Chapter 580: Familiar Grounds
Familiar Grounds
The sound of a door opening woke Martel. Confused about his surroundings, Martel thought that someone had disturbed his rune of warning, sneaking up on him in camp. He sat up, fire filling his hands. Before he released his spell, his eyes saw a young woman in servant's clothing, looking scared out of her mind. She stared at the wizard lying on the floor. In her hands, she held a lit candle. "I beg your pardon, master. I came to start the fire." She glanced towards the hearth in the room.
Martel looked at the wood placed inside the fireplace. Dismissing the spell around his hands, he ignited the firewood instead. "You don't have to do that." Closing his eyes, he leaned back while the servant disappeared.
He tried to return to sleep, with little luck. He had spent a while last night in the bed, completely unable to be comfortable. At length he had accepted that it was simply too soft, throwing the covers down to make himself a primitive bed on the wooden floor instead. That solved one problem, though the eerie silence was another. In camp, there was always noise coming from somewhere. Even sleeping in the woods on the journey between Esmouth and the outpost, the animals of the forest would still make some kind of sound.
Not so in this house of stone, and it made the whole building seem deserted, like Martel might wake up in the morning and walk from room to room, finding them all empty. Martel had dug out his Khivan clock from his chest, and the rhythmic sound of its mechanical movement had finally allowed him to fall asleep. At least until the servant woke him up.
A cautious knock on the door. "Enter," Martel called out.
A distinguished man dressed better than the other servants appeared, holding a tray. The scent in the air revealed to Martel it contained food, even if his low-lying position did not allow him to see this. He recognised the man to be the majordomo of the house. "Would it please the good master to have his breakfast?"
"Sure." The servant stepped inside the room and placed the tray on a table, low enough that Martel could see bread, jam, eggs, and cold cuts of meat. "It looks and smells delicious."
"The kitchen will be pleased to hear this, sir." Standing up straight, the majordomo hesitated before he spoke again. "May I enquire, sir, is there an issue with the bed that we can remedy?"
"Oh. Not really. For the past year, if I haven't been sleeping on a field cot, I've done so on the ground. Lying in that bed makes me feel like I'm drowning."
"We do have a number of cots available, for the staff of visiting guests. Would the good master be satisfied with such a solution?"
It did not make a big difference to Martel, but he got the feeling that it would please the old servant. "Certainly. That sounds great."
"Very good, sir."
***
Letting Eleanor spend time with her family alone, Martel left the house. She had offered him the use of a carriage, and just the prospect made him uncomfortable. Instead, he walked. It was cold although not yet solstice, winter had arrived in full force but Martel was still a northern boy. Until his breath turned to mist, he was not bothered.
He walked south-west towards the heart of the city. Approaching the Lyceum from the north, the closest entrance was the backdoor to the infirmary, but Martel wanted the full experience. He walked around the castle until he stood before the front gate and could enter. Stepping past the threshold, he looked at the Archean writing on the walls, acting as protective wards to repel any with hostile intent. For a moment, he imagined himself thrown out of the building, but nothing happened. He looked at the clerks behind the desks in the entrance hall; none of them were familiar to him. While likewise they could not know his identity, they did not bother someone who was obviously a mage.
It was the middle of the bell, meaning Master Alastair would probably be busy teaching a class. Instead, Martel went down the corridor to his right and entered the workshops. He followed the sound of activity, including a booming voice, until our large, bearlike man wearing a smith's apron came into sight.
"Boy, it's you!" The artificer flung out his arms and closed the distance between them to sweep up Martel in an embrace so tight, Martel thought his bones might break.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Master Jerome," he wheezed, "happy to see you."
"Still in the robes of a battlemage, but you're here. Have the legions released you?"
"Just for the solstice. We'll have to go back before winter's end."
"We?"
"Eleanor Fontaine, my protector."
"Ah, yes, I remember the girl. Very skilled. Come boy, tell me everything you have experienced!"
***
After visiting the artificer, Martel went back the way he came and crossed the dining hall instead, thinking briefly on just how many meals he had eaten in this place. Once on the other side, he went into the infirmary and finally the apothecary. The rhythmic sound of ingredients being chopped ended as Nora put away the tools and turned to look at him. "Yes?"
"Is Mistress Rana here?"
"She is upstairs working, but I can help with whatever you need."
Martel frowned before it gave way to a wry smile. "Nora, it's me. Martel. I'm just here to offer my respects."
