Chapter 420: The Strategy of the Age
The Strategy of the Age
Entering the small laboratory in the workshops, Martel bent down to examine any residual heat in the stone he used for his enchantment work. He had checked on it during the fiveday, and even this morning, he still found it warm to the touch. Not enough to make much of a difference – it could barely heat enough water to give a warm bath to a mouse – but it was a significant step forward. It meant that his spell had a long-lasting effect now, even if still weak in terms of power; enough that Martel felt encouraged to finally try his hand at the fire pots again.
The oil and jars still stood on the nearby table, patiently waiting for his return. Filling a small amount of the substance in one of the clay containers, Martel reached out with his magic to connect with the viscous liquid. He began weaving his spell into the material, as he had done a dozen times with the stone sitting by his feet.
Immediately, the oil burst into flames. Right, Martel reminded himself; unlike the stone, the black liquid welcomed his fire magic. He could not simply pour it into the connection. Quelling the flames with his magic, Martel poured a new supply of oil into the jar. Slow and steady this time. Fortunately, he had gotten used to this from his practice with the rock; the slower the spellwork, the longer the effect lasted. Cautiously this time, he let his magic entangle with the oil, like drops of water from a bottle.
This time, it did not combust, and he quickly placed the lid on the jar. Shaking it heavily, he opened it up again, pointed away from his face. Nothing happened. Insufficient power from his spell to ignite the oil, it seemed. Exhaling, he tried again.
***
"How goes enchanting?" asked Master Alastair as his student arrived for the afternoon lesson.
"Doing better with the stone," Martel replied. "Trying my hand at the fire pots again. Still some way to go."
"To be expected. But if any of the acolytes can learn this in time, it'll be you."
"I'm surprised the others won't even be given the chance. Haven't you used the fire pots yourself, master?"
His teacher nodded a little, glancing around the Hall of Elements. "I did. But times change, or rather, the needs of the legions. In the days of the reunification wars, battlemages focused on brute force. Pillars of fire and destruction on a large scale. Crude but effective."
"What happened?"
"Wars against Tyria, including the failed invasion, taught us a different way of fighting. Rather than open battles, it became skirmishes and small engagements in forests rather than fields. I was trained in this method, learning spells to fight fewer enemies, but with greater speed and accuracy, not to mention countering enemy spell casters."
"The way you're teaching me."
"Indeed. But once more, the needs of the Empire have changed. Your fellow acolytes are not learning elemental spells and how to fight in skirmishes."
Martel frowned. He had never really thought about why the Lyceum taught them the way it did; what tactics or strategy lay behind, and how exactly they would be used in war. "How is it now?"
"Between our battlemages and their cannons, neither we nor the Khivans are keen on open battles. But the land we fight on is flat, for the most part, unlike the forests of Tyria. Small engagements are not practical either. So, except for the occasional clash along the border, it has settled into siege craft."
"The siege of Nahavand," Martel remarked.
Master Alistair gave a nod. "Aye. It is a question of range and focused fire. They hide behind their walls, we in our camps, both with the power to destroy an attacking army. The only way to truly end the stalemate is by gaining superior position. They want to take control of the Savena delta, that their cannons may destroy our ships sailing up the river to supply the siege. And we dig trenches to get our battlemages close enough to silence their guns, our stonemages close enough to breach the walls. That is why Mistress Moira trains you to improve the range and strength of your spells above all else."
Martel frowned, digesting all of this. "I suppose being in a trench is better than fighting on the frontline, or storming the city."
"Hopefully. But there's a reason I want you to learn spells useful up close, or how to enchant fire pots. War is unpredictable, and resistance greater than what commanders plan for. There will be a time when, stretched for resources and manpower, your future legate will send in his battlemages in close combat, feeling victory is at hand. When you assault the streets of Nahavand, with a Khivan musket aimed at you from every window, you'll need to fight close range as well."
The young acolyte swallowed. He knew that Master Alistair was only making a prediction; this might never come to pass. Yet he spoke it with such certainty, it felt almost like a prophecy.
"On that note, let's begin. You know what to do. Slow, deep breaths, and focus."
Martel nodded, closing his eyes and extending his hands. He summoned the elements of air and fire, one in each palm, concentrating to keep them even.
"Too much fire."
***
Before supper, Martel checked for messages and was rewarded with a small scrap of parchment.
I asked my friends.
No new visitors in
the last month or
so that matched the
description of your
friend.
In other words, the inquisitors did not have Julia. Martel felt a touch of relief, or perhaps the feeling of something coming to an end. He had tried his best to help Julia; she had chosen to leave, for whatever reasons she might have. If she ever came back, she knew to look for him at the Lyceum. Otherwise, he would have to trust that she made the right decision for herself. As it stood, there was nothing further for him to do.
This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