The Black Mage: Candidate (24 page)

The first thing I noticed was the sun. When I stepped out into the arena I could feel it beating down my back, blistering against the crystalline glass of sand that crushed beneath my boots. It was midday and the glare was almost directly over the stadium.

I walked the five minutes—the arena was that large—to the stadium’s center with the rest of the second-rank candidates. Everyone was dressed in similar fashion, tight leather vests and loose trousers for movement. Some—like me—wore fitted armguards, or in two cases: shoulder armor. One even wore a full chest plate—something I sincerely believed they were regretting now that they were out in such a humid arena.

As I was studying the other candidates, I realized two things.
One
: I was the only girl in the lot. Thanks to Byron’s legacy of bias he had never awarded a good rank to any female in his time serving the apprenticeship. I was the only exception—not because I was the only girl worthy, but because it was I who had finally drawn the Black Mage’s attention to Byron’s injustice.

Two
was Merrick, Priscilla’s younger cousin. Somehow that insufferable boy had finished his ascension one month before and been awarded my same rank. Considering his lack of skill, I couldn’t put it past the training master to have awarded him the rank on purpose. Byron had known my old mentee would get under my skin.

And he did. “I know we aren’t
supposed
to make alliances, but the judge can hardly punish us for going after the girl. She’s the weakest. We all know Byron only gave her our rank because she was betrothed to the prince.”

I was mere seconds from ripping his face off. Merrick
knew
Darren hadn’t proposed until
after
the ascension. But disputing the truth would get me nowhere.

Still, listening to some of the older men chuckle at the boy’s joke was pushing my patience. I pretended to be oblivious, listening to the herald announce the candidates. His voice rang out in the arena thanks to a mage’s assistance.

“So, Ryiah, how does it feel knowing you are going to lose?” Merrick’s voice broke my meditation, and I saw the blond mage grinning.

“How does it feel knowing Byron only gave you this rank because he knows how much I loathe you?” I spat.

“Ohhhh!” Merrick raised his hands in mock surrender. “The girl got mad. Watch out, everyone. She’s going to get us!”

My hands formed fists in reply.

“CANDIDATES, PLEASE TAKE YOUR PLACES ALONG THE ARENA. NO LESS THAN FIFTY FEET APART. IN TWO MINUTES WE WILL BEGIN THE TEN SECOND COUNTDOWN.”

I began my jog toward the edge of the stadium. I wouldn’t reach it, of course, but there was no point in keeping such close range with the others. Perhaps some of them would battle it out before they reached me. I wasn’t sure if everyone else planned to follow Merrick’s scheme, but I wasn’t about to risk it.

I was still jogging as the countdown began. Putting as much distance between myself and the others as possible. Impatience and a restless rage were pumping through my veins. As the herald declared “ONE” I realized Merrick had done me a favor.

Because now I wanted to win.

****

I can do this. I made it this far. I can do this.
I repeated the mantra over and over in my head as I watched the other candidates start sprinting across the arena, each trying to get a quick layout of the field without actually engaging in battle.

I noticed more than a few of them looking for “the girl.” I knew this because I saw one point to me when the judge was looking the other way.

Well, two could play that game. My eyesight had always been better than most, and I could make out the oldest mages in a small triangle formation at the left side of the arena. They might’ve had too much pride to acknowledge their declining potential, but they were almost certainly lacking in brains to be clustered together for the taking. I couldn’t be the only candidate who had noticed their age.

I wasn’t. I kept one eye on my side of the arena as I watched a pack of five candidates approach the older ones from their front. No point in trying to hide their attack. The arena was a desert. There was nowhere to run.

The older candidates didn’t stand a chance. I watched two call on their magic as the other fled. It was the smartest move that one could make—to win the Candidacy with gray hairs on your head you would have to conserve as much magic as possible.

