What Flows Beneath

Martel woke, feeling battered. The healing effects of skin salve had its limits, and it could not cure headaches sustained from direct blows to the temple. It promised to be a long day, especially since he already had to prepare for his next fight, unless he wanted the same outcome. He thought about the small vial that Mistress Rana had once given him, alleviating his pain, but he did not dare ask for anything, lest he provoke questions about why he needed it. He could explain away a few bruises now and then as a result of sparring, but he did not wish to press his luck by raising the subject unnecessarily.

Only after breakfast did Martel remember which day it was. Malday, which meant his second lesson with Mistress Vana. As he made his way to the entrance hall, he prepared the usual spiel to explain away the current state of his face.

As it turned out, she cast a glancing look at Martel and the other novices, and that proved to be the full extent of her curiosity. "Follow me," she simply said, walking down the corridor.

Unlike last time, going into the city to reach a water tower, the trip proved short as she led them to the workshops. They passed by other students busy at work and also Master Jerome, who nodded at the teacher and winked at Martel.

Mistress Vana led them deeper into the workshops than Martel had ever been before. Finally, she stopped before an ordinary-looking hatch and pulled it open after unbolting it. A stench rose into the air. "This leads down to the sewers. I suggest you cover your noses." With that, she descended down the hatch.

Breathing through his mouth, Martel followed, as did the other novices. They stood in a dark room, though their teacher summoned light in her hand. Martel did the same, as he figured it would be good to know where he stepped.

"The less glamorous work of a watermage lies in the sewer system. This runs across the city, of course, but I think one lesson on the subject will suffice, so we shall visit those right here underneath our own school." Mistress Vana began to walk deeper into the darkness.

They walked in a tunnel of sorts, and the sound of flowing water could be heard. The stench intensified, impossible to ignore even when breathing through the mouth. Reaching a grated door, Mistress Vana unlocked its padlock with a key and stepped through.

They continued until they reached a ledge. Ahead of them, in the middle of the tunnel, the waters of the sewers flowed. On either side, an elevated path allowed for dry steps.

"Whenever you pour water down the grates in your dormitory tower, it ends up here. Along with all the other forms of waste, of course."

Martel thought about Eleanor's potion which he had emptied down a drain. He wondered if any rats or fish might have gotten a taste. "As you can imagine, I'm not showing this because I enjoy the scenery. Occasionally the pipes of the school may get blocked, requiring some investigative work. Though usually we manage to sort out anything before it becomes an issue by maintaining the pipes above ground."

She continued down the ledge that took a turn, leading them further in. Behind her, one of the students almost slipped.

"I should not have to warn you, it is rather wet and slippery down here."

They continued for a while, walking through the eerie tunnel with the terrible stench. Besides the few conjured lights, darkness swallowed their surroundings, and when Mistress Vana did not speak, the only sound was the flow of water.

They eventually reached a crossroads of sorts, with a variety of bridges built over the streams of water. The tunnel branched into several more, disappearing into different directions.

The teacher directed her light towards a collection of pipes against the wall. "The main place where waste flows from the castle down. If there is an issue we cannot solve up above, it will most likely be here instead. If any of you show skill with water, Master Jerome may occasionally have need of you to come this far and get things flowing."

One of the novices looked towards the other tunnels, whose stonework could barely be discerned outside the circle of light. "Where do they lead?"

"Deeper into the network of sewers, though I caution you against going past this point. Further beyond, you will find the old catacombs from centuries ago."

"What's catacombs?" Martel asked.

"Burial grounds. Centuries old, long before the Asterian Empire. The entire place is a labyrinth filled with the tombs of thousands. Treasure hunters occasionally venture in, or researchers with a taste for the macabre. They usually don't return, probably losing their way or dying to traps left behind to protect the dead and their rest."

Martel stared with open mouth, and not just because breathing through his nose was so unpleasant. Morcaster had seemed like such an incredible city when he first arrived, and in many ways, he still had that impression. To suddenly discover he had only seen half of it, what lay above ground, ignited both his imagination and his fear. He remembered his trip to the Stone of Archen and the monster that roamed the tunnels underneath the earth. Having enough trouble dealing with the living, Martel decided he would have nothing to do with this resting place for the dead.

"Come along," Mistress Vana told them. "Let's get back."

~

In the afternoon, Martel met Maximilian in the gymnasium. "I will not lie," the mageknight declared. "Your performance against an old man was pitiful."

"You said I fought well," Martel protested.

"I was speaking as a spectator, happy with the performance. As your teacher in the arts of war, I am disappointed."

"Can you actually be called a teacher when you haven't taught me anything?"

"Try your biting remarks in the ring on Manday, see how far that gets you."

"Well, you have any actual advice for me?" Martel asked.

"You did manage to land a few blows, at least – well done spotting the opportunity when it arose. You might even have stood a chance if you had not taken that strike to the head."

Martel doubted that, given how Lothar had seemed in command of the fight. "So what should I do? If I had known how to keep him from smacking me in the head, I would have done that."

"The answer is obvious. Your shield did nothing for you last night. It is one of two emperors in your hand."

"Please, no imagery based on card play or dice or anything of the sort." Martel never wanted to hear about gambling again.

"We have to train your shield up that you can actually withstand a blow. Right now, it is useless."

"Train how?" The novice asked, though he had his suspicions.

Maximilian made a fist. "No need for weapons, really. Get ready, shield up!" And he punched Martel in the chest.