Firebrand 3 the acolyte, p.41
Firebrand 3: The Acolyte, page 41
"Yes?"
"It's crude. Typical of those who let their emotions control their magic. Unrefined, a waste of spellpower. Much inferior to a reliable fire bolt spell. But since you've developed it, we might as well hone it into something useful."
Martel ended up agreeing with her sentiment, even if he disliked every word she used to express it. "Very well."
She gave him a sharp look. "So glad you approve. I'd never dream of teaching you otherwise."
Taking the hint, Martel remained quiet.
"Use it. On me."
He frowned only briefly before he complied. Deep down, he knew that Moira's own skill in fire probably made her impervious to any damage he might do; still, he was happy to unleash his ray of fire from the palm of his hand, focusing the beam of flames on her torso.
Almost provocatively, and probably intended to be so, Moira stood without reacting. She took the spell straight on as if Martel had done nothing to her, which was probably more or less the case.
"Weak." She all but spat the word. "I'm sure it's impressive for scaring thugs in taverns or even to those meat-headed mageknights, but if you're going to use it when it matters, make sure the other person won't stay standing."
Martel bit his tongue before he yelled at her to give him instructions rather than insults. Presumably, she'd get to it eventually. Behind them, fire bolts flew through the air as the other acolytes practised.
"Use it on the wall. I can't spend all bell here watching your pathetic attempts," Moira sneered. She pointed at the nearest wall. "Go on!"
A little confused, Martel did so. Raising his hand, he shot out a ray of flames straight at the stone wall. It bore plenty of scorch marks already.
"Keep going." Moira turned away to look at her other students.
After supper, Martel went to the library. Searching a bit on the shelves, he found some of the same books as when he first arrived at the Lyceum. They dealt with learning magic; advice he no longer needed, and which had not really helped him much in the first place. But now he looked through them with different eyes; rather than receiving the counsel held in those tomes, he imagined himself dispensing it to a student, be it Sparrow or maybe others.
He imagined himself as Master of Fire at the Lyceum. He would not teach using spite and ridicule as Moira did, nor would the all-consuming focus be on warfare. Martel thought about Master Alastair's story of wandering through a blizzard, using heat to keep his companions warm and alive through the ordeal. He imagined enchanting stones to keep people's homes warm during winter, or all the other ways that fire could protect and create.
After Martel had indulged himself with such daydreaming, he turned his attention back to the books. He did not personally know any earth spells. He could do some basic manipulation of the element, same as most mages would be able to, but nothing complicated. He was familiar with the earth wall, of course, having seen Flora use it on a few occasions, but that was a far cry from actually being able to cast the spell himself. He could do something similar with his wall of fire, but while the effect might resemble what an earthmage could do, Martel doubted that held true for the spellwork involved.
He thought about whether he knew any earth acolytes he might ask; Flora was obviously not an option. Though it took him a moment to remember, he realised that Nora wore the green, embroidered robe of this group. Since he saw her nearly every day, he had ample opportunity to ask her for suggestions on what spells he might teach Sparrow – without alerting the apprentice to the reason for his questions.
"Nordmark, how dare you hide in here and make me come to this Stars-forsaken place?"
Martel easily recognised the voice. The librarian had also noticed the newcomer; hard to miss him, really. "Quiet!"
Appearing unaffected by the admonition, Maximilian approached Martel. "How about it, tonight? Plenty of mageknights who disbelieve your victory last Pelday. Care to prove them wrong?"
The fire acolyte did not require much time to consider it. As a future battlemage, sparring and training made sense, and the promise of easy money won in wagers did not hurt either. But drained of spellpower from overzealous training of his fire, Martel decided to forego the Chamber of Earth and pursue more peaceful interests where that element was concerned. "Sorry. All worn out. You know how Moira drives us hard."
"Fine. But be careful. Too much reading makes you cross-eyed." His warning delivered, Maximilian left the library; Martel returned to his books.
ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN
FAMILIAR WEIGHT
When Reynard entered the gymnasium on Malday morning, Martel immediately noticed a small difference. Usually, their teacher arrived carrying staves for each of the acolytes to practice with. This time, he came empty-handed. "Time for you to try something new," the old warrior growled. "Follow me."
All the students did so as Reynard turned around and left the arena again. He only walked a short distance down the corridor before opening a door to step inside. Martel knew which room this was, though he had almost never had reason to enter. It was the armoury of the Lyceum.