I didn’t have much opportunity to reflect. At that moment I spotted Merrick and another trailing mage at my left. There was another on my right. I had two choices: let myself get backed into a wall fighting three mages at once, or take my chances and run toward the stadium’s center and pray there wasn’t a collection of candidates awaiting my approach.

I chose the latter.

“You can’t run from us forever!”
Merrick’s screech followed me as I tore across the sand.

I ignored him, putting all my effort into the gapping distance between. My lungs burned from inhaling small grains of sand I kicked up along the run. I paid them no heed. Instead, I forced my attention to the casting I would need most: defense.

The globe went up not a moment too soon. Seconds later there was the sharp whistle of metal on wind, and then three subsequent thuds against the back of my shield.

My casting shuddered but held, flickering violet in waves as the candidates’ javelins bounced off its surface. A moment later their weapons were gone; the mages had called off their castings.

I kept the shield up as I jogged toward the center.

The ground quivered beneath my boots. That was the only warning I had.

I dove toward the left, rolling hard on my side and blessing the arena for being sand instead of the marble training floor of the king’s palace.

Two seconds later a fissure broke out—not two feet from where I had come. It spread across the arena’s floor like a wildfire.

I hadn’t been the only target. In seconds there was a web of shallow tunnels. I could hear muffled shouts as unsuspecting candidates got caught unawares. The pits weren’t deep enough for anyone to get stuck, but they were enough to give several others an advantage in the moment.

I stifled a chuckle as I pushed myself up off the ground.
That
was a casting I could respect. It was hardly the type of magic to win a match, but it was smart. The older mages in Ferren had stressed the importance of conserving magic and that was far more strategic than Merrick’s rapid fire of javelins (which were still hitting my shield as I ran).
Idiot
. He would run out of his magic far too quickly.

A shout to my right and I veered left to narrowly avoid two candidates who had stumbled into my path as they dueled with a sword in each arm and a shield at their backs.

Someone jumped out at my front and my first instinct was ice. White tendrils of frost tore up his blade and the burly mage was forced to drop his weapon with a whimper. I didn’t bother to stick around and engage—the center was too open.

I sprinted past. A minute later I heard another man’s cry of victory as he claimed the other’s surrender. Then another shout of surprise as that man got caught unawares by another.

I ran around a cluster of three mages engaged in a battle of their own. Each one of them was wearing a globe like my own, but I could already see their shields showing signs of exhaust—the deep magenta had faded to an almost crystalline violet. They would have to call off their magic soon or resort to pain casting,
if
they had it.

There was a clap like thunder and my casting threw me forward. I stumbled, palms and knees skinning the sand as my casting shuddered and died. I felt a wave of heat rise up at its absence as the sharp, bitter scent of singed hair assaulted my nostrils.

“T-told you c-can’t run!”

I cursed bitterly as I pulled myself to my feet, hardly daring to mourn the loss of my dignity for more than a second. Merrick and his friend were now throwing great balls of fire across the sand, huffing and puffing as they ran.

Fire? In an arena of sand?
Overconfident fools.
Every time they missed, their castings went out the second they hit the floor. Not to mention the boys’ aim was beyond sloppy. I called up another globe the second I caught my breath and focus, but it was hardly needed.

Still, I was getting tired of the chase. I could run like this all day, but it was clear Merrick wasn’t going to stop. I had figured I would lose him to others but the boy just wouldn’t give up. Even if he was slower and weaker, I had to take him out. Sooner or later someone else would try to engage me in a fight, and I couldn’t have Merrick as a distraction. Already he had caused me to lose focus, twice.

It was time to fight back.

I kept running my random course back and forth down the field until I was sure Merrick and I were far enough from the worst action at the center of the arena. I looked to the stadium wall, panting, and then turned my back to it, facing the highborn pest.

“Let’s do this,” I growled.

The boy stopped running, hand raised for another fireball, great globs of sweat dripping from his brow as he paused. He couldn’t hear me, but something must have shown in my eyes because I saw him take a step back.

