Chapter 383: An Enchanting Day
An Enchanting Day
Martel slept soundly after the events at House Thierry, chasing the islander thief and the relic through the streets, and he woke feeling rested. It felt good to be done with the hunt for the artefact and that his efforts were rewarded with satisfaction. Of course, gaining the protection of the Pact was no meagre prize either.
There was the nagging thought that somebody had hired the Silver Serpents to kill him, and Martel did not know who; he could have wrung the truth out of the islander who stole the hand, but Martel had traded the wretch to Ruby for the relic. While she would thus learn who employed the islander, Martel could not trust her to tell him the truth; she was more liable to manipulate him. He would have to put his faith in the Pact to protect him and otherwise withdraw from the affairs of the Nine Lords, making it clear he was not a player in their games. His own threats towards Flora and the Night Knives would also help to keep him safe, given that they would not dare violate the Pact or cross the Lyceum.
The hand lay wrapped in cloth in one of his drawers; Martel felt almost paranoid leaving it, and he checked his door several times to make sure it was locked, the gold inside protecting it from tampering. Even outside his room, he could sense its strange, magical presence, if only faintly. At the same time, it was only felt as a pleasant sensation, like the scent of a warm oatcake; nothing that suggested anything out of the ordinary lay in his room. And as he ate breakfast, his thoughts soon turned to the new subject he would begin studying today, causing excitement to grow. This Manday, he had his first lesson in enchantment with Master Jerome.
***
Together with the mageknights, Martel stood in the workshops. He had done so many times before, usually with other students, waiting for their work assignment. Today would be different. Master Jerome soon appeared, accompanied by a well-nourished youth wearing the same workmen’s clothes as the artificer did. "You all know my apprentice, Rufus."
Martel did not. Sure, he had seen the fellow around, but he assumed he was either a servant or just another student. Though it made sense that Master Jerome would have an apprentice, just like Mistress Rana did.
"When it comes to enchantment, its power and endurance is pretty much determined by the strength of your spell. That means you won't get many results from doing anything other than your specialty. I'm a metalmage, so I forge. A watermage working with another wizard can enchant water to create potions. Rufus is skilled with magic of the body, like most of you, and he uses it to enchant materials harvested from living things. Leather, cloth, and the like. Did a good job on those robes of yours." The artificer nodded at Martel, wearing his fireproof red garments. "He'll take all of you mageknights to his domain and instruct you."
Not Martel. Did this mean he would get personal instruction from Master Jerome? Probably the artificer would have other work requiring his attention for the bell, but Martel still looked forward to the opportunity to learn directly from him in solitude. Even if it was something as mundane as how to enchant a heating stone for use in a hot bath. Come to think of it, that actually seemed really useful.
"As for you, boy, come with me." Master Jerome led him down a familiar path to the laboratory, where Martel had often laboured to make ink. "I have prepared the materials for your lesson in here. It seemed appropriate, and you won't be disturbed."
Martel looked around. He recognised most of the equipment from his usual work, but in addition, he saw different little pots and containers. A strange smell, almost like rotten eggs, lay in the air.
"Now, there's a few useful things that you can enchant with fire. You enjoy the warm baths in the basement of your tower, I take it." Master Jerome smiled.
Martel's exact thought. He nodded.
The artificer's expression faltered. "Unfortunately, we don't teach much enchanting to fire acolytes anymore. Most of them are excused to focus on their spellcraft instead. You're the first fire acolyte I've had since becoming artificer."
"So, you will be teaching me enchanting?" Martel asked, confused.
"Master Fenrick said he believed you had the wits to pick it up fast enough to make it worthwhile. So there's one thing you'll focus on learning."
"What is it?"
His teacher took a small pot of clay and removed the lid. From a larger container, he picked up a ladle, scooped some of the contents up, and let it fall into the pot. "This is a mixture of pitch and oil, along with a few other things. Sulphur, if your nose hasn't already told you. It is very flammable." He glanced at Martel's robes. "Good thing you're dressed for the occasion."
"What am I to do with it?"
"Now, enchantment is more complicated than simply casting a spell like you're used to. You still want the effect of the spell, but not in the immediate, temporary way. Rather, you want to infuse the material with the magic of your spellwork, weaving it together to make it permanent. In this case, you want to fill this oily substance with fire magic, but without actually setting it on fire."
"Alright…"
Martel's scepticism must have been obvious in either his voice or on his face, as Master Jerome looked almost apologetic. "I know, it's no easy task. But if you get it right and take care when you close the lid on the pot, you should have what's essentially a fire bolt in a jar. It'll stay dormant until you throw it, breaking the pot and releasing flaming oil all over your target."
