Chapter 282: Late Lessons
Late Lessons
When first bell rang, Martel figured it was a mistake; he had only just closed his eyes. It felt like he had barely slept at all. Dreading the day ahead, he burrowed under his blanket again. Pelday with two lessons in fire magic when he already felt terrible. He tried to get some more sleep, but soon after, the sounds of other students in the hallway outside his room woke him back up. Resigned, Martel got out of bed and began his morning routine.
***
Arriving at the Circle of Fire, he felt a little better; some water in his face and food in his stomach had helped. Mutely waiting with the other students, he tried to look alert rather than expose his current weakness.
Moira strode in, looking wild as ever. She glanced over the students. "Duels, single opponent. Edward and Martel, Harriet and William. Anyone who yields gets detention."
An easy start, at least. They split up across the chamber, taking position.
"Begin!"
Fire bolts streaked through the air. Moira stood in the middle, constantly observing them without any concern that she might get hit.
A spell struck Martel on the leg as he tried to evade, making him flinch. He had not expected Edward to land any attacks. Quickly retaliating, his own spell flew wide, not even posing a threat.
Trying his best to focus, Martel corrected his footing to centre his balance. He could feel himself being slow, yet he could not push through the haze around his mind, which only frustrated him further. Another spell came flying at him, and Martel almost panicked in reaction. He threw himself to the side, avoiding it, but also making himself an easy target for the next one. As he scrambled to get back on his feet, Edward seized the opportunity to strike another fire bolt against Martel, hitting his hip. Limping for a few steps, Martel could not decide whether to shoot back or keep moving to avoid another attack; his indecision cost him, as Edward landed his next spell.
Off-balance and in pain, Martel could neither focus on evading nor casting spells. He got struck again and again; no doubt Edward enjoyed having the upper hand for once, and he held nothing back.
"I yield!" Martel yelled, seeing no other recourse.
Everything became quiet in the Circle of Fire. The other acolytes ceased fighting as well while Moira stared at him. "Take a break. Recollect yourself. You'll be back here tonight after last bell."
As Martel hobbled his way out of the chamber, he saw the other acolytes staring at him with clear joy. Either they delighted in his misery, or they were just happy to have avoided the punishment of detention themselves; probably both, if Martel were to guess.
He made his way down to the western courtyard, which had a water tap. Splashing some into his face and drinking greedily, he hoped it would help him recover. Otherwise, the remainder of the lesson would be brutal.
***
As the bell rang, after Martel had been hit by countless spells and his entire body ached, he could mercifully get some more sleep. He ended up missing lunch, and the second lesson of the day proved little better than the first. Whether impaired by lack of rest or food, Martel's performance suffered, and he was the object of ridicule from his fellow acolytes. As for Moira, her only remark was a reminder to return for his detention when last bell rang.
When supper time finally came and Martel had sated the worst of his hunger, he listened with half an ear to Maximilian's recounting of his night out, while thinking about Flora. It seemed best to avoid the copper lanes and the Night Knives for now, given the increased scrutiny they might all be under, but Martel wished he could have gone back with Weasel. Both to be sure they had found the right vial, hoping it had worked, and also out of professional curiosity to see the effects of a potent healing elixir. He wondered if it had been made by Mistress Rana or another alchemist, and if the former, whether she would someday teach Martel how to make it.
After the meal, Martel rested a bit more, though he avoided sleep. He could only imagine Moira's anger if he missed his detention. So, he waited patiently until his clock almost showed eight before he went back to the Circle of Fire.
***
Martel arrived more or less as the bell rang. At least she could not chide him on his punctuality. He waited only briefly before Moira appeared. "It's simple. You're going to fight me for as long as I consider it necessary. If you try to surrender or stop the fight, I'll keep going anyway, and you'll get detention tomorrow night as well."
Martel almost felt himself grow pale. He knew that he stood no chance against a battlemage as experienced as she was. His few brushes with her magic told him as much. At the same time, his knowledge of her teaching methods made it clear that she would not consider any appeal. This was not teaching, but punishment.
"Begin!"
Reacting mostly on instinct, Martel launched a fire bolt against her. She made no evasive move, simply accepting the strike without any sign of discomfort. At the same time, she raised her hand in an almost careless gesture and cast her own fire bolt against him.
Despite her casual stance, the spell flew with incredible speed. Before Martel could even consider dodging, it struck him in the stomach. He felt the same excruciating pain as when she had taught him a lesson a while back by grabbing his hand and channelling her magic through it. It left him unable to think or respond.
Moira waited as he stood bent over himself. "You have until the count of five to get ready before the next one. Five. Four. Three. Two. One."
Fear overruling pain, Martel straightened up and backed away, hoping some distance would improve his chances. This time, as soon as he saw her hand move, he fell to the floor. The spell flew through the air, narrowly missing him.
"Good evasion. Except you can't expect your enemies to always count to five before their next attack. You better move fast, boy."
This time, he did not even wait until he saw her move; he rolled away before leaping to his feet in another desperate bid to avoid her spells.
With an indifferent expression, Moira cast another fire bolt at him.
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