Firebrand the novice a l.., p.1
Firebrand: The Novice: A LitRPG Adventure, page 1
THE NOVICE
©2023 D.E. OLESEN
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ALSO IN SERIES
The Novice
The Firetouched
CONTENTS
1. Fire-touched
2. Scarecrow
3. Getting Physical
4. Tranquil
5. The Meeting of Stars
6. Shadi
7. Dormant
8. A Parent's Protection
9. An Unexpected Visit
10. Sage Advice
11. Circling Stars
12. A Balm for the Mind
13. Defenceless
14. Menial Behaviour
15. In the Maelstrom
16. Friendly Sparring
17. Friendly Conversation
18. Something New in the Air
19. The Berserker
20. The Golden Goose
21. The Roads to Friendship
22. Choosing the Battle
23. Land or Sea
24. Sun or Stars
25. Strength in Others
26. Faire Behaviour
27. Playing Hero
28. Small Steps
29. Tiny Trials
30. Moving Parts
31. Taking Matters into Small Hands
32. Gold, Steel, and Magic
33. Staying Grounded
34. Shared Spoils
35. The Rooster and the Egg
36. Silver Lining
37. Dancing Stars
38. The Question of Khiva
39. On the Road
40. On the Threshold
41. It Was Pity Killed the Beast
42. Burnt Children
43. Against the Stream
44. What Ails the Heart
45. The Monster Within
46. Bread and Balm
47. A Cold Touch
48. Strung Along
49. The Broken Blades
50. Cutting Strings
51. Seeing the Signs
52. Standing Against the Wind
53. Early Days of Summer
54. The Gifts of Friendship
55. Clothes Make the Mage
56. Marbled Performance
57. Plays in Motion
58. A Challenger Appears
59. Encore
60. Stranger than Fiction
61. Cobbled Streets
62. An Empty Stage
63. A Cunning Plan
64. The Burning Gate
65. Cordial Communications
66. The Right Touch
67. An Offer to Refuse
68. Elemental Power
69. New Times
70. Recipe for Trouble
71. The Source of Silver
72. Who Watches the Watch
73. Lucky Clovers
74. Lightning from a Clear Sky
75. Starlight
76. Tempers Flaring
77. The Scent of Jasmine
78. Homebrew
79. Not Quite an Alchemist Yet
80. A Man of Means
81. Alliterative Argumentation
82. Heal or Hurt
83. The Wiles of Weasel
84. A Hidden Gem
85. Sparrowhawk
86. Chasing Fortune
87. Dealings in the Dark
88. Specks of Red
89. A Little Knowledge
90. Good Things Come in Small Sizes
91. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry
92. A Cake to Cry on
93. Counting Coins
94. Feeling the Sting
95. Familiar Ground
96. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship
97. A Gambler and his Valet
98. A Pair of Emperors
99. A Pair Earthbound
100. A Pair of Fools
101. The Copper Lady
102. Cornered
103. The Stableboy
104. Hospitality
105. Gentle Sting
106. Stallion
107. Blooded
108. What Flows Beneath
109. Motivation
110. Equine Parentage
111. Butcher
112. A Promise Made in Silver
113. Oak
114. Pressure upon the Veins
115. Marius
116. Money to Spend
117. Calculations
118. Summons
119. In Style
120. Lothar
121. In Low Places
122. The Scent of Apples
123. Leatherfist
124. Far from the Madding Crowd
125. Satisfaction
Thank you for reading The Novice
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LitRPG
Sing the story, bard, of the Firebrand. The youth who saved Morcaster from ruin. The warrior who defeated an empire. The archmage who crossed the Netherworld...
ONE
FIRE-TOUCHED
Martel stared at the battlements that for centuries had surrounded the seat of magic in the Empire. Every mage of worth had learned their skills in this hallowed place. To enter the Lyceum meant tutelage, recognition, and power; rejection meant ignorance, ignobility, and the end of dreams. The gate to the castle stood open, always; any hostile power would be repelled by a far greater force than weaponry or masonry. With an ounce of trepidation, Martel crossed the threshold.
