to our liege. No, let’s keep out of it and see what old Gilbreth decides.”

“I concur, dear. That said,” Eldrie turned toward Soren, “it is good you contacted us. You were right to bring these to our attention, and that is why you are our valued chancellor.” He smiled kindly. “Thank you, Soren.”

Soren bowed deeply, any displeasure assuaged by Eldrie’s warmth. “You are most welcome, your lordships.”

“That said, how are you doing in your own journey, Rian?”

He blinked as attention returned to him, but quickly told them how things had gone so far and his success at the first trial. His parents both listened attentively, even asking a couple of clarifying questions.

In the end, Eldrie leaned back in his chair. “So just two more trials remain before you start attending this academy. Then you will be there until you finish your studies.”

“Yes, but it will only be for a couple of years. I will be back soon enough, I promise.”

“It is a shame that we will not get to see our son for so long but we are still pleased for you,” Jela said, knitting her eyebrows together in thought before inclining her head in reluctant acknowledgment, “You have brought honor to House Miel.”

Unlike her, Eldrie smiled; it was a big and wide grin... but it was the sort of smile one might give their pet after performing a good trick.

Rian suppressed a sigh. They were humoring him but it made sense. To him it was important, but to them… Just like for Soren, their greatest priority was the growth of House Miel’s strength. Becoming a mage, save for demonstrating the ‘superiority of the Miel’, didn’t really do that, so it was completely understandable that they would only humor him.

The conversation turned back to his marital suits soon enough.

Chapter Six

He was halfway through his breakfast when there was a knock at the door. After quickly checking to make sure he was not in his sleeping clothes, Rian opened it to find Alensia bowing deeply before him.

“What will you have me learning today, oh wise teacher?” she said, her voice deeper than he ever heard it.

He massaged his forehead while Maleth scampered inside. “You must be joking.”

Her stern expression lasted for but a moment before she started laughing. “Perhaps a little, young lord,” she said, grinning as she got to her feet. “You are less than half my age, so it is rather odd that you are teaching me. Humor aside though, I’m ready to begin.”

He shook his head, unable to suppress a wry smirk as he led her into the dining room once again. “Be that as it may, I felt it best we start with a few basic tests to see where you are at.”

She gave him an odd look. “Didn’t we just discuss that yesterday?”

“Yes, but there is a wide variety of skill even amongst those new to the art. As I have yet to see you cast, the basics of enchantment to you might be barely understanding it or you might be capable of casting a few spells already. Knowing where you stand will tell me where your next steps should be.”

“That does make sense... What did you have in mind?”

He gestured at the table, where a knife engraved with the combined symbols of the Miel family and the academy rested, so polished that the steel flashed silver in the noonday sunlight. A spoon and a plate sat beside it, bearing the same symbols and clean enough that the very dust seemed afraid to touch them. “I want you to enchant each of these objects. Begin with enchanting the knife for greater sharpness.”

She nodded. Taking a seat, she took a deep breath and placed one hand over the knife’s blade. At first there was nothing but then her hand started to shimmer a pale lavender, a glow that soon encompassed her entire hand, then all of it flowed to the tip of her index finger until it looked like a purple candle’s flame.

She pressed it into the flat of the blade, little tendrils of light wisping from her and seeping into the steel beneath.

Rian watched in complete silence, letting her work without distraction. Being able to cast a spell was good, but in many ways, it was less important than how someone cast it. The way one summoned and guided their magic told so much about them if one paid close attention.

There were no sparks flitting off Alensia’s fingertip in random directions, nor did the magic backflow into her hand at any point. That meant that when she drew strength from her body and channeled it into the spell, very little was wasted.

But a glance to the hourglass beside the window showed that five minutes’ worth of sand had already spilled down and she was still working on the same spot. There were no signs of tiredness, yet while the blade had begun to glow the same lavender as her spell, it was dim and flickered regularly.

Time to try something else. “Let’s take a short break.” Once she pulled back and her attention was on him, he continued, “To your credit, you have a decent amount of power and you are efficient in turning it into your spell, which is good, but your speed leaves a lot to be desired and the enchantment is not taking all that well.”

Alensia bristled at his words, green eyes flashing. “Well, I don’t exactly have a Spellstone, do I? If I did, I would be much quicker.”

He raised an eyebrow at her defensiveness, and she colored.

“My apologies, young lord, I don’t handle criticism all that well.” She closed her eyes, swallowing uncomfortably. “Please continue.”

“Very well. Now, in regards to your comment about a Spellstone making it faster, you are completely correct. Even an unmastered Spellstone would allow you to give this knife a basic enchantment in only a few minutes, but there is a reason that we do not rely on Spellstones for everything.”

She grimaced. “Their price.”

Rian blinked, suddenly remembering that she lacked his resources. “Actually, no. The materials to create a Spellstone are fairly inexpensive. I could easily afford to drown us alive in them.” He shook his head. “The reason is much simpler. Space. Each Spellstone is about the size of a man’s fist, somewhat fragile and able to cast exactly one spell. Carrying more than ten or so on your person would be challenging, and just the basic enchantments alone would add up to dozens of Spellstones easily.

“That would be a bit much, wouldn’t it?,” she said with a chuckle.

“Indeed. What most magi do is they carry the Spellstones they master, a few more that they use regularly and rely on their natural casting abilities for anything else.” He allowed himself a smirk. “So unless you are planning to make a career of sharpening knives -”

“I’d best learn the normal enchanting methods,” Alensia finished. “Alright, so how do I go about getting better?”

“While we do not have a Spellstone for this, that does not mean we cannot utilize the principles behind one. Allow me to demonstrate.” Alensia allowed him to take her seat and he rested a single finger on the knife, drawing upon his body’s strength.

It was more difficult than utilizing a Spellstone as, rather than having a willing aid eager to guide him, he had to find the power and channel it in the appropriate patterns himself. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, then the tip of his finger began glowing the same lavender shade as hers had earlier.

However, while the color was the same, the design was different. Where wispy tendrils of purple light would come from her casting, a steady blaze of lavender came from his fingertip, tracing triangles of light into the blade, only for them to melt into it, those parts of the knife glowing the same shade as his spell. Steadily, he added more and more triangles to it, until soon enough, he was finished. The knife shone lavender from top to bottom before slowly returning to its normal metallic gleam.

“With a Spellstone, the way it works is it contains the matrix of exactly one spell. Rather than needing to craft a spell from scratch each time, it remembers the spell we used to create the Spellstone and helps us in replicating it. A similar principle aided me here.” He presented the blade to Alensia, handle-first. “What I did was I simply cast the same sharpening spell over and over on different parts of the knife. As there were no changes from attempt to attempt, save for which part of the blade I was targeting, I could simply perform the same spell as many times as necessary.”

“So instead of creating a big, complex spell to sharpen the blade in one go, you created a simple spell and copied it,” she stared transfixed at the knife in her hand, holding it with the reverence one would give a sacred relic. “Would it be alright if I tested it?”

“Certainly.”

She brought the blade down upon the spoon. There was only a briefest grinding of resistance before it was cleaved cleanly in two.

“Incredible,” she whispered, “in ten minutes, you did what would have taken me an hour or more.”

His chest swelled with pride. It was the fruit of many years of practice, studying and hard work. Everything he had trained toward was in that spell. “Thank you. Due to the enchantments enhancing the blade to better do what it is already designed for, it will last months, perhaps years, and that is just one of the tricks I have learned.”

Before she could respond, there was a loud crash from Rian’s bedroom, followed by the sound of Maleth wailing.

Alensia dashed in, Rian following a bit more slowly. When he arrived, it was to the sight of Maleth being consoled in his mother’s arms, tears pouring down his ruddy cheeks. He’d been running about, apparently, and the cracked portrait of Arnla laying on the floor gave a clear indication as to what had happened.

He gritted his teeth at Maleth’s foolishness before letting out a sigh. It wasn’t like one could expect children not to be little bundles of energy. It was the portrait of his ancestor, yes, but the picture itself was undamaged, so all that would be needed was to fix the frame. In fact…

“I think we have just found the next lesson for your training,” he said once Maleth had stopped crying. “Alensia, try taking what you learned and fix the broken portrait.”

She frowned uncertainly. “Wouldn’t it be better to get a new pane of glass? Any enchantment fades over time, so even if we enchanted the pieces to reattach, they are not designed to stick together. Eventually, it would crumble again.”

He opened his mouth, then paused, his cheeks burning from his oversight. Damn, she was right. Even if she enchanted it perfectly today, the spell would only last a few weeks or months at most. Any enchantment would, truthfully… An idea struck him. “Yes, the enchantment we cast upon it will end,” he said, “which is why we are not going to stick the glass together. We are going to enchant it to flow like water, then enchant it again to re-harden it.”

“So the glass turns into a liquid, which won’t last long,” she said slowly. Her eyebrows knit together before she started to grin. “But we don’t need it to because when both enchantments end, it will harden back in whatever shape it is in! And if that shape were to be a single pane of glass…”

“Then it will be perfectly fixed. Exactly!” He rubbed his hands together. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Breathing in once more, Alensia started vigorously. Summoning her strength, silver-white light gathered in her hand before quickly focusing upon her finger. This time, she let it pulse into the shards of glass in one continuous flow.

“Now, if you have any trouble, don’t hesitate…” His words faded as he watched. First one shard of glass melted, then another and another, until, by the fifteen-minute mark, there was a puddle of glass held within the frame’s edges.

Turning to him, she asked, “How did I do?”

He stared back at her. How did she do? She’d managed to grasp the basics of a concept that had taken him two weeks to learn in a brief sitting, then transfer it over to a different spell. It lacked even his meager smoothness, yes, but the achievement was incredible all the same. Once they hardened it, even Soren might not notice it had ever been broken. There was a spark of jealousy but it was quickly overwhelmed with the thoughts of all the things he could teach her, excitement flattening any bruised pride into the dirt. In the back of his mind, he’d wondered before if perhaps this would be too difficult for her. No more. He could get serious. “You did very well,” he said. “Excellent work!”

Alensia looked at the completed spellwork with a mixture of pride and hunger. “Thank you, Rian. If it weren’t for you… I can hardly imagine all the things I still have yet to learn.”

“Indeed, that was just one bit of the basics. Think about it. I have ten years’ worth of knowledge to show you! Now,” he smiled, “how hard are you willing to work?”

“If it will help me to enter the academy, I will do whatever is necessary.”

“Very well. Now, for hardening spells…”

Over the next two hours, Rian taught Alensia the building blocks for what he’d learned over the years. It would be some time, he knew, before he’d gone over everything, but he didn’t foresee any difficulty.

Far from it. She had a gift for enchanting, and beyond that there was so much to discuss, so much to teach. It had been five years since he’d had someone to talk with about magic other than teachers with more interest in the coin his parents paid than the questions he asked them. This was a taste of what being a mage would mean: respect for what he had learned and his skill in magic, not solely his holdings and family. He would sip greedily at it.

When she left, she bowed her head low, this time without mockery or humor. “I look forward to our next lesson, my teacher.”

So did he. He could hardly wait.

***

It was the day before the Second Trial that they received their first response on the marriage suits, but it wasn’t from the Carib family. Instead, a set of hawk’s talons in red and gold, the symbol of House Gazif was stamped upon the scroll.

To the honorable Miel family.

It has come to our attention that you are attempting to press a marriage suit for the Carib family, that you might gain territories that by right belong to us.

We have been allies under the Tolthor family for years, so it disturbs us to be informed that you are attempting to press against our claims. We have enough enemies outside, so it is best to avoid battles underneath the Tolthor banner as well.

We must insist that you cease this reckless, provocative plan, for the good of peace within our shared territories.

Sincerely,

Countess Esme Gazif

Having finished reading the scroll, Soren tossed it onto the sitting room table with a thunk before reclining back into his armchair. “It definitely looks like you’ve gotten the Gazif’s attention. ‘For the good of peace within our respective territories’?” He sneered. “As if she’s not the one implying going to war over it.”

“Should we give up on the Isabel marriage?” Rian asked tentatively. “I was prepared for a bit of trouble, but I thought we agreed that she would not be so aggressive.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Rian. She is just posturing.” Soren must have noticed the way he bit his lip, as he continued, “If Countess Gazif actually thought she could win, she would have declared war on us after your sister’s marriage. She’s the kind of bullying bitch to throw peace away just for the sake of a few provinces, so don’t let her barking factor into your decision. If you decide you don’t want to marry the Carib daughter? Fine, but do not let her blather trouble you.”

“Are you certain?”

“Completely. At most, the Gazifs will seize a few caravans to show that they are serious, but naught else. Any more and they might get in trouble with the Crimson Order or Genthru Tolthor, and if it actually did come to war, the Gazif’s would only stand to get clobbered and lose more provinces, putting them at a greater disadvantage in the years to come. They’re greedy, not stupid. That said,” Soren’s face grew graver, ”there is another matter we need to discuss.”

“What is it?”

“Your new friend, the commoner girl…” he frowned, scratching his chin in thought. “What was her name? The one who came by yesterday, and the day before, and who you went to see the day before that. You know the one.”

“Her name is Alensia,” he said. “Why? Was there a problem?”

“Yes. You need to curtail your association with her, for the moment anyway.”

“What? Why?” Rian’s gaze fell upon the scroll. “Is it because of the Gazifs?”

“Not them.” Soren massaged his forehead with a sigh. “It’s a matter of appearances, your lordship.”

“That she is a member of the common folk, you mean?”

“That is part of it,” Soren admitted, “but there’s more. Your continued association with such a woman in close quarters when you’re trying to demonstrate that you are a good marital candidate… Can you see how this could hamper it?”

Rian frowned. Him teaching Alensia wouldn’t raise any eyebrows, would it? The nobility didn’t associate much with the common folk, but it wasn’t as if it was sacrilegious unless they were taking them as a lover - Oh… he fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I am not romantically involved with her, if that is what you mean.”

Soren looked at him as if he were the biggest idiot in the kingdom. “Of course I know you aren’t. I’ve seen you pining after a girl. You get positively ridiculous. Why that one time -”

“Please do not bring that up,” he said, his voice taking on a begging tinge. “Please.”

Soren gave him a pointed look but changed the subject. “Fine, I know you’re not interested, but that is entirely beside the point. Seeing you involved with a woman of marriageable age, who is not hideous and whom you’ve spent a great deal of time with in her quarters and vice-versa… it makes tongues wag and gossips wink. With her being a member of the common folk besides, well, what would you think was the reason if you didn’t know already?”

A whore or a lover, that was the answer, Rian knew, even if he didn’t want to say it. Put it like that, he could see Soren’s point. A young man spending time with a woman of some experience alone on a regular basis would make bawdy rumors almost certain and that presented a problem. Even if his prospective wife were willing to accept certain indiscretions prior to the marriage, his character would be called into question. How likely was it that he would remain faithful, or at least discreet in his affairs, after they took their vows?

He had done so much for the family though, and was going to do even more as the years rolled by. Surely there had to be a way to deal with this without causing trouble for the marriage suit? Couldn’t he be allowed this one thing for his sacrifices? When he asked that question of Soren, the man shook his head firmly.

“Rian, we already allow you a great deal. Surely you don’t think that this,” he waved his hand to indicate the academy, “is in your family’s best interests, do you?”

“Well…”

Soren shook his head. “Do you think that it is to House Miel’s benefit that you are away for two years or more, poring over books and listening to old women in robes when you could be doing things to strengthen the family?” At his lack of response, Soren’s voice softened. “Understand that your family knows that this is important to you, Rian and we are not heartless. As long as it doesn’t bring shame to the family, we’ll allow it. But on the matter of your friend, appearances matter. I’m not going to risk her mucking about with your future. Am I clear?”

Rian couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, Soren.”

“Good, now until the marriage negotiations are finished, I expect you will behave in a manner befitting House Miel. Avoid doing things that might be innocent in mind but would cause issues with the negotiations.”

He nodded and Soren returned to the other letters he’d received. Occasionally, the man would mumble and the scratching of a quill could be heard as he wrote a response to one message or scroll.

Rian stared down at his hands. So that was it for his lessons with Alensia, just like that. Family was family, wasn’t it? A sigh escaped him.

“I know it is unfortunate,” Soren said, not looking up from the scroll in his hand. “After the negotiations are taken care of, things will change, but for now, there are more important matters than one commoner.”

“Can I at least explain the situation to her?”

Soren tapped his chin but finally nodded. “I suppose that there will be no harm in that, but this will be the last time. Again, going forward, do not do anything foolish.”

At least he had that then. It would have to be enough. “Very well, thank you, Soren.”

\-\

Every step to Alensia’s quarters felt like he was trudging through tree sap. He’d prepared for today, even bringing something special for the training with him, but it all felt like such a waste now.

He squared his shoulders as the faded white door came into view. At least he could make this last meeting an enjoyable one. He’d tell Alensia what was to happen when he finished. Besides, it wouldn’t be forever, just while the marital negotiations were going on. That would take some months or perhaps even a year admittedly, but it was not as though he had to cease all association with her forever.

When he opened the door, Alensia guided him in with a finger to her lips.

“I’ve got Maleth distracted,” she whispered, motioning over to where the boy in question sat on the bed, his face buried in a heavily-worn book titled Brave Sir Camryn and the Black Dragon of Xeris. She waved a hand over the boy’s head to no reaction and smirked. “That should keep him busy for a while. Now, how do you want to start?”

Rian seated himself at the table, laying a long but thin, cloth-wrapped bundle atop it, the ends dangling over each edge. “Given our discussions on enchanting, I felt you would enjoy seeing a greater example of that art. Now, I had to sneak this away from Soren, so if he asks, you did not see this.”

“Understood, I won’t say a thing, young lord.” In spite of her calm words, she was leaning forward, peeking at the bundle like… well, like he imagined Maleth would upon his birthday. Her hands twitched toward it, eager to unveil what laid inside.

He fought a smirk. Perhaps it wasn’t only the father who had caused her son to be so rambunctious and curious. “First, to review, how does enchanting work?”

She looked up for the first time since he’d sat the package on the table, evidently thrown by the fact that they were still talking. Collecting herself with a cough and refocusing upon him, she said, “Enchantments are spells cast upon an object to change it in various ways, ranging from increased strength to lightening the materials, potentially even granting the object some degree of mobility or thought.”

“And their weakness?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Time of course. Eventually, the enchantment fades and its effects with it.”

Well done. “Precisely. Even the greatest of the Magi are unable to keep an enchantment going forever. It might be hours, weeks or even years, depending on the skill of the caster amongst other factors, but all enchantments will fail eventually,” he smiled, “with one exception.”

He unrolled the package, letting the cloth fall away to reveal what lay within.

She let out a low gasp. “Is that...?”

“It is.”

Alensia, a woman twice his age, perhaps more, let out a squeal like a little girl. “A Sacrelith? I’ve never seen one up close - only the mighty and powerful can even afford one - can I touch it? Can I?”

Just like Maleth indeed. No, Rian corrected, remembering the hours he’d spent devouring every word in every tome the tutors brought, like him. She had responsibilities, but this brought her joy.

He nodded in acquiescence and she promptly grabbed the halberd and began inspecting every inch, running her fingers along the perfectly smithed and glass-smooth blade. She closed her eyes in rapture.

“Incredible, I can feel the magic! It’s like dipping my hand into a river with no end.” She grinned goofily. “Thank you so much!”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, before resting his hand on the weapon once more. “Unlike all other forms of enchantment, Sacreliths will endure with no end, lasting generations. They do little unless activated, but once someone calls upon their power, they gird their wielder with the mightiest of enchanted armor and weapons, and allow them to cast certain magics like a mage.”

“How’s that?” Maleth asked, book thrown away and forgotten. He stood beside his mother, equally entranced by the weapon before him. “How does it last so long?”

“That is, err,” Rian winced, before admitting, “I am not entirely certain, to be truthful. Only the magi are allowed to know the secrets of Sacreliths and even they only learned how to create them recently. As little as a generation ago, the only Sacreliths were artifacts from the past.”

And it would have been better if they stayed that way, he added silently.

“Why don’t you use it?” Maleth chirped.

He glared at him before reminding himself that Maleth was only a boy. He didn’t understand the significance of what he was saying. “A mage cannot use a Sacrelith, not truly. It is a crutch. Eventually, if you keep using it, you come to rely upon it and are unable to use your own magic as effectively. Once or twice is one thing, but if I were to use it too much, eventually I would be cast spells without it.”

“But you could be like ‘Bam! Boom!’ and blow up dragons!” the boy said, waving his chubby hands in the air as if he were doing it himself. “Ain’t that better than listening to some old geezers in robes?”

Just a child, just a child, the mantra echoed in his head. In spite of the similar words, this wasn’t Soren’s veiled hints about how Rian was wasting his time nor his parents’ patronizing smiles.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “There are some,” far too many, “who are of the same opinion, but there are certain magics that no Sacrelith can replicate, that only the magi are allowed to learn.”

“Oh.” Maleth digested that. “Then if you’re not using it, could I try it?”

“No!”

“Aww, why not?”

He had a vision of ‘oops!’ before Maleth somehow managed to drown them all indoors. Shuddering at the thought, he said, “Maybe when you’re… older?” Much older, and ideally in a different duchy or kingdom.

Maleth pouted, but went back to peering at the Sacrelith.

“So one day, I might be able to create these if I get better with enchanting,” Alensia said, tracing the weapon with her hand as if it were her own creation.

Grateful for the change of subject, Rian cleared his throat. “Assuming that you managed to pass your trials and that your talents and inclinations leaned in that direction? Yes. This is what lies at the end of that road.” He hid a smile at the eagerness burning in her gaze. This way he wouldn’t have to worry. Even if he were no longer able to help her, he had lit a flame in her mind. “Now then, to other matters.”

When the Sacrelith was wrapped up and returned to him, he quickly set it off to the side. Whatever its uses in inspiring Alensia, it was a symbol of what his future might be if he failed the mage trials.

The three of them settled down to eat, Maleth shoveling meat and potatoes into his seemingly-endless stomach and his mother nibbling her way through each bite. Rian ate too, but something was else on his mind, the real reason he was supposed to be here; he had to tell her. He set down his fork and opened his mouth… only to close it again. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Something bothering you?” Alensia said between bites, noticing his disquiet. “You look troubled.”

Damn it. It wasn’t fair! “Soren. He thinks… that is to say…” He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out, “he wants us to curtail our friendship, for the time being at least.”

She froze, her gaze searching his face to see if it were a joke of some kind. She must have seen the despair in his expression as she growled. “I knew the man didn’t care for me or Maleth, but to go so far as -”

“It is not that,” he said quickly. “He does not care much for the common folk, no, but that is not his reason. It is because of the marriage suit - he is concerned that our friendship might look inappropriate to an outside party and lower my marital prospects.”

She furrowed her brow, digesting his words. “I am starting to see why you didn’t care for the marriage suit. Life as a noble, I never thought it would be quite so strange. To think that you have such concerns,” she said, almost to herself. “What happens now?”

“It will not be forever, only until the negotiations are finished, and it is not as if we have to completely avoid one another. Brief encounters in public should not be an issue as long as they were not too frequent, but these long periods of time spent together teaching you would have to end.”

“So we would see each other once in a while in the corridors at most,” she said, rubbing her brow. “I suppose it makes sense - appearances matter, as my friend Garleth discovered when he stopped bothering to clean his smithy for a few weeks and lost half his customers.”

She was taking it well… which bothered him, oddly enough. He wanted her to be angry, just as he was. “It just is not fair. It is not anything real, just a matter of appearances. We both know that it is a matter of complete innocence.”

Alensia chuckled mirthlessly, her expression all too tired. “If you heard your wife-to-be was spending hours on end entertaining a man in her personal quarters, would you be fine with her claiming it an innocent matter?”

He opened his mouth to deny what she was saying, only to close it again. “No,” he finally said, “I would not. I would be suspicious. Even if it were innocent, I would look for someone else, someone who would avoid causing my family potential embarrassment.” He sighed in defeat. Maybe Soren was right. “So that is it then? I cannot be your tutor anymore?”

“It’s necessary, at least for now.”

“True, it is just…” he trailed off, trying to think of the words to explain. “I spent ten years learning magic. I was blessed with tutors and tomes, and all the time one could possibly need to practice. Yet when I tell my family of my goals and dreams, they smile and nod before going onto more important matters. With our instruction, that was not the case. When I speak of magic, you pay attention. It has been five years since I had anyone who actually cared rather than just humoring me… and now I am having to give that up because of this marriage suit.”

She patted him on the back. “Don’t worry. Like you said, it will only be for a little while if we pass the trials.” She forced a smile. “It would not be wrong for fellow students to study together once in a while, no?”

