Sight in the Dark

After the other night's excitement, or lack thereof, class with Master Basil felt like the complete opposite. At least, Martel could not think of anything that induced less emotions in him. He made his way towards the northern corridor, around which the different elemental chambers lay. A handful of novices came up the stairs from the Chamber of Earth, having finished their lesson. Martel also spotted the three novices with whom he had class, waiting by the top of staircase. Even as the hallway cleared and the path down was empty, however, they remained standing. One shifted his weight from leg to leg, and the other two also seemed apprehensive.

"Something wrong?" Martel asked.

"Just waiting for you," one of them replied quickly. "After you."

A little perplexed, the tall novice walked towards the stairs leading down into the dark. Without thinking, he summoned a globe of light to hover in front of him, letting him see the steps. As the other novices fell in behind him, Martel realised the reason for their hesitation. Unless any of them were gifted in fire, they probably could not summon even something weak like magelight. None of them had wanted to brave the dark.

They soon reached the Chamber of Earth. Ahead, Martel could vaguely make out Master Basil in the middle of the room; for some reason, the torches were unlit.

"Disperse yourselves. One in each corner," their teacher told them.

The novices did so, walking and fumbling as they moved away from Martel's light.

"Remove your shoes. And your socks."

This was certainly new. Wondering where this would lead, Martel complied.

"Extinguish your light."

The cold flame flickering in the air disappeared, plunging the room into darkness.

"A good mage uses magic as his primary sense. Feel the earth beneath your feet."

Martel tried to do so. Yet he encountered the same issue as when he tried to affect lots of water at the same time. His magic seemed to dissipate into the material, becoming so diluted that he lost touch.

"If connected, you should feel this." Master Basil made some kind of movement, though in the dark, none of them could see what it was. They could only feel the effect.

The ground beneath their feet shook and cracked, knocking all of them down.

"Well. I suppose you would all like another try." Apparently, the lack of light did not hinder their teacher in knowing how the novices fared against his challenge.

They all got on their feet and waited. Once again, Master Basil stomped his foot and dispersed magic along the floor. This time, a small mound of earth rose up to push Martel off his balance. Judging by the surprised yelps, the others did not fare better.

"Well. If you root your magic into the ground. It will warn you of the change." Another tremor from the teacher pushed through the ground, just as Martel had regained his footing.

~

For the rest of the lesson, Master Basil continued to test them, trying to teach them how to send their magic through the earth without getting lost. Martel never succeeded, ending up on the ground countless times. Finally, the teacher took pity on them and ignited the torches to let them collect their shoes and leave.

Walking up the stairs, Martel in front with his magelight, the novices chatted happily, comparing their many attempts.

"You did well, didn't you," Martel said to the novice right behind him. As the one student in the group with the skill for earth, he had the natural advantage during this course. His name was Lawrence, as Martel had finally discovered after months of classes together.

"I guess. Still fell like a dozen times. My clothes looked like I've been bathing in dust. It's weird also to think that I'll spend my acolyte years down there, underground, being trained by Master Basil."

Martel did not envy him. "I saw what you did last fiveday. That model you made of the school. That was really great."

"Thanks. It looks nice, but it's not much useful. They'll probably just make me a stonemage, and I'll spend my life putting together rocks to build walls and whatnot, probably living in an army camp."

"Well, they need lots of stonemages in the cities, don't they? You can probably get a position there."

They reached the top of the stairs, filing into the hallway, which led Martel see as Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. "I don't mind. My eldest brother is a legionary. If I get assigned to the same legion as him, as a mage, I will get better paid than him. And while he has to dig latrines, I'll relax in my tent." The boy laughed, though he fell silent as he stared down the hallway.

Martel turned to look in the same direction, and he understood the boy's reaction. A pair of inquisitors came walking towards them at a brisk pace. He considered if he could run away or hide, but he had clearly been spotted. He pulled himself together. He had done nothing wrong. If they came to harass him, that was all they could do.

"You Lawrence?" asked one of the inquisitors. Stunned, they all looked at the novice, which seemed like sufficient confirmation. "We have questions for you. Come with us." Each of them placing a hand on the shoulders of the hapless student, they led him towards a nearby classroom.

~

At lunch, Martel found Maximilian. The other acolytes at the table gave him annoyed looks as he sat down, but none objected. Martel was too preoccupied to take note of them anyway. "This boy I have class with, he's thirteen maybe, the inquisitors just came to interrogate him. They can't seriously believe someone that young is a maleficar?"

"At this point, I do not think that is their goal anymore." Maximilian cut his asparagus into pieces.

"What could it be instead?"

"Control. They want us to know who is in charge. That they can grab us and push us around, put us on trial if they want."

Martel frowned. "But if nobody has done anything wrong, they have no reason to put us on trial."

"I am sure they can find one. I imagine they are determined to continue until they do. You should probably be careful," Maximilian warned him as he stabbed his asparagus with his fork.

"Me? I've done absolutely nothing."

"Sure, but you are a boy from Nordmark with no patron among the nobility. If the inquisitors go after you, who will defend you?"

Martel liked to think that several people would, but he understood Maximilian's meaning. Of those willing to protest his innocence, none of them had the influence to make the Faith of the Sun listen. He sighed. He already intended to lay low, as he had told Wolfram yesterday at The Copper Drum; he had not realised it would mean even at the Lyceum.