Firebrand

Chapter 498: Examinations

Examinations

Martel spent the next day attending his last classes before the examination. Nothing about it suggested anything out of the ordinary; they practised improving the range of their magic under Moira's disdainful gaze. If she had any further wisdom to share with her students or final advice for them, she did not share it. As the lesson ended, she marched away, and the four acolytes scattered, for now.

On the following morning, they gathered in the entrance hall at second bell. They watched the mageknight students, all of them armoured, make their way towards the arena; evidently, their test would take place at the expected place. As for the fire acolytes, nobody had told them what to expect.

Moira finally appeared, and with a toss of her head, she gestured for them to follow her out of the castle. The sight of the wild-eyed woman and four young wizards behind her made everyone steer clear, and they had no trouble navigating the streets of the city.

She led them north. Martel wondered what lay in this direction, and why they did not have the examination back at the Lyceum. But nobody spoke as they moved along the main roads, reaching the nearest city gate. Still Moira continued.

In the flat landscape beyond the walls, the wind came howling at them, and they all pulled their cloaks tighter. It had taken more than an hour of walking just to reach the edge of the city, and Moira showed no signs of stopping.

She led them away from the cobbled road down a smaller path, and after a while, something came into view in the horizon. A compound of some sort, though it looked strange. As they got closer, Martel realised why; it was in ruins.

"Mistress, what is this?" someone finally asked.

"An old estate. It was ravaged by fire long ago. Rather than rebuild or tear it down, the Imperial administration uses it for a few purposes, such as your examination," Moira explained, feeling uncharacteristically generous with information, it seemed.

The acolytes looked at each other as they continued towards the ruins.

***

Getting closer, Martel noticed various details. Most of the walls of the main building remained standing, but the fire had eaten the roof. No sign of smaller constructions such as stables, a barn, or housing for farmhands and the like. Presumably, the fire had cleared them away.

However, something new also stood on the yard before the ruined manor. A tent had been raised, and a few members of the city guard milled about outside. A few carts stood there as well and a weapons rack, mostly empty except for several staves.

Spotting their approach, one guard stuck his head inside the tent. Shortly after, an elderly clerk appeared. Giving the man a second look as they came close, Martel realised he was not some ordinary scribbler; he wore gold jewellery in different places, and his tunic was made of finer cloth than a typical clerk might afford.

"Alright, we're here. There's chain shirts and staves in the carts or on the rack, so get dressed. Trust me, you'll want it." Moira nodded at the wagons, and the four acolytes walked over and began removing their red robes. The guards regarded them with mild interest. "Your turn," Moira said to the scribe.

He waited until the young wizards were armoured, clearing his throat to gain their attention. "Well met." The acolytes all looked at him. "I am here as a representative of the Imperial administration to ensure you are fit for duty as battlemages in His Imperial Majesty's legions."

Martel wondered if every sentence out of this man's mouth would be this long.

"Your task today is simple. Once completed, you are free to return to the Lyceum and remain there in the following days. The Imperial administration will determine your posting in the next month, and you will receive your orders accordingly."

All to be expected.

"The task is this." The clerk turned towards the ruined manor behind him. "You must enter the front doors of the estate behind me and make your way through the building. Directly on the opposite side, you'll find the kitchens and the back door. All you have to do is leave through that door, and you pass the examination."

Simple enough. Martel assumed various obstacles or adversaries waited inside, but he was not worried.

"I will remind you that failure to pass the examination will have dire consequences. If you are unfit to be a battlemage, you will owe the Empire a heavy debt for all its expenses incurred in your training. You will still be put to work where your meagre magic might serve some purpose, but you will not have any rights, and all your wages shall go towards repayment of your debt. Furthermore, to hasten that resolution, your closest relatives will likewise be placed under forced labour. The men will become galley slaves and the women given to pleasure houses."

Martel narrowed his eyes. He was not going to fail the examination, but the mere mention of this threat raised his temper. He balled his hands into fists, suppressing the urge to release a bolt of lightning at this pompous little fellow, who spoke of such evil intentions with a dreary, monotone voice. Looking at the other acolytes, Martel was not alone in his reaction, it seemed. He now understood why the scribe wore gold.

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"Any questions, ask your teacher. I shall leave to witness the outcome." The scribe looked at Moira. "Send them in one at a time." He immediately left, setting a course to walk around the building.

As for Moira, she turned to Martel. "Let the fire-touched go first."

***

Still incensed at the threat, Martel strode past the front doors, staff in hand. As he passed through them, the guards outside closed the doors behind him.

He took a few deep breaths, realising that his emotions worked against him right now. He needed a cool head and his senses sharp, not distracted. He looked around. He stood in a modest entrance hall, though missing the roof. Along one wall, a balcony ran. Ahead were the remains of the staircase that led up to it, though the path was blocked by debris, perhaps from when the roof caved in.

Martel's observations were interrupted by an arrow embedding itself into the ground in front of his feet. His instincts flared up, and he summoned his shield to protect him. He looked for cover and saw more debris lying against the wall opposite the balcony. With no better options – standing still was not a choice – Martel dashed over to dive beneath the rock.

