Firebrand

Chapter 411: What's in a Name

What's in a Name

The following day, Martel was once again a simple fire acolyte, learning magical skills. As it was Manday, he began in the laboratory of the workshops, practising his enchanting. He was improving at a decent speed; his heat spell lasted for a few days now before extinguishing. As Master Alastair had instructed him, he would keep practising on the stone, dull as it was, until he no longer seemed to make much progress. Then it would be time to once more try enchanting the fire pots.

Making himself comfortable on the stool, Martel touched the stone with his hands and began weaving his spell.

***

Compared to his phlegmatic thoughts about enchantment, Martel was excited to step into the Hall of Elements. He recalled how he had managed to draw lightning from the sky, even if it had completely drained him of spellpower and left him ill afterwards; in the moment, channelling such power innate to him had felt right. He could not think of anything that compared. And today, he would begin learning this spell, more complex than anything else he had mastered.

"Fire and air. Two related elements, and yet lightning is among the more complex spells to cast. The process might feel easier during a storm, where the elements are already at play," Master Alistair explained. "The presence of the clouds can even allow those with an affinity for water to draw lightning from the skies as well. But to do so on a calm and clear day, through no power but your own, requires complete control of fire and air." He held up his hand, and for a moment, energy crackled between his fingertips.

Martel watched, fascinated.

"Now, I know you have the basic skill required in either element, so that is not in question. Rather, you must learn to channel both with precision. Especially for us fire-touched, our natural tendency would be to favour that element, using air to feed our flames rather than using them equally."

The acolyte nodded, doing his best to understand.

"Thus, the challenge for you is to summon both elements at the same time, with equal power to each, and eventually combine them into a single spell." His teacher extended his hands to either side. In one, fire appeared; in the other, air whirled around in a loop. "Do exactly like this."

Licking his lips, Martel extended his hands as well and tried.

***

A letter, with elegant writing on the envelope, awaited Martel in the entrance hall on his way to dinner. Recognising the seal as that of Legate Fontaine, he frowned and opened the message.

Master Martel,

As battlemage of the legions, you are cordially invited to the solstice celebration at the home of Legate Fontaine this Solday at sixth bell.

Lord Richard Fontaine, Legate of Legio I Urbis

Odd. He saw Eleanor twice every fiveday if not more; she could simply have told him, like she did last year.

Glancing into the dining hall, he spotted her with some of the other mageknights, waiting for the meal to be served. Catching her gaze, he raised his hand with the letter, prompting her to get up and join him by the entrance to the hall. ""Is something amiss?" she asked.

He showed the envelope with the broken seal of her house insignia. "Bit late to be invited, but luckily for you, I have no plans."

An expression of chagrin took over her face. "My father promised he would not invite you. I guess your performance yesterday made him change his mind."

Martel had not expected to hear that. "Why don't you want me to attend?"

She cleared her throat, lowering her voice. "Duke Cheval will be present. I thought it safest for you to stay away. But my father is always looking for opportunities to build reputation among the legions, and you are the most noteworthy of the battlemages here at the Lyceum. He could not resist, I guess."

"I appreciate the concern, but if the duke wishes me ill, I doubt he'll forget about me just because I'm out of sight. If my presence somehow can bolster your father's reputation, even if I don't quite see how, I'll be happy to go."

She bit her lower lip. "I guess now he has invited you officially, it would look strange if you did not attend. But are you sure? Really, it will be fine even if you do not go."

He smiled, looking into her brown eyes. "I'll be there. As long as your father doesn't spring a duel on me like last year."

She laughed a little. "I shall inform him of your condition in the strictest terms."

***

Martel's brief encounter with Eleanor reminded him of another promise he had made to her, albeit in unspoken fashion. Tyrian skálds visited Morcaster from time to time, prompted by the Nine Lords requiring their services. If his and Eleanor's search among the Tyrian runes for a cure to her sister was to prove fruitful, enlisting the aid of such a bard would be necessary. Eleanor envisioned sending for one all the way from the lands of Tyria; she did not move in the same circles as Martel did, after all, or she would probably have gotten the same idea as him. Regardless, it was time he began using his network of acquaintances to find the sort of person they needed.

Of the various Nine Lords, Martel only felt comfortable approaching the Friar. Since the Keeper of the Pact refused to act as a go-between, Martel needed to find him on his own. Their previous meetings had been at the shrine of Saint Laurentius, but obviously, the old monk did not spend his time there otherwise. Nor did Martel have any reason to assume that any clergymen attending that shrine would necessarily know who the Friar was, or whom Martel referred to; the religious orders had plenty of friars, after all. Instead, the wizard went to the one place which he knew the Friar was connected to. The convent for the Sisters of the Sun.

Reaching the compound, Martel saw no other recourse than simply knocking heavily on the gate. It took a while, but finally, a hatch opened to reveal a pair of eyes framed by yellow cloth. "What is it?"

"My name is Martel of the Lyceum. Tell the Friar that I wish to meet with him. Any evening next fiveday will be fine."

The eyes behind the gate narrowed. "Plenty of friars in the city, and your name means nothing to me."

"There's only one Friar who matters, and my name will mean plenty to him."

The hatch was shut. Without any certainty that his message had been received or would be delivered, Martel accepted this outcome for now. If nothing came of this attempt, he would have to try again later, perhaps another method. Turning around, he began the walk home to the Lyceum.