Alensia was trying to cheer him up, he realized. Somehow, that knowledge helped him in itself, and a little relief seeped into his body, but only a little. “I suppose it would not,” he admitted, “and it will end eventually.”

“See? Everything will be fine in the end.”

As Rian left her quarters and trudged back upstairs though, it was with a heavy heart. Regardless of the necessity, he would miss his newfound friend, even if it was only for a little while.

Chapter Seven

Standing before the mirror, the shining glass reflected a youth whose tunic bore his family’s crest. It had been tailored well and fit him perfectly, like he hoped the blue robes he might earn would as well. His long dark hair trailed down his back, tied in a braid, while the only adornment he bore was his signet ring.

The day of the Second Trial had come, and Rian would meet that challenge as both a Miel and as a mage. He was prepared for Dalmarn’s hostility this time; the man had tricked him before but it would not happen again. He wouldn’t let it, and as long as he did not make that mistake… with ten years of training, how could he possibly fail?

Once more, the darkness engulfed him as he descended into the blackened corridors where Dalmarn made his domain. Despite everything, his footsteps were steady and focused. There were only two trials to go, then he would become a mage. He would have his friend back and the depths of magic awaited him, secrets the likes of which -

“Hello there,” came a lighthearted voice from right beside him, causing him to jump and whirl about. “Err, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to startle you. If it isn’t too much trouble though, I could really use your help.”

The woman before him was tanned from long hours beneath the sun and there was more than a hint of muscle in her frame. Her cheerful brown eyes overlooked a smile that was small but no less warm for it. Untamed auburn tresses reached down to her shoulders and at her waist was sheathed a ruby-pommelled longsword.

“You alright there?” She furrowed her brows and drew closer. There was a scar over her nose,  where it looked like someone had tried to slice her forehead open.

“Ahem, my apologies.” Rian inclined his head politely. “You surprised me is all.” He was about to say more when his gaze fell upon the red cloak trailing down her back, the exact same one as that bastard of a guard. She was part of the Crimson Order, just like him. His lip curled.

The woman in question continued her entreaty obliviously. “Sorry for the bother, but I’m trying to find Mage Dalmarn’s chambers and I don’t have the slightest idea of where it is I’m going.”

His first thought was to say that he didn’t know either and move on. Neither her red cloak nor her mention of Dalmarn was remotely endearing and if she were anything like her comrade, she certainly didn’t deserve his help. The way the Crimson Order lorded the ‘King’s Authority’ over everyone, even the nobility… he was quite sure it would be appreciated if he were to give that overweening pride a bit of a bruising. The words were on the tip of his tongue.

“Sir?” Her smile grew uncertain.

Damn, he couldn’t do it. She had been nothing but polite and, regardless of what her comrades had done, he didn’t know of any cruelties she’d committed. Until he found otherwise, politeness said that it was his duty to aid her. “Follow me,” he finally said.

“Thank you, sir, I really appreciate it.”

He grunted in response and the flattening of her expression gave him a surge of dark pleasure. That’s right. I’m going to help you, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Hiding a smirk, he led her on to Dalmarn’s chambers.

It was quiet, her footsteps so soft that he sometimes wondered if perhaps the woman had wandered off somewhere. He didn’t look back. If she somehow got lost with him leading the way, it was her own problem. He certainly bore no responsibility for her!

Her voice invaded the quiet once more. “You’re not wearing the blue or white robes. Are you taking your Mage Trials?”

“Yes.” His voice was little more than a growl. If she was going to stand there and mock him…

She hummed lightly, tapping one finger against the hilt of her sword as she sized him up with dark eyes. On any other person, Rian might have thought it a threat, but the unconcerned, offhand way she did it made him wonder if it was merely a tic. After a moment, her hand stilled anyway and she nodded. “You seem well prepared.”

How would you know that? “I am.”

Her eyebrows knit together and she frowned. “Did I… do something to you or someone you know?”

“You? No. Your comrades? Yes.”

Despite his answer, her expression cleared into a small smile. “Alright, so it’s not my fault then. Good to hear.”

Is this some kind of joke? His annoyance must have shown on his face as the woman chuckled.

“I know perfectly well that many who wear my cloak have done things that dishonor it,” she said. “Sometimes I myself have had to make decisions I hate. If you have no quarrel with me though, I have no quarrel with you.”

He could only stare at her. “You do not mind me hating you over your comrade’s actions, so long as it is not for anything you yourself have done?”

“Not really. It’s unlikely we’ll meet again and I have troubles enough to face without adding more.” Her smile widened. “Besides, whatever your thoughts of me, you’re helping me. Is it wrong that I am grateful for that?”

“Oh…” When she put it that way, it made some sense, but it was hard to maintain his anger when she was being so understanding. His annoyance faded somewhat, leaving behind only guilt for being so hard on her.

“What is your name, madam?” Rian asked, this time with all the grace a noble of the Miel family could muster.

For the first time since the conversation began though, wariness crossed her expression. “It’s Sachiel,” she said slowly, “Sachiel Licourt.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. Only the nobility possessed a family name, although he did not recognize hers. He briefly wondered what would cause someone of noble blood to stoop so low as to join the Crimson Order as it was now, but dismissed it as irrelevant. As Sachiel herself had pointed out, the odds were that he would never see her again.

“My name is Rian Miel,” he said, “second child to House Miel and future mage upon the passing of my trials. I am honored to meet your acquaintance.” He offered his hand and she shook it with a firm grip.

“Likewise. It is a pleasure to meet you too...” Realization flitted across her face and she snapped her fingers. “If you’re taking your trials, then Dalmarn must be your proctor. That’s got to be miserable.”

Rian drew back, narrowing his eyes. “And what would make you think that? You barely even know me.”

Her understanding look disarmed his suspicions before they could even begin. “You’re a noble,” she said. “He doesn’t care much for them.”

That’s for certain. He snorted before giving in, “Your gift for understatement is truly impressive. Yes, it is miserable. He is a true bastard, whose greatest goal is my aggravation, whose…”

As they made their way down the dark and dreary halls, he told her how the man had almost cost him the First Trial with his sabotage.

When he finished, she let out a sigh, shaking her head. “I know him well and can see him doing exactly what you just said. Don’t mistake him though - he’s a good person… if not a particularly fair one. There’s a reason he despises the nobility.”

“And what is that? What could he have possibly endured that justifies his actions toward me?”

“It is a long story, but simply put, he had to take a much harder road to become a mage thanks to a noble.”

He digested her words before glaring back. “Forgive me, but that hardly seems fair. One noble put him through misery, so he makes it so every one of us has to take the same miserable path he did?”

She tapped the hilt of her sword again, eying him in consideration, before finally grimacing. “Trust me when I say it’s far greater than what you’re thinking, but I cannot say more. It is his story to share, but I wouldn’t judge him too harshly.”

Rian wondered just what this story was but allowed the matter to drop. Besides, it didn’t really matter anyway. Regardless of how great his personal sufferings were, they did not justify Dalmarn taking out his wrongs on others. “So why are you wishing to meet with such a man?”

Sachiel smiled, perhaps relieved herself at the change of subject. “Ah, that. Let’s just say that I’m looking into the unrest to the east and could use the help of an old friend.”

He glanced back at her, taking in her smooth skin, long bright hair and youthful form. Although he didn’t say it aloud, he felt that ‘old’ was definitely the appropriate term to use for Dalmarn by comparison.

The shadows wrapped around them anew as they made their way deeper into the corridors, passing a cloaked man with a polite nod. He watched them idly as they came to Dalmarn’s door.

This time, he was better prepared for the thundering boom when he knocked. The owl let out a cry and the door opened as before.

She leaned in and whispered, “He likes a fighter. Given time, I’m sure he’ll like you too.” Before he could reply, she swept inside to greet Dalmarn, her cloak trailing behind her like a banner of blood.

Rian raised an eyebrow. He would believe that when he saw it.

Dalmarn raised his eyebrows at Sachiel’s entrance but waved her by without comment, before turning to Rian with a sneer. “Are you quite finished standing around? I thought you had a trial to take, or is lazing about a common trait amongst,” he looked down his nose at Rian, dark eyes glinting, “your sort?”

Not dignifying that with a comment, Rian hurried inside.

Sachiel had seated herself at one of the chairs by the desk, seemingly unbothered by the moss that covered everything. Instead, she relaxed, leaning forward to massage her stocking-clad calves. As his eyes fell upon her, she smiled as if to say ‘don’t worry about me’ and tilted her head back toward Dalmarn with an expectant look upon her face.

Dalmarn narrowed his eyes at her but sighed and bobbed his shiny bald head ever so slightly. “I suppose I should thank you for escorting my young friend. Now, your… lordship, are you prepared to take the Second Trial?”

He didn’t fail to notice that Dalmarn hadn’t actually thanked him despite his own words. Still, he kept his voice as even as he could manage it. “I will not fall for the same trick twice. First, tell me what the trial consists of, then I will let you know when I am ready.”

Dalmarn’s sneer only deepened. “Tell me,” he said, “do nobles learn such cheek or does it come out of their mother’s womb with them?”

“Yes, we learn it right after horse-riding,” he deadpanned and Sachiel let out a laugh that she quickly disguised as a cough, “now tell me the rules for the Second Trial!”

For a moment, he thought he saw the barest flicker of a smile before Dalmarn said, “Very well… There will be a cavern filled with obstacles, all crafted from spellwork and enchanting. Your goal is to get to the end and place your hand upon the emerald there.”

“Seems simple enough. So if I touch it, I pass?”

“Yes, as long as you survive.” This time, Dalmarn did smile, but it was touched with malice. “We’ll stop the test if you get beaten into unconsciousness, but accidents do happen. Try not to die.”

Dalmarn was trying to intimidate him, he told himself. Surely the bastard wasn’t allowed to just kill off applicants. Just intimidation. “No other conditions then? No need to hop on one foot as I complete it?”

“Sadly, while that would be amusing to observe, there are no other conditions.”

He took a deep breath, trying to think of anything else he might need to know. Nothing came readily to mind. “Very well, I am ready.”

“Then follow me.” Dalmarn led him deeper into his dank demesne. The moss thickened as they went, coating the walls, floor and ceiling, everything buried under the dark green carpet.

Everything, that is, save for the door that Dalmarn guided him to. Bright silver and engraved with a fox’s head that was so well-crafted that it looked as if its nose might wriggle and sniff at them; it glared down at Rian with the weight of ages. Unlike everything else, it was untouched, whether it be by the moss or seemingly even time itself.

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Logic said that this must be the site of his Second Trial, but the sense of foreboding that overcame him had nothing to do with logic. The air here seethed with magic.

Dalmarn smirked down at him, unaffected and enjoying his unease. “Touch the door to begin, if you can manage something so complex.”

Ignoring the hateful man, Rian swallowed his fear before reaching out and pressing his hand against the fox’s snout.

Everything vanished in blinding light.

***

When the light faded, an expansive chamber laid before him, cut deeply into natural rock, a cavern the size of his castle’s courtyard; it was lit by torches burning with a pale blue flame that cast everything in azure shades.

Still, it was bright enough to see by, more so than the hallways he had taken to come here. The moss was at its deepest though, covering everything ankle-deep, only bits of the uneven floor could be seen through its heavy green cloak. Behind him was the silver door, while ahead laid a twinkle of emerald radiance, his goal.

It was tempting to simply race down the passage and end this trial but he held back. Dalmarn’s conditions were clear, so he could afford to take his time. Instead of racing forward, he peered around, looking in greater detail as he considered his options.

It strained his eyes a little - Dalmarn’s light-summoning Spellstone would have proven particularly handy - but he managed to spot several symbols beneath the green matting, faintly glowing red and etched into the stone itself.

Activation runes, each probably triggering something nasty.

Rian threaded his way past them and allowed himself a smile. So much for Dalmarn’s little trick. Whatever cruelties the man might have planned, he would not stop him from becoming a mage.

Keeping his eyes out for any runes, he took another step forward.

Click.

He looked down, but there was no rune beneath him.

A boom rang through the hall, making his bones shiver with the force as something massive landed on the mossy ground right behind him.

His legs shook like twigs in a breeze, but he managed to turn around.

The construct was half again his size, crafted of steel and stone, and molded into something vaguely resembling a man, but each of its four arms was as thick as his waist while compound ruby eyes gleamed maliciously on its forehead. It leered hungrily down at Rian, mere paces away.

Shit!

He tried to grab a Spellstone from his pocket, but his fingers shook as they tried to gain purchase upon the roughly-hewn orb.

The golem had no such trouble. Taking advantage of his distraction, it charged with a roar that sounded like a rockslide. Each step was thunderous and its feet tore through layers of moss with their passing, the construct moving faster than its size would have implied.

His mind froze but instinct born from countless hours of practice saved him. In the space of a moment, he ripped the Spellstone from his pocket, drew upon his stamina, and summoned the spell.

Unlike the Spellstone in the First Trial, he was intimately familiar with this one, courtesy of the years spent mastering it. Rather than taking minutes, this spell took barely a couple seconds to cast.

A shockwave of arcane power burst from his outstretched hand, easily as big around as a man was tall. Silver in color, it ripped through the air with the power of a giant before exploding against something with a rumbling boom, filling the cavern with a cloud of dust and shattered rock. Force Wave was its name, and it lived up to it without doubt.

He smiled. A direct hit was sure to badly damage, perhaps even destroy his foe. With the golem out of the way, he could bypass the rest of the runes without trouble. All he needed to do was -

The sound of stone grinding against stone was his only warning before the golem’s fist impacted him.

His stomach exploded in pain and he was sent skidding back. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, but managed to keep his grip upon his Spellstone.

The golem stood before him, cracks running up and down its armored chest but otherwise unhampered, somehow having avoided the worst of his spell. It reared up before bringing its hands down in a crushing hammer-blow.

Rian’s mind went blank, but he managed to throw himself to the side and the attack whistled past him, so close he could feel the wind against his cheek. He brought his Spellstone up to train upon his foe.

The construct was faster, its arms sweeping out and grabbing shoulder, side and hip before throwing him to the ground. It brought one massive foot high.

No! Refusing to let himself lose, he channeled into his Spellstone once more, unleashing another mighty blast. This one struck true and, with a grinding roar, the entire upper half of the construct was reduced to rubble.

Rubbing his aching stomach, Rian got to his feet once more.

That… that had been tougher than he expected. For him to face a golem in the Second Trial was quite - his jaw tightened as he reminded himself who his proctor was. ‘Dalmarn is a bastard’ really explained everything, didn’t it? Of course it would be maddeningly difficult. The idea of that hateful man giving him a fair fight was downright laughable.

He shook his head. He would have to be especially careful now if he wanted to avoid -

“Well done, young lord,” Dalmarn’s voice echoed sardonically from above, “you successfully managed to defeat a golem… one which had its primary enchantments disabled and was unable to do anything other than hit you like a random thug. Congratulations. I hope it was all you ever dreamed of.”

Rian gritted his teeth, but said nothing, choosing to focus on the task at hand. Enchantments or no, that golem packed a punch.

“However, you made one small mistake. I suggest you look down.”

Rian’s eyes flickered down reflexively, only to see two runes flaring scarlet beneath him.

His heart stopped at the sight before thundering anew in his chest. He must have landed on the runes during the fight with the golem. If these runes had also triggered…

A pair of thundering booms rocked the cavern as two more golems dropped from the ceiling. Twin roars tore through the air, then the constructs leaped for him.

His hands shook, but he called upon his Spellstone once more, letting its power loose in a wild burst.

The spell ripped off one golem’s left arms, but it barely seemed to notice, slamming into him with a mighty headbutt.

His head exploded with pain, but he gritted his teeth, holding his ground with all his strength. If he triggered more runes, this battle was probably over. The blow sent him to his knees, his legs quaking, but he didn’t move so much as a step back, instead unleashing another Force Wave that reduced his foe to shards of rock. One down.

The second golem was already upon him, bringing an arm down in a brutal strike.

Rian was ready this time though, and his foe's attack led it right into the full force of his next spell. The stone fist made it within inches of his face before the construct’s entire upper body was swallowed in a stream of silver light.

As the shattered fragments of the second golem clattered to the ground, he took several deep breaths. The pain from the blows he’d taken was magnified now that the rush of battle had begun to fade. How many spells had he used? Four… no, five, he corrected himself. Damn. He’d have to be careful going forward - the most spells he’d ever cast at one time was twelve before his vision swam and his tutors ordered him to stop.

Still, he’d managed to avoid triggering any more runes at least, and his spells were powerful enough to defeat the golems in one casting each if he was careful. Even if he did trigger a couple more, he’d probably be fine.

“Resting upon your laurels, oh brave champion?” Dalmarn’s sneer was audible. “To succeed, you need to complete the trial, not sit upon your noble arse!”

Rian opened his mouth to retort when five clicks rang through the cavern. An equal number of runes lit up, all across the cavern, and five ground-shaking booms occurred in quick succession.

“Oh good, I was wondering when those would trigger.” He could almost see the damn smirk on Dalmarn’s face. “Just think, in another two minutes, there will be twenty.”

A time limit. The longer he spent, the more there would be, no matter how he handled them. Every minute that passed, his chances would dwindle further and further. Awfully convenient that he didn’t mention this before the trial began.

The golems hurtled toward him. One of them was faster than the others. It didn’t breathe but it was close enough he could have smelled its breath if it did. He barely made it up to its stomach and it loomed over him as a man would a boy. Then it was upon him, reaching for his neck, four hands illuminated pale blue in the darkness.

Panic swelled within him but he had the presence of mind to duck. His hands shook so badly that his first spell only grazed his target, causing it to hobble on its damaged leg, but still be in the fight. It took another spell to actually bring the construct down. Two more spells down, five remaining, and any step could trigger more golems. It was like being surrounded by more wasp nests as they swarmed him. How was he going to do this? This was madness!

The remaining golems’ footsteps thundered throughout the cavern.

He’d have to make every spell count if he wanted to succeed. His fingers wouldn’t stop shaking but he braced himself to cast as the three golems closed in - wait, weren’t there four?

Stone grated behind him.

He twisted around frantically, Spellstone in hand, but a fist slammed into his shoulder before he could finish casting, sending him careening to the ground in an explosion of pain.

He tried to get back to his knees, fingers scraping frantically against the moss. No, this can’t be! I can’t fail, not like this!

Mere inches away, the golem’s form blotted out everything else, with red eyes as big as Rian’s fists glaring right at him. Opening its immense stone mouth wide, it let loose an ear-splitting roar.

Over the incredible noise, he couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. His spells wouldn’t come to him, nor strategy. Even the trial itself seemed meaningless. He threw himself out of the construct’s way, any fears of what runes he might trigger meaningless against the thought of what would happen if this monster got ahold of him! Scrabbling to his feet, he ran as fast as he could.

The golems followed hungrily, leaping after him even as more runes clicked, flaring into garish red light. Still, they were some distance behind.

They weren’t as fast as him, he vaguely recognized, but that didn’t matter much. They wouldn’t tire. They would run him down, crush him, kill him. No, the only way out was the emerald. He raced toward it, even as his panting breaths grew more and more ragged.

The golems must have realized they couldn’t catch up, as they let out shrieks of inhuman rage, but nothing would stop him from touching that gemstone. When he closed within mere feet, there was a click, but he ignored it, along with a cool, damp feeling that permeated his robes.

He was almost there. Just a little bit further and he would be safe, mere inches really. His hand could almost touch it… so why couldn’t he get any closer?

He looked down.

The golems surrounded him but made no effort to strike. His body had been wrapped in an orb of shimmering water, encasing him from his feet to the top of his chest. It rose more with each second, to his shoulders and then neck.

What was this?

“Surely, you didn’t think we would be so foolish as to let just any idiot dash for the emerald,” Dalmarn said. “No, there only a few safe paths through and you chose wrongly.”

No! He struggled as hard as he could, trying to break free.

It was in vain. Mere moments later, the orb encased him entirely before sending him hurtling across the room to land against the wall. The orb burst upon impact in a wet shower, leaving him unharmed, but far, far from his goal.

“Don’t worry though, you can try again. You just have to make it past the golems. They’ve been accumulating, admittedly, but surely mere constructs pose no threat for a brave lord such as yourself. Good luck.” Dalmarn’s laughter echoed through the cavern.

The golems charged toward Rian in a cresting wave. True to Dalmarn’s word, there were no longer four of them. At least a dozen constructs thundered across the cavern floor, with more dropping from the ceiling every few moments.

Rian clutched the wall to support himself as he panted for breath. Sweat dripped down him, soaking him as thoroughly as Sideb’s spray of water had what seemed like a lifetime ago. He had run perhaps a few hundred yards, but with the drain of his Spellstones, it felt like ten times that. The thin blue light made his hands look even paler than they already were. His limit closed in relentlessly upon him, the tide of exhaustion threatening to pull him beneath it, and he was no closer to his goal than the moment he had entered the room. Still, he braced himself to battle, to fight as hard as he could in the hopes of winning against…

No, even in his own head, he knew that thought for the madness it was. Defeating so many golems was an impossibility. He. Could. Not. Win.

It was all his fault. He understood that now - the golems weren’t trying to kill him and he should have realized that. Instead he’d panicked and now stood to lose everything. Was this it then? Was this how it would end, ten years of preparation crushed underfoot by a horde of golems.

Dalmarn’s infernal gloating filled the cavern. “Are you giving up, oh honorable lord?”

They were closing in now, the nearest less than twenty paces away, but Rian drew his Spellstone one last time. If this was how it ended, he would face it in a manner befitting a Miel. He would not give up and cry, pleading for a second chance. He would remain calm, he would plan and he would find a way out. Taking a deep breath, he tried to ignore the golems closing in.

Alright, even if he were fortunate enough to defeat them, in less than a minute another twenty would trigger. There was no way he could destroy them all, but… he wasn’t required to defeat them, was he? The only requirement to pass the Second Trial was to touch the emerald. The golems were between him and his goal but they were slow. Although his body already ached from the exertions, if he could make it past the horde, he could probably make it long enough to reach the emerald.

The golems closed in further. Ten paces, nine, eight -

Rian’s legs shook, panic screaming at him to run for the exit, but he stood still. He would fail if he ran into another one of those bubble rune traps and there were only a few ways through. If only it weren’t for this damn moss!

One golem leaped for him, a hateful snarl coming from its crafted mouth as it brought its fists down.

He ducked, running under the attack and forward. He still had no idea how to make it through to the emerald but he was out of time to plan. He charged forward, dodging past one golem then another. He was quicker and more agile than his rocky foes but there were a lot more of them than he and he was no warrior. Soon enough, he slipped in a dodge, the moss giving way beneath him and sending him sprawling to the floor.

One of the golems reared up to stomp him down, two more closing in around them.

He had no choice but to blast it, rolling out of the other two golems’ blows with a mixture of desperate dodging and pure luck. Four spells to go and far too many golems remained, but he thought he spotted a gap in their ranks. He hesitated for only a moment before racing for it.

Sweat dripped down his neck as he passed one golem then another. Soon he was almost to the gap.

A golem charged at him from the side, fists driving in from multiple angles.

Rian hesitated - every spell used would drain his stamina further - then took the chance and dived past the golem’s blows.

Three of the four fists whistled past him as their owner couldn’t stop its momentum, but the fourth slammed into Rian’s shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor to land in a groaning heap.

Pain, everything was pain. Rian’s vision swam as his arm bent at an odd angle. He touched it with the other only to let out a shout as the jostling movement sent agony shooting through him.

It was impossible to tell if it were broken or merely dislocated, although it didn’t really matter now. The only mercy was that it wasn’t his primary arm. Blinking away spots, he struggled to his feet before the golems could get to him and raced forward.

They were indeed closing in, their tide having only grown in numbers from more runes triggering, but they were closing in from behind. He’d made it past the horde for now and, until he ran out of stamina, he was faster. Perhaps fifty yards of trap-filled moss was the only thing between him and victory.

Now what though? He would have only one shot at this - there was no way he’d be able to squeeze through that horde again - and if he stumbled into the same sort of trap as last time, he’d be finished. If only this moss wasn’t there, then… oh!

A golem dropped down next to him, courtesy of another rune. Getting to its feet, its massive arms reached for him.

He ducked his head, just managing to dodge before unleashing three Force Waves in succession. Each wave ripped through the cavern, shredding moss and grinding against rock before bursting in a mighty explosion.

The golem paused, seeming almost confused as it wound up for another blow.

Rian couldn’t blame it - three spells from directly in front of the construct and not so much as a single smudge marred the golem’s rocky body - but then, he hadn’t aimed for it to begin with.

Dodging past the construct’s attacks, he ran forward onto a path free of moss with all the runes clearly visible thanks to the spells that had scoured it clean. His lungs ached and his legs wobbled, but he pushed onward without stopping.

