Firebrand

Help from Above

Martel looked from the prince to Maximilian. He had sparred against the mageknight on many occasions, and he had no trouble doing that again. But he had the distinct feeling exchanging a few blows under the protection of their magical shields would not impress the prince as demanded.

"Come on. Hit me with the best you got," Maximilian told him. The mageknight raised his fists. "Think of it as a fight in the pit," he muttered.

Feeling like he had no other option, Martel gave an empowered blow straight against his friend's chin. His fist never made impact, held back by Maximilian's shield.

Retaliation came swiftly. Martel barely remembered to raise his own protection, but it held the mageknight's first blow at bay. Just not the second, which came immediately after. A fist planted against his chest sent the novice sprawling on his back.

He heard laughter from the young nobleman, especially Cheval. The prince stood with his passive expression, regarding them with cool eyes.

"Not much of a performance," one of them remarked.

"What can you expect from someone with Tyrian blood in his veins?" Cheval snorted derisively. "Disgraceful that he should be in the presence of us with noble blood."

Anger rising, Martel quickly got on his feet. Without thinking, flames filled his hands. "Your clothes burn the same as mine," he threatened and was rewarded by seeing Cheval flinch.

"That resembles better what I expected to see," Flavius said. "If you are an elemental mage, show us your magic."

Martel turned towards Maximilian, who looked at him with apprehension. Yet he held his fists up and made no sign nor gestured towards surrender, even if he had to know that he might be seriously injured if Martel attacked him with fire.

Martel did so. Yet he kept the intensity low, hurling little more than bolt of magelight against the mageknight. They struck Maximilian in the chest, who simply pushed forward and struck Martel, sending him to the ground again.

"Nothing but feeble attacks," Cheval jeered. "I told you he lacked the power!"

Martel's mind raced, trying to think of what to do. If he poured his magic into his attacks, he might hurt his friend badly. But it seemed nothing less would satisfy the prince, still observing them without any emotion expressed.

He looked at Cheval standing on the steps of the pavilion, clearly enjoying the spectacle. It reminded Martel of the time he had shown that arrogant mageknight his place, so many months ago. But he could not do the same here. Despite the thunder and dark clouds above them, it did not actually rain.

But something else was present. Martel almost felt the energy in the air, waiting to be unleashed. He got on his feet and raised one hand straight up at the clouds. Coils of power flew from his fingertips towards the sky, though only visible to those with the gift of magic. Looking at Cheval, he saw the young nobleman take a step back in surprise at this sudden display of might.

In the clouds above, energy responded to his call. Lightning tore the sky and struck the pavilion in a terrifying display of elemental fury. A start went through all the young nobles, and they turned their eyes from the pavilion towards Martel with varying degrees of respect or fear.

"My attacks are not feeble from lack of power," Martel explained as he looked at Flavius, "but because if I unleash my magic, I might kill my friend. Doing so simply to prove Cheval wrong seems a poor bargain." He held his breath, trying to read any sign of emotion upon the prince's face.

The Imperial scion looked back at him. "I am convinced. You may go," Flavius said in dismissal.

With a deep bow, Martel retreated from the garden, Maximilian by his side.

~

They had barely made it out of sight from the prince and his companions before Martel reached out to grab Maximilian by the shoulder, his legs threatening to buckle under him. More than up to the task, the strong mageknight grabbed hold of him. "Are you all right, mate?"

"I don't know. I suddenly have a pounding headache, and my legs can barely hold me up." The last time Martel had felt anything like this, he had been sick with consumption. But that had shown itself over a couple of days; this hit him with all the subtlety of a brick to the face.

"You exhausted yourself," Maximilian explained. "We all do it sooner or later. Think of it as getting your first hangover after a night out." He helped the novice inside and found a bench in a hallway for him to sit.

"I've been tired before," Martel protested weakly.

"No, no," the mageknight said impatiently. "You are magically exhausted. You went beyond your limits, drained yourself dry and more. You just need a good night's rest. Don't do any magic until then."

Dimly, Martel recalled Master Fenrick explaining the process behind drawing magic from your body and the need to replenish it.

"I must say, I'm almost relieved to see you so fatigued."

"Why?" Not a nice thing to say to someone so afflicted as Martel currently was. Even worse, he realised that his sense of magic seemed gone. He did not detect any heat from Maximilian like he always did from people around him.

"You called down lightning, Nordmark. That is advanced magic, even for acolytes. If you could do that without breaking a sweat, I would be scared of you. Not to mention," he added with a mumble, "so would others."

Martel did not feel scary at all in this moment, rather the reverse. It was like when the Broken Blades had kidnapped him and placed gold around his neck, quelling his magic. Forgetting what Master Fenrick and Maximilian had told him, Martel imagined his magic gone forever, which frightened him more than anything.

Straining himself until his head felt like it would burst apart, he summoned a flame in his hand. A sigh of relief escaped him. His magic was still there.

Next, he threw up in the potted plant by the bench.

"Alright, let us get you home. I think we accomplished all we could tonight anyway."