"Oh! You look so different. You well, your hair is longer, and you have stubbles."
Martel scratched his cheek. He had not shaved since Esmouth, but he still found it amusing that she had not recognised him. "Well, do you think Mistress Rana will forgive me for interrupting her work?"
"I'm sure she'll let it slide. The door is open. You can go right ahead."
A moment later, Martel knocked on the door to the upstairs laboratory. A voice came from the other side. "Come in."
Martel stepped inside, and the sights and smells of countless curiosities reached him. Amidst it all stood the Sindhian woman who had taught him an invaluable craft.
"Martel! Come here, boy." As he approached her, she gave him a scrutinising look. "You look thin. You must eat more, and perhaps a fortifying elixir would do you good. Do you have any troubles with your health? Loss of appetite?"
He could not help but laugh. "I eat all I can, when I can. Given my current lodgings, that will not be an issue. I am more than fine, Mistress Rana." Despite his mirth, he found himself touched by her concern. She had always seemed so strict and aloof, but he knew that deep down, she cared. About her craft, people in need, and also her students. It was nice to know that extended to him.
"Very well." She looked at his red robes. "Such a pity that they forced you into the legions. You could have made a decent alchemist."
Knowing her opinion about Asterian alchemy and its practitioners, Martel considered that high praise. "I did have great need of your teachings. An outbreak of blue plague in camp. Your knowledge saved many lives."
"Your knowledge, and your work. I am glad you never gave me reason to regret teaching you," the alchemist declared. She turned around to open her cupboard full of potions and began to rummage through them on the shelves. "Now, let me find that fortifying elixir"
***
As the bell rang, Martel stood outside the Hall of Elements. The doors burst open to reveal a whole gaggle of novices practically tripping over themselves as they left. Their loud discussion became briefly silenced as they noticed the tall battlemage in the corridor. Giving him odd looks, they hurried past and resumed their eager chatter.
Peering inside, Martel saw a short, balding Master of Elements returning the area to its former state, making the earthen floor smooth again. He took a few steps forward and suddenly found that his voice shook. "Master Alastair," he finally managed to say.
The teacher turned around with the dawning smile. "My dear boy." Water being pulled out of the dirt fell back down as he walked over and embraced Martel. "How are you back?"
"We've been granted leave for the winter, my protector and me. We just returned yesterday."
"You must tell me everything. Your timing is excellent, as I have no class next bell. Come, let's go to my study. We can at least sit down."
They left the Hall of Elements, crossing the school towards the faculty wind. Martel noticed the various glances he received from novices and acolytes in the corridors. It struck him how young they were. While he had been old already upon arrival, there had still been other acolytes his age or older. And although only a year set him apart from the oldest acolytes, he looked at them and saw only children.
"Who else are you here to visit? I assume I'm not the only teacher to receive your intentions."
"Oh, I have been to see Master Jerome and Mistress Rana. I was also thinking I'd visit Master Fenrick. I always greatly enjoyed his classes and everything he taught me about magic and lore."
"Ah, in this regard, your timing is less fortunate. He left the other day with a group of students to the Stone of Archen."
Martel remembered his own trip to that place. "No matter. We are here for a while. I will come back and catch him another time."
They reached Master Alastair's study, and for the next hour, the old and the young battlemage shared experiences, laughter, and company.
***
As Martel left his old mentor, he stood indecisively in the hallway until he moved deeper into the faculty wing and knocked on another door. "Enter."
Martel did so and looked at the familiar room belonging to Mistress Juliana. As for the overseer, sitting by the desk, she turned to water visitor. "Martel of Engby," she said after a moment of silence.
"Mistress Juliana." He bowed his head.
"A surprise. What brings you by?"
"I've received leave for winter, and I thought I'd visit my old teachers."
"They must have been happy to see you."
"They were." Martel cleared his throat. "I know you went to great lengths to help me, at the risk of losing your position. I just wanted you to know I appreciate it, even if I didn't always listen."
"A teacher's place is to instruct. Your choices are your own to make, as you are the one who must live with the consequences."
Martel touched the red fabric on his sleeve. "That's true."
"I have just bought a new Sindhian vintage. Would you care to try it with me?"
"I'd be happy to."
Th𝓮 most uptodate nov𝑒ls are published on freew(e)bnove(l).𝓬𝓸𝓶