Chapter 342: Curb Your Reaction
Curb Your Reaction
About a fiveday passed without incident. With nothing happening of particular note, Martel stayed mostly at the Lyceum, attending to his schoolwork. He paid a visit to Julia, providing her with a few coins and some pilfered food, but otherwise he remained a dutiful student with no concerns other than school.
As Manday came around, his favourite of the fiveday, Martel went to the Hall of Elements as usual. He had spent some evenings practising his elemental bolt spell, getting the final component right.
"Martel, good to see you."
"And you, master."
His teacher smiled. "Shall we get straight into it?"
"I'm ready."
Master Alastair conjured up a flame and let it float some distance away. Focusing, Martel swiftly let his magic fill the air in front of him and take shape before hurling it across the space to extinguish the summoned fire.
"Excellent, I must say. You cast the spell without hesitation or delay, and by the feel of it, you've got more than enough power packed in there as well." The balding wizard inclined his head in a sign of respect. "I do believe you have mastered this bit of magic as well."
Martel grinned. "Thank you, master. What's next? The counterspell?"
His teacher laughed. "Very eager, are we. I suppose there's no time like the present. This will be unlike anything you've been taught before, mind you."
"How so?"
"To us, magic is linked to our will. We desire for an outcome and drive our magic to make it happen."
Martel thought about Regnar and what little the hedge mage had revealed about his own style of magic, which seemed more about instinct. A pity the old wanderer had been driven from the city; Martel would have enjoyed exploring this topic more. Forgetting about this for now, he returned his attention to his teacher.
"This spell is different. It is a reaction, meant to be cast on reflex. Now, it can be used with particular potency against enemy wizards, but I doubt you'll have much need of that, unless you're sent to the far North," Master Alastair considered. "Still, that is how I learned the spell, so I'll teach you the same way. And perhaps together, we can find a way to expand its use. If you could learn to cast this spell reflexively the moment a Khivan musket is fired, it would serve you well."
Martel wondered how to achieve that, considering they had no access to such a weapon, but he assumed Master Alastair would have an idea.
"For now, we must hone your magical sense to recognise magic being cast, and which kind," his teacher continued. "Turn around and have your back to me." Martel did so. "I'll draw upon one of the elements. Using your sense of magic alone, tell me which element I chose."
Funny, this reminded Martel of fighting blindfolded in the Circle of Fire. He was glad this seemed to be the only overlap in teaching methods between Moira and Master Alastair.
"Ready? I'll begin casting."
Martel let his magical senses flow out from him, telling him of everything they could. He felt the heat coming from Master Alastair, but little else.
"Well? What do you think?"
"Uh, I'm not sure I have a guess. Earth?"
"Did you guess that for a particular reason, or did you just choose something?"
Martel cleared his throat. "The last one."
"That'll not do. We'll try again. You know where I am even if you can't see me. Focus your magical sense on me. It doesn't matter that I'm behind you and that your eyes face forward. You don't need them," his teacher explained. "Get ready."
"Yes, master."
***
As much as Martel enjoyed learning a new spell, he always forgot how difficult it would be at first, fire magic excluded. And this felt harder than trying a new spell; it reminded him of his first attempts at Sindhian or Tyrian magic. It required a different way of thinking, of using magic that did not come naturally to him. Except for a few uncontrolled outbursts of magic, usually when Martel had been furious or emotional, he only cast spells deliberately. Trying to learn how to do it as a reaction seemed difficult, and he first had to learn how to sense the right time for it.
With Mistress Rana busy for the time being, his alchemy studies were put on hold; it bothered him a little, since she had promised he was ready for a new recipe, and Martel disliked the delay. Just finding out which one he would learn next was exciting. But alchemy prized patience above all, and until Mistress Rana had time for him again, that would be her only lesson to him today.
Thankfully, even if it had taken him a while to get to this point in his alchemical studies, he figured that in the future, it would be faster for him to progress through new recipes; he might learn something like two of them a month if he did well, which would leave him with a decent book of potions.
Finishing supper, Martel's mind was on the last topic, wondering at the price of actually buying a small tome with blank pages – it would certainly look better than his current pile of notes and parchment. He had already begun walking back towards his chamber when he thought about checking his post. Probably it could wait, but perhaps residual guilt from ignoring one of his mother's letters made Martel go back and check.
A letter written in an unknown hand waited for him. Too curious to wait, Martel opened it at once.
Master Martel,
A matter has arisen where I should appreciate the opportunity to seek your advice. The details are too delicate to entrust to parchment, and thus I ask of you to visit me in the convent garden of the Sisters of the Sun. Just as our last conversation, you will be free to enter and leave with no harm done to you. I await you one of the nearest days and would ask you do not delay more than necessary. I hope you would not disappoint an old man in dire need.
The Friar
Martel immediately glanced around after seeing the signature, as if expecting to be watched. Nobody seemed to pay him any heed. Composing himself, he looked at the letter again. Vague and mysterious, which seemed a common trait of these Nine Lords; probably a necessary trait for the position.
Martel knew he should ignore this. He knew that he always regretted dancing to the tune of these brigands, styling themselves as masters of the city.
But the Friar had felt so different from someone like Tibert, Kerra, or Lady Pearl. The lack of any threats or promises of monetary reward felt like an indication of this.
And yet despite no mention of it in the letter, Martel had ambushed a handful of nuns right after his meeting with the Friar. Maybe they wanted revenge, but the old monk had sworn by Sol to give him free passage and reiterated this promise in the letter. It did not seem like the old monk intended to use this knowledge against Martel, given nothing was said to even hint at this; still, it might be good just to see what he wanted. Even if Martel was in the clear, they might have discovered that the thief was Ruby. Not that Martel owed her anything.
Returning to his room, Martel did his best to ignore the last, perhaps most compelling reason why he decided to comply with the request; he felt curious.
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