Firebrand 3 the acolyte, p.16
Firebrand 3: The Acolyte, page 16
The acolytes drank their last sips of water and resumed positions to fight again.
Once the class had ended and the students began filing out of the gymnasium, Maximilian appeared by Martel's side, slapping him on the shoulder. "Nordmark, it is about time we set sail again! I have not shared a drink with you in ages. We never celebrated your ascension to acolyte, for instance."
For Maximilian, any excuse to go out drinking would serve, but it also suited Martel, given he intended to take the mageknight's measure on a matter. "Sounds good. I get paid on Solday, so we can go out then."
"Pointless to wait that long." Maximilian waved his hand about dismissively. "My purse got enough for us both. You can cover next time we saddle up."
That left Martel without reasons to refuse. "The Golden Goose?"
"You read my mind."
After baths and supper, the pair of acolytes went to their tavern of choice. The place bustled with activity as ever; winter only gave people more reason to seek indoors for warmth, drink, and company. Each mageling armed with a full tankard of ale, they sat down. "Cheers to my man from Nordmark, an acolyte at twice the speed of any other!"
Martel joined in the cheer, accepting the accolade. Once they had sampled the brew and the mood was on the rise, he decided to broach his intended subject. "I understand that there's ways you can decide where you get sent, after you graduate."
"I doubt that will matter much in your case," Maximilian considered. "All battlemages these days get sent to the siege of Nahavand, from what I hear."
"Right, sure, I wasn't thinking about myself." Martel did not need any reminders of what awaited him. "But you mageknights, you get some influence over the choice, don't you?"
"Well, formally it is the Imperial administration that makes the decision. But if you know the people in the administration making that decision..." The young nobleman gave a wink and took another sip.
"That's what I understand. Because some mageknights will be protectors, but who determines whether they'll join the praetorians or go to the legions alongside battlemages?" More importantly, could the choice of a battlemage's protector be influenced?
"I cannot say what they claim to base the distinction on." Maximilian shrugged. "Supposedly, the best are offered a place in the Praetorian Guard, considering they guard the emperor's life."
"Offered? So they could refuse and go to the legions instead?" Martel raised his cup in front of his face, trying to hide his interest.
"Possibly. But who wants to be sent to the field when you can live at the Imperial palace?" Maximilian laughed. "At least mageknights serving as officers get a command and a chance to rise through the ranks. Protector to a battlemage, you are stuck at the bottom of the ladder. Little chance for glory either."
"I hadn't thought about that." Martel cleared his throat. "So you're happy that your father wants you to be a praetorian?"
"My wishes have nothing to with it. My father has spent money and political influence to get me in position that one day, I shall be captain of the Guard. I doubt he would accept all that being thrown away!" His laughter continued. "Besides, could you imagine me trailing some mage around on the battlefield? Me, the favoured son of the House of Marche?"
"A silly notion, I guess." Martel certainly felt silly having thought of it. At least Maximilian's obliviousness spared him further embarrassment.
"Ah, I am empty already. I will get us another round."
"Yeah, thanks." Martel drank the last of his mug and set it on the table between them.
FORTY-THREE
DAZZLING PEARLS
The next day during his apothecary shift, Mistress Rana appeared again. "We shall do the same tomorrow as last fiveday," she told Martel. "You'll join me upstairs during sixth bell instead of the second, and you may work to complete a potion from start to finish."
"Very well, mistress." Martel already felt excited. As soon as he had control of the basic method, he would have to look into recipes; maybe the library had a tome. Getting ingredients would be another obstacle, but the possibilities seemed endless.
"Don't forget to practise drawing the magic from the reagents. It requires hard work to learn, I know." The alchemist glanced at her apprentice, quietly chopping roots.
"I'll keep practising," he promised.
Mistress Rana left again, and Martel resumed his work. He glanced at Nora. "I was wondering…"
"Do you have a question about your work?" she asked with a light voice.
"Not as such. I was just thinking, as her apprentice, you must have learned how to do that thing. The magic to fill the ingredients for the elixir. Right?"
Despite the simplicity of the question, it still took a few moments for her to respond. "Yes."
"Any chance you could help me? Just any advice or explain how you learned it."
Her voice carried the same light tone as she spoke. "I think it's best we stick to our work and assignments here in the apothecary."
Martel put his tools aside to turn around and look at her, as she stood with her back turned to him. "What did I do to deserve this treatment?"
The chopping sound from her knife ceased. "You lied to me about what you really are. I think it's best we just keep to ourselves."
"I kept a secret. Just like you did." How quickly she had forgotten how Jasper had extorted her, and how Martel had helped her with that.
She turned around. "That is not the same. I sold a remedy that helps people, that's all. You know how dangerous fire-touched mages can be, and you hid that."
"Given how you treated me, can you blame me? Besides, when have I ever done anything to suggest I am a danger to anyone?"
"I've heard about you, your nights in the Chamber of Earth. Violence seems to come naturally to you," Nora retorted.
