Chapter 455: Light Friendship
Light Friendship
Although the journey to the Undercroft weighed on Martel's mind, he had accepted that it could not be avoided. He would have to trust that his magic, along with his vigilance, would be enough. Ruby and her compatriots were gathering information, he was given to understand, and perhaps they might learn what they could expect to face once below ground; this left Martel with little to do but wait.
He did have something he wanted to deal with beforehand, just in case. Taking out the dormant lightstone that he had bought from Master Jerome, Martel began to weave an enchantment. His skill was still limited, and it would not last terribly long. It would have to do; he did not wish to delay, as he already had an intended use for it.
***
After a morning spent enchanting, Martel had his usual class with Master Alastair in the afternoon.
"How's the spell treating you?" asked his teacher.
"Getting better." Martel held out his hands; energy sizzled, and sparks jumped from the fingers on one hand to the other. "Don't think the last exercise you showed me will help anymore."
"Seems about right. Its purpose was to get you this far. You got the basics of the lightning in your hands, literally." Master Alastair gave a wry smile. "But that's useless without control, direction."
Martel ceased summoning the effect. Even at this small stage, it strained him to cast advanced magic. "So, what's next?"
"Well, much like you just did. Keep creating the lightning between your hands. However, try to channel the magic into one specific fingertip. Control where it appears. If you can do that, the next step is to control where it jumps to."
In demonstration, Master Alastair held out his hands in front of him. A spark of lightning appeared on his right index finger, only to leap across empty air and land on his left thumb.
"Think of lightning as alive," he continued. "It wants to move. Do not try to keep it still or suppress it. Just guide it." He created another spark, this time moving up and down every fingertip of his right hand. "And with enough practice, you can guide it exactly where you want."
"Sounds easy." Martel cleared his throat. "Of course, it always sounds easy when you explain it."
"The joys of being a teacher and no longer the student." Master Alastair smiled. "Now, when you cast a spell like a fire bolt, you use your hand to direct the actual magic without giving it much further thought, I presume."
"I can't argue against that."
The teacher nodded. "Lightning is much more – precise, if that makes sense. Fire simply burns and consumes. To throw a lightning bolt, you need precision. You must know exactly how the magic flows through your body to reach the tip of your finger. Summon a spark now, and try to be mindful of this."
"Very well." Martel closed his eyes, just to reduce the information coming from his senses. He called on air and fire to gather in his hand. He felt it – from his heart, rushing through his chest and arm to reach his hand, magic flowed. Between his fingertips, a blue spark appeared.
***
As the lesson ended, Martel considered the experience. He had not previously thought about how magic existed in his body. It was simply inside him, waiting for when he called upon it, much like breathing without thinking consciously of it. Except he knew exactly where his breath entered and left his body.
Magic seemed much more intangible. He used hand movements to help direct the effects and spells that he cast, making it easier for him, but it was not strictly needed. The night in the alley with Ruby, he had not even required vision to cast the spell, but simply raised the wall of flames behind him.
Although the experience was much further back, it also reminded him of an early experience in Morcaster, when a band of brigands had jumped him and tied gold around his neck. It had severed his connection to magic, if only temporarily. Did magic reside in his chest, waiting for commands from his head? Weird to imagine, but magic played by its own rules, it seemed.
While pondering these thoughts, Martel went to the library for his regular study session with Eleanor. He arrived a short while after the bell rang, knowing he would be there first anyway; she needed time to get cleaned up after weapons training, as usual.
Digging out the latest books they were going through, he also placed a small object on the table, wrapped in several layers of cloth. And then he waited.
Ten minutes or so after his arrival, Eleanor appeared. "Hey there." She glanced over the table and frowned. "What is that?"
Martel handed her the bundle. "Open up and see."
She unwrapped the fabric – several of Martel's shirts – and a glow began to be visible. Once she had removed all the layers, a shining lightstone showed itself in the palm of her hand. "Oh, it is beautiful."
"I'm glad you think so. It's for you."
She looked up at him. "Really?"
"I figured you could use it. Getting darker earlier and earlier, after all. But you may want to put it away at night if you want to get any sleep," he laughed.
"That's so thoughtful!" She gave him a quick hug before stepping back, looking at her present again. "You enchanted this? That is impressive."
"Thanks," he mumbled, almost feeling shy at being praised. "I don't know if it'll last through winter, honestly. But if it grows dim, I can renew the enchantment. Just bring it to me." Assuming Martel would be back from the Undercroft.
"This is so nice! No more bother with candles or lamps. Alchemy, enchantment – any skill you cannot master?"
"I'll never beat Maximilian at playing Legionary's Round," Martel admitted. He was lousy at cards. Her laughter rang through the library, thankfully empty with none to complain about the noise.
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