Pressure upon the Veins

With the other three novices, Martel waited in the entrance hall on another Malday morning. He felt a little awkward, as everyone passing by would know why they waited, and he stood out being a head taller than the other novices. It was a strange reverse to last night, when people had shouted his name and he felt like a king among men. Obviously, this was for the best; all Nether would break loose if his teachers discovered his evening activities.

Mistress Vana appeared and gestured for them to follow her down the hall. "On the next fiveday, we will return to the city and the other water towers, but today is another class spent at the castle. Don't worry, no sewers or anything like it today."

Martel gave a mental sigh of relief, and he suspected the others did as well.

Their teacher led them towards the workshops, but their path was not the same as last. They descended into a basement of sorts, into another direction than the hatch which had led them to the sewers.

Mistress Vana ignited a large orb of light in the dark, and they continued down a naked passageway until it suddenly opened into an enormous chamber, dug beneath the ground. It was not empty; a large object, as far as Martel could tell, took up most of the space.

"Any clever head who can guess what this is?" she asked.

One of the other novices was faster than Martel. "A water reservoir."

The teacher nodded. "This connects to the city's waterways, and thereby the river. All the water in the castle comes through here. Even the taps on your floors outside your rooms. Who can figure out what the challenge is?"

This time, Martel was quicker. "Getting the water from underground and up the towers."

"Liquid does have the annoying habit of always flowing down. In older times, the solution was to build reservoirs somewhere high and simply have watermages transport the water up there. The various towers around the city are a remnant of that system. Fortunately, we stumbled upon a more elegant solution, coming from perhaps an unlikely part of the world."

Mistress Vana beckoned for them to follow her as she walked around the cistern and let her light float gently down towards the ground. Martel saw that in between the tiles, a metal pipe ran from the reservoir across the floor to disappear underneath the wall.

Their teacher leaned down to point at complex engravings into the pipe. "Tyrian runes. You'll have to ask Master Fenrick about the principle of it, but briefly said, this particular symbol creates motion. It causes pressure for the water to move, even upwards if need be. Now, a Tyrian skáld might be able to imbue this rule with magic permanently, but my mastery of their barbarous sorcery is not at that level, hence from time to time, it must be renewed."

Holding her hand over the rune, she whispered a word that Martel did not catch. The rune glowed briefly. The quiet rumbling of water inside the pipe could be heard. Although the whole affair lasted only a moment, and the use of this kind of bespelled symbol seemed almost mundane, Martel felt a little fascinated. This was an entirely different magic than what he knew and could wield. Yet despite coming from a different tradition, Asterian mages could use it nonetheless. Though with limitations, it seemed; Martel wondered what a skáld might be able to do with runes.

"Once you become acolytes, you will be taught how to use these symbols. Should any of you consider a future as a watermage, I strongly encourage you to pay attention when the time comes." Standing up, Mistress Vana moved towards the door. "Come along. I'll show you a few other parts of the castle's waterways."

~

With only classes in the morning on Maldays, Martel could spend his afternoon practising. Maximilian was occupied, so he did it alone. In the western yard, by the statue of Atreus, Martel tried to do as he had done yesterday, raising his shield while also empowering his body to move faster. He had a feeling that he looked odd, moving around the pedestal in strange bursts, but his room was far too cramped to allow this kind of training.

"If you keep practising empowerment this much, people will assume you want to be a mageknight."

Martel turned towards the speaker, already smiling from recognising the soft voice. "Perish the thought. I leave that to people more comfortable wearing silk."

Eleanor gave a muted smile of her own. "When it comes to the praetorians, you may have a point." She narrowed her eyes, studying his face. "You do not seem to have more bruises than last. Unless they all lie in the same places as the old."

"I've become quite good at making salves in the apothecary." Fortunately, or else all of Martel's winnings would end up in the apothecary paying for remedies to ease his pains and discomforts.

"I am sure." She hesitated before she spoke again. "Did you win? Did your shield protect you?"

He nodded. "Yes, to both. Thank you. You're a better teacher than Maximilian, or Reynard, for that matter."

"This was a special case. I just happen to know how you work."

"Would you like to see? My next fight, I mean." Martel had not given it much thought beforehand, but he suddenly wished that Eleanor could see him how he was in the ring, victorious and admired, rather than the hapless novice from the small town, always out of his depth and trying to catch up.

She seemed to waver before slowly shaking her head. "I am glad if you are not getting hurt, but I do not think I want to encourage you any further. I will just see you around the school." With half a smile as her farewell, she turned around.

Martel watched her walk away, feeling more disappointed than he had expected to be.