Chapter 33: Staying Grounded
Staying Grounded
His face still sore, Martel applied Eleanor's balm to his cheek as the first thing when he woke up, just as he had done yesterday when coming home. Relief came quickly and he sank back into bed, dozing for a while longer. Thankfully, his kitchen duties on Pelday lay at lunchtime, not breakfast. freew(e)bnove(l)
He wolfed down a hearty meal an hour later and went to his first elemental lesson of the day. Compared to learning water, his first foray into magic, Martel found earth far more amenable. It responded to his attempts straight away, even if he could not exert much control over it. He thought about yesterday, making jars fly through the cellar. In comparison, his magic felt clumsy and inadequate now. Unfortunately, he could not recreate the circumstances from yesterday that allowed his power to flow so intuitively; he would have to learn control over earth the slow way. Still, Master Alastair seemed satisfied with his progress.
~
After lunch, an ominous note awaited Martel in the entrance hall.
See me immediately.
Mistress Juliana
Anxiety clumped together in Martel's stomach immediately. Not daring to disobey, he headed towards the faculty chambers. Soon after, he knocked on Mistress Juliana's door.
"Enter."
Martel found the room as before, furnished with books and the occasional item of curiosity. Setting aside a bunch of parchments, the overseer turned her chair around to look at him.
"Sit."
He did so.
"Martel, I hear you were involved in a brawl in the city. Maximilian of Marche has already told me the details."
"Well, yes." Martel was unsure what he was meant to say.
"With a Tyrian berserker, of all things. And this part I found hard to believe, but to assist a hedge mage you barely know, who had been taken by these thugs?"
"That sounds about right."
"What were you thinking?" Her stern eyes pierced into him like arrows.
"They were going to kill him, most likely. He needed help."
"So you went against a berserker? Martel, I have seen such warriors charge a whole regiment of legionaries on their own. Do you understand how reckless this behaviour is?"
"It wasn't our intention," Martel protested. "I meant to get the city guard. When that wouldn't work, we meant to sneak in and get Regnar out. The Tyrian surprised us."
"Regardless, your task is to study magic. Not get involved in abductions! No wonder you found yourself in over your head."
"Have I broken any school rules?" Martel was not going to feel guilty for helping someone.
"No, since you have not been found guilty of instigating the brawl." The overseer regarded him with her strict expression. "But you are lucky that bruise is all you got. A worse injury could have cost you an eye or a limb. Or kept you bedridden for months, unable to continue your studies."
"I'll thank my Stars that didn't happen."
"If a student's activities in the city are found to be disruptive, it is within my remit to ban them from leaving school grounds," Mistress Juliana continued.
"Someone was in need. I helped. I didn't mean to fight anyone, and I don't intend to do so again," Martel defended himself. "We didn't even know the berserker was a part of it all."
The overseer stared at him for a long moment. "I will refrain from such drastic measures for now. On the assumption that this does not happen again."
Martel did not imagine Morcaster had more than one kidnapping ring led by a Tyrian berserker selling Asterian mages to Sindhian alchemists as reagents. "It won't."
~
The meeting over, Martel found a quiet spot in the western courtyard and sat down. With a bit of distance to yesterday's events, he re-examined the whole fight as he remembered it. He did not recall thinking while it all unfolded; he had either been gripped by emotion, mostly fear, or acted on instinct. And once it had been over, relief had flooded him, excluding other feelings. Would he do it again, now that he knew the risk? Martel could not say. But the encounter had left him with questions.
His second lesson with Master Alastair proved a good opportunity for answers. Working with the earth in the Hall of Elements, Martel glanced at his teacher. "Master, I saw something strange."
"Yes?"
"I don't know if you've heard, but, well, I encountered a Tyrian berserker yesterday."
"Half the school knows. The other half will by tomorrow." Master Alastair gave him a stern look reminiscent of the overseer. "I hope you have learned some caution from all this."
"Definitely," Martel claimed, not really sure if he had. "But I noticed something. Where he walked, the ground itself cracked underneath his boots, and even he can't have weighed that much. He seemed to gain power somehow from it, fighting better." contemporary romance
"I'm hardly an expert on Tyrian magic," Alastair admitted, "but their berserkers have some connection to the earth itself, it's true. They draw might from it, which would explain their enormous strength." His expression turned wry. "I once saw a berserker charge a regiment of legionaries on her own."
Martel frowned. That sounded familiar. "Mistress Juliana said the same thing."
"Probably because we saw the same thing."
"You did? How, when?"
"Mistress Juliana was a mageknight. Didn't you know?"
Martel could barely imagine it. "I thought she'd always been the overseer."
Master Alastair laughed. "No. She was my protector for several years back in our army days."
