Elemental Power

The celebration at the estate of Cheval had taken an unexpected turn for Martel, but none accosted him, and he spent the evening mostly to himself – despite her promise to stick by him, Eleanor had to spend her time on the dance floor. It allowed him to ruminate on his situation, whether he could stomach working for someone like the duke of Cheval, and if not, how to refuse. Upon his return to the Lyceum, he had yet to find any answer.

At least Pelday provided him with one comfort as he entered the Hall of Elements. Martel smiled even before he spoke. "Master Alastair, I have something to show you."

His teacher did not reply, but simply swept his arm out in a gesture inviting Martel to continue.

The novice opened his palm towards Master Alastair. Focusing his magic, he pushed his hand forward to send a small gust of wind against the other person.

A smile was the reward. "What was the incident this time?"

"How do you mean?"

"Your breakthroughs happen when something makes you act on instinct. What was it this time?"

Martel scrambled to think of a suitable reply. "There was some commotion at the market. Some people getting rowdy. So I blew some smoke into their faces to get them to stop." Close enough to the truth.

"Very good. We will spend a fiveday or two refining your skill with air, and then I think you might be ready for more advanced learning."

Martel's eyes shone. "Like what?"

Master Alastair extended both hands in front of him, open palms up. "Controlling fire or water separately is simple enough." As he spoke of each element, they both appeared; a flame in one hand, drops of water in the other. "What happens when you control both at the same time?" His palms became empty, and instead, a tiny cloud of steam appeared between them.

All sorts of ideas filled Martel's mind on how this could be used, but he seized his first thought and acted upon it. With a small puff of air, he blew the steam into his teacher's face.

Taken aback, Master Alastair laughed.

~

"What happened yesterday? You were rather mute," Maximilian asked.

"Yes, you never told us what the duke said to you," Eleanor chimed in.

Martel ran his spoon through his lunch stew. "He offered me employment."

His companions looked at him with surprise. "Are you sure? He is hunting early for a new court mage if so," Maximilian muttered.

"He knows I study alchemy under Mistress Rana. He isn't looking for a court mage, but an alchemist."

"He is well-informed," Eleanor remarked. "But that is a wonderful opportunity for you! Payment and conditions are certain to be far better than working the weather for the Empire."

"You both heard his speech. You really think he wants someone to work for him with my eye colour?"

"He meant nothing of that." Maximilian made a dismissive gesture. "Those were simply idle words of the sort that people expect to hear."

"He would not have offered you work unless he meant it sincerely," Eleanor considered. "An alchemist trained by Mistress Rana would be a valuable addition to any court. I think the duke has a good eye for seeing opportunities."

"He would not be on the High Council otherwise," Maximilian pointed out.

Martel looked at his friends. They did not understand. Nobody had ever yelled disparaging remarks at them or threatened them simply because of their appearance, their background. There seemed no point in explaining.

"Well, I say this is cause for celebration. Our friend, but a novice, already attracts the gaze of those on high. Tonight, we are going out!" Maximilian raised his spoon into the air, holding it like a banner.

"You were at a feast just last night," Martel protested.

"Knowing our dear Maximilian, I suspect something else is afoot." Eleanor sent him a piercing look.

"As it happens, The Golden Goose has finished renovations some days ago," he remarked casually. "Tonight is my first night without engagements in a fiveday or longer, and I am itching to see what they have done with the place."

"Look, I don't have the time. Or the coin," Martel protested. He glanced from one mageknight to the other, crossing his arms. " If you are going, you'll have to go without me."

~

With a loud thud, Maximilian slammed three tankards down on the table. Defeated, Martel took his. At least the place had become more interesting. The Golden Goose now had a stage, where a bard currently played – it was a bit of a token effort, as the tavern was packed, and the clamour threatened at all times to deafen the musician's efforts.

More rooms had been added on the upper floors with richer furnishings, Maximilian had claimed, though Martel had never needed lodgings here and did not imagine he ever would. Tables had been added to the common room for gambling under the supervision of a burly fellow, ensuring games of coin did not escalate into arguments and drawn weapons.

"Cheers!" shouted the mageknight supplying their drink. Martel took a deep draught from his mug. Lastly, the quality of the brew had improved. Perhaps going out was not such a bad thing after all.

