Chapter 318: Helping the Hunter
Helping the Hunter
As Martel arrived at the Circle of Fire, he glanced surreptitiously at the other acolytes, wondering if yesterday's victory over the mageknights had made a difference. It did not appear so, at least not on the surface. They still stood scattered, waiting in silence rather than engage each other or even just be in close proximity.
Moira appeared, and by the snide look on her face, Martel had a guess at what she intended to say. "Well, you finally pulled yourselves together. Yesterday was an adequate performance, your first one. But just like you, they'll learn from this. They'll recognise the signs of your spellcasting, when and where to move, and so on. And of course, do not expect the Khivans to give you four or five attempts at defeating them. So if any of you felt good about yesterday, even satisfied, I suggest you clear such self-indulgent feelings from your mind."
Pretty much what Martel had expected to hear. If nothing else, her remarks had begun to affect him less and less, being predictable.
"Alright, since at least you seem to understand the potential of the flame wall spell, continue practising it. If you want to be useful in an actual fight, there can't be any delay between your spellcasting and when it appears. You too, fire-touched," she added with a glance at Martel. "Don't think yours is good enough."
"I'd never dare," he mumbled, eliciting a nervous chuckle from Edward, close enough to hear the remark. Unfortunately, he knew she was right. It still cost him valuable moments from when he started to when he finished casting the spell; doing it instantly would allow him to spend that time shooting off a second spell instead. Giving the other acolyte a look of shared suffering, Martel began practising.
***
Picking up a note from the desk in the entrance hall, Martel momentarily thought it might be another message from Lady Pearl, and he felt ambivalent given all his questions about the other night. But as he unfolded the parchment, he remembered that she always sent letters in an envelope.
Dear Martel,
It has been a while. I would be
obliged if you would consider
paying us a visit in our home.
You know the place.
Marcus sends his regards.
Flora
Martel frowned a little, curious at the reason for the message. The Night Knives did not seem the sort to invite people around for purely social visits, but nothing in the note gave him an indication of what it might be about. If simply an offer of work, he assumed Flora would have mentioned it. Could it be a task of a secretive nature?
No mention of a specific date either, so he assumed this was not time sensitive. Solday was always a good day for such errands, with his afternoon being free. Summoning a flame to burn the note, mostly out of instinct and principle, Martel went off to practise his Sindhian magic.
***
As the bell rang, a handful of novices left the Hall of Elements, busy talking among themselves. They only noticed just in time as an old woman with a wild expression and wilder hair in a purple robe strode down the hall, walking straight through their formation as they hurried to get out of the way. Without sparing them a glance, Moira continued into the chamber beyond, where she found the Master of Elements.
"You wanted to talk."
Alastair looked at her and made a quick gesture, summoning winds to close the doors. "I did. But I was happy to come to you, which I also think my note said."
The Mistress of Fire gave a shrug. "I'm not so decrepit that a walk down the corridor will crush me."
He laughed. "Perish the thought. You are the most formidable mage I've ever known."
"Flattery? What do you want?"
"Nothing of the sort. I just wanted to ask about your students."
She gave him a scrutinising look. "Let me guess, your chief concern is the gangly one, who also happens to be fire-touched."
"I am transparent, I suppose." Alastair gave a smile that looked almost boyish. "But given he's only had a year as a novice, and he'll only get the same as an acolyte, I just wanted your assessment of his progress."
"Bah, you really have any doubt as to that? He is my most gifted student since you. Out of my current acolytes studying with him, he'll be more equipped than the rest to fight as a battlemage. That can't be a surprise to you."
It was Alastair's turn to shrug. "I just wanted it confirmed. I spent a lot of time teaching the boy. The thought that it might all go to waste thanks to some Khivan cannon…" He took a deep breath rather than finishing his thought.
An expression ran across Moira's face. "Damn you, boy, I spend all my time trying not to think about that. You have no right to remind me!"
Alastair's face turned apologetic. "Of course, I'm sorry."
"The last one they sent to the Tenth Legion, I don't think she lasted longer than three months." Moira's voice quivered. "As for the siege of Nahavand, I'm lucky if they last a year before I get told."
"I know, Moira, I know."
"I keep a tally. I have trained thirty-seven battlemages since the war started. Only fourteen are still alive." Her shoulders shook.
Alastair put his arms around the old woman. "You shouldn't torment yourself like that."
"I try to hate them. It's the only way it wouldn't hurt. And it should be so easy, when they look at me with their dumb eyes and lack of understanding, like rabbits staring at the hunter. I want to grab them by the shoulders and yell at them to leave, to flee! But all I do is lead them to the hunt. And every time the hunter takes another, I wonder what I could have done to prevent it."
"It's alright," Alastair mumbled, stroking her hair. "It's alright."
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