Chapter 421: A Revelation
A Revelation
Solday morning afforded Martel another bell working on his enchantment skill, but to much the same result. Infusing the oil with the spell seemed like balancing an egg; no matter how many times he tried, regardless of how, his attempts fell flat. But experience had taught him that consistent practice persevered; he would continue until he cracked this particular egg and made it stand upright.
***
In comparison to his practical efforts at learning magic, studying the Tyrian runes with Eleanor was a relaxing affair; it almost felt like a leisurely activity, reading interesting texts and stories in the quiet company of a good friend. That description also fit the result, perhaps; however frustrating, his practical studies led him to constant advancements in magic, whereas reading in the library was unlikely to yield much.
That said, it could provide a foundation to learn more, with theory supporting practice. Reading the account of a frostmage serving in the northern legions, Martel came across one of the rare instances that not only described a rune, but also depicted it. To his surprise, he recognised it. More importantly, it also showed the activating word, which he had never known before.
He quickly grabbed parchment and a quill to draw the rune carefully and write the pertinent word beneath.
Across the table, Eleanor looked up, interested. "What have you found?"
"Oh, sorry, nothing relevant to our search. I just wanted to make a note of this and learn the rune later."
"Well, what is it?"
"The rune of revelation," Martel explained. He had been subjected to it more than once. Trying to enter gambling establishments or the convent of the Sisters of the Sun, this symbol inscribed on the floor had become illuminated to reveal his magic.
It had to be a passive rune, he realised, meaning once activated, it lay dormant until something triggered it, such as the arrival of a mage. Even more interesting, the rune persisted even after it had been triggered, else the gambling dens of Morcaster would need to have a northern bard constantly on hand to reactivate it.
It fascinated him how the various Tyrian symbols worked in different manners, according to need. "It's how they detect magic," he continued after realising that Eleanor waited for him to elaborate. "It allows someone without any talent to discover if someone has magic, for instance."
"Martel, you are a mage," she reminded him with a slightly overbearing voice. "You can sense magic without any need of such symbols."
"If someone is using it, sure. But if it lies dormant in a person, if they are hiding it, I can't. At least not yet." Thinking about it, Martel had grown more sensitive towards magic; he wondered if he could train his sense to become sharper, better at detecting magic. You could not improve your eyesight or hearing, but magic seemed more to function like a muscle, allowing it to grow stronger with frequent use.
Eleanor frowned. "Why would anyone hide their status as a mage? It would be like a noble pretending to be a commoner, losing the status this affords."
"People can be strange. Besides, any knowledge of magic is worth having," Martel declared, finishing his drawing.
With a little shake of her head and a good-natured smile, Eleanor returned to her own book.
***
With the rest of his day available, Martel had supper and went into the city afterwards. While his responsibility to Julia was gone, he still had an apprentice of sorts that required his attention and presence. And given the presence of the inquisitors, he had not discharged that duty in a while.
Once he approached the copper lanes, Martel kept an eye out for any blue uniforms. Fortunately, it seemed like they had abandoned their patrolling and left the slums to its own devices. Although he remained cautious, Martel proceeded forward and made his way towards the home of Weasel and the others.
The children soon greeted him, and he parted with a few silvers; if Julia did not return to her room, he would have a lot more money in the coming months, courtesy of his salary from Mistress Rana. He still needed to collect his few alchemical supplies, though; his unhappiness at her departure should not prevent him from being sensible with his few belongings.
The children fetched Sparrow for him; as always, Weasel followed behind, keeping watch of their lesson. Ignoring him, Martel turned his attention towards the girl. "No more inquisitors, I noticed."
She nodded eagerly. "We've kept our heads down. I've not even done any magic for a long while. Only did it again today, in fact, and I made sure to practice indoors. Grabbed a handful of dirt and practised how long I could keep it floating."
"Very good." Just to be sure, Martel glanced either way down the desolate alley. "How about the spell you wanted to learn. Should we train that?"
"Yes!"
"Very well. Stop my hand with your wall." Martel moved his hand through the air, slow enough that she had a chance to react.
A look of pure concentration overtook Sparrow's face, and she stomped one foot into the ground. It responded, earth rising up to protect her. But it only reached her waist before it fell back, her spell at an end. Frustration replaced her expression. "I could do much better the last time, I swear!"
"I'm sure you could. If you practiced earlier today, you've probably spent all your spellpower. Remember we talked about that?"
She gestured affirmatively.
"Don't worry about it. You're still small, and it'll take you a long time to build up your strength. You'll get there, and then you will be able to cast several spells at a time."
"Could you also only do a little spellwork when you were my age? I bet you could do loads more."
He laughed a little. "At your age, I wasn't doing any magic at all. So you're already far ahead of me. Keep at it, and you will make a great mage one day."
"I will!"
Looking at her pure smile, Martel understood some of the rewards of being a teacher. Her success would be his success, and hopefully, thanks to his tutelage, a better life awaited the small girl. "I know you will."
The source of this c𝐨ntent is fre𝒆w(e)bn(o)vel