Spells and Offers to Counter

In the Hall of Elements, Martel stood with his eyes closed, reminiscent of the Circle of Fire. However, the exercise served the opposite purpose; he had to focus hard to avoid using his ability to sense heat. Each time he reached out with his magic into the surrounding darkness, the temptation was there; he had done it so often, it came so naturally to him. Yet it would ruin what he tried to accomplish; focusing on heat would keep him from noticing anything else. Whatever magic that Master Alastair flung out, regardless of element, Martel needed to not only sense it, but also recognise it.

The acolyte felt the burst of magical energy as his teacher released a spell. It did not feel hot, not even with Martel consciously avoiding searching for heat, so nothing to do with fire. That still left three options, but Martel was stumped on which one. "I don't know," he finally admitted. Guessing blindly would get him nowhere; better to admit his failure.

"We'll try again. Clear your mind as best you can. As soon as you feel my spell, reach for it. Grasp any kind of sensation it conveys."

Martel cleared his throat, waiting. Another release of magic. A strange feeling or memory came to him; how the world smelled after rainfall. "Water?" he guessed.

"Correct. There you are, boy!"

Martel smiled, still keeping his eyes closed. Strange how the feeling of water magic had made him think of that particular sensation. He wondered if it were different for other mages; would they have other memories or impressions of the same spell? The thought of the relic came to him; radiating some kind of magic he did not know, nor could understand, yet he felt it so powerfully all the same.

"Once more. Don't let one success go to your head, lad, we got a long way yet. Ready?"

"Ready, master."

From the opposite side of the hall, Master Alastair released another spell.

***

Before class, Martel had crossed the square outside the Lyceum to buy an oatcake from the nearby stall. An odd way to give the signal for a clandestine meeting, but tasty, at least. Now, three bells later, Martel sat in the tavern waiting for the Keeper. He had spent most of the fiveday since Solday contemplating the task at hand; would he be willing to risk an altercation and aggrieving the Ninth Lord of the bridge district, just to help another of these underworld masters in their endless games for wealth and power?

"I'll help you on one condition," Martel said as the Keeper joined him.

"No ale for me?" The jester, dressed in ordinary clothes, glanced at the mug in front of Martel. "I thought you had already arranged your reward with the Friar? A favour for a favour, he mentioned."

"You're asking me to enter a place where I'm banned, the very headquarters of a Ninth Lord. To undertake a bigger risk than ever implied at first. Besides, this won't cost you anything." Martel took a deep breath. "Once we recover the relic, I want a chance to study it. I won't damage it or anything. I just want to understand its nature."

The Keeper narrowed his eyes in thought. "I suppose that can be arranged. But you won't be left alone with it. The Friar's not going to risk that."

That almost sounded like an implication that Martel might be suspected of stealing the relic himself if he got the chance; preposterous, and a little insulting, but the acolyte shrugged it off. Not worth an argument. "That's fine. So, the masquerade. It's tomorrow?"

His companion nodded. "It is. You got something to wear that doesn't scream battlemage?" He glanced at Martel's red robe.

"I got something fitting for the occasion, yeah. I don't have any mask though."

"I'll procure one for us both."

"What's the plan once we get there? Other than me ambling about, trying to smell the location of this hand?" Martel asked. "The place will be packed with people, including lots of gold jewellery. Maybe even some wearing magical artefacts. I'm not sure how easy it'll be for me to sense the relic."

"I won't pretend I understand the difficulties of sniffing out relics at masquerade parties," the Keeper admitted. "Regardless, The River Pearl is too big for us to look everywhere. Especially since we'll have to be sneaky about it."

"So, what's your suggestion?"

"If it's going to be anywhere in the tavern, it'll either be Lady Pearl's study or her private chambers. I can't imagine she'd let something so priceless languish in a storage room or closet."

That made sense, though it was still an assumption, itself based on greater assumptions. "What if she doesn't have it? She might not be behind the theft. And if she is, she might have gotten rid of the relic altogether."

The Keeper gave a little shrug. "All true. But we have no better lead, so we must investigate her, if nothing else to eliminate her as the culprit. Should the relic be irrevocably lost, there is nothing further we can do – so that's pointless for us to speculate about. We might as well act on the premise that the relic is still in play."

"But what if it isn't? What if it's been sent out of the city or thrown into the sea?"

"That's a headache for me and the Friar to solve, which I doubt you can help with." The Keeper smiled. "You just keep that nose sharp and ready for tomorrow's eve."

Sneaking into the personal quarters of a Ninth Lord, who had banished Martel from her premises. He knew this was foolhardy at best; yet as a battlemage, he would not cower in fear of these thugs. "I'll be ready." At least his previous exploits, breaking into places such as the study of Duke Cheval or the home of Oswald the landlord lent him some experience in these matters. He almost finished the last thought without being reminded of Shadi.

"See you tomorrow." With his typical sly expression, the Keeper got on his feet and left.