Beyond the gate, he found himself in a large hall bustling with activity. People dressed in robes of various colours hurried across the space. Numerous metal tubes ran up the stonework, disappearing into the ceiling. Large cabinets lined another wall, and several writing desks stood in the corner. Behind them sat more people in robes, close to Martel's own age. He had no clue what the colours of their clothes meant, so he simply approached the nearest person, clad in white.
Clearing his throat, Martel waited until the clerk looked up. "I have a letter," he said. While the clerk tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk, Martel fumbled inside his tunic to fish out an envelope. He extended his hand, and the letter slumped down, mirroring Martel's confidence.
The clerk grabbed the envelope. "Alright, who's it for?"
"The overseer, I was told." Martel renewed the grip on his bag, holding his spare clothes and last provisions.
"Great."
The young man took a piece of charcoal and drew a strange symbol outside the envelope. Standing up, he walked over to one of the metal tubes on the wall and opened a hatch. Placing his hand over the symbol, it glowed with a light of its own. The envelope took off like a galloping horse, disappearing up the tube.
Martel watched with alarm as it disappeared. The letter had been his armour, protecting him by giving him a reason to enter the Lyceum. As the clerk returned to his desk, he looked up. "Anything else?" he asked with a clear indication he expected a negative answer and Martel's immediate departure.
"I'm here to take the test," he muttered, belatedly.
"What test? For entrance to the school?" The young man in white stared at Martel with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"Yes."
"Mate, how old are you?"
"I'm sixteen."
He gave Martel a look full of pity. "You're about six years too late."
"Maybe he's been apprenticed until now," inserted another clerk in a green robe, sitting at the next desk. "He's just here for the final years."
"Still too late for that." The clerk in white gave Martel a scrutinising look. "I don't know what any hedge wizard told you, but the Lyceum doesn't take students older than fourteen."
"He's not a hedge wizard," Martel replied, finding his voice. "Master Ogion trained at the Lyceum. He wrote the letter." He gazed with longing at the metal tube that had swallowed said parchment. "He said I had the gift."
"You better hope he trained you well if the overseer is going to make an exception for your sake."
As
One of the tubes rustled. The clerks exchanged looks. The one in white opened the little hatch and took out a small strip of paper. He looked at Martel. "You're up."
Martel walked down the corridor, only getting more anxious. Third door to the right and down the stairs. Easy to find, impossible to miss. Yet he felt like an intruder; he expected any moment someone would grab his arm and pull him back, telling him he did not belong here. Reaching the third door on the right, nobody stopped him. Trying to ignore the pit in his stomach, he continued to the examination room.
It had a table in the middle, and shelves filled most of the walls, holding all manner of strange contraptions, ingredients, flasks, and more. What looked like bits of dissected creatures floated in jars. Eerie light glowed briefly inside a flacon before it subsided. Martel guessed these all served the purpose of the hundred examinations placed on candidates, as Master Ogion had told him. Each of them could, in one way or another, reveal magical talents, should these prove elusive.
A door opposite Martel opened. In strode a tall woman, dressed in a purple robe. His eyes widened; he had never seen in Engby wear that colour, not even Master Ogion. It exuded a wealth that exceeded what any could afford in his hometown.
The woman appeared no less formidable than her clothing. Her grey eyes stared with determination at Martel, and everything from her mannerisms to her tightly bound hair implied control.
She raised her hand, which held his letter. "You are the boy, Martel."
"Yes, milady." He dropped the bag with his few belongings onto the floor.
"Mistress Juliana," she corrected him. "This letter states you have had no formal training."
There was nothing gained by denying it. "No."
"Do you know the full contents of the letter?"
"Master Ogion said he'd write it to get me tested. So I can be a weathermage like him."