"Protector?"
"All battlemages have a mageknight assigned to keep them alive. We make a tempting target on the battlefield, after all."
"Right." Martel thought about Maximilian in the fight yesterday, keeping the berserker's attention.
Master Alastair's smile faded. "Mages face many dangers in general, it seems. Stay out of trouble in the future, Martel. You won't be so lucky next time."
"I'll be mindful of that," the novice claimed.
"Very well. Enough about berserkers. You have your own earth magic to practise."
~
When Martel entered the dining hall for supper, he assumed people stared for the usual reasons, or perhaps due to his giant bruise. Seeing the students stick their heads together, whispering, he realised it was something else. He could not see Maximilian, so he collected his meal and sat down at an empty table.
To his surprise, a handful of others soon joined him. He glanced at them, meeting their fervent stares, which only made him feel disconcerted. "Hullo."
"Is it true?" asked an acolyte in the robes of a watermage. "Did you strangle a berserker with your bare hands?"
Martel looked down at his slender fingers. "Of course not. How could I ever do that?" He did not notice their disappointment at his answer and simply continued, "I used a chain."
Excitement spread across the table. "I knew it! I told you, Maximilian of Marche does not lie," a mageknight declared.
"So you killed a Tyrian berserker?"
"No, just choked him until he fainted." Martel took bites of his food in between answers. "No need to kill him once he was down."
"Weren't you afraid?"
"Uh, I guess. I didn't have much time to think. He had his hand around Maximilian's throat, suffocating him."
"Huh, Maximilian did not mention that," the water acolyte remarked.
"Did he give you that?" A novice pointed at Martel's face.
"Yeah, he gave me a good smack. Sent me to the floor."
The other students continued a spirited discussion of fearsome berserkers, dastardly Tyrians, and magical fights. When he first arrived, Martel would have been overjoyed to have others seek out his company this way. Now, he felt out of place. Their interest revolved around something he had done, or rather, how they imagined it. An exciting fight against a villainous foreigner. But recalling Maximilian's face as Bjarki squeezed the life out of him, Martel felt uncomfortable about their enthusiasm and thus their company. He finished his meal quickly and made his departure.
"Martel, wait a moment," someone called to him as he left the hall.
Looking over his shoulder, Martel waited as Eleanor caught up to him; some snickered at seeing the attractive acolyte follow after the gangly novice.
Together, they walked down the corridor. "Maximilian told me about yesterday."
"Where is he? I haven't seen him all day."
"He has been busy between the infirmary for his broken nose, sorting this out with the city guard and the inquisitors, and telling the story to everyone at school," Eleanor related. "It is true then?"
"Yeah." Martel's fingers ran over his bruise.
"Why would you do this?" She reached out to grab his arm, making him stop. "Risk your life for someone you barely know?"
"I knew him well enough. He showed me kindness, treated me as a friend." Martel cleared his throat. "He's a wanderer without family, no roots. His other friends couldn't or wouldn't do anything. There was only me."
"That is not enough reason to put yourself in such danger."
"A man was saved, and a monster stopped," he retorted. "You can't make me regret that."
"Martel, you cannot risk life and limb like this!"
"Between Mistress Juliana, Master Alastair, and now you, I understand the message," Martel said, sounding a little more irritated than he meant. She let go of his arm. "Look, I didn't mean to get into a fight with a giant beef of a man who wanted to chop us up and sell us for parts. But what's the point of learning magic if we just stand aside when needed?"
She slowly exhaled. "You cannot help anybody if you are dead. At least, ask for advice the next time." She quickly added, "From somebody other than Maximilian, who has the survival instinct of a slug in a salt mine."
Martel could not help but laugh a little. "Alright. I'll remember that. Hey, the theatre troupe are doing another play on Manday eve. Want to go?"
She gave half a smile. "Sure. I will come along."
~
Watching the sun slip below the horizon from his window, Martel enjoyed the quietude. The Lyceum alone had more people than Engby, and with the spring faire, Morcaster felt packed. With recent events added to that, Martel felt satiated for now. Sometimes, he appreciated having his own room even more than learning magic.
With regards to the latter, it was too early for sleep; Martel could get a good hour of practice in. He had a few pebbles and a penny for that purpose to strengthen his earth powers; especially metal was a good challenge, as Master Alastair had explained, requiring stronger magic to control than simple dirt did.
But as had happened before, Martel felt tempted to practise something else. He remembered Regnar's words to him, of magic being a friend rather than a servant. He thought about how his powers had defeated the two bandits, yet been too weak to hurt the berserker.
He had to grow stronger. He had to trust what lay in his blood. Concentrating, Martel summoned a flame between his hands and watched it burn brighter and brighter.
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