The golems chased him, their footsteps impacting the stone in a thunderous rage, but there was no stopping him this time.

His body sore and aching, he seized the gem… and promptly staggered, panting for air.

The cavern fell silent save for his heavy breathing. The golems, now forty in number, were motionless, their frozen bodies only serving as monuments to his victory.

He did it. He had passed the Second Trial. If there had been the slightest strength left in him, he would have let out a shout, but as it was, a weak cry was all he could muster. Only one more trial remained though, then magehood would be his.

Footsteps approached, lighter than any of the constructs.

Dalmarn stepped in front of him, his hateful face lit up in the pale light. “So, it appears you managed to succeed after all,” He surveyed the deactivated golems with narrowed eyes before grumbling, “Shall I bid you congratulations?”

Rian’s body was a wreck and his arm felt like he’d dragged it over hot coals, but even those pains felt like nothing in the wake of his triumph. He had won. Perhaps it was his own imagination, but those dark robes no longer loomed over him quite so much and the mocking smirk on Dalmarn’s face had fallen to a mere sulky glower.

“Bid me… whatever you like… but only one trial remains before I become a mage, whether you like it or not,” Rian glared back at him, one good turn deserving another, “and you… you’ll still just be a miserable little bastard.”

Dalmarn ground his teeth together, the fire in his eyes doubling and redoubling until he spat, “You think you’re so clever, blasting through the moss to win. A strong mage would have defeated all the golems and a clever mage would have avoided all the runes from the beginning, quickly reaching their goal. You?” he sneered. “You were weak and stupid, running around like a child afraid of the dark. You just happened to have the right spell for the situation. Lucky, that’s all you were, but luck won’t last forever.”

Those words… they burned like fire in his ears. He glared back at the vile man, but had no retort to counter the stinging indictment - the very reason it stung so was the truth within Dalmarn’s insults. He had panicked, nearly costing him everything, and if his spell hadn’t been able to clear the moss, there would have been no way to win.

“As for the last trial,” Dalmarn said, that damn smirk back upon his face, “that will be three days from now inside my chamber. Perhaps luck will bless you once more. You’ll need it.”

Rian would have to be better, that was certain, but he wouldn’t give Dalmarn the pleasure of watching him squirm. Instead, he focused on what else the man had said. Three days. That would give him enough time to recover at least. A trip to the academy’s healing ward was in order if he wasn’t mistaken, then he would prepare for the final trial.

“Very well,” he said, his stomach throbbing in time with his shoulder. “Are we done here?”

“Mostly. There is one matter left to resolve. His arm, Sachiel?”

“It looks to be merely bruised,” She spoke from right behind Rian and it was all he could do to keep from jumping - he hadn’t even noticed her approach!

Paying no heed to his nervousness, she continued, “A bit of rest and he should be fine.”

His eyes whirled from Dalmarn to Sachiel and he suspected the sweat on his brow wasn’t just from the recent battle. “As you can see… there is no need... to concern yourself. I will be fine.”

“Oh, no, no,” Dalmarn’s eyes glinted and his smirk widened into a nasty little smile, “it wouldn’t do for us to let you leave unaided in your weak and helpless state.”

The room seemed to shake. Dalmarn and Sachiel’s faces were swaying and blurry, and Rian’s gut threatened to crawl into his throat. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself, bracing against the aches that went up and down his body. “I need… no aid. I will be… fine.”

“Hmmph, I hardly think -”

“Dalmarn, he’s been through enough. Quit riling him up!” Sachiel said. Turning to Rian, she held up her arms in a placating manner and continued more softly, “Now, don’t be foolish. You look like you’re about to - Shit!” She reached for him.

It was too late, as that was the moment that his body, already pushed to the brink, finally gave out and he collapsed at their feet.

Chapter Eight

The downside of draining oneself so thoroughly, as Rian discovered, was that a post-victory collapse was far less impressive than it was described in the courtly tales he’d read. After the remains of his breakfast painted the floor, he was unable to walk and needed to be taken to the healing ward. As Dalmarn refused, claiming other trials to attend to, that left Sachiel to help him along. She’d done so by hoisting him over her shoulder like the proverbial sack of grain as they made their way through the shadowy corridors.

The gloom matched his thoughts. It shouldn’t have. He should have been smiling. This should have been a moment of absolute joy, yet in spite of having passed the Second Trial, a sense of unease crawled over him. Dalmarn’s words whispered in his mind, reminding him of just how close he had come to defeat. Only one trial remained but it would be the most difficult of them. For all his hard work and preparation, was he truly ready? He wasn’t sure.

“Don't worry,” Sachiel said, “I’ve got you.”

It was true, but the reminder of her presence only served to bring his mood down further. It had been years since he’d needed someone to carry him and he wasn’t too keen on reliving this part of his past; no matter how he moved about though, the choices were to be hoisted over the shoulder or get carried like a child needing a nap.

“You can quit your squirming any time now,” Sachiel said lightly. To his mild surprise, she sounded unaffected by having to heft his full bulk. He wasn’t portly by any means - really, his father said he was too skinny - but he had to be well over a hundred pounds and she didn’t even sound like she was out of breath.

His face heated up further. “I apologize. I did not expect, well, this after the Second Trial.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “There has been many a time that I’ve seen grown soldiers need a hand after a rough battle - why, I’ve even needed to help Dalmarn a couple of times.”

The image of that bastard draped over Sachiel’s shoulders, looking as pathetic as Rian did now, brought a smile to his face. Dalmarn would probably be growling at his own helplessness. Still… “I wish you had not needed to take time out of your duties to aid me. Surely, you must have other matters to attend to. If I had not been...”

She snorted. “If you hadn’t won, you mean? The only reason you’re so tired is that you did everything you could to pass the trial. Because of that, you succeeded. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

The corridors were still dark and gloomy, and he was still getting carried around, but her words soothed his bruised ego a little. She was right. For the second time, he had come down here and he conquered what Dalmarn put in his way. “I suppose I did pass, didn’t I?”

“Exactly! And not everyone gets to say that. The trials are challenging, from what Dalmarn told me… well, when he wasn’t trying to mock your skills anyway.” She shook her head. “I see what you meant earlier. He really doesn’t think much of you.”

Rian’s smile faded at the reminder. Dalmarn might despise him and treat him unfairly, but he couldn’t deny that the man had a point. He’d spent ten years working toward this day. Surely, he should have been able to pass more easily than getting lucky at the end. ‘Weak and helpless…’ Dalmarn’s voice seemed to whisper in the depths of his mind. Was he right? He’d panicked, but even before that, he’d had a lot of trouble for only the Second Trial.

Sachiel must have noticed his disquiet as she sighed before patting his back clumsily. “You’re letting what he said bother you, aren’t you? Don’t. Victory is victory. Regardless of the method, you succeeded and should be proud of that.”

Her words were kind but did not soothe him. “If that were the final trial, I would agree with you, but it was not and I still have one more to go. My margin of victory was so thin that even a wayward pebble could have condemned me to defeat. If I had such trouble with this, then the final trial will be incredibly challenging, perhaps impossible.”

For several moments, all that could be heard was her whisper-soft footsteps against the floor.

He’d begun to think she wasn’t going to reply when she said, “It is easy to look back after the battle and condemn yourself for the mistakes you made, but you are not weak or stupid. You panicked and panic can ruin the chances of anyone, warrior or mage. Avoid that in the future and you’ll do fine.”

Rian nodded, starting to feel a little better. Even if she was wrong, he wanted to believe otherwise. “I suppose. I did win and even if it was not the cleanest of victories, I need but one more to become a mage.” He decided to change the subject. “Thank you as well, I might add. Although I might not enjoy the method, I appreciate you taking the time to get me to my quarters.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. Had I left you to Dalmarn’s tender mercies, you would be waking up in the corridor outside his chamber. Come on now, we’re almost there.” Sachiel grinned over her shoulder at him.

This close, Rian could see the freckles on her cheeks and a small pimple in the corner of her chin. She was young, he realized, not just young in comparison to Dalmarn but young - still older than him, but he doubted more than a few summers separated them, yet she had a veteran’s bearing.

For all Sachiel’s strength though, she could only carry him so quickly without jostling him and risking further injury, so they were still in the darkened catacombs of the academy’s depths. Save for their own conversation, everything was silent and it was hard to make out much of anything.

“Have you ever gone through spell-exhaustion before?” she asked over her shoulder.

Rian was thrown briefly by the question before he shook his head. “No, this was the first time I pushed myself so hard. The tutors I had were careful to avoid me using up too much of my strength.”

“‘Careful to avoid using too much of your strength?’” she said, her voice going up several octaves, “That is ridiculous! How are you going to learn to fight if you don’t know your own limits?”

“Well, although I am prepared for combat, I was always more interested in other fields, like -”

Sachiel stumbled and suddenly he was falling, only having enough time for a wordless cry before his nose crunched into the wall.

Pain radiated through his face and it was all he could do to try to get to his knees, Sachiel not helping at all. “Could you try to be a little more careful? You nearly brained me! And -” He opened his eyes and his voice stopped working.

The crossbow bolt laying mere inches from him saw to that. Wickedly barbed, it dripped with a clear fluid.

Poison. If she hadn’t dropped him, it might be buried in his gut right now. Hands trembling, he looked up.

Through the shadows, a black-cloaked man loomed before him like a wraith; he was thin with nothing of his face visible in the darkness, but the crossbow pointed straight for them made his profession clear: an assassin.

Sachiel stood between them, sword drawn. It was a cruel weapon, thick with violence and death, its blade a solid black with a blood channel running down its length that looked to have been crafted from molten lava. Its edges shimmered with sharpness, their eagerness to cut and maim almost visible to the naked eye.

Under any other circumstances, he would have recoiled at the sight of it, but here and now…  a cruel weapon was desperately needed.

The assassin discarded his crossbow in favor of a pair of knives that might have been forged from the shadows themselves, before closing in to strike, his form almost invisible in the darkness.

Sachiel made no effort to counterattack, instead focusing on repelling his knives. Yet, when she took a step back, she stood tall. “Surrender now,” she said. “Your ambush failed. You cannot win.”

Rian could hardly believe she dared such a bluff. How could she possibly defeat a foe they could barely see?

She whispered a phrase that sounded like a prayer. “I am the sword of my people... I am the servant of my king... Renara, Scourge of Wrath, grant me the might of an inferno.”

Crimson light poured from her blade, coalescing around her and forming full plate armor black as sin. Thin rivulets of molten fire spiderwebbed about it like veins, from the clawed boots to the shoulder plates. At the top was a helm, demonic in appearance with backswept horns, yet it had no face. Tiny pinpricks of brown were the only evidence of the woman who had been replaced by this metallic monster. The darkness shrank from her burning form and, with a final flare, her sword burst into flame.

With the shadows driven back, more of the assassin was revealed. A lean man, he wore armor made out of a thick black hide that soaked up the light. His face was hidden behind a winged mask, only revealing his chin and a thin scar running up the middle of it.

Deciding that the time for subtlety and stealth had passed, the assassin let out a snarl and his draggers crackled with a sickly purple light as the two circled around each other.

Fear trickled down Rian’s spine. Either the assassin’s blades were enchanted or they were Sacreliths themselves. This was no mere five-coin cutpurse. This was a warrior and he was bent upon their deaths.

Rian pulled a Spellstone from within his pocket. His body was still ravaged from the Second Trial but he might be able to squeeze one spell out.

With a battle cry, the assassin charged for Sachiel, both blades aimed for the joints in her armor.

She stood firm, using her weapon’s greater reach to keep him at bay while counter-attacking with quick little slashes, forcing him to protect himself as much as attack her.

While Rian’s only familiarity with swordplay came from the few times he’d had the misfortune to be beaten down by his sister, Sachiel seemed to be winning. Her sword seared through the air, once, twice, then a third time, each time barely dodged or parried as the sounds of clashing steel rang through the corridor.

The assassin’s movements grew more frenzied. He bobbed and weaved in an attempt to try to get near enough for his daggers to do what they did best, but Sachiel’s armored form was never close enough unless he wanted to impale himself upon that burning blade.

She didn’t have that same difficulty. With a sudden flash of steel, blood sprayed out from the assassin’s side and he cried out in pain.

She closed in upon her foe, looking for all the world like a monster of steel and flame that had been dragged from the blackest depths of the underworld to torment the man before her.

The assassin crouched low, his chest heaving with each breath. He glared at her and darkness seethed around his daggers, pulsing darkness that burst in a stream of knives and daggers; dozens strong, each was crafted of shadowstuff and they whistled toward her in a storm.

Before Rian could so much as cry out, the flames around Sachiel’s sword flared further until it seemed a pillar of flame was grasped in her hands. She drove back the assassin’s spell with one mighty slash, fire bursting against darkness and sending the blades impacting upon the walls and floor before dissipating into nothingness.

“Try that again and the result will be the same,” Sachiel said coldly. “Surrender or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

The assassin didn’t respond, instead turning in Rian’s direction.

No!

Darkness pulsed once more but this time the storm of blades hurtled toward him, as high as he was tall and several times as wide.

Sachiel cried out, but the words were indistinct as time slowed to a crawl.

There was no time to dodge, so gripping his Spellstone, Rian threw everything he had left into it and unleashed the spell blindly. He’d finally found his limit, he realized as his vision swam. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even stand and the silver wave he summoned was pathetic, knocking aside perhaps a third of the blades before the rest tore it through it a moment later.

As the daggers closed in and the growing darkness took him, his final thought was a simple hope that his last moments would be free of pain.

Interlude One

The shadows engulfed him, bringing agony with them. He’d failed and surrounding him was a scene out of his nightmares.

A castle shattered, every bit broken and ravaged. Pieces of the fallen covered everything and blood spilled across the landscape like a jar of red paint.

“Please, no…”

The sky was blotted out by thick black clouds and the scent of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. Everything was silent, no cries for help coming, leaving him alone amidst the carnage.

But even through the madness, he knew the truth.

It was his fault.

Chapter Nine

Rian’s hands scrabbled against his face in a desperate attempt to clean himself, but there was no blood, only a quiet breeze blowing against his cheeks.

Blinking his eyes open, he had to shade them as the light of the morning sun poured in through wide-open windows, casting everything in shades of gold. It illuminated a room furnished in pastels. He laid tucked in silken sheets, a woolen blanket weighing him down with its warmth. His Spellstones rested on the nightstand beside the bed while his now-clean clothes hung across from him. The scent of lavender wafted gently in the air.

Every ache was gone and his arm was unhurt. The fear and danger that terrorized him now felt like nothing more than a bad dream. Only peace and tranquility remained… but where was the assassin? What happened?

A cough from his side revealed that he wasn’t alone. Sachiel was seated beside his bed, relief on her face. Her armor was gone in favor of a combination of shirt and breeches. She was unharmed, at least.

He swallowed. “How did - where am I? Where is the assassin and how did you get in here?” He realized how his words might be received and hastily added, “Not that I mind your presence, of course. I am quite glad to see you well, very glad.”

In spite of his accidental rudeness, Sachiel’s smile was all amusement. “Likewise, your lordship, particularly since you’re alive to see me. You’re in the Royal Academy’s healing ward now and, as for what happened,” Her expression darkened, “it was close. Your spell held our foe’s attack off for just long enough that I managed to block it with my own, but even a moment’s delay would have cost you your life.”

That was close indeed, though he noticed she made no mention of the possibility that she might have died, only him. “Were you able to defeat him then?”

She shook her head. “No, he retreated and I didn’t dare follow. It would have required leaving you defenseless and after casting a spell in your already injured state... Capturing him wasn’t worth risking your life.”

Rian’s heart sunk. The assassin had come within inches of killing him and it was his own weakness that prevented her from capturing the man. If he hadn’t exhausted himself so foolishly against the golems, she could have captured the man. Weak and helpless… Perhaps Dalmarn was right. “I am sorry.”

“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.”

Soren nodded, murmuring, “Where do we get it though? It is not as if they would trumpet their crimes in the streets.”

Jela let her breath out in a low hiss and her expression returned to her normal stoic demeanor… if one ignored the way a vein throbbed in her temple. “They must have somebody local,” she said, biting out every word. “The assassin was there mere days after the marriage suit - while they could contact him from outside, it is far more likely that somebody in Sirala set this up. Soren, do you know any members of the Gazif family who would be in the area?”

Soren’s eyebrows knitted together but he shook his head. The three of them continued talking, yet something niggled at Rian’s thoughts, something about the Gold Road and holdings… What was it again?

Oh! He snapped his fingers. “Soren, do you still have the marriage dossiers?”

The man in question blinked but brought them out of one of his belt-pouches.

As Rian’s elders looked curiously at him, he leafed through the many loose pages until he found one named ‘Rakalos’. Jabbing a finger about halfway down the page, he said, “Here! ‘The Rakalos family was doing poorly so they sold their trading house for the Sirala-Xeris trade route to Mika Gazif!”

“I’ll be damned,” Soren peered at it closely, his voice hushed. “Rian’s right and that trading house is based right here in Sirala. She’s third in line to one of the secondary branches but still a Gazif. Through her, they could set up the attack. It all fits.”

“How do we prove that she was involved with my attacker, though?”

Eldrie smiled warmly. “Don’t fret over this, my son. You have done the family a grand service this day and I am very proud of you for finding this, but let us handle finding the proof needed. You just focus on staying safe.”

“With all due respect, an assassin attacked me yesterday. I won’t be safe until the Gazifs are stopped. Please, let me help.”

“I am not -”

Jela laid a hand on her husband’s shoulders, quelling him with a whisper before she turned to Rian. “My son… He hears that an assassin is trying to hunt him down and his first instinct is to try to hunt down his attacker first. With this sort of bravery it is certain you will bring pride and honor to House Miel.”

“Err, thank you, mother,” Rian said, his face flushing. In truth, his concern was more for his life than some desire to catch his attacker, but the praise felt good nonetheless.

“Still, I must agree with your father on this one. Putting yourself out there is the very thing the Gazifs would love to see. If you chase them down, you make yourself an easy target. Far better to lie in wait in a safe haven and make them strike first.” She nodded slowly, weighing him with her gaze. It must have gone in his favor, as she continued, ”Keep your eyes and ears open though, as if we can obtain proof of either this Mika Gazif ordering the attack or the assassin serving the Gazifs, we will surely be able to gain our liege lord’s aid in crushing them, perhaps even that of King Zeruel himself.”

“I will keep that in mind, mother.”

“That said, the question remains as to where that safe haven might be.” She returned her attention to Soren. “Will it be safe for Rian to finish the Mage Trials or should he return home immediately?”

Rian’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t thought of that. To be forced to give up only one trial away from the end... The idea was maddening, to be so close and still have to go home, but what would he do if his parents demanded that he return for his own safety?

Soren must have known his thoughts, as he glanced at him before saying, “It may be necessary to return before long but I would want a few days to obtain sufficient guards for the journey anyway. Returning too quickly might even be what the Gazifs are hoping for: that he is scared out of Sirala and into the roads outside, an easy target for a ‘band of bandits’ to strike. No, I think it best we take the time to gather a powerful enough force beforehand.”

Giving me enough time to finish the Third Trial. Yes! He could have kissed Soren full on the mouth for that. He could stay!

His euphoria must have shown on his face, as his father chuckled. “Now, until this assassin is dealt with, we don’t want you to take any excessive risks. After the Mage Trials are finished, return to our castle until this matter is resolved. However, once it is, I see no reason you couldn’t start at the Royal Academy.”

Although he was not thrilled at possibly having to wait to attend the academy, it was understandable and could be revisited later if need be, so he nodded in acceptance and his family turned to the details of the return trip home. He stayed quiet, letting his elders debate over the exact provisions. Instead, his thoughts were of what was to come. The only way to avoid having to return home  was to find proof first.

While the smart thing may have been to stay inside and hide… that was before his attendance at the academy had been at risk. His parents might want him to remain behind closed doors, but he resolved not to let some assassin keep him from his dreams, not now, not ever. He would not be foolish by any means but he would do whatever he could to help in the hunt, regardless of how nervous he was.

Soon enough, the elders came to an agreement on the arrangements and Jela said, “Alright, begin the search for the assassin as soon as practicable, and Rian?”

“Yes, mother?”

“Be sure to thank that Sachiel Licourt woman appropriately - regardless of who she is and what the Crimson Order has done, she has been an aid to House Miel and has saved my son’s life. She deserves our gratitude.”

He had no objection.

Chapter Ten

As Soren explained it, the first step in the plan to find the assassin was to scour the Royal Academy for any sign of him. It was highly unlikely he was still there of course, but if they could just figure out how he’d gotten in or escaped afterward, that would give them something to start with.

It was a good idea, Rian felt, but it had a couple of downsides. First, it was tedious as they went from person to person asking the same three questions: ‘Where were you during the attack?’, ‘Did you see this man?’ and his personal favorite ‘Have you heard of anyone who has?’.

Those at the academy had been as helpful as they could, eager to aid them in the capture of this invader of their sacred domain, and had provided every bit of information that they could… to his and Soren’s detriment. Over the course of the morning, they learned that a trade dispute had raised prices on bread, two of the servants were engaged in a subtle war over the cleaning and the head chef and one of the proctors were engaged in a torrid romance, but absolutely nothing about their target.

Second, he once more had to deal with the only person at the Royal Academy he despised more than Dalmarn. At least this time, Soren wasn’t nearly as calm about the matter.

“I have asked you once and I’ll ask you again: ‘Did you see that man?’”

“Can’t say I recall anyone coming through this gate in armor like that,” said the same Redcloak who’d harassed Alensia, a damn smile on his face. He idly leaned against the white marble, stroking his beard without concern.

Soren looked like he wanted nothing more than to wring the man’s neck. Unlike everyone else, this bastard took a sadistic pleasure in answering each question in as vague a manner as he possibly could. By this point, a small crowd had gathered around, tittering as the argument continued on.

“But he wouldn’t have been wearing any armor until the Sacrelith was activated,” Ambrose said. Soren had chosen him to be their liaison with the Royal Academy during the search as he was the one most invested in their survival. “Did you see anyone carrying one, Graff?”

“Hmm, I suppose I might have.” The guard - Graff, apparently - scratched his chin. “What’s he look like without the armor?”

“You know damn well that if we knew what he looked like without it, we would have said that in the first place!” Soren roared. “Damn it, did anyone come in carrying black or purple daggers?”

Graff’s tone dropped to a low growl. “Methinks I’d watch your tone, old man. King’s authority, remember.”

Soren looked as if he might explode but he visibly swallowed his anger. “My… apologies,” he said, murder in his eyes, “the pressure of the investigation... is getting to me.” A breath hissed between grinding teeth. “Did anyone carrying black or purple daggers come in through your gate?”

Satisfied by Soren’s capitulation, Graff said with a sneer, “Like I said earlier, nobody wearing that armor nor wielding those daggers came through here. If he made it inside, it wasn’t through this gate.”

“Thank you,” Soren growled before storming off, shoving past the onlookers. When Rian and Ambrose followed him, his breath thundered with rage. “Damn that man! When I get my hands on him…”

“Which one? Graff or the assassin?”

“Either! Both! I don’t care!” Soren clenched and unclenched his fists but he slowly managed to calm himself down, smoothing the tunic that had been wrinkled by his furious movements. “The worst part is that we haven’t managed to uncover anything this whole morning. Nobody spotted the assassin until after he attacked, and while the gate was apparently secure, there was a multitude of ways he could have gotten in or out.”

Wasn’t that true? As they’d discovered to their dismay, even ignoring the entrances for things like food and other supplies, a number of the magi had private entrances and exits from the academy. “He must have dispelled his armor after the battle, then slipped out amongst the apprentices or trainees in the confusion.”

“Ugh, if we were closer to our holdings, I could draw upon our contacts, but here I’m all but blind.” Soren’s eyes fell upon Ambrose, who shook his head.

“S-Sorry, your lordships,” Ambrose stuttered, “but I’ve never needed to know any assassins and don’t know anyone who would.” He forced a watery smile. “At least there are guards at all known entrances now and they will be paying close attention with what happened.”

“The problem there is the word ‘known’. If our assassin is working with one of the magi who has a private entrance, those guards will be of little help.”

“Our retainers will be here within a few days,” Rian reminded him, hoping to cheer him up a little. ”With that, we will have both extra protection and people to hunt down information, yes?” Or return home if it is absolutely necessary.

The words mollified Soren a little but he grumbled all the same. ”That will help, and perhaps we’ll have better luck trying to get proof of the Gazifs hiring the assassin once they arrive, but I doubt we’ll be so lucky. Damn it, the more time we give them, the better they’ll be able to cover their tracks!” He massaged his forehead; sweat covered it and beaded down to his tunic, courtesy of both the long hours of questioning potential witnesses and the sun high overhead.

