Firebrand

Scarecrow

An unfamiliar sound woke Martel. Not the noise of siblings, the roar of the forge being lit, or the neighbour's rooster greeting the sun. A bell, tolling loudly.

Likewise, he did not recognise his surroundings as he opened his eyes. Clothes lay on a stool. An ink set rested atop a small desk. An unlit candle and an empty bowl stood on a commode. Strangest of all, he was alone. He smiled as he surveyed his fiefdom, all his.

He washed and put on the brown robe issued to him as a novice. Being possibly the tallest novice to attend the Lyceum, it ended several inches above where it should. The quartermaster had promised a better-fitting one, but it would take time.

Reaching the dining hall quickly, he found it empty. The many long tables stood waiting for students; as for food, neither sight nor scent reached him.

A boy appeared, carrying a stack of wooden bowls taller than his head. He looked at Martel. "Someone's hungry. Guess you didn't outgrow your clothes for no reason." He cast a look at where Martel's robe proved too short to reach his ankles.

"I heard the bell," Martel explained, a tad confused.

The other boy laughed. "Just to wake people up. We still got to make breakfast first. You'll be waiting a while."

~

At least Martel was first in line to fill a wooden bowl with porridge. Other students still trickled into the hall by the time he had finished. He noticed some brought their own small parcels of food, mostly bread or fruit, to supplement their breakfast. He felt a tad envious, but lacking coin, it was not an option for him at present. Instead, he remembered his first task of the day.

Making his way through the school, asking for directions a few times, he reached the chambers of the overseer.

"Enter."

Martel opened the door. He glanced around the room, noticing the wealth of books upon her shelves. As for Mistress Juliana, she sat at the desk with her back towards him. He could only see her hair, already tied up in a knot, until she looked over her shoulder.

"Martel. Good." She rose, holding a piece of parchment in her hand. "I have your schedule for the coming months." She handed it to him, and he looked at it eagerly. "You will learn elemental magic for two bells on Pelday and Glunday. For Malday, two bells of empowerment magic. Manday is reserved for astronomy at present. Normally, you would begin learning the theory of magic, but time does not permit we wait until a new class begins, so you will learn astronomy first."

Martel only listened with half an ear, his mind filled with thoughts of learning magic. "Great."

"Some mealtimes have been highlighted. You will be required to work in the kitchen to help. When you hear the bell ring, make your way there immediately."

"Got it."

"As for Solday, you have no classes. But you will be assisting the artificer of the Lyceum according to his requirements, as your schedule shows."

Martel frowned briefly, having no idea who that was or what it entailed. "Very well."

The overseer placed her hand on Martel's shoulder; despite his height, she was even taller, which coupled with her thin frame only made her seem more intimidating. "Martel, you are expected to graduate in two years. I encourage you to spend your spare time practising your skills."

"Two years? I thought I had four."

The overseer let her hand fall away. "The headmaster would not agree to that. Yet the Master of Elements and I are confident you can accomplish this in the given time."

If Martel had been better at interpreting tone of voice or body language, he would have seen signs contradicting the certainty expressed in Mistress Juliana's words. Instead, he simply smiled. "Alright."

~

Leaving the overseer's chamber, he went to a door in the corridor that had caught his eye earlier. With a nervous excitement, he entered the library. He inclined his neck to stare at bookshelves at least ten feet tall. The room itself probably measured thirty by thirty paces, with rows of shelves every other pace. Each of them stacked with books. Martel could scarcely fathom the amount of knowledge stuffed into this space.

"Wash and dry your hands before you touch anything," came an admonishing voice. Down the aisle stood a gaunt man, wearing an undyed, woollen robe. His eyes had the weary stare of a man spending his life protecting books against being manhandled by irreverent students.

"Of course," Martel hurried to say. "I am not here to read anything yet, though. I just wanted to see the library."

The librarian gave him a scrutinising look. "New student? Your parents must have fed you well." Before Martel could consider a reply, he spoke again. "This floor is open to novices. Once you become an acolyte and learn the runes, you will be able to use the door to the upper floor." He turned to point at a doorway in the opposite end. "Don't get an older student to open it for you, and don't remove books from the library. Either offence could see you expelled."

"Understood," Martel mumbled.

~

The time had come for Martel's first lesson. He made his way to the Hall of Elements, taking a deep breath before he pushed the doors open. Beyond, he found a large, vaulted room. Unlike the other halls illuminated by white-glowing crystals, the space had lamps burning with genuine fire along the walls. The floor was peculiar. Circular, the outer edge was stone like the rest of the Lyceum; a ring of water flowed next around the room, too narrow for any to fall in. Finally, the inner part was dirt. One might have expected it to be stamped hard, like the floor of any peasant's hut, but instead, the earth lay scattered and broken much like a newly tilled field.

In the centre stood a short man, wearing a purple robe. Upon hearing the doors open, he turned towards them and smiled. "You must be Martel. Come, boy, join me." Martel did so, walking to the centre of the room to approach the mage. "I hear you're to be my newest student. Do you know who I am?"

"The Master of Elements."

"Indeed. Alastair's my name. And this, appropriately, is the Hall of Elements where I teach." The wizard gestured at the surrounding space. "Mistress Juliana says you may have what it takes to be a watermage."

Martel's heart jumped in his chest. "Oh, yes, master. I want to be a weathermage more than anything."

"You've come to the right place. I imagine you have guessed why this hall is built the way it is?"

Martel glanced around. He noticed in the intervals between the burning lamps, holes could be seen in the stonework. "All the elements are here. Fire, water, earth, air."

"Good. Let's see what you can do."

