Summons

Another Malday meant another trip into town. While they had spent this particular lesson at the castle for the past two fivedays, Mistress Rana wanted to show the students the remaining water towers in the city before they would finish off the course back at the Lyceum at the end of the month.

Martel did not mind; while not the most thrilling of subjects, it was nice enough to walk outside, and it gave him the opportunity to ask a few questions of the woman who hopefully would instruct him as an acolyte.

"Mistress Vana? You're the teacher who instructs weathermages, right?" Martel asked.

She glanced at the novice walking next to her down the street, already taller than she was. "I do. Master Alastair has mentioned your name to me, don't worry."

"Oh, in a good way?"

"It's not in his nature to speak ill of students. You can be calm, boy. Not many novices who actually want to be weathermages, having to leave the city for their posting. If you have the desire, and Master Alastair is correct in his assessment of you, you're certain to make the cut."

Martel fell a few steps behind her, forced by traffic. It was reassuring to know, though. Even if he sometimes considered other options, such as seamage or alchemist, he still felt an obligation towards his first ambition. And if he studied diligently, perhaps he could accomplish more than one of his goals. Certainly, regardless of whether he became a weathermage or seamage, people around him would need a good alchemist.

~

Back from the northern water tower, which resembled the eastern to such a degree, Martel could not rightly tell why it had been worth visiting, the novice did his work in the apothecary and went to lunch. Doing his daily check for letters or messages, his efforts were rewarded.

Henry the air mage rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a small note. Yet rather than handed over, he regarded Martel with a mischievous look. "Now, this didn't come in an envelope, and I had to look at the message to see the recipient."

Martel frowned. "You read my letter?" He reached out to grab it, but Henry pulled back.

"I had heard you spent a lot of time in town. I'd never have guessed this was the reason." He gave a knowing smirk, even as Martel used magic to grab the note and fly into his own hand.

Scowling at the air mage, Martel stepped away to look at his message, written in flowing script.

Dear Martel,

I must insist upon your presence at the earliest convenience.

If not today, please pay me a visit tomorrow at the latest.

It is imperative we speak before the eve of Manday.

The Copper Lady

The wording threw Martel off for a moment until he guessed this had to be Kerra, ordering him to the copper lanes. His next fight was Manday, which presumably explained why she wanted to meet before that. Martel could go this evening, but having the afternoon off, he had agreed to spar with Maximilian for two bells, which he knew would leave absolutely exhausted. Not to mention, he disliked being summoned like a dog by a woman extorting him. She could wait until tomorrow evening, Martel decided. For now, he had training to do.

~

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Maximilian practically roared at him.

If beating the other fighters in the ring instilled any kind of confidence in Martel, sparring against Maximilian was an efficient method for losing it again.

The novice knew that many of the other elemental acolytes, and perhaps some of the teachers, held some disdain for those mageknights who could only wield empowerment and lacked any skill in other forms of magic. At times, Martel even shared the sentiment, especially after he had met Cheval twice in a duel and handily beaten him. Of course, the son of the duke was not much of a mageknight to begin with. Fighting Maximilian was an entirely different endeavour.

It did not matter how hard Martel hit, even if he poured his magic to lend him strength; his staff did not even touch Maximilian before it was stopped by an invisible barrier. As for his own shield, it barely withstood an onslaught from the mageknight, always shattered by the strain of resisting a single blow. Thanks to his increased speed, Maximilian could easily land a second attack before Martel had the wits to raise his shield again.

Not to mention, the novice burned through his magical reserves each time he summoned his protection; as for Maximilian, making an empowered attack strong enough to blast through Martel's defence took such little effort, he could do it at will without any strain.

If only Martel could use fire, he would have the mageknight dancing to extinguish the flames licking his boots. But he could not use such powers in the ring, so he had to stick to empowering magic.

Separating, Martel raised one hand in a request for a break. Maximilian shook his head. "I have seen Lothar, and if you want to beat him this time, you need to improve."

"Just give me a moment," the novice gasped, trying to catch his breath. They had been at it for an hour, and Martel was starting to realise he would not last two full bells at this rate.

"You are not giving me a lot of confidence to bet on you come Manday night."

"That's a jest, right? You're not actually betting on my games."

"Why not? When you have an inside tip, you use it." Maximilian shrugged.

"That's how we got into this mess in the first place!"

"Correction, how you got into this mess. I was gambling fine for months without any trouble."

Martel gave him a look. "You lost."

"Yes, but I did not get into trouble. Unlike you. Now on your guard!"

Before the novice could react, a staff swept his legs from under him, and he fell on his back.

Maximilian looked down at him. "I said, on your guard." The mageknight shook his head. "Definitely a risky wager."