This bought him a few moments, but if the archer stood up on the balcony, he only had to move down until Martel would be in his sight again. He needed to find his attacker and disable him first.

Martel let his sense of magic flow out from him. No trace of heat could be felt, rather the opposite. Cold pockets, like a man wearing gold. This did tell Martel that the archer was higher up than him, using the balcony at his vantage point, but it also meant any direct spells were unlikely to hit. Nor could he easily go into close combat, as the staircase was blocked. Besides, running out into the open would only play to the archer's advantage.

However, Martel knew exactly how to stop such an opponent; rather than go for the bowman, he went for the bow. The gold protected the archer himself, but not his weapon. Trusting in his magical shield, Martel glanced towards the balcony to find his adversary.

He was rewarded by seeing movement as the archer stood up to release an arrow before crouching back behind the railing of the balcony. The arrow struck Martel's shield by his shoulder and fell to the ground. Renewing his protective spell, Martel allowed himself to be a target once again.

As soon as the archer showed himself, the wizard made his move. The bowstring was easy to sense; residual heat from friction and fingertips made it stand out from the cold surroundings of the gold-wearing soldier. As he drew back his bow to release another arrow, the string burst in his hands.

Unexpectedly, laughter issued from the balcony. "Well played!" came a shout, and Martel watched the soldier stand up on the balcony and walk away. Quickly, the acolyte hurried across the hall to enter through one of the small door openings on either side of the staircase.

***

Though the lack of furniture made it difficult to tell, Martel figured he stood in the dining hall of the estate, about the same size as the one he had just left. If so, the kitchens would probably be nearby; most likely, he just had to cross this room as well. The only obstacle, and what presently demanded his attention, was the mageknight in the middle of the hall. Seeing Martel, he drew his sword and charged.

Martel could not expect to beat a mageknight in close combat and a contest of arms. Distance and elemental spells were his friends. To buy himself time, he sent a powerful gust of wind against the warrior. It made him stumble and stop to catch himself from falling, but it did not send him to the ground as Martel had hoped. He followed up with a quick fire bolt, which the mageknight caught with his shield. Evidently, he was accustomed to fighting elemental mages.

As Martel had feared, close combat ensued. He parried as best he could with his staff, but he knew the knight would break through his defences. He thought of the best way to keep his opponent at bay and realised what to do. In the small space between them, Martel conjured up a wall of flames.

They stood so close, the sudden fire stung not only the mageknight but also Martel, yet it worked as intended. Both of them immediately stepped back, and Martel ensured the wall spread from one side of the hall to the other. Flames taller than any man now rose with intensity separating them; as they flickered, Martel caught glimpses of the warrior and could fling spells at his opponent.

To his disappointment, none of them landed. The mageknight seemed well-versed in defending himself against such attacks, and the flame wall prevented Martel from using his ability to sense the warrior's body heat to guide his spells. Still, Martel could attack, and his opponent could not; he had the upper hand.

Presumably reaching the same conclusion, the mageknight gave himself a running start and charged forward. He leapt through the flames, pain visible on his face, but he cleared the fire and once more attacked Martel.

Their fortunes reversed once more, Martel could not defend himself adequately and took several hits. His chain shirt saved him from the worst of it; he could summon his shield, but that burned his spellpower and only bought him a moment's respite. He tried to parry with his staff and also attacked the mageknight with another fire bolt, but the warrior foresaw this and caught the spell with his physical shield.

Seeing the wall of flames behind the mageknight, Martel realised that he attacked from the wrong angle. He cast another spell, the same as his first one in this combat. Raising the wind, he pushed his opponent as far back as he could. As before, the mageknight did not fall down, but he stumbled backwards into the towering flames behind him.

A yell of pain escaped him, and he threw his sword down as he stepped forward to escape the fire. "I yield!"

Relieved, Martel dismissed his spell and allowed himself a deep breath. "Sorry that I hurt you," he mumbled.

The mageknight picked up his sword and placed it in its scabbard. "Never apologise for fighting your enemy, boy. Out there, it is you or him. Only one of you leaves alive. Always make sure it is you." He gave half a smile that softened his words and gestured with his head at the doorways behind him. "Move along. Let me catch a breather before the next."

***

After the dining hall, Martel stood in a corridor, typical of the kind that allowed servants to swiftly move about the place. He wondered what else awaited him, if anything. The first challenge had been ranged combat, and this had been close quarters; would they test him further, or had he passed the examination?

Rather than celebrate prematurely, Martel kept his wits about him as he continued through the manor. The doors of the place had all burned, so he could easily glance into the different rooms. These looked like servant quarters; the kitchens had to be nearby.

Down the end of the corridor, he saw a larger room beyond and guessed that to be his destination. Crossing the threshold, he noticed three things. A large fireplace in the middle, where large meals could be cooked; a newly built door in the other end of the area, presumably leading outside; and a hand wielding a dagger aimed at him.