Firebrand

Chapter 467: Sowing the Wind

Sowing the Wind

When Martel returned to his chamber that night, he felt spent, physically. As he woke up refreshed the next morning, he felt spent emotionally. Calling down lightning and controlling the fire afterwards had taken all his strength. He had satisfied the embers of the rage inside of him, and he felt no further need to become entangled with the Nine Lords and their disputes. It was time to remove that mask and return to being Martel the acolyte.

***

The lesson in the Circle of Fire proceeded as usual with the acolytes sparring against each other, learning how to incorporate their magical staves into their spells and fighting. Martel realised that he had reached the point where he had to hold back; unleashing a lightning bolt against another acolyte would grievously injure them, perhaps even kill them under certain circumstances.

Not that he ever intended to use the spell during class; there would never be need for such excessive force, and until he got a better grasp of it, it would also leave him exhausted for the rest of the day. But it was a strange sensation to admit to himself; his magic had progressed to the point where he could point his finger at someone and end their life with a thought.

After the first lesson, Martel left the Circle of Fire along with the other acolytes. Usually, they split into various directions at this stage, none of them eager to talk or spend more time together than necessary; but for once, Martel found himself approached by William.

"I waited for you yesterday, but you didn't show."

Ah. Martel had completely forgotten about his recurring meetings with William, teaching him how to use air magic. "I'm sorry about that. Last fiveday was an ordeal to get through. Lots going on, and it slipped my mind."

The other acolyte gave a shrug. "It's not a big deal. I figured something was up when you missed class on Malday. And besides, I think I've gotten the hang of it. We don't have to meet anymore. I'll keep practising during our regular class."

Martel gave William a look. This was the closest he had come to cordial relations with another fire acolyte; at the same time, he felt tired. All the hours he had spent helping others, like Weasel and his people, or teaching Sparrow. Added to that, his daily work in the apothecary and his attempts at learning enchantment; perhaps it was best to cut back. "Alright. Yeah, you seem like you've grasped the basics of it." For some reason Martel could not quite determine, he added, "I'm sorry the school didn't teach you how to use these kinds of magic in a fight." Perhaps it was guilt that made him speak, conscious of being privileged by having the Master of Elements tutor him individually.

"It's alright. Most days, I'm completely knackered from regular class. I wouldn't have the stamina to take on a lot of extra lessons. We can't all be as quick as you are at learning." With a resigned smile, William walked away.

***

Martel watched as Maximilian sank down on the bench opposite his own at the evening meal. "Nordmark, given any thoughts to the harvest festival?"

"Nothing in particular. I know it's this month – in ten days or so? – But that's it. I'm not participating in any contests, after all. I assume you are?"

"I shall be in the skirmish on the fourth day, like last year. Stars grant that it goes better than last year," the mageknight.

"No archery?"

Maximilian shook his head. "I never enjoyed the sport. All that standing still and doing nothing, it feels like the exact opposite of what combat should be. Besides, any good mageknight fights at the front. Doing archery is just for show."

In Martel's opinion, Maximilian rarely had an issue with using his magic for show, but as he recalled, his friend was not particularly adept with a bow. Magic helped, of course, but when all the other contestants were also mageknights, it did not provide an advantage. "You won't be buying any rune arrows this year then?"

"Waste of gold," Maximilian grumbled. "I will have to buy three for every round. More if a winner cannot be determined."

Martel glanced from his meal up at his friend. "Your father wasn't keen on paying, I take it."

"I did not even bother to ask. He will have to be satisfied with what I can accomplish in the skirmish. Much more fitting for a mageknight, anyway."

Almost a pity; compared to last year, Martel actually understood runes. He would have been curious to inspect the arrows that the skáld had sold Maximilian last year. "Will Eleanor be participating?"

"I assume so. Her father wants the glory as much as mine. It makes me wonder what he has planned for the Legio Urbis this year – what battle they will perform."

More and more memories returned to Martel. It had been quite the spectacle last time, though it was bittersweet to reminisce; Martel had spent every day of the harvest festival last year in Shadi's company. While he did not think of her so often anymore, it still happened every now and then, always making him feel strange.

"Anyway, I only came to inform you that I have naturally ensured a seat on the stands for you. Even when I am competing, you are assured a place."

Martel was not in a particular mood for festivities right now, but in ten days, that might have changed. And if he still felt in a subdued mood by then, all the more reason to spend time with his jovial friend at the celebrations. "Alright. Thank you. I'll look forward to that." Eventually, at any rate. He did not enjoy the thought of all the people and noise at the festival grounds, but he planned to spend every day until then at the school, due to his own performance last night; after ten days, he knew that he would welcome a change of scenery from the Lyceum.

"That is what friends are for," Maximilian declared magnanimously before digging into his supper.