Chapter 307: The Cunning of Perel
The Cunning of Perel
Master Fenrick's classroom was a pleasant alternative to the outdoor gymnasium or the Circle of Fire. Martel could sit down, and nobody placed any demands on him other than listening. His only complaint was that learning Archean had started to bore him. Even if he knew that potentially it might come in useful, knowing the language, it gave him little motivation in the moment.
"And that concludes our work on irregular verbs," Master Fenrick told the class. "Furthermore, with that we approach the end of this course. I'm sure like me, you're thinking that this is far too soon to end for any comprehensive knowledge of the language."
Stealing a glance at the mageknights in the room, Martel felt convinced nobody thought that, not even himself. He was only too happy to move on to another subject. Eleanor might have been an exception, although she was already far ahead on learning Archean thanks to her childhood tutors.
"Therefore, your final task for this course beckons. You have all been assigned a chapter in Master Philips’s treatise On the Nature of Constellations," their teacher continued. "You have until our lesson next Manday to present a fluent translation into Archean. If anyone should be tempted to repeat their mistake from last year's astronomy examination, I shall delight in finding ways to punish you for it." Master Fenrick let a stern gaze from behind his spectacles sweep across the classroom. Martel thought back on when all the mageknights – again with Eleanor as the shining exception – had bought their star charts, thinking they could pass astronomy this way. He almost hoped some of them would be foolish enough to try the same again; Master Fenrick seemed to know exactly how to catch them.
While Martel did not look forward to the assignment – it would take him hours and hours, probably, and his time was scarce these days – he did feel curious about what came next. He had not received specific information about his schedule in that regard; he only knew that he would have a few courses with Master Fenrick during this bell on Mandays to cover what else a mage should know before graduating from the Lyceum. But before he could ask, his teacher had already left.
***
Elemental magic with Master Alastair felt like the only course where Martel progressed as expected; where he did not worry about what he would have to do or learn next, and whether he could keep up with his accelerated schedule. There was alchemy, of course, which he had finally cracked, but he did that of his own volition. Of everything the Lyceum threw at him, Martel felt most comfortable in the Hall of Elements.
"Very good." His teacher nodded in acknowledgement as Martel imbued a rock with his magic and hurled it across the room to strike Master Alastair's magical shield. "With a little more practice, you should be able to handle stonework and even metal for this spell."
"That's good to hear."
The Master of Elements gave him a look. "Last fiveday, you were concerned about your alchemy. Does that still trouble you?"
"Not at all, master," Martel was happy to report. "No, I am advancing finally in that area. I'm able to make my own elixirs now."
"So, what's troubling you?"
"I am happy to learn this spell, this magic," the acolyte began by saying; he did not want Master Alastair to think him ungrateful. "I'm just not sure when I'll need it. No matter how much I practice, I can tell that for this spell to really have an effect, I'll have to draw on my spellpower. It just seems an unwise choice compared to something as simple as the fire bolt, which I can cast at will."
His teacher nodded a little. "You are right to think this way. In battle, you want to conserve your strength. But you also want to have weapons at your disposal that'll take your enemy by surprise. Let me tell you of a time when this particular spell came in handy for me."
Martel smiled. Hearing war stories from his favourite teacher was always fun and a pleasant little interruption to the schoolwork.
"This was more than twenty years ago. I am with a centuria tracking a Tyrian raiding party. We are making good speed and catch up to them at night," Master Alastair related. The lamps in the hall became extinguished, making the chamber dark. "We get ready to attack, except our quarry has met up with another war band, doubling their numbers. Unless we want an even fight with lots of casualties among our own, we need to attack now before sunrise, catch them unaware in the dark."
The battlemage raised up a section of the floor to resemble a few tents, adding a ring of earthen figures around the encampment.
"The Tyrians aren't fools. They have guards surrounding their camp. And if I use fire magic, it'll light up the night sky. But fortunately, I have other methods. One after the other, I hurl my elemental bolts into the guards, taking them down quietly and invisibly in the dark." Master Alastair stepped his foot down to squash the small figures. "A few moments later, our centuria storms their camp and eradicates them."
Martel let his foot trample down one of the Tyrian guards. "I see what you mean."
***
The bell rang, dismissing Martel from the Hall of Elements. He did not have to go far, following the northern corridor to reach the infirmary, pass through it, and enter the apothecary. Nora greeted him briefly before resuming her work. Shortly after, Mistress Rana appeared. "Come along," she told the acolyte, who followed her through the back door towards her laboratory. "Have you practised?"
"Yes, mistress." A little, which meant his answer was technically correct.
"Good. If you do well today, I think that should do for all these potions of warmth. And maybe for next Manday, we can think about teaching you a new recipe."
Martel smiled hearing that. It only motivated him further to get better at alchemy. "I'll do my very best, mistress."
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