Chapter 339: Blind Fighting
Blind Fighting
As Moira entered the Circle of Fire on Pelday morning, Martel reflected on how much he preferred being the teacher rather than the student at times. Especially for this class and its rather spiteful instructor. Martel had almost learned to make peace with that, given his progression in fire magic, but even that seemed gone lately. His flame wall spell was as good as it would be, at least while purely practising under controlled conditions; Martel did not expect to improve that unless he got to use it during actual combat. Peaceful practice could only take spellcraft so far.
"Well, you lot have hardly impressed me with your spellwork, but time is wasting away, and there's plenty you still need to learn," Moira began to say.
Martel ignored the first part, knowing his spellwork was excellent for an acolyte on his third month.
"We'll proceed with something I'm almost surprised none of you have ever touched upon. I say almost, because your capacity for failure is boundless." Ignoring the scowl on every student's face, Moira threw a piece of cloth towards each of them. "Spread out around the room and cover your eyes with those."
His curiosity overtaking his annoyance, Martel did so. The cloth was black and thick, preventing him from seeing anything. It also smelled a bit like fish, which he hoped would not be part of the lesson.
"You'll be fighting all against all. I'll watch if you actually hit any spells. Whoever performs worst, lands the fewest blows, gets detention," Moira explained; Martel thought he heard someone sigh. "Begin!"
Martel turned his head in every direction, which yielded nothing. The blindfold kept him from seeing the others. It took him a moment to realise which sense to rely upon instead. Letting his magic flow from him, it told him the location of several sources of heat in the chamber. No reason to hesitate, Martel released a fire bolt against the nearest. Moments later, he heard Edward whimper.
Martel's smile lasted only until he felt the sting himself. Around the chamber, the sources of heat were moving; shaking off the attack, Martel did the same, preparing his next spell.
***
Their second lesson contained the same exercise, and almost grudgingly, Martel saw the wisdom in Moira's teachings. If he could hone his ability to sense people through heat, it would make him much less reliable on sight for finding a target in a fight. And unlike other lessons, the fire acolytes had found it almost to be a game, laughing at times when they felt or heard their spell land. Except for Edward – detention awaited him tonight.
Moving through the entrance hall, Martel checked for mail and found a letter waiting for him. If he recognised the writing on the envelope, this was written by Father Julius on behalf of his mother.
Going to his room, Martel opened the letter once alone and began reading.
My dear boy,
I sent you a letter shortly after solstice. Father Julius assures me it would have arrived. The Imperial post is very reliable. I only got anxious because you did not write back. I suppose you must be busy at your impressive school with all your classes. Soon after your last letter arrived, months ago, Master Ogion received one as well from one of your teachers. He told me that your teacher was impressed by your progress and expected you to become an acolyte soon, in record time.
I did not wish to bother such an important man with trivial questions, but I assume acolyte means you are advancing in your studies? Father Julius agrees with me that this is the most likely interpretation, but I should like to hear exactly what it means from you. Especially if that gives you an idea of when you might graduate. I understand that you may not decide your posting by yourself, but surely these people working for the Empire will grant you time to come home and visit your mother before leaving for your important post.
It would be lovely to have you home for solstice, if possible. John is doing so well. Thank you again for sending the money for his medicine. Your other brothers and sisters all send their love as well. Keith has had little work over winter, but it should pick up now in spring. We had a lovely celebration. The travelling bard came around. I believe I mentioned it in another letter. He sang another lament for your father, as beautiful as last time.
Other than that, things are quite the same in Engby. Juliet is still doing well with the brewster. Something happened between Mira and the baker's boy. She no longer talks about him and got mad when I mentioned his name. I know you threatened to turn him into a newt or something, but I saw him with a bruise on his face, so I think Mira handled it on her own. As for William, the less said, the better. That is all. I will write if there are any big developments. So you do not have to worry or wonder about us.
With love,
Your mother
Martel did not miss the various insinuations towards his negligence in writing back; he would have to send his own reply soon. At least this time, he had plenty of money to pay the post. He could also leave another offering for his father at the Basilica thanks to his earnings from the apothecary; that would make him feel a little less guilty for his lack of letters.
He remembered why he had delayed writing last time he had received a letter; it had been shortly after his graduation to acolyte, and he did not know how to tell his mother that his robe was red. In general, he figured the less she knew about his activities in Morcaster, the better, but he could not hide this forever.
But he could delay a little while longer. Supper waited for him; he would figure out what to write later, once his stomach was full.
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