Based on the odor coming from his own shoulders, Rian suspected he wasn’t any better off. ”There are other ways to investigate them,” he ventured. ”Perhaps instead of trying to prove the Gazifs hired the assassin, prove that the assassin was working with the Gazifs.”

“We’d have to find him first is the problem.” Still, Soren tapped his chin in thought. “Our best bet would be to set a trap for him, but we should wait until the retainers arrive before we take the chance.” He glanced at Rian. ”Let Ambrose and I do some research for now. Do as you will in the meantime. Just don't do anything risky. Prepare for that trial of yours if you like.”

Although a tempting thought, he had other responsibilities. “Actually, I might see if I can find Miss Licourt first.”

Soren grimaced but nodded reluctantly. “Very well, there is probably no safer a place for you and your mother does have a point. Miss Licourt did save your life, something deserving our appreciation.” Despite his words’ seeming kindness, he bit them out as if each were poison in his mouth and his frown deepened. “It’s almost funny. Five years ago, ten years ago, I had respect for the Crimson Order. They might have been opposed to us at times, but they had some honor and decency. After what they did though… even thanking her makes me sick.”

Rian had mixed feelings about it himself. Beyond her saving his life, Sachiel had been rather kind to him, yet her choice in allegiance remained… For both his benefit and Soren’s, he said, “After I am finished, preparing for the Third Trial would probably be best. Would you prefer it if I stayed in our rooms? For safety’s sake?

“That would be best, I think. The academy has provided additional guards and added several protective enchantments to the door. Of all the places in the academy, it is perhaps the safest.”

“Very well, I will be -“

"Your lordships," Ambrose said, looking past them with a polite smile.  "It seems like we might have some reinforcements after all."

Three figures in red cloaks approached. One was a skinny man whose face was beginning to gain its first lines. He carried a longbow on his back whose subtle wear indicated many years of experience and use.

The second of their number was a rather short woman who looked as if she had just reached her age of majority. She peered around with beady black eyes, nervously fingering a Spellstone at her belt. A mage, or at least one in training, but one who had chosen to join the Crimson Order. His approval for her ability warred with disappointment for who she chose to serve.

Their leader stood in front of them both, a tall, thick-bodied woman with a flail strapped to her back. She sized them up with a hard look before giving a barely-audible sigh. Still, she came over and offered a hand to Soren. "My name is Aribeth, captain of the Crimson Order. The recent attack has concerned the king. As a symbol of that concern, he has assigned us to investigate."

Soren took it with a polite bow. “House Miel certainly appreciates whatever aid the king can provide in such a trying time.”

Aribeth’s face showed little emotion, but she nodded, her shaggy black hair swaying with the movement. "The Crimson Order would be honored to work beside you in bringing the attacker to justice. Now, we understand that you have been looking into the matter yourselves. Please provide us with everything you have learned."

Soren's expression didn't change from it's welcoming smile, but his eyes tightened just a little, noticeable only to Rian.

"Certainly," he said, "Ambrose and I will give you every bit of information that we have uncovered in catching the vile thing that attacked my ward. Might I have a moment with him to begin with though?"

After a moment’s consideration, Aribeth waved her hand in acquiescence. “Fine, although we would like to speak with him as well. As both a target and a witness, he might know something of value about the attacker.”

“Good, good…” Soren took Rian aside. Softly, he said, "I want to see what help they will provide, what direction their evidence is leading toward.”

He understood. The Crimson Order might be looking to catch the criminal or they might be trying to smooth things over and avoid a noble power struggle, regardless of having to whitewash House Gazif's crimes.

A little louder, Soren continued, “Milord, try and answer their questions as best you can. Facts first, no speculation.”

That message was equally clear: keep the Gazif suspicions to himself, for now at least. “Very well,” he turned to Aribeth, “would you prefer to discuss this out here or somewhere more private?”

Aribeth furrowed her eyebrow before turning to her companions. “Nayla.” The other woman bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “You interview him. Gelthos, Chancellor Spinner and I will discuss the progress they’ve made on their investigation.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nayla took him to a room that had been set aside for the Crimson Order. It was only furnished with a table and a pair of hard-backed chairs, while the door that clicked shut behind him was thick and heavy, and had an elaborate lock besides; it gave it the feel of an interrogation room.

No, he corrected himself, it was an interrogation room. Why would they need one for me? I didn’t do anything. Still, he maintained his composure as best he could, trying not to let his worry show.

She waited until he took his seat before she sat across from him, her back so straight that she could have used it as a measuring stick. He suspected that she was attempting to appear experienced but it only made her look new and like she was trying too hard. Quill and parchment in hand, she said, "From my understanding, the attack began when Warrior Sachiel was taking you to the healing ward after your Second Trial. Tell me what happened.”

Her demeanor was welcoming, like talking to one of his cousins, but he didn’t trust it. Soren’s words reminded him not to take any chances. "It all started when…" He cataloged the battle from beginning to end, sticking to the facts the entire time.

She dutifully took notes and every so often would ask a clarifying question, but for the most part, she let him tell his tale in silence.

Finally, he came to the end. "...I was able to block enough of his attack for Sachiel to protect me and drive him off. Still, he came within inches of assassinating me.”

There was a pause before Nayla continued the scratching of her quill. "I see. Were you able to see or deduce anything notable about your attacker?"

“Not as much as I would like, I am afraid. His garb hid much of him from view, but I noticed that he had a scar on his chin."

"Hmm... have you encountered this man before?"

"Not looking like that, no. It is possible that I may have seen him on the way to the second trial though."

She tapped the table as she considered. “Do you know who might be responsible for the attack?"

He hesitated. In spite of Soren’s words, he was tempted. He could explain that House Gazif was responsible but informing one of the King's own soldiers was tantamount to an open accusation in front of all Rasgor. He couldn’t take the chance. They had some evidence now, but it would be easy enough for the Gazifs to argue it away as circumstantial. More would be needed before they took that step.

"No,” he finally said, “I am afraid I cannot say for certain just who was responsible for the attack.”

"Noted…” She scratched in the answer, then paused, “I must ask, some would be badly affected by such an attack. If it troubles you, I would recommend discussing it with someone you can trust.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Good, that often helps. Now then,” she capped her ink and set down her quill, “your information was greatly appreciated and might aid us in catching those responsible. Should we find ourselves needing your further assistance in the investigation, we will let you know.”

“Very well…”

As he stepped into the corridor though, he furrowed his brow. Her words were professional, even kind at times, and yet… the whole interview had a bit of an odd feel to it, perfunctory and rote. She asked the basic questions but did not follow up on them at all.

He was no investigator himself, his only insight on crimes coming from his discussions on political trickery with his family but surely when you're speaking to the person who was the target...

He tried to envision it as it might have been seen from the outside. He mentioned a scar, but she didn't ask what sort of scar. He said he didn't know who might be responsible after a long pause, but she didn't press. Those weren't the actions of someone looking to find the answer.

When he brought it to Soren's attention, the other man's expression was grave.

"It is as I feared," he said, "The rule is that the Crimson Order, being the king's 'Personal guard’ - supposedly, anyway - has the right to investigate any crime. Were they on our side, we could count on a great deal of aid in bringing the Gazifs to justice. But it seems that at best, they are indifferent to who is at fault. At worst..." His expression darkened.

"You suspect they might be working with House Gazif?"

"Possibly - I doubt that the king would care enough about the squabbles of a pair of Noble houses two ranks below the throne to aid one at the expense of the other, but could a couple of warriors of the Crimson Order be bribed or otherwise influenced? Certainly,"

"Then what do we do?"

"We continue our investigations, but keep a wary eye out in the meantime. We don't know who we can trust. The other members of the Crimson Order here might be helpful, unhelpful or working with the Gazifs." A mirthless smile grew on his face and he shook his head. “King Iruel would have despaired to see what his brother has done to the Crimson Order. Yet at the same time, we are about to go thank one of them. How strange these times are.”

“At least we can count on her not to be working with the Gazifs. I would be dead already if she were.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that she is on our side.”

***

The Crimson Order soldiers who’d been assigned to the Royal Academy of Mages had been allotted a barracks on the outskirts of the academy. It was small and sturdily built with a few servants of their own in tunics with a reddish tinge. Each member got their own personal quarters, although there was a common room where several of them relaxed.

It was surreal to see three of them talking together, their cloaks having been left in their quarters. Without them, they looked like they were normal people, save for how they narrowed their eyes when they spotted him. Still, it had taken only a little asking about before he found a glowering woman who jerked her head at a door in the corner,

“Just one moment please,” Sachiel called through at his knock. The sound of footsteps followed, and moments later, she stood before him. Rather than her prior shirt and breeches, a cotton dress hung from her shoulders. It was yellow and of a rather conservative cut, with only a small triangle of skin visible underneath her neck. She had been relaxing, apparently.

She blinked at the sight of him before inclining her head respectfully. “What brings you to my door, your lordship?”

“There is a matter I wish to discuss with you. It is in regards to the attack. ”

“More questions?” Before Rian could respond, she shrugged and gestured him in. “I said all I knew but I’ll try to answer what I can.”

Inside was a dwelling that was almost completely unused; the only sign of the person living there was her cloak and Sacrelith hanging against the wall. No dishes, scrolls or papers were atop the table in the corner, and all the chairs had yet to be moved from their initial spots.

It made sense, he decided. Someone who was already staying here wouldn’t have needed his help in finding Dalmarn’s chambers. Still, even for a temporary place, there were no books to read or dice to throw. He wondered what Sachiel actually did other than business for the Crimson Order.

“Now then,” she seated herself smiled expectantly, “your questions?”

“Actually, my coming has nothing to do with that.” Rian bowed deeply as protocol demanded. “On behalf of House Miel, I would like to personally thank you for your services to the Miel family. As a token of that thanks, I present you with this,” He offered her a thin golden chain with a hound’s head crafted upon each end, his family’s coat of arms. One head had its tongue lolling out in a friendly manner while the other bared its teeth. Their gemstone eyes shimmered in the midday sun’s light. “It is the Band of Valor, the symbol of my family’s appreciation for what you have done. The smiling head represents kindness while the snarling head represents strength. If you ever have need of our help, we promise our aid, whichever of the two forms it may take.”

She stared at it, her eyes widening with each word like a child receiving something they’d never expected. Running her fingers along the softly-clinking chain links, she murmured, “This is quite the token of gratitude.”

“Again, you did save my life.”

“It’s been so long… years since I’ve received something like this.” She beamed at him. “Thank you!”

The warmth in her smile made him feel as if he were about twenty feet tall, even though it hadn’t truly been his own idea. He could only thank his mother for deciding to do so. Jela had been right. Regardless of what might be happening with the assassin, there was no reason not to demonstrate the nobility of the Miel. “We were happy to give it.”

She laughed, the sound as bright as her grin. “I will treasure it, I promise. I did have a question myself though. How are you handling things after the attack?”

It was a warm summer’s day, but her words brought a chill with them. I’m afraid that every door I open will have a dagger on the other side. He cleared his throat. “Truthfully, it is a struggle.”

She met his gaze, understanding and sympathy in her expression. “I’m not surprised. It often is. Some spend the rest of their lives in fear,” she said quietly, before pausing. “Would you like to have something to drink? I have some mead if it would suit you.”

‘Would you like to discuss what happened?’ was the true message, and they both knew it. He hesitated. Nayla had suggested in passing that it might be helpful for him to talk to someone about it. Certainly, she might be working for the Gazifs, but that did not mean her suggestion was wrong.

For a long moment, the only sound was that of someone passing in the hallway. Sachiel tilted her head questioningly.

Finally, he shook his head. “A tempting offer, but it would be best to abstain from drinks for now,” Rian said, deliberately choosing to focus on her offer of a beverage. She might be doing it out of kindness but he wasn’t ready and if there was anyone he wanted to talk to, it would be Soren. “Besides, the Third Trial is tomorrow and I need to do some preparations.”

She looked as if she wanted to say something else but nodded. “May fortune favor you tomorrow then.”

He nodded and made to leave, but halfway out the door, he paused and looked back.

After bidding him farewell, Sachiel’s gaze had returned to the reward he’d given. She held it as gently as she might a newborn child. Not noticing his observance, she held it against her neck, allowing the gold to contrast with her tanned skin before stowing it inside her cloak.

He couldn’t help smiling at the sight. As she’d said herself, receiving a gift of that sort was terribly rare… but it made sense. She was a member of the Crimson Order.

The thought troubled him. Either she had been a part of the Crimson Order before its fall and stayed regardless, or she had joined afterward, knowing of its crimes. What does that say about her?

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Miss Licourt?”

She glanced back up, coloring a little as she realized his presence. “Yes, your lordship?”

“I find that I do have a question of my own, as it turns out.” He smiled, to try to show he meant no offense. “I have only known you for a short while but from what I have seen you are a good person and your skill in battle is unquestionable. Yet you are a member of the Crimson Order. Why is that?”

In spite of his attempts to keep inoffensive, the tightening around her eyes made it clear that it didn’t quite work. “The Crimson Order consists of the knights who serve the king directly,” she said quietly. “Every member is only allowed in at his discretion. There is no greater honor.”

He snorted before he could stop himself and her expression flattened.

“My apologies,” he quickly said, “but while that is not false, we both know it is not the whole truth. Only the members who King Zeruel approves are allowed to join, yes, but he permits anyone to join, even the basest knave. Where once the order was a small band of only the most elite warriors, now it numbers in the thousands, some being pure scum, yet each given the king’s authority to use,” and abuse, he added silently, thinking of Graff, Aribeth and Nayla.

Sachiel’s expression was neutral but the way her breath came out in a hiss belied it. “Your gift was given with a good heart, so I will honor that. I am grateful for your thanks, but I’m afraid that you don’t have the slightest understanding of what you are talking about.” She motioned toward the door. “I suggest you leave, boy.”

At the same words Graff had used, Rian’s temper burned. He swallowed it back down though with some difficulty, reminding himself that he had come to show his gratitude, not shout at her. “Very well,” he said, voice clipped, “I will do so. Thank you for your time, Miss Licourt.”

She slammed the door shut behind him and he sighed. That could have gone far better.

His stomach rumbled and he glanced out the window to see the sun high and bright. He’d surely missed lunch between the search for the assassin, the interview with Nayla and his argument with Sachiel. He’d told Soren he’d head back to their rooms, but instead made a left - if he went back to there, it would be easily another hour until the servants could get something ready for him. From what he’d heard that morning though, the feasting hall was always open during the trials.

He’d made it halfway when there was a patter of footsteps behind him and racing closer.

Reaching for his Spellstone, he prepared to face… Maleth coming in for a tackle?

His confusion slowed him but did not halt the boy’s momentum, and Maleth slammed into him with enough force to knock him to the floor. The boy barely seemed affected by the change from vertical to horizontal, however, instead chattering away, inches from his face with his words blurring together from how fast he spoke. “Where have you been? Are you okay? Why haven’t you come to see me?”

“Excuse me?” The a few of the others walking the halls tittered at the sight, much to his embarrassment.

“I imagine that Maleth has been wondering where his new friend has gone,” Alensia said, her sandaled feet coming into view. “He’s been talking so much about you and when we heard someone had attacked you, well, he insisted on making sure you were alright.” She paused, turning to her son. “You can let him up. I doubt he’ll be getting away any time soon.”

Maleth’s sigh showed what he thought of that, but he allowed Rian to get back to his feet.

Rian brushed his tunic down and cleared his throat before saying, “Well, I am fine, all things considered.” He shot Maleth a pointed look, which did absolutely nothing to remove the boy’s smirk. “I just need to find the assassin before he finds me. Have you heard of him?”

He briefly described what he’d seen of the man, but even before he finished, Alensia was shaking her head. “

“Can’t say I have. Assassins aren’t something I need much for and -” She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together before she nodded slowly. “That said, while I have never heard of him myself, I know someone who might have. He’s an old friend of mine and has a few contacts with what one might consider the seedier side of things. Come with me and I’ll introduce you.”

She started to lead… but after a moment she noticed he wasn’t following. “Rian?”

It was a good idea, he had to admit. While he and Soren had few contacts in the area, she had no such limits. There was just one problem.

“The assassin was ready to kill someone just because she happened to be in the way to me. If you help me, he might come after you too.” He tried to convey how important this was through his gaze. “I cannot bear the thought of him coming after a friend of mine. Tell me the name of this contact of yours and I will go find him, but I will not let you get thrown in harm’s way.”

She sighed, but the look in her eyes made it clear she understood his reasons… understood and disagreed. “His name is Pelric and he manages a bar over on the eastern side of Sirala… but if you’re going without me, you’re wasting your time. He is an old, ornery man and slow to trust others, nobles especially. You could be at it a week without so much as a kind word from him. If you want to have any luck, I need to be there, so let me come. Besides, surely the assassin isn’t going to strike in broad daylight with all of Sirala to witness him.”

“We don’t know that! And what about your son? What if something happens to one of you? You could both die helping me.”

Alensia narrowed her eyes. “Rian, I have no intention of being foolish but I would never leave a friend in danger. I know the risks and accept them, so come with me.” She offered her hand. “Don’t worry. If there’s the slightest threat, we’ll make a run for it.”

He wanted to say no - it might even be the right thing to say no - but if he didn’t find this assassin… all he could see of his future was a life spent hiding in a castle. Finally, he swallowed and took her hand. “Alright, bring me to Pelric’s. And Alensia?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Chapter Eleven

The Royal Academy was nestled in the center of Sirala, the city having clustered around it long ago until its towers now resembled the five fingers of a silver hand desperately reaching out from a quicksand that had almost dragged it down completely.

Away from the academy, the streets were thin and any paved stone had been buried by decades of grime, leaving a spidery web of pathways that spun about and doubled-back. The common folk who lived here could navigate them just fine, following paths that seemed almost nonsensical yet got them to exactly where they wanted to be.

Rian couldn’t say the same. Without Alensia beside him, he would have been lost within minutes.

In spite of his worries, the path to Pelric’s was devoid of any sign of the assassin and even Graff didn’t seem to notice their passing - another guard had let them through this time, the additional security offering certain side benefits that he was happy to take.

Another reason for the lack of trouble might have been the threadbare peasant attire he bore. Alensia had pointed out that him going about in his normal fine silks would be tantamount to waving a sign over his head saying ‘Please kill me, Mr. Assassin’. He would have been too noticeable, so she’d given him some of her husband’s old clothes instead: a dark shirt that had started to tear along its side and a pair of threadbare breeches that only made it a little past his knees.

When asked why she kept such rags for so long, she’d replied that when you don’t have much, everything is worth keeping.

Either way, they were useful indeed. As Rian Miel, he wouldn’t have been able to leave the academy without notice, but cloaked in such common garb, peoples’ gazes slid right past him. Amongst the countless members of the common class who had tried and perhaps failed the trials, he was downright invisible.

As he and Alensia shuffled through the streets though, a familiar face passed them by: Mage Ambrose’s apprentice, Sideb.

Fearful of being spotted in turn, he was careful not to meet Sideb’s eyes as the young mage strode past one of the local temples to Cornos, his blue robes glinting in the sun’s light. Luckily, with the crowd crushing around Rian and his two companions, there was no way the mage-in-training would notice him. Still, he observed the man who had achieved what he so desired with passing interest until he noticed something rather odd.

Unlike the rest of the crowd, Sideb was given a wide berth, with many smiling as they passed him, and one elderly gentleman even bowed deeply as he drew close. A few of the crowd looked less pleased but even they gave the young mage a sullen nod.

A strange feeling overcame Rian and he glanced about to see if perhaps there was some heavily-armed guard there forcing the crowd back but there wasn’t. Sideb was alone, not daring to meet a single person’s eyes as he awkwardly shuffled past the crowd, yet they didn’t mind, bunching up to let him pass and make his way deeper into Sirala.

He turned to Alensia. “I do not recall them being quite so… impressed when Soren and I came in.”

She looked at him in momentary confusion before understanding came over her face. “He’s a mage,” she said. “It might be different for nobles, but for the common folk? Most don’t know much of the details of magic but we understand that the local mage can harden plows, heal the sick and a multitude of other useful things. One person doing that earns respect. When it’s been done by countless magi for generations? That earns respect for anyone wearing the robes.”

Rian digested her words. How strange. His family told him that it had been different in the past, but today, the nobility looked at magi as of little more import than a skilled craftsman or a trained warrior. There had been polite words about him repeating Arnla’s journey but they were merely ceremonial. To them it was a hobby, but to these people… Never before had he seen anyone offer anything close to the admiration the common folk heaped upon Sideb now. If I pass the trials, will I receive smiles like these?

Soon they came upon a plain wooden door between a candle shop and a shrine, upon which had been carved ‘Pelric’s’ along with a rather crude picture of a roasted ham. It creaked when they opened it.

Inside was a dark little pub, only large enough to fit a single bar and a few booths in the sides. Still, a fireplace in the corner gave it a low, intimate lighting and, although the furniture was rough and cheaply-made, it was clean and had the look of being well-cared for. The offerings scrawled on a placard over the bar consisted of a fair selection, all at prices he imagined most would be able to afford.

This early in the day it was quiet and there were only a few customers seated at stools along the bar, each looking little different from the crowd teaming the streets outside. They ate slowly in an effort to make their meals last. Only one of them, a skinny old man with squinting eyes, bothered to glance at the newcomers, and even that was for but a moment before he returned to his meal.

There were no waiters or waitresses, just the pub-master, the eponymous Pelric. A thick-bodied man, he had a scruffy beard the color of pewter that laid over a tunic that was old and ragged, yet noticeably free from stains. He bustled about mixing drinks while offering a swarthy smile that didn’t quite cover the tiredness on his face.

When Rian sat down, the wooden booth was hard and bumpy and he suspected that running his hand along it would result in a splinter or two, yet in spite of its downsides, he liked what he saw. This was the sort of quiet little place where someone could rest themselves after a long day and it was certainly better kept than most of the pubs Soren had taken him to during their journey. Even without Alensia’s promised aid, he would have been glad to have come. He waved Pelric over with a smile.

The man turned to them, and his tiredness vanished the moment his eyes fell upon Rian’s companions. Setting an empty platter aside, he rushed over with a wide grin. “Alensi’! Little Mal’! What’s got you two here today?”

“Pelric!” Maleth gave the man a great squeezing hug, letting loose peals of laughter when he hoisted him into the air and swung him about before placing the child back on the ground with a surprising gentleness for someone his size.

Alensia grinned up at the man before talking with an accent Rian had never heard from her before. “Do you recall how I’m taking me Mage Trials? Well, I’ve made myself a bit of a young friend.” She nodded kindly at Rian. “We were hungry and he had a question, so we came to this here hole.”

Patting Maleth absently, Pelric looked over Rian with raised eyebrows. “That so?” he said, suspicion audible.

He gulped. The man disliked nobles. Could he sense his status on him like an aura or a stench? Pelric had to be twice his size and looked like he could pound him into jelly with two swings of those meaty fists. Why did she introduce him like that? Surely there must have been a better way to bring the topic up than saying it so directly!

An elbow to his side and a pointed look from Alensia reminded him that it was his turn to speak.

He cleared his throat and said, “Err, yes, we are both attempting our trials and I need your help with -”

“Ah, so you’re gonna be a mage too, ain’t you? I remember when I did me Mage Trials. Quite the experience, it was.”

“You tried to take them too?” He asked before he could stop himself. Realizing he might have sounded offensive, he quickly added, “My apologies, you did not appear the type. I do not know too many people who failed the Mage Trials.”

Quickly added… and dug himself deeper.

“So you assume I failed?” Pelric growled. “I might be a mage and just decided to make me own pub,” He stepped closer, looming over Rian as he cracked first one set of knuckles then the other, “An mayhaps I be thinking you need a lesson, aye?”

“I - I -” His thoughts halted in a soup of horror and embarrassment. How had this gone so wrong? What should he say? “I just - I had a question, did not mean to insinuate -”

“You bookish folk come around here, always looking down on hard-working people like me. Bah!” He jabbed a finger at Rian. “Around here, there’s no merchants, mages or common folk. Here, I’m in charge! And I’ve got a rule for you damn assholes: if you wants to stay, you gots to drink the ‘Demon’s Brew’!”

The other patrons all turned to watch at those words, swiveling in their seats.

“The what?”

“Oh, it just be a wee bit of a drink, nothing too much,” Pelric said with a smile that was all teeth. He rubbed his hands together as he went to pour the beverage in question. “You gots nothin’ to worry about.”

Maleth shrank back, clutching his mother’s side

“Pelric, don’t be so petty. My friend didn’t mean it - he’s barely more than a boy!” Alensia broke in in an attempt to help. It might have offended him if it weren’t for his growing sense of terror.

“Rules are rules,” Pelric shouted from behind the bar, the words punctuated with various clinkings, bangings and… was that an explosion? “He wants to stay, he gots to drink!”

