Idle Machinations

Martel stepped into the Circle of Fire the next day, just as the bell rang. Thanks to his Khivan clock, he knew exactly when it would. He found the other acolytes already present; assuming they lacked the same precise instruments for time-measuring, they probably had to arrive early just to be on the safe side. Martel sent a kind thought to Shadi for her gift, immediately followed by a wave of sadness as he remembered he would never see her again.

The other acolytes still looked at him with disdain; presumably nothing could mend those relationships. Mistress Moira had seen to that on his first day in the Circle of Fire.

At the same time, Martel noticed they did not seem to like each other either. All of them stood apart. They had not been talking as he entered, apparently waiting in silence. So his teacher's strategy of sowing enmity between students did not appear confined to him alone, but extended to all of them.

Not that Martel could understand why; he would have thought that promoting cooperation would make them more effective fighters, given his own experiences fighting with Maximilian or the Night Knives.

Their teacher arrived. She did not greet her students, except perhaps for a quick gesture that could be interpreted as a curt nod. "Pair up. Edward, you're against Martel. Harriet, you're against William."

At least Martel knew their names now, assuming he remembered. It did not seem he would have much reason to use them.

Unsure what was expected besides joining into pairs, Martel turned towards his new partner and watched him carefully.

Mistress Moira cleared her throat, and they all turned their heads towards her. "First one to yield will be kept an hour after class. Begin."

It took Martel a moment to understand; Edward, perhaps from previous experience, did not require as long. A bolt of fire streaked through the air to hit Martel on the shoulder.

It stung, making him grit his teeth. In the other half of the room, he sensed that Harriet and William had likewise begun their duel; even without looking, Martel's magic told him that bursts of heat soared between them.

Ignoring it, Martel turned his attention towards his own opponent. Already, more bolts of fire flew through the air towards him. This time, he managed to evade, crouching down. He flung his own attack forward, sending flames from his fingertips against Edward.

They struck the acolyte on the leg, which buckled under him, and Martel smiled at the taste of victory. Seeing his opponent off-balance, Martel sent a ray of fire this time to press the advantage. The flame struck Edward in the stomach, and he fell to the ground in an attempt to escape; maintaining the spell, Martel kept the ray going as he moved forward, scorching his opponent.

"Enough!" Mistress Moira called out. Martel ended his spell and looked towards the other combatants, wondering if one of them had yielded. It did not appear so; both of them stood on their feet, and they likewise glanced around, looking confused.

Their teacher approached Martel. "Why did you use that spell? The ray of fire?"

Caught off-guard by the question, Martel struggled to think of an answer. "I thought it would end the fight quicker," he tried to explain.

Mistress Moira turned towards Edward. "Did it hurt worse being struck by the ray than the initial bolt?"

"No." Judging by the acolyte's grimace, both had still caused him some pain.

The teacher looked at Martel again. "Your enemy was already out of balance, easy to hit. You did not need to keep the flame going. All you accomplished was draining your spellpower, when a simple fire bolt would have served just as well." She rapped her knuckles against Martel's forehead, and while it did not hurt as such, he felt a flare of anger. Ignoring any sign of emotion on his part, Mistress Moira spoke again. "The next time I see you waste your spellpower, it'll be another bell of practising the simplest of spells for you. Do you understand me, boy?" She stared up at him with her wild eyes.

"Yes, mistress," Martel mumbled. Around him, his fellow acolytes seemed only delighted as they watched him be chastised.

"Again! Fight!"

***

After classes, Martel felt spent. Even so, he decided to leave the castle. Shadi had told him to stay away, to avoid saying farewell a second time. But every time he looked at his Khivan watch, every time he became mindful of its ticking noise, it hurt. In some ways, he appreciated how busy his schedule had become, as it left him little time to miss her. But each evening, back in his chamber, listening to the ticking sound, he relived their final conversation over and over in his mind. Unable to resist any longer, he left the Lyceum.

His journey to the Khivan enclave was quiet and uneventful. With the solstice celebration over, little took place in Morcaster in these last months of winter. Not until spring would arrive.

Arriving at the foreigners' district, Martel received a few looks. Some were unfriendly, but others seemed to recognise him, bowing their heads as he passed them by. In either case, few people could be found on the streets. Besides the dark evening giving little reason to be outside, the district had lost many of its residents, Martel noticed. Houses looked abandoned with no light or warmth inside of them. And as he approached the small temple square, he saw the remains of the devastation wrought upon the quarter.

Some work had been done; much of the burnt wreckage had been dismantled and hauled away. Some of the dilapidated houses still remained, waiting for their turn to be removed as well. It sickened Martel to know that in the end, Duke Cheval would get his wish. One way or another, the Khivans would be gone, and he could begin construction of his large complexes meant to house Asterians.

Hurrying past, Martel approached the watchmaker's workshop. Once he reached it, he saw that it had suffered the same fate as some of those he had seen earlier. It lay dark and empty. No one responded as he knocked. He was too late; they had left.

Martel had feared this, yet it still hurt to have it confirmed. On the other hand, he could now cease his speculations, his imagined conversations where he convinced Shadi to stay. It was done. Martel had no further business in the enclave. He turned around and began walking home.