Chapter 522: Where Elements Meet
Where Elements Meet
Not long after his morning exercises, Martel saw a curious sight coming towards him. Henry the stonemage walked down what constituted the dirt road through the camp with several large rocks floating around him. Just like the legionaries, Martel stared at this, though probably for a different reason. To them, this was a display of magic, as wondrous or unfamiliar to them as when Martel ignited a flame out of the air. To him, it was an interesting demonstration of a different element than his own.
Martel knew that he could at best keep one of these stones raised in the air, and it would tire him to move it such a length. Henry did so with three and did not appear burdened at all. It made Martel wonder how good he might be with the other elements, and if he had fallen victim to specialisation; he was briefly reminded of the last earthmage he had known, whose corpse now rotted in the Undercroft. Despite her experience, she could not contend with the fighting skills of a battlemage. Hopefully his relations with Henry would be more cordial.
The aforementioned stonemage arrived at Martel's tent, allowing the stones to float down before him. Each was about the size of a sack of flour. "Sandstone," he began to explain. "This will hold heat much better than most rocks. I can't get more though, not before summer, so if you need more, you'll have to wait. If you'll enchant one for me, you and your protector may have the other two."
"That's very reasonable. I'll do it this afternoon," Martel promised.
"I'll be back to pick it up tonight, in that case. Spare you the trouble of hauling a rock across camp and town." Henry's eyes twinkled; presumably he knew that Martel would not be able to do this with the same ease as a stonemage.
"Most appreciated."
"How long do your enchantments hold?"
"The lightstone I gave you, it should be good for half a year," Martel estimated. "Certainly it'll last you until the evenings grow bright."
Henry nodded to himself. "With my rocks, I imagine that'll be doubled without any extra effort on your part. We'll see, I suppose."
"We shall, though it'll be a long wait."
The green-clad wizard smiled. "Earthmages are known for their patience. I'll see you tonight."
***
As the weather was fine and the three stones would barely fit in his tent, Martel decided to simply do his enchanting outside. He was not sure his table could support the weight of such a rock either. Instead, he sat down cross-legged on the ground and leaned forward to place his hands on the object of his enchanting efforts.
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The rock was entirely smooth, like wood worked by a skilled carpenter. It was oval in shape and a few feet from one end to another, but less than a hand's width in height. It would be the perfect skipping stone for a giant; for a moment, Martel remembered happy days in Engby when his older brother had shown him how to pick the best rocks and throw them with a flick of the wrist, making them jump across the water to the other side.
Pushing thoughts aside, Martel concentrated on the matter at hand and began enchanting. His magic trickled from his fingertips into the rock, seeking to entangle itself. It did so easily, as Henry had promised. Heat and spellpower flowed gently from the mage, becoming encapsulated in the stone. It was not so much that the material trapped the magic; rather, two elements fusing together to become one. The embodiment of earth with the heating property of fire.
Martel almost gasped as he finished; his breathing always slowed down during enchanting, and the first breath afterwards felt like returning to the surface from a dive into a deep lake. Even without magic, he felt the heat radiating from the stone. He blinked a few times, slightly disorientated, like waking up from an interrupted nap. Glancing through the opening of his tent at his Khivan clock, he estimated that an hour had passed.
One enchantment complete; two more to go.
***
When Martel finished, the sun was sinking behind the horizon. He looked around but saw no sign of Eleanor; she had gone on her own errands in the morning. Perhaps he should go into Esmouth for his evening meal; he had silver to spend, and he assumed the tavern served some kind of food. Wait, Henry was coming to collect his enchanted rock well, maybe Martel could wait for him and walk together back to town.
For now, he began hauling out the old heating stones from his and Eleanor's tents, replacing them with his new creations. He was curious to witness the difference between the materials; obviously, Henry had shaped the sandstone compared to the coarse river rocks that Martel had found on his own, but he wondered if the earthmage did other work to make the stones more receptable to magic. Something to ask about.
Raising his old heating stone into the air, Martel floated it outside. It would be a waste to simply throw it away, just because he had a superior replacement, but he was unsure what to do with it.
"How do you do that, sir?" asked a legionary. He looked at the firemage with wide eyes. "I mean, I know magic can make things float, but even from here, I can feel that big pebble awash with heat. It's like you've set a stone on fire!"
Martel looked him over. Just an ordinary soldier, not even a princeps. But ordinary soldiers talked to each other, and they constituted the vast majority of the legion. "Do you want it?" he asked, ignoring the initial question. "You can have it for your tent."
The soldier's eyes widened even further. "Really? You don't want something in return?"
"Just watch my back if we're ever on patrol together," Martel replied in a light-hearted manner, although he meant it earnestly. "Get someone from your tent to help you carry it back, it's heavy."
"I'll go find someone right now, sir!"
As the legionary sped away, Martel remembered the advice of an old princeps and called out, "And your name?"
"Felix, sir, seventh cohort!" The soldier stopped and turned around, saluted, and hurried away once more.
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