“Yeah, drink!” shouted the patrons, before starting to chant ‘Drink!’ over and over again. They were downright eager to see Pelric at work, like this was some sort of ritualized humiliation; perhaps it was, and he was the victim.

Rian’s hands shook. What madness was this ‘Demon’s Brew’ the man spoke of? Maleth’s terrified demeanor and Alensia’s worry did not bode well. Perhaps he should leave... but he’d come for answers on the assassin. If he didn’t find out the truth, he might have no choice but to return home after the Trials. He mustered his courage. Surely a drink couldn’t be that dangerous, right? “Alright,” he swallowed, “I’ll drink it.”

The patrons cheered and another boom came from behind the bar as everything was mixed together, all to the tune of dark laughter.

“Don’t do it,” Alensia whispered. ”That stuff, it’s strong. I’ve seen it put a full-grown man flat on his back.”

“Now, now, let the boy do what he likes.” Pelric sidled over, cup in hand. It was filled with a green and black sludge, and steam billowed from it in thick clouds. It smelled like a potent mixture of poison ivy and rat droppings. “Just one shot is all you need… course, I’ll bet a brat like you’s never done anything tough in your life.” His eyes gleamed with an evil light. “It’s up to you.”

Rian shivered. It looked like liquid death, but if he was going to find the assassin, this was the only way. Trying to ignore the terrified screaming in his head, he took the glass and chugged it down, hoping not to taste it.

That hope was in vain. Each drop was lava, sharp and bitter, burning all the way down as his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He gagged at the taste of rot and worse, covering his mouth with both hands to keep from vomiting. Even so, his throat roiled, desperately trying to expel it before it could invade his stomach. He clenched his eyes shut, ignoring his body’s panicked cries and began swallowing it in tiny little bits, before gulping down the rest of it.

When he finished, he was bent over the table, his tongue swollen and feeling like a horde of angry bees had gone after it, the rancid aftertaste filling his mouth. Still, he held himself up with shaky hands...  “That wasn’t,” he swallowed down another gag, “so bad…”

The crowd cheered but Alensia sighed. “Wait for it.”

“What do you -” His stomach started to rumble. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the floor heading right for him.

***

The world was far too bright, even the low firelight burning his eyes.

“I can’t believe you actually drank it,” Alensia said when he woke up to her placing a wet cloth on his forehead. “That stuff will turn your liver to swill.”

That was an understatement, if anything. His head still swam and his stomach roiled painfully, but luckily he had been given a pillow to rest his head on, and now he laid on one of the cold booths, the rest of the patrons having returned to their meals now that the excitement was over. “But I…” he started to mumble but trailed off before he could finish his thought. It hurt to think.

“Shush. Give yourself a minute to recover and drink some of this. It’ll help you feel better.” She handed him a mug of something warm with a sweet scent to it.

It was delicious. It reminded him of the chocolate bars his sister had imported from Intelli but in a liquid form. It soothed his aching gut, not removing the pain but numbing it some. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled but a moment later her expression hardened and her voice became a growl. “As for you,” perhaps it was a side effect of the Demon’s Brew, but he thought he heard the sound of a mouse squeaking, “quit scaring my friend, you old coot! You know well as I do that he didn’t mean no offense!”

“It was an acci -”

There was a thud of something blunt striking flesh and Pelric cried out. “Alensi, come on!” the man whined, “look, I didn’t mean nothing by it. A little joke is all.” He turned to Rian, a growing lump visible on his forehead. “Ain’t that right?”

The pain behind his temple made it hard to feel much sympathy but he still needed the man’s help, so he gave a stiff nod and Alensia relented, although her lips were still pressed tight together.

Pelric chuckled weakly. “Thanks, an’ you were right about me failing. Couldn’t pass, so I opened me pub. Still wish I could be one but…” he grimaced, “things never worked out proper.”

Alright, that brought him some sympathy, if a smidgen. He knew that fear all too well. “That doesn’t mean you had to give up though. You can try the Mage Trials again as many times as you want until you succeed.”

“Well… you see… That’s…” Pelric fumbled his words before finally just bowing his head in defeat.

“He did try,” Alensia said quietly, “several times, but not once did he make it past the Second Trial.”

“Oh...”

Pelric smiled ruefully. “For folks like you, you can spend your days practicing and training, but I had a living to make an’ kids to take care of. Couldn’t make the time, so now,” he chuckled again, but it was more sad than amused, “well, I’d be amazed if I could even use me old Spellstones. And I couldn’t be going and risking me life, not with a family counting on me, so that dream just kind of… ended.”

“I… I see.” To have to give up on being a mage, to lose everything he had worked for and have his hopes and dreams ripped away. In spite of what had happened, Rian could feel the man’s pain. He had spent so much of his life preparing for the Mage Trials… To be like Pelric, to try to complete them for so long, only to fail every time… he didn’t think he could bear enduring what the man had. “I am so sorry....”

“Eh, it ain’t a bad life. Built me pub from the ground up meself, and met a lovely girl in the process. I’ve really moved up in the world. Sides, mayhaps me kids will be able to do what I didn’t - one of me girls says she’s thinking about it. But enough about me.” He gestured to the full plate of food sitting before Rian. “I know you be meaning to talk to me but business ain’t meant to be done on an empty stomach.” Rian’s stomach growled, showing the truth to the man’s words. “Eat up and I’ll be helping you when you’re done.”

Rian did as Pelric said, starting his meal so he could calm the raging void that was his stomach. Still, the man’s story kept whispering in his mind; it was his greatest fear come to life, that no matter how hard he tried, he would never become a mage. Once this was over, when he passed the Third Trial and dealt with the assassin, he vowed he would come back here. Perhaps I could tutor his daughter, help her achieve what her father once strived for. That way his hard work will not have led to nothing.

The idea made him smile, and not just because he felt bad for the man. While Pelric was not quite at the level of some of the chefs his family employed, his work was excellent all the same. The ingredients were simple ones but combined into a wonderful blend, the pork sizzling in its own juices alongside a bowl of thick, flavorful stew. It was far different from the places Soren had taken him to. Some only had a harried waitress who didn’t have the slightest idea what she was doing or a bartender who didn’t give a damn about his patrons. Here -

Maleth let out a loud burp and he jumped.

“Thanks, Pelric!” chirped the boy.

Alensia massaged her forehead with a groan. “Maleth, you’re not supposed to belch when you eat.”

“Sorry!” said the boy, not even bothering to pause shoveling food into his mouth as he continued his brave quest to gobble everything in sight.

Rian was unable to suppress a smile at the sight. Nodding to Alensia, he said, “Manners aside, he seems like a good boy.”

She smiled softly. “He’s my world,” she fondled the boy’s hair, ignoring the squawked protest before her expression darkened and she bit her lip. She took a bite of her pork, chewing it slowly, only to nod as she seemed to make a decision. “You said that for you becoming a mage is about learning the depths of magic, but that’s not true for me.”

He blinked. But then… why ask me to tutor her?

Alensia must have noticed his confusion, as she added, “Don’t mistake me. I enjoyed learning from you, but that isn’t why I want to be a mage.”

That clarified very little. “Why so then? Why put it in all the work?”

“As a noble, you might not understand, but,” she let out a soft sigh, “being a mage… would grant me so many opportunities. Mages can rise in the ranks of the kingdom and are always welcome, even at the doors of the nobility. If I were a mage… well, I’m the only parent my son has now. He needs me to care for him and this is my best chance to do it, perhaps my only one.”

Warmth spread through him at her words. “Your son truly has a loving mother. May fortune favor you in the trials to come.”

“Thank you, and it’s good to see you again, both for Maleth and me. Last time we spoke was before we took our Second Trial.”

“How did it go for you?”

“I was nervous going in but I was careful, avoided the runes and blew up the golems.” She laughed easily at the recollection. “Even with my lack of experience it wasn’t too bad, so I’m sure it was downright simple for you.”

Rian shuddered at the recollection of an army of golems hunting him down, their thundering footsteps just behind him and their roars threatening to burst his eardrums. “O-Of course it was,” he said with a forced laugh, privately vowing to do better next time. He would not let himself be that weak again. “Have you given any thought to the Third Trial?”

“Of course but, well, there’s only so much I can do.” Her face colored and worry lined her expression. “I only have the one spell, after all.”

That was right… He bit his lip. He’d mastered two himself, although only one would have been useful against the golems. To achieve victory with only one spell, he didn’t like those odds. If most of the competitors were like him, they’d have two spells, and if just one of them countered hers, victory would be extremely difficult.

Still, it wasn’t impossible. “I am certain you can do it,” he said, keeping his doubts to himself. “Just be smart and do your best.”

Her expression cleared at his words and she started to smile again. “Perhaps. Well, I’ve got a couple of ideas in mind.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll find out when you see me fight.”

The tavern had begun to clear out and they were just finishing their own meals when Pelric sat down beside them with a thump, his large frame forcing Rian to move over to avoid being squashed. There the man twiddled his thumbs, looking about as awkward as Rian felt watching him.

Clearing his throat, Pelric said, “So Alensi’ tells me you be looking for a someone who attacked you. Mayhaps I can help you, long as you promise to be keeping me name out of the telling.”

It was a promise both easily made and kept, so as he finished the rest of the food, Rian described the man who’d attacked him. It wasn’t much of a description, sadly, as between the darkness and the assassin’s outfit, there were few details. “... the thing most noticeable,” he finished, “was the scar on his chin. It was thin, but sort of curved over the bone..” He turned to Pelric. “What do you know of him?”

Pelric narrowed his eyes, deep in thought, before finally snapping his fingers. “I… gots no idea who he is.”

The words struck him like so many boulders. “What? But you know the criminal element, do you not?”

The man gave him a flat look. “What sort of criminal element you be thinking goes to me tavern? A cutthroat or jumped-up thug, aye, I might be knowing him, but a real assassin with a Sacrelith? That be a different sort of beast. Look around.” He waved his hand at the rough decor and cheap design of the tavern around them. “Anyone in the market for one of those wouldn’t come to a shithole like this, not even if I’d be paying them.”

Rian sunk into his seat. Put like that… he felt rather foolish. The idea of the Gazifs coming to a place like this was laughable. Alensia looked embarrassed at not having realized it herself.

“So you do not have the slightest idea of who he is,” he said, cradling his head in his hands. All this way, the entire journey for nothing.

“Afraid not…”

His mood drooped further but Alensia said, “Just because we don’t have his name doesn’t mean we don’t know anything, right? Think about it, he was there waiting for Rian. Well, I’ve been in those catacombs and you can’t see much of anything there. The only way he would have found you was if he knew you were coming.”

“Anyone who knew about my Second Trial would have known to wait outside Dalmarn’s quarters though,” Rian pointed out. “My proctor was assigned to me.”

“But who would have known when you were going to see him?” Pelric interjected. “I doubts many folk get that information, an’ really doubt an assassin would sit around in the dark for hours waiting for you to show up.”

“Pelric’s right,” Alensia said, “this House Gazif must have had some way to know where and when you had your Second Trial. Maybe one of the magi handling it is working for them?”

“True…” Rian said, stroking his chin. For all their investigations, they hadn’t considered how the assassin knew to be waiting for him - he’d have to ask Ambrose who would have known the timing of his trial. “And it really was the ideal battlefield for him; it gave him the chance to ambush me at my most vulnerable, yet offered an easy escape into the darkness if things turned badly for him.”

“His Sacrelith… I don’t be knowing much about them,” Pelric said, “but I hear that they each have an element they specialize in. What was his?”

He tried to remember, but what he could recall of his opponent’s abilities was limited by the utter exhaustion and terror he’d been feeling. “As far as spells goes, the only thing I recall was him summoning a wave of black blades… shadows or darkness, perhaps?”

Alensia nodded slowly. “Makes sense. Where better to use a Darkness Sacrelith than in a place your opponent can barely see?”

“He knew you was coming and was well prepared,” concurred Pelric. “If it weren’t for that Redcloak you were with, you’d have died then and there. Sounds like a damn clever bastard, if you be asking me, and that’s before the Sacrelith.” He whistled. “Hiring someone like that, whoever bought him must really want you dead.”

Rian’s stomach threatened to turn over. Pelric was understating it, if anything. Had Sachiel and Dalmarn let him try to make his way to the healing ward on his own, as exhausted as he was, he would have been dead before even knowing he was under attack. He looked to his companions.

All of them were nervous now, even Maleth not being his normal loud, rambunctious self, instead looking down at his empty plate without a word.

It was Alensia who broke the silence, her voice forcedly cheerful. “Well, then we’re going to have to be especially careful. Avoiding dark places won’t be enough to be completely safe, but we will still be better off than fighting a Darkness Sacrelith user in his native element.”

“What you mean by this ‘we’ business?” Pelric balked. “I ain’t getting involved in any of this. Me head’s going to stay right where it belongs, sitting firmly on me neck! Err,” he turned to Rian with a nervous smile, “No offense, young lord.”

“None taken. It is smart to stay out of it, if anything,” Rian said. “As dangerous as I thought he was before, it is clear now that I underestimated him. I would advise Alensia to do the same,” he sighed, shaking his head, “except I already know what her answer would be.”

Alensia chortled proudly at that. “Good to see you are learning.”

Pelric gave her a flat look and groaned. “On your heads be it then, but I wouldn’t suggest doing nothing stupid, just the same. He,” he jabbed a finger at Rian, “be having a whole army of guards, protectors and muscley folk to protect him. I suggest you let him be using them. Eventually, the assassin’s got to strike to make his coin, and the safer you are, the better it be for you.”

Rian was well in agreement with him.

When they left the pub, he wasn’t sure how to feel. The information he and Alensia had uncovered… it wasn’t exactly deep secrets by any means, yet he imagined that what they had gleaned would be valuable all the same.

In the short term, it didn’t look so bad. Yes, he would have to venture into the catacombs beneath the academy again for the Third Trial, but at least with so many potential witnesses the assassin might have to choose a different time to strike, and he would be careful to spend the rest of his time at the academy in plenty of company when possible. Afterward though… what would happen then?

He wasn’t the only one who was worried either. Alensia’s gaze flickered back and forth frequently and one of her hands clutched a Spellstone in her pocket for security. Maleth was perhaps worse, his face all too pale. He didn’t say anything, just staring in front of his feet as he shuffled forward.

Guilt pulsed through Rian. While Alensia might have offered to help him, he couldn’t blame her for second thoughts; neither did it mean that Maleth was prepared for it. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and realized perhaps for the first time just how small and skinny he was. Yet he was in danger now, and it was all because of him. “Maleth?”

The boy didn’t say anything but stopped all the same, listening.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. This sort of thing was why he wasn’t good with children. “Are you… how do you feel?”

Maleth looked up at him, his eyes dark and drawn. “Sir… are you going to die?”

Rian couldn’t meet his gaze. It was a distinct possibility, but that was not something he could share with one so young. “Do not worry.” He forced a smile. “Your mother, I and many others are working to find a way to defeat this assassin.”

“That’s what she said when…” Maleth trailed off, his voice a trembling thing that was one step from sobbing. “Just because you’re trying to stop bad things doesn’t mean that they can’t kill you.”

Around them, the street was crowded as countless members of the common folk went about their days, some rushing to one task or another while others practiced some trade of theirs, yet even amongst all that bustling life, even in spite of his newfound friends, the feeling of danger closed back in around him. Every shadow seemed as if it might hold a threat.

“Well, I will be different,” he said to himself as much as Maleth. “My family is one of the greatest of the nobility, with powerful defenses and a multitude of loyal guards. Even an assassin cannot survive such a gauntlet.”

“I don’t know. It still - mom?” When Alensia didn’t react, instead looking back at the crowd, Maleth pulled at her clothes. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Alensia’s face paled. “Maleth. Quiet.” Rather than looking to her son though, she turned to Rian. “Don’t be too obvious but look behind us, now.”

He tried to make it look smooth, like he was merely checking out some of the shops’ contents as they walked, but at the sight of a brown-cloaked figure following them about fifty paces back, his heart threatened to stop. He turned back to her, still trying to make it look casual and probably failing if his shaking hands were any clue.

“Do you think it’s him?” he whispered.

“Who else could it be?” She looked at him with desperate eyes. “What should we do?”

He glanced back again. Their pursuer had gotten bogged down in the crowds, but he would push through soon enough. There were no Redcloaks or guards around this time, just him, his friend and her child. “There are too many others here. Even if we fought him off, they could get hurt.  We’re close to the Academy though, and we can make it if we run for it.”

“He’ll know we see him.”

“Better than letting him get close enough to gut us.” At her reluctant nod, he said, “On three, we all run for it. One, two… three!”

The three of them raced forward, almost bowling over an old man with a wagonload of cabbages as they dashed away.

Behind them was the sound of thundering footsteps and angry shouts, but Rian wasn’t stupid enough to slow down, running as fast as he could. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd, hoping that they were outrunning their pursuer. Any second, he feared that he would feel a sudden sharp pain about his neck.

It was only when the sound of cursing began to get softer and the gleaming gates of the academy were visible just ahead that he dared look back… only to see that it was just the man with the cabbages; he had come to a stop, falling to his knees with sweat running down his dark, wrinkled face, too tired to shout anymore.

The assassin was nowhere to be seen.

“Good… we lost him,” Alensia panted, all three of them slowing down.

“I hope so… but how was he following us to begin with?”

The troubled expression on Alensia’s face showed that she had come to the same conclusion as him: that none of the possible answers were good ones.

Chapter Twelve

The spear-butt slammed against the ground with a thud. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little lordling. Come to prattle on some more?”

The rest of their trek had been made with no further sign of their pursuer but their good fortune had ended the moment they stepped up to the gate, where Rian’s least favorite person was there to meet them, a cruel sneer blooming on his face the moment he recognized hi.

They needed to make their way through quickly. No sight of the assassin was visible but they weren’t safe here. If the assassin merely disposed of the cloak, they were almost invisible and the crowd around them provided witnesses but also concealment for a quick knifing.

Rian took a deep breath. “Graff, we merely wish to go through without trouble.”

“We?” Graff’s gaze fell upon Alensia and his eyes lit up viciously. “Ahh, it’s you again,” he purred. “Didn’t think I’d get the pleasure of seeing you any time soon.”

She grimaced and mopped sweat off her brow. “As you know us already, may we pass through?”

Graff smirked. “Aren’t you in a hurry? Of course, you can pass through, but I have to make sure you’re not carrying any dangerous items. Rules are rules, you know.”

Maleth looked sick but said nothing, ducking his head.

Her gaze went to Rian and Maleth in turn and he could see her making the cold calculation. The sooner they got through him, the sooner they would be safe.  Nodding reluctantly, she mumbled, “Dangerous items… Right…”

Rian stepped between them, standing as straight as he could. He understood the need to get inside quickly but she would not suffer for his sake, not again. “Alensia is with me and I vouch for her. As the very person who the extra security is supposed to protect, is my word not enough?”

Graff narrowed his eyes but his smirk only widened. “Ahh, but it’s entirely necessary, little lordling. The rules have changed and we have to protect his nobleness from the big bad assassin, no?” His voice hardened. “Besides, you know what I can do…”

He glared back, his mind working furiously. The longer they spent arguing, the more of a chance the assassin would have to strike. The problem was that he lacked any authority over Graff. In spite of his noble status, he had no power to prevent the Redcloak from satisfying himself again.

Graff knew it too. He pushed him to the side and leered down at Alensia. “Now then,” he licked his lips, “let us make sure you haven’t brought no weapons this time.”

No! Rian desperately peered around for some kind of distraction, only to spot something else red. He smiled. “Miss Licourt, could you come over here a moment?”

Graff’s smirk froze on his face.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Sachiel asked as she padded over. Her face and words were calm but her gaze flickered over each of them in turn with the annoyance of a girl being dragged into her little brother’s stupid squabbles. Finally, she settled for narrowing her eyes at Rian as if to say ‘explain, now’.

A squirmy feeling grew in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the argument they'd had earlier that day. Calling her over might not have been the best idea he’d ever had but it was too late to backpedal, so he quickly said, “As the increased defensive measures were put in place to protect me, I feel that it is unnecessary that my friend here be checked,” he referred to Alensia with a wave of his hand. “I vouch for her.”

Sachiel glanced to Alensia and back to him, frowning the whole time.

“The rules state that all must be checked,” Graff growled, “no exceptions.”

“Please, we must get through immediately. It is important.” Rian tried to convey the seriousness of the situation through his expression. She was the only one who could possibly help.

Her glare deepened as she weighed her anger against what she knew of him. She wanted to tell him to get lost, he could tell, but could she ignore him when he genuinely needed help? He bet on the answer being no and finally, she nodded with the greatest of reluctance. “Don’t worry, Graff. I’m familiar with the young lord and his situation. Let them pass.”

The bastard’s eyes promised retribution but he did as requested, letting them through with Sachiel following behind.

The moment they turned the corner though, she rounded on him, hissing, “Would you mind explaining what that was about?”

He tried to explain, but his words stumbled over each other. “He - Graff - was bothering, that is to say-”

Luckily, Alensia didn’t have that problem. “He was harassing me,” she said, quickly explaining what had happened and causing Sachiel’s expression to first stiffen, then slowly soften into understanding.

He noticed that Alensia did not mention their being followed and decided to do the same. Sachiel might have helped them but he didn’t want any of it possibly getting back to her fellow order members.

“I’m sorry you’ve already had to endure that, madam,” Sachiel finally said when Alensia’s tale was finished. “The Crimson Order is supposed to be virtuous… but sometimes its members fail to uphold that.”

Her words incensed him. ‘Fail to uphold?’ This shouldn’t have happened to begin with! “And what will you do to prevent this from happening in the future?”

Sachiel bit her lip, looking from one to the other before shaking her head. “I wouldn’t be too hopeful,” she admitted. “I will inform his captain of what happened but that only works if the captain does something about it. Many, I’m afraid, do not, and I don’t have the authority to force Graff to behave in a way befitting the Crimson Order.”

So Graff would be allowed to continue his cruelties unchecked. “That is all? Surely there must be something you can do.”

Her grimace deepened and she crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you expect me to do?” She said defensively. “I can’t fix everything myself.”

“Not everything, but more than ‘I am going to tell his captain who will do absolute shit about it’ would be preferable, or is that too much to ask?”

Sachiel's eyes hardened, but to his surprise, it was Alensia who spoke up. “Rian, she helped us, did she not? Besides, Graff acts no differently than some of the nobles I’ve encountered. Can you honestly say that you haven’t heard of some of them doing the same?”

He looked away from her pointed gaze. She was right, of course. He knew of several who acted just as Graff had. Certainly, many nobles were as honorable as his family but those few… they were like the rotten apples that spoiled the bunch, making all nobles look bad.

“Those with power can do things that other people can’t,” Alensia said quietly. “I don’t blame her for not being able to fix it herself any more than I blame you for not doing the same.”

Her words weren’t accusatory, only simple statements of fact, but Rian felt like she had impaled him with a spear. “I see....”

“Mother?” Maleth asked, his gaze whipping to each of the three adults in turn, looking more confused with each glance.

Alensia faltered and she squeezed Maleth’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” She sighed and turned to Rian. “Look, it’s not your fault, anymore than it is hers. I’m just… snappish after everything that has happened today.” She turned to Sachiel. “Was there anything else I needed to do or can Maleth and I go inside?”

“Err, no, there’s nothing else,” Sachiel said. “Go ahead. I have a few more words to share with Rian anyway.”

Her words were ominous but when the two of them went inside, Sachiel turned to Rian, closed her eyes and sighed. “For what it’s worth, if there was anything, anything at all, that I could do to help make a difference with Graff, I would.”

She was telling the truth, he could see that… but that had been only part of the problem. “Why do you stay with them? If you know what your comrades have done and will do, why serve alongside them?”

She tilted her head curiously. “Have you not noticed the trouble occurring outside your castles? Banditry, roving bands of mercenaries, growing unrest. Better that those like Graff be serving the king than the highest bidder.”

Rian narrowed his eyes. “That is what the nobility is for, not Graff. The baron serves under the count, under the duke, under the king, and the king honors them for their levies and service with honors and lands. That is how we won the Orc Wars. It is the nobility’s duty to protect their lands and people.”

“The nobility, eh?” She weighed him with her gaze.

He met it with his jaw squared. House Miel had served the kingdom for generations. To compare them to that sort of scum… his blood boiled.

Perhaps Sachiel realized her rudeness as she cleared her throat and turned away. “I apologize but there are other matters I must attend to. Be careful though.”

“I will, believe me.”

***

As soon as the door opened, the attack began.

