Tactics of a Scarecrow

Waking up on Malday, Martel felt mostly restored after a proper night's sleep; physically speaking, at least. Moira had not kept him for a full bell, but it had still been a long hour of agony and brutal exertion trying to avoid her spells. He stretched his limbs and neck, wondering if such magical attacks left any lasting damage, but his body felt fine. As for his mind, Martel was unsure. He had been in fights for his life, which obviously had been much more fearful situations than this. But they had also ended quickly. This type of fear, dreading pain rather than death, lasting moment after moment after moment, not knowing how much longer it would go on, being powerless to do anything to stop it… This had to be what torture felt like.

He wanted to get revenge, pay the old woman back; at the same time, he knew such thoughts were useless. He could not do anything against a teacher at the Lyceum. He had no recourse other than making sure he never got detention again. It bothered him to think that instilling this fear, this motivation in him, was her very intention with the pain.

***

At least his first lesson went as usual, as Martel's superior skills in staff fighting exerted themselves. Not that Reynard cared or would ever bother to reward or punish any of them, but Martel was relieved to know that his skills did not suffer today as well.

He spent the lunch bell, before and after he had eaten, practising Mistress Rana's exercise for alchemy. She was a teacher he actually respected, and who taught him things he was eager to learn. If he failed to master this trick, she might change her mind about teaching him, which he had no intention of risking. So he sat for most of the bell, staring at a herb in his hand while trying to feel its magic. Whether he made any progress, he could not tell; but tonight his evening was his own, and he would keep at it until he saw results.

***

The second lesson of the day arrived, and Martel went to the gymnasium. It was as cold as it had been this morning, and he was glad for his leather armour providing a bit of warmth in addition to protection.

"Nordmark, have you heard?" Maximilian approached him.

"I won't know until you tell me what you mean."

"Guillaume, he claims that someone stole his elixir of healing," he explained with an amused tone of voice.

The fire acolyte frowned briefly. Right, Cheval. Using his given name felt like more respect than Martel wanted to give him. "Are those valuable?" It probably did not hurt to play dumb.

"I thought you were learning alchemy? Of course they are. Guillaume claims he paid twenty crowns for it."

"Well, he can afford it." Martel knew it was a drop in the ocean for a man of Duke Cheval's wealth; still, he derived a certain amount of glee from having inflicted this inconvenience on his enemy. Two of them, counting the son as well.

"It is not about the coin," Maximilian explained with an overbearing tone. "The ingredients are so rare, an alchemist makes only a few every year. And probably there are only a couple in the entire Empire with the skill to do so." He gave Martel a sceptical look. "Do you actually learn anything in that apothecary of yours?"

"Not really. Too busy treating wounds from all the idiot mageknights who don't know how to defend themselves."

"Hah, good retort! I shall make you regret that once we spar."

Martel followed Maximilian's gaze to see that Moira had entered the arena. Another round of fire acolytes against mageknights, it seemed. However, this time, their teacher did not simply sit on the stands, but approached her four students.

All of them turned to look at her, waiting with expressions that indicated they wanted to do anything but that. "Listen up," the Mistress of Fire said. "If you lose your fight against the mageknights today, all of you will have detention tonight. And if I'm particularly disappointed in your performance, expect it to be extended to every night this fiveday."

She strode away to find a seat, leaving her students aghast. "Great," Harriet mumbled, "you worthless pricks are going to cost me all my evenings."

"I bet you'll eat dirt before I do," William snapped.

Edward simply looked sick.

"We have to stop this," Martel interjected. Three acolytes looked at him with varying degrees of hostility. He thought about the Night Knives. If he could go into battle by their side after trying to kill each other in the first encounter, the same had to be possible here. "I don't care if you hate my guts and want to see me suffer." Their expressions told him he had formulated their desires correctly. "If we don't work together, we all suffer. Besides, aren't you tired of those arrogant mageknights lording over us? Imagine when we beat twice our numbers, leaving them in the dust. Won't that feel better than our petty feuds? Not to mention, avoiding detention."

"Scarecrow is right," William conceded. Nickname apart, his words pleased Martel.

"Get ready to train! Eight mageknights against the elemental bunch. Marche, Griffe, Cheval..." Reynard called out.

"But what can we do?" asked Edward. "We try our best, but we can't stop them all."

"We can if we work together." Martel thought about fighting with Marcus, how the warrior provided cover. "I know what we'll do."

"Right, so we listen to you because you fancy yourself our leader?" Harriet scoffed.

"Just give me one chance," Martel pleaded. "It can't go worse than we've done so far."

The other fire acolytes looked from each other to Martel. In the distance, eight mageknights took position.

***

"Fight!"

Eight warriors ran across the arena to close the short distance between them and the fire acolytes. Four fire bolts flew in response, all of them hitting their target. One mageknight went down, another blocked with her shield, taking no hurt; two stayed on their feet, but halted their advance to recover from the pain. That left five still charging forward to close the gap.

Moving from the flanks, Martel and William stepped in front of the other two acolytes, raising their weapons. Using staves and magical shields, they fought defensively. Behind them, Harriet and Edward continued as before, felling opponents left and right.

Sensing Alain trying to go around him, Martel stepped back and released a blast of air to push the mageknight away. Immediately, Maximilian swung his hammer against Martel's shoulder, but he raised his magical shield in defence to take the blow.

Two steps further back, Harriet landed a fire bolt straight into Maximilian's thigh, making his leg buckle. While tempting to seize the opportunity, Martel stuck to his plan, fighting only to protect his backline, keeping Alain at bay again. Reversely only focused on offence, Harriet hit another fire bolt, putting Maximilian down for the fight.

Some of the attackers hit by the first wave of spells had recovered, returning to the brawl, but their aid came too late. Using their best staff fighters in front to buy time allowed the other fire acolytes to concentrate on offensive spellwork, and the barrage of fire bolts did its work. A few minutes after the skirmish had begun, the elemental mages claimed victory.