The large room lay in near darkness, and Reynard did nothing to dispel it; perhaps almost on instinct, each of the fire acolytes summoned a small flame to allow them vision, giving an eerie, flickering light making shadows dance on the stone walls.
Large weapon racks filled one wall with all manner of arms. Spears, swords, axes, flails, morning stars, and more meant for melee combat; Martel only recognised some of the instruments of war thanks to Maximilian's occasional lectures on their differences, usually triggered by drunkenness. All of them blunt, presumably, meant only for training rather than actual combat. A handful of bows could be found as well, unstrung, along with arrows. Naturally, the staves used by the fire acolytes also had their place, all resting inside a small barrel.
To the other side, ten armour dolls held gambesons with chain shirts on top. Fewer than the number of mageknights who trained together at the same time; Martel guessed that some of them wore their own armour for practice rather than rely on the Lyceum to provide it.
"It is time for you to learn how to fight wearing proper armour," Reynard informed them, "instead of that boiled cowhide. Off with your robes and leather, and each of you put on a gambeson and chain shirt."
The acolytes looked at each other, all of them hesitant. Martel figured he was the only one with experience in this matter; while he was at odds with the Night Knives, he appreciated how they had taken the time to teach him about this. Grabbing the collar of his robe, he removed his outer garment and the leather armour underneath before getting dressed in the gambeson and mail.
The weight of the metal rings felt heavy, yet familiar. Martel was immediately reminded of his outings with the Night Knives; fighting thugs and brigands, feeling protected by his armour and his companions, unleashing his magic to easily best their opponents. He almost missed it, though it was outweighed by his relief at having put all that behind him. Around him, the other acolytes followed suit, awkwardly trying to handle the heavy shirt.
"Grab a staff and meet me back in the gymnasium," Reynard told them, leaving as the first.
"You cannot rely on your own magical shield nor your protector to catch every single bullet or arrow flying at you in battle," Reynard lectured them as they stood in the arena again, armoured and each with a staff in hand. "Any attack that can be stopped by your armour means one more spell you can spend attacking rather than defending. But first, you must get accustomed to the weight. For this bell, you will duel each other as usual, but with one exception. No magic allowed." His eyes swept over the fire acolytes. "If I detect any of you using the smallest bit of empowerment to lessen the weight, you can expect detention tonight running rounds in this arena in full armour. Understood? Get to it." He made a casual gesture pointing at the acolytes in turn, pairing them up for the sparring.
Turning towards Edward, Martel held his staff ready. He had gone easy on his fellow students these last months rather than antagonise them, and it seemed wise to continue this course; thus, Martel made a simple strike that even the somewhat hapless Edward could easily intercept.
Martel's staff struck his opponent on the cheek. As the latter moved his staff too slowly to parry. Looked like Martel had to go even easier. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"You cheated! You used magic!"
Everyone looked at them upon hearing Edward’s outburst. "No he did not," Reynard growled. "Stop whining and accept the blow – if not like a man, then like a mage."
William and Harriet resumed their own duel while Edward continued to rub his cheek. Given how gently Martel had attacked, he doubted that it hurt much; Edward was probably more affected by the surprise of the attack than any pain. "You did cheat," he mumbled.
"Sorry I hurt you," Martel reiterated. "I didn't need magic, though. I have practised with chain armour before, so I'm used to the weight. Look, how about I only defend, and you just attack me until you are also comfortable with it."
Still grumbling to himself, Edward nonetheless nodded and raised his staff.
Martel's afternoon lesson with the mageknights began the same way; in fact, Reynard informed them that for the remainder of their time at the Lyceum, they would wear chain armour for their combat lessons. The armoury only held just enough; once all the fire acolytes, and those mageknights who needed to borrow one, had picked a suit of armour, every doll stood empty.
"I need four mageknights willing to spar with the battlemages," Reynard announced across the gymnasium. "The rest of you, practice among yourselves for now. We will switch later in the bell." Several of the warriors volunteered, apparently relishing the opportunity to fight the fire acolytes without elemental magic. The Master of War nodded at a few of them, speaking their name as he selected them. "You go, and Griffe, you as well. Fontaine, you make it four. Choose an opponent and begin training."
Eleanor smiled at Martel and raised her sword. Behind her, Maximilian glanced at them both. "Leave a few chunks of Nordmark for me later on!"
Martel sighed. With friends like these… He held his staff up and took position.
ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN
FINGERS IN THE GROUND
Training his fire ray spell felt weird to Martel. It simply consisted of him blasting a flame against the stone wall, but he had to avoid pouring his spellpower into it, or he would drain himself dry within minutes. So he was trying to strengthen the effect without actually using his strength. It was an odd equilibrium to strike, but if nothing else, it helped him get a better sense of when casting or strengthening a spell began to drain him, as opposed to the simpler magics such as the fire bolts, which he could throw around all day. Still, staring at a scorched wall for a full bell made him feel like he was going mad until the boredom finally numbed his mind. The other acolytes glanced at him, though not with the scorn he might have expected; perhaps held back by the knowledge that they might be in line to do the same exercise once they caught up to him.
While also characterised by routines most familiar, Martel enjoyed his spell in the apothecary a lot more. Mistress Rana gave him a new list of herbs to study, which meant that she felt he had done sufficiently well on his sleep potion to learn a new recipe.
In addition, matters between him and Nora finally seemed good again. The whole issue with Jasper extorting them, or her learning about Martel being fire-touched; any residual effects on their friendship was gone. Having alchemy in common helped, and now Martel had something else to discuss with her. "Nora, what's your favourite earth magic?"
"What a fun question!" Apparently, it intrigued her enough to stop her work, setting her tools aside to frown in contemplation. "This is perhaps an embarrassing answer, considering it's the simplest kind. But using magic to sense the earth itself, sticking my fingers into the dirt and feeling it in a way that my other senses can't – I enjoy it every time."
Seeing her hands still, Martel took the opportunity to take a break himself from washing used jars and bottles. "No, I understand. Sometimes, the simplest joys are the best." It held reason that the same way he could sense fire, Nora could feel the earth.
"That's true. And it's very useful too. I use it all the time in our herb garden. It tells me if the soil is rich enough or needs manure, if it's too dry or too wet, whether to be worried about frost and so on. It's one reason why Mistress Rana chose me as her apprentice."
"We have a herb garden?"
Nora laughed. "Of course! Lots of plants that are too rare to just go out and find in nature. Not to mention, it's a full day's journey just to leave the city to go somewhere that actually grows anything useful. It's a small courtyard to the southwest, but it’s closed off since students have no reason to go there. Other than me, of course."
Interesting, but not exactly something he could teach Sparrow. The copper lanes did not allow much room or opportunity for vegetable gardens. "What about actual spells? Just curious what an earthmage would find useful."
"Depends on the specialisation, I suppose, but we're a very different breed from you fire folks. It's not so much about casting spells, but more about adding spellwork to our craft. A metalmage uses his magic when forging, a stonemage makes perfect building materials, and so on. If I weren't apprenticed to Mistress Rana, I would probably have ended up as a fieldmage, ensuring good soil for a bountiful harvest."
All admirable pursuits, but perhaps rather too long-term for a young urchin to care about; plus, Sparrow would have to attend the Lyceum to work in any of these capacities, most likely. Abandoning the topic, Martel resumed washing jars.
While his time in the apothecary yielded nothing concerning one waif, it did give Martel an idea related to another. With Mistress Rana already prepared to move forward with a new potion for him to learn, he felt confident in his ability to make the sleeping draught. While Julia had not requested more, Martel figured she would need them sooner or later.
This in mind, he went to market and bought the necessary herbs. Some were expensive; he saw the wisdom of growing them in your own garden. Not an option for him, but thankfully, Mistress Rana paid him for his work, leaving him with plenty of coin for such pursuits.
Soon after, choosing to arrive just before sundown as last time, Martel knocked on Julia's door.
"You're back again soon." She spoke through the crack between door and frame, staring at him.
"I thought we might do a bit of alchemy together. Create another sleep potion for you to have."
"I don't need another yet."
"I know, you said you'd tell me. But how can you tell me anything unless I stop by?" Martel smiled at his own logic.
"I guess." She finally stepped back, allowing him inside.
The few tools and remedies for alchemy stood neatly in a corner. "Ready to be my apprentice?"
Julia nodded, and Martel told himself that he saw the hint of a smile on her face.
"Very good. We need the window open, the cauldron upon that slab of stone, and water. You got enough in your jar?"
She nodded again and began carrying out his orders, turning the small room into a laboratory. Meanwhile, Martel took out the ingredients and drew out their magic in the Sindhian tradition, preparing them for the brewing. "It's weird to see your magic," Julia suddenly remarked. "So different from how – my mum did alchemy."
