Firebrand

Chapter 257: Mortar and Pestle

Chapter 257: Mortar and Pestle

Mortar and Pestle

Martel's encounter with Moira still troubled him the next day, as could be expected. As much as Reynard had shown disdain and complete disregard for him, the Master of War had never gone out of his way to cause such pain to a student like Martel. This had been something else. Sitting in his class for the Archean language, he looked at Master Fenrick and wondered if the bespectacled teacher condoned such behaviour from another member of faculty, or if he even knew about it. Not that Martel intended to ask him; while he respected Master Fenrick, he would take his concerns elsewhere. All the same, those concerns swirled around in his mind, keeping him distracted. It was fortunate that he had his tutoring sessions with Eleanor, or else he would probably never learn this language.

In the afternoon, he went to the Hall of Elements. The familiar surroundings with the quiet water circling the central island of earth made Martel feel a little better. Still, he needed to ask, and it felt better to do this at once, rather than let the matter continue to distract him while Master Alastair tried to teach him.

"Master, something happened yesterday during Mistress Moira's lesson." He disliked using the title for her, but it was probably best to appear polite while arguing his case.

"What is it?"

"She punished one of the other students, William, by inflicting pain on him. When I told her to stop, she did it to me instead. I don't mean like a slap across the face or anything," Martel impressed upon the man. "I rarely felt anything like it. And it continued on and on. It felt like torture."

Master Alastair watched him with an expression that was difficult to read. "What in William's behaviour made her do this?"

Martel did not understand why that mattered; surely her behaviour was unacceptable regardless of the circumstances. "I don't know, he – he flinched or something. A completely trivial reason."

His teacher took a deep breath. "I will not deny that Mistress Moira is harsh to the point where it seems like cruelty." He took hold of one hand with the other, rubbing it as if to soothe soreness. "Certainly I thought the same when she taught me."

The revelation took Martel by surprise, though in hindsight, it should not have. After all, Master Alastair had also been trained as a battlemage; it makes sense he had been trained by the same, given how old the Mistress of Fire seemed to be. "You too?"

Master Alastair separated his hands, placing them behind his back. "Aye. From the sound of it, her teaching methods have not changed much, though she might have become – stricter in old age."

Martel still found it hard to believe that the kind-hearted Master of Elements had no issue with this. "So it's fine? She's just allowed to treat us this way?"

"If she has compelling reason, yes. Martel, you must understand that you are being trained for war. I understand right now, the prospect might seem distant, but once you are on the field, bullets and arrows in the air, you cannot flinch. You must be ready."

Martel would still dispute the necessity of Moira's methods – if anything, it seemed a convenient excuse for someone with a penchant for hurting others – but it was clear that Master Alastair would not agree with him. "Very well, master."

"Good. Let us turn to our own lesson. Have you made any progress when it comes to drawing water?"

Martel extended his hand, the same one that had suffered from Moira's spell, and demonstrated his ability to summon water from the very air into his palm.

***

Distracted by his schoolwork and what had happened yesterday, Martel did not check for letters as usual. To his surprise, as he returned to his room to relax before supper, he discovered that an envelope had been pushed under his door. That suggested something either urgent or important, but it could not be from any of his teachers; they would just have written a note and not bothered with an envelope.

Picking it up, Martel looked at the seal before he broke it. It showed a pestle resting in a mortar; same emblem that he had seen on signs in the city hanging above apothecaries.

To Master Martel of the Lyceum,

The Apothecary Guild has received reliable word that you have infringed upon the guild's charter and rights to solely provide remedies for the health of its citizens, including cures towards all ailments. As is our privilege, you are hereby summoned to face a tribunal of the guild's leaders and answer these charges.

You may bring witnesses and any other evidence in your favour, though the tribunal is not obliged to accept these as valid should there be strong reason against. If convicted, the penalty for infringing upon the guild charter will be a fine of up to ten gold crowns for each instance thereof.

If during the proceedings you are discovered to have grossly endangered the health and well-being of others, this matter may be referred to an Imperial magistrate with further punishment possible, such as imprisonment and forced labour in the mines or upon the galleys.

You have been given two fivedays, at the most, to make your preparations. Please respond to this notice which date exactly within that timespan would please you to appear before the tribunal in the guild hall. If you do not reply, the tribunal will assemble at sixth bell on Manday of the fourth fiveday of this, the first month of the fourteenth year of His Imperial Majesty's reign, Emperor Corvinus the Third. Failure to appear before the tribunal will be considered an admission of guilt.

With all respect due,

Charles, alderman of the Apothecary Guild

The same emblem of a mortar and pestle had been sealed underneath the name at the bottom. Sinking down on his bed, Martel stared at the letter, reading the words over and over.