Firebrand

Chapter 447: A Resurgent Need

Chapter 447: A Resurgent Need

A Resurgent Need

When third bell rang, Martel went to the Circle of Fire. It was strange to enter this place voluntarily, given that he usually felt ill at ease within these walls; normally, he could not wait until he was allowed to leave. But more than his negative experiences, it was the company that made the place unnerving for him; absent Moira, Martel found himself less troubled by it.

William arrived soon after. He gave the other acolyte an apprehensive look, perhaps not knowing what to expect. Martel felt the same way; this was more intimidating than teaching Sparrow, who knew nothing about magic and was starting from the bottom. It was a lot easier to make a fool of himself in front of another student, but then again, Martel had nothing at stake; if William did not appreciate his help, he would just leave.

"So. Air. Since you are already trained in fire, that should be an easy element for you to learn. You just need practice."

"I'm not entirely useless," William declared. He raised the wind behind him to make their hair blow about. "It's just not strong enough to do what you do. Actually be useful in a fight."

That made things easier; Martel was not sure how to proceed if William had no skill with the element at all. Instead, this just seemed like he needed some encouragement; he had to actually start practising. Since he had seen Martel use it to great effect in a fight already, he should be convinced of its efficacy. In fact, perhaps suggesting it the other day was all that Martel really needed to do. "Well, I guess you're halfway there. You just need to train until you can command the wind sufficiently to knock someone down."

"That easy, eh." William laughed a bit. He was not quite as tall as Martel, but he had a good physique that helped him during sparring. His brown hair suggested Aquilan ancestry.

"That easy," Martel confirmed. After all, when he himself did it, it was not even a real spell or anything complex like that. It was just a quick and simple effect of the kind that almost any mage ought to be able to learn. "Give it a try. Use your magic to push me back. Put your spellpower into the effect if you can."

The wind appeared once again from William, pushing straight against Martel. It was a brisk breeze, and he could feel the strands of power from the other acolyte, but still not enough to actually push him backwards.

After a handful of moments, William ceased. "That's the best I do, I think. If I tried to use more power, it's like there's a bottleneck keeping it back. I guess because I'm not used to working with the element."

"Probably. And I think we learn differently, so maybe this won't be useful to you, but for me, improving my elemental skills usually happened because I had a need for it to happen."

William frowned. "How do you mean? What need?"

"Usually, some kind of trouble, or just that it would solve a problem. I know here at the Lyceum, we're basically taught control and constant practice is the key to learning, but I think it helps when we actually care about it. I mean, when we feel the need for the magic to happen."

"Well, I guess I don't really feel that. It's not like pushing you back two steps with air would somehow solve my problems."

"No, but maybe it can help motivate you. Think about me beating you during class. If you were better with air magic, that wouldn't happen."

William narrowed his eyes, and his breathing increased. Finally, he released a burst of air; still not enough to force Martel back, but better than before. The scowl on his face was replaced by a smile. "You might be onto something."

"Try it again."

***

After practising with William for half an hour, they agreed that he could continue training on his own and meet again next fiveday. Martel spent the remaining bell working on his own lightning spell until dinner, after which he had alchemy. With their journeys outside the city to gather herbs at an end, he resumed learning recipes; this time, the disease to conquer was red pox.

"This is among the worst diseases," Mistress Rana cautioned him. "Keep your distance and wear scented cloth to avoid breathing the pestilent air. It is highly infectious and kills every third person it infects."

Martel nodded to himself, writing it down.

"Besides the usual fever and aches, you will recognise it on the rash that turns into a multitude of blisters, which fill with fluid. You will not be in doubt when you face a victim of this particular pox."

Martel's quill scribbled furiously.

"All the more reason you should know the particular cure. Unfortunately, one ingredient would be the ground up fangs of a cobra, which is not exactly easy to come by in these northern lands. I have considered possible substitutions, but whether my attempts are successful is not exactly easy to test."

"I guess you'd need victims of this pox first."

"Yes. Fortunately, cows can be infected with this disease, allowing us to use them rather than human victims, risking their lives. Unfortunately, the Imperial administration has refused my requests for pox-ridden cows to be taken into the city."

Martel could not fathom why.

"Well. You have the recipe and the ingredients. You know what to do."

He did indeed. One bell later, he had created an antidote for red pox.

***

Martel's belief that this would be an ordinary day of learning and practising magic came to an end after supper. A message waited for him.

Martel,

Can we meet tomorrow?

I'll be outside your school

At last bell.

Instead of a signature, the note was signed by a red blot. A little strange, but Martel caught the meaning; this was from Ruby. Strange that she had felt the need to identify herself, while at the same time, she did not want to make it obvious by using her name. He wondered what that suggested.

He wavered for a moment, considering her request. Part of him knew that he would regret getting involved. Assassins or inquisitors, he always ended up with someone going after him.

But he did not hate Ruby the way that he despised Kerra or Flora. She seemed much like him; caught between greater powers forcing their will upon her, and wearing her own masks. She struck a confident figure, but Martel had glimpsed behind it. She had her own fears.

Ruby had played him for a fool one time, perhaps, but she had not placed him in any real danger. And she had done him no wrong since, on the contrary. Burning the note, Martel made his decision.