Flaming Wagers

Martel woke with scant rest in his body, yet pleasant dreams in his mind. Dancing with Ruby had been exhilarating in a way he had not felt in a long time. And the music of the skáld had touched him, nearly moved him to tears. It seemed a wonderful example of what magic could be like, what it might be used for. He wondered if he had been born north of the Frosten river, would he have become a skáld as well? Last night, for a brief while, he had almost wished so.

The price for last night's entertainment came this morning as he dragged himself to the Circle of Fire. He did not feel up for two bells of duelling and casting spells under Moira's wrathful gaze, but fate lent him a hand – at least so it appeared at first.

"You'll be working on your flame wall," their teacher told them. "Some of you badly need this practice, whereas others may produce something reasonably effective by tomorrow when you face the mageknights again." She glanced at Harriet, who presumably had done well the other night, after Martel had left.

As for himself, he was not concerned. He knew that he could perform the spell suitably for a skirmish. He felt almost embarrassed that it had never occurred to him using it during previous training, but it had just felt outside the rules of the class, somehow. He had also only used it to escape fights rather than in this more offensive capacity, though he easily saw the advantage of controlling the battlefield. Come tomorrow, Martel would make the most of it.

"Your fire-touched comrade appears confident, judging by his face," Moira continued.

Martel sighed inwardly. She always had to poke at them, causing a rift.

"I say we put that to the test. Tomorrow, when you fight the mageknights, I'll be lenient. Even if you lose, you don't get detention." She looked from the others towards Martel with the hint of a cruel smile, and he guessed her next words. "Except for Martel. You lose, he gets punished. You better hope your flame wall can do the trick, boy."

Martel exhaled slowly. Probably best for him to spend these lessons today practising the spell.

***

After two bells doing nothing but casting the same spell over and over, Martel felt about ready to spend his evening doing nothing but playing cards or going out for a drink. As Maximilian joined him at supper, he figured the mageknight had come to suggest the latter by his expectant look.

"Are you going to the Chamber of Earth tonight?"

Martel figured wrong, apparently. "I wasn't planning to. Feeling a bit worn after classes today."

"I only mention it because another mageknight has been speaking poorly of your performance, especially after last Malday. He reckons that he could handily beat you in a single fight."

Martel blew out his breath. He was not in the mood for a duel. But they usually went fast, and this might be an opportunity to practice his flame wall spell in action before tomorrow when it mattered. Also, Martel felt a slight attachment to his reputation. Nobody would be calling him Scarecrow after he beat them in a duel. "Alright. I'll make an appearance."

***

One bell later, the acolytes of the Lyceum – those minded towards brawls, at least – gathered in the Chamber of Earth as they did every Pelday evening. As Martel emerged from the dark stairs, his own little flame illuminating his path, he thought he noticed the murmur of voices increase. In addition, most of those assembled turned to look at him, some of them adding gestures or whispers. This felt different than how it usually was, as if people anticipated his coming. In fact, it felt much like stepping into the ring at The Broken Crown.

Martel wondered if this was Maximilian's doing. Perhaps it was not chance that the mageknights gossiping about the fire acolyte had reached his ear. Instead, he suspected that his friend had put this into motion, and apparently spread the word to build some excitement. As such, it did not bother Martel. The more people who saw the arrogant mageknights lose their bluster, the better.

Maximilian appeared, handing over a staff. "There is the fellow." He nodded towards a mageknight.

Martel vaguely recognised his opponent from training, though he did not know his name. Nor did he care. He would fall all the same. Probably easier than usual, considering he had made a poor choice of weapons. Rather than the typical shield and a one-handed weapon, this warrior stood wielding a hammer with both hands. Even if made from softer material than metal, such a blow would hurt. Striking the head was forbidden during these sparring duels when using such a weapon, but accidents might happen. In a place like this, without supervision, they might even be provoked.

Not that Martel felt concerned. He did not anticipate his opponent would have time to land a single blow. In fact, he would make the warrior regret his choice of weapon. They took position opposite each other, standing some four paces apart.

"Fight!"

Martel held out his hand, and a ray of flame shot out to strike the mageknight in his chest. Without a shield to protect himself, he took the full brunt of the spell. He struggled forward one step, and another. All the while, Martel kept the spell going, pouring his power into the flames bridging the gap between them.

Finally, the warrior sank to his knees with agony written across his face. Martel lowered his hand, keeping the spell aimed at the same place. "I give up," he gasped, dropping his hammer.

Martel ended the spell, and he heard some cheer or applaud. Others, most of the mageknights, looked with disdain or discomfort at the fire acolyte. Savouring their expressions, Martel gave the staff back to Maximilian and left the chamber. He only regretted that there had been no reason to try out his flame wall, but on the other hand, this left it as a surprise up his sleeve for future combat lessons.

The defeated warrior struggled to get back on his feet, and Maximilian sauntered over to him. "I told you."

"Yeah, yeah. Look, you will get your money, all right? I don't have it on me."

The viscount smiled. "That is fine. I imagine every time you see a fire acolyte, you will remember your lost wager." He turned towards his other peers, some of them already digging out their coin purses. "Who else bet against Martel?"