The acolyte finally caught on. "This is a weapon."
The artificer nodded. "Yes. Due to how volatile the mixture is, it's not recommended for anyone other than battlemages. At least you can handle the fire if it breaks early. So you shouldn't run around making these and giving them away. Not that I'd expect that from you, but just that you've been warned."
"Don't worry. I'm not eager to walk around and distribute explosive magic to people."
Master Jerome gave half a smile. "Good. Now, fire is not my strong suit, and I'd never be able to get the hang of this, but I am good at enchantment in general. And perhaps you can track down Master Alastair and ask him for help if need be. He's usually the mage who enchants fire for me when needed."
Since they had class once a fiveday, it would not be hard to find the Master of Elements. Martel decided to wait a bit, though; he wanted to finish learning the counterspell first before getting distracted during his lessons with Master Alastair.
"Alright, when it comes to enchantment, it's much like casting a spell, as I said, except your speed is reverse. Normally, the faster you cast magic, the better. Now, you want as slow as possible. Letting your magic leak into the material without doing it so fast that the spell is actually released. Understood?"
In theory. Whether Martel could do it was another matter. But he had learnt Sindhian alchemy and Tyrian runes; he could do this as well. Taking a deep breath, Martel took the small pot with the fiery substance within and began carefully releasing his magic.
***
As decided earlier, Martel focused purely on his counterspell during his lesson with Master Alastair. Even if he assumed Flora had been scared off, it seemed wisest to master the spell sooner rather than later. He could always seek advice on how to make the fire pots afterwards; he also wanted to give enchanting a few tries on his own before he went looking for counsel.
The rest of his afternoon passed in the other laboratory at the Lyceum, learning potions with Mistress Rana. He began a new recipe, thankfully simpler than the elixir of fortitude; furthermore, she no longer complained about him bringing his clock with him.
***
Although a full day of new magic, Martel was not done. He only had tonight before handing back the relic. When evening came, he knocked on the door to Master Fenrick's chambers.
"Enter."
Martel stepped inside, bundle in hand.
"Miss my classes already?" The bespectacled teacher smiled before he suddenly frowned. "What's that you got in your hands?"
Holding the relic, even swathed in fabric, Martel felt its presence strongly. It only increased as he unfolded the cloth. "I did a favour for a clergyman. He allowed me to borrow this. I thought you might want to take a closer look."
A severed hand, nonetheless showing no signs of decay, appeared. Master Fenrick widened his eyes, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Boy, is that the hand of Saint Laurentius?"
"Aye, master." Martel grinned, enjoying his teacher's reaction.
"I'm not sure I want to know how this came about," he mumbled. "Well, I won't look for scratches on a gift plough. Place it there." He removed a pile of parchments and books from his desk. "Remarkable. No signs of age despite being centuries old."
Martel placed the hand on the table. "I did promise we'd do it no harm."
Master Fenrick laughed a little. "I'd be surprised if we could. You feel its presence, I assume? This is magic beyond us."
"You mean, magic of the soul? Or mind?" The acolyte thought back on his lessons about Archean mages and their mastery of those arts.
"Not even that. I've dealt with Archean artefacts, and even their magic pales in comparison to this. No, my boy, somehow, this hand is infused with power we cannot even begin to understand." He pointed at a feather pen. "Write down what I tell you."
Martel smiled and took hold of the writing instrument, finding some parchment as well. "Yes, master."
Meanwhile, his teacher stretched out his own hand towards the artefact, and a pulse of magic could be felt. "Write this down. Immune to Asterian magic, much like if the hand was still part of a living creature." As Martel did so, Master Fenrick rummaged around until he found a piece of parchment with a rune upon it, which he placed by the hand. "Her." The symbol activated, but nothing else happened. The hand remained motionless. "Immunity to Tyrian runes as well. At least, those containing physical magic."
Dutifully, Martel scribbled down every word spoken.
"I wonder what effect gold might have…" Master Fenrick searched through his drawers. Finally, he dug out the golden chain that Martel recalled he once brought to class. The Master of Lore wrapped the chain around the hand and fingers; the acolyte shuddered a little at seeing him pick up and handle the severed limb. "Do you feel any difference in the artefact's presence?"
Martel reached out with his magic. "Maybe? Hard for me to tell."
"I thought I did, but aye, not easy to know. If that were the case, though, if gold has less of a suppressing effect on this kind of power, that would be a great discovery." Master Fenrick scratched his beard. "Most interesting. Are you writing this down?"
"Yes, master." He hurried to comply.
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