Teamwork

Stretching his neck from side to side, stamping his staff a few times into the ground, Martel prepared for the skirmish about to happen. The other fire acolytes stood nearby, likewise steeling themselves. Some distance away, the mageknights assembled, feeling confident based on their expressions.

Moira entered, which was expected; she always observed when the elemental mages fought as a single group against the mageknights. However, Martel did not expect when she called his name and beckoned for him to come over. His heart sinking in his chest, he complied.

"Listen up, boy."

Reluctantly, he did so.

"Remember yesterday, I said that even if you lose, you lot won't get detention? Well, you're the exception. No leniency for you, boy. If those preening mageknights beat you, you can expect two hours in the Circle of Fire tomorrow night."

She turned around and stalked away to find herself a seat on the stands, leaving Martel crestfallen. Where was the justice in that? What had he ever done to be singled out like that?

Walking back to the other fire acolytes, Martel took a few deep breaths. No reason to let the others know; Harriet might repeat her betrayal from last fiveday.

"What did the old hag want?" William asked.

"She just mocked us," Martel replied. "Said she didn't think we could win."

"Strange she only told you. She's usually not shy about letting us all have it," Edward considered.

"Never mind that. I don't want to lose to those bastards. What's our strategy?" William looked at the others.

Martel hesitated to speak. He worried that any tactics he might suggest would only anger Harriet, and she would sabotage their efforts. On the other hand, they needed something, or they would surely lose.

As nobody spoke up, William continued. "How about same as last, except I take the front position, and Harriet behind me? That gives you more time to raise your flame wall." He glanced at the female acolyte. "Meanwhile, Martel and I fight defensively, and you still raise the wall for the right flank." He turned his eyes on Martel.

As good a plan as any. Nobody objected, and the fire acolytes turned around to face the eight mageknights some twenty paces away. Martel recognised Eleanor among them and quickly chided himself; now was not the time to get distracted.

"Begin!" Reynard bellowed, and eight warriors dashed forward.

After releasing his initial fire bolt, Martel stepped in front of Edward. He raised his magical shield to buy him some time while immediately also casting the flame wall spell to close off their right flank. Behind him, he sensed as much as saw fire bolts being released by his fellow acolyte. Ahead, a sword smashed against his head, but was stopped by his shield. Raising his staff, Martel prepared to deflect the next attack the old-fashioned way, saving his spellpower.

For a moment, they held. Several of the mageknights fell out, taken down by multiple hits.

An axe struck the back of Martel's knee, making him fall to the ground. Before he could recover, a kick sent him all the way down in the dirt. Spitting dust, he raised his head to see the same had happened as yesterday; their left flank had crumbled.

Getting up, he looked at the defeated expressions of his fellow acolytes, while the mageknights cheered and laughed. Unlike the last fiveday, Harriet did not meet his gaze. She seemed angered – perhaps even embarrassed at her failure. Martel wanted to chew her out, release some of his frustrations and repay her some of the insults she had once thrown at him, but it felt futile. It would change nothing.

"Still some way to go for the elemental mages," Reynard remarked.

"As long as they're eight against four," Harriet mumbled, to which the other fire acolytes murmured in agreement.

If the Master of War heard them, he chose to ignore the comment. "Back to the usual sparring!"

***

Trying to forget about the defeat and his impending detention tomorrow, Martel left the Lyceum and went to the market. It took him a while to gather everything he wanted, having to visit different stalls and vendors. A cauldron along with a few pieces of wood to serve as a foot, and the different herbs he needed. Glass bottles turned out to be prohibitively expensive; Martel ended up buying only one.

When he finally had all that he needed, he continued to the docks. Julia let him inside, and he placed his purchases on the ground. "Ready to do alchemy?"

She nodded with her serious expression; a smile from that girl came more seldom than snow in summer.

They set to work. The plants needed to be prepared; Martel's knife, given to him by Master Jerome, served as their tool for that. It turned out that Julia’s offer of help had not been idle; she deftly handled the knife to chop and cut as needed.

"You must have been a great help to your parents in their workshop."

The girl simply shrugged, continuing her work in silence.

Filling the cauldron with water, Martel used a bit of magic to make it boil. In went the ingredients, out came his newly bought ladle, and the stirring began.

***

About two hours later, magic glowed in Martel's cauldron. He had used the ringing of temple bells to keep track of time, though he was not sure exactly how long had passed; he wished that he had his Khivan clock with him. Looking down into the pot, the liquid seemed to be as it should, mostly; the light glowed with less intensity than in Mistress Rana's laboratory. Probably because he could not awaken the herbs as well as her, or maybe it had not been boiled and stirred as long as it should.

Regardless, Martel had run out of patience. He also needed to get home from the docks and get some hours of sleep before what promised to be a long, exhausting day tomorrow. "Get the rags," he told Julia.

Using her old clothes, the girl took the handles of the pot and began to tilt.

Wiping his brow, Martel placed the glass bottle on the ground and focused. He was sweating not only from the heat of the cauldron, but also the effort of using his magic to keep the liquid boiling. Now he reached out to connect with the bubbling magic and direct it into the vial.

Cautiously, like stroking a cat until it allowed him to pick it up in his arms, Martel guided the glowing magic into the bottle before corking it.

"Did it work?" Julia asked.

"I believe so." He held up the vial, looking at its orange colour.

"What about this?" She held up the cauldron with the remaining water.

"You can get rid of that."

Resolutely, she moved over to the window and tossed the contents outside. Hopefully nobody stood below on the street. Julia turned back towards Martel. "What will you do with that?"

He glanced at the potion again. He had thought about offering it to her; she could use it more than him. But he realised that as an unproven apprentice, giving his homebrewed elixirs to an orphan child would reflect poorly on him, should anyone ever find out. While he felt certain the potion was safe to drink – it was a simple recipe that he had made several times while supervised by Mistress Rana – it nonetheless sounded bad. "I'll take it home with me, make sure I did it right before I ask anyone else to try out my potions."

"Alright."

"I'll get going. Thanks for your help, Julia."

She nodded, serious as ever. "It was my pleasure."

He left. Once outside the insula, Martel looked at the small bottle in his hands. Before he lost his nerve, he opened it and drank the elixir.