Firebrand

On the Road

On the morning of their departure, Martel still felt a little apprehensive, but he assumed they were all in good hands with Master Fenrick. And out of six acolytes that he would be travelling with, two were his friends.

Of course, one was decidedly not his friend, but Cheval had kept a quiet attitude ever since his humiliation, especially with Maximilian around.

Once breakfast had been dealt with, Martel fetched his cloak and other warm clothes, his waterskin, and the large canvas given to him to serve as a tent.

His hands full with the latter, he made his way out of the main gates. He found some of the mageknights already present along with Master Fenrick and some mules, holding provisions and water.

"Nordmark, throw your tent on here," Maximillian told him, indicating one of the beasts. "I grabbed this little fellow for us." He caressed the mule behind its ears. Martel did as his friend suggested, happy to unburden himself of the unwieldy piece of fabric.

"Here." Master Fenrick threw a staff into Martel's hands. "This will lend you some support as we walk." The teacher held another staff for his own use.

"Thanks." Martel looked around at the mageknights. "What about them?"

"In my experience, they are too busy keeping their hands free to draw weapons at the first sight of imagined danger."

Martel looked at Maximilian, who stood with one hand on his sword hilt. Master Fenrick's assumption seemed a safe one.

Soon after, the remaining acolytes arrived. After counting their number, the teacher gave the signal to get going.

~

Their first day of travel proved a pleasant one. Although not particularly warm, the sun shone, and the wind was only a light breeze. They made good speed travelling on the emperor's road, built to allow his legions swift movement throughout the Empire. Walking with his staff in hand, Martel almost felt like a real wizard.

On occasion, they encountered travellers headed the other way towards Morcaster. Most were peddlers or merchants' caravans journeying to the city with their goods; now and then, a regiment of legionaries marched past them.

As eventide approached, Master Fenrick called for them to make camp. They found a suitable location near the main road where a small brook flowed by. Letting the mules graze, they filled their waterskins and found some branches that let them raise their tents as shelters.

Discarding his cloak, tunic, sword belt, and most of his clothes, Maximillian was first into the water. Another mageknight, Pepin, followed soon after. Martel noticed that some of the girls sent looks towards the boys diving into the water, and he felt a pang of envy, knowing his own physique would not inspire the same.

Swimming around, Maximillian returned to the bank. When he stood on the ground, the water reached to his neck. "Nordmark, jump in! It can only do you good."

"I can't swim," Martel replied. He was not keen on removing his clothes in this company, and the truth provided him with a convenient excuse.

"I am rather disappointed to hear that! When you got that big Frosten river up in Nordmark. I will have to teach you."

"Maybe another time." Standing on the edge, Martel smiled looking down on his friend.

"No time like the present!" From behind, Cheval pushed Martel into the brook with an insidious smirk.

His arms flailing, Martel fell face first into the stream. As his head came underwater, panic overtook him. He forgot about magic; he could not even summon the presence of mind to try to plant his feet against the bottom of the brook. He felt the weight of his boots and his robe, completely soaked, pulling him down. His eyes could see nothing in the dark of the water.

A heavy hand grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him upright. Gasping and blowing water from his mouth, Martel continued to struggle and swing his arms around. A slap across his face helped to calm him down, as did the feeling of Maximilian's strong grasp holding him.

The whole affair had lasted less than a minute, yet felt far longer thanks to his flurry of emotions and strong fear. On the bank, Cheval was laughing his head off.

With some difficulty, Martel climbed up from the stream. His wet clothes clung to him, and he felt dreadful both in body and mind. Seeing his expression and appearance, Cheval's laughter only increased.

Empowered by her magic, Eleanor gave Cheval such a push, he went flying through the air and landed in the brook himself. Struggling, nobody bothered to help him.

"What's happening?" Master Fenrick asked, approaching the group.

"Just swimming, master," Maximillian replied.

"You all have weapon practice before you should sleep. Martel, you have your exercises from Master Alastair. Maximilian, Guillaume, get up from there."

The students grumbled for different reasons, but none objected.

~

Seated on the ground, Martel placed his hands on the dirt to do the first of Master Alastair's exercises. He tried to send his magic into the earth and feel a connection, but success proved limited. It was simply too vast. It felt like standing in an enormous cavern of darkness with only a tiny, flickering flame that struggled in vain to illuminate the space.

Distracted, Martel cast a glance towards Master Fenrick. The latter stood bent over a patch of grass. His hand hovering several inches above the ground, he summoned a flame that began to burn the green. He moved his hand in a complex, circular motion, and the fire followed suit, burning the grass as it went before it became extinguished.

"Vara."

Martel heard the master mumble a word which he did not understand, but the symbol burned into the grass briefly gave a glow. Looking at it, it resembled a Tyrian rune, though Martel did not know its meaning or significance. He stared at it for a moment longer before he returned to his own exercise.