Darkness of the Heart

Chapter 1: A Warning of Failure

Seventeen-year-old Rikash Salmalin wiped his eyes furiously, his hand coming away moist with tears. He sniffed, and scrubbed his hand on his tunic.

It just wasn't fair, that's all.

His father was the most powerful mage in the Eastern Land, probably the world, his mother was the Wildmage, his sister was a shape shifter, and he had barely enough magic to fill a teacup.

So, somehow, he had ended up in Carthak. How? So his parents wouldn't have to worry about having to protect him. After all, they were rather important people, and couldn't afford to have their helpless son kidnapped and held hostage. So they had sent him to school in Carthak, and given him a new name. Well, part of a new name. They had decided it would be fine for him to keep Rikash, because, while it wasn't a common name, it had been used once or twice before.

His mother had suggested Draper for his new last name, and after a couple minutes of heated discussion, his father had agreed, if slightly reluctantly. So here he was, Rikash Draper, at a Carthaki school for the Gifted, when he couldn't even boil water without a fire.

And that was precisely why he was crying.

From his first day at the school, he had stood out among the other students. And in a little under a fortnight, they could hope to be accepted into the University, but Rikash would not follow. Already his teachers showed their displeasure at his insistence that he apply for the great university, as when the men from the University came to review the applicants, they would surely not be impressed by the scrappy youth with no magical power, a weakling to boot.

He knew he was a weakling, had never tried to convince himself otherwise. He knew because his parents first choice for him had been to join the King's Own, or the Queen's Riders, both of which he had been laughed out of on the first day. The only good thing about being shipped to Carthak was that he had gotten away from all the whispers and mocking smiles from those at court.

Unfortunately, there were whisperers here too, but it didn't stop at that. With a sigh, Rikash touched a delicate finger to his cheekbone, just below his left eye, and winced. His finger, slightly swollen from being bent back on it's self, was resting on top of a fading purple bruise.

He had, of course, told the professors that he had tripped in his quarters, and clipped his eye on his desk, and they, of course, had known he was lying. But that had been the first thing his sister had taught him when she had visited from her own school, so wise in the ways of the world at the age of eleven, to never tell who you fought with.

But Sarralyn had never been beaten on by her fellow students. She had never had to hide bruises or cuts. She had never had to make excuses that only made her sound clumsy and stupid. But, of course she hadn't, because she was everything he wasn't, strong, powerful, and charming. The only thing he had going for him was his memory, which allowed him to remember anything, from anytime, which was the only reason he hadn't flunked out yet.

Thinking of his nineteen-year-old sister, back home in Tortall, brought the tears back in force. This time he didn't bother to wipe them away. There was no one around to see him cry but the servants, and even they seemed to be absent for the most part. It was nearing ten in the evening, and all his fellow students were away studying in one of the larger libraries.

He had been with them, reading a book on magical theory, before the whispers, laughs, and stares had driven him away. His book, the subject of which they had a test on the next day, was still sitting open on the table, having been forgotten in his haste to escape. He knew he should go back and retrieve it, but was too cowardly to do so.

So now he would fail the test, which would make him even more undesirable in the eyes of the University. Not that he had any hopes of ever attending it, unless, somehow, overnight, he gained power. Real power. It was a dream he had had his entire life, ever since he had learned how little he could do, how useless he was. It was a dream he still had today, one that left him anxious every time he woke, hopeful that this morning would be the morning. But every time, when he lit the candle he had beside his bed for this purpose and this purpose only, the same meager fire of his Gift answered him. The candle's wick would lit, only to die out seconds later, not having even enough power to make the flame substantial.

He didn't know what he would do after he graduated, only to be turned down by the university.

Rikash leaned against the stone wall of the hallway, letting it support him. His tanned skin was a sharp contrast to the white stone. Even in appearance he stood out among the other, Carthaki born, students. His skin, though tanned from the constant exposure to the sun, was practically white in comparison to his fellow students, and his blue eyes, currently filled with tears, and yet another ting that set him a part from his parents, were unnatural to them. This however, he didn't mind so much, imagining how they gawk at his parents' close friend, Alanna the Lioness, with her famed purple eyes.

Thankfully, they couldn't mock him for his cloths, as they were a uniform the school required all students to wear. They were quite the image, dressed all in white in such a colorful country. The only color the students were allowed was a belt, in any color they desired. Rikash's was royal blue, chosen to match his eyes. Other students stretched this rule as far as they could, threading as many as six different strands of color around their waists.

Said uniform was currently getting crumpled against the wall, and was soaked through where his chin rested against it. Rikash sobbed quietly, drawing little or no attention to himself when a servant bustled by, large woven basket in hand. Whether the servant girl even glanced his way, he couldn't say, the tears succeeding in clouding his vision.

When another girl rushed past, this one carrying a large bundle of cloth, Rikash put a white sleeve to his eyes, drying them at the expense of his uniform. Standing up straighter, he straightened the wrinkled clothes with one hand, the other untangling his bright blue belt.

A pair of male servants, carrying a bench between them, narrowly missed flattening Rikash against the white stone. He scowled and moved so that he was blocking their way. Hoping that his eyes weren't too puffy, he held up a hand. "Excuse me, but what reason do you have for coming this way so late at night?"

The men glanced each other, both his elder by several years, before setting the bench down at their feet. The taller of the two, a dark skinned Carthaki native, bowed. "Begging your pardon sir, but has sir forgotten the visit from the Royal Carthaki University tomorrow? We are preparing a room for their viewing of the students, sir. If sir would excuse us?"

Rikash nodded, stepping aside to let them pass. They picked up their bench and did so, inclining their heads to him. When they had disappeared around the corner, Rikash shuddered. He had forgotten that tomorrow were the preliminary interviews, with several delegates from the University coming to see the year's candidates. No decisions would be made, but they would be taking notes in their heads, asking questions and demonstrations of the students.

Not wanting to be any worse off tomorrow then he had to be, Rikash wandered in the direction the servants had gone, not to the Exhibition Hall, but to one of the smaller libraries near it. There he could hope to find a book on magical history, maybe the biography of a Carthaki sorcerer. At the very least, he could sleep undisturbed until morning.

Rikash had a relatively long stride, having inherited some height from his father, but still the hurrying servants passed him, one after another, some remembering to bow or incline their heads, others too involved in their tasks. He kept to the side of the walkway, keeping out of their way as much as he could.

It appeared he would have to return to Tortall soon. Unsurprisingly, this idea did not fill him with excitement, after all, he had been living in Carthak since he had turned ten, returning only to visit, or apply for the various fighting forces. As of now, he hadn't been home in just over two years, since shortly before his fifteenth birthday. He had taken an extended holiday from the school, under the guise of a death in the family, while in reality he had been attending his sister's own graduation from school. She, of course, had been accepted into the Royal University in Tortall, and was nearing the end of her second year there.

His parents couldn't have been prouder.

He himself had been proud, had cheered along with the rest when she had been handed that small scrying mirror, the name of the University inscribed on the back. Inside, he had been sulking, having realized he would never make his parents that proud, never have a crowd applauding for him. It had been, and still was, a dreary thought.

By the time he got to the library in question, he had taken so much time walking there that the bell was tolling the hour, and sending everyone to bed. Everyone but him, that is. He would remain in that library until the first light of dawn shown through the oversized windows and woke him, only to be greeted with panic and despair. The test would begin in three hours, followed by the arrival of the University representatives, and he had slept with a book on the conjuring of fire under his head for most of the night.

The bell tolled again, crying the hour to any awake, and Rikash was overcome by waves of anxiety. He opened a book on magic in the early 300s, and started reading.