This is for the mock battle in Port Langli.
I dropped my shield and my magic shot out like a bird of prey, a harsh whirl of shadow and the glimmer of metal in the sun.

For a moment his shield held, and then my sword broke the barrier and embedded itself in Merrick’s side. Another soared across the sand and the mage raised his arms, shouting surrender before my blade had even reached its target.

I dropped the casting before it could finish. Both blades disappeared and the boy collapsed, clutching his wound with a gasp as a red-robed healer raced out from our side of the arena.

I wondered if any of my family had watched me just win my first bout. The audience faces towering the stadium seats looked to be little more than tiny specks of yellow and brown in the hazy afternoon rays.

Thwap!

I cried out in surprise as a sudden, biting pain tore across my thigh. I just barely managed to call upon my shield as a storm of arrows rained down from above. My casting flickered and held while I examined my leg with an angry self-lecture.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why had I let my vanity get the best of me? I should have thrown up my shield the second Merrick surrendered, not preened like some foolish first-year over her first victory.

I gingerly pushed on the shaft, testing the arrow’s depth.
Ow, ow, owwww.
It had embedded itself deep. And it burned like someone had stuck a white-hot poker into my flesh. Perhaps they had. It wasn’t uncommon for mages to heat arrowheads before firing. It took more magic to cast, but if they hit, the cut was more effective than without.

The searing pain was enough to make me bite down on my lip, hard. I had plenty of practice with years of injury and pain casting but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. And the skin around the entry was already starting to swell. There was no way I could pull the head out without making the injury more at risk for infection, or bleeding out in the field which was a worse fate than the first.

Which means you are going to have to fight with the arrow in.
It was on my right leg, too.

I looked up and watched as three candidates appeared clutching bows—for the moment, not shooting. They didn’t need to just yet. I already knew what they were going to do, what I would have done if I were the hunter instead of the prey.

They were going to corner me against the wall. Shooting a quick glance to my left I saw two more approaching. Five on one. The odds were not in my favor.

I tested my weight on my leg and cringed. There was no way I could run fast enough to cut across the right in time. Not limping and hobbling like an old woman.

The leg was not the worst place to get shot, but it sure would have been nice if they hit my arm instead. An arm didn’t stop me from running.

Well, I had been saving my magic for a reason. Running away for the first fifteen minutes had kept me from expelling as much magic as the others. I hoped the ones cornering me had used a lot.

“All to her barrier!” one of the men shouted. “Break it!!!”

I dug my heels in and held as the five mages threw out a large gust of fire. The crackle and burn of flames against my shield while it slowly faded lighter and lighter. I would not be able to hold on forever. I could already feel the raging heat warming my flesh.

I couldn’t get cooked alive, but fortunately for me the others’ fighting had weakened their stamina quite a bit. A minute before my shield shattered their casting receded.

I did a quick intake of my surroundings, preparing for the next attack. My opponents were on their last bit of magic and whatever casting they chose next would be intended to end our little standoff. I could see the two to the left had chosen a sickle sword and a mace. They were farther away than the others. I still had time before they drew close enough to attack—and I could tell they were wary to approach with the three at my front lest they become additional victims to the others’ tally.

The three at my front were the true competition. If the four of us were lined up I wouldn’t even reach the shortest man’s shoulder. Not to mention the sheer bulk on the center mage—he was at least the size of my brothers. His arms were as thick as my legs. I prayed to the gods my magic held out long enough so I wouldn’t have to find out how hard he hit.

Frankly, I prayed to the gods I made it out of this corner with any magic at all. It was all I could hope that they ran out of magic first.

From the discreet glances they were shooting one another I could tell they were reluctant to cast more magic as well. Probably because they knew they still had to fight one another after they finished with me. The man at the end took a step forward, and then they traded another set of cautionary glances.

Then they charged.

I sucked air in through my teeth.

Every casting that crossed my mind would only reach two opponents at a time, but as a slight breeze drifted across the arena my dilemma was solved.