"Because that's what they teach me! That's the only magic I'm allowed to learn now. But I'm trying to find a different path. I'm trying to learn alchemy so that I can do magic that heals people rather than hurts them." Martel stared at her, feeling frustrated at having to explain himself. "But I could use your help."
She made no immediate reply.
"If you think I'm dangerous, that I deserve punishment for keeping this secret, remember that I'm being sent to war. I think that's more than enough punishment. But until then, I would really like to learn how I can use magic that helps. And this is my only opportunity."
He kept his eyes on her until she finally relaxed her shoulders, slumping forward a little. "Alright. Come back tomorrow morning during second bell like you usually would. I'll help you practise. For now, we need to finish these salves. The infirmary is nearly out."
In the evening, Martel left the castle to walk east. The route was familiar, though he did not head towards the home of the Night Knives, once he reached the bridge district. Instead, he continued until he was at The River Pearl. The tavern looked inviting as ever with the sounds of merriment coming from inside, not to mention the scantily clad wait staff visible through the windows. Steeling himself for the upcoming conversation, unsure what Lady Pearl wanted, Martel went inside. He kept his hood up, mostly for his own sake, as he had to announce his arrival anyway. "Tell Lady Pearl that the mage is here. She wanted to meet me."
The guard gave a brief nod and disappeared into the back, leaving Martel to awkwardly fend off offers of drink or companionship from the serving girls.
"She says you can come right in. She's in her study," the guard related as he returned.
Martel gave a curt nod and hurried onwards. He remembered the way from his last visit, and soon, he stood before the bald proprietress who shared the name of her establishment.
"Master Martel. Good of you to come."
He was unsure if it had been much of a choice, but regardless, he inclined his head in greeting. Best to stay polite. "Lady Pearl."
"As you might have guessed, I thought of a way you can repay that small favour I am owed." She gave a wide smile with her painted lips.
Martel still felt he had gotten a raw deal on that matter, but he would hear her out. "Tell me."
"Solday evening, I have a meeting at Smallport. A representative from the Island Trading Consortium. Now, I have never met this fellow before, but he offers a deal so enticing, it warrants my personal attention. At the same time, a woman in my position can never be too careful."
Martel had never heard about this island guild before, but he understood the rest. "You want protection."
"I have my own guards, of course, but a mage offers certain assurances that others cannot. We have all heard about the battlemages of the Empire, even if you are the first I myself have met." She leaned forward, her many layers of expensive clothing all shifting. "Come around on Solday at fifth bell, and we shall travel to Smallport together. A quick meeting, most likely to be concluded peacefully, and we are done."
Given his recent luck, Martel felt quite certain this would be an ambush, but he could hardly refuse on such grounds. It was a reasonable request. "I'll be there," he promised.
"Excellent, darling. Be sure to look all wizard-like. No harm in impressing these islanders." Lady Pearl gave him another dazzling smile.
FORTY-FOUR
SLIPPING THROUGH FINGERS
The next day, Martel went to the apothecary at second bell as usual, even though his work with Mistress Rana had been moved to the sixth bell. Instead, he hoped that Nora could give him some insight into the exercise of awakening the magic in alchemical ingredients. He expected that since she had first learned Asterian magic like him, she might better understand the difficulties he faced.
As he arrived, she greeted him properly for the first time in over a month. As she began to talk, her usual apprehension towards him seemed to fade away. "Alright, in my experience, it's easier to get the magic going with ingredients that are still in their natural state. So try with this herb rather than any powders or such." Nora handed him a coltsfoot. "Now, Mistress Rana probably doesn't quite understand why this is difficult for us. This is the only form of magic she knows. We're used to always thinking of magic as coming in the shape of the elements. Metal or stone belongs to earth, anything liquid contains water, and so on. You have to forget about that."
Martel nodded a little. He had begun to understand that. Magic was a force unto itself. A raw material that could be expressed in different ways, not just as one of the elements.
"Everything living carries the seed of magic. Your task is to make that seed blossom. Connect with it and make it grow until it fills the plant."
Martel looked at the herb between his fingers. Perhaps his mistake had been that he tried to simply grab and pull on the magic inside. Instead, he had to coax it out rather than just yank it. "Alright. I'll give it a try."
"Don't get discouraged. It took me a long time. Why don't you practice a while now, and I can do some of my work. Then we see what progress you made," Nora suggested.
"Alright." Closing his hand around the plant, Martel reached out with his magic.
Martel continued to practice for the rest of the bell, though he had little to show Nora in the end. After his lesson in Archean, he kept at it for most of the lunch hours until his class in elemental magic with Master Alastair. Which led to sixth bell and his return to the apothecary, where Mistress Rana soon appeared to grant him entry to her sanctum.
As before, a worktable with all the ingredients for a potion of warmth waited for him along with a fireplace, a pot, and water. "Show me your progress."
Martel grabbed the coltsfoot and focused. He tried to reach out with his magic, but he could feel himself doing it wrong. His first instinct was always to feel for heat, which usually served him well. But it meant that the vaunted kernel of magic eluded him, and he could not properly connect to it. Something was there, perhaps, but it did not respond to his call. He was tempted to simply grab at it and pull on whatever his magic could catch, but instead, he tried to be patient, ignoring the pressure of Mistress Rana staring at him. Like trying to get a cat to approach, Martel held out a hand, magically speaking, hoping to connect with the dormant magic in the herb.
