Deliberations
Reynard stood with his staff, a faint smirk outlined on his face. Of course – his only experiences with Martel had been in the first few months after his arrival, where he knew nothing of magic or weaponry. But since then, Martel had been in a dozen scraps or more. He had been ambushed by assailants wielding magic or golden protection and held his own against them. Considering the number of people who had tried to injure or kill him, Martel was not worried by simple sparring with all these witnesses. He raised his weapon, giving his forr teacher a challenging look.
Reynard stepped forward and swung his staff. Martel parried and retaliated. This pattern now continued, neither able to get through the other's defences. As the monts passed, their speed picked up.
Martel began to sweat, both from physical and magical exertion. To keep up with his opponent, he could not rely on the small bursts of magic that required little of his strength; he had to expend his spellpower, letting it flow through his body to lend him empowered speed.
As could be expected, Reynard was a highly skilled warrior. Not a surprise to Martel, but it still unnerved him to realise. The Master of War surpassed any of the staff fighters that Martel had fought, such as Lothar and the others whose livelihood depended on it. Added to that, Reynard possessed magic.
None of Martel's blows even ca close to landing. And while he sweated with effort, Reynard seed at ease. If Martel had ever entertained beliefs to the opposite, it beca clear to him that on these terms, he stood no chance of defeating a mageknight. But he did not have to, he just had to hold his own. Using more of his spellpower, he sped up his movents to keep pace.
Finally, despite his efforts, his defences failed. Reynard's staff struck him hard on the shoulder, hurting even through the leather armour underneath his robe. With a grunt, the Master of War stepped back and planted his staff in the ground, signalling an end to the fight.
"That should suffice," Master Alastair declared, stepping forward, but Reynard swiftly raised a hand in objection.
"I am not satisfied yet. Boy, attack as swiftly as you may. Break through my shield if you can," Reynard challenged.
Seeing his teacher standing still, no sign of raising his weapon in defence, Martel gladly followed orders. He lashed out with his staff against Reynard's empty side, only to find his assault stopped an inch away, the shimr of magic showing why. Using what remained of his spellpower, calling upon the last of his magic, Martel empowered himself to strike swiftly. Yet nothing broke through.
"Enough," Master Fenrick chid in. "No novice can be expected to break through a mageknight's shield. Surely we are done now."
Reynard shook his head. "I still have to test the boy's shield. Prepare yourself, lad. Hold off my attack if you can." He raised his weapon in threat.
Martel felt the weariness that ca from straining his magic to its limits. But he needed more. Delving into his reserves, hoping such existed, he summoned his magical shield.
Two things happened next. Reynard's staff ca swinging through the air to smash against Martel's temple, and magical exhaustion set in. Pain erupted in his head, and nausea filled his stomach. Even so, instinct honed from many a fight with staves, told him that Reynard's weapon would co swinging back a second ti. In response, his hand shot up and grabbed it by the tip, intercepting it. For a mont, his palm felt cold, like grasping ice, before the blow smarted on his skin, giving a burning sensation.
"Enough!" Master Alastair called out.
"Agreed." Mistress Juliana stood behind him, preventing Martel from seeing her expression, but her voice would give him chills if directed at him. "Martel," she continued in a gentler tone, "will you wait outside for a mont as we deliberate?"
Fighting hard to keep his breakfast from resurfacing, the novice simply nodded and stumbled outside the Hall of Elents.
***
"The decision seems easy to ," the overseer spoke. "With his advanced elental magic, he is more than capable of being an acolyte."
Vana nodded, as did Alastair. "Agreed," they both said, one after the other.
"The boy has taken all my courses and perford adequately," Fenrick assented.
"Well, I am afraid I must disagree. I find the boy severely lacking when it cos to empowernt magic, and it would be a stain upon our school to make him an acolyte." Reynard let a defiant gaze sweep over the others.
"Preposterous," Alastair protested. "The boy defended himself admirably against you. Besides, as an elental mage, it would be ludicrous to demand he excel in empowernt."
"I disagree. His shield failed against . It was not just weak, it was completely absent. I have never seen such a failure, and I will not overlook his poor performance," the Master of War declared.
"Your disagreent is noted." The frosty tone had returned to Juliana's voice. "But as overseer, the decision is ultimately mine. As I have three other teachers all expressing their faith in Martel, I see no reason to deny him his progression."
"I do not accept that!" Reynard swiftly exclaid. "The headmaster will hear of this. If you promote the boy before I have had my say, before this case is heard, it will only be another stone to your mausoleum." He turned around and strode out of the hall.
"He does not have the power to decide that – does he?" Alastair looked at Juliana.
"I did not expect him to persist in his objections," she admitted. "Perhaps we best delay for a day or two until this has been cleared up."
***
Once outside the hall, Martel sank down to the floor while breathing heavily. The worst of the unpleasant feelings subsided, but he was in no condition to do any magic, let alone complex spells. He looked towards the closed doors; it was strange to imagine that right now, his teachers discussed him and his performance, while he sat here, waiting.
Soon after, Reynard pushed the doors open and stalked away without even a glance at Martel. Seeing the other teachers follow, he got on his feet. Mistress Vana and Master Fenrick nodded towards him but also hurried past, leaving him with Master Alastair and Mistress Juliana. He looked at them expectantly.
"Things have beco complicated," the overseer admitted.
It felt like a punch in Martel's already hurting stomach. "I'm not an acolyte?"
"Not yet," Master Alastair hurried to say. "We have sothing to clear up. Most of us agreed you are more than ready to be an acolyte. We just had to handle so administrative affairs."
Martel looked from one to the other, confused. If that was all standing in the way, could they not simply tell him he had passed and handle the administration of it later?
"Don't worry, it will all be sorted soon," his teacher promised him. Martel hoped that was true, though he could not tell how to interpret the apprehensive expressions he saw on their faces.
***
Martel slept as soon as he got the chance. When he woke, his nausea and discomfort had gone, though an inkling of the headache from Reynard's blow remained. Sothing had been strange about that, but he could think about that later. For now, he had another matter to swiftly attend. Tomorrow, he would break into the ho of Shadi's landlord, a man nad Oswald, and as the Night Knives had taught him, gathering reconnaissance beforehand could prove to be crucial.
So, he pushed aside his ambivalent feelings about his examination and dragged himself to the bridge district, investigating a specific house, the surrounding alleys, and various ways inside the building. Once satisfied, and before any neighbour might grow suspicious, he returned to the Lyceum.
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