Firebrand

Chapter 337: North, South, in Between

Chapter 337: North, South, in Between

North, South, in Between

Besides his typical relief to have the hardest part of the fiveday done, Martel enjoyed this Manday more than usual. No concerns about Julia, no descents into the sewers waiting, no fears for his friends – just learning new and exciting forms of magic, whether Asterian, Tyrian, or Sindhian with his favourite teachers. For a moment, Martel wistfully imagined if every day of his life could be like Manday.

Staring at the parchment while in Master Fenrick's class, Martel imagined the rune clearly in his mind before he finally moved the charcoal to draw it. The lines could be straighter, but it resembled the symbol, at least. Moving to the next part, Martel imagined a bond between himself and the sign. He thought of danger, trespassers, invaders, anything he would need to be warned about. Finally, he raised his hand to hover above the rune and uttered a simple word. "Vara."

Briefly, the symbol glowed. For a moment, Martel felt as if his fingers touched the parchment, even though his hand remained in the air. An odd sensation, though it disappeared along with the magic shine to be replaced by a sense of triumph. The rune had responded to him. He had managed to activate it, however shortly.

"Oh, well done!" Seated next to him, Eleanor beamed a smile. She sat with her own parchment and symbol, drawn more neatly than Martel's, yet entirely dormant. "You are ahead of everyone else, I believe."

The fire acolyte looked around at the other mageknights to confirm; nobody else seemed to have made any progress with activating their rune. Alerted by Eleanor's outburst, several of them returned Martel's glance, often with envy or frustration.

Master Fenrick came over. "Show me."

Trying not to feel pressured by his teacher's presence, Martel cleared his mind to focus on the rune. Once he felt ready, he held out his hand. "Vara."

The light of magic appeared again, if fainter than before. Maybe because Martel had spent less time preparing himself, or feeling Master Fenrick's eyes on him made the acolyte a little nervous. Still, it had worked. For the shortest of moments, he had felt the connection again.

"Good," his teacher mumbled. "But don't think you're done. If that rune is ever going to serve any purpose, it'll need to remain active for hours. Back to practising."

"Yes, master." Martel bowed his head in acknowledgement and resumed the exercise.

***

Encouraged by his first sign of success with Tyrian magic, Martel still smiled thinking about it as he entered the Hall of Elements, hours later.

"We're in a good mood today, I notice," Master Alastair remarked.

"I was able to activate a Tyrian rune today," the acolyte explained. "For the first time. I thought it might be several fivedays before I got that far. Learning the Sindhian methods certainly did."

"I see." The teacher nodded a little. "I do find it interesting that you're able to wield these different kinds of magic to no detriment. One might have wondered if doing so blunted your skill in either, but you seem as sharp as ever with Asterian spells."

"That's good to hear." Martel's smile widened.

"Tyrian runes… Considering my experience with the northerners, I would never have imagined we'd teach their lore here at the Lyceum. Or see their signs around the castle, pushing water around and whatnot."

"It's a new practice?"

"Aye, indeed. Master Fenrick introduced it. He's the first Asterian mage to learn any of their lore, at least from what I know. He convinced us all of the many uses, including students knowing the most basic runes."

Somehow, Martel had figured that the Lyceum had been the same way since it was established as a school. Strange to realise how much it must have changed just since Master Alastair was a student here.

"Regardless, let's get to it. Your control of the spell is coming along nicely. With today's practice, or maybe a few more lessons, I think we can consider it complete." The teacher summoned a flame and let it float into the air, some ten paces away.

Martel focused on the hardest manifestation of the elemental bolt spell, using air. Imagining the wind itself turning solid like a jar, filling it with his magic, he released the spell and his phantasmagorical jar to fly straight into Master Alastair's flame, extinguishing it.

***

Mistress Rana held up the bottle, inspecting its contents carefully. An icy blue liquid sloshed within. Martel had made the elixir entirely on his own, as was becoming usual; he no longer needed the teacher to awaken the ingredients or help him distil the potion into a flacon.

Closing her hands tightly around the small bottle, Mistress Rana's hand shivered lightly. "Certainly cold. Well done."

Knowing that she did not praise idly, Martel smiled and bowed his head.

"I shall be travelling for a fiveday or two, so we will have to pause your continued studies until then. But when I return, I'll have a new recipe for you to study."

"I'm happy to hear that, mistress." The acolyte almost hungered for that; every recipe presented a kind of magic otherwise inaccessible to him.

"After all, it's limited how many of these potions of cold the apothecary can sell."

It took Martel a moment to realise she had meant this in a wry fashion, almost like a jest; he could count on one hand how often he had heard such from the stern Sindhian woman before.

"Anyway, clean up your worktable."

***

Late in the evening, Martel left the library. He had been studying the volume of Tyrian runes, wondering which others Master Fenrick might teach them. Some of them sounded like they had wondrous properties, not much different from what Sindhian alchemy claimed to accomplish; either seemed to require a dedication to their study, though, perhaps only attainable by the northern bards or the southern alchemists.

Back in his room, Martel lit a flame to give him vision as he changed out of his clothes. The candle on his drawer had not seen use in a long time; it seemed wasteful when he could so easily create his own light.

Crawling into bed, Martel allowed the flame to wither away, and soon after, he fell asleep.