Eleanor glanced around. "They have removed the area for knife-throwing. Pity."

"I doubt there was anyone left unwise to your ways," scoffed Maximilian.

Martel smiled into his mug as he took another sip. With her magic, Eleanor was certain to beat any of the patrons in a contest involving weapons. More than one night, they had paid for their drinks with other men's coins until word had finally spread of the innocent-looking girl with the perfect aim.

"You are just relieved I will no longer be able to best you in front of this crowd," she teased.

"I bring you ale, and for my troubles, I am insulted," Maximilian muttered sourly.

"Good friends tell each other the truth," she retorted. "Have you not seen me correct Martel at combat lessons? I only do it out of friendship."

"Is that what you call it, corrections?" Martel gently touched his upper arm, slightly bruised despite his leather armour doing its best to soften Eleanor's empowered blows.

"Failure, and especially the consequences thereof, is the best teacher." Serenely, she took a sip of her drink.

"Your face said otherwise that one time you struggle to light a candle in the common room, and I had to do it for you," Martel shot back.

"You are still thinking about that? That was ages ago."

He raised an eyebrow. "It was last fiveday."

"I think he is cheating." Maximilian's interruption made them look in the same direction towards the table where the patrons played dice. "That loud fellow. Twice now, he has rolled the dice off the table. I think he switches them when he picks them up again." A man sat, laughing and drinking with a small stack of silver and copper in front of him.

"Wouldn't he get caught?"

"He only does it when there is enough at stake to make it worthwhile." Maximilian frowned and turned to look at Martel. "How about we teach him a lesson?"

The novice waved his hands in front in a deflecting gesture. "I don't want to fight!"

"Nothing so crude. I will go play against him. When he tries to do his trick, you just keep the dice on the table. Prevent him from cheating. Understood?"

"I guess I do… Warm up the dice. That'll make it easier for me to feel them," Martel suggested.

"Got it." Maximilian got up and approached the gamblers.

Eleanor turned her chair around. "This I have to see."

At the table, the players looked with interest at the young man joining them, whose boots, belt, and bejewelled dagger hilt all spoke of wealth. "I want to play." He hefted his bag of silver.

The suspected cheat wiped greasy long hair from his face with a grin. "Take a seat. Standard rules. Emperor is high, fool is low, pairs beat singles. What's your wager?" He took a swig from his ale.

Maximilian emptied his purse onto the table and made a quick count. "Twelve birds." He let himself fall into an empty seat, pushing the silver coins towards the large fellow keeping an eye on the games. Martel marvelled that his friend would bet an amount equal to twelve hours of labour, but then again, to Maximilian, it did not represent any labour at all.

His counterpart took out an equal amount and deposited it as well before pushing a pair of dice towards the mageknight. "You go first." He revealed a row of yellow teeth.

Maximilian grabbed the dice and rubbed them between his hands, blowing on them as well, ostensibly for good luck. Finally, he let them roll.

Martel craned his neck to see the outcome. One die showed a crown, the other showed the symbol for earth. Emperor and element, a solid throw.

The other player grabbed the dice. His flushed expression suggested he had been drinking, and even from a distance, Martel could feel the heat in his hands, transferring to the square pieces of clay held by him.

As the gambler flung the dice through the air, Martel sensed them as two motes of warmth. They struck the board of the table, rolling towards the edge. Closing his fingers to a fist, the novice stopped their movement. They came to an abrupt halt.

The greasy-haired player looked shocked, while Maximilian wore satisfaction. Their expressions flipped as they noticed the result of the throw. Both dice showed a wisp of air. A pair of elementals beat a single emperor. Howling with delight, the gambler raked his silver towards him.

Maximilian leapt to his feet, looking incensed, but the burly guard slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Alright, no trouble now. Go back to your friends, young man."

Despite his magic giving him the advantage in any physical fight, the mageknight kept himself in check. With a sneer, resting his shoulder free, he returned to his companions. "What. Was. That?" He stared at Martel.

The novice shrugged. "You told me to stop his dice, and I did. Not my fault his luck was better than yours."

"Well, I hope you're happy. That was all my coin for the evening." He sat down with a sour look on his face.

Eleanor regarded him with barely concealed amusement. "I guess next round is on me."