“There’s none of that black powder here, is there?”
“No, but – what are you doing? she yelled, stepping forward. She paused as Farris produced sparks from the line of flint, which fell onto the damp paper, immediately producing a bright, blue flame.
“We called these beggar’s flames back in the Dustworks,” said Farris, ignoring the fright in Nicole’s eyes. “Thainol is flammable, and often the best way to keep warm at night.”
“You better start making sense soon.”
“I travelled with a Pyromancer on my way here,” continued Farris. “When I created a beggar’s flame, he claimed that he was unable to touch it with his magic.
Nicole looked away from the flames, into Farris’s eyes. It was as if she had forgotten for just a moment that there was a fire raging at her feet.
“No,” she said. “It can’t be. He must have been a novice, or untrained in red magic.”
“I didn’t know him very well. But I think he was graduated from the Academy. His name was Fionn the Red. Does that title imply he was better than a novice?”
“It means he earned his red-cloak at least,” she said. “And lower only than a Firemaster, in the eyes of the Church.”
“Then it stands to reason, that if there is a type of flame untouchable by a well-trained Pyromancer, the same could be said with steel and Geomancy?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s a possibility. This Pyromancer, where is he now? Is it possible that he could be of use to us?”
The image of the troll in the field flashed through Farris’s mind. The screams of the red mage as he was picked up by the beast, the blood that sprayed through the air as his arm was torn off. The way Yarlaith the White had shaken his head when Farris asked how the lad was doing.
“No,” said Farris, stamping on the blue flames until they went out. “He died with the rest of them.”
Chapter 12:
The Second Spark
E.S.,
We note that you have collected the payment, and trust that it was sufficient. Please find ten more compounds enclosed in this package. As before, score the ease of manipulation for each (one for easy, ten for impossible), and return your results to the agreed location. As before, we encourage utmost discretion in your actions.
Yours in the Shadow,
N
***
Fionn’s arm ached as he wrote, its muscles bulging with effort. The letters and symbols he put upon the parchment grew more and more illegible with each line, but he dared not pause to correct them.
Sir Bearach’s voice growled at the back of the mage’s mind, but Fionn had long since given up on trying to reason with it. The knight still felt the need to protest against Fionn’s studies, even after four weeks at the Penance Chapter of the Academy.
In truth, this was no real branch of the Academy. There was little reason for mages to operate in Penance, other than the single ‘arcane advisor’ to the Triad. And even that was not a full-time position. That role belonged to Earthmaster Seán, the landlord of their tenement building in the Saltworks.
“You’re losing focus, lad,’ said Seán from across the kitchen. The Earthmaster sometimes supervised Fionn’s studies into the intricacies of Pyromancy, yet he seldom had any constructive feedback.
“I know little of fire magic,” said Seán, stroking the wiry chestnut beard adorning his square jawline. “But I know when a student is day-dreaming when he should be concentrating on his sums.” The Earthmaster let out a short roar of laughter. “Go on, tell us her name then!”
Fionn shook his head and continued with his scribbling. Experience had taught him it was usually best to ignore the Earthmaster’s comments. Although Fionn often wondered if Firemaster Conleth was completely sane, he much preferred his company over Seán’s.
The Earthmaster leaned in towards Fionn, his massive frame casting a shadow over the three tomes laid open on the desk.
“Ah, Rionach’s theorems on the air’s currents,” he read aloud. “Seems like something a Windmaster would read. Why are you wasting your time with that?”
Fionn threw down his quill. “My time is my own. What constitutes a waste is for me to decide, not you.”
That’s it, said Sir Bearach. If I still had that arm, I’d strangle the fool where he stands.
Seán raised an eyebrow.
“I meant no offence, lad. Just curious. Conleth tells me you have a lot of work to do and little time to do it. What has you reading outside the recommended material?”
Fionn sighed. “It’s still relevant. The nature of air. Fire requires it to burn, and flames need to travel through it. Knowing how the tides of air work will help me with my own studies, too.”
“Is that so?” asked Seán. “Show me what you’ve learned, then.”
Fionn cast a glance at the scattered parchments around him. He had been working through those equations for most of the day now, and even the slightest distraction could ruin his trail of thought.
Still, he welcomed a break, and it was a while now since he had actually practised Pyromancy.
“I’ll conjure a flame,” Fionn said, idly rubbing the flint-rings on his finger. “Instead of it swaying with whatever tides of air are moving throughout this room, I can hold it as still as stone.”
Before the Earthmaster had a chance to respond, Fionn artfully brought the two flint-rings together. With a snap, the spark appeared, and during that same instant, Fionn reached into the power of his soul.
The fire of his heart was there, as it always was, ready to be amplified. With a gentle touch of its heat, the spark before him turned to a flame, burning in mid-air.
Fionn quickly ran through the calculations of Rionach’s theorems, balancing equations to fit the forces of air that would typically inhabit a room of this size and ventilation. These were all estimates, of course, and only by feeling the sway of each of the fire’s tongues could he allocate the correct influence to bring the flame to a halt.
