Firebrand

Chapter 419: From Red to Blue

From Red to Blue

Waiting for the lesson to begin in the Circle of Fire, Martel noticed something amiss once Moira arrived. She carried only three of the staves rather than four, despite the full number of acolytes present. She distributed the ruby-tipped implements to the other students and instead pulled out a small wand from her belt. "Well?" she said, directed at Martel as she extended the small tool towards him. "Get to practising," she barked at the remaining acolytes, who mumbled to themselves and dispersed around the room.

The teacher turned her attention back on Martel, who approached and accepted the wand. Looking it over, he found it to be made of beautiful dark wood with silver lines running through it. At the tip, a sapphire had been inserted. The wand of a weathermage.

"I'm told you once fancied having one of these," Moira remarked with her typical touch of disdainful venom in her voice. "And Master Alastair claims you're even decent with water. Almost unnatural for a fire-touched, I'd say, and pointless too. But since you picked up how to make the ruby work, it might be fun to watch you flail around doing the same with this." She nodded towards the part of the circle where Martel usually practised along with the slit in the wall serving as his target. "Don't be shy, boy, let's see what you can do with a wand for weather plebs."

Trying not to let her rile him up – besides rewarding her efforts, it would only make it harder for him to focus – Martel moved over and held up the wand. In a way, it ought to be simple. It seemed to work the same way as the staff of a battlemage; silver lines conducting magic towards the gem, serving as a focus point for his spell. The only difference was the size; a battlemage needed a staff for close combat. The same demand was not made of weathermages, allowing them to have a much smaller and lighter implement to carry.

Thus, while the instrument was much the same, the difference lay in the magic. Summoning a flame was instinctive for Martel; literally the first thing he had ever been able to do and how his power had manifested itself. As the opposite element, water did not heed his command so easily. Inside the Circle of Fire with its dry air, there was hardly a droplet to be found except for the sweat of the other students, which Martel preferred not to make use of.

Seeing no better choice, Martel tried to draw water straight from the surrounding air. If he had done so into his hand, he felt confident that at least a small puddle would have formed in his palm. Now, he channelled the magic through the wand, trying to use the sapphire's power to strengthen his small effect.

Nothing happened; the gem, wand, Martel himself, and his surroundings remained entirely lacking in moisture. Sensing another uphill battle, Martel breathed deeply and tried again.

***

A message found Martel during the day, and though he did not recognise the handwriting, he could guess the sender.

Master Martel,

Last bell tonight

at the shrine of

Saint Laurentius.

Martel knew that every time he called upon the Friar, certainly every favour he asked for, would incur a price. But so far, the old monk had dealt with him fairly. And expectations or not, there was a limit to how far a battlemage could be pushed; presumably, the Friar knew that. Martel would repay any aid given within reason; he would not allow anyone, even a Ninth Lord, to demand more.

***

As on previous occasions, the small temple was empty except for one old monk. Martel wondered what the other clergymen thought of being asked to leave, or perhaps none tended to the shrine at night; except for the newly added watchman in the crypt, if Martel recalled correctly, watching over the relic.

"Master wizard, we meet again. I'd start to feel flattered if I thought you simply wanted my company, but I sense you have another request."

"Your instincts serve you well. I have a friend, a young girl named Julia. Perhaps twelve years of age, depending on how malnourished she might be."

"What of her?"

"Inquisitors arrested her parents, years ago. She's been hiding from them ever since, afraid the same might happen to her. I've been taking care of her as best I can, getting her a place to stay and such. Now she's gone. Has been for many days," Martel explained.

"If she's a child of the streets, she might simply have gone back to what she knows," the Friar suggested with a careful tone. "Your good intentions are laudable, but some prefer unsafe freedom to the security of a home that depends on others."

"Truth be told, I suspect that is the case," Martel admitted. "Still, I feel that I owe it to her to be sure. If she has been taken by the inquisitors, I can't let her languish in their cells. And if they don't have her, at least I know she's made her own choice."

The monk gave a slow nod. "I can make inquiries. That is easy, and I don't mind doing so as a gesture of goodwill. But if against our expectations, the girl is held by the Inquisition – securing her release is a far more complicated matter."

"I assumed as much."

"It can be done." The Friar, for once, turned his head to look at Martel. "But it will bear a high cost. If nothing else, the previous favours granted you, protection from the Inquisition and such, may be consumed by this. Or I'll expect to be repaid through other services that a powerful wizard may provide."

"Understood."

"Very well." The monk gave another of his slow nods. "I'll ask around."

"You have my thanks." Bowing his head in gratitude and farewell, Martel rose from the bench and left the shrine. While he disliked the idea of Julia living on the streets again or hiding out in the sewers, it would be preferable to captivity in the Office of the Inquisition. For that reason, as much as Martel wanted to know where she was, he hoped the Friar's inquiries would be fruitless. And if against expectations, he should receive a message that Julia was in the clutches of the mage hunters – Martel would have to pay the price.