Chapter 433: Watchful Eyes
Watchful Eyes
Malday morning, Moira appeared in the gymnasium alongside her students. This was a new development; previously, she had only been present during afternoons when the fire acolytes practised together with the mageknights.
She brought four staves with her, all of them adorned by a ruby, and Martel understood the reason for her appearance. Usually, they practised ordinary staff fighting during this lesson, using no magic other than empowerment. Now, it was time to combine it with using the magical staves for channelling their spells.
Curiously, Reynard was not present at all. It seemed he was happy to leave Moira in charge for this lesson. Martel was unsure if he preferred this; as much as he loathed the Master of War, at least he left the acolytes alone as long as they put up a token effort during the bell.
"Pair up. Edward, you're with Harriet." Moira distributed the weapons and Martel took position opposite William. "Closer. Couple of paces apart," their teacher instructed them. All of the students took a step forward, approaching their respective opponent. "Alright. You're within striking distance of each other. Up to you whether you use the staff for physical attacks or spellcasting. What matters is that you continue until your opponent is on the ground and disarmed. First one to lose gets detention tomorrow night."
A few groans could be heard, even if the threat was expected. Martel did not feel worried; he outclassed his fellow students whether in fire magic or empowerment. In an even fight, one against one, he should win, as long as he kept his wits about him. Even if William was a decent hand with empowerment magic; he might have made a good mageknight had circumstances been different.
"What are you waiting for? Fight!"
The students obeyed the command. It seemed that William figured he stood a better chance against Martel when pitting physical magic rather than fire; he quickly lashed out, using his staff as a blunt weapon.
Fortunately, the fighting pit of The Broken Crown had prepared Martel better than the Lyceum trained its fire acolytes. He did not even need his shield to block any attacks, using simple parries instead. He could look for an opening to strike back, but he wanted to seize the opportunity to try something new.
Magic rushed from his hands through the silver lines laid into the haft, reaching the ruby. A blast of fire shot out from the top of the staff. At this close range, Martel could not miss, and his fire bolt struck William in the chest.
The acolyte stumbled backwards, swinging his staff as a desperate defence to hold Martel at bay. It might have worked if he intended a physical attack, but instead, he channelled another spell. With enough force, it might end the duel.
A blast of fire struck Martel on the shoulder. It came from the side, and he glanced over to assess the threat. The other students were locked in their own struggle, but Moira smiled at him sardonically. "Battle is not a duel, neatly divided with clear lines of engagement," she called out, shooting another fire bolt, this time at Harriet. "In a skirmish like this, watch your back!"
Her reproach felt unfair, considering it had been a duel right until the moment she changed the rules and turned it into a skirmish. Worse, William had been given time to recover while Martel was distracted. The fight continued with both staff and spell, magic whistling through the air.
***
They continued practising with magical staves during the second lesson; instead of fighting each other, the fire acolytes paired up against a mageknight each. This time, Moira was mercifully absent, and Martel did not have to worry about a fire bolt striking between his shoulder blades. He looked almost with pity on Edward, who had held his own against Harriet until attacked from behind, making him the first to fall.
"I do not like this, Nordmark!" Maximilian exclaimed as Martel released a fire bolt at him. "You keep retreating and flinging your little spells! Stand and face me like a man!"
"If your enemy has a sword and you have a bow, why would you fight in close quarters?" Martel retorted, taking another step back while casting a new spell.
"For honour, Nordmark! Is it truly victory if you must win by such unreasonable means?" The mageknight raised his physical shield to intercept another fire bolt.
Martel waited until Maximilian had weathered the spell and stepped forward to strike the fire acolyte; deflecting the attack with his magical shield, Martel retaliated with a strong gust of wind. The mageknight, all his weight on one leg as he struck, fell to the ground.
Looking down at his vanquished foe, Martel smiled. "A victory's a victory."
"A pox on you," Maximilian grumbled, getting to his feet.
"I'll make it up to you. The golden bird tonight? I'll pay first round, and the second, if your bruised pride demands it." No longer paying for Julia's rent, Martel had plenty of coin.
"The first will do."
***
The Golden Goose was busy every evening; the arrival of the acting troupe had made this a certainty. It was impossible to find a table near the stage unless you arrived well in advance of any performance. Martel and his friends had seen tonight's play, however, and they accepted seats further away, content with drink and discussions of today's class.
"I still feel it is unfair for you to use air magic," Maximilian complained. "You are a fire acolyte! Nobody told me to expect such underhanded methods."
"The issue was not Martel's hand, but your leg," Eleanor reminded him with a serene smile.
"How would you know? You were not present," the other mageknight growled.
"Once I saw the two of you pair up, I made sure to watch," she replied. "I suspected it would be worth my attention."
Martel raised his tankard and pushed it against hers in acknowledgement of the remark. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he felt somebody watching him; as he turned his head, he did not see anything, however.
Suspicion welled up in him, though he stayed calm. They had a good table against the wall, leaving Martel's back protected. And he sat in the company of two other wizards; it would be an act of madness to try anything.
"Martel? Something amiss?"
He turned his attention back to his friends to find Eleanor's brown eyes looking at him. "Not at all. Just wondering when they'll put on a new performance." He nodded towards the stage in the other end of the big common room.
"Next fiveday. I already asked," she told him with a smile. "I had a feeling you would be keen to know."
Martel reciprocated her expression, pushing away thoughts of spying eyes in the crowd. Plenty of people who had an interest in him, half the Nine Lords among them. Let them watch if they wanted; he would not let it spoil his evening. He raised his mug again. "Cheers to that."
This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