"True, there's a big difference between Asterian and Sindhian magic. Thankfully, when it comes to making water hot, I don't need to know any southern spells. Bit of fire will do." He gave a wry smile and heated up the cauldron until the water slowly bubbled. And while he doubted that Julia knew or understood much about the different schools of magic, they had a few hours ahead of them to kill while taking turns to stir the brewing potion; letting Julia take the first shift, Martel began to explain Sindhian alchemy.
ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN
SWEET KNOWLEDGE
Brewing potions late in the evening in Julia's room meant that Martel got to bed late, but fortunately, next day was Manday. Rather than exhausting lessons in the Circle of Fire or the gymnasium, Martel could take it easy; especially as his morning chore in the apothecary was replaced by afternoon work in the laboratory instead. It gave him time to go to the library and read up on the latest list of herbs given him by Mistress Rana; when he was done, as always, he looked forward to learning this new recipe and adding another potion to his repertoire. But first, lessons with Master Fenrick and Alastair awaited.
Each of the students sat with their small pile of rune-inscribed parchments in front of them. To stop the lesson, the Master of Lore went down the aisle and had each acolyte demonstrate their ability to activate the symbol. They did so with varying success, none to Master Fenrick's satisfaction, though he gave Martel fewer words of instruction than the others.
"You still have ways to go. Continue practising on your own time. Meanwhile, we shall cover another rune today." The teacher held up his own drawing of the symbol.
Martel had to wonder what exactly the strange, twisting shape meant and how it contained this Tyrian magic; if he had seen this inscribed on a wall or door, without knowing better, he would have assumed some jester was at work defacing the surface.
"This is the rune of repulsion, as we call it. As the name says, it does the opposite of the attracting symbol you learned last fiveday. I know your only thought is how could this ever help you in combat, and otherwise you are indifferent to its uses," Master Fenrick said in accusation as his eyes swept over the assembly of mageknights and one battlemage. "But when your tent is leaky and it's pouring down torrents of rain, you may find this useful after all. Watch." Holding out the parchment with one hand, the teacher held a penny in front of the rune with the other. "Veg." The coin flew away from between his fingers.
"It's crude. Typical of those who let their emotions control their magic. Unrefined, a waste of spellpower. Much inferior to a reliable fire bolt spell. But since you've developed it, we might as well hone it into something useful."
Martel ended up agreeing with her sentiment, even if he disliked every word she used to express it. "Very well."
She gave him a sharp look. "So glad you approve. I'd never dream of teaching you otherwise."
Taking the hint, Martel remained quiet.
"Use it. On me."
He frowned only briefly before he complied. Deep down, he knew that Moira's own skill in fire probably made her impervious to any damage he might do; still, he was happy to unleash his ray of fire from the palm of his hand, focusing the beam of flames on her torso.
Almost provocatively, and probably intended to be so, Moira stood without reacting. She took the spell straight on as if Martel had done nothing to her, which was probably more or less the case.
"Weak." She all but spat the word. "I'm sure it's impressive for scaring thugs in taverns or even to those meat-headed mageknights, but if you're going to use it when it matters, make sure the other person won't stay standing."
Martel bit his tongue before he yelled at her to give him instructions rather than insults. Presumably, she'd get to it eventually. Behind them, fire bolts flew through the air as the other acolytes practised.
"Use it on the wall. I can't spend all bell here watching your pathetic attempts," Moira sneered. She pointed at the nearest wall. "Go on!"
A little confused, Martel did so. Raising his hand, he shot out a ray of flames straight at the stone wall. It bore plenty of scorch marks already.
"Keep going." Moira turned away to look at her other students.
After supper, Martel went to the library. Searching a bit on the shelves, he found some of the same books as when he first arrived at the Lyceum. They dealt with learning magic; advice he no longer needed, and which had not really helped him much in the first place. But now he looked through them with different eyes; rather than receiving the counsel held in those tomes, he imagined himself dispensing it to a student, be it Sparrow or maybe others.
He imagined himself as Master of Fire at the Lyceum. He would not teach using spite and ridicule as Moira did, nor would the all-consuming focus be on warfare. Martel thought about Master Alastair's story of wandering through a blizzard, using heat to keep his companions warm and alive through the ordeal. He imagined enchanting stones to keep people's homes warm during winter, or all the other ways that fire could protect and create.
