Firebrand 3 the acolyte, p.23
Firebrand 3: The Acolyte, page 23
The acolytes looked almost relieved at this, though Martel felt sceptical. He had come to understand that even if Moira's methods seemed wantonly cruel, she usually did everything with ulterior motives. He did not look forward to finding out what might be behind this, but if it really meant less detention, he would try to appreciate that little bit of good news. Especially with everything else he had going on.
"Alright, enough time standing around gawking like fools. You'll fight in pairs. Harriet and Martel, you're against William and Edward. Take positions."
"Nordmark, my old mate, it has been too long since we last went out," Maximilian declared, falling upon Martel in the hallway.
Suddenly beset, one heavy arm slung over his shoulder, Martel slumped down under the weight of his friend. "Sure," he managed to say. "It'll be a while before I got time though. Certainly not tonight."
"You sure? I was thinking you could swing by the Chamber of Earth, do your customary routine of annihilating an opponent with a spell or two, and as a reward, I will buy the first round," Maximilian suggested.
"A great idea, but I just can't."
The mageknight tightened his grip around Martel's shoulder. "Do not disappoint me so, my comrade-in-cups. There are fools to lay low and bottles to empty! Surely your other pursuits can wait until tomorrow."
"I wish, but sadly not." Martel wrenched himself loose. "It'll have to be another night."
"Nordmark, you are breaking my heart."
"It'll heal, I'm sure." The fire acolyte hastened down the hallway, leaving the mageknight to stare at his back.
Safely in his room, Martel sat down to consider his schedule. Besides all his classes, he began to realise everything he had added to it.
Working for Lady Pearl; while only a few evenings here and there, it still ate many hours away on those particular days.
Pursuing alchemy; besides one full bell every single day working for Mistress Rana, it would also take an evening here and there to actually set up a workshop in Julia's chamber to properly practise. Not to mention, he only worked for Lady Pearl to afford the supplies. And he still needed to find time to do his Sindhian exercises if he ever wanted his potions to be half as potent as those of a real alchemist.
Possibly training Sparrow; just the trip to the copper lanes and back would eat up a whole evening. He could make the girl come to him, of course, but it felt wrong to demand a small girl cross half of Morcaster. Especially when she had already once been taken by a maleficar.
In addition, Martel had other pursuits that might occasionally make demands of him. Maximilian's latest suggestion contained two of them. A night out in the city with friends seemed frivolous. As for sparring in the Chamber of Earth, while not particularly time-consuming, it was also unnecessary.
Going through the list in his mind, Martel sighed. This did not feel sustainable. He had promised Lady Pearl to do one more task, but it would have to be the last. Even if the thought of seeing Ruby again enticed him to reconsider, he had to stand firm. If it meant less money for alchemy supplies, Martel would just have to adjust his efforts accordingly. He would still learn, after all, just have fewer opportunities to practise his brewing skills.
As for Sparrow… The girl deserved to learn. To gain the power to defend herself against the monster that showed up in the copper lanes, and any other who might harm a child.
But, a voice said in Martel's head, even if it meant she used her newfound skills to rob or worse? Opening locks was one thing. An elemental bolt brimming with spellpower, hitting the right place, could kill a person. If Martel showed her the path to such powers, would he be culpable for how she used them?
Feeling the beginnings of a headache, Martel decided to postpone the ethical quandary. Perhaps he could ask someone for advice. Plenty of teachers in this place who must have considered the same question during their career. For now, Martel had to cross off another task of his list.
Gathering all his notes from Master Fenrick's class, Martel left his room. He made his way to the library just as its caretaker was about to leave, who grudgingly opened the door to the second floor. As Martel ascended the stairs, he saw a welcome sight awaiting him by their usual table.
"There you are." Eleanor smiled at him. She had her own stack of parchment in front of her along with two copies of a hefty tome entitled On the Nature of Constellations. "I thought we might work separately on our individual chapters, but compare whenever we come across an unusual sentence? There is bound to be some repetition, given it is the same book and all."
Martel sat down opposite her. "Sounds like a good plan, commander."
"You tease a lot for someone who seemed relieved at my offer of cooperation."
"No teasing at all. I'd follow you anywhere," Martel declared with half a smile.
She narrowed her eyes, apparently not entirely convinced, before she demonstratively opened one of the books and began reading.
SIXTY-FOUR
TEAMWORK
Stretching his neck from side to side, stamping his staff a few times into the ground, Martel prepared for the skirmish about to happen. The other fire acolytes stood nearby, likewise steeling themselves. Some distance away, the mageknights assembled, feeling confident based on their expressions.
Moira entered, which was expected; she always observed when the elemental mages fought as a single group against the mageknights. However, Martel did not expect when she called his name and beckoned for him to come over. His heart sinking in his chest, he complied.
"Listen up, boy."
Reluctantly, he did so.
"Remember yesterday, I said that even if you lose, you lot won't get detention? Well, you're the exception. No leniency for you, boy. If those preening mageknights beat you, you can expect two hours in the Circle of Fire tomorrow night."
