Family Additions
A fiveday after his injury, Martel's shoulder remained sore and stiff, but by so miracle, he had not torn any of his stitches, and the wound was healing nicely. He still had to exhibit caution during lessons, especially as they had resud their duels during fire magic. As everyone had mastered how to use gems to strengthen their spellwork, the four acolytes now fought each other using the ruby-tipped staves as both weapon and implent for channelling magic.
Normally, Martel would be the first to take advantage of fighting both with fire spells and empowernt, switching back and forth as expedient, but his injury made him rely solely on his spellcraft. He did not even use his staff to parry when William, the only other acolyte comfortable enough with the staff to use it as a weapon, did just that; instead, Martel avoided William's blows by retreating or using his magical shield.
Perhaps sensing a weakness, William pressed his advantage as any good battlemage should. A flurry of attacks forced Martel back until he was nearly out of space for further retreats, and the other acolyte skilfully used his staff to intercept Martel's fire bolts, lessening the impact even if they hit, as they struck the weapon before the student. Martel had few options left, but he was not interested in conceding; he knew that Moira would punish him for giving up so easily.
Forgoing fire and empowernt, Martel chose sothing else. The next ti William stepped forward to strike, Martel unleashed a blast of air instead.
It caught his adversary off guard and off-balance, who fell to the ground. William had clearly kept his attention on Martel's staff with its gem, expecting another fire spell, making him blind to Martel's left hand releasing the air magic instead.
Getting back on his feet with a grumble, William looked towards Moira. "Are we allowed to use any kind of magic?"
The teacher did not bother looking in his direction when she answered. "Do you intend to ask the Khivans for permission on what spells you may use against them?"
William picked up his staff from the ground with angry motions. "Must be nice to always have sothing up the sleeve," he mumbled.
Martel kept his face blank and his mouth shut, seeing no reason to add salt to injury. The acolytes might be free to use whatever magic they saw fit, but Martel was the only one who had been trained extensively in all the elental arts, both before and after becoming an acolyte. He knew that as soon as the other students had shown an aptitude for fire, they would have been educated in such magic to the near exclusion of all others. Free reins to use any magic they wanted was an advantage for Martel only.
"Let's go again," William muttered, returning to his starting position.
***
Martel had begun to feel apprehensive whenever one of the clerks in the entrance hall told him of a ssage waiting for him. By now, it usually signalled trouble of so kind. Yet as the envelope was stuck into his hand, Martel relaxed. He recognised Father Julius' handwriting. A letter from ho, hopefully with no ill news. Returning to his room, Martel made himself comfortable on his bed and began reading.
My dear boy,
You will not believe what has happened of late. In fact, this is why I waited to write to you, to be sure that I could tell you the whole story. Keith, your brother, dour and never saying two words in one breath, has found himself a lass from the southern village. This must have been going on for a while, as she is already several months with child. And all this ti, he never told . , his mother!
You can imagine what a whirlwind it has sent through the house. Your siblings have been in various states of uproar, though I believe your sisters look forward to her moving in. None of us know the girl particularly in advance, though I may have seen her now and then on market days. Keith brought her ho last fiveday, so at least I have t her properly, but it is strange to think that soon, she will live in our house. Even stranger that she will give birth to my first grandchild. Her na is Clara, if you wish to know. She laughed a lot during her visit, especially when your sisters talked with her. Quite the opposite of your brother. Only the Stars know how the two of them ever found each other.
In any case, the wedding will be this harvest. Weddings in winter are an ill affair, and the baby will be here before spring, so it has to be before the snow falls. We will delay as long as possible to give you an opportunity to make the journey and attend, though Father Julius claims it is doubtful you will be given leave to do so. But at the very least you should be given the chance. This is the first wedding in the family in decades, not to ntion you will be an uncle soon for the first ti. I do so hope you will be able to co ho. If not for the wedding, then to et your nephew or niece in spring.
While on the subject, how about you? You would not be so cruel as to be courting a girl without telling your mother any hint of this? I shall be most disappointed if you treat the way Keith has done. A mother's heart can only take so much before it breaks.
Love,
Your mother
Martel stared at the letter with a wry expression, unsure what to think. No ntion of their latest exchange, where Martel admitted he was to be a battlemage. Probably for the best; nothing won by ploughing that old field a second ti. Much better to rejoice in these tidings. A child on the way, and festivities in the town.
It was wonderful to contemplate; the only thorn would be that Martel knew he could not attend. It would take him two months to reach Engby and return; he could not imagine the Lyceum would agree to that. Just as being a battlemage afforded him leeway in certain regards, it also shackled him in other ways; the school would never let him waste two months when he only had about three left before graduating.
And once that happened, he would be sent to the legions. It occurred to Martel that if things went poorly, he might never et his nephew or niece. He wondered if his family would tell the small child tales of the uncle who possessed magic and was sent to war, dying for the glory of the Empire. Or maybe he would beco a secret, never spoken of, as the very ntion of her lost son would make his mother upset.
ntally shaking his head, Martel pushed such thoughts away. No point letting this thinking consu him. Today, he had received good news; his fears could wait until another day. Tomorrow was Malday when he had class with his friends; he could check if they were available afterwards. This seed a good reason to celebrate, and Martel intended to do just that.
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