After Martel had indulged himself with such daydreaming, he turned his attention back to the books. He did not personally know any earth spells. He could do some basic manipulation of the element, same as most mages would be able to, but nothing complicated. He was familiar with the earth wall, of course, having seen Flora use it on a few occasions, but that was a far cry from actually being able to cast the spell himself. He could do something similar with his wall of fire, but while the effect might resemble what an earthmage could do, Martel doubted that held true for the spellwork involved.
He thought about whether he knew any earth acolytes he might ask; Flora was obviously not an option. Though it took him a moment to remember, he realised that Nora wore the green, embroidered robe of this group. Since he saw her nearly every day, he had ample opportunity to ask her for suggestions on what spells he might teach Sparrow – without alerting the apprentice to the reason for his questions.
"Nordmark, how dare you hide in here and make me come to this Stars-forsaken place?"
Martel easily recognised the voice. The librarian had also noticed the newcomer; hard to miss him, really. "Quiet!"
Appearing unaffected by the admonition, Maximilian approached Martel. "How about it, tonight? Plenty of mageknights who disbelieve your victory last Pelday. Care to prove them wrong?"
The fire acolyte did not require much time to consider it. As a future battlemage, sparring and training made sense, and the promise of easy money won in wagers did not hurt either. But drained of spellpower from overzealous training of his fire, Martel decided to forego the Chamber of Earth and pursue more peaceful interests where that element was concerned. "Sorry. All worn out. You know how Moira drives us hard."
"Fine. But be careful. Too much reading makes you cross-eyed." His warning delivered, Maximilian left the library; Martel returned to his books.
ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN
FAMILIAR WEIGHT
When Reynard entered the gymnasium on Malday morning, Martel immediately noticed a small difference. Usually, their teacher arrived carrying staves for each of the acolytes to practice with. This time, he came empty-handed. "Time for you to try something new," the old warrior growled. "Follow me."
All the students did so as Reynard turned around and left the arena again. He only walked a short distance down the corridor before opening a door to step inside. Martel knew which room this was, though he had almost never had reason to enter. It was the armoury of the Lyceum.
The large room lay in near darkness, and Reynard did nothing to dispel it; perhaps almost on instinct, each of the fire acolytes summoned a small flame to allow them vision, giving an eerie, flickering light making shadows dance on the stone walls.
Large weapon racks filled one wall with all manner of arms. Spears, swords, axes, flails, morning stars, and more meant for melee combat; Martel only recognised some of the instruments of war thanks to Maximilian's occasional lectures on their differences, usually triggered by drunkenness. All of them blunt, presumably, meant only for training rather than actual combat. A handful of bows could be found as well, unstrung, along with arrows. Naturally, the staves used by the fire acolytes also had their place, all resting inside a small barrel.
To the other side, ten armour dolls held gambesons with chain shirts on top. Fewer than the number of mageknights who trained together at the same time; Martel guessed that some of them wore their own armour for practice rather than rely on the Lyceum to provide it.
"It is time for you to learn how to fight wearing proper armour," Reynard informed them, "instead of that boiled cowhide. Off with your robes and leather, and each of you put on a gambeson and chain shirt."
The acolytes looked at each other, all of them hesitant. Martel figured he was the only one with experience in this matter; while he was at odds with the Night Knives, he appreciated how they had taken the time to teach him about this. Grabbing the collar of his robe, he removed his outer garment and the leather armour underneath before getting dressed in the gambeson and mail.
The weight of the metal rings felt heavy, yet familiar. Martel was immediately reminded of his outings with the Night Knives; fighting thugs and brigands, feeling protected by his armour and his companions, unleashing his magic to easily best their opponents. He almost missed it, though it was outweighed by his relief at having put all that behind him. Around him, the other acolytes followed suit, awkwardly trying to handle the heavy shirt.
"Grab a staff and meet me back in the gymnasium," Reynard told them, leaving as the first.
"You cannot rely on your own magical shield nor your protector to catch every single bullet or arrow flying at you in battle," Reynard lectured them as they stood in the arena again, armoured and each with a staff in hand. "Any attack that can be stopped by your armour means one more spell you can spend attacking rather than defending. But first, you must get accustomed to the weight. For this bell, you will duel each other as usual, but with one exception. No magic allowed." His eyes swept over the fire acolytes. "If I detect any of you using the smallest bit of empowerment to lessen the weight, you can expect detention tonight running rounds in this arena in full armour. Understood? Get to it." He made a casual gesture pointing at the acolytes in turn, pairing them up for the sparring.
