Firebrand

Chapter 400: Circumstantial Studies

Chapter 400: Circumstantial Studies

Circumstantial Studies

Next day was Solday, where Master Jerome had kindly allowed Martel to practice his enchantments rather than do his regular chore for the Lyceum. However, instead of proceeding directly to the laboratory, Martel sought out the artificer. "Master, I spoke to Master Alastair, who suggested I begin by practising on the large stones that he regularly enchants for you. The heated stones you use in the baths and such."

"Are you sure? That seems only more difficult to enchant with fire. Well, if Master Alastair says so. I'll bring you one, you go sit at your usual place."

Martel went to the laboratory and waited. Soon after, Master Jerome appeared holding a large rock with both hands. It was slightly elongated, but generally round and smooth, suggesting a stonemage had shaped it. It probably weighed fifty pounds or more, and the artificer placed it on the floor rather than the wooden tables. "Enjoy yourself, lad. I must get back to my own work."

Martel dragged a stool over to sit in front of the stone. He reached out with his magic; it was cold, but otherwise completely ordinary. It also felt massive, unlike when Martel poured his magic into the earth or water, which felt more intangible with the risk of his spell dissolving in every direction. This was more like striking his fist against a brick wall. He sensed that it would not be easy for his magic to affect the stone, but he saw what Master Alastair had meant; there was not really any risk of Martel damaging the rock. He could pour as much magic into it as he wanted. Placing his hands on the smooth stone, Martel exerted his will to make the material heat up.

***

When the bell rang, Martel was unsure whether he had made any progress. Any heat he attempted to instil seemed to dissipate as soon as he ended his spell. The stone did feel warm to the touch, but only where Martel's hands had pressed against it. He did not get the sense that the warmth had taken up residence in the rock, able to create its own heat.

Well, first attempt. Next fiveday, he would have two more bells to practice, and if it did not suffice, he would have to continue practising on other days. He did not know when, as his classes on the remaining days exhausted most of his spellpower, but perhaps he could take it light such as during combat lessons on Maldays. As long as Moira was not in attendance, of course.

***

As always, Eleanor was present in the library, already reading before Martel arrived. Initially, he had been impressed by her punctuality; having a Khivan clock meant he arrived on time, and yet she always appeared first. Eventually, he realised that she probably started much earlier than him, driven by her motivation to do what it took to help her sister; it was just Martel who only spent the one bell.

She greeted him with a quick smile, and he grabbed one of the books to begin reading. He had his doubt they would ever find something to help her sister, given it was such a specific need; it did not seem reasonable that even if the Tyrians possessed the necessary magic to heal her, the pair would happen to come across it in one of these books.

Interrupting his reading, Martel considered another possibility. Eleanor's plan was to find proof that Tyrian magic to cure her sister existed and thereby convince her father to summon a skáld with the necessary power. But Martel knew that sometimes, the northern bards found their way to Morcaster on their own. The fellow who had sold rune-enchanted arrows for the mageknights at the games last year, or whoever had inscribed the wardstone that Ruby used when breaking into the convent of the Sisters of the Sun. Granted, magic to cure the mind seemed vastly more complicated than those examples, and Martel did not feel confident they would have that power. Certainly, nobody would bother selling rune arrows if they could sell healing instead.

But maybe, if Martel used his network in the city, he could find out if a skáld with such power had arrived in the city. He and Eleanor could ask directly whether Tyrian magic existed that could provide what they needed, rather than search endlessly among texts written by Asterians.

He decided to investigate that tonight. For now, he would help his friend as she had requested. Sitting up straight, he continued reading.

***

After saying farewell to Eleanor, Martel made a quick trip outside the castle. If he were to gain the help of Morcaster's underworld, there was only one of the Nine Lords he felt comfortable approaching. But unlike Kerra or Lady Pearl, the Friar did not seem to have a public house or similar establishment where he might be found. So if Martel wished to contact him, he had to do as last time, which meant asking the Keeper to set up a meeting. Which in turn meant buying an oatcake from the girl across the square.

She raised an eyebrow seeing him approach. "You're just buying this because you're hungry, right?"

"No, why? I need to speak with him."

"That's the issue. He said your business has been concluded, and he's not your errand boy. Whatever you need, you'll have to figure that out for yourself." She gave a sudden smile. "But you're welcome to buy all the cakes you want."

Not bothering with a response, Martel turned around and walked back. He felt that he had showed extraordinary goodwill towards the Keeper, going to great lengths to find the relic, and he would certainly remember being dismissed this way, should the rogue ever turn up asking for favours, hat in hand.

Perhaps this was for the better in the end, though. Talking to this girl just to be able to talk to the Keeper, solely that he might put Martel in touch with the Friar – it was a rather laborious way of communicating. Maybe he could try to locate the old monk himself and speak to him directly. Or perhaps this was a sign from above that this was a bad idea, and he should not indebt himself to those people. He would have to give it some thought. Another night, anyway; tonight, he would spend the rest of his magic trying to enchant a stubborn rock.