Firebrand

One Does Not Talk About Sparring Guild

Martel traced his steps back through the sewers until he reached the grate door. He picked up the padlock and placed it onto the door but without clicking it together, leaving it unlocked. With luck, nobody would have reason to come here tomorrow, and the door would still be open for Martel's next trip. This taken care of, he hurried to get all the way back to the castle, up the hatch, and out of the workshops. Removing his cloth mask, he took a few deep breaths; the effect of the perfume had lessened eventually, leaving him with an odd mix of sweet and foul odours in his nose. Continuing towards his chamber, he noticed that the smell seemed to follow him; his robe had suffered from prolonged exposure. As he reached his floor in the dormitory tower, he pulled off most of his clothes and sent them down the hatch for laundry. Returning to his room, he glanced at his clock. It read five, meaning he had spent about three hours underground. It also meant he could hope for two hours of sleep. Forced to take what he could get, Martel went to bed.

~

Unlike his last sojourn to the subterranean labyrinth of Morcaster, Martel had chosen the date better this time. As he dragged himself to his first class rather deficient on sleep, he praised his Stars that today was Manday; no need to perform spellwork during Master Fenrick's lesson on the theory of magic. In fact, as long as he avoided visibly yawning, he could get away with paying little attention and letting his sleep-deprived mind rest.

The afternoon allowed Martel to catch up a bit on rest before his practical lesson, the second of the day with Master Fenrick. Luckily, he had not expended his spellpower last night in the sewers, so despite his lack of sleep, he had no problems using magic. He gathered with the other novices in the arena, despite the rain. This particular lesson could be done anywhere, but for some reason, Master Fenrick would not allow them to, say, go to the Hall of Elements or the Chamber of Earth or something like that. If asked, Martel was sure the teacher would say something about a mage had to be ready to cast spells regardless of the weather.

Drizzling rain aside, it was a slightly odd class that at the same time seemed both easy and difficult. The purpose was to train the novices in their spellpower, making them able to cast more and more challenging spells, holding concentration and maintaining effects for longer and longer time. The easy part was that it did not matter which spell they used; the difficult part was that they were expected to keep going until the limits of their strength. At first, Martel had noticed how he had improved, almost from one class to the next. Now, it did not seem to happen anymore.

"Martel, come here." Master Fenrick beckoned for the novice to join him.

Guessing that his teacher had also noticed his lack of further progress, Martel walked over feeling a little downcast.

"I think you may have reached the limits of what can be demanded of you. At least until you learn far more advanced spells than a novice can master."

That was not what Martel had expected to hear, but he made no complaints. "What should I do then?"

"To begin with, you may be dismissed from this class. Your first year is nearly at an end anyways, and you have made faster progress with your spellpower than most novices. Perhaps due to your age."

Martel imagined he had probably had more opportunities to use his magic outside of school than most novices as well. "So I don't have to attend this lesson anymore?"

Master Fenrick shook his head. "No. Use your afternoons on Manday to practice spells for your examination."

"I shall, master."

~

"Max, you don't own a Khivan clock, do you?"

The mageknight looked up briefly from his supper. "Why should I? I already got that damn bell whipping me to go from one class to the next. Besides, one of those monstrosities would take up half my chamber."

"No, they can be – never mind." Martel would just let it be a surprise. He turned his thoughts to another matter. Ever since his duel against the earthmage in the Undercroft, he had thought about how to best defend against magic. As a mage, Martel had great advantages fighting ordinary brigands and thugs, but he wasn't on even footing against another wizard.

Also, the conversation between the inquisitors that he overheard last night made it seem distinctly possible that he might encounter the maleficar in that damp place. While Martel still believed that this fiend could not possess great power, since he let a little girl escape from his clutches, it would not hurt to be prepared for such a fight as well. "Max, are there any places where wizards fight each other, like for training. I know you mageknights do it, but what about elemental mages?"

The mageknight made some mumbling sounds, keeping his eyes on his meal. "I have heard of that, I suppose."

"Do you know any? Can you introduce me? I'd ask myself, but I don't know any acolytes really, and they probably won't take me seriously as a novice. But you know that I'd put up a good fight in a sparring match."

"There are some who meet on Pelday nights. In the Chamber of Earth, a while after last bell," Maximilian muttered.

"That sounds great!" Exactly what Martel needed. "Like a fighting ring or sparring guild?"

"You could call it that."

"Have you been?"

The mageknight cleared his throat. "I have been there one, two… months. Maybe three. Half a year at most."

Martel crossed his arms, suddenly feeling indignant. "And you never told me? You never thought I'd like to be part of this?"

"Look, it is not for novices. Most of the students are acolytes in their second year. I could not show up with a fresh novice learning his first spells, aiming to be a weathermage," Maximilian defended himself.

"That might have been true half a year ago, but you have seen me in fights. You trained me!"

"Yes, to fight against ordinary brawlers - no need to spar against mages, right? And given how much you complained and moaned about not only training, but also having to fight some poor sod without magic, I did not think you would be interested."

Martel kept staring at his friend, feeling betrayed.

"Also, Eleanor did not want you there," Maximilian mumbled. Receiving another look from the novice, he threw his arms up in frustration. "Look, it is an informal thing. You are not supposed to tell people about it or just invite anyone, especially not novices. And you know I have to keep on good terms with Eleanor, given the connection between us."

Martel had forgotten; he could not quite grasp the idea that his friend, same age as himself, already had a marriage union planned. "Pelday, after last bell? I will see you then."

Maximilian grumbled something inaudible in response.

~

Martel spent another evening like yesterday, keeping himself occupied in his room once the last bell had rung. However, he did not feel the need to wait until two or three in the morning; that had only been to ensure nobody saw Weasel in the castle, whose presence could not be explained away. If Martel roamed the hallways, he could always simply claim sleeplessness and taking a walk. At worst, he would be told to return to his room. He only had to avoid being seen in the workshops, where he had no reason to be.

Once his Khivan clock showed midnight, Martel felt ready to depart. With the same supplies as yesterday, he left his room. He did not encounter anyone making his way to the workshops; using heat to sense his surroundings, just very briefly, he did not notice anybody nearby, and he slipped inside.

He hurried to reach the hatch and climbed down. Putting on his scented mask, Martel continued down the tunnel and found that the padlock remained open. Once more, he could remove it and pass through the grate door, ready for whatever he might encounter, whether a lost girl or a dreaded killer.