Soren had been in the middle of dinner with a juicy morsel halfway to his mouth, yet the moment his gaze fell upon Rian, his eyes narrowed until his glare was as intimidating as he had ever seen it. “And just where have you been?” He demanded, pressing his point with a jab of the pork-tipped fork.

“My apologies, sir, but -”

“You were supposed to come here after meeting with Miss Licourt, but instead you disappeared into the streets of Sirala? You know you’re not supposed to venture out of the academy,” Soren paused, growling. “Or at least, I would have thought you had enough brains to realize it. Surely I don’t need to remind you that going off alone is the perfect opportunity for this cutthroat to find you.”

Rather than enduring a lecture, Rian quickly cut it off by saying, “You are right. I felt it was for a good reason but it does not matter. I was followed.”

Soren froze, the silverware clattering to the plate below. “He followed y - when? Where? How?”

He relayed the gist of what had happened, explaining that he had hoped for help with the assassin through a contact of Alensia’s to no avail, but when he mentioned the cloaked figure that had been following them, Soren paled. He knew what it entailed, just as Rian did.

With this, whatever tiny hopes there had been of the attempted assassination being a one-time attempt, or their investigation perhaps frightening off the Gazifs, were well and truly dashed. He was sneaking about, looking for the chance to strike a second time.

Soren began to pace, his eyebrows furrowed. “Either it was the assassin or someone working with him, not that it really makes a difference…” He trailed off, frowning. “Wait, why was that common woman with you?”

“She was helping me with the lead. Does it really matter under the circumstances?”

“I suppose not,” Soren massaged his forehead. “Well, if it wasn’t clear before, this assassin’s danger is blindingly obvious now. You couldn’t have been gone for more than a couple hours before he was upon you.” He considered, then nodded in decision. “We must treat this threat with the utmost caution. As soon as the Third Trial is finished and we have gathered sufficient guards, we’re returning to Houndstooth and staying there until he is caught.”

“But how will I attend -“ Rian closed his mouth, already knowing the answer.

Soren confirmed it a moment later. “You won’t attend the Royal Academy, not until this man is found. Rian, I understand this magic stuff is important to you. While you should focus on things that actually matter, I have no true objections as long as you act in a manner befitting House Miel. However, I will not allow you to throw your life away over it. Once these trials are complete, we are returning home, is that clear?”

He wanted to object but couldn’t bring himself to even utter the words. Soren was right. What good would it be to go to the Royal Academy if he woke up with a dagger between his shoulder blades? He bowed his head. “Yes, it is clear.”

“Good,” Soren’s voice softened, “if need be, we might be able to hire more tutors to train you further once you’ve passed the trials. That’s what is really stopping you from what it is you desire, isn’t it?”

To an extent, it was true. The Mage Trials were designed to be the barrier between someone learning the basic magics and those allowed what secrets laid beyond. It wouldn’t be the same thing, there wouldn’t be the same resources and he would wait far longer to become a true mage, but at least he would be alive to learn those secrets.

“I suppose,” he said grudgingly, “while there still might be some limits, it would be tolerable.”

“Very well, and rest assured, your lordship, we will find him. Regardless of what the Crimson Order might do, we are one of the seventy-seven great families, with all the power that implies.” Soren’s smile was all teeth. “By the time we are done, there won’t be so much as a single leaf he can hide under.”

***

Even with their reinvigorated search though, there was no sign of the assassin. Soren wondered aloud if the man might wait until they left to actually strike so he could attack when they were alone and away from the academy’s guards.

It was a logical thought but Rian didn’t trust it and after the near-disaster the last time he tried to leave the academy, he stayed in their rooms until the morning the Third Trial arrived.

After three days of nervousness and worry, his stomach felt like so much as the smallest nibble would cause it to heave. Still, he persisted in eating a small meal of browned sausage and honeyed milk. When he returned to the dark catacombs beneath the academy, he was careful to keep watch for the assassin, one hand always on his Spellstone. Just in case.

At least the Crimson Order seemed to have helped some. They had set a curfew for the duration of the trials and a couple of times he saw their red cloaks dimly through the shadows.

Perhaps that was why he arrived at Dalmarn’s chambers without incident.

He was far from the first one there though. Nearly a hundred others filled the moss-ridden domicile, milling about nervously. Almost half were now bearing the finely-tailored attire of the merchants and nobles, while the rest were a rather motley array. So many people packed into the warm room gave it a rather sour odor, yet they were far fewer than the hundreds he had seen at the beginning. The first two trials had winnowed away the vast majority of them and only the final few remained.

Dalmarn was nowhere to be seen, but Alensia waved him over to a thick patch of moss in the corner. There was a smile on her face but he couldn’t help but note the purplish circles underneath her eyes. “Hello again, young lord. Did you sleep well last night?”

In spite of all his fears and concerns, a lack of sleep hadn’t been one of the maladies he’d suffered from. He’d been so exhausted after each day’s efforts in finding the assassin that he’d fallen right asleep. “Yes, although I have been feeling rather queasy.”

“Ooh, sounds like we both had trouble. I’ve been so nervous I barely slept.”

After what happened, he could hardly blame her for being worried. ”Having second thoughts about the danger?”

“No, actually.” Alensia chuckled, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. “I have no doubts about helping you, not in the slightest. I’m worried about whether I’ll be able to pass. If I fail today it’ll be two years before the next chance.”

That was true for him as well. If he failed today, it would be a long time before he could try again, and that was if he got another chance. With his responsibilities and the assassin following him… He shook his head, trying to clear the troubling thoughts.

To distract himself, he glanced around. “I wonder who we will be facing…”

“Not sure. Anybody in this room could be our opponents.” A soft yawn escaped her. “I hope I get an easy one though.”

Rian kept quiet but he felt the same. After the grueling trial before it, an easy foe would be welcome indeed.

A quiet sigh came from his companion. “I wanted to ask… That woman yesterday… you didn’t like her at all, even though she helped us. Why?”

“She is a Redcloak,” he couldn’t help but snarl, reminded of yesterday’s arguments with Sachiel. “Shouldn’t that be enough of a reason?

The only sound was the chatter of those around them but Alensia knit her eyebrows together thoughtfully. Finally, she leaned back, closing her eyes. “Maybe I am naive, but while there are many corrupt nobles and knights, I didn't think that she was one of them from the way she protected us from her own comrade.”

Rian pressed his lips together, but in spite of the politeness of her words, he knew she was looking for a response, a reason for his actions. “When King Iruel and his family died, his brother…” his voice hardened, “The crown is meant to rest upon the shoulders of the nobility, those who have served the kingdom for generations and have been honored for doing so. As a symbol of this, while the crown may call upon the levies of any lord, it may have no army of its own, and it is only permitted to claim one order of knights for itself, the personal guard of the king: the Crimson Order.”

“However,” he continued, “King Zeruel found a loophole there. While the Crimson Order is stated to be the most honored of knightly orders, there is no official limit to the number who may serve, so long as the order’s grandmaster invites them in and the king approves them. The grandmaster started inviting anyone willing to join into their ranks and the king approved, so now the Crimson Order numbers thousands, including the worst of scum, each with the king’s authority.” He shook his head derisively. “If she is a good person, she should not be a part of the Order, not while it is in such a state.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “but if you think she is a good person, then why does it matter if she is a part of the Crimson Order? Surely we would want such a person to have the king’s authority, not those like Graff.”

He blinked, opened his mouth… and closed it without speaking, troubled at her point.

Before he could think to say more, the door slammed open with a bang and Dalmarn stormed in. His dark robes trailed behind him as he made his way through the crowd to stand in front of his desk. He narrowed his eyes, surveying those in attendance.

There was no movement from the crowd, not even the slightest shuffling as all eyes fixed upon him.

Dalmarn allowed the silence to linger on for a few moments before he began to speak. “To those eager to join the ranks of the magi, welcome to your final challenge.” His gaze passed over Rian and emotion flickered briefly on his face before he continued, “Succeed today and you will be one of us, but before we begin, I have a few words about what being a mage actually means.”

In spite of how Rian despised the man, he found himself leaning forward, curious.

“I am no fool. You have many reasons for taking this path. Some wish to better themselves, others gain wealth or power and a few simply wish to gain the ability to defend themselves. Regardless of reason or goal, however, those who join our ranks will have a responsibility that they must never forget… The Royal Academy is an ancient institution, built during the Camryn dynasty. Before that time, magic was known by few and used by fewer. Only those of noble birth and bloodline were permitted to learn it.” Dalmarn’s gaze fell upon Rian and his jaw tightened. “The Camryns chose to change that. To protect Rasgor, they established the magi, allowing anyone to learn magic so long as they promised to be a shield and sword for the kingdom.

“Now, that dynasty perished long ago, but the Royal Academy continues on and our purpose remains the same. We are Rasgor’s greatest weapon against those who would seek to harm it. So, whatever your goal, remember that duty. Above all else, we protect Rasgor.”

Silence fell in the wake of the speech, the words hanging heavy. Some applicants looked to each other, others wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze and a few just looked bored.

For Rian, it was both an affirmation and a source of confusion. Affirmation because, as one of Rasgor’s nobles, this was his duty, and magic was one way he would do it. Confusion because, of all people, it was Dalmarn saying it.

Then the man sneered down at them. “Now that the preliminaries are out of the way, it is time to finish this. Let us begin the Third Trial. Our first match will be…” he unfurled a scroll… and paused, before turning to face Rian and giving a smile that was wide with malicious delight.  Enunciating each word like he was biting into the finest of steaks, he said, “Rian Miel and Alensia, come to the front!”

Rian’s heart froze in his chest.

Of all the people, he had to face his friend? Part of him wondered if this were Dalmarn’s idea, one final chance to sabotage him. No, he realized, if Dalmarn were trying to sabotage him, there were more challenging opponents than his pupil. This was just a cruel whim of fate, making it so that if he wanted to achieve his dream, he would have to crush Alensia’s.

Turning to his friend, he tried to come up with something to say but all he could manage was a simple, “I am sorry.”

Her eyes were wide with worry, but she mustered an encouraging smile. “It’s alright. Remember the rules. We can both pass if we perform well, so let’s do our best and we’ll be fine!”

The words did little to ease the lump in his throat.

Chapter Thirteen

A skinny, robed mage led the two of them to a now-familiar door, a polite smile on her face. She reminded them of how the Third Trial worked, that it was a fight to unconsciousness or surrender, with the winner joining the ranks of the magi, before confirming with each of them that they were prepared for the battle ahead.

Rian barely heard her, lost in his thoughts. So the final opponent would be his friend. For all they’d both struggled, only one of them could win. Dalmarn himself couldn’t have thought of a crueler fate and it was all up to him. He could win or he could let her win.

If she won, it would be more than a year until he could try again, and that was if his family dealt with the assassin and his duties, but if he won, she wouldn’t be able to care for her son.

Or would she?  He considered it quickly. He was second-in-line to House Miel with everything that implied. He could hire her as a servant once the marital negotiations were finished and, even if that proved undoable, he received more coinage from his family for incidentals in a month than Alensia would probably need in a year.

Yes, that would work. Alensia would just have to wait a little bit longer before becoming a mage. All he would need to do was… hurt his friend.

His stomach dropped and he glanced at her, his gaze tracing the laugh lines upon her face and greying tips of her hair. She was talented, yes, but older and had been through so much already. She had helped him so much, giving him the information he needed to prepare to fight the assassin. Could he really do this?

His thoughts strayed to long hours spent alone in a tower trying to devour every last scrap of knowledge he could. His friends were gone, his family there but only patronizing him, his dreams were filled with blood and blame… and he nodded reluctantly. He had to become a mage, no matter what.

Still, he would be as gentle with her as possible.

“Good luck, may the better spellcaster win,” Alensia said quietly, not smiling this time. Her voice was tired and not from lack of sleep. She hated this as much as he did.

“Good fortune to you as well,” he murmured. If she impressed the proctors, perhaps his plan wouldn’t be needed anyway. Maybe they could both be mages. It was a feeble rod but it was all he had.

They nodded at one another and turned to the silver door. The fox’s eyes looked down upon them, its unmoving expression filled with disappointment.

One flash of light later and they were in the same rocky cave where he had taken his Second Trial. For some reason though, in spite of how his spells had ravaged it, it was completely covered in green moss again.

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Dalmarn’s voice echoed through the chamber. “This place has been a training area for the magi for generations, to the point that even the very moss is infused with magic… part of why it always grows back and fills my office!” he growled, the grinding of his teeth audible. “Now, wait for the signal, then you can begin. You may use any spell in your arsenal to defeat your opponent although we would prefer that you avoid killing one another.”

In spite of Dalmarn’s words, Rian found himself calming down. After this, there would be no more wondering, no more doubts. The hot air of the cavern had a promise to it, a feel of culmination that made his blood pump all the faster in anticipation of what was to come.

This was his chance to show everything he had struggled for and all that he had learned. He had come all this way and now only Alensia stood between him and what he’d wanted for so long. He just hoped defeating her wouldn’t require harming her too much. Taking a long, slow breath, he drew a green Spellstone from his pocket and inclined his head respectfully. “Are you ready?”

Alensia bowed in turn, a sad smile upon her face. “I am, actually. I worked hard to reach this point and I want to discover just how far that will take me… I just didn’t think it would be against you,” she pulled a ruby-red triangle out of her robes. It shimmered like blood in the cavern’s low light. “How about you? Are you ready, young lord?”

He braced himself. “Indeed. Do your best, I certainly will.”

Dalmarn’s voice boomed once more, “Begin!”

Alensia’s expression hardened and her Spellstone ignited with a scarlet radiance that grew brighter with every passing moment.

Rian moved instantly, focusing his strength into his own Spellstone. This was a different one than the one he’d used in the Second Trial, one focused on capturing and disabling rather than utter destruction.

It was equally familiar to him and even faster to cast, so only a moment passed before he unleashed his spell: Arbol Arrow; it was a green orb about the size of a man’s fist and hurtled through the air like its namesake. Upon impact, it would burst into a mass of rope-like vines and truss her up.

Rather than follow up with another, he waited to see how she would react. Would she try to block or dodge?

She did neither, instead continuing her channeling. Her spell must have been much slower to cast though, as it wasn’t until his own was mere feet away that she finished.

A bolt of crimson lightning erupted from her hands, causing the entire cavern to tremble with a roar like thunder. The spell ripped through his attack like it was paper and burst forward, only a desperate dodge preventing it from slamming straight into his chest; instead, it passed him by mere inches before continuing on, exploding against the far wall of the cavern with a monstrous boom.

Rian’s ears rang as he stared at Alensia, mouth agape. “W-What was that?”

“I wouldn’t be too impressed; it’s my only spell,” Alensia grinned toothily, the expression taking years off her face, “but it has quite a kick to it, I admit.”

Quite a kick? He wasn’t sure if his own Force Wave would be much greater. To think that the whole time he’d been tutoring her, she’d had something like this tucked away! Well, Arbol Arrow clearly wasn’t an option - she’d blow right through it every time. The only way to win was overpowering her. Pulling out the grey sphere, he nodded, “Do not go congratulating yourself just yet. I still have another spell myself.”

“Good, let’s see how this goes, young lord.” Her Spellstone glowed crimson, giving her face a fiery cast. “Show me all you know!”

A test of might then, what he had mastered over years of practice versus Alensia’s raw talent. He gathered his strength until it felt like his body was one mass of energy, the Spellstone eagerly sucking away every bit it could. Still, he held back, having no desire to shatter his friend’s bones to win if he could avoid it.

Taking a deep breath, he unleashed his spell. From his hands, silver light spilled and coalesced into a mighty wave, the rock below groaning beneath it as it tore through the moss and surged for her.

It was almost upon her when Alensia finished casting. The cavern lit up in an unworldly red and crimson lightning blasted from her hands once more before slamming into his attack with a deafening crash.

The two spells ground against one another in a titanic struggle, each trying to overpower the other, but it didn’t last long. With a mighty crack, the silver wave shattered and scarlet lightning blasted straight for him, too fast to dodge.

He braced himself for impact,  summoning his magic in a silvery shield to counteract her own. All he could hope for was that it wouldn’t hurt as much as he feared.

It did. Even blunted by his defense, the force of her attack drove the breath from his lungs and sent him to his knees, the world vanishing in a sea of agony for what seemed an eternity although he suspected it was only a few seconds in truth.

Everything ached and blood trickled down his arm. How was this even possible? He’d spent ten years preparing, ten years, yet her spell had blasted him straight into the ground. Granted, he hadn’t unleashed everything, but still, how?

There must be a mistake he was making. He just had to find it. First though… He was no warrior, but a quick glance at his arm showed that it was only a small wound to his shoulder. It smoked but bled only a little. It wouldn’t affect him. Probably. Still, he couldn’t take too many more hits like that. Taking a long, hissing breath, he rose to his feet.

Alensia peered at him with knitted eyebrows. Rather than follow up with another spell, she said softly enough that nobody else could hear. “Are you alright, young lord? If you cannot continue...”

She was worried… for him? No, he was the one with the experience while she was the newcomer. He should be worried about her, not the other way around. He was not weak or helpless, a child to be protected and hidden behind his castle walls, not this time.

His resolve firmed. If he was going to be a mage, he could not afford to hold back, even if it meant harming his friend. He gathered his strength, every last drop. “Worry for yourself. I will be fine.”

Alensia pursed her lips but nodded reluctantly, her Spellstone a blazing red. “May the best spellcaster win,” she said, unleashing her spell.

The cavern filled with crimson light but this time he was better prepared. As he knew it was coming there was a chance he would be able to dodge her spell. The bolt of lightning was thin enough that even with how quickly it moved, a couple of feet might be enough for it to go past him completely. Still, one clean hit would mean instant defeat, possibly even death. He elected not to risk it, instead blocking her spell with his own.

This time, the two burst upon each other with a thunderous boom but neither could gain ground and both broke upon the other. They each followed with a second spell, then a third, but now that he was using his full strength, neither had enough power to overwhelm the other.

In the muggy atmosphere of the cave, sweat dripped down his forehead and he panted for breath, the casting of four Force Waves taking its toll. The good news was that he had managed to hold her off, but holding her off wasn’t the same thing as actually winning. Eventually, he would tire and, unlike his battle with the golems, the only way to win was knocking her unconscious.

He kept a wary eye out for any further casts - luckily, she had paused for the moment as well - and considered every scrap of knowledge he’d gleaned from her in their tutoring sessions to find a weakness.

Finally, he smirked. Stamina. She was older than him, well into her forties and she’d told him she was already tired. To gain the strength to match his, she must be gathering a lot of power, but she couldn’t continue at this pace for much longer before exhausting herself; once that happened, the battle was over.

Alternatively, her spell was much slower to cast than his own. If he managed to dodge even once, a Force Wave would end the fight on the spot. With how quick her spell moved though, the decision was an either-or: if he tried to dodge but failed, there was no way he would have enough time to block.

After careful thought, he decided to go for wearing her out. Victory by attrition. It had its dangers - if one spell got through unblocked, he was done for - but if he held her off long enough, victory was inevitable. It was a safer choice and besides, while spell-exhaustion wasn’t pleasant by any means, it was better than blasting her into unconsciousness.

Her eyes gleamed, signaling that the time for thought was over. The battle resumed with each firing two spells in succession, both bursting against the other’s casting without connecting with their targets.

Alensia wiped away some of the sweat pouring down her face. She was breathing heavily but didn’t seem ready to collapse just yet. He could wait though - he had spent ten years waiting for this day. He could wait a little longer for her stamina to drain.

One more pair of spells exploded against each other to no avail. They were in a stalemate, one which would only favor him as it continued.

Then through the dust, she chuckled mirthlessly. Like him, she was so covered in grime that her face was the color of mud, traced through with little rivulets of perspiration.

“Young lord… Rian, I know how much this means to you,” she took a deep breath, “so I want you to know that I’m sorry. I know all the years you spent fighting toward this day, how much you dream of becoming a mage… but I need to win if I’m going to care for my son. Regardless of your dreams… please forgive me, but I can’t afford to hold back!”

His heart threatened to stop. Hold back?

Alensia’s Spellstone burned like a small red sun in her hand before a bolt of pure crimson blasted straight for him.

Rian frantically cast another Force Wave, but this one held only briefly before shattering against her attack. He gathered what strength he could to block but her spell slammed into him.

It was as if one of the golems from the Second Trial had belted him in the gut. He staggered back from the hit, clutching his stomach as he tried desperately to right himself.

She was already starting to build up power once more, but he could scarcely comprehend what had happened. She was holding back the entire time? If her spells were this strong, there was no way he could hold on for much longer. Panic screamed in his mind. Could he even win?

Wait! If she had been using so much strength with her spells before, she must be hemorrhaging stamina to keep casting now. His plan was still good and he was strong enough to become a mage. He just had to hold out a little longer.

Another bolt blasted for him, the entire cavern lit up in red.

This was it, the final clash. Alensia was surely almost completely drained. If he held on just a little more, exhaustion would consume her.

Rian gathered as much strength as he could and unleashed his spell.

Once again, the crimson lightning ground through it before slamming into him and driving him to his knees.

He had to be close. Just a little more; he just had to keep going a little more and he would reach his dream.

She stepped forward, another spell hurtling from her.

He unleashed his countering cast almost on instinct, summoning further strength to blunt her spell. Just a bit more and he would become a mage, just a bit -

The world filled with black.

Interlude Two

A boy stood surrounded by a broken, burning castle. Ash covered him in a grey shroud, undisturbed save for the tears that poured down his face.

“Why…?” he whispered.

Before him in the darkness stood a girl, naught but a dozen summers in age, her face obscured with golden hair trailing down in a mane, gleaming and unmarred by the devastation.

“You are nothing,” she said.

“I-I did not mean to -”

“You achieved nothing.”

The boy reached forward. “It was not -”

Through the shadows, her eyes blazed blue. “It’s your fault I’m dead!”

Chapter Fourteen

Rian slammed face-first into stone with a crunch. The darkness spun around him and he was bound and trapped in a thick layer of… blankets?

He didn’t have time to think before waves of pain pulsed over him. Every inch of his body was sore and aching, and his breath escaped him in a whimpering cry. Nausea followed, and for a time, it was all he could do to clutch his face as he braced himself against it.

When it finally subsided enough to hear himself think, he peered about into the gloom.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was battling with Alensia in that cavern. Now… there was only the slightest moonlight for illumination so it was difficult to distinguish much. With the sun gone, the few shapes visible in the darkness loomed over him like statues in a mausoleum… or, the thought struck him with a chill, perhaps golems. Squinting, he thought he recognized the nightstand by his bed. The woolen blankets scratching against bruised skin further confirmed what he suspected: they had put him in the healing ward again.

Did this mean he’d lost? Worry squirmed through his gut and he tried to remember. No, he reminded himself. They’d been using very powerful and destructive magic, and he’d been hit several times. Even if he’d won, he’d have been badly hurt, and Alensia might be suffering as much as he.

Either way, he needed to find out what had happened. “Hello?” he called out into the gloom. “Is anyone out there?”

“Lord Miel?” came a thick, nasally voice. Quiet footsteps pattered against the floor. It was still too dark to see much save for a shape moving in the darkness but that voice was vaguely familiar.

“Mage...” he struggled to think, “Meralda, was it?”

“Yes, your lordship. Your remembrance honors me.” She let out a weak chuckle and sat down in a chair by the bed. The moonlight revealed a smile upon her face but it was thin and tight. “How do you feel?”

“Like someone dropped a boulder on me and sat on it.” He swallowed. “What… what happened? I was fighting against Alensia in the Third Trial, but I cannot recall what happened or who won. All I recall is a lot of red…” He remembered a feeling of desperation and the pit of his stomach churned. “I did win, correct?”

“You don’t remember?” Meralda frowned. “Perhaps… no, it might be best to discuss later, after you recover. You were quite badly injured.”

“Tell me, I must know.”

“You should focus on healing, not on what might have happened.”

Rian’s first instinct was to plead, but a mage would surely not be moved by childish cries, so he took a deep, calming breath and brought logic to bear. “Mage Meralda, I have spent years preparing for this day, studying, practicing, everything I could think of. Without knowing the outcome, it will be impossible for me to sleep. Whatever happened, it will be better to know it now than spend hours wondering.”

She eyed him doubtfully while he tried to present as earnest a face as possible.

Finally, she sighed. “Very well, get back into bed and I’ll tell you what happened.” Once he did so, she continued, “You fought,” she nibbled her lip, “bravely, very bravely, showing great strength of will but in the end, it was not enough. Alensia defeated you by knocking you unconscious.”

Her words… Rian understood the words she was saying, but they made no sense. “That cannot be -” he swayed, the darkness whirling about him. “That… that is not - no, you are lying. You have to be!”

“I’m sorry, your lordship, but it’s no lie,” Meralda said softly. “She defeated you fairly.”

