Chapter 136: Desecration
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Chapter 136: Desecration
Desecration
"Don't lose focus. Keep it going."
In the Hall of Elements, Martel held his hand over a small whirlwind, whipping up dirt from the ground. While keeping the air flowing in circles, he tried to extract the grains of earth, forcing him to use two different kinds of magic at the same type. Master Alastair watched him intently, giving small encouragements or corrections.
Finally, Martel's control over the spell ended, and he felt himself out of breath despite standing still.
"Good. You're making progress," his teacher told him. "Take a few moments to compose yourself, and we'll go again."
The novice nodded, relaxing his shoulders and jaw. "Master Alastair, how was it to be a legionary?"
"Well, mages are not legionaries as such – we use that term for the common soldiery," the wizard explained. "As a battlemage, you have the same rank as cohort prefects. That's not what you asked, but it does mean privileges not afforded to an ordinary legionary."
"Like what?"
"You had your own tent," Master Alastair said with a wry smile. "Shared with my protector, in my case. No hard labour, watch duty, or patrols except in unusual circumstances. I may be the wrong man to ask – battlemages have few duties even compared to mageknight prefects."
As he turned around to walk home, he noticed people gathering in one corner of the square. Curious, he approached until he saw the reason for the attraction. A man stood, using a crate to rise above the heads of others. He wore ragged clothes, looking out of place. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, and he spoke with a hoarse voice. "How long will you ignore the truth because lies make your lives convenient?"
Wondering what he meant, Martel moved closer.
"You worship Sol with your lips, yet even his temple has been defiled! How can this be holy ground when marked by profane power? Even now, they prepare the grounds for further desecration!"
The novice looked around. Most of those who listen seemed to be servants, though a few nobles could be seen, and a handful of priests and nuns as well.
"The stones of this sanctum were hewn and raised by sorcery! If Man wanted to build a monument to the glory of Sol, he would do so with the sweat on his brow rather than using perverse, unnatural means!"
Martel widened his eyes as he finally understood. He glanced at the other people while trying to remain inconspicuous, just to gauge their reactions. Most people seemed to listen attentively, though he could not determine if that meant they agreed or not. Those who appeared most affected were the priests and nuns; some seemed swayed, nodding along, while others appeared angry at the preacher's words. A few from the latter category stalked away.
"The day of punishment is nigh! And when you turn to Sol for deliverance, how can you hope for salvation when your punishment is by his decree?"
Some of the priests returned, guards in tow. They pointed at the preacher with furious gestures, and the armed men pushed their way through the crowd.
Smelling trouble, Martel backed away. Nothing good would come of getting caught up in this, especially not as a spellcaster. He hurried southwards, not lingering to find out what happened next.
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Chapter 136: Desecration
Desecration
"Don't lose focus. Keep it going."
In the Hall of Elements, Martel held his hand over a small whirlwind, whipping up dirt from the ground. While keeping the air flowing in circles, he tried to extract the grains of earth, forcing him to use two different kinds of magic at the same type. Master Alastair watched him intently, giving small encouragements or corrections.
Finally, Martel's control over the spell ended, and he felt himself out of breath despite standing still.
"Good. You're making progress," his teacher told him. "Take a few moments to compose yourself, and we'll go again."
The novice nodded, relaxing his shoulders and jaw. "Master Alastair, how was it to be a legionary?"
"Well, mages are not legionaries as such – we use that term for the common soldiery," the wizard explained. "As a battlemage, you have the same rank as cohort prefects. That's not what you asked, but it does mean privileges not afforded to an ordinary legionary."
"Like what?"
"You had your own tent," Master Alastair said with a wry smile. "Shared with my protector, in my case. No hard labour, watch duty, or patrols except in unusual circumstances. I may be the wrong man to ask – battlemages have few duties even compared to mageknight prefects."
As he turned around to walk home, he noticed people gathering in one corner of the square. Curious, he approached until he saw the reason for the attraction. A man stood, using a crate to rise above the heads of others. He wore ragged clothes, looking out of place. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, and he spoke with a hoarse voice. "How long will you ignore the truth because lies make your lives convenient?"