She turned around and stalked away to find herself a seat on the stands, leaving Martel crestfallen. Where was the justice in that? What had he ever done to be singled out like that?
Walking back to the other fire acolytes, Martel took a few deep breaths. No reason to let the others know; Harriet might repeat her betrayal from last fiveday.
"What did the old hag want?" William asked.
"She just mocked us," Martel replied. "Said she didn't think we could win."
"Strange she only told you. She's usually not shy about letting us all have it," Edward considered.
"Never mind that. I don't want to lose to those bastards. What's our strategy?" William looked at the others.
Martel hesitated to speak. He worried that any tactics he might suggest would only anger Harriet, and she would sabotage their efforts. On the other hand, they needed something, or they would surely lose.
As nobody spoke up, William continued. "How about same as last, except I take the front position, and Harriet behind me? That gives you more time to raise your flame wall." He glanced at the female acolyte. "Meanwhile, Martel and I fight defensively, and you still raise the wall for the right flank." He turned his eyes on Martel.
As good a plan as any. Nobody objected, and the fire acolytes turned around to face the eight mageknights some twenty paces away. Martel recognised Eleanor among them and quickly chided himself; now was not the time to get distracted.
"Begin!" Reynard bellowed, and eight warriors dashed forward.
After releasing his initial fire bolt, Martel stepped in front of Edward. He raised his magical shield to buy him some time while immediately also casting the flame wall spell to close off their right flank. Behind him, he sensed as much as saw fire bolts being released by his fellow acolyte. Ahead, a sword smashed against his head, but was stopped by his shield. Raising his staff, Martel prepared to deflect the next attack the old-fashioned way, saving his spellpower.
For a moment, they held. Several of the mageknights fell out, taken down by multiple hits.
An axe struck the back of Martel's knee, making him fall to the ground. Before he could recover, a kick sent him all the way down in the dirt. Spitting dust, he raised his head to see the same had happened as yesterday; their left flank had crumbled.
Getting up, he looked at the defeated expressions of his fellow acolytes, while the mageknights cheered and laughed. Unlike the last fiveday, Harriet did not meet his gaze. She seemed angered – perhaps even embarrassed at her failure. Martel wanted to chew her out, release some of his frustrations and repay her some of the insults she had once thrown at him, but it felt futile. It would change nothing.
"Still some way to go for the elemental mages," Reynard remarked.
"As long as they're eight against four," Harriet mumbled, to which the other fire acolytes murmured in agreement.
If the Master of War heard them, he chose to ignore the comment. "Back to the usual sparring!"
Trying to forget about the defeat and his impending detention tomorrow, Martel left the Lyceum and went to the market. It took him a while to gather everything he wanted, having to visit different stalls and vendors. A cauldron along with a few pieces of wood to serve as a foot, and the different herbs he needed. Glass bottles turned out to be prohibitively expensive; Martel ended up buying only one.
When he finally had all that he needed, he continued to the docks. Julia let him inside, and he placed his purchases on the ground. "Ready to do alchemy?"
She nodded with her serious expression; a smile from that girl came more seldom than snow in summer.
They set to work. The plants needed to be prepared; Martel's knife, given to him by Master Jerome, served as their tool for that. It turned out that Julia’s offer of help had not been idle; she deftly handled the knife to chop and cut as needed.
"You must have been a great help to your parents in their workshop."
The girl simply shrugged, continuing her work in silence.
Filling the cauldron with water, Martel used a bit of magic to make it boil. In went the ingredients, out came his newly bought ladle, and the stirring began.
About two hours later, magic glowed in Martel's cauldron. He had used the ringing of temple bells to keep track of time, though he was not sure exactly how long had passed; he wished that he had his Khivan clock with him. Looking down into the pot, the liquid seemed to be as it should, mostly; the light glowed with less intensity than in Mistress Rana's laboratory. Probably because he could not awaken the herbs as well as her, or maybe it had not been boiled and stirred as long as it should.
Regardless, Martel had run out of patience. He also needed to get home from the docks and get some hours of sleep before what promised to be a long, exhausting day tomorrow. "Get the rags," he told Julia.
Using her old clothes, the girl took the handles of the pot and began to tilt.
Wiping his brow, Martel placed the glass bottle on the ground and focused. He was sweating not only from the heat of the cauldron, but also the effort of using his magic to keep the liquid boiling. Now he reached out to connect with the bubbling magic and direct it into the vial.
Cautiously, like stroking a cat until it allowed him to pick it up in his arms, Martel guided the glowing magic into the bottle before corking it.
"Did it work?" Julia asked.
"I believe so." He held up the vial, looking at its orange colour.
"What about this?" She held up the cauldron with the remaining water.
"You can get rid of that."
Resolutely, she moved over to the window and tossed the contents outside. Hopefully nobody stood below on the street. Julia turned back towards Martel. "What will you do with that?"
He glanced at the potion again. He had thought about offering it to her; she could use it more than him. But he realised that as an unproven apprentice, giving his homebrewed elixirs to an orphan child would reflect poorly on him, should anyone ever find out. While he felt certain the potion was safe to drink – it was a simple recipe that he had made several times while supervised by Mistress Rana – it nonetheless sounded bad. "I'll take it home with me, make sure I did it right before I ask anyone else to try out my potions."
