Chapter 243: Touched by Fire
Touched by Fire
As Martel reached the blaze, his eyes surveyed the scene. The fire had already spread to more houses, lying by the edge of the temple square. The legionaries had organised chains to carry buckets of water from the fountain while those with axes had begun demolishing nearby buildings to prevent further spread.
Martel looked across the square. Before he could do anything, he had to make sure Shadi was safe. Breaking into a run, he circumvented the human chain and rushed towards the watchmaker's workshop. Around him, people shouted in alarm, and more and more streamed onto the street, many staring in horror. Some ran forward to help; a few returned to their houses and began hauling their possessions outside.
Martel coughed. Smoke filled the air, adding an eerie blur to the frightful site of flames stretching towards the sky. He continued onwards, ignoring the strange looks sent his way. His heart beat at a frantic pace, both from exertion and fear.
Relief overwhelmed him as he saw Shadi outside her home, her father standing behind her. "Martel! What's happening?" she asked.
He reached them and buckled over, panting for breath. "There's a fire."
"We see that, stupid boy," Master Farhad exclaimed. "Go help!" He set into motion towards the water chain, and the youths followed.
As his Khivan companions joined the effort in dousing the flames, Martel considered what he could do. He could feel himself near magical exhaustion; the last few spells in the fight had come reluctantly, like tugging on a rope that someone pulled in the other direction. He retained enough energy for one more spell, but probably not two, so he had to make it count. He might pull water from the fountain and basically throw it at the fire, but that would only help a little more than the buckets already doing the same work. It was not enough.
He also faced the problem that the conflagration was spreading, not just to the sides, but also to buildings further behind. If he could summon rain, that might be the best use of his dwindling power, but he had to target all of the fire or any part that escaped his spell would simply continue to spread anew.
He needed a vantage point. Turning around, he looked at the small temple. Though devoted to the Khivan faith, it had a belltower all the same to announce the hours of the day across the district. Pulling himself together, Martel set his weary legs into motion yet again and ran across the square.
"Martel, where are you going?" Shadi shouted after him.
No time to explain. Martel jumped up the steps to enter the temple. A few people had gathered, either to pray for deliverance or because they trusted the stone walls of the building. Even with the small fire upon the altar, the interior was dark compared to the place outside. Rushing through the space, Martel surged until he found the priest. "The tower!" Martel grabbed him by the shoulders. "How do I get there?"
Fearful, the man pointed at a small door to one of the sides. Letting go, Martel hurried forward. He tore the door open and leapt up the spiral staircase until he reached a hatch. Pushing it open, he climbed the final part to stand atop the belltower. Looking down, he saw the square and the buildings ablaze to the north-west.
Rain. Martel had never succeeded in creating the smallest rain cloud. But he had never been so motivated before. Calling upon his magic, he tried to weave air and water together. Above him, the stars shone in a cloudless night, almost mocking his efforts. Nature lent him no aid; the sky was clear without the slightest hint of rain or cloud, and Martel had no skill to conjure either.
He tried to consider other options. He knew the city had great amounts of water stored in towers across the districts, but none close by. Even if one lay in the vicinity, Martel knew his magic could never reach through stonework to pull out enough water to quell the flames.
Martel only possessed sufficient skill with one element to have any hope of affecting the blaze. He had to use fire; a single spell, his final one, powerful enough to affect the entirety of the conflagration and put an end to it. But extinguishing the flames over such an area felt beyond his abilities still.
However, moving a flame required less effort than out right killing it. And if pulled into the air, the fire would eventually die out once his magic no longer grasped it, lacking material to consume. Hands against the stonework of the bell tower, Martel reached out with his magic. It easily connected with the intense flames burning happily through the wooden houses. Pouring his spellpower into the connection, Martel drew upon the fire.
Streaks of flame soared through the air. Across the blazing area, the fire abandoned its fuel to travel towards the youth touched by that very element.
Sweat poured down Martel's face, not born of heat. His body trembled with effort, but he had to maintain the connection. If he released the spell too early before the entire blaze travelled to him, it would resume spreading through the district.
The first flames reached him even as he still pulled on their remaining brethren to do the same. Engulfed in fire, Martel's innate resistance struggled to keep him safe. The burning tendrils, sustained only by his magic, eagerly sought to ignite the flammable fabrics he wore. Between maintaining the spell and easing the fire to keep it from burning him up, Martel's vision darkened.
Finally, he could do no more. He released the hold on his magic. Bereft of fuel, sorcerous or otherwise, the flames died out.
Martel gasped for breath. He felt drained like never before. Yet he did not vomit; perhaps he was getting more accustomed to the effects of utter exertion. Wiping sweat from his brow, he looked out to see the fires extinguished. Relief was his last thought before exhaustion claimed his consciousness; as the world grew black, he fell to the ground.
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