"I couldn't do much with water," Martel admitted. "When the overseer tested me."

"A little is all it takes. Close your eyes, boy," the master commanded. Martel obeyed. "Think of the water you just saw in this room. You know it's there, even if you cannot see it. Imagine it in your mind," Master Alastair's voice continued. "Imagine that it moves. Around and around the circle it flows. Do not lose focus. Do not cease to think about it. Keep going."

Martel was not sure how long he did this. Most likely, only a handful of moments, but it felt like forever. Other thoughts kept intruding, battering against the walls of his concentration.

"Boy, come look." Martel opened his eyes to find Master Alastair standing with his feet across the circular stream. Joining him, the youth looked down to see the water had been disturbed, making little waves.

"Not much," the youth conceded, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"It's a start," Master Alastair told him. "Let's try something else. I was told you could control fire with greater ease. Could you summon the flame from that lamp?" He pointed towards the wall.

Eager to impress, Martel held out his hand. "More than that, master." From his palm, a tiny flame sprung forth. The only type of magic Martel was able to control, but when he had shown it to Master Ogion, it had been enough to gain the old sage's aid.

With a surprised laugh, Master Alastair placed his hand inside the flame. It was cold and flickered as it met his touch. "Well done, boy."

Martel felt pride swell in him, breaking his focus, and the flame disappeared, efficiently dispelling his brief sense of accomplishment.

Master Alastair laughed again. "Let's go back to water."

~

When the fourth bell rang, ending the lesson, it took Martel a moment to remember his schedule; for Pelday, he was to help make lunch. Thankfully, the Hall of Elements lay near the dining hall and thus the kitchens. Bowing his head and mumbling his gratitude to Master Alastair, Martel hurried to his chore.

Upon his arrival, he was tossed a peeling knife and vegetables. It was a strange pace to go from manipulating the elements of nature through magical skill to peeling carrots, but his labour served as payment for room and board, not to mention the tuition. If that required him to disembowel the odd potato once a day, so be it.

As he settled into his chores, he found himself more comfortable than he would have expected. It took him a moment to recognise why. For the first time since leaving his home, he felt at ease. While certainly these kitchens were far greater than the modest home of his family in Engby, the sounds and smells were the same. Large pots boiled over a crackling fire while the scent of food permeated the air. Nobody gave him strange glances or made remarks, busy with their own tasks.

It lasted until he had to carry out a tray of wooden bowls to the dining hall. A handful of students already sat waiting, impatiently. All their eyes turned to Martel as he entered. "Look at the scarecrow!" yelled one wit, causing laughter.

Mindful of his ill-fitting robe, Martel felt his cheeks flush. He all but dropped the bowls in their place, eager to escape back into the promised sanctuary of the kitchen.

The witty student quickly got up to block Martel's path; he wore a black tunic. "Hold a moment. How can it be that I have never noticed your gangly frame ambling about before?"

By his speech, Martel could tell the other boy came from a home with stone floors and servants, and he felt no desire to tangle with him. But as he tried to move past, his interrogator simply extended a hand and pushed Martel back.

The shove came with such force, it seemed impossible; it took Martel a moment to realise the boy must have used some kind of magic.

"I await an answer, little novice."

"I'm new here," Martel mumbled.

"Hah! New to the Lyceum and new to Morcaster, by your speech. And the blue in your eyes betray a northern influence in your blood. Half-breed, are we?"

Martel looked into the dark, condescending eyes of his counterpart, not quite his own height. It took him a moment to digest the insult. He had spent his life in a small town in the northern province bordering the Tyrian lands; it had never occurred to him that any might mock him for having physical features revealing Tyrian ancestry.

"It would seem the question has left the beast dumb, or at least, dumbfounded." The mageknight smirked, looking towards his companions with a clear expectation of laughs. "To be expected from a scarecrow too big for his breeches."

"Yes," Martel finally replied with rising anger, "I got Tyrian blood. Yes, my parents fed me well. Yes, I've outgrown my clothes." He pushed forward, catching the other boy off-guard, who fell to the ground. Hurrying past, Martel fled into the kitchen.

One of the servants, who had watched from the door, gave him a smile. "You know who that is?"

"Who?" Martel asked with a sinking feeling.

"I don't know his name, but his father is the duke of Cheval. I bet everyone enjoyed seeing him on his back. Well, except for himself." The servant slapped Martel on the shoulder. "You should probably keep an eye out."

"I'll just keep my distance," Martel considered. "He's ahead of me in his classes. No reason we should have anything to do with each other." Ignorant of how fate worked, he resumed his chores in the kitchens.

~

An hour later, when the meal had been finished and Martel's duties completed, he left the kitchen. He had only made it halfway through the dining hall when a shout got his attention. "Out of the way!"

Stepping aside, Martel watched two men carrying a stretcher. On top lay a young man, barely older than himself, wearing the green robe of an earthmage. His eyes stared emptily at Martel, who could not help but stare back. In addition to his lack of expression, his cheeks looked hollow, and his lips were cracked as if suffering from terrible thirst.

Besides the sick or wounded youth, Martel's attention was caught by two others. One walked ahead of the stretcher – it was him who had called out – and his companion followed behind. They walked clad the same in dark blue cloaks clasped with a sun. Along their belts ran a thin golden chain, and their bootstraps were made from the same metal. Martel had only once seen men in such raiment before. They were inquisitors from the Faith of the Sun, tasked with hunting down all things unnatural and evil – including maleficars such as necromancers and warlocks. Mages using their magic for ill purposes. The inquisitors scowled briefly at Martel as they led the servants with the stretcher through the hall to the infirmary, gone as swiftly as they had appeared.