Sowing Seeds

"How is your introduction to the Imperial court?" Master Alastair asked as they took a break between exercises.

"The palace is certainly beautiful. I thought I saw you the first night, master, but I lost you again in the crowd," Martel replied. "I did not realise teachers attended the feast."

"They usually don't. The headmaster is invited, of course, as is the overseer, given that she is appointed by the High Council. Since Mistress Juliana and I are old war comrades, I usually join her to back her up, like the old days. Though I prefer fighting Tyrian raiders rather than Asterian courtiers." He chuckled at his own jest. "I hope you fare better than me in that regard."

"Well, so far it's been fine. They haven't given me any trouble."

"Good, though opportunities have also been scarce these first two evenings. Audience one night, dancing the next. If I recall, tonight allows for more conversation. We best be on our toes, both of us." Alastair gave a knowing smile, as if they shared a secret. "Now, ready to give that spell another try?"

Martel extended his hands, letting air stream from one and fire from the other.

~

On the third day, they assembled in the same hall as last night. Martel did not know if he was disappointed seeing the same place as yesterday, or relieved that even the Imperial palace seemed to have limits.

As Master Alastair had alluded to, tonight was less formal. A large group of entertainers entered the hall, dancers, jugglers, and acrobats among them. Not too different from those performing on the marketplaces during festivals. They spread out, moving among the hosts while doing their individual acts, sometimes even involving guests that seemed up for it.

Happy to stay in the background as always, Martel hovered near Maximilian and simply enjoyed the performances. The young viscount was busy talking to people, nobles and courtiers, regaling them with tales judging by his animated expressions and movements. At times, he even glanced back at Martel, presumably because the story involved the novice as well. On those occasions, Martel always quickly looked away, awkwardly drinking from his wine.

At length, one of these courtiers approached Martel. Unsure how to act, the novice inclined his head and hoped that would suffice; he did not feel confident on how to bow or when the situation warranted it.

"You are Martel of Engby? Lord Maximilian said you helped him bring down a fearsome Tyrian berserker," the man spoke.

"Yes, that's true." While Martel knew to be careful with his words, he saw no harm in simply confirming the truth. Especially if Maximilian had already spread the word.

"Incredible. He even claimed you were a novice at the time."

"He's right." Perhaps for the best not to point out he was still a novice. It would only lead to more questions explaining why he was not an acolyte yet.

"Fascinating. Did being Tyrian yourself help you? Are you familiar with their weaknesses, how their magic works?"

"No," Martel mumbled, not sure himself which part he was refuting. He could not tell if he was being insulted or if making some heavy-handed correction would cause insult. "I just used what I had learned at the Lyceum," he finally said, hoping that would satisfy.

"Of course. Such a fine institution." The courtier wandered off, leaving Martel to finish his wine and look for his next cup.

~

Martel's reprieve did not last long. An attendant wearing a horse as his emblem approached with a brief greeting. "His Lordship the duke of Cheval requests your presence." Without waiting for an answer, the messenger turned around and walked away, leaving Martel to follow.

Refusal did not seem an option, so the novice hurried after. He tried to stay calm, but he felt as if everyone stared at him, crossing the hall. Avoiding the dancers and jugglers, Martel eventually reached a small semicircle of people arranged around the duke of Cheval as the centre. Waiting to be acknowledged, hoping a little that he never would be, Martel stood by the edge.

The nobleman glanced at Martel's head rising behind the others, finished his sentence to polite laughter from his listeners, and turned his back attention on the novice. "Master Martel, it is good to see you again."

Regardless of how awkward it might look, Martel did his best to give a bow. "Thank you, my lord."

"I am told you attend in the company of Count Marche. Am I to understand you seek to enter his employ?"

Martel quickly shook his head. "I am a friend to his son, Maximilian. I am simply attending to keep him company."

The duke gave him an indecipherable look. "I made you a cordial offer if I recall. At the very least, I expect a reply before I see you wearing the colours of another man."

"Of course, my lord. As I am still only a novice, it seems too early for me to decide my future." Martel had little interest in working for someone who seemed as bellicose as the duke of Cheval, but he knew to keep that to himself.

"I can respect playing your cards with deliberation. I am a man of patience, though not without limits." The nobleman inclined his head, and Martel got the impression he had been dismissed.

~

Towards the end of the evening, Alastair and Juliana convened having spent the last few hours talking to people separately. "Anything worthy of note?" she asked.

He raised his glass. "The wine is good."

She raised her own. "Thank you, I am aware. I saw our headmaster flittering around the duchess of Trior."

"You think he is planning his move against you?"

"Sowing the seeds to have the High Council remove me, yes. I think Martel's prowess has taken him by surprise. No doubt, he once expected the boy to fail the examination, giving him his excuse to move against me," Juliana considered. "Now that no longer seems likely, he has to find alternative means."

"Are you concerned?"

"He has tried to get rid of me since the day I arrived. He is welcome to keep trying."

Alastair raised his glass again. "I'll drink to that."