Chapter 401: A Focus for the Fire
A Focus for the Fire
When Moira appeared in the Circle of Fire, all the acolytes could sense this lesson would be different. It was rather obvious as she carried four staves in her arms, and unlike those used for weapon practice, which were rough and simple, these were exquisitely carved. Each had a top with particular markings and carvings, allowing room for something to be inserted. As Moira handed out one staff to each student, Martel got a chance to take a closer look at what rested atop. It was a ruby.
"I don't suppose you knuckleheads remember what Master Fenrick taught you about gems."
Martel suspected that they all did, and he saw no reason to speak up.
Harriet had no such reservations. "Different gems and precious stones amplify different kinds of magic. Rubies are good for fire." She wore a smug expression.
"I knew one of you couldn't resist the chance to show off, explaining what every dumb novice knows," Moira snorted. "I half expected it to be the scarecrow here." She nodded towards Martel. "But I'm not surprised it was you. Mouth as big as yours, you must be putting it to use an awful lot."
Harriet turned red, either from embarrassment or anger; probably both. The other acolytes snickered, except for Martel, who just felt tired of it all.
"Once you trot off to war, you'll each get one of these. The staff of a battlemage. As said, channelling your magic into the ruby will amplify any fire spells you cast. The wood has been enchanted and laid with silver, which should make it easy for your magic to travel through it. It also makes it into a good weapon, as solid as steel."
Martel vaguely remembered a lesson in Master Fenrick's classroom last year, showing a silver wand with a sapphire meant for water magic. He had been envious, longing for the day when such an artefact would be his, along with the magic he would wield through it. Now he would get his first taste, though neither the artefact nor his magic was as he had imagined. He placed one hand on the carved haft that was intended to work as the handle, and he felt what Moira had described. Lines of silver touched his palm and fingers, acting like roads through the wilderness for his spells, carrying them to their destination at the top. Though how it actually worked, channelling magic through the ruby, he could not quite imagine.
"It'll take you a while to get used to it, using the gem as a focus for your spells, which means you should stop talking and start practising. Spread out, as I expect your spells will fly all over the place, and give it a try," Moira commanded.
Moving away from the others, Martel let his magical sense wash through the staff. He felt how eagerly it moved along the silver lines to the top, where the ruby lay as a source of heat. Yet he knew, if he touched it with his fingertip, the gem would likely be cool. The warmth within was of a different nature, or rather, it lay dormant.
He tried summoning a flame, and the tip of his staff became wreathed in fire. He instinctively felt he had done this wrong; the ruby was not part of it, had not lent its own strength to his simple spell. He could not help but glance at Moira, who looked at him with a condescending smile, but she offered no words, neither as scorn nor aid.
Probably she knew what to do, but Martel saw no reason to approach her. Asking Master Alastair for help was one thing; as for the Mistress of Fire, he would rather have his teeth pulled out.
The problem seemed obvious enough. He still cast his spell like he usually would, rather than use the ruby as a focus. The answer was more complicated; how did he do that? Hitherto, casting a spell was a journey with two points. Martel's own body as the origin of the magic, and whatever destination he chose, whether also himself or somewhere distant. For this, he had to somehow introduce a third point; a step between origin and destination, shaping the journey without ending it.
The silver in the staff had to serve a purpose for this. A conduit for his magic. A way to connect his body with the ruby, allowing the latter to be an extension of the former.
Preparing to summon simple magelight again, Martel did it differently. Rather than think of the gem as the end point for the spell, he thought of the magic as travelling from his hand up to the top with the ruby embedded. Slowly, light began to shine from the tip of his staff, stronger than he had intended. Unlike before, it did not wrap around the gem, but seemed to originate from within. Looking at it, Martel smiled.
"Nicely done. Now you just have to learn to cast a spell that'll do more than make your enemies squint their eyes, not to mention, you also have to hit them with it." Moira's voice and cackling laughter appeared in his ear, making him flinch, before she turned away to yell at the other students.
Doing his best to ignore her, Martel prepared another spell.
***
When both his classes were done, Martel returned to his room for rest. It had been a strange sensation, practising with the ruby; like gaining a new limb that he had to learn how to control. And using the gem as the focus, the origin of his spellcasting, was only the first step; he needed to do it as swiftly and as accurately as launching a fire bolt from his hand, or any added power from the ruby would not matter much.
His thoughts strayed from classes to the letter he had received from home. It had been a few days; Martel had put it in the drawer with the others and tried not to think about it. He knew that he ought to write back; he just did not know what to write. He felt angry that he had been kept in the dark and decisions had been made on his behalf. It was also an easy way to shift blame for his current situation, away from himself and onto others. If he had never gone to Morcaster, he would never have exposed himself as fire-touched, and he would not face a future in the legions.
But he could not regret the decision that had revealed the truth about him. Who knew how terrible the fire would have spread across the Khivan quarter if Martel had not been present? Shadi might have died in the flames. Of course, he would not have known her or particularly cared if he had stayed in Engby as Master Ogion's apprentice; it would simply have been news of dreadful fire in faraway Morcaster, meaning nothing more to him than that.
It was a question without answer; Martel would never know if his life could have taken a different path, and whether it would have been better. Accepting this, he decided to write back and have it done with.
Dear mum,
I assume you know that Father Julius wrote to me on your behalf, explaining things. I wish you and dad would have told me. I don't know if things would have been different, but at least I would have known. Everything that happened would have been my own decision.
But I am not upset. This has been for the best. I have learned so much at the Lyceum that I wouldn't elsewhere. I have been able to help so many people, and I will continue to do so. Besides magic, my knowledge of alchemy will be of great use. So everything worked out.
If you are worried about the thought of me joining the legions, you should not be. The war has already dragged on for so many years. Everyone down here is saying that it can't continue much longer. And this is Morcaster where these decisions are made, so they would know. I might not even make it to camp before the whole thing is over, and I am ordered to go back again. Maybe I will even join a legion posted up north. We might march right past Engby, and I can come visit. Else I will do it when I am given leave.
So don't think more about it. Instead, tell me how everyone is when you write to me next. I assume John is still healthy and not in need of more medication, but if so, don't hesitate to write. Mistress Rana, the alchemist who is teaching me the trade, pays me for my work, so I can help if you need it. I might even be able to make the elixir myself. Wouldn't that be grand?
By the time this letter arrives, solstice will have come and gone again. I hope you all have had a wonderful celebration, and I am sorry to miss another one. But there will be a great faire here in Morcaster like last year, I imagine, full of entertainment. I hope you can come and experience it one year as well.
Love,
Martel
He put his quill away, careful not to disturb the parchment as the ink dried.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