Firebrand

Chapter 17: Friendly Conversation

Friendly Conversation

The next day at breakfast, Martel experienced something strange. He was used to getting stares when entering the dining hall; his height did not allow him to be inconspicuous. Usually, the looks conveyed indifference, scorn, or amusement. This morning, as he met their eyes, some of them nodded in return. And once Martel had filled his plate, a hand rose in the air, waving for his attention.

"You can sit here," said Jasper, the earthmage who worked the desk at the entrance hall.

Although a little baffled, Martel did not question it; at his age and in his circumstances, few things held such value as the respect of his peers. He took the empty seat by the table with the elemental acolytes, who gave him a nod and otherwise continued their conversation.

~

Martel's elemental lesson went well, as his confidence in controlling water kept growing, and Master Alastair commended him for his progress. At lunch, he sat with the acolytes of the same age as himself, some of whom excitedly brought up the duel from last night. Almost embarrassed at the attention, Martel mutely replied to their questions, and the conversation steered elsewhere.

Afterwards, having a free bell before his second lesson, Martel went to one of his favourite spots. Taking a seat underneath the statue of Atreus, he practised his focus and control over his magic when he was rudely interrupted.

"You, half-breed. I suppose you think you are very clever."

The words and voice gave the speaker away; Martel opened his eyes to find Cheval standing over him. No longer afraid, Martel stood up. "I think I'm a good mage," he retorted, "who earned my place in this school. I gave you the duel you wanted. You have only yourself to blame for underestimating me."

Behind the mageknight, Maximilian appeared. "Guillaume, leave him be. We are late for practice already."

"Stay out of it!" Cheval shrieked, whipping his head over his shoulder to glare at Maximilian before he turned his gaze back on Martel. He poked the novice in the chest. "You cheated! You used tricks rather than fight with honour!"

Like a snake, Maximilian's hand shot out to grab Cheval's offensive finger and twist it. The latter cried out in sudden agony. "You lost," the tall mageknight growled. "You challenged another mage to a duel, and he beat you with his superior magic."

"Let go!"

"He could have beaten you to a pulp, but he left you with no wounds but to your pride. If you had any honour, you would accept your loss," Maximilian continued. "If I see you harass the northern boy again, I will put you in your place myself." With a final squeeze around Cheval's finger, who winced in response, Maximilian finally let go.

His eyes full of hate, the duke's son stalked away while rubbing his hand.

"Thanks," Martel said. He glanced at the remaining young noble, unsure what this meant.

"He was tiresome," the mageknight replied. "His father is a powerful man, so I have suffered his company for that reason. But we all have our limits."

"We do." As the son of a smith, Martel could not quite relate to fathers that ruled lands and commanded vassals.

"Your name is Martel, right?"

"Yeah. And you're Maximilian."

"That I am. I will see you in class, Nordmark," the mageknight said with a gleam in his eyes before he left.

~

The thought left Martel with near dread, but he could not keep postponing. As much as he disliked arithmetic, he had to finish the star chart for Master Fenrick's class. His lessons done, Martel decided to get it over with; he had already calculated and drawn Malac and Perel onto the map, leaving only Glund.

With heavy steps, he ascended the astronomy tower to enter the classroom. He found it empty, which was to his preference. Collecting his things, taking care with the heavy tome containing the equations, Martel unfurled his map in progress.

His heart sank. Large blots of ink stained the parchment, and his work was ruined. He could easily guess the perpetrator.

Noise alerted him to someone else approaching. Looking at the door, his eyes met Eleanor's as she entered. It struck him that she was the only other one he had seen working on the assignment.

"Are you nearly done with yours?" she asked in a neutral tone.

"Don't think I will be," he mumbled.

"You have three days," she argued.

In response, he turned the map around to show her.

Dismay flickered over her face. "I guess we both know the guilty party."

"Yeah." Martel tried to calm himself. If he showed it to Master Fenrick, perhaps he could get an extension. The course continued for a few more fivedays beyond this one, after all, so there was no reason for this assignment to be delivered on such strict time.

"I am glad you beat him," Eleanor spoke quietly. "He deserved it. And more."

"I guess if that's the worst of his revenge, it could be worse."

"He acts like a petulant child. Come on, let us get you a new piece of parchment. I will help you remake it."

"Really?"

She gave a little shrug. "Why not? We are both mages. We should help each other."

He smiled. "Agreed."

~

Hearing a knock, the Master of Elements looked up from his desk and bade the visitor enter. As the overseer did so, he set aside the silver-threaded wand in his hand and stood up to greet her. "Something amiss? It's not been a fiveday since our last talk."

"I have heard rumours of a fight happening last night," Juliana replied. "As overseer, I must investigate. I wondered if you knew anything."

"You think the students tell me such things?"

"Most of them, no, but this alleged duel involved Martel. Who might confide in you."

"He told me nothing about any fight. Besides, our students are encouraged to train, aren't they?"

"If that's all it was."

With a coy smile, Alastair sat down. "Let me reassure you. As it happens, I saw the whole thing."

She gave him a tired look. "You could have just told me."

"This way was more fun."

"I thought the students didn't tell you."

Alastair shrugged. "Martel asked me for advice on how to defend himself. I thought it best to keep an eye on him."

"You oversaw this – training match?"

"No, I thought my presence might cause some anxiety." Alastair reached out to touch a Khivan spyglass on his desk. "I watched from a window."

"You didn't think to be present, in case anything went wrong?"

"They fought with staves, Juliana, hardly much threat. Besides, even from a distance, I could easily have intervened."

The overseer crossed her arms, giving him a scrutinising look. "And no rules were broken? Alastair, must I remind you that the headmaster would be happy with an excuse to send Martel away?"

"Nobody was hurt," Alastair declared. "In fact, the boy made me proud. He used water to make the field into mud, trapping his armoured opponent. He thought like a weathermage."

Juliana gave him another look. "Fortunate for him that it rained so heavily last night."

Alastair coughed. "Master Gilbert may have overdone it. But the storm was already brewing. I just asked him to give it a nudge."

She sat down. "Regardless, I thought we both understood to avoid situations like these that might enflame Martel's temper. Or tempt him to solve his problems with fire."

"He needs to learn to handle pressure," Alastair retorted. "Better it happens here, now, where I can keep an eye on him. And I would say he handled it very well."

"As long as it doesn't become habit," Juliana warned. "I do not need all my hair to turn grey."

"I fear you chose the wrong employment for that."

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