Chapter 434: It's Got Pockets
It's Got Pockets
Manday morning, Martel went to the workshops to practise his enchantment. Besides the usual tools and equipment, the small laboratory had the stones that Martel used to train enchanting heat or light; however, as he arrived, he noticed that several clay jars stood on a table along with the oil substance used for making fire pots.
As the bell rang, Master Jerome appeared. "Good, you're here. I have a task for you. I need you to make three fire pots for me." He pointed at the jars on the table, matching that number. He wore a broad smile as he spoke; while usually a man of cheerful mood, he seemed almost exuberant this morning.
"Certainly, master." By now, Martel had no difficulties with such a task. It would take him the full bell, but he had no class afterwards, so he could stay longer and work on enchanting the lightstone when he was done with this.
"Good lad." The artificer gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and left.
***
About three hours later, Martel had finished the fire pots and also done his best to create a lightstone. The round rock shone with a faint light, feeling slightly warm to the touch; a decent attempt, but there was room for much improvement. Especially in terms of longevity; Martel guessed that the light would probably only last a few days before fading. Leaving the laboratory, he went in search of the artificer and found him busy going through records and piles of parchment.
"Master Jerome, I finished the fire pots as you asked. I left them in the laboratory."
"Excellent. Would you mind going back and waiting for me? I'll be right along."
Although a little unsure why, Martel had no reason to refuse, so he returned to the small chamber, still empty apart from various tools and the fruits of his labour.
A few moments later, the artificer appeared with a belt in hand; Martel recognised it as the one given to him long ago, which Master Jerome had requested to borrow.
"I had a few changes made." The craftsman held up the belt, allowing Martel to notice that six pockets had been added, three on either side of the buckle. Each of them bulged out, though those on one side were bigger than their counterparts on the other. "These three will fit a fire pot inside. They're by your dominant hand, so you can quickly pull them out and throw them." He gestured at those on the right side before his hand moved towards those on the left. "And these will fit a potion vial like those we use here at the Lyceum." He undid the button to pull back the leather flap and show the interior of one of the pockets. "Lined with wool and enchanted by my apprentice. You could smash your fist against them, and nothing inside would break." Master Jerome held out his work. "Go on, put it back on."
His face nearly bursting from smiling, Martel unclasped his borrowed belt, removing his knife from it as well, and replaced it with the gift. It had already been a well-crafted item; with this enchantment, it had to be the most valuable thing he now owned, especially when including sentimental reasons.
"Now try the fire pots. They're for you, of course, in case you hadn't guessed."
Martel undid three buttons and placed the clay jars inside. They fit just as they should.
"There you are. There's room for a pouch on the far right side of your waist, but I haven't made it yet. I thought you should have this now, so you get used to it when training combat and such."
The acolyte felt a surge of emotions. In some ways, this was a simple act of kindness and consideration that reminded him of the home he left behind. Martel threw his arms around the artificer, who laughed and patted him in the back. "Thanks," he mumbled before pulling back.
"There's a good lad. And it works! Or you'd have three broken jars just now from where my belly met your belt." The artificer roared with laughter resounding through the workshop.
***
Martel arrived for his lesson in the Hall of Elements, still in good spirits. Apparently, it was evident, as Master Alastair smiled upon seeing him. "Things going well?"
"Oh, not so much when it comes to learning the spell," Martel admitted. He had not made any particular progress over the last fiveday or two. "But Master Jerome made me this. He added these pockets to my belt." He opened one to show the jar inside.
"Looks like fine work. You've done well with enchanting too, I notice."
"Working on lightstones now, though I also still try to get better with the heating stone. It's the same process and yet opposite – it's nice to switch back and forth between them rather than do the same kind of spellwork repeatedly."
"Well, if that works for you. You got time to learn as much enchantment as you want," Master Alastair considered. "No other courses waiting for you besides alchemy, which you're already considered to have passed thanks to your work with Mistress Rana. At least I believe that's what Mistress Juliana told me once."
A reminder that Martel approached the end of his school years. He figured that he could not learn much more in terms of combat capabilities anyway; neither Moira nor Reynard had much left to teach him, it seemed. Learning the lightning spell and honing his enchantment skills seemed the best use of his remaining time.
"If we had been at peace, you might have made a good enchanter. Not many go that route who are gifted with fire, especially not in these times. A pity you won't have that choice, but maybe once you're done with the legions, you have a career ahead of you as a skilled enchanter," his teacher speculated.
Martel would have preferred work that did more to help others, such as his original thought to be a weathermage, though no doubt his mother would appreciate a heating stone in the cottage during cold winter nights. And a lightstone when darkness fell early; no bitter smell of tallow in the air as candles burned.
"Anyway, time for elemental magic. Let me see how you're doing."
Martel nodded and stretched out his hands, preparing to summon air and fire in equal measure. Yet he caught himself and stopped. Something Master Jerome had casually remarked upon made the acolyte think. He always gathered fire in his right hand, air in his left. He had never thought about why; it just seemed natural. When slinging bolts or summoning rays of fire, he always gestured with his right hand too, using its movements to shape the magic.
An idea coming to mind, Martel began summoning the elements. Yet this time, he brought fire to his left hand and air to his right. With the same precision and control that enchantment required, he fed either element with magic in equal measure.
As the moments passed without interruption from his teacher, Martel smiled. Finally, his focus cracked, and he could tell that he had lost control even without Master Alastair saying anything. Dismissing the magical effects entirely, Martel looked up. "That was better, right?"
"It was. Good progress, boy. You've been practising a lot?"
"I have," Martel responded, as he did want acknowledgement for his work, "but I don't think that's the sole reason. I switched hands. Fire to the left, air to the right."
"I noticed – you usually do opposite. What made you change? You think it helped?"
The acolyte nodded. "Fire is my dominant element, and my right hand is the dominant one. It's just natural for me to feed magic in that direction, just as it's natural for me to keep strengthening the flames I summon. Putting the stronger element with the weaker hand and reverse helped me keep them equal," Martel explained. "At least, that's the idea."
His teacher stroked his chin. "I never considered that. In my defence, I rarely teach this spell to anyone. I'll have to discuss this with Master Fenrick. He'll find it curious too."
Martel grinned; he could feel himself having taken another step towards mastery of this particular bit of spellcraft.
"Try it again, boy. I'll count breaths, and we'll see how long you can go."
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