“How!?” He was second in line to House Miel, had prepared for more than a decade and been tutored by countless magi,  yet he’d lost to a commoner with a tenth of his experience! “We were supposed to go to classes together, go to Pelric’s, learn magic the likes of which… I was told I might pass even if I lost. Why did I...?” He fell to his knees, sobs wracking his body. “I tried so much… I worked so hard… This does not make sense!. Why?”

She patted him awkwardly, not meeting his eyes. “You need to rest. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She got to her feet but he grabbed her arm.

“No!” he shouted, “Mage Meralda, I spent so long working toward this. Defeat… it was always a possibility, but I need to know why.”

She pressed her lips together but nodded acquiescence. “Alright, but you have to stay calm.” she looked longingly toward the door once again but continued, “The magi are an elite order with great responsibility, one that only a rare few can join. What you were told about being able to pass even if defeated… that is meant for when we have two candidates who are truly excellent, such that even the defeated acquits themselves brilliantly. You were,” she bit her lip, “decent perhaps but no more.”

Her words were soft but they struck him with the fury of whips. He jerked back, only barely managing to keep a measure of control in his voice. “H-How so, Mage Meralda?”

“I observed your battle, along with several of my colleagues. Your strategy was flawed on several levels and from the beginning, it seemed like you had no plan beyond simply beating Alensia down through sheer brute force.”

“But that is not true. I was trying to win by attrition.”
The wind blew past the open window in a low whistle while Meralda peered at him with furrowed eyebrows, tapping her fingers together.

Finally, she shook her head. “I have seen a multitude of battles, some indeed won because one side was exhausted and unable to continue on, but there was no possibility of you defeating Alensia that way.”

“That makes no sense. With how much power her spell took, all I needed to do was hold her off until she exhausted herself.”

“What are you talking about?” Meralda asked, looking at him oddly. “Her spells took no more stamina than your own castings. Their strength was a matter of focus, not power.”

“Focus, not power…? How could that, unless -” Rian buried his head in his hands as the full measure of his mistake struck him. “She did not use more power, just focused what power she used into a tight beam, and since my spell was wider than hers it was a case of an open palm versus a closed fist. All else equal, her spell would have blown through mine every time…”

“Correct, when you are both using the same amount of power but one is overwhelming the other repeatedly,” she sighed, “well, there is only one way a battle of attrition could possibly end.”

Inevitable defeat, her words whispered in his mind. “If she had more power in each of her spells… well, I could have tried to dodge, I suppose, but I would have had to get rather lucky. That spell of hers was slow to cast, but fast once she let it go,” he said, working it out to himself. “Truly then, it was a mismatched fight from the beginning.”

“Actually… no, it wasn’t. Tell me, the other spell you cast at the beginning, what was its name?”

He blinked, thrown by the change of subject. “I call it ‘Arbol Arrow’, it creates a small orb that bursts into a mass of entangling vines. Why do you ask?”

She ignored his question. “Why did you stop using it after the initial attempt?”

“Because Alensia’s spell could just blast right through it,” Rian said, starting to get annoyed at all the questions. “You were watching, so surely you saw how it fared the one time I tried.”

“And yet, the spell was quick to cast, yes?”

“Correct, even faster than my Force Wave - ohh.” He closed his eyes at the realization. “If I had just kept casting Arbol Arrows, she could not have blocked them all. Eventually, she would have been tied up and helpless...”

“Perhaps,” she said. “She might still have gotten you with her spell before you took her out - you were right about her spell having a great deal more power than yours - or maybe she could have dodged long enough to come up with an alternative strategy. Still, those possibilities were slim. In all likelihood, you would have won.”

‘And the strategy you chose had no possibility of winning’. She didn’t say it aloud, but her message was clear all the same. Still… “How could I have known that though? I entered the Trial without any knowledge of Alensia’s spell. No, worse, everything I knew going in told me that she had little experience. How could I have expected something like that?”

Meralda gave him a flat look. “You will rarely know all of your opponent’s capabilities going in. The magi lack armor and we are limited to only a few spells each, yet even in this generation of Sacreliths, we remain a potent force on any battlefield. We do so by mastering those spells and applying them carefully, evaluating the situation for when to use them and how.” She sighed, patting him on the shoulder. “And right now, you just aren’t ready.”

He bowed his head. She was right. He hadn’t fought with strategy, he could see that now. He had just hammered away with the same spell over and over again until he lost. The Second Trial he had panicked, yes, but when it looked impossible, he’d managed to succeed by utilizing a spell creatively.

This time he had been so sure he was the stronger spellcaster that he’d ignored strategy and tactics for brute force, a battle he’d lost before it began.

“Don’t worry though,” Meralda said with a comforting smile, “many fail on their first try - even making it to the Third Trial was an excellent performance. It’s very likely you will succeed when you take it again. Just wait for next time.”

Rian looked down, staring blankly at the covers before him until Meralda finally bid him goodnight and shuffled off into the darkness.

There wasn’t going to be a next time for him, at least not for a very long time. With an assassin after him, it would be quite a while before he could even leave Houndstooth, let alone take the trials again.

Exhaustion took the last bit of control from him. Hot tears trickled from his eyes, soon followed by anguished sobs. All the plans he’d made to himself were gone and his dream laid in broken shards around him.

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?”

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 sweat 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.

Bertrard was no noble. He could tell that at a glance. Even if not for his ill-fitting robes, his skin was a darkened tan from long hours beneath the sun, and the way he moved his body was smooth but a stalking, somewhat crouched gait like someone who was unused to standing proud and straight. A darker part of him suspected this was why Dalmarn favored him, but he quickly diverted his thoughts from that. Perhaps it was unfair, but there was nothing to be done about it and besides, Bertrard must have done well in the trials if he passed. He was a tough man, that was for sure, with muscles visible through the neck of his robes and calluses covering his hands, along with a multitude of other little nicks.

For a moment, Rian imagined the man passing the trials by throwing his Spellstones aside to beat his opponents with his fists. He had to press his lips together to keep the laughter from bubbling out, but then, this man had won while he had lost. His appearance didn’t really matter.

Still, he had to admit Bertrard didn’t look anything like the magi he had imagined and seen. The man probably spent most of his time doing labor to have earned muscles like those and honestly didn’t seem like he’d ever so much as touched a book in his life. He didn’t have the air of an idiot, mind, but of someone cunning rather than learned.

It took all types to become a mage, he supposed. It was odd though. Nothing about him seemed much like a mage, neither in appearance nor demeanor. Rather than pelting Dalmarn with questions regarding what he was learning like Rian would have expected, Bertrard just observed him patiently, staying just behind the mage. There was an air of anticipation to the man but not necessarily interest. Strange.

Rian peered closer at him. The man had a lumpy look to him, and not just because of his muscles. He’d originally thought the robes were too small for the man’s frame, but they were stretched and bulged in strange places, not from muscles, but rather like he’d chosen to wear more clothes underneath the robes. Thick clothing too, rather like… armor.

A cold chill ran down Rian’s spine and his heart skipped a beat before beginning to boom in his ears with each pulse. Armor and a muscular frame. No. No, no, no, no, no! It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here!

Bertrard scratched his chin, his finger tracing over a familiar thin scar.

Him, he’d come. Rian’s mouth was dry, drier than the eastern deserts. Bertrard is the assassin. He swallowed, not daring to move for fear of the man realizing… but a thought struck him: why hadn’t he attacked yet?

The answer came just as quickly: Dalmarn. That was the only reason he wouldn’t have simply killed Rian the moment he saw him, because Dalmarn was powerful enough to be a threat. The assassin was waiting for the right moment to take out Dalmarn before turning on Rian. It was the only thing that made sense, so he had to warn Dalmarn. He thought quickly, trying to keep from panicking. A shout would do it but the assassin was right behind Dalmarn. He could easily strike before the mage could react. No, he had to inform Dalmarn without alerting the assassin.

An idea came to him, perhaps a bad one but it was the only one he had. “Dalmarn,” he said, keeping one eye upon Bertrard and hoping the quavering in his voice was his own imagination. He drew upon the politeness that had so often served as a shield in court in the hope it would do so now.  “I sincerely apologize for the interruption, but might I request a moment of your time?”

Dalmarn glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Can you not see that I’m busy?” Not realizing the danger, he continued his spellwork upon the wooden cube, which began to glow a pale shade of blue. “I am not at your beck and call, ‘your lordship’, and you would do well to remember that!”

Bertrard raised his eyebrows at Rian. He didn’t seem concerned though, merely curious.

“Once again, I am terribly sorry,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, the assassin wouldn’t realize he’d figured it out. If Bertrard figured it out before he could alert Dalmarn, they were all doomed, but he had no choice but to continue. “I want to discuss with you a matter related to the difficulty I had after the Second Trial.” Another gamble. Hopefully, the assassin wouldn’t know just what it was he was referring to.

Dalmarn did, if his paling of his face and tightening of his jaw meant anything. It lasted for but a moment before he growled. “Hmmph, of course you do,” he said scathingly, setting down the cube. “Can it not wait, boy?”

“No, sir, I’m afraid it cannot.” Rian watched the assassin out of the corner of his eye, but the man seemed unbothered, which only made him all the more nervous. Shouldn’t an assassin be concerned about his prey trying to communicate with one another? “Would you mind if we discussed it for a moment, Bertrard?”

“Hmm,” Bertrard tapped his chin before taking several steps back, a polite smile upon his face. “Very well. I do not mind.”

Rian suppressed a shudder. Had he managed to fool him? Or did Bertrard realize but not care? Either way, all he could do was continue his plan. Making his way over to Dalmarn, all he could think about was how any moment Bertrard might dash forward and run him through.

Still, he went slow, as if it were just a minor thing he wished to discuss, even as his heart threatened to explode in his chest. The moment he was close enough, he whispered, “Bertrard’s the assassin. He has the same scar and there’s armor underneath his robes. He probably activated his Sacrelith and took off the mask.”

Dalmarn’s expression hardened with each word. Not a sound came from him, but a vein throbbed in his forehead. “You’re certain,” Dalmarn said. It was not a question, but as Rian nodded anyway, he let out a low hiss between his teeth and, taking advantage of his back being toward Bertrard, slipped a hand into the pocket of his robes. “No sudden movements. I’m going to - Look out!”

Rian noticed the cube pulse a violent red only an instant after Dalmarn.

Chapter Sixteen

Everything slowed to a crawl.

The first moment, Rian leaped away from the cube while Dalmarn started to cast, then the cube exploded with a flash of crimson and emerald light. Dalmarn’s spell went off right after, a blood-red glow that tried to hold off the explosion… but whether it was from Dalmarn’s surprise or the spell not having been fully cast, it failed.

The chamber shook with a deafening boom, sending everything flying. One wave of energy slammed into Rian and threw him to the ground.

His ears rang and his forehead felt like it was on fire but he knew better than to just stand there. Grabbing a Spellstone from his pocket, he scrambled to his feet and backpedaled, peering about frantically to find both the assassin and Dalmarn.

Dalmarn… it took only a few seconds to spot the toppled-over bookshelf… and the unmoving form sticking out halfway from beneath it. Dead or unconscious, he wouldn’t be of much help any time soon.

That had been the assassin’s plan, he realized through his head’s pounding. By walking away from Dalmarn, he had implied that Rian should go to him rather than the other way around. Between politeness and Rian’s own fear, he had gotten both of them to place themselves right next to the bomb while he stayed away. Simple yet effective. In one move, he had wounded Rian and taken out Dalmarn.

There was the shuffling of cloth.

Rian turned, already knowing what he’d see.

The assassin stood between him and the door, now masked, with his robe removed and revealing his Sacrelith-born armor and the twin blades he carried. The already dimly-lit chambers grew darker still, a pulsing blackness spreading from his foe to engulf the chamber in shadows.

He shrank back, clutching his Spellstone in his hand.

The assassin’s movements were calm and unhurried, almost lazy as he closed in upon Rian. He clearly viewed him as no threat.

But then, why should the ma? Rian was no danger. Dalmarn was a mage, a dangerous opponent to be dealt with via trickery and cleverness. Rian wasn’t a mage. He could barely call himself an apprentice. A threat? He couldn’t even beat Alensia. He stepped back again and stumbled over some debris, his head slamming against the wall with a crack.

His vision swam. So, this is how it ends, he thought distantly, alone in the dark at the end of an assassin’s blade, my last moments spent shivering in terror.

‘My little warrior…’ whispered his mother’s voice in the back of his mind. ‘So brave…’

She had been wrong. He wasn’t brave. He was weak and foolish and would die for it. All that remained was how the final moments of his life would play out.

‘Come, join me, Rian, one more time,’ came another whisper, once said in friendly jest but now taking a darker meaning. Every dream of his had failed, the chains of duty gripped tightly to him and those blades crept ever closer to his neck. Perhaps it was time to taste of death. All he had to do was give up and let it all end.

He got to his feet.

His legs still wobbled and his stomach felt like it was full of wriggling worms, but he tightened his grip upon his Spellstone. He couldn’t run or hide and he had no hope of escape, but he was a Miel. He would not die curled up in fear like a helpless child. He would face his foe, hold his head high and fight one last battle before vanishing into that cold night. With a cry, he unleashed a silver wave from his Spellstone.

The assassin didn’t even break stride, catching the attack upon his blades. They flared purple and an instant later, the spell shattered like glass. With a light snort, he broke into a run, barreling toward Rian daggers-first.

Exactly as planned. His opponent mere inches away, Rian unleashed the true force of his spell.

It was far too close for the assassin to dodge. Even through the mask, his eyes went wide, a muffled curse coming from his lips before the spell slammed home.

The explosion wracked Dalmarn’s chambers and his foe vanished in the resultant burst of light. For a moment, he dared to hope.

A dark shape flickered in the dust cloud.

He didn’t stop to think, instead throwing himself to the side.

A fraction of a second later, the assassin’s blade impaled the spot his chest had been. Rian’s dodge threw him off for merely a moment, as the next he was rushing for him again.

Rian had already started running. His heart thundered in his chest as he raced back, hoping against hope that he could outpace the man for even a few more seconds. He dodged back and forth, weaving desperately, but the assassin was too fast. With no better option, he unleashed another Force Wave, knowing all the while that it would only buy him a few moments.

His breathing was already heavy from the exertion and rapid spellwork. This was insane! Even with using all his strength, not so much as a scratch marred the assassin! How could he possibly hope to… No, not again! That was the exact reason he lost to Alensia, his damned panicking.

‘The Magi...even in this generation of Sacreliths we remain a potent force on any battlefield. We do so by mastering those spells and applying them carefully, evaluating the situation for when to use them and how.’

Meralda had been right, Sachiel had been right, even Dalmarn had been right. He wasn’t strong, so he would have to be smart and maintain his calm. Alright, so his spell wasn’t powerful enough to overcome his opponent’s Sacrelith, which meant that he would have to make sure he wasn’t expecting it in order to hurt him; the problem was both of them knew it. Bertrard - if that was his real name - wasn’t even bothering to dodge anymore. Why would he, when he could block anything Rian could throw at him? He wasn’t giving him a chance to rest either, charging forward again and again while saving enough power to block his Force Wave... Ohh.

The assassin had almost caught up to him, ready for the one blow that would instantly end his life. Once again, Rian unleashed a Force Wave which the assassin blocked with almost contemptuous ease, merely delaying him a couple of seconds before he resumed his strike… only for a green orb to burst through the dust cloud and slam into his legs.

The assassin let out a cry and stumbled to his knees, covered in vines. Another Arbol Arrow hit him a moment later and further entangled him in the shrubbery, to the point that he resembled a great green mass.

Only a moment passed before violet energy flared and the sound of tearing vines echoed through the chamber.

Rian hesitated, debating following up with a Force Wave, but decided against it. If the assassin managed to block it, he would be tearing apart his own vines for nothing, placing him right back in the same impossible fight he had been in, whereas if he made it out of this trap, he’d be alive. Discretion was the better part of valor here, so he ran for the door.

He’d made it halfway with the assassin still buried beneath the vines when a low groan sounded... but not from himself nor even the assassin.

Dalmarn! He must still be alive.

Rian hesitated. He could run now and be safe but if he did, then long before he could possibly get help, the assassin would have freed himself and finished off the witness. He was so close to escaping though! And really, why should he care? He thought bitterly. Dalmarn had humiliated him and made his life miserable out of petty spite. It’d serve the bastard right for his cruelty, and all he had to do was let someone die… again…

Damn it.

As fast as he could, he raced for his target, not the door that would let him escape but the bookshelf that had Dalmarn pinned; too heavy to even think of lifting it, Rian blasted it with one Force Wave, then another.

Decades of knowledge were obliterated, as wood and paper were blasted by two attacks each with the strength of an ogre’s warhammer behind them, but when the dust cleared, enough of the shelf was destroyed that he was able to lift the rest of it off Dalmarn’s body. “Do not worry,” he whispered, “I am here for you.”

Dalmarn didn’t answer, his eyes closed and form unmoving

“Dalmarn?” That groan, had he misheard? No, he realized, that hadn’t been a call for help but a dying gasp. Once more, he had been too late. Now, there was nothing to do but try to make his way out. With a quiet goodbye, he glanced back at the assassin to gauge how much time he had… only to see nothing more than scraps of vines.

There was a whisper of movement behind him and Rian dove to the right.

Despite his attempt at avoidance, steel slammed into his side in an explosion of agony and his desperate dive turned into an out of control tumble as he was thrown across the room, only to crash into the door.

For a moment, the only thing he could feel was pain and a dripping sensation from his torso, his thoughts not seeming to work, then he realized the significance of what he’d landed against. Gleefully, he grabbed the handle and gave it a yank.

It didn’t budge an inch.

“I’m not so foolish as to leave an escape route unsealed,” the assassin said, Bertrard’s grunting voice sounding so strange coming from him.

Panting for breath, Rian hurled another green bolt at the man, aiming for his feet.

This time, it was intercepted by a wave of shadowy blades, disintegrating the spell in a quick tearing before the darkness deepened further, ever blacker until all that could be seen were little silhouettes in the gloom.

Rian clutched his side as his head throbbed, every one of his muscles aching from the exertion, the spellwork and the wound in his side. This is it, he supposed blearily, no more tricks to play and nowhere left to run.

Still, he smiled as a stray thought occurred to him: in spite of his weakness, he’d managed to get a skilled assassin to consider him a threat. That was a pretty good way to die, all things considered.

Time to bring it all to the end. Standing up and gathering all the strength he could summon into his Spellstone, it glimmered silver, a tiny light in the shadows, just enough to illuminate a few feet. Closing his eyes and forcing his breathing to slow down, he listened.

A little to his left, there was the slightest whisper.

He whirled around and let loose the Force Wave, inundating the room with silver.

Through the gloom, there was a flash of purple and his opponent struggled briefly with his spell before it exploded in front of him, but Rian didn’t give him the chance to recover, attacking again and again.

Each time though, the effect was minimal, the assassin was too strong and his spells were slowly weakening.

Soon enough, he panted for breath, falling to his knees as the assassin loomed over him.

“For your bravery,” the man said, “I’ll make it quick.”

Rian didn’t nod but glared back with what last bits of defiance he could muster. He had struggled, but this was the end.

The room began to light up in violet… and red?

Before he could figure out what it meant, an immense red arm, as large as a giant’s, grabbed the assassin and slammed him into a wall.

The darkness faded, revealing Dalmarn leaning against a bookshelf, his face white with rage.

The assassin tried desperately to fight back, but Dalmarn’s first strike had ruined his attack, so when the giant hand smashed him against the wall, all he could manage was a mere spurt of purple.

“You made one. Fatal. Mistake,” Dalmarn said, punctuating each word with a blow from the conjured arm. “Always check the body.”

The assassin let out a scream, but it was cut off by the sound of shattering bones and a sickening crunch. Several more blows followed before a final squelch, then Dalmarn allowed the conjured arm to dissipate, leaving behind something that might once have been a man but now resembled the contents of a butcher’s shop.

It was over.

Rian fell back on his rump and let out a sigh that turned into a hiss, the aches and pains his body had been able to ignore in the furious pace of battle finally catching up to him. Still, he was alive! A giggle escaped him. “We won… We actually won!”

Dalmarn humphed but his smile was visible through the lightening shadows. “Let’s take care of that wound before you join our foe in the grave. May I?”

He nodded. After saving his life, the man could have been offering to remove his spine with a spoon and he would have given it serious consideration.

The door behind him slammed open with a crash and a figure in black-and-red armor stormed past him. Sachiel, he vaguely realized through a growing haze, her Sacrelith fully activated and sword drawn. She whipped her head about, surveying the room only for her black-helmeted gaze to land on the fallen assassin.

She let out a groan. “Damn it, Dalmarn, I was hoping to interrogate the man.”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, Miss Licourt,” Dalmarn drawled, “the next time I am nearly killed, rather than focus on defending myself, I shall remember what is truly important: preserving my opponent’s life.”

She snorted. “I’d rather have you alive, regardless of what sarcasm comes out of you. Did you find out anything about who sent him?”

“No, and if you don’t mind, it might be best if we help that boy before he joins the assassin in the afterlife.”

Turning to see Rian’s robes reddening with blood, Sachiel tore them open with quick, sure movements. Beneath them, the spot where the assassin had struck didn’t ooze, it poured out blood.

Immediately, she pressed her hand to the bleeding gash and said, “My apologies but this is going to hurt a bit.”

He opened his mouth to ask why before shrieking as pure agony erupted from his side, a searing fire that burned and scalded everything it touched.

The only solace was that it lasted for but seconds before it lessened, the torment dying down to something that was still one of the worst pains he’d ever felt but no longer the stuff of nightmares. Now, rather than a gushing wound, his side was a mess of maggot-white and a shiny apple red. Hideous to behold, but no more blood flowed from him.

Sachiel let out a relieved sigh, allowing her armor to melt into shards of flame before it disappeared entirely. Sheathing her sword, she shot a guilty look at him. “Sorry, I know it’s a miserable experience, but I wasn’t sure that anything else would be enough. How are you feeling?”

He didn’t actually manage to say anything, but somehow, he suspected that falling flat on his back and clutching himself while sobbing conveyed his answer perfectly well.

“He’s probably wishing you’d let the assassin finish the job,” Dalmarn said dryly, “just like everyone else who had to experience your ‘caring attention’. Now, get some wine and I will dress his wounds.”

“Healing... ward?” gasped Rian.

“I actually am rather skilled in the healing arts. I just prefer not to. Now, hold still.” He smirked. “And yes, this will hurt too.”

Chapter Seventeen

Dalmarn was as good as his word. Albeit rather painfully, through applying various herbs as well as a few spells, Rian’s cauterized wound began to look a little shallower, and the red and black surrounding it began to lighten a smidge.

With a pleased smirk, Dalmarn capped a jar of some sort of ointment and said, “Well, you won’t fully recover within a few hours, or even today, but rest assured, you will still be inflicting us with your presence long into the future. Don’t expect that to be inside my quarters though.”

Indeed, he was atop Dalmarn’s own bed at present, where he had lain while the man performed his work.

The room was perhaps the size of the bedroom the academy had allotted Rian, but where his room was adorned with furnishings to make the room appear extravagant, Dalmarn’s had more of a functional bent to it. Beside the bed was a writing desk almost the same size, covered in neatly-piled papers and scrolls. Alongside it was a bookshelf as laden by spellbooks and treatises of magical theory as the one in Rian’s own home.

Yet hidden in the opposite corner was an easel, above which two charcoal drawings hung. Each had Dalmarn in the center, if perhaps broader of shoulder and taller than the man who’d led them up to this room. One drawing had what might have been a younger Sachiel and another woman beside him, but the features were indistinct and faded, and only the grumping glower on the man’s face was familiar.

The other portrait though... it was also of three people, but the feel couldn’t have been more different. On the left was a freckle-faced woman with her hair tied back into a bun and splotches on her apron, bearing an amused smile as she observed the two beside her while on the right was a messy-haired boy who waved about a toy sword and whose grin was infectious, even though the drawing’s medium. Between them was Dalmarn. He bore no robes, just a plain peasant’s shirt and his pants were splattered with mud, yet he wrapped the boy in a fierce, one-armed hug, a smile on his face the likes of which he had never seen upon the man.

Rian was no artist, but every detail in that portrait was alive to the point he could imagine himself there. His face flushed. This was private, not meant for him. Clearing his throat, he turned back to the man who had drawn these and bowed. “Thank you, sir. I will remember your actions this day.”

“Of course you will...” Dalmarn’s rolled eyes showed what he thought of his sincerity. “Still, I suppose that has its own value. If you might aid us, Sachiel and I have a couple questions about what happened.” He leaned closer. “While I could hear little due to the wayward furniture piled atop me, you might have heard a bit more. Were you able to glean anything from our attacker?”

