Chapter 205: Where All Roads Lead
Where All Roads Lead
"Martel, do you have any plans this afternoon?" Master Alastair looked at him as they took a break during the first lesson of the day.
"Just your second class, master," Martel replied while wondering what made his teacher ask.
"Remember I mentioned my friend in the Imperial administration? He has time to meet this afternoon. I figured we could do so in the bell before our class."
It took Martel a moment to remember; a lot had happened lately. Oh yes, Master Alastair's friend who worked with organising where the Empire sent its mages. "Sure, that sounds great. Where do we meet him?"
"Meet me at fifth bell in the entrance hall. We'll go to a tavern, halfway between his work and the school," his teacher explained.
"I'll be there," Martel promised.
***
With his afternoon spoken for, Martel had little time to work for coin between meetings and classes. He still swung by the workshops, asking Master Jerome, just in case he could help with something in the evening. No stranger to late labour, Martel would gladly work any hours of the day, or night for that matter. With a regrettable tone of voice, the artificer turned Martel down; he simply had no chores left undone. Martel's small hoard of silver would remain the same today.
At fifth bell, the novice stood in the entrance hall. He watched the hands on Master Farhad's great clock, signalling the time as surely as the tolling of the bell, ringing across the school.
His teacher joined him moments later. "Let's go."
***
They walked for half an hour or so, maybe longer, before Master Alastair led them into one of the typical taverns found everywhere in Morcaster, serving food and drink at most hours of the day. His teacher signalled for cups to be brought and approached a table already occupied by a man wearing a red woollen tunic.
"Alastair, you old rascal!"
"Quintus, you bastard!"
The two men clasped each other's hands before Alastair and Martel sat down.
"This is Martel, the novice I told you about."
Quintus gave him a quick look. "Old for a novice, aren't ya?"
"I'm tall for my age."
"Well, I hope this one teaches you anything useful. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have expected him to have the patience for teaching," the old legionary said while nodding at Alastair. He had a few scars, Martel noticed, and although balding, he had a lean look that suggested otherwise good health.
"Alright, we are not here to talk about me. Save your soldier stories for another time," the former battlemage interjected.
"Fine. I hear you're thinking about becoming a weathermage or a seamage?" Quintus asked. As Martel nodded, he continued. "Now, all the contested postings for weathermages are in the southern provinces. You can wait a long time if hoping to be anywhere near the big cities, and forget about Morcaster or Aquila!"
"Actually, I would be happy with a posting in Nordmark," the novice explained.
"That's not going to be a problem. I don't know which regions specifically have need, but plenty of open spots in the province as such. For a good reason," the clerk warned. "All mages in Nordmark are considered part of the military reserve. If those Tyrian bastards make trouble, you could find yourself on the front lines."
Martel remembered his mother's letter and how Master Ogion had been called away. "What about becoming a seamage?"
"We have a lot more ships than we got wizards, so you got more room to manoeuvre there. You probably can't choose your first journeys for a few years, and it also depends on how you specialise exactly," Quintus explained as the tavernkeeper finally arrived with cups and drink to fill them. He took a large sip.
"How so?" Martel followed suit, tasting spiced wine that warmed him.
"Now, windmages mostly stay on land, but you might get a simple route on a river transport or such," the clerk elaborated. "If you're good enough to become a stormmage, you're all but guaranteed to be on a warship fighting Khivans. But if you end up in the middle, deemed as seamage, you'll have your pick. Long voyages to Sindhu or the Western Isles, or shorter ones between Morcaster and Aquila, we'll find use for you."
Martel had not considered the possibility that his skill level might decide his opportunities. It seemed strange that being too good would limit your options, though he understood why the Empire demanded anyone with the ability to become a stormmage to serve as such. It would be rather silly if, after hiding his talents to avoid becoming a battlemage, he ended up being sent to war anyway as a stormmage. Or that he took the choice of becoming a weathermage only to find himself fighting Tyrian raiders. As Master Alastair and Quintus began talking to each other, sharing laughter and old memories of soldiering days, Martel considered how every path forward seemed to involve the possibility of war.
***
Eventually they left the tavern, returning to the Lyceum for supper. As it was Pelday, Martel had to decide if he wanted to join the others for sparring again. His mind concerned with thoughts of John and distracted by the discussion of his future, he did not feel up for it. But perhaps that was all the more reason to go; training to fight when he felt least able could be a valuable experience in itself.
He went to the Chamber of Earth half an hour after last bell. Like before, he found about a dozen acolytes present, some of them already engaged in sparring. Martel stopped to watch Maximilian fight against a watermage in the dim, flickering light of the torches. He felt Eleanor's gaze upon him, and despite the low visibility, he believed she looked at him with disapproval, so he simply chose to ignore her.
"What's the novice doing here?" The question was asked with more than a touch of contempt.
Martel turned to see Jasper, the earthmage who worked in the entrance hall alongside Henry. For reasons Martel did not understand, Jasper seemed to dislike him.
Before he could think of a response, Henry pre-empted him. "Martel, why don't you show Jasper what you are doing here?" suggested the air acolyte. He extended his staff towards Martel, who accepted it.
The novice took position opposite Jasper while the others formed a circle, watching with anticipation. Martel's mind raced trying to think of what would be useful. He faced an earthmage, who obviously had the advantage of terrain, given they stood on loose, easily shaped soil. But he would be weak against air, the element furthest away from earth.
Henry gave the signal for the fight to start. Several big clumps of earth rose up in front of Jasper and hurled through the air against Martel. A good attack, but as it took a few moments, Martel had warning. He evaded some of them and smashed his staff against another, sending the dirt spraying in every direction. Before Jasper could attack again, Martel retaliated. He poured his spellpower into the wind as he pushed it against his opponent.
Overwhelmed, Jasper did not even manage to take a step backwards, as most would do trying to stave off the assault. He toppled like an unstable pillar, slamming the back of his head against the ground. Martel walked over and placed his staff against Jasper's face in a clear sign of domination.
"Looks like the novice stays," Henry jeered. The others agreed.
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