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386. Between Golden and Silvery Light
🕑 Added 2023-08-10 07:00:02 +0000 UTCAs with his visits to the Circle of Fire, Martel likewise looked forward to the end of his hours spent in the gymnasium. Not that Reynard harassed him the way Moira did, at least not anymore, but Martel remembered how the Master of War had treated him initially and also tried to prevent him from becoming an acolyte.
The other three fire acolytes stood gathered in an uneven circle, and Martel joined them. Even if hardly on friendly terms, they were all in the same boat during these lessons, and they sometimes needed to work together. Best to put up at least a façade of camaraderie, or failing that, avoid antagonising them.
"Mistress Moira is here." William gave a barely perceptible nod towards the stands, where the old woman had taken a seat. Always a foreboding sight.
"Wonder what she's plotting now?" Harriet asked.
"You think we can stop training in these?" Edward shook his arms, jangling the chain links of his armour.
"Keep dreaming," she snorted.
Reynard entered, carrying a bundle of swords in his arms. Taking a guess from recent lessons in the Circle of Fire, Martel extended his magic towards the weapons and felt a chill. While hard to tell by sight, Martel's other sense revealed that the blades were edged with gold.
The Master of War distributed the weapons to some of the mageknights while directing the rest of them to spar against each other. "As for you four, pick one of the fire runts and train against them," he told the acolytes armed with gold.
Alain stepped towards Martel, who inclined his head in recognition of the challenge and raised his staff. The warrior's sword struck out, forcing Martel to parry before he quickly released a fire bolt in retaliation. It struck his opponent's physical shield, accomplishing nothing.
Further blows, whether metal or magic, were exchanged back and forth in quick succession. Unable to use his magical shield, and clearly inferior when it came to weaponry, Martel was steadily pushed back, always retreating while trying to release a spell. But Alain's sword and shield both protected him, and even landing a fire bolt on his legs did limited damage thanks to his armour.
Martel's defences finally failed, and he received a slap across the face with the flat of the blade. Had Alain used the edge, and assuming it was not blunted, it would have sliced Martel's cheek open. Even now, it still stung, and the pain made his anger flare up. But rather than let it take over, Martel used the burst of emotion to spur his spellpower. As he continued to retreat, he sent his magic through the earth to spike the ground up in front of Alain. The mageknight, advancing to press his advantage, almost stumbled and had to correct his footing. Quickly following up, Martel sent a blast of air against his opponent's feet. It worked better than another fire bolt; his balance already precarious, Alain fell to the ground.
A moment passed before the mageknight relaxed rather than raise his weapons or seek to get back on his feet. "Nicely done."
Martel extended a hand to help the other student stand up. "You got me first."
Alain smiled. "Now I know where to watch out. Or rather, because I remember you doing such tricks before in the Chamber of Earth, you reminded me what to be careful of. Again?"
Martel nodded and took a defensive stance.
***
Lessons done, Martel went to his room before supper and surveyed his wealth. Thanks to his regular payment for work done in the apothecary, he had a tidy sum of more than thirty silver pieces, even after paying Julia's rent the other day. He could send another silver letter to his mother; she had not asked for money nor indicated any need for it, but Martel assumed that they could use it. It might buy a few luxuries for his siblings, such as finer fabric for clothes; or should one of them fall ill again, they would have the coin to buy a remedy immediately.
Martel would delay for now, though, just in case he found himself suddenly needing the money himself. He also wanted to get more alchemical supplies to keep practising his few recipes. Once he had forty or fifty eagles, he could consider sending half. It had been a while since he received a letter from home; he might as well wait for that and read their news before posting a letter back along with the coin.
***
In the late hours of the night, a drunkard stumbled through the streets in the harbour district. He left the wide streets, full of life and light, to cut a path through the narrow alleyways. Although the moon was full, it was a cloudy sky, obscuring its shine. The intoxicated man – a day-labourer by his clothes – halted his progress several times to lean against the nearest house wall and gather his strength before continuing.
At one of these stops, something caught his attention. Squinting his eyes and peering into the dark, he noticed another person lying flat on their back in the alley. "Didn't make it home, eh?" He laughed. "Got to know your limits." With a second look, his eyes glanced over the garments of the supine man, who wore broad linen trousers, an open shirt, and a headband typical of Sindhian sailors. "Enjoying shore-leave a bit too much?"
The drunk chuckled to himself before it seemed another thought struck him. Looking in either direction of the otherwise empty alleyway, he bent down and began rifling through the sailor's pockets. Pulling out a few pennies, he smiled to himself.
The cloud obscuring the moon chose that moment to abscond, and a few stubborn rays of light made their way in between the houses to illuminate the narrow street. They revealed a sight that made the workman's smile freeze.
The sailor's expression likewise seemed frozen with open eyes that stared without ever seeing. Furthermore, where his shirt opened up, a symbol could be seen branded into his flesh.
~~
Martel's character sheet (no change).