“No, but I knew who sent him before he arrived.” Rian grimaced. “I did not intend to get you involved in this, sir, in all honesty.”

Dalmarn blinked and tilted his head, peering at him curiously. He didn’t angrily retort nor say it was of little importance. No, he looked at Rian as if he wasn’t quite sure he had heard him correctly.

“You… involved me?” the man asked slowly.

“Yes, and I am sorry for it. Another noble family, the Gazifs, is hunting me down because of a marriage match and hired the assassin to -”

Dalmarn interrupted, “An interesting theory, but there is one problem with it: these were not our first encounters with this assassin.”

“- kill me and… Come again?”

“What Dalmarn is trying to explain,” Sachiel said softly, “is they weren’t hunting him because of you. They were hunting you because of us.”

He could only stare at them at first before he burst out laughing. When they didn’t join in, he coughed, “I apologize, but I am afraid that makes little sense. Every chance he got, the assassin tried to kill me. There was a motive, an opportunity and the Gazif family certainly had the means. The one time I left the academy, someone followed me. My family and I even located the money they would have used to pay for it. If I had any more evidence, I could go to a Gazif judge and have them convict themselves!”

Despite his words, Sachiel gave him a look of purest guilt and started to pace. “Let me first say this: I am truly sorry that you were ever put in danger. Here’s what happened: I am searching for a man by the name of Heldot Sharlin. He’s a criminal and a former member of the Crimson Order, who abandoned it after the previous king’s death to follow a path of violence and bloodshed. Many of the sellswords and bandits who have caused trouble to the east are at his beck and call, and I fear he plans worse, a campaign of conquest, but I’ve been unable to stop him myself. That’s why I came here, seeking the help of an old friend,” She nodded to Dalmarn, “both because of his prowess and skill… and that every other person I had come to for aid had been killed.”

“A brilliant plan, of course, nearly getting me killed by the same man,” Dalmarn growled.

“I had nowhere else to turn!” Sachiel cried out, her voice having the frustrated air of someone who had gone over the same exact argument several times before, “Had I any other option, I would have taken it, but I didn’t and Heldot needs to be stopped…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “None of that matters now though. The point is, with every other person I had already turned to dead by his hands, the assassin was aiming to finish the job before I could get Dalmarn’s aid. He attacked us in the corridors because he thought with me aiding you I would be too distracted to protect myself.”

Rian could only shake his head. “But the moment he got between you and me, he tried to kill me!”

“He only did that in order to escape. The moment he cast his spell, he retreated. He wanted me to choose between protecting you and capturing him.”

“That could be the case, but the one time I attempted to leave the academy, I was followed. You do not do that if someone is a mere incidental target.”

“Except that wasn’t him,” she said. “I was the one following you.”

“What? Why?”

“Not out of ill intent,” Sachiel quickly reassured him, before continuing. “I knew that this assassin was after me and the ones I had asked to aid me, but it seemed possible that he might have thought it was you and not Dalmarn I sought. Dalmarn has been a friend for a long time, but I talked with you before your Second Trial, was behind closed doors with you during it, then escorted you to the Healing Ward afterward, before being the one who saw you first when you woke up. Then you came to visit me after your recovery. To a casual observer, it was entirely plausible to assume I had come to ask for your aid as a noble of House Miel. So while I doubted you were the target, I dared not rule it out completely for fear of throwing your life away, so I followed you to make sure you would be safe.”

Rian digested this. It explained a lot. He had wondered how he and Alensia had so easily lost their pursuer on the way back to the academy. He’d chalked it up to their speed and the guards getting too close for the assassin to risk it, but if the person following them had been Sachiel, she would not have wanted to alarm them or risk a fight. “But if you thought I could have been a target then, what makes you so sure I was not the target today?”

“A few reasons: that he did nothing when you left the academy and he ignored potential opportunities each time you had to stay in the healing ward both made it unlikely, but most of all, if you genuinely were the target, he never would have attacked you here.”

“What do you mean?”

Dalmarn laughed mockingly. “The reason is simple: me. I am many things, some perhaps less than pleasant, but the one thing I am most known for is my exploits in the Orc Wars. You were standing right next to the best bodyguard you could have asked for in his home territory. Targeting you here would have been utter foolishness.” He shook his head in amusement. “Conversely, if he were targeting me, his plan was both simple and effective: come in pretending to be a student, get me to drop my guard and take me out with either the bomb or his Sacrelith. It would have all gone perfectly save for the one thing he could not have predicted: that you were here begging me for help.”

Rian bristled at the description but couldn’t deny Dalmarn’s point. With the benefit of hindsight, why would the assassin target him here when he could have easily ambushed him in the darkness before or after he left. They’re right. I wasn’t the target. But then...

“That makes sense,” he said, before rounding on Sachiel, “but if this is all true, then why did you not tell me what was going on? I was terrified! I thought that any second I might die and we have spoken on several occasions. Surely you could have taken a few moments and at least told me your suspicions. Even if you were not certain at first, there must have been some point that you realized I was terrified for nothing!”

She met his gaze and nodded, “It’s true, but there was a good reason for what I did. So long as you and your family thought the assassin was after you, there were more guards and better security, both from the academy itself as well as the Crimson Order. One of the new guards saw someone entering the catacombs tonight and let me know. It is why I’m here now… although I was admittedly a bit too late for the battle itself.” She smiled sheepishly. “If I had told you, that might not have happened, and perhaps the assassin would have dealt with Dalmarn without your unexpected intervention. I’m sorry for the worry you endured, as well as the danger you faced tonight but at the time I thought it was best. For what little it is worth, I would have notified you when you left.”

He glared at her - he had no interest in being used - but at least the secrecy had apparently served some purpose. “So then, does this mean that it is all finished then? That I am safe?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Not yet anyway. By helping take out his assassin, you have interfered and Heldot will probably want you dealt with sooner or later.” She paused, considering. “Still, if you were to hide for a while and make no further moves against him, I imagine that he might move on eventually… or so I hope,” the way she mumbled out the last bit showed she didn’t believe either.

“Those options are horrible. Either I die like the proverbial dog in the street or I hide for what might be the rest of my life. And it is all because of something I was never a part of in the first place.”

Sachiel winced. “I’m sorry. If I’d thought this would happen -”

His anger boiled over. “You would have what? Kept that a secret from me too? That is all you seem to be good at, you -”

Dalmarn interrupted them both. “Or, instead of dying or hiding, you could take a third option.” He looked at Sachiel meaningfully before turning back to Rian. “The situation is dangerous but that very danger also presents an opportunity. If someone were to capture Heldot, it would provide an incredible service to Rasgor… one even a king would extol them for,” he smirked, “and Sachiel came here looking for someone with the skills of a mage...”

Rian's heart stopped before pounding at the words. What he was implying… “So if that someone were to go with her and succeed…”

“There would be no doubt as to their capability. Who would even bother asking such a person to complete the Mage Trials? They would be confirmed as a mage immediately.”

Rian sucked in his breath. To hunt down a criminal whose subordinate had nearly taken his life with ease… the danger of such an endeavor was beyond telling, but at the same time, it gave him one last glittering chance to reach his dream when every door was closed to him. The only question was: did he dare take it?

Sachiel’s thoughts took a different turn as she growled. “What exactly are you trying to do, Dalmarn? I would protect him to the best of my ability, but you know just how dangerous it is. Someone who hasn’t even managed to pass his Trials? Are you so keen to avoid the danger that you would send him to his death?”

Dalmarn looked at Rian and sighed. “When it comes to combat skills, the boy is untalented, mediocre at best...”

He resisted the urge to pout but he couldn’t help his glare. Yes, the battle with Alensia had been humiliating, but surely it wasn’t that bad.

Perhaps ironically, it was Dalmarn himself who came to his defense, continuing with, “Yet he does have certain skills. He was the one to realize that the person coming into my chambers was the assassin and alerted me in a manner that was decently subtle, and he is certainly capable of coming up with creative solutions to the problems he faces, as you yourself pointed out during his Second Trial. Additionally, his skill with the non-combat forms of magic is apparently significant to the point that he tutored the very person who defeated him in the Third Trial.”

She narrowed her eyes but seemed to be mulling it over. “All true, I suppose,” she said, reluctance dripping from every word, “but that still does not explain why I should go with him and not someone experienced like you.”

“Motivation. I am not like you, full of youth and determination. I am old and tired. I fought my battles and want nothing more than to reap the fruits of my labors. This boy? Look at him.” He indicated Rian with a wave of his hand. “He knows the danger, he nearly died half an hour ago, and yet you can see how he’s still considering this all the same. He…” Dalmarn swallowed, “I look in his eyes and I see someone who wants nothing more than to get what he wants, who will face any danger and overcome any challenge to obtain it.”

A snort escaped Sachiel. “I wonder where you might recognize that from,” She looked Rian over carefully, visibly weighing Dalmarn’s words before she finally nodded. “Very well, your lordship. Allow me to ask you: do you wish to join me on my hunt?”

The world seemed to close in upon him. This was it; if he accepted, it would grant him the opportunity he had so desperately sought, yet he found himself unsure. He’d have to leave his family behind to go off on this quest, putting himself in the greatest of dangers. As much as he wanted to become a mage, could he really do that?

‘It’s all your fault.’

Once more, his hesitation faded. He knew what he had to do. The risk was incredible but becoming a mage was his life’s dream. Nothing was of greater importance and, if he let this last chance go, he would regret it for the rest of his life. He had no choice.

He met her gaze. “I have no wish to die, but if risking my life is my way to become a mage, then so be it. I will join you on this quest, Miss Licourt.”

“Very well. We leave at dawn.”

***

The corridors lightened, torches and shadows giving way to stained-glass windows as he made his way to the tower containing his quarters. Compared to a few days ago, the crowd had shrunk vastly, perhaps a quarter of it remaining. Almost all the ones still walking the corridors bore cloaks of white or blue though, like Alensia and unlike him. They looked at him strangely as they passed, and he couldn’t blame them. He certainly looked out of place.

The journey was without incident. No further attackers, members of the Crimson Order, nor even guards accosted him, leaving him alone to make plans for his journey to come. There would be a few logistical issues, he anticipated - he would need a horse of his own, and it would be difficult to pack everything needed. His family would need to be informed, for certain.

His mind was afire with possibility now. It was a dangerous path but his dream lived anew.

Speaking of the man, Soren was there to meet him in their quarters with a face that was all too pale. An expression of relief passed over him before he narrowed his eyes, “Rian, you were supposed to be recovering! Where have you been?”

Fighting an assassin and nearly dying, the more deadpan part of his mind replied. Instead of that, though, he stepped inside and said, “My apologies, but I needed to ask some questions.”

“Some questions?” Soren’s frown deepened. “We finally got the retainers here and you went traipsing off! We’re leaving just after dawn tomorrow, we have to schedule meetings with the marriage candidates, plan to deal with the Gazifs and continue instructing you in handling your duties -” He faltered, peering more closely at Rian, his gaze flickering over the smudged face and the torn and burned robes. “Rian…” he said softly, “what happened?”

“To start with, we will need to call off any plans in regards to the Gazifs...” He relayed to Soren everything that had happened and all he’d discovered, minus the offer from Sachiel and Dalmarn.

“So the Gazifs were uninvolved…” he murmured. “Well, that solves one problem and once you return home we can hope this Heldot will realize your lack of involvement and leave you be; if he is foolish enough to persist, we will give him a reminder of just who he’s dealing with.” Soren nodded to himself with a savage grin. His face softened though as he turned back to Rian. “Most of all though, I am glad you are well. You came within an inch of death and survived, and behaved in a manner befitting House Miel.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, his face heating up. “I tried my best.”

“Indeed, although we hope you never are faced with such peril again,” he chuckled, “which is why it’s a good thing that you aren’t going to this cursed academy. Imagine the danger you’d be in if you’d come. Assassins striking while alone and away from our holdings. Your life would have been in danger every minute.”

It would have been worth the risk, was Rian’s immediate thought.

Soren didn’t notice his lack of response. “Still, this is good news and beyond that, we’ve managed to get a tentative agreement from the Carib family as to your suit - oddly enough, they already want to meet you personally. This might change once they find out about the attacks though, so we will need to act quickly and keep this secret as long as possible. Beyond that, you will be taught how to make use of your newfound Sacrelith as well as the responsibilities you will face.”

He froze. He had forgotten about that, so concerned with the danger of his path that he forgot the simple truth: if he went on this journey, he would be unable to fulfill any of his responsibilities. How could he fulfill his duty if he was on a quest for a knight in the middle of nowhere?

He thought fast. Before the events of today, there was no chance, but after defeating the assassin… “Perhaps,” he ventured, “with the assassin out of the way, might I be able to try the Mage Trials again in the future…?” He trailed off at the disappointed look on Soren’s face.

“Rian,” Soren said quietly, “I admit that I have never cared much for this goal of yours, but your family and I were willing to tolerate it as long as you were successful. That did not happen, so now it is time to do what must be done. You are the spare to the Miel family, with all the duties that entails, and although that assassin may be gone, your life is still at risk. While you acquitted yourself well against him using your spellcraft I admit, you still needed the aid of that Dalmarn fellow - another commoner - to avoid dying at his hands.”

“I could become stronger...” he said, his voice wavering. “Like you said, I did acquit myself well.”

“Perhaps you could if you had time. With all the duties that you are about to face, you will have little chance to practice your spellcraft. And what would happen if another assassin struck in the meantime?” He looked at Rian and sighed. “I know you love this… stuff, but you have to remember: beyond any individual, the Miel family is what matters. It may be a lovely dream, but are you truly so selfish as to put your desires over the needs of House Miel?”

The words were calm, even kind, but they ripped right into the heart of Rian. If he left with Sachiel, not only would he be risking his life, but he would be abandoning his family, throwing his responsibilities to the wind. Risking his life was one thing, but to harm his family?

I… I can’t do it.

Soren continued speaking, but to Rian it was as if a tide were washing over him, and in the end, when Soren looked at him expectantly, he couldn’t find himself remembering so much as one thing he heard.

Exhausted, both in body and in spirit, he gave in. “Very well… that will all be fine. You - you go ahead and get it all started.”

Soren nodded, a note of sadness in his eyes. “I am sorry, for what it is worth. One day though, you will understand. It is the best option for everyone.”

Maybe it was. Perhaps one day he would look back and realize that this was the right thing to do. He just couldn’t imagine it rig, no matter how hard he tried. Still, he had his duty.

“For the Miel,” he whispered.

The rest of the conversation passed by in an hours-long grey blur, Soren arranging their plans for the coming days in the finest detail.

When he staggered back to his bed, in spite of the assassin’s defeat, the mirror reflected a haggard, defeated man. There he laid, his eyes hot but dry, all tears long cried out.

I'd defeated the assassin, part of him wanted to argue, albeit with the help of Dalmarn. Why wasn’t that enough?

It wasn’t though, and he knew that. In the Miel family, everyone had to make sacrifices for the good of the whole, and when his dreams resulted in weakness and mockery for House Miel… well, they had to be sacrificed too. He had his duty and that was what truly mattered.

So this was it. There was no more time for tears and what-could-have-beens. Tomorrow, he would inform Sachiel he’d changed his mind, bid farewell to the Royal Academy and return home, never to come back again.

Still, he got up once more. He had his duties to come and there was no more time for regrets, but before that there was one last thing he had to do before returning home, one last responsibility he needed to fulfill.

***

It was late. Nobody walked the corridors and the windows reflected only darkness. In the empty night, the sound of a fist pounding on the door echoed through the hall.

In any other circumstances, Rian would have waited for morning to come. Now though, he persisted. This couldn’t wait.

Finally, the door creaked open and Alensia peered out, a thick night robe covering everything but her narrowed eyes and the Spellstone in her hand. “Whoever this is, you’d better have a damned good -” Her gaze fell upon him. “Rian? What are you doing here?”

“My apologies for coming so late, but I am leaving tomorrow… and I did not wish to go without bidding farewell to a friend.”

“A friend, eh?” Her face darkened, not a surprise given how their last conversation had gone. Still, anger or no, she held the door open, letting him inside.

It was dark within save for a single enchanted light and Maleth was snoozing in bed, having kicked the sheets half off of him, but even with what little Rian could see, it was plain that the room was barren of any possessions - even what few clothes they owned had vanished.

“We were getting ready to move into official student quarters,” Alensia said in explanation. Her voice was soft, but her narrowed eyes made it clear that was to avoid waking her son rather than any warm feeling toward him. “We had everything brought over tonight, but Maleth fell asleep before it was done, so we’re waiting until morning.” She crossed her arms defensively. “It’s going to be bigger, with a kitchen and bathing room.”

“Oh…” he said, “that is nice.”

“Yes, it is,” she said in clipped tones. “Now, you came to say goodbye, didn’t you? Have at it then.”

Rian winced. She might have let him inside but her anger remained, and he couldn’t blame her. He was no better - a mess of emotions, everything wrapped up in a twisted knot. He wanted to be happy for her, he truly did, but resentment still festered.

He took a deep breath to tamp it down. “I know that you did not intend to harm me, but I think that I will always remember that my dream is in ashes because you defeated me and I hate that.”

She flinched a little before crossing her arms over her chest, her expression hardening.

“Still,” he continued, “I would hate it even more if I ruined our friendship over some childish resentment. As such,” he bowed deeply, “I want you to know that I am truly sorry for how I took that disappointment out on you. You did not deserve my cruelty and I ask that you allow me to be your friend once more.”

Several moments passed in silence, but he maintained his bow until finally there was a little sigh and Alensia drew him into a hug. He hesitated, but let her pull him close.

It was warm, oddly reminding him of the hugs his parents used to give him when he was younger.

“It’s alright, truly,” she said. “After what happened… What you said hurt, but I know how badly you wanted to become a mage. If you hadn’t been bothered, you would have had less humanity than those golems we fought.”

“Thank you...” He enjoyed the hug a little longer before ending it and clearing his throat, “What will they be having you do as a student?”

“From what I heard, they will be starting with a review of the basics,” she said, accepting the change of subject with a nod. “Like what you helped me learn, but a lot more of it. I’ll be honest though, while I’m looking forward to learning everything, what matters most is that I won’t have to rely upon the charity of others, that I will be able to take care of my son.”

“That is good to hear, you deserved it,” Rian finally said, and it was true. No matter how broken he was, he wouldn’t let himself be consumed in bitterness for her well-earned success. It was good, he supposed, that his defeat wasn’t meaningless. “Tell me, what it is going to be like?”

At first, she was hesitant. Concern was visible in her eyes but she began to speak of classes and subjects, of learning things he’d dreamed of and while sadness remained, he began to smile a little. Her words lulled him almost to sleep and he imagined what it would have been like to learn with her; that would have to be enough.

When Alensia was finished, he nodded slowly. “It sounds like you are going to have quite the time of it. Perhaps you could let me know in some letters?”

“Of course! But it won’t be long until you’re here to join me. Soon enough, you’ll be learning the same things I am.” She chuckled, unable to suppress an impish grin. “Perhaps it will be my turn to tutor you!”

If only… if only. “It is lovely to imagine, but I am afraid it will not happen.”

“Awfully confident, aren’t you?”

Rian laughed, but it was bitter, without any semblance of mirth. “It is not that. I can never return, not next month, next year or next decade. My family will not let me.”

“What?! Why? Wait…” Alensia’s eyes went wide with horror. “It couldn’t be me. It was just one defeat.”

“Yes, however…” It took some time, but he explained everything and how, even though he had defeated the assassin, his defeat at her hands had been so humiliating for the family’s prestige that they refused to let him try again. Instead, he would be married off, while his skills would slowly be torn away from him by the Sacrelith training.

With each word, more of the blood drained from Alensia’s face, until at the end she looked like she belonged more amongst the dead than the living. “But it’s your dream to become a mage, isn’t it?”

“My family does not need one.”

“That’s all you’ve been saying!” she shouted, before remembering Maleth’s presence. After confirming that he was still asleep, she continued more softly. “You keep saying ‘My family wants this, my family wants that.’ Is this what you want?”

“Does it matter? They could be in danger if I continue. It is my responsibility and I cannot be selfish.” He looked at her pale face. “Tell me, if your dreams could hurt your son, would you chase them?”

“I-I -”

“Well?” he challenged her.

Alensia sighed, letting her shoulders fall reluctantly. “No, not if Maleth would be hurt, but,” her eyes hardened, “there is a difference there. A parent is supposed to sacrifice to protect and take care of their child, not the other way around, and this…” she shook her head. “I don’t know the ways of nobles, but our lives cannot just be about our families. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes. So, again, what do you want?”

He couldn’t meet her gaze. “I want to become a mage but… I cannot.”

Alensia squeezed his shoulder, her face full of understanding. “Listen, I love my son. I’ve loved him since before he was born and I’ll love him his whole life and long after. Even if he did something I didn’t want, even if it was something vile and wicked, I’d still love him!” She smiled. “This isn’t ‘what stockings will I wear in the morning’. I know how much this means to you and how badly you want it. If your family really, truly loves you, then they will understand. They will forgive you, won’t they?”

“I…” Rian thought of everything, from the kindness and worry they’d shared to the patronizing and disappointment, but above all, he remembered the family words. Was this acting in a manner befitting the Miel? “I do not know. Maybe…”

“It’s your choice and your life. You need to be the one to make it, not them.”

“Then I… then I…” The idea tore him in two. Either follow his dreams or fulfill his duty. Dream or duty, he could not choose both. “I do not know!” he cried, his voice breaking.

Her smile was sad but understanding. “Which one will you regret more?”

Logic. She wanted him to use logic. He swallowed, trying to clear his mind. If he followed Sachiel’s path, he would be abandoning his family for the sake of his own desires. He might die and even if not, even if one day he came home... while he hoped otherwise, he could understand if they never forgave him.

The logical choice was obvious. The danger was great and there was no way he could fulfill his responsibilities, no benefit for the family to this hunt..  he paused. Or was there?

If he were to help catch Heldot, that would not only mean him becoming a mage, it would mean him catching a dangerous criminal wanted by the king. If he succeeded, it would mean prestige, honors and rewards, all things that his family could parley it into greater alliances and prowess. What were some magisterial duties against being personally honored by the king as a hero?

The risk was incredible, his death probable, but if he were to succeed… it would be worth it without doubt. It would not harm his family but lift it to new heights, like his ancestor Arnla had before him.

By staying home, he would be safe, he would fulfill his duty, his family would be proud of him… and everything he’d ever dreamed of would crumble to ashes. He would never return to the Royal Academy, never see Alensia, Maleth or Pelric, never learn everything he had always wanted… and never be able to make up for his mistakes.

That made his decision.

“I love my family,” he finally said. “They mean so much to me, you can barely imagine. My father taught me to ride horses, my mother, numbers and the importance of ruling well, and my sister was almost my best friend growing up. And they might never forgive me for doing this… but if I do not, I will regret it for the rest of my life.” He took a deep breath and killed his heart. “So I choose to go.”

For a long moment, the only sound was Maleth’s snoring, then Alensia closed her eyes, smiling her approval. “Very well, I wish you the best of luck.”

“Until we meet again…”

One last time, they bid each other farewell and he returned to the quiet, darkened corridors. Maybe he would see her again, maybe his defeat at the Third Trial would lead to her achieving great things. But tonight, he closed the door behind him.

***

Sachiel was at the gate as she had promised, her cloak wrapped around her to ward off the cool morning air. A dappled grey mare stood beside her, a number of packs already tied to it; they each bulged with the contents within, whispering that this would be a long journey, even if he made it to the end. The fact she kept her Sacrelith sheathed at her belt was equally vocal - even with the assassin dead and that glimmering black blade in her possession, she wanted it close at hand just in case.

She surveyed the single large pack he carried on his shoulders and her eyes knit together briefly. “Are you certain, your lordship?”

The cold breeze blew against his face. Was he certain? Doubts still plagued him. His family, the risks and the journey all concerned him. Danger was before him while safety laid behind.

‘What do you want?’

He looked back one more time, where the silver spires promised to wait for his return with knowledge beyond words. Miles beyond that to the west laid his family’s domains, fields of grain and his loved ones smiling at the sight of him. If they knew what he was doing now… he hoped they would understand once he succeeded.

He would be back, he vowed, and he would return in glory. When he captured Heldot, his shame would be erased, he would become a Mage and through such an action he would bring pride to House Miel, strengthening it in the eyes of all. The ends would justify the means.

Rian took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and stepped forward.

“I am ready.”

END

About The Author

Charles Cackler

My name is Charles, and I work hard at my office job every day. When not at work or spending time with my family, I love to read. I believe that books are something to be enjoyed, and if the story teaches us something new, or gives us a new perspective or thought...well, that's good too.

May your reading of my stories bring you joy.