"Well then. Let us see what you can do." With careful movements, she bent down to collect four objects from beneath the table, placing them on top. First, an empty glass bottle. Second, a wooden bowl containing water. Third, a candle in a holder. Last, a metal jar filled to the brim with dirt. The overseer touched the wick of the candle briefly, and a flame sprung from her fingertip to ignite it. She turned her stern eyes towards Martel and pointed at the empty glass bottle. "Move it. Using magic."
Happy to escape her heavy gaze, Martel looked at the object instead. He had no idea how to move it. He stretched out his hand, fingertips aimed at the glass, and tried to focus. He imagined the bottle moving. He frowned his brow in concentration. Absolutely nothing happened.
"Moving on," the overseer declared, and Martel exhaled suddenly, having kept his breath in. "Make the water move." She pointed at the wooden bowl.
Martel let his right arm hang limp at his side, stretching out the other instead. Maybe he was left-handed, magically speaking. He felt the pressure to perform intensify. Controlling water was the prime skill for a weathermage. If he could not demonstrate any talent for this, the Lyceum had little reason to train him.
Martel's entire body tensed up as he tried to do – anything. Push his magic out, wield it like a whip, just make it do something.
After what felt like an age, he thought he saw a ripple in the water.
"The candle. Move the flame."
Slightly encouraged, Martel turned his attention toward the object in question. Fire was familiar to him. He felt the warmth of the flame despite the distance. Extending his hand, he simply willed it to come, and it did. Abandoning the candle, the tiny flicker of fire flew across the room to land in his palm. It sat, hovering above his skin without hurting him, burning without fuel.
With a smile, Martel looked up; immediately as his attention faltered, the flame disappeared, as did his happy expression.
The overseer looked at him intently. "The jar. Move the earth inside."
Biting his lip, Martel focused. He imagined reaching out with his magic like a hand, grabbing the jar. It shook. With a triumphant smile, he increased his efforts, only to watch it fall over and spill its contents.
The overseer made a few tiny gestures. The jar jumped upright, and the dirt flew back inside. "We are done."
As she returned the items to their places under the table, Martel stood with a gaping mouth. What about all the other options? What about that strange glass ball swirling with blue fog inside it? Or that odd plant with thorns on it? Maybe if he pricked himself on it, that would show if he possessed magic.
Even as Martel considered all of this, he did not dare voice anything. The stern expression upon the overseer, even when not directed at him, kept him mute. She picked up a small stone, white and smooth. She briefly closed her hands around it; when she opened her fingers, it had changed colour to blue. "Go back where you came. Show this to the clerks." She rolled the stone across the table.
Breaking from his stupor, Martel barely caught it. Turning on her heel, the overseer left.
Once back in the corridor, Martel held the stone so tightly, his hand cramped. Feeling discarded, disappointment flooded him. It had taken him several fivedays to reach Morcaster, walking most of the way. How was he to return home, where they had no room for his unskilled hands? He had told them he would return a weathermage, able to protect everyone's crops and prevent anyone from ever starving again.
Returning to the entrance hall, Martel approached the desks with the robed clerks. The one in white looked up. "Look mate, you need to wait for the overseer."
"I'm done," Martel simply said, extending his hand with the blue stone in it.
The clerk stared before he picked up the pebble. His eyes flickered from the stone between his fingertips and Martel's face. "She gave you this?"
"Yes."
"Already?"
"Yes." Martel's frustration began to boil inside him. "What does it mean?"
"That Mistress Juliana made a mistake, I'm guessing."
"Why?"
"Blue means the school will pay for your training. Even though you're too old." The young man turned toward his fellow at the other desk. "Jasper, this has got to be a mistake, right?"
"Do you want to tell Mistress Juliana that?" replied the green-robed clerk.
"Point taken. Get the contract, will you?" He looked up at Martel. "Looks like you're in."
Relief flood Martel. "I'm in?"
The clerk in the white robe cracked a smile. "Yes, mate. Let's get you settled." He stood up and threw the blue stone to Jasper. "He has a contract for you to sign."
