Firebrand

The Meeting of Stars

As Manday came around, Martel woke feeling hopeful. His bruises from two days ago had turned various shades of blue and purple, and they only hurt on occasion. He had most of the day to himself except for one lesson, allowing him to do new things while still having time to practise his magic. As for the lesson, it concerned astronomy; a topic that Martel knew nothing about, but he could only imagine it would be intriguing if it dealt with magic.

After breakfast, he threw his scarf around his neck, put up the hood on his robe, dug his hands into its pockets, and ventured outside. Morcaster was deep in winter, but it lay far south of the borderlands to Tyria where Martel had spent his whole life; while others hurried past, cursing the cold while rubbing hands together, he strolled down the street feeling comfortable.

The Lyceum lay in the heart of the city, being the oldest building. Every district was within close reach, though Martel would be less welcome in some than others. While he had never been to a city the size of Morcaster before, or any size for that matter, his mother had given him plenty of warnings. This in mind, he kept to the wide streets, often patrolled by the city guards.

On his first arrival to the capital of the Asterian Empire, Martel had gone straight from the gate to the Lyceum. Anxiety and eagerness had kept him from taking in the city itself as he scurried straight to the school to find out whether he would be accepted or not. On this morning, he could leisurely walk down the paved road that stood flanked by tall cypress trees.

Asking for directions, Martel found his destination with ease. In fact, he could soon see it rise against the horizon. The great temple of the Sun took up as much space as the Lyceum or the Imperial palace, with tall towers that stretched towards the sky.

Standing on the square before the impressive building, Martel could scarcely fathom its grandeur. He had heard of it, but no description could have prepared him for the beauty and elegance laid into the massive structure. The spires seemed so thin that the wind could break them in twain, even as they glistened golden against the rays of the sun.

A pair of inquisitors walked past Martel. On the receiving end of their scowl, he immediately felt guilty, as if they could smell magic on him. It took him a moment to realise that scowling was probably just their typical expression. They continued into the temple, whereas Martel turned away. A few more inquiries about directions steered him on his final steps.

Down an alley, squeezed in between two mansions belonging to members of the nobility, lay a small garden. Despite the location near the wealth of Morcaster, it lay desolate and overgrown. A shrine took up most of the small space, also being the reason why few would be seen in this place. All citizens in the Asterian Empire held with the Faith of the Sun. Adherence to the Stars in addition was considered quaint, at best; at worst, it might be considered the first step on the path to heresy and darker violations of faith.

Martel did not know why; the priest in Engby had never delved into the topic. Yet he knew from the stories that mages worshipped the Stars rather than the Sun, especially in the days before Archen fell. With cautious steps, Martel approached the shrine. It was a small pavilion with statues on three sides, leaving the entrance open. He stepped inside so that all three marble faces might look down on him. The Warrior, the Jester, and the Sage. The Triumvirate of the Heavens.

"Help me," Martel spoke. He looked from one statue to another. "Let me learn magic. It's all I have. I'm just a burden to my family without it." He swallowed. "Please."

Silent, unmoving, the Triumvirate stared down upon him. With the tall buildings surrounding the shrine, it lay in darkness even during the day. Martel did not know if anyone had heard his plea; the shadows revealed nothing. Having done what he could, he turned around and left.

~

Although he had plenty of time before the day's lesson, Martel did not spend any more time in the city. He returned to the Lyceum to enact the next step in his plan. So far, he had trusted in Master Alastair to know best and introduce the right methods for learning magic. But with little progress to show for it, it seemed prudent to seek out other counsel. Once back at the Lyceum, Martel steered straight to the library.

As the librarian sent him a stern look, Martel hurried to wash his hands in the small basin provided therefor. He dried his hands meticulously; the thought of leaving a stain on the books mortified him. If they were part of the Lyceum's collection, he imagined they cost more than most people could earn in a lifetime.

Glancing around at the shelves, he realised he had no clue how to proceed. There had to be hundreds or thousands of books. Steeling himself, he approached the librarian. "Sorry to disturb you. Can you help me?"

The scribe looked up from his work, creating a copy of an existing book. "What do you need?"

"Books on learning magic."

"Rather broad," the librarian scoffed. "Given you are a novice, I assume you are not interested in theories on the intrinsic nature of magic, or the now defunct sorcery of Khiva, or the galdr of Tyrian bards. As for Sindhian alchemy, such a topic is restricted to acolytes." He wore a superior smile seeing Martel's confusion. "Something more basic, I take it. Follow me."

He led the novice to one of the shelves. His finger ran across the spines of the books until it stopped. "Here." The librarian pulled out his choice, placing it in Martel's hands. "The Asterian Methods for Learning the Noble Art."

With a nod to convey gratitude, Martel went to the nearest reading desk and opened the book. He spent the next bells reading, trying to understand the complicated explanations offered in the tome. He quickly realised the obstacle. He could not attempt any of them while inside the library, where his flailing magic might cause damage; nor was he allowed to take the book with him to practise elsewhere. His only option was to memorise them and try them at a later stage. He was still busy with this when the bell rang, summoning him to his lesson of the day.

~

Appropriately, astronomy was taught in the tallest tower of the Lyceum. It allowed for observations of the night sky when standing atop, though the classes were taught in the room just below. Martel arrived as the last, having had trouble finding his way. Rushing up the stairs and into the room, his heart sank upon finding seven mageknights already present. It seemed that his fellow students during physical combat magic would also accompany him during astronomy. At least this class did not involve sticks.