Wondering what he meant, Martel moved closer.
"You worship Sol with your lips, yet even his temple has been defiled! How can this be holy ground when marked by profane power? Even now, they prepare the grounds for further desecration!"
The novice looked around. Most of those who listen seemed to be servants, though a few nobles could be seen, and a handful of priests and nuns as well.
"The stones of this sanctum were hewn and raised by sorcery! If Man wanted to build a monument to the glory of Sol, he would do so with the sweat on his brow rather than using perverse, unnatural means!"
Martel widened his eyes as he finally understood. He glanced at the other people while trying to remain inconspicuous, just to gauge their reactions. Most people seemed to listen attentively, though he could not determine if that meant they agreed or not. Those who appeared most affected were the priests and nuns; some seemed swayed, nodding along, while others appeared angry at the preacher's words. A few from the latter category stalked away.
"The day of punishment is nigh! And when you turn to Sol for deliverance, how can you hope for salvation when your punishment is by his decree?"
Some of the priests returned, guards in tow. They pointed at the preacher with furious gestures, and the armed men pushed their way through the crowd.
Smelling trouble, Martel backed away. Nothing good would come of getting caught up in this, especially not as a spellcaster. He hurried southwards, not lingering to find out what happened next.
Chapter 136: DesecrationDesecration"Don't lose focus. Keep it going."In the Hall of Elements, Martel held his hand over a small whirlwind, whipping up dirt from the ground. While keeping the air flowing in circles, he tried to extract the grains of earth, forcing him to use two different kinds of magic at the same type. Master Alastair watched him intently, giving small encouragements or corrections.Finally, Martel's control over the spell ended, and he felt himself out of breath despite standing still."Good. You're making progress," his teacher told him. "Take a few moments to compose yourself, and we'll go again."The novice nodded, relaxing his shoulders and jaw. "Master Alastair, how was it to be a legionary?""Well, mages are not legionaries as such we use that term for the common soldiery," the wizard explained. "As a battlemage, you have the same rank as cohort prefects. That's not what you asked, but it does mean privileges not afforded to an ordinary legionary.""Like what?""You had your own tent," Master Alastair said with a wry smile. "Shared with my protector, in my case. No hard labour, watch duty, or patrols except in unusual circumstances. I may be the wrong man to ask battlemages have few duties even compared to mageknight prefects."As he turned around to walk home, he noticed people gathering in one corner of the square. Curious, he approached until he saw the reason for the attraction. A man stood, using a crate to rise above the heads of others. He wore ragged clothes, looking out of place. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, and he spoke with a hoarse voice. "How long will you ignore the truth because lies make your lives convenient?"Wondering what he meant, Martel moved closer."You worship Sol with your lips, yet even his temple has been defiled! How can this be holy ground when marked by profane power? Even now, they prepare the grounds for further desecration!"The novice looked around. Most of those who listen seemed to be servants, though a few nobles could be seen, and a handful of priests and nuns as well."The stones of this sanctum were hewn and raised by sorcery! If Man wanted to build a monument to the glory of Sol, he would do so with the sweat on his brow rather than using perverse, unnatural means!"Martel widened his eyes as he finally understood. He glanced at the other people while trying to remain inconspicuous, just to gauge their reactions. Most people seemed to listen attentively, though he could not determine if that meant they agreed or not. Those who appeared most affected were the priests and nuns; some seemed swayed, nodding along, while others appeared angry at the preacher's words. A few from the latter category stalked away."The day of punishment is nigh! And when you turn to Sol for deliverance, how can you hope for salvation when your punishment is by his decree?"Some of the priests returned, guards in tow. They pointed at the preacher with furious gestures, and the armed men pushed their way through the crowd.Smelling trouble, Martel backed away. Nothing good would come of getting caught up in this, especially not as a spellcaster. He hurried southwards, not lingering to find out what happened next.
