Firebrand

Where the Storm Resides

For Martel's second class on air magic, he did not have to leave the school. Master Gilbert collected him and the other novices from the entrance hall and led them up a nearby staircase. "For the rest of the month, we shall meet up here. No more trips into the city, that's how the watermages waste their time, but not us!" he loudly declared as he strode up the spiral steps while his students hurried to keep up.

They finally reached the top of the tower, going through a hatch to stand outside. The upper platform was built peculiarly with four pillars in each corner upholding a glass roof with a lightning rod, though nothing but empty air in between the columns.

Master Gilbert took position in the centre. He looked directly north at the open space between two pillars, with the same gap east to his right, west to his left, and south behind him.

"This is the tower of air. Yes, surprising name, but at least none can mistake it for something else." Their teacher extended his arms, and Martel felt the wind pick up. He reached out to support himself against the railing, mindful of the drop down to the courtyard below. "This is where the noble art of air magic is learned."

The wind, hitherto a breeze, came stronger. The students spread out along the edge, allowing them to lean up against a pillar or hold onto the railing like Martel did. By observing their hair, he was able to see that the wind did not come from a single direction. It blew away from the tower in all four directions, whether north, south, east, or west. The point of origin was Master Gilbert, sending blasts of air against all of them simultaneously.

"Where the wind blows strongest, where the gale howls, the storm is sure to follow!" The wizard raised his hands in the air. Moments before, the sky had been clear, but now the rumblings of thunder could be heard. A bolt of lightning ripped down to strike the metal rod above them, and Martel felt the energy even as he watched it through the glass roof.

The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived. While the smell of lightning lingered, the sky cleared, and the novices relaxed.

"That is air magic." Master Gilbert looked at each of them in turn. "Let us find out if the storm dwells in any of you. Face me and send your strongest gust of wind to knock me down, and we'll see what you got."

~

Despite their best efforts, Master Gilbert remained standing. It did not seem like the storm had taken up residence in Martel; a brisk wind, perhaps. He was not troubled by it, as he did better than the other novices. He imagined that by the end of the month, he would have shown sufficient aptitude for air magic for his future purposes.

He checked for letters in the entrance hall with more interest than usual, and his expectations were rewarded. Rather than wait until he reached his room, Martel opened the message straight away.

Thank you for your letter. I am doing fine.

You don't have to apologise, Morcaster is

a dangerous city. I'm glad if he is locked

up. Watching the harvest games together

sounds fun. Let's do that.

Shadi

Relieved that events with Leatherfist had not ruined everything between him and Shadi, Martel continued with his day.

~

In the evening, Martel went to the gymnasium as he had promised Maximilian. Several other mageknights also practised their archery. The novice made sure to walk along the edge of the arena, just in case one of the acolytes did not have complete focus on their arrows. He reached his friend and looked at him questioningly.

"Nordmark, good! I must add some heft to this training."

"How?"

"I need to practice shooting at a moving target." Maximilian smiled at Martel.

"I'm not going to let you stick me full of arrows!"

"Do not be foolish. You are much too big a target to present a challenge." Maximilian pulled out a round metal disc from a bag on the ground, the length of his lower arm in diameter. "For the games, we aim at these as they float around in the air. I need you to keep the buckler moving around for me to shoot at."

That sounded more benign. Martel took the object from Maximilian and hefted its weight. Nothing worse than what he had dropped on Leatherfist's head. "Sure, I can do that." He took hold of the disc with his magic and began floating it up and away. "How far?"

"Other end of the ring, and keep it moving! Unpredictably, no patterns!" Maximilian instructed, picking up bow and arrow.

Martel made sure to move behind his friend even while keeping the disc floating some hundred paces away, moving it up and down as randomly as he could.

Maximilian shot his first arrow, striking the edge of the plate with a metallic ring. The disc still floating, the mageknight launched several more missiles. Two of them missed entirely; the third struck the edge as before, insufficiently to make it fall to the ground.

"You're hitting the target," Martel said, trying to be encouraging. He had never shot a bow and did not imagine he could hit anything.

"That is of little use unless I can strike it centre," the mageknight exclaimed frustrated. "It only counts if I bring it down."

"Well, the harvest games are still several days away. You got time to practise."

"I have been!"

"What if you took a little more time to aim?" Martel suggested.

Maximilian shot him a look implying that his help was not well received. "It has to be done speedily. The winner is the first to shoot down three."

"Oh. Maybe you'll do better once you are actually competing. The pressure will make your magic react on instinct."

The mageknight gave him an overbearing glance. "That is not how magic works, Nordmark. Never mind. Get the disc floating again."

They continued to practise for the remainder of the bell without success.