Various looks met him. Condescension, pity, indifference. Every acolyte sat at an individual writing desk. Martel made his way through them to reach an empty one in the corner. Shortly after, the teacher stepped inside.

He wore a purple robe as could be expected, while the rest of his appearance gave a less grandiose impression. His beard grew uneven and according to its own desires, barely touched by scissors. His eyebrows likewise seemed eager to expand beyond their allotted space, perhaps compensating for a reverse lack of hair on his balding head. What struck Martel as most curious were the two pieces of glass in front of his eyes, held together by some kind of thin metal frame. He had never before seen anyone wearing glasses.

"Good afternoon," he spoke, somehow making the greeting sound like grumbling. "You all know me from previous years, of course, except for our new pupil." He turned his eyes, enlarged by the glasses he wore, towards Martel. "I am Master Fenrick."

Already feeling awkward at being singled out, Martel kept quiet.

Almost with a flourish, Master Fenrick turned on his heel. On the wall opposite the students hung a complicated star chart, which he approached. "Astronomy is among the shorter classes you will learn. If you complete one single task, you may be finished as swiftly as six fivedays."

"What task might that be?" asked an acolyte whom Martel did not know. It struck him that among his fellow students, the only name he knew was Cheval.

"You'll be making a star chart."

Martel's eyes widened, staring at the complex map on the wall. Scores of geometric figures filled the parchment in various circles, interweaving with each other in countless places, all to show the patterns of the stars moving across the sky.

"Not like this," Master Fenrick added dryly, seeing the collective reaction among his class. "Most of you could spend a lifetime studying astronomy without ever gaining the knowledge to complete a map of this complexity. No, I only require a map showing the movement of Perel, Malac, and Glund. I trust someone here can explain why?"

One girl raised her hand. Martel turned to take a closer look at her; she had not been partnered with him during his repeated beatings in Master Reynard's class, where he had been too occupied receiving bruises to think of much else. He noticed that she was more attractive than any girl he had ever seen, whether in Engby or Morcaster. He could only imagine the amount of attention she received from her peers.

"Yes?" asked Master Fenrick.

"The Archeans believed that those three stars influenced magic above all. Our own methods in the Asterian Empire are based on those pioneered by the Archeans," she replied with the confidence born of knowledge.

"Correct." If the master felt as impressed by her reply as Martel did, he did not let it show. "Unlike here, where astronomy is considered an afterthought, the Archeans considered it the prime subject to learn upon which all their knowledge of magic rested."

"Not that it did them much good," mumbled Cheval, causing a whisper of laughter from the boys nearest him. Martel looked at them both; he recognised one of them, who had gleefully used his staff on Martel during Master Reynard's lesson. The other had the same height as Martel, but he was twice as broad across the shoulders.

"Silence, boy," Master Fenrick all but sneered. "Don't forget you must pass all your classes to graduate from the Lyceum. From what I recall, you have plenty of need to pay close attention."

Martel leaned back in his seat and turned his head away, so nobody would see the grin on his face.

~

Almost two hours later, Martel's head felt dizzy. Master Fenrick had demonstrated the equations and how to draw the patterns of the stars on their own individual maps, but arithmetic had never been a strength of Martel's. He knew enough to trade on the market faire, calculating silver and copper coins as needed. Nobody had prepared him for anything more rigorous; unlike the mageknights, who all seemed to be nobleborn and would have grown up with tutors.

The bell rang. "All you need are in these books," Master Fenrick declared, letting his hand brush over the spines of several books on a shelf next to the star chart. "You are expected to work on your maps in your own time." He quickly left.

Martel suddenly remembered he had to help in the kitchens for the evening meal. He did not enjoy the thought of pushing past all the mageknights, however. Better to arrive a little later. So he sat, waiting as they filed out of the room.

Cheval and his friends departed first, immediately making Martel relax. His shoulders visibly untensed. Still he waited until the three girls of the class had gone as well. They were already busy talking and giggling.

"Eleanor, have you heard?" said one of them in the kind of whisper intended to be loud. She cast a look over her shoulder at Martel, who in turn noted that the pretty girl reacted, informing him of her name.

"What is it?" she asked as they reached the door.

"Our new novice is so inept, he receives private lessons from Master Alastair, yet he has nothing to show for it." The gossip was accompanied by laughter, though at this point, they had passed through the door, and he could not tell who laughed. Not that it mattered; embarrassment filled him, and he waited a while longer until he could be certain they had left the tower. Only then did he make his way to the kitchens.

~

The overseer moved through the quarters of the faculty until she reached her destination, knocking on the door. A curt invitation to enter followed from inside, which she did.

From his chair, where he sat reading, the Master of War looked up at her over the rim of his reading glasses. "Juliana," he muttered in greeting.

"Reynard. I wanted to ask you about your new student."

He shut his book and removed his glasses with a weary gesture. "I told you beforehand it was a mistake, and I remain convinced. He has shown not the slightest indication of talent."

"Some children take a few fivedays before they find the way to channel their power," Juliana argued.

"He is not a child," Reynard retorted. "His mind is too old to learn. My best mageknights start training at half his age."

"He is not meant to be a mageknight. You only need to tolerate his presence until he can be made an acolyte." Juliana placed her hands behind her back, staring down at her colleague.

"I will not turn a blind eye simply because you have taken some fancy to this northern peasant," Reynard sneered. "If he cannot complete my challenges to my utmost satisfaction, I will see him leave this school."

"Has the headmaster instructed you in this?"

"He had no need. If that was all," he added while returning his glasses to his face. The overseer narrowed her eyes but did not speak, leaving in silence.