Firebrand

Silver Lining

After the intense events of the faire, Martel was happy to wake up on an ordinary Solday. He looked forward to assisting Master Jerome and practise his magic according to his own schedule. Since he forgot his chore last Solday, Martel felt particularly eager to make up for it.

His task turned out quite ordinary. An enormous pile of big feathers from geese lay before him along with a knife. For the next bell, Martel sharpened them into quills. As it turned out, the school went through quite a lot of them; the librarian alone required a steady supply for copying or repairing books.

At the end of the bell, the artificer approached him. "Martel, come and see this." He took the novice with him to another room full of tools for woodworking. Different pieces of timber lay scattered throughout, and sawdust covered the floor.

Jerome took him to one table, where a large, square piece of wood lay. Taller and wider than any man at least and pale in colour. Curiously, silver streaks ran across the board, and Martel ran one finger along it. It felt smooth, like the wood, but colder to the touch.

"Silver," the artificer explained, "melted into the wood. It will hold the enchantment."

"What does that mean?" Martel asked, his curiosity doubled.

"I'll need one of the teachers to do it, perhaps Master Alastair, but we will fill the silver with magic to cool. I will make four of these boards," Jerome explained. "To create a cabinet. Anything within will be kept at the same cool temperature, regardless of how hot it is outside."

"That's neat. Is this for storing food?" Martel had heard of the very rich owning such rooms for cold storage to keep meat fresh without salt or vegetables without pickling.

Jerome laughed. "Something a little more interesting. This is for Master Farhad's clock. You remember him?"

Quite well, Martel thought. "Yes. What kind of clock needs this?" He knew about sundials, and he had seen the water clock in the entrance hall, but he could not imagine how cold could help a clock.

"Ah, see, Khivan clocks keep time by a pendulum swinging back and forth. Very precise, far better than anything we have," Jerome explained. "But heat affects the pendulum. Interferes with the swing, reducing precision. With this," he added, rapping his knuckles against the board, "the pendulum will stay the same. This clock will be the most precise in the world, my boy."

"That's impressive." Martel did not quite grasp the importance; the day began when the sun rose, ended when it set, and nobody needed any clocks to know that. But if it meant work for Master Farhad, Martel was happy.

"I have written some details for our dear watchmaker." Jerome took out a letter. "Ready to be my messenger again?"

"Oh, with pleasure, master."

"Let me find you some pennies..." The artificer began to rummage through some drawers.

"No need," Martel hurried to say. "I failed to show last Solday. Delivering this letter is the least I can do." He extended his hand.

Jerome gave him the parchment. "Very well. See that it is delivered today, please."

"Certainly, master."

~

Martel decided to delay his trip into the city until after lunch; might as well have a full stomach before he ventured out. Doing his customary check for mail right after, he received a note. He recognised the handwriting even before he saw the signature; he wondered if this had been written by one of his newly made quills.

See me at your earliest convenience.

Mistress Juliana

Martel could not help but feel guilty, though he did not know what he had done wrong. At least the note did not stress his immediate appearance unlike the last time; hopefully that meant a gentler issue than brawls with berserkers.

Rather than wonder and worry, and since he did have time right now, Martel went to the overseer's chamber. As he arrived, muffled voices reached him from beyond the door. He waited a while until the door opened, and an acolyte left. Standing awkwardly in the doorframe, Martel cleared his throat.

"Come in." Even when seated, Mistress Juliana felt domineering.

Martel sat down, trying to interpret her expression. He failed.

"Martel, do you know why I asked you to come? Has Master Fenrick spoken with you?"

"No." As far as Martel knew, he had behaved exemplary in all of Master Fenrick's classes.

"Next fiveday, he will take a group of acolytes to see the Stone of Archen."

Of all the possibilities, Martel would not have guessed this, especially since he had never heard of this rock before.

"This is an unusually small group with only six acolytes, whom you happen to know from your lessons on Maldays."

The mageknights, Martel thought.

"As such, we both consider it fitting you go through the ritual now."

The second-last word unnerved Martel. In the stories, rituals never bode well, especially not for unwitting participants. "What's that?"

"More of a ceremony, really. But it will reveal your star, which may help your understanding of your own magic. You leave on next Solday in the morning."

