First Day of Fire

On Pelday, Martel had his first ever lesson devoted to fire magic. He wondered if it would be anything like his introductory courses in the other elemental arts; presumably more demanding, given his aptitude for fire had already been determined. He did require some help finding his way to his classroom, as he had never been there before.

Unlike the dedicated spaces for water and earth, it lay above ground. A short and rotund tower on the north side of the Lyceum played host to the classes in fire magic. Martel had seen it from the outside, across the yard while up in the Tower of Air; now he knew its purpose.

The Circle of Fire lived up to its name, having round walls. The space itself resembled the Hall of Elements in length and height, except the floor was entirely stonework; no water or earth was present. In addition, the walls had slivers through them, allowing air to flow in from outside the castle, which also made the room cold.

As it took him a little extra time to reach the classroom, it seemed that Martel entered last. Three other students in the same red robes were present. Two of them boys; the third, he recognised as the girl he had duelled against during the solstice celebration last summer, at the home of Legate Fontaine. Given how she glared at him, she remembered the incident as well.

Looking away, Martel turned his attention towards the adult in the room. He had never met Mistress Moira before and did not know what to expect. No matter what, he would never have guessed at the sight before him. The Mistress of Fire looked to be eighty years or older. Her face was filled with furrows, her wild hair completely white and matching her expression. She barely reached Martel’s chest and looked so frail that a breeze might snap her like a twig.

"Be faster in the future, boy," she remarked with a glance at him. "Every moment counts."

"Yes, mistress," Martel mumbled, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. He had met all sorts of teachers at the Lyceum by now, but he did not know how to interpret her mannerisms towards him.

"Class, this is Martel." Mistress Moira turned towards her other students. "He is fire-touched. That means, while it took you all months to learn to summon your own flame, he was basically born with the ability. For that reason, even though you've all studied for a year and he's just become an acolyte, you'll train together."

Martel felt alarm rising as he listened to her. If there had been any ambiguity as to how his fellow students viewed him, her words cleared that up. They all stared at him with deep dislike.

"I suspect in the coming months he will have caught up to all of you. So unless you wish to be embarrassed by him, you better start your exercises right now and keep at it until I say otherwise."

The other students dispersed throughout the room and began summoning flames into the air, hurling them through the slits in the walls.

Mistress Moira turned her attention back on Martel. "If you believe that your particular talent will earn you any respite, you should immediately forget such foolishness. I know exactly what you're capable of, and if you fail to meet my expectations, I'll make sure you regret it. Your time is not your own, boy."

"It's not?" he asked, though faced with her belligerent expression, he immediately regretted the question.

"Of course not! I'll have you stay here every evening, hour after hour, if you disappoint me." It did not seem an idle threat, though Martel had not heard about such punishment before. "Now attack me with your fire, the best you can," she commanded.

Recognising that she meant to measure him, Martel flung a bolt of fire at his teacher, adding spellpower to make it burn hotter.

It struck her torso; she did not move the slightest in response. "At least I don't have to teach you how to ignite a flame," she sighed. "Alright, see what the others are doing? You do the same."

Martel turned to see his fellow students, creating fire bolts and throwing them at the slits in the stonework. He quickly found his own opening to target and began aiming, Mistress Moira watching him like a hawk.

***

As the bell rang, Martel felt beat. Master Alastair had never really pushed him beyond what felt like his limits. It had been more about trying different kinds of spells, finding out what flowed best for him. And while training up his spellpower under Master Fenrick had certainly left him drained, he had been allowed to go at his own pace.

Nothing of the sort under Mistress Moira. She had hounded him every moment, except when turning her head to yell at the other students. He had kept back at first, conserving his magic to ensure that he could last the full bell, which she had quickly noticed and scolded him for. As a result, he had expended most of his spellpower before the lesson had ended.

And he had another later that day.

***

As time came for supper, Martel was exhausted. In both senses of the word. His magic was completely drained. Just the thought of igniting the tiniest flame at the edge of his finger made his stomach turn.

Since it was Pelday, he had planned to attend the meeting of the sparring group in the Chamber of Earth. He had not expected to be worn out after classes, but maybe with some quick rest, he would feel invigorated enough to do a single sparring match. Considering what lay ahead, practising when he was already tired seemed especially beneficial. Once in war, the enemy would not wait until he felt well rested and prepared.

Yes, no excuses. Martel laid down in his bed for a short nap; last bell would wake him up, and he would go to the gathering. Just closing his eyes until then.

He slept until morning.