Angry Fire

As the bell rang, Martel and the other students stood ready in the Circle of Fire. As usual, they stood apart, none of them speaking to the others. Mistress Moira arrived soon after, and like last time, she divided them into pairs to fight each other. This time, Martel faced Harriet, who seemed the stronger acolyte of the three, by his measure. Not that it gave him any pause. He had beaten her once without even using fire magic, all the way back during the summer solstice when his magic had been far less developed than now. In fact, he relished the opportunity to see what he could do without any restraints upon him; if it taught her some respect, all the better.

The duel began. Martel restricted himself to using only fire bolts, a spell so simple it placed no strain on his spellpower at all. He could hurl these motes of flame all day if need be, and he saw the point that Mistress Moira had made during the other class. If engaged in a lengthy battle, it would not do to expend all his magical strength straightaway on complex spells.

Several of his attacks landed as they should, striking Harriet on her arms or legs. Their fireproof robes prevented any chance of the garments being set ablaze, which often had been Martel's tactic for frightening his enemies in his scraps alongside Maximilian or the Night Knives, but he doubted another fire acolyte would be so easily scared anyway, even if her clothes caught fire. He remembered his first and only fight against Flora; she had not panicked when his fire had struck her, but simply used her knowledge of water magic to quickly extinguish the flames. No, to win this duel against Harriet he needed to strike her with such strength and frequency, the pain made her surrender.

The same applied to her, of course. Martel caught one of her attacks straight against his chest, making him wince. It felt like touching his father's anvil with his hand, heated from red-hot metal placed upon it. He imagined his skin charred even if he knew it remained whole underneath his clothes.

Retaliating, he watched with a triumphant smile as he struck Harriet on the knee, making her stagger for a moment before she regained her balance.

"Stop!" exclaimed Mistress Moira, stepping in between Martel and Harriet. "Not you two, continue," she barked at the other students, who resumed their duel. She looked at Martel. "Why are you holding back?"

"I'm not," he replied, confused and also distracted watching the other students still fighting, in case any of them had poor aim.

"Even worse. That means you are weak," his teacher growled. "Your last bolt should have hobbled her, but it barely did anything." She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "Hit me with all the fire you've got."

She asked for it. Martel summoned a flame and threw it at Mistress Moira.

She did not react in the slightest. "Pathetic. Again!"

A sneer running across his face, Martel repeated his attack, this time feeding spellpower into the flame.

"Disgraceful! Again!"

Fire filled Martel's hand before it hurled through the air.

"Pitiful!"

Martel heard the laughter of the other students. He did not have to look at their faces to know the scorn filling their eyes. It angered him almost as much as the utter contempt he saw on his teacher's face. Holding up his hands, fire filled the air between them. The flaming ball finally flew across the distance to strike Mistress Moira in the face.

"Better. But far from satisfactory. I want to see that power in all your attacks, boy." She managed to make the final word sound like an insult. "All of you, back to the fight!"

***

Two lessons with the Mistress of Fire left Martel feeling worn out, and he was tempted to abandon his thought of visiting Flora. But he had already delayed once, instead of going yesterday, when he had the time. He felt foolish now, as obviously he would be more weary tonight. Regardless, it was best to find out what Flora wanted. Besides, given the hostile environment he faced in the Circle of Fire, Martel did not mind getting away from the Lyceum to see friendlier faces. As much as Marcus could ever be described as friendly, at any rate.

He reached the house in the bridge district and noticed it did not seem to have any more inhabitants than before. As he entered, his impression was confirmed by only Flora and Marcus being present. "I thought more of your people would come from Aquila," Martel said.

"At some point. Not much traffic during the winter months. Most of our company are away on longer journeys, only able to return once spring arrives," Flora explained.

"I see. What did you want to talk about?" He sat down by the table once Flora did while Marcus placed a cup of ale in front of him. "Thanks."

"Just a word of warning. Someone's been asking around for you, and not like how the Fire Eater did. These people aren't looking for you, they're looking for information about you," Flora elaborated.

Martel nodded slowly. "I heard the same from the copper lanes. They're casting a wide net."

The earthmage gave him an inquisitive look, and even Marcus sat down to follow the conversation. "Who?" she asked.

Martel took a deep breath. No reason to keep them in the dark. "You remember the fire in the Khivan quarter?"

"Of course."

"It was set by the duke of Cheval. His men, anyway. He is angry with me for interfering, and I think he's looking for ways to hurt me."

The two Night Knives looked at each other. "A powerful enemy," Flora remarked.

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"Well, the duke's no friend of ours. He won't learn anything from us," the earthmage assured Martel. "And if we hear anyone talking, we will set them straight."

Marcus nodded in agreement.

"I appreciate it." The acolyte looked at the mercenaries; he trusted their word on this. It still left the question of what the duke might have learned – and how he could use it against Martel.