Overcoming a Pest

Martel exchanged a brief nod with Master Jerome and continued through the workshops to the small laboratory, where he practised enchanting. The artificer did not interfere much, content with letting Martel work at his own pace after the acolyte revealed that Master Alistair was providing him with counsel.

In the small room, the big, round stone sat on the floor, waiting for him. Martel touched the surface, almost by reflex; it was entirely cold. Martel's last enchantment had been days ago, and his spells did not last this long.

He had made progress, though. Just getting the spell to hold its effects –actually enchanting the stone – had been a big step forward. His new challenge was to improve on this. If he were to have the kind of precise control that enchanting fire pots required, he needed much more practice.

As far as he could tell, the secret was to go as slowly as possible when infusing his magic into the material without actually losing the thread, so to say. When casting the spell, something as simple as conjuring heat, he had to let it seep into the receptacle, drop by drop. While he did not understand why it worked in this manner, the principle made some amount of sense; the slower he wove his magic into the stone, the longer it retained the spell.

Of course, Martel's end goal was not to create heating stones for the bath of the Lyceum, but making the fire pots that he could use in a battle; however, the better he could enchant this rock, the stronger his control when trying to do the same to the volatile oil. Preparing himself, Martel placed both hands on the stone and began, as slowly and cautiously as he could, to weave the essence of fire into the solid material.

***

Martel entered the Hall of Elements for his next lesson, bowing his head to his teacher.

"How goes enchantment, boy?"

"I'm making strides, I would say. My last attempt, the spell lasted for two days before it faded away entirely."

Master Alistair gave a nod. "Good. I imagine soon, you will see your progress – how long you can make the spell last – will diminish. It takes many years of practice to master long-lasting enchanting. But that is not your purpose either, so when you feel that your improvement has stalled, that will be the right time to once more try the fire pots. Your control of the process should be sufficient at that point to grant you success."

"Very well, master." This had already been explained to Martel, but repetition did not hurt, he supposed.

"Now onto our own lesson."

"I practised against another mage," Martel quickly said, hoping he might convince his teacher that they could move on. "She was a frostmage, and quite good. But I countered all her spells and made her submit."

"Not bad," his teacher replied with a knowing smile that implied he would not be convinced. "But even without the counterspell, I would expect a battlemage to defeat a frostmage of equal experience. Now get ready!"

***

After nearly a bell of Master Alastair flinging spells at him, Martel was wiped out. He lacked the spellpower to counter them all, which meant that his teacher went easy on him for most of their duel; even so, Martel did not cherish the experience of fighting against an experienced battlemage. His bouts in the Chamber of Earth and even fights such as against Flora had made Martel feel superior to other mages. Master Alastair provided a powerful reminder that fighting other acolytes or wizards without combat training was not the same as what a hardened veteran could do.

Finally, the bell rang throughout the castle, and Martel could stop and catch his breath. Master Alastair ceased his spellcasting and smiled. "Alright, I think I'll declare myself satisfied."

"Satisfied that the lesson is over, or that I'm good enough with the counterspell?" Martel asked, hope sneaking into his voice.

His teacher laughed. "The latter. Next fiveday, we move on." As a quick demonstration, he raised his hand in front of him; for a brief moment, lightning crackled, jumping from one fingertip to the other.

***

Greeting Nora briefly, Martel passed through the apothecary to reach the staircase in the back; a few moments later, he entered Mistress Rana's laboratory. "Good afternoon," he said politely.

"You're here. Good. Another elixir for a disease today. This particular malady is what's commonly referred to as pestilence. You may recognise it as swollen boils upon the body, especially around the neck, armpits, and groin."

Martel wrote down everything she told him, trying not to imagine how unpleasant it sounded, especially the last part.

"That is in addition to the usual symptoms, of course. Chills, fever, fatigue, and muscle pain. Lastly, the extremities may suffer from gangrene. The latter fact, along with the swollen spots, should make this disease easy to determine."

Martel added the last to his notes, trying not to let his distaste show. While he greatly enjoyed having the knowledge to cure these diseases, he did not actually look forward to encountering anybody suffering from them. Diagnosing their illness sounded like the worst part of being an alchemist.

"Alright. The cure is relatively simple to make, even for an inexperienced apprentice such as yourself. Most of the ingredients are simple to obtain, as you can tell. The only exception would be that the amaranth must be harvested under the correct conditions, but that's getting ahead of ourselves."

"When will I learn about that?" Martel asked eagerly. His knowledge of alchemy was only as useful as the ingredients he could obtain. He remembered vaguely seeing her with a bronze sickle, and Master Fenrick once mentioning how the metal of the tool might even influence the potency of a herb.

"Getting ahead of ourselves," Mistress Rana repeated sternly. "Now get to it!"

Dutifully, he gathered the ingredients and began brewing. After some hours, he could present his teacher with a curative elixir, should anyone suffer from the common pestilence.