Chapter 496: A Potion in Hand
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Chapter 496: A Potion in Hand
A Potion in Hand
The following day, Martel was back at the Lyceum, attending class. As before, the other students kept their distance to him, but since he had no interest in talking to them, Martel did not care. Before too long, he would never have to see these people again.
Moira arrived, but uncharacteristically, she did not immediately yell for them to begin practising. Instead, she spoke almost at a normal volume. "On Manday, you will have your acolyte's examination. You must all appear in the entrance hall at second bell."
"Mistress, what should we expect?" asked William. The others nodded and looked in anticipation at their teacher, all of them clearly wondering the same.
"I'm not going to tell you. Everything you will be asked to do should be well within your limits. If not, you'll be an absolute failure as a battlemage, and it's better we know now than when the lives of others depend on you. But if you are worried, I suggest you start practising," she barked, her voice resuming its usual temper.
Martel took his position on the grounds, gazing up at the banner that served as his target for the lesson. Three days left.
***
The mageknights' schedule had changed, since they practised more frequently now, and Martel went a few times to knock on Eleanor's door in vain; on his third attempt, in the evening, she finally answered. "Martel? What is it?"
He glanced in either direction of the hallway. "Can we talk inside? I don't want anyone to see." She gave him an inquisitive look but stepped back, letting him cross the threshold. As he did so, he pushed the door behind him to be ajar, preventing anyone passing by from seeing him. That done, he pulled out the elixir from his belt. "This is for you." He placed it in her hand.The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.
She held it up, inspecting the bright, green liquid inside the glass. "What exactly is this?"
"Indeed. Let us meet up in the evening? We can celebrate together."
"I'd like that very much."
***
After his conversation with Eleanor, Martel returned to the warehouse. With his examination looming, he could have defended remaining at the Lyceum to spend the last days training; given that Mistress Rana had mentioned her diminishing need for his help, Martel figured that she would not mind.
But he was not particularly concerned about the examination; Martel knew he was the best battlemage among the acolytes. Besides his strong talent, he had more spells at his disposal than most, not to mention a few surprises in the pockets of his belt. He also had experience fighting in a variety of situations against different kinds of enemies; something the Lyceum could not teach its students, but which he had learned on his own. If Martel could not pass the examination, none of the acolytes could.
So to Martel, any need for training was superseded by his need to return the potion, and if his time at the warehouse was coming to an end, he might not get another chance. Best to get the vial to the others expediently and ready for the next transport of supplies into the district.
As he walked on the streets of Morcaster, Martel also felt increasingly guilty, unable to forget Eleanor's gentle reproach of his motivations for taking the potion. He remembered the household guards sent by some selfish noble with the intent to do basically what Martel had done, even if the acolyte had only taken one, not a whole case.
Still, it bothered Martel. Eleanor was right; how would he feel knowing someone probably died in the copper lanes because they had no more elixirs to give, just because Martel had an irrational fear that Eleanor might catch the disease?
The best cure for his guilt would be an evening's work, whatever hours remained, brewing one or two potions before he would have to sleep.
Approaching the warehouse with all these thoughts of responsibility and choices, feeling chastised, Martel could nonetheless not avoid a selfish thought disturbing him; with the ingredients for the cure running out, he hoped the quarantine of the copper lanes held, no matter how the city guard would have to enforce it.
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Chapter 496: A Potion in Hand
A Potion in Hand
The following day, Martel was back at the Lyceum, attending class. As before, the other students kept their distance to him, but since he had no interest in talking to them, Martel did not care. Before too long, he would never have to see these people again.
Moira arrived, but uncharacteristically, she did not immediately yell for them to begin practising. Instead, she spoke almost at a normal volume. "On Manday, you will have your acolyte's examination. You must all appear in the entrance hall at second bell."
"Mistress, what should we expect?" asked William. The others nodded and looked in anticipation at their teacher, all of them clearly wondering the same.
"I'm not going to tell you. Everything you will be asked to do should be well within your limits. If not, you'll be an absolute failure as a battlemage, and it's better we know now than when the lives of others depend on you. But if you are worried, I suggest you start practising," she barked, her voice resuming its usual temper.
Martel took his position on the grounds, gazing up at the banner that served as his target for the lesson. Three days left.
***
The mageknights' schedule had changed, since they practised more frequently now, and Martel went a few times to knock on Eleanor's door in vain; on his third attempt, in the evening, she finally answered. "Martel? What is it?"
He glanced in either direction of the hallway. "Can we talk inside? I don't want anyone to see." She gave him an inquisitive look but stepped back, letting him cross the threshold. As he did so, he pushed the door behind him to be ajar, preventing anyone passing by from seeing him. That done, he pulled out the elixir from his belt. "This is for you." He placed it in her hand.The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.
She held it up, inspecting the bright, green liquid inside the glass. "What exactly is this?"
"Indeed. Let us meet up in the evening? We can celebrate together."
