Light Eater
Martel's life settled into the usual routine over the next fivedays. Lessons in fire magic and combat continued at what felt like a snail's pace. At least trying to wield the staff of a stormmage gave him a challenge, even if it did not seem pertinent to his education as a battlemage; he would never control air magic to such a degree that he might prefer it over fire, which he mastered unlike any other elent.
While enchantnt would not avail him in battle either, Martel preferred spending his efforts on that skill. He could asure his progress, which encouraged him, and he knew how he wanted to put this ability to use.
Sitting in the laboratory that ford part of the workshops, Martel held a stone in his hand about the size of his fist. It was almost perfectly round except for the flat bottom, allowing it to stand on a surface without rolling away.
Focusing, Martel pushed his magic into the rock, filling every inch of it with the essence of fire. It was similar to enchanting the larger heating stones, but with a key difference.
Heat and light walked hand in hand when it ca to fire; increasing one did the sa to the other. But a lightstone filled with heat might burn anybody picking it up, ignite fabric it touched, or just make a room unbearably hot on a sumr's night.
Thus, Martel had to strengthen the spell while also weakening it; or rather, enfla one aspect while quelling the other. Ideally, he should have learned this already when practising on the heating stones, which required the reverse to keep a room hot without blinding its occupants.
It had not occurred to Martel that this might be an issue until Master Alastair pointed it out to him, giving him a new challenge. At the sa ti, it tied neatly into what else he was being taught; whether channelling magic through gems or summoning two elents with precisely equal strength, it was all about control.
A year ago, Martel simply called upon magic and released it; he allowed himself to feel good about how far he had co before returning his attention to the dormant lightstone.
***
Soon after the bell rang, Master Jero appeared. "How's that light coming?"
Martel looked down at the rock in his hand with a faint glow. "Not quite there yet. Though I ant to ask, where did you get this stone?" He held up the almost perfect sphere in his hand, clearly shaped by human intention.
"It's made by stonemages. One in particular who supplies these for Morcaster's streetlamps," Master Jero explained.
"Is it possible to buy them? I should like to have so for myself."
"Not for ordinary folks. But tell you what, the Lyceum pays ten silver a piece. You bring the coin, I'll get you the stones."
"That sounds great, thank you!"
The artificer smiled. "Certainly. By the way, may I borrow your belt? I brought another that you can use anwhile." He extended his hand, holding the offered item.
Martel had wondered why Master Jero walked around with a belt, but he assud the artificer was in the middle of working. While curious what this was about, he trusted the craftsman implicitly. "Of course." Unbuckling his black belt, Martel swapped it for one of brown colour.
"I'll get it back to you," the artificer promised with a wink.
***
As the day waned, Martel left the Lyceum. A task awaited him that he had postponed for as long as he could. Being the last day of the month, he could not delay further. He either had to pay rent for Julia's room for the next month or accept she would not be returning and fetch his belongings from her place.
Walking to the harbour, Martel had not made a decision. He carried silver in his pocket should he choose the forr; if he decided the latter, he had a bag in his hand to carry his cauldron and jars.
Reaching the insula, Martel approached the reeve's small office. The short man looked at him questioningly, but without saying anything.
Finally, Martel spoke. "Let have the key. I'll take my possessions. Anything I leave behind, you may keep."
"Very good, master wizard."
Soon after, burdened by his belongings and the fear that he might have chosen wrong, Martel left the insula again.
He had not walked far before a Khivan man suddenly approached him. Imdiately watchful, Martel extended his magic. Being in a crowd of people on the street, he got a disrupting impression of countless heat sources around him. This was to be expected; more importantly, he felt no cold areas from the Khivan, suggesting a lack of golden weapons.
Relaxing a little, but keeping his shield ready to be summoned, Martel addressed the other man. "What do you want?"
"Forgive , Master Martel. I bring a ssage from my master."
"Give it here, then."
"It is spoken. He did not wish to introduce himself in a ssage that could be read by others." The Khivan stepped towards the edge of the street, indicating for Martel to follow. He did so, extricating himself from the crowd. "My master is known as the Fire Eater." He looked expectantly at Martel.
It took him a mont to rember. The Ninth Lord of the Khivan quarter. Martel's instinct was to throw the man aside and tell him to eat dirt in the Nether – but after Martel stopped the fire in the enclave, this Fire Eater had sent a considerable sum as a gift. While it did not earn him Martel's goodwill or necessarily an audience, the young wizard could not help but think of Shadi. Or the other Khivans he had seen on his visits, especially those thrown out of their hos by the cruel minions serving Duke Cheval. Knowing he might regret this, Martel inclined his head. "What does he want?"
"Simply a eting. Tomorrow, if it suits the good master, the Fire Eater will welco you in his ho, at any bell that is preferable."
"Tomorrow suits fine. I'll be there in the evening. What's his address?"
The Khivan smiled. "The streets have no nas in the enclave. But ask any where the Fire Eater lives, and they'll tell you." The ssenger gave a bow and joined the traffic moving up and down the street, soon disappearing from sight.
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