Firebrand

Unrooted

No matter what took place beyond the walls of the Lyceum, life continued at the same pace within. For Martel, that meant classes and duties, and on Malday, that meant climbing the Tower of Air.

"More! Feel the storm! Don't hold back!" Master Gilbert had to roar that he might be heard over the howling winds that flew through the pillars of the platform.

Atop the tower, a ball made from cloth floated in the centre of the small square. Two novices stood on either side, raising the wind behind them to push the ball towards the opposing team while Master Gilbert shouted encouragement from the corner.

Perhaps a tad too confident, Martel had expected his side would win easily. By now, his magic powers had developed to overtake the novices he had class with. Yet it seemed one of the others could match him for controlling air, making it an even battle.

A particularly heavy gust of wind came against him and his companion, blowing them back against the railing. While the safeguard rose to cover the opening between the pillars, making it impossible to fall out of the tower, Martel nonetheless felt his heart in his throat as he looked at the sharp drop to the courtyard below. Perhaps even worse, the ball floated closer and closer. If it touched them or the railing behind, they had lost.

Determined to win, Martel poured spellpower into his control of the air and unleashed a gale. It proved enough. The other novice might have better aptitude for wind, but Martel had more spellpower at his command. Finally, the ball floated across the space to strike against the railing.

"Brilliant! I had my doubts about you, boy," Master Gilbert admitted as he glanced at Martel, "but you brought your magic to bear when it mattered. Next fiveday, rematch!"

Straightening his back, Martel already looked forward to it.

~

Satisfied with himself and in a good mood, Martel left the Tower of Air to attend his work in the apothecary. For once, Mistress Rana was present rather than Nora, who had been sent out of the city to gather certain herbs difficult to obtain.

"Good morrow, mistress," Martel greeted her.

"I disagree," the stern woman spoke. "The foolish harvest games depleted our stores of most salves, and with Nora absent, I have been busy doing grunt work to replenish them."

Martel knew about this, as he had laboured with the apprentice the last several days to create more salves, but it did not seem prudent to point this out. "I will get started on the next round."

"Not yet." Mistress Rana dug around in her pocket to retrieve a piece of parchment. "We need more supplies. Run to the herbalist and get everything on this list." She found some silver coins as well. "Do not overpay, and bring back the change."

"Yes, mistress." Martel grabbed the offered items along with a basket and left.

~

It was a short journey to the herbalist, although the usual crowds in the marketplace at this hour slowed Martel down. He still felt uncomfortable from time to time surrounded by this many people, especially when someone moved unexpectedly next to him, ever since the riots that had culminated at the square in the Khivan enclave. But he knew such events were rare, and he had been plenty of times to market since without incident.

The old herb-gatherer greeted Martel by name and with a smile. Handing over the list, Martel waited as the vendor gathered everything up and placed it in his basket. Money was exchanged, giving silver to receive a few coppers in return, and Martel could go back to the Lyceum. He whistled as he went along, enjoying his trip while he could; once back at the apothecary, monotonous work awaited him.

Lost in his thoughts, Martel did not notice the two inquisitors until they practically stood in front of him, blocking his way. "You, boy!"

The barking voice startled Martel, and he blinked looking at the dark blue uniforms linked with gold. He noticed they each had two daggers in their belt before he raised his eyes to meet theirs.

"What do you have there?" asked the shorter of the pair with a brusque voice while pointing at Martel's basket.

"Just some herbs for Mistress Rana at the Lyceum," he replied, hoping that either of the names might lend him some authority.

"What kind of herbs?" The question was asked in such a manner to dash that hope.

Martel took out the list from the basket. "Just these. Pretty common ones."

The taller inquisitor snatched the parchment from Martel's hand. He gave a nod to his shorter partner, who walked down towards the herbalist, before he glanced over the list. "Strangleroot? What's that for?"

How to explain the alchemical properties of a herb to a layman? "When we make a salve, strangleroot makes the liquid become thick. So it becomes a paste." Even an inquisitor could understand that, presumably.

"Ominous name." He regarded Martel with suspicion under his heavy eyelids.

"I didn't choose it," the novice protested.

The other inquisitor returned from the herbalist, shaking his head a little. His taller companion stared at Martel for what seemed the longest time before he finally took a step to the side and made a throw with his head. "Run along," he growled.

Relieved that the interaction was over, Martel hurried away.

The inquisitors remained in place, watching the novice leave. "You should have pressed him about the copper lanes," grumbled the shorter of them.

"Not yet. Follow him for the rest of the day. See if we rattled him, if he does anything strange. I'll check this out meanwhile." He held up the parchment with the list of herbs on it. "If nothing turns up, we take a swing at him tomorrow."

"Fine."

The inquisitors parted ways; one went north towards the Basilica and their headquarters, the other followed a novice on his way back to the Lyceum.