Chapter 377: Wisdom without Knowledge
Wisdom without Knowledge
As Martel did his chores Solday morning, his mind busied itself with thoughts on today's examination. Master Fenrick had brushed off any questions, claiming it to be a quick and simple process, and since Martel could make the runes work, he should not have anything to worry about. Still, his last such examination had been when he moved from novice to acolyte, where Reynard had tried to sabotage him; Martel had no proof, but he felt certain of it. Though Master Fenrick had never given Martel any reason to doubt his intentions as a teacher, even if he disagreed with his methods. Besides, the Imperial administration wanted Martel to pass. Tonight, Martel would be done with the subject, and he could look forward to next Manday and its replacement – enchantment with Master Jerome.
***
As the bell rang, Martel gathered with the mageknights outside the classroom where they had lessons with Master Fenrick. Their teacher appeared soon after, nodding and mumbling as he saw them. "Very well. You'll enter one at a time and demonstrate your skill. Once you are finished, make your way to the arena and train as usual." He opened the door and looked over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold. "Elaine, we might as well begin with you."
The girl nearest the door followed after him, closing it behind her. The other students began quiet conversations among each other. "You think it will be difficult?" Martel asked his friends. Despite his considerations this morning, he could not help but feel nervous. Regardless of importance, this was a test, and he did not like those.
"Nordmark, you simply must calm yourself. This little song and dance will be over before you know it, and tonight, we can go out to celebrate," Maximilian replied.
"If you think so little of it, why would it be cause for celebration afterwards?" Eleanor shot him a challenging look.
"Eleanor, I expected more sensitivity from you. Obviously, I propose it purely for our friend Martel's sake. After his recent ordeals, suffering murderers and teachers alike, he could surely benefit from an evening of leisure and pleasure."
"I feel quite certain this proposal was made for your own sake," she retorted.
"You argue, but you do not refuse."
Eleanor shrugged. "Why not? But something other than The Golden Goose. There must be other establishments in Morcaster worthy of our patronage."
Maximilian nodded sagely. "A worthy quest. We shall begin our search tonight."
Martel felt no need for words and simply laughed.
***
Master Fenrick examined the mageknights first – probably because they had weapons training waiting for them afterwards – which did make Martel feel a little awkward, standing outside in the hallway as the group of students shrank. Eleanor entered as the penultimate acolyte, having elected to keep Martel company for as long as possible. When she emerged soon after, giving him a smile, he felt a little reassured.
"Martel," his teacher called out, and he hurried to step inside. On one desk lay five pieces of blank parchment; another held an additional five, though those sheets each had a rune drawn upon them. Master Fenrick placed a piece of charcoal in his hand. "You can see how the runes look if you need the reminder," he said, gesturing towards one desk. "Now, one after the other, draw them and activate them."
Wanting to start off strong, Martel went for the rune of warmth. He drew it, almost with even lines, and spoke the activating word. Both his hand and the rune glowed with magic. Feeling confident, Martel continued and did the same to the remaining four. Before he knew it, he was done with the examination.
Master Fenrick nodded in approval. "Well done. I figured if any would accomplish this, it would be you."
"Because of my blood?" Martel felt a little uncomfortable at the situation.
"Nonsense. My eyes are as black as they come, and I could learn this. No, you are one of my few students whose interest in magic seems to exceed beyond what it can accomplish for you right now."
Martel stood a little taller hearing that; if he ever were to teach at the Lyceum, his preferred role would definitely be Master of Lore. It made him feel audacious enough to ask a certain question. "Master, why did you wait until the last lesson when explaining how to approach this exercise? I'm sure everyone could have learnt this if we had known how to think about the magic involved from the start."
"Knowledge without wisdom is more dangerous than ignorance. If I simply gave you all the answer, you might learn this magic, but you would never understand it."
Martel thought about how he and Eleanor had cracked this on their own. "I think I see what you mean. I actually figured this out last fiveday. Well, along with Eleanor. She remembered how the Tyrians think about magic, and we were able to make it work even before you told us how." He knew he was bragging, but he could not help himself.
"And I would venture a guess that your understanding of magic is now greater than if I had simply told you from the start."
Martel met his teacher's piercing eyes, surrounded by spectacles and bushy eyebrows. Perhaps his teaching methods made more sense than Martel had realised. "Yes, master."
***
With a course completed and a pleasant evening ahead, Martel felt good about the Solday. With a stomach filled from the evening meal, he stood in the entrance hall, waiting for his friends to join him on the night out. A sense of foreboding filled him as he saw Henry the airmage approach and mutually hand over a note. It never turns out well when he received one of those. Nonetheless, Martel unfolded it to read.
Master Martel,
I was grieved to hear of the assault
and pleased to hear of your survival.
I believe myself to be in possession of
personal information regarding those
who viciously attacked you.
If it would benefit you to hear, please
arrange a meeting through usual means.
Your friend the jester from below
Martel squinted at the missive. What was the point of writing on a small scrap of parchment if you were going to be so verbose? Just write a proper letter rather than cram so many letters on so little space.
He had half a mind to ignore the request; he had been assured his attackers were destroyed, and even if any survived, would they truly be so foolish as to try again? He could not imagine what they stood to gain.
On the other hand, the Keeper had always dealt with Martel in a forthright manner, which could not be said for many of the denizens of Morcaster's underworld. This did not feel like a trap, and if the rogue intended to make a request, Martel could always refuse it. Perhaps it was worth hearing him out, in case he did have useful information to share.
A familiar voice calling his name made Martel look up. He smiled seeing his friends approach and crumbled the note together inside a pocket. He would decide later; for now, his time and attention were spoken for.
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