A shimmer appeared through his closed fingers, and he opened his hand to see a faint glow. It disappeared again. The cat had chosen to run away.
"Keep trying." Mistress Rana gathered up the ingredients and performed the magic herself, leaving them all bristling with power. "You remember the procedure?"
Martel nodded. "Boil the water. Keep stirring." That part, at least, was easy enough.
"Yes. As you do, try to connect with the magic as it appears in the cauldron. Get a sense for how it flows and moves in the water. When you are done, you will have to distil it into the bottle."
"Yes, mistress." Lighting a fire in the hearth with a casual spell, Martel prepared to prove his potion.
The third time around, the novelty had worn off. While it was still fascinating to watch the glow of magic in the pot, Martel knew to expect it, and he still had to spend more than two hours just staring. He could not spend the time practising his spellwork with the ingredients, as he had to try and connect with the magic floating in the water; not that he quite grasped what that meant. He could certainly reach out and feel the heat from the boiling liquid, and he knew it contained power same as when he held a potion in his hand. But he was unsure how to do anything with it. Much like sticking his hand in a brook, he might feel the water flowing past his fingers, but he could not grip it or do anything with it.
At length, Mistress Rana appeared. "Good. We are ready." She brought over the metal holder with a bottle attached to it. "I shall pour. Your sole task is to connect with the magic bubbling in the cauldron and push it into the vial. Get as much as possible for the strongest concentration."
The command was simple, unlike the execution. Still, Martel prepared himself, extending talent towards the pot and its contents, trying to grab hold of it in magical terms like he might a puddle of water in the street or a pebble on the ground.
With some cloth to protect her hands, Mistress Rana grabbed the cauldron and began pouring.
The water flowed easily; the magic did not. Panicking, Martel tried to reinforce his connection with spellpower pouring into it. As the only consequence, the water began boiling again with steam rising.
His efforts in vain, the glow in the pot faded as the magic evaporated. Nothing but warm water ever reached the bottle.
Setting the cauldron aside, Mistress Rana looked at their failed work. "You are welcome to take that home if you wish. Not that it has much use. But first, clean up your workstation."
With a faint sigh of disappointment, Martel did so.
FORTY-FIVE
GEMSTONE
Learning Sindhian alchemy felt like when he first arrived at the Lyceum, struggling to acquire even the simplest control over his magic. He could create a few effects, use his powers a little, but none of it actually helped him accomplish what he was meant to do.
Nora did her best to encourage him, explaining it had taken her almost a month before she had cracked it. Martel had not been trying that long yet, so it was too early to despair. He would have to devote his spare hours to more practice. He wished that he could afford the few tools and items needed to try making potions on his own, but given that half his wages went to paying for Julia's room, Martel would have to make do without. And as for this Solday, rather than practise, he had an engagement to meet.
With a staff borrowed from the school's armoury, Martel went once more to The River Pearl. This time, he did not have to announce his arrival; as soon as he stepped through the doors, a guard waved at him and gestured for the mage to follow.
Instead of going deeper into the complex, Martel was taken through a nearby door to reach a courtyard on the other side of the building. A carriage stood, painted in colours though notably lacking an insignia, showing it did not belong to any nobility. A handful of guards milled about as did the driver, smoking a pipe in the cold.
They greeted Martel with small nods at most, keeping their distance. Either because he was not of their number or because he was a wizard; perhaps both. Not that Martel cared much. He had no intentions of befriending them.
A woman joined them, though not the Lady Pearl herself. She was younger and most notably had hair, auburn in colour. As for her clothes, she wore an expensive, fur-lined cloak with a dress underneath that sat tight around her form, unlike the more flowing garments favoured by her mistress.
The woman's appearance reminded Martel that during the meeting in the Undercroft, Lady Pearl had been attended only by other women. Yet here, her guards seemed like ordinary men; the typical brawlers that filled Morcaster.
While Martel tried not to stare at the newcomer, she had no such reservations, scrutinising him unabashedly. He was almost grateful when Lady Pearl arrived. "You are all here," she remarked with her usual wide smile. "Let us not tarry." She stepped into the carriage, followed by the young woman.
Meanwhile, the driver climbed up, and the guards formed a square around the wagon. As for Martel, he walked over to stand alongside the horses, content to walk by himself.
"Oh no, master wizard, it would not do to have you trudge around like a commoner. Please, come and be seated."
Not sure how he felt about the invitation, Martel deposited his staff underneath the driver's seat and climbed into the carriage, sitting down on the empty side opposite Lady Pearl and her attendant.
"Ruby, you've yet to meet Master Martel."
The redhaired woman smiled like a peddler sizing up a naïve customer. "The vaunted battlemage. So young."
"They train them early at the castle," Lady Pearl said.
Eager to steer the conversation away from himself, Martel decided to learn what he could about what lay ahead. "Can you tell me the details of this meeting, milady?"