That left one fiveday before departure. "Is the journey long?"

"It will take you about a fiveday travelling there and the same to return. See the quartermaster for supplies," Juliana told him. "Also, speak with each of your teachers on how to keep practising while away. We do not wish for you to lose two fivedays of progress entirely."

"Certainly. Is that all?"

"That is all."

Martel left her chamber, feeling a little disconcerted, and not simply because he had stressed over what the meeting was about. When he woke up this morning, he had never even heard of this stone. Now, out of the blue, he had to travel hence and back again for a purpose he did not quite understand. He accepted that he had to do as his teachers instructed, of course, which included taking such a trip. It was merely that he had started to feel settled in with a daily rhythm and slow, but steady progress towards mastery of magic; suddenly, the path veered sharply left, and he had not had any inkling that it could even happen.

At least he would have good company.

~

With Master Jerome's letter safely tucked inside his robe, Martel went into the city. By now, the path to the Khivan quarter was most familiar, and he could walk while thinking on other matters. Mostly, the upcoming trip filled his head; he wondered how it would be to travel with the others and what awaited at their destination. Maybe his teachers could illuminate the matter for him, since he would be talking with them regardless about continuing his lessons on his own. And while the thought of travelling for two fivedays with the mageknights would have once left him distraught, he began to look forward to spending the time with Maximilian and Eleanor. Perhaps it would end up enjoyable.

Entering the Khivan enclave, Martel noticed a few signs of the spring faire. Mostly refuse from drinking, such as cups or wineskins. As the Khivans had not celebrated, he could guess it came from Asterians, who for some reason entered the district while drunk.

Progressing deeper, he also saw signs of damage on some buildings. Doors with markings from kicks, shutters receiving blows and the like. A few people were on the streets, and they seemed either muted in their behaviour or regarded him with suspicion if not outright hostility. Uncomfortable, Martel hurried his steps to reach the watchmaker's workshop.

He opened the door even as he knocked to step inside. He found both watchmaker and daughter seated and at work; the former carefully filed on some bits of metal while the latter polished them.

"Hey, Martel," Shadi greeted him.

Master Farhad looked up with a less than pleased expression. "Mage boy again."

"Be nice, dad."

"I have a letter from Master Jerome." Martel retrieved the item in question from his pocket and extended it.

Farhad snapped it from his fingers and began to read.

"Everything alright?" Martel asked. "Looked like there'd been trouble on the streets."

"No worse than every spring faire," Shadi replied. "Well, maybe a little worse. More drunks than usual. But nobody at our door or anything like that."

"I don't understand. Why do they come here?"

Shadi looked at him with surprise. "They don't like Khivans, Martel."

"But you live here. You were born here."

"They don't care."

Martel felt tongue-tied. The injustice of it galled him, while he felt bad for Shadi, who seemed more hurt than she let on. Between anger and sympathy, he did not know what to express. "I'm sorry," he finally settled on, and it bothered him how inadequate it sounded.

"We're used to it. It's been like that for a long time. Though I guess it gets a little worse every year."

"Boy, you wait here," Farhad interjected. "I give you message back to your master."

"Dad, his name is Martel."

"Yes, yes, fine. Wait here, boy." The watchmaker went into the adjoining room and began scribbling down.

"At least dad has good work with this clock for your school," Shadi said. "It really helps with the rent."

"That's good. I'm really curious to see the result."

"It's getting harder and harder for him to sell his work. Even though his clocks are better than anything else in Morcaster. People don't want Khivan time pieces, I guess."

Again, Martel found himself stumped on what to say. He was saved by Farhad returning with a scrap of parchment. "Give this to your master, boy. More measurements for next part of work."

"I'll give it to him straight away," Martel promised, accepting the missive, and Farhad returned to his work. "Oh, I forgot to say. I have to go on a trip next Solday. Something the school sends us on."

"Where to?" Shadi asked.

"Honestly, I don't know. Some stone place. They don't tell us much. I'll be gone a few fivedays, it seems, but I'll say farewell before we leave."

"Alright." She smiled.

"Boy, I work here. You have your own work, deliver message," Farhad said brusquely.

"Yes, of course." Martel nodded in farewell and left the workshop.