Turning towards Edward, Martel held his staff ready. He had gone easy on his fellow students these last months rather than antagonise them, and it seemed wise to continue this course; thus, Martel made a simple strike that even the somewhat hapless Edward could easily intercept.
Martel's staff struck his opponent on the cheek. As the latter moved his staff too slowly to parry. Looked like Martel had to go even easier. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"You cheated! You used magic!"
Everyone looked at them upon hearing Edward’s outburst. "No he did not," Reynard growled. "Stop whining and accept the blow – if not like a man, then like a mage."
William and Harriet resumed their own duel while Edward continued to rub his cheek. Given how gently Martel had attacked, he doubted that it hurt much; Edward was probably more affected by the surprise of the attack than any pain. "You did cheat," he mumbled.
"Sorry I hurt you," Martel reiterated. "I didn't need magic, though. I have practised with chain armour before, so I'm used to the weight. Look, how about I only defend, and you just attack me until you are also comfortable with it."
Still grumbling to himself, Edward nonetheless nodded and raised his staff.
Martel's afternoon lesson with the mageknights began the same way; in fact, Reynard informed them that for the remainder of their time at the Lyceum, they would wear chain armour for their combat lessons. The armoury only held just enough; once all the fire acolytes, and those mageknights who needed to borrow one, had picked a suit of armour, every doll stood empty.
"I need four mageknights willing to spar with the battlemages," Reynard announced across the gymnasium. "The rest of you, practice among yourselves for now. We will switch later in the bell." Several of the warriors volunteered, apparently relishing the opportunity to fight the fire acolytes without elemental magic. The Master of War nodded at a few of them, speaking their name as he selected them. "You go, and Griffe, you as well. Fontaine, you make it four. Choose an opponent and begin training."
Eleanor smiled at Martel and raised her sword. Behind her, Maximilian glanced at them both. "Leave a few chunks of Nordmark for me later on!"
Martel sighed. With friends like these… He held his staff up and took position.
ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN
FINGERS IN THE GROUND
Training his fire ray spell felt weird to Martel. It simply consisted of him blasting a flame against the stone wall, but he had to avoid pouring his spellpower into it, or he would drain himself dry within minutes. So he was trying to strengthen the effect without actually using his strength. It was an odd equilibrium to strike, but if nothing else, it helped him get a better sense of when casting or strengthening a spell began to drain him, as opposed to the simpler magics such as the fire bolts, which he could throw around all day. Still, staring at a scorched wall for a full bell made him feel like he was going mad until the boredom finally numbed his mind. The other acolytes glanced at him, though not with the scorn he might have expected; perhaps held back by the knowledge that they might be in line to do the same exercise once they caught up to him.
While also characterised by routines most familiar, Martel enjoyed his spell in the apothecary a lot more. Mistress Rana gave him a new list of herbs to study, which meant that she felt he had done sufficiently well on his sleep potion to learn a new recipe.
In addition, matters between him and Nora finally seemed good again. The whole issue with Jasper extorting them, or her learning about Martel being fire-touched; any residual effects on their friendship was gone. Having alchemy in common helped, and now Martel had something else to discuss with her. "Nora, what's your favourite earth magic?"
"What a fun question!" Apparently, it intrigued her enough to stop her work, setting her tools aside to frown in contemplation. "This is perhaps an embarrassing answer, considering it's the simplest kind. But using magic to sense the earth itself, sticking my fingers into the dirt and feeling it in a way that my other senses can't – I enjoy it every time."
Seeing her hands still, Martel took the opportunity to take a break himself from washing used jars and bottles. "No, I understand. Sometimes, the simplest joys are the best." It held reason that the same way he could sense fire, Nora could feel the earth.
"That's true. And it's very useful too. I use it all the time in our herb garden. It tells me if the soil is rich enough or needs manure, if it's too dry or too wet, whether to be worried about frost and so on. It's one reason why Mistress Rana chose me as her apprentice."
"We have a herb garden?"
Nora laughed. "Of course! Lots of plants that are too rare to just go out and find in nature. Not to mention, it's a full day's journey just to leave the city to go somewhere that actually grows anything useful. It's a small courtyard to the southwest, but it’s closed off since students have no reason to go there. Other than me, of course."