"Alright."
"I'll get going. Thanks for your help, Julia."
She nodded, serious as ever. "It was my pleasure."
He left. Once outside the insula, Martel looked at the small bottle in his hands. Before he lost his nerve, he opened it and drank the elixir.
SIXTY-FIVE
CAMARADERIE
As soon as the potion went down his throat, Martel felt warm. As he walked home to the Lyceum, he took off his cap and removed his cloak as well. By the time he went to bed, he wore only his underwear as he lay under a single blanket despite this being a winter month.
He woke, shivering all over. Glancing at his clock in the dark, he could eventually tell that it was four in the morning. He wondered if he was ill; this felt like a fever, this sudden onset of being cold. Putting on clothes before crawling back under his blanket, he soon felt warm again and stopped shivering.
He finally realised that the potion had stopped working, leaving him exposed to the cold. A rather short duration compared to what Mistress Rana had claimed, and an abrupt end to the effect. He figured the former was due to his own lacking in terms of alchemy; as for the sudden change, he wondered if that was also his own fault or if all elixirs work that way. He would find out. Wearing socks, a night shirt, and a cap, he went back to sleep.
When he woke again, Martel felt normal, and he went to his class in the Circle of Fire as usual. They practised the flame wall spell primarily; among the others, Harriet remained the only one who could summon anything remotely useful, and it still would not be sufficient to deter a determined foe. Martel practised as well, improving his casting time; he was tempted to throw it in her face how superior his spellwork was, but he restrained himself. If Moira simply told the other acolytes that losing their skirmishes against the mageknights still earned Martel a detention, he did not want to give them any reasons to exploit that.
After two lessons, Martel felt exhausted. He had spent his spellpower practising during class, and he still had detention this evening. At least Moira had yet to push any of her acolytes beyond the point of actual exhaustion; on the contrary, she reproached any who might seem like they were doing it to themselves.
"Martel, wait a moment," a voice called out to him in the hallway.
He had been on his way to his room for a bit of rest, but Martel was happy to turn around and face the speaker. "Hey, Eleanor."
"I was thinking we could work on our chapters last bell? I think we can both be finished tonight," she suggested.
"I can't," he admitted. He lowered his voice as he spoke again. "I have detention."
She looked at him with a mixture of amusement and surprise. "What did you do to deserve that?"
"Every time we lose a fight against you and the other mageknights, Moira gives me detention."
"Mistress Moira," Eleanor said in correction before she frowned. "Wait, every time? Even if the fault is not yours? You are always the best fighter on your team."
Martel shrugged with a defeated smile. "If one person fails, I guess we all die."
"Well, I can wait for you in the library until you are done, and we can finish our work then?"
He shook his head. "My detention is the entire bell. Library will be closed by then. Look, I don't want to hold you back. You should get your work done. I'll finish mine when I get the chance, I guess." He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and continued to his chamber.
Moira waited for him as he arrived in the Circle of Fire. "You lost again, even though nobody on your team had any reason to sabotage you. They had no knowledge that you would be punished for failure. Unless you were stupid enough to tell them?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Of course I didn't tell them. But it didn't matter. Harriet can't do the spell, which she should have told us," Martel complained.
"She is to blame for her poor spellwork."
Martel was almost taken aback; he had not expected she would agree with him.
"As is the captain who does not know the capabilities of his soldiers."
Moira still finding a way to blame him, on the other hand, felt familiar. "But I'm not anyone's captain. We're all acolytes, all equal. They have no reason to listen to me."
"No reason other than survival? Besides, why do you need others to approve before you take up leadership? Will you loiter around, waiting for defeat until someone pats you on the shoulder and gives you permission to make decisions?"
Her voice and words were as sharp and condescending as ever, but Martel found it difficult to argue. "But how do I get them to accept my decisions?"
"You did before. It was your idea that half should fight defensively and half offensively, wasn't it?"
It was, which made Martel wonder how she knew.
"Stop thinking as a soldier and start thinking as a leader. Unless you wish to spend every Glunday with detention."
Martel did not.
"Alright, take position. Your footwork is laughable, and your fire bolts barely tickle me. Time to whip you into shape."
Dejected, Martel trod to the other side of the chamber and prepared himself to duel.
Almost limping, Martel crossed a near empty Lyceum on his way from the Circle of Fire back to the dormitory tower. He felt too worn to do anything but sleep, even if tomorrow was Manday, which meant handing in the translation for Master Fenrick. Luckily, that was also the day when he worked in Mistress Rana's laboratory in the afternoon instead of his usual morning shift in the apothecary. That gave him a full bell to finish his work then.
Entering the common room at the ground floor of his tower, Martel noticed a lamp burning by one of the tables. Within its ring of light, he managed to make out Eleanor. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he approached her.
"Well, I know you work mornings in the apothecary, so I figured you would have to finish the chapter tonight." She gave him a wink. "A mageknight does not abandon a comrade on the field of battle."