"I'd like that very much."
***
After his conversation with Eleanor, Martel returned to the warehouse. With his examination looming, he could have defended remaining at the Lyceum to spend the last days training; given that Mistress Rana had mentioned her diminishing need for his help, Martel figured that she would not mind.
But he was not particularly concerned about the examination; Martel knew he was the best battlemage among the acolytes. Besides his strong talent, he had more spells at his disposal than most, not to mention a few surprises in the pockets of his belt. He also had experience fighting in a variety of situations against different kinds of enemies; something the Lyceum could not teach its students, but which he had learned on his own. If Martel could not pass the examination, none of the acolytes could.
So to Martel, any need for training was superseded by his need to return the potion, and if his time at the warehouse was coming to an end, he might not get another chance. Best to get the vial to the others expediently and ready for the next transport of supplies into the district.
As he walked on the streets of Morcaster, Martel also felt increasingly guilty, unable to forget Eleanor's gentle reproach of his motivations for taking the potion. He remembered the household guards sent by some selfish noble with the intent to do basically what Martel had done, even if the acolyte had only taken one, not a whole case.
Still, it bothered Martel. Eleanor was right; how would he feel knowing someone probably died in the copper lanes because they had no more elixirs to give, just because Martel had an irrational fear that Eleanor might catch the disease?
The best cure for his guilt would be an evening's work, whatever hours remained, brewing one or two potions before he would have to sleep.
Approaching the warehouse with all these thoughts of responsibility and choices, feeling chastised, Martel could nonetheless not avoid a selfish thought disturbing him; with the ingredients for the cure running out, he hoped the quarantine of the copper lanes held, no matter how the city guard would have to enforce it.
Chapter 496: A Potion in HandA Potion in HandThe following day, Martel was back at the Lyceum, attending class. As before, the other students kept their distance to him, but since he had no interest in talking to them, Martel did not care. Before too long, he would never have to see these people again.Moira arrived, but uncharacteristically, she did not immediately yell for them to begin practising. Instead, she spoke almost at a normal volume. "On Manday, you will have your acolyte's examination. You must all appear in the entrance hall at second bell.""Mistress, what should we expect?" asked William. The others nodded and looked in anticipation at their teacher, all of them clearly wondering the same."I'm not going to tell you. Everything you will be asked to do should be well within your limits. If not, you'll be an absolute failure as a battlemage, and it's better we know now than when the lives of others depend on you. But if you are worried, I suggest you start practising," she barked, her voice resuming its usual temper.Martel took his position on the grounds, gazing up at the banner that served as his target for the lesson. Three days left.***The mageknights' schedule had changed, since they practised more frequently now, and Martel went a few times to knock on Eleanor's door in vain; on his third attempt, in the evening, she finally answered. "Martel? What is it?"He glanced in either direction of the hallway. "Can we talk inside? I don't want anyone to see." She gave him an inquisitive look but stepped back, letting him cross the threshold. As he did so, he pushed the door behind him to be ajar, preventing anyone passing by from seeing him. That done, he pulled out the elixir from his belt. "This is for you." He placed it in her hand.The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.She held it up, inspecting the bright, green liquid inside the glass. "What exactly is this?""Indeed. Let us meet up in the evening? We can celebrate together.""I'd like that very much."***After his conversation with Eleanor, Martel returned to the warehouse. With his examination looming, he could have defended remaining at the Lyceum to spend the last days training; given that Mistress Rana had mentioned her diminishing need for his help, Martel figured that she would not mind.But he was not particularly concerned about the examination; Martel knew he was the best battlemage among the acolytes. Besides his strong talent, he had more spells at his disposal than most, not to mention a few surprises in the pockets of his belt. He also had experience fighting in a variety of situations against different kinds of enemies; something the Lyceum could not teach its students, but which he had learned on his own. If Martel could not pass the examination, none of the acolytes could.So to Martel, any need for training was superseded by his need to return the potion, and if his time at the warehouse was coming to an end, he might not get another chance. Best to get the vial to the others expediently and ready for the next transport of supplies into the district.As he walked on the streets of Morcaster, Martel also felt increasingly guilty, unable to forget Eleanor's gentle reproach of his motivations for taking the potion. He remembered the household guards sent by some selfish noble with the intent to do basically what Martel had done, even if the acolyte had only taken one, not a whole case.Still, it bothered Martel. Eleanor was right; how would he feel knowing someone probably died in the copper lanes because they had no more elixirs to give, just because Martel had an irrational fear that Eleanor might catch the disease?The best cure for his guilt would be an evening's work, whatever hours remained, brewing one or two potions before he would have to sleep.Approaching the warehouse with all these thoughts of responsibility and choices, feeling chastised, Martel could nonetheless not avoid a selfish thought disturbing him; with the ingredients for the cure running out, he hoped the quarantine of the copper lanes held, no matter how the city guard would have to enforce it.