Interesting, but not exactly something he could teach Sparrow. The copper lanes did not allow much room or opportunity for vegetable gardens. "What about actual spells? Just curious what an earthmage would find useful."
"Depends on the specialisation, I suppose, but we're a very different breed from you fire folks. It's not so much about casting spells, but more about adding spellwork to our craft. A metalmage uses his magic when forging, a stonemage makes perfect building materials, and so on. If I weren't apprenticed to Mistress Rana, I would probably have ended up as a fieldmage, ensuring good soil for a bountiful harvest."
All admirable pursuits, but perhaps rather too long-term for a young urchin to care about; plus, Sparrow would have to attend the Lyceum to work in any of these capacities, most likely. Abandoning the topic, Martel resumed washing jars.
While his time in the apothecary yielded nothing concerning one waif, it did give Martel an idea related to another. With Mistress Rana already prepared to move forward with a new potion for him to learn, he felt confident in his ability to make the sleeping draught. While Julia had not requested more, Martel figured she would need them sooner or later.
This in mind, he went to market and bought the necessary herbs. Some were expensive; he saw the wisdom of growing them in your own garden. Not an option for him, but thankfully, Mistress Rana paid him for his work, leaving him with plenty of coin for such pursuits.
Soon after, choosing to arrive just before sundown as last time, Martel knocked on Julia's door.
"You're back again soon." She spoke through the crack between door and frame, staring at him.
"I thought we might do a bit of alchemy together. Create another sleep potion for you to have."
"I don't need another yet."
"I know, you said you'd tell me. But how can you tell me anything unless I stop by?" Martel smiled at his own logic.
"I guess." She finally stepped back, allowing him inside.
The few tools and remedies for alchemy stood neatly in a corner. "Ready to be my apprentice?"
Julia nodded, and Martel told himself that he saw the hint of a smile on her face.
"Very good. We need the window open, the cauldron upon that slab of stone, and water. You got enough in your jar?"
She nodded again and began carrying out his orders, turning the small room into a laboratory. Meanwhile, Martel took out the ingredients and drew out their magic in the Sindhian tradition, preparing them for the brewing. "It's weird to see your magic," Julia suddenly remarked. "So different from how – my mum did alchemy."
"True, there's a big difference between Asterian and Sindhian magic. Thankfully, when it comes to making water hot, I don't need to know any southern spells. Bit of fire will do." He gave a wry smile and heated up the cauldron until the water slowly bubbled. And while he doubted that Julia knew or understood much about the different schools of magic, they had a few hours ahead of them to kill while taking turns to stir the brewing potion; letting Julia take the first shift, Martel began to explain Sindhian alchemy.
ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN
SWEET KNOWLEDGE
Brewing potions late in the evening in Julia's room meant that Martel got to bed late, but fortunately, next day was Manday. Rather than exhausting lessons in the Circle of Fire or the gymnasium, Martel could take it easy; especially as his morning chore in the apothecary was replaced by afternoon work in the laboratory instead. It gave him time to go to the library and read up on the latest list of herbs given him by Mistress Rana; when he was done, as always, he looked forward to learning this new recipe and adding another potion to his repertoire. But first, lessons with Master Fenrick and Alastair awaited.
Each of the students sat with their small pile of rune-inscribed parchments in front of them. To stop the lesson, the Master of Lore went down the aisle and had each acolyte demonstrate their ability to activate the symbol. They did so with varying success, none to Master Fenrick's satisfaction, though he gave Martel fewer words of instruction than the others.
"You still have ways to go. Continue practising on your own time. Meanwhile, we shall cover another rune today." The teacher held up his own drawing of the symbol.
Martel had to wonder what exactly the strange, twisting shape meant and how it contained this Tyrian magic; if he had seen this inscribed on a wall or door, without knowing better, he would have assumed some jester was at work defacing the surface.
"This is the rune of repulsion, as we call it. As the name says, it does the opposite of the attracting symbol you learned last fiveday. I know your only thought is how could this ever help you in combat, and otherwise you are indifferent to its uses," Master Fenrick said in accusation as his eyes swept over the assembly of mageknights and one battlemage. "But when your tent is leaky and it's pouring down torrents of rain, you may find this useful after all. Watch." Holding out the parchment with one hand, the teacher held a penny in front of the rune with the other. "Veg." The coin flew away from between his fingers.
