Three Spells

His second day in the infirmary, Martel woke early. Not a surprise, considering how much he had slept the previous days. It was still dark outside, so he summoned a flame to hover above his head and picked up Eleanor's book to read. He noticed that the nurse on duty gave him a look with an odd expression, but in the darkness of the hall, he could not interpret it, so he simply continued with reading. It was a fascinating tale of three Archean heroes. The title referred to their specialisations in magic; spellslinger, spellblade, and spellbreaker. Martel had heard tales of the latter, even back home, and the Lyceum had a statue of Atreus the Spellbreaker in its courtyard. But he had not heard of the other two, Nikolaos and Sophia. From what he could tell, a spellslinger used ranged attacks, much like himself, whereas a spellblade fought up close, much like a mageknight. As for the last one, a spellbreaker seemed a curious mix aimed more at defeating enemy magic-wielders than fighting in any particular style.

Although he knew it was childish, Martel could not help but imagine himself and his friends as the trio of heroes. Obviously, he would be the slinger; Eleanor, using a sword, would be the blade, which left Maximilian as the breaker, mostly out of necessity.

But the adventures were grand. Facing maleficars and undead monstrosities, saving people and thwarting villains. Martel could only imagine such a life. He was bound for the next twenty years, and assuming he survived, he imagined that he would have had his fill of danger by that point. Still, it was wonderful to read and imagine.

***

In the afternoon, the overseer came to visit Martel. She carried a red bundle in her hands and sat down next to him, while he propped himself up against the wall to sit upright.

"I took the liberty of entering your room to fetch your spare robes. The other ones are being mended and will be returned to you soon," Mistress Juliana informed him, handing over the bundle.

At least the blood would not stain much against the red colour. "Thanks." He accepted the clothes and placed them in his lap, feeling awkward. He was only wearing an undershirt besides his pants, making him feel vulnerable under the stern gaze of the overseer.

"As to the man who attacked you, he is dead." She stated this in such a factual tone, Martel did not understand at first. "We believe all of his compatriots are dead as well, though we continue to search for information to be certain."

Martel eagerly wanted to ask questions, namely how it had happened and what made the overseer so sure they had caught the right people in question, but as always, her demeanour discouraged this. The fact that she knew this was the work of the group and not a single person, though, suggested she was right. "That's a relief."

"We could not take any alive for questioning, which leaves us wondering why they targeted you. Any thoughts?"

Plenty, but none that he would share. "I can't say. I've never met any islanders before."

"He came at you with a golden knife, so he knew you to be a mage. He did not attack you at random."

Martel shrugged. "Remember the berserker last year? He wanted to sell me and Maximilian as ingredients to Sindhian alchemists. Could be something similar."

"Yes, the berserker. You do find yourself in trouble quite often. And there is a chance, however slight, that someone escaped our retribution and may be biding their time for revenge. For this and other reasons, I hereby confine you to the Lyceum for the remainder of your studies. You may not under any circumstances, for any reasons, leave the castle. I assume you understand."

"I don't," Martel objected. "You said they are dead. Even if someone survived, if you really killed all their companions, they'll be on the first ship out of here to the Western Isles."

Those stern eyes gave him a piercing look. "It is not only for safety, it is also a punishment. Martel, you have skirted the rules on many occasions. While I have never been presented with irrevocable proof that you should be expelled, you have clearly allowed yourself to become embroiled in all manner of unsavoury business, leading to the inevitable consequences of last Pelday."

"Those are my affairs," Martel replied coldly, for once finding the tenacity to return the overseer's stare. Everything he had done, all of it had been to save those he cared about. Money for Shadi's rent or medicine for John, helping Julia and the other urchins of the street; Martel would not be chastised for that.

"Incorrect. When someone attacks a ward of the Lyceum, the school is forced to respond. We have invested considerable resources in training you, which all nearly went to waste two days ago. And as a response, we have upended a district in Morcaster and killed several people in retribution." Her voice had the exact same cold tone as his. "I will not allow you to leave this castle and continue such reckless behaviour. Like it or not, you are our responsibility and must submit to our authority."

"I have responsibilities of my own," he retorted. "My brother would have died if I didn't get the coin for his medicine. There are street children who have a home now because of me. I will not be confined to this place, nor do I believe you can accomplish this by threatening to expel me. The Imperial administration would not agree to this."

For the longest moment, Mistress Juliana observed him. "So be it. But never come to my door seeking advice or counsel. I have none for you." She stood up and strode away.

***

Once more dressed in his robes and with coin in his pocket, Martel stood by the threshold of the Lyceum. He ignored the odd looks sent his way and looked out on the square beyond. As long as he was inside, the wards of the castle protected him.

He hesitated. Dreadful images passed through his mind. The islander with a cold look in his eyes, ready to end Martel's life. His own blood on the golden blade. Screams and shouts of people stampeding in panic. The eerie sensation of slowly losing consciousness, inching towards death.

He had stood up to Mistress Juliana for the right to leave the Lyceum. Exercising that right was another matter. But if he was to one day fight in battle surrounded by enemies that all sought his blood, he could not be afraid. Steeling himself, he stepped forward to cross the threshold and leave the school.

***

Martel's determination to face his fear only went so far. He avoided the main squares of the market district, especially the street where he had been attacked, and took a much longer route through back alleys. While darker and perhaps more ominous, at least he could see others coming from a distance. And despite knowing the threat against him most likely was indeed gone, as Mistress Juliana had declared, he still felt a little relief to reach Julia's insula. Quickly and with curt words, Martel paid the rent for a room. He considered whether to go up and visit her, but she might notice either his frazzled state of mind or that he moved more slowly due to his injuries. The girl was anxious enough; no need to scare her with talk of assassins on the street. Better to save his visit for another time when they might brew potions together.

Leaving the large building, Martel did not set a course back the way he came, but ventured into another part of the district. He still had to pull himself together on occasion; even sticking to the smaller alleys, he sometimes had to cross the larger thoroughfares with their usual crowd of people going in either direction. Once more, his route cost him time, but he finally made it to The Golden Goose.

Inside, the hustle and bustle of the great common room almost made him flinch, but Martel composed himself. He looked around until he spotted two mageknights at a table with three cups. Smiling, he walked over and joined them.

"There he is!" Maximilian raised his drink in greeting.

"I am surprised you are already allowed to leave the infirmary. Not to mention, that you would wish to go out tonight." Eleanor gave him an inquisitive look.

"You cannot keep our boy down," came the boisterous reply from her companion.

Martel gave a shrug. "I figured this was the healing I needed most."

She raised an eyebrow. "Ale?"

"Friendship," replied the fire acolyte, feeling silly even as he said it, but he was rewarded by a half smile from Eleanor.

"Alright, enough of that!" Maximilian raised his cup further in a gesture for the others to do the same. "A toast! To thwarting dastardly assassins from distant lands!"

"Cheers!"