As the Arrow Flies
As intended, Martel spent the full fiveday at the Lyceum. Besides class, he spent his spare hours practising his control of the lightning spell or enchantnt. He was starting to feel satisfied with his results; his lightstones did not dim the slightest even after many days. Martel even considered asking Master Alastair for other useful ideas, hoping to expand his list of worthwhile enchantnts.
As for the school, excitent slowly grew as harvest festival ca closer with each passing day. The Lyceum itself did not mark the passing of the year in any way, content with treating every day the sa. It only acknowledged such outer events like the harvest festival by letting the students have classes off during the gas and spectacles. Other than that, the school did not care to celebrate even the slightest occasion. For that reason, any sort of celebration going on in the city was treated with all the more enthusiasm by the students.
This was especially true of the mageknights for this particular event; besides the interest in the general revelry soon to take place, they also practised endlessly. At least this was the case for those with intentions of participating in the contest. They already practise weaponry daily, often tis twice, mornings and afternoons. Now, many of them added each evening as well. In addition, while their usual training consisted of close combat, a handful of them trained rigorously with the bow.
Passing by the arena, Martel cast an idle glance towards it, looking at the students in black tunics. He did not spot Maximilian among them – perhaps the viscount felt he trained enough – but the fire acolyte noticed Eleanor hard at work, letting arrow after arrow fly.
He stood in the entrance to the gymnasium, admiring her form for a minute before she turned her head and noticed him. "Care to join ?" She held out her bow with a teasing smile.
Martel approached until he could reach out and take the weapon. He placed one finger on the string, pulling it back slightly. It resisted. "Chances are, I'll hurt myself." He handed it back to her.
"We all have to start sowhere."
"You're participating in the archery contest, I take it."
She nodded. "And the small lee. But I am already practising swordplay during the day, so now is the only ti to get better at archery."
"You're very dedicated."
Eleanor placed another arrow on the string and pulled back. After a brief mont, she released. "This festival is important to my father. His legion will put on a spectacle for the whole city. If I can win any honour on the other days, the na of our family will be on everybody's lips."
A mory stirred, from last year. Martel recalled seeing the Legio Urbis re-enact a famous battle, and Maximilian explaining sothing about their legate – Eleanor's father. "He used to command the Tenth, didn't he? Why is he the legate of the First Legion now?"
Eleanor had another arrow on the string, but she lowered her bow rather than pull back. She was silent long enough that Martel wondered if he had offended her before she replied. "It is complicated."
"You don't have to tell then."
"No, I do not mind. You asked in good faith, at least."
It made Martel wonder how often Eleanor had been asked this question, but he kept quiet rather than interrupt.
"If you did not know, the Tenth Legion holds the Savena delta. When the war began, they crossed the river to seize the eastern bank and ensure the delta remained under our control," Eleanor explained. "We had limited knowledge of the Khivans and their new weapons, but it was assud that their cannons were only useful in open battle on flat terrain. The eastern bank is hilly and forested, and my father's legion had a good, defensive position."
Martel listened intently; she related everything without hesitation, as if a story she had heard or told many tis.
"The Khivans launched a fierce assault, achieving great surprise – it was expected they would seek battle on more favourable terms, but they fooled us. They drove the Tenth back over the river, and matters only beca worse. They sailed a ship equipped with cannons into the delta and began a terrible bombardnt of the legionaries fleeing into Esmouth, the town on the western bank." She cleared her throat. "Losses were substantial."
"That is grueso."
Eleanor did not react to his remark. "When night ca, two cohorts made a crossing upriver and fell upon the Khivans before they could set up their defences. The legionaries also recaptured their own machinery, such as catapults, which they turned on the Khivan galley, forcing it to retreat. Eventually, my father restored control over the delta, but half his legion lay dead or wounded."
"It sounds like your father did the best anyone could."
"Yes, but it was still the most casualties any Asterian legion had suffered in a near century. And the first sign that the war would not go as easily as expected." She exhaled. "Soone had to bear responsibility, even if my father had not done wrong. So he was recalled, given a ceremonial posting as legate of the First Legion, while leadership of the Tenth went to an ally of Duke Cheval." Eleanor finally turned to look at Martel with a joyless smile. "You are not the only one affected by his machinations."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"It is what it is. I doubt my father will ever have his old command back, but he believes that he might. If performing well in the festival gas can bolster his hope…" She gave another smile of the sa sort as the last. "I will do my part."
"Well, I'll be rooting for you all the way."
***
Leaving the arena, Martel did not return to his chamber as he had ant to originally. Instead, he went west towards the faculty wing. He intended to do more than just cheer for his friend. To that aim, he went to Master Fenrick's chamber.
"Enter."
Martel stepped inside, finding the room a whirlwind of strange items and artefacts, books and parchnt. Its owner sat in the eye of the storm by his writing desk.
"Martel? What do you need?"
"There's a rune I once saw," he began to explain, "but I don't rember how it looks or the activating word. I saw it used on an arrow to make sure it struck true."
The Master of Lore furrowed his brow. "Aye, I've seen it as well. Used by hunters in Tyria. You don't strike as the hunting type, or are you planning to be a mageknight?"
"No, nothing of the sort. But I'll learn any rune I can."
"Well, I admire that. But I can't help you with this one. I had plenty others that I needed to learn during my ti among the tribes, and I didn't commit this one to mory."
Well, it had been a long shot. "I see. Thanks anyway, master."
"Always happy to answer questions."
***
Martel did not give up yet. He knew soone else who possessed knowledge of the rune; he just did not know where to find them. But Maximilian did. Crossing the castle, Martel hurried up the stairs to the top of the boys' dormitory tower until he could knock on the door to his friend's room.
"Nordmark? What is it?" Standing in the doorway, the mageknight looked at the fire acolyte.
"Last year, you went to a skáld sowhere in the city to buy rune arrows from him."
"Do not remind ," Maximilian complained. "No need to keep bringing it up."
"Where was he? I need to speak with him."
The mageknight arched an eyebrow. "They don't allow battlemages in the archery contest."
"I'm aware. I don't want his arrow, but his knowledge of runes."
"Well, I cannot rember his location either. But I heard about him from… who was it…" Mumbling to himself, Maximilian turned back into his room and began rummaging through drawers. "He gave … but did I keep…" More mutterings followed, indecipherable, until Maximilian pulled out a scrap of parchnt with a triumphant motion. "There we are! One of the other mageknights wrote down where to find him. Consider yourself lucky that I never clean out my desk."
"I am truly blessed," Martel replied, grabbing the parchnt with the location. It was too late to seek out any peddlers tonight, but tomorrow, he would go and find the knowledge he sought. "Thanks, mate."
"Buy a drink and consider your debt repaid."
Martel grinned as he left. "Sounds reasonable."
Reviews
All reviews (0)