Firebrand

Homebrew

A decent night's sleep helped alleviate some of Martel's discomfort, whether physical or emotional. Besides that, as he arrived at the infirmary to do his stint for the fiveday, the sight of the sick patients reminded him that matters could be much worse. Only those suffering from strange and unusual maladies stayed at the infirmary; all others were sent home with a bandage, potion, or Master Kelsos' healing, depending on the nature of their need and the size of their purse. Thus, Martel surveyed a sorry lot of sick people scattered among the beds of the infirmary, and perhaps none as pitiful a case as the unconscious Gerard.

Yet near the end of the bell, where Martel had cleaned the ward and later helped a mageknight acolyte with a swollen eye, help arrived in the form of a small crystal phial held in the hands of Mistress Rana.

She approached Gerard's bed, but waited until Master Kelsos arrived. Despite how often Martel had passed through the infirmary on his way to the apothecary, not to mention his lessons here, he had almost never seen the Master of Healing. Tall and lean with a thin beard, Master Kelsos wore a dark blue robe with a variety of symbols unfamiliar to Martel. As such, the healer looked ordinary enough, at least among the many other mages of the Lyceum, but Martel knew he was unique.

Nobody else in the castle had the talent for magical healing; Master Alastair had once related that by his estimate, no more than a handful of such people existed throughout the entire Empire. It was the rarest of gifts, even compared to fire-touched wizards.

"Ready?" The alchemist looked towards the healer, who nodded. Opening the small bottle, Mistress Rana leaned forward and carefully let drop after drop pass through Gerard's lips until half the small amount had been consumed. She straightened back up and waited.

The reaction came after mere moments. The young man began convulsing. Foam appeared around his mouth. From his vantage point a few beds away, Martel wondered if this was part of the process.

"It's not working," Master Kelsos declared. He grabbed Gerard by the nightshirt and pulled him up to sit, placing his other hand on the patient's neck. A blue light appeared around Master Kelsos' fingers as Martel watched in wonder. Suddenly, Gerard vomited, though only liquid came up. His trembling ceased, and the healer lowered him back into bed. His eyes remained closed as before. "Clean the boy up," Master Kelsos told one of the nurses. The potion had failed.

~

Working alone in the apothecary, Martel had the solitude to contemplate what he had seen. He could not begin to understand why the potion had made Gerard react that way, or what it had been expected to do in the first place. Clearly Mistress Rana had considered it worthwhile to go through all the trouble of making the tincture, even though it turned out to be nothing.

Of greater interest was Master Kelsos. Watching him heal seemed a rare event, and the novice wondered why he did not use his ability more often. If Martel had been given such a gift, he would use it on everybody who needed it. But perhaps it was exhausting, just like casting other forms of magic tired Martel. He could not help but imagine if it turned out he had the gift as well. Forget weather, fire, alchemy – his future and fortunes would be secured.

The bell was nearly at an end and Martel had begun cleaning up when Nora arrived. She raised a basket in her hand. "New supplies, fresh from market. Oh, you're leaving? Guess I'll have to handle it all."

"Sorry to disappoint." A familiar scent reached him as Nora passed by, unpacking the bundles from her basket. "You wearing jasmine too? Funny."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You're just the second person I've noticed wearing perfume with this scent."

She laughed. "With all the herbs and plants I'm surrounded by, perfume would be a waste. It's not jasmine you can smell, but bride's flower." She pulled other bundle. "Mistress Rana used the last of it, so I had to get more."

"Huh. It looks familiar, but I've never heard of bride's flower before," Martel remarked as he finished cleaning his mortar and pestle.

"You may know it as waxflower. Petals are all funny to touch, and they leave a scent for hours."

"Right, I've seen those before." As Martel dried his hands, a thought began to nag him. Where had he just recently seen that plant? Or rather, read its name. One by one, it began to connect in his mind.

Waxflower smelled like jasmine. Mistress Rana had just used some for an elixir. The last one she made had been for Gerard. Martel had seen the recipe, which included waxflower. He had received the recipe from Eleanor. She had smelled like jasmine.

This could not be a coincidence.

Too preoccupied to hear what else Nora had said or bid her farewell, Martel hastened away from the apothecary.

~

Martel quickly made his way across the north-eastern part of the castle to reach the girls' dormitory tower. He could not quite believe it; Eleanor, so sensible and intelligent, would never do something so reckless as this. Still, he hurried up the stairs until he stood outside her room. He knocked a few times without receiving an answer. "Eleanor, I know you're inside. I can feel the heat from a person inside." A lie, as the sturdy door blocked Martel's sense completely, but he assumed a mageknight would not know this.

He heard the lock open from within, and the door opened to stand ajar. Half of Eleanor's face appeared. "What is it?" she asked impatiently.

Something met Martel's magical senses. Through the opening, inside Eleanor's room Martel felt a strong source of heat. It did not flicker and move like fire, but felt round and solid in shape. "Are you doing alchemy?"

"Ridiculous question," she scoffed. "Students are not allowed that."

"I can sense it in your room. Round and hot, like the heating stones in the warm baths. I'm guessing you used wax flower and red clover. Three leaves were missing from the apothecary." Martel stared at her. "But only a few people knew about the clover. And only someone intent on making a certain recipe would have any use for it."

Moments passed in silence.

"Nobody has been hurt," Eleanor said softly.

So it was true. "You used me. Why involve me in the first place?"

"I did not want to draw attention to myself from Mistress Rana. I thought I might seem suspicious, that she would guess who took the clover. But I had no way of getting it myself. I needed a skilled herbalist."

"Did you finish it? Do you know what happened to the boy they used it on?"

"Of course. It was valuable to know, especially if it cured him. But he is ill from some magical malady, which makes it unpredictable. I will only use mine in a safe way, I promise." Her eyes, hitherto flickering about, finally rose to meet his. "You do not have to do anything except keep quiet. I will leave and be back soon, no harm done."

Hesitation appeared on Martel's face. "You have the potion here? You're ready to leave?"

She nodded and disappeared behind her door for a moment. When she returned, she had a small flacon in her hand. "I will go now, and you will not have to think anymore on it."

Rather than reply, Martel placed his left hand around the back of her neck with a tender gesture.

"What – what are you doing?" It almost looked like she was blushing.

The distraction worked. With his right hand, Martel grabbed the small crystal container and took a step back.

"Give it back!"

Martel knew that despite her smaller stature, the mageknight could easily knock him to the ground and take the phial by force, but he trusted Eleanor would not do such a thing to her friend. "That boy in the infirmary would probably have died without Master Kelsos present." He removed the stopper from the flacon. "We should test this first on a healthy person. I'll drink half."

"Martel, I have spent so long on this, do not ruin it!"

He locked her gaze with his own. "You are the smartest student I know. If you tell me that you are completely convinced this is absolutely safe for me to drink, I'll do it."

He saw the conflict within her expressed as a variety of emotions on her face. In the end, she said nothing, but simply looked away.

Slowly, Martel walked over to the communal tap in the hallway and tipped the phial downwards over the grate. She made no move to stop him.

He returned and placed the empty flacon in her hand. "Why? You're the most sensible person I know. What would drive you to such a risk?"

She gave him a look that seemed hurt or perhaps angry. Without any words, she closed the door between them.

Alone, Martel turned around to leave the tower. As he descended, he continued to wonder for whom Eleanor's potion had been intended; he had a feeling she would not confide in him any time soon.