Firebrand 3 the acolyte, p.17
Firebrand 3: The Acolyte, page 17
"He is so polite. One reason I like him," Lady Pearl told her attendant. "Naturally, darling. You are familiar with the Island Trading Consortium, I take it."
He was not, but revealing ignorance could be a weakness, so Martel simply nodded.
"You can imagine the amount of silk I buy, keeping my gems in suitable clothing." She pinched Ruby's cheek. "Not to mention many other purposes. Now the dreadful Consortium has a stranglehold on the trade, but this enterprising fellow has promised to sell me bolts and bolts of silk at half price."
"How can he do that?"
"By cheating both the Consortium and the Asterian toll collectors, I can only assume. Any details of what happens beyond our shores, I leave to him," Lady Pearl continued. "My interest is only once the goods reach land, specifically Smallport. So the good fellow will give us a little tour of his warehouse, we'll talk business a while, and so on. Really, the meeting is for us both to get a feel of the other person."
A warehouse as the meeting location, agreed upon in advance. That gave this trader plenty of time to set up an ambush. Martel tried to consider what to do if it came to a fight. In such confined spaces, archers would not be of much use, except maybe one or two inside to start the ambush, and a few outside to prevent any from fleeing.
If arrows came against Lady Pearl, Martel would not be able to do much; his magical shield could protect himself, but not anybody else. He could stand in front of her, maybe. But really, the best would be to leave the fighting to her guards and get the woman out, as long as he went first in case of archers outside.
Of course, if she happened to die despite Martel's efforts, she could not very well complain about his failure, being dead and all. Perhaps he should think mostly about keeping himself safe.
"What is our wizard thinking, would you say?" Lady Pearl asked of Ruby. "He seems awfully pensive, and quiet."
"No doubt great and important matters," the redhaired woman replied with a teasing voice. "Though he has the look of someone planning his next move. Calculating."
Realising they spoke about him, and caught off-guard, Martel stared from one woman to the other. Well, sometimes the best defensive spell was an offensive spell. "What of you, Ruby? What purpose do you serve for your mistress?"
"My dear gem is a good distraction." Pearl patted her attendant's arm. "Men find it harder to focus on business when distracted by thoughts of what comes after."
Ruby's only response was to wink. Looking through the opening of the carriage door, Martel saw the gate as they rumbled by, leaving Morcaster to travel on the narrow road to Smallport.
FORTY-SIX
SILKEN NEGOTIATIONS
Arriving at the small port that lay just outside the capital, where the river met the sea, Martel remembered his last trip to the place with the Night Knives. That journey had ended with them being ambushed on the return, so he kept his eyes open this time.
Not that he expected anything to happen while still on the streets; the city guards maintained a good presence in Smallport, and given its size, a patrol would never be far away. Added to that, the amount of people and traffic moving around made it difficult to accomplish a coordinated attack. Still, he kept watch for signs that might give him early warning of anything about to happen.
The carriage continued past the walls into the small harbour itself and what was basically a small town of its own, coming to a halt at one of the squares. The door to their transport opened, and the guard helped Lady Pearl descend to the street. Ruby followed with a mischievous look at Martel, who exited last.
"The ineffable Lady Pearl! Consider me charmed."
They all turned towards the speaker, a short man dressed dashingly in a doublet and black leather trousers. His hat, which he removed with an elegant bow, carried a large feather. While his clothes looked Asterian, he spoke the language with an accent unknown to Martel, and whereas most people here have brown eyes, his were entirely black.
"Master Domitian, I take it." Lady Pearl smiled as she extended a hand, which the man kissed. "An Asterian name for an islander. Curious."
"Whatever helps facilitate trade. Such is the Consortium's philosophy. In that spirit, may I offer the lady a drop of wine as refreshment? And perhaps cups of ale for her retinue."
"Most kind. You have a place for us to retire to?"
The islander nodded with a smile and made a sweeping gesture towards the tavern behind him. As he walked inside, Martel noticed another following, dressed as a clerk and looking rather self-effacing. Probably not an assassin, unless he played the role exceedingly well.
Inside, this Domitian sat at the table, as did Lady Pearl. Her guards walked up to the bar, drinking their ale, while cups of wine were brought to the table. Four in total, including one for him and Ruby. It seemed they were counted as part of the refined company, unlike the guards. Martel left his untouched; he noticed Ruby did not drink hers either.
Conversation between Domitian and Lady Pearl continued for a while, consisting mostly of pleasantries and a few allusions to business that went over Martel's head. He saw no weapons on the man; he wore plenty of jewellery, all of it golden in colour. Nothing to indicate an intent to harm, though, unless perhaps he hid something magical on his person. Martel wanted to extend his own sixth sense and get a feel, but inside the tavern packed with people, he would not be able to sort out the impressions. He would have to wait for an opportunity.
That came after a while. "If you feel ready, might I suggest a brief tour of my facilities? You can also inspect a sample of the merchandise," Domitian suggested.
Lady Pearl inclined her head in acknowledgement, and the two rose from the table. They all left, following the islander's lead out of the building. Martel did his best to stay close to Lady Pearl while keeping sharp watch of their surroundings as they progressed.
After a while, they entered a small warehouse; or rather, a part of it. The building itself was far larger than what they had access to, acting as a storage facility for any number of merchants that each had their own separate space. "The goods will remain here until your people are ready to pick them up. The building is under guard day and night. While the space is small, it will be more than adequate for our purposes, given the size of the goods."
"I have no doubt any warehouse in Smallport will suffice," Lady Pearl said, her voice affable yet conveying a desire to move on. "I care less about the location of the goods and more about the quality."
The islander bowed his head. "Of course." He moved towards a small chest in the back of the room; the only item present, in fact.
Martel glanced around meanwhile. The space was too small to hide any assailants. And it opened up to a wide street outside, which likewise made for a poor ambush site. Unless the islander pulled out a knife or something from the chest, it seemed Martel's suspicions were for naught.
Turning around, Domitian revealed his hands holding a thin bolt of fabric. He handed it over to Lady Pearl, who rubbed it between her fingers. Passing the cloth on to Ruby, she looked at their host. "And the details?"
"Five bolts next month, and ten every month after that."
"And the price? As offered, and only upon delivery?"
Domitian inclined his head. "Exactly."
Martel let his magic extend forward in case he had missed something. Nothing in the warehouse itself reached him. As for the islander, Martel sensed his body heat as expected, from top to toe, and nothing else. Same with the silk in Ruby's hands; ordinary fabric in terms of magic.
"As promised, the very finest all the way from Cathai. Are we satisfied?" Domitian asked.
"For now. You shall have my answer by letter soon," Lady Pearl told him.
With a round of pleasantries and farewells exchanged, they parted ways.
As the carriage rumbled through Smallport, taking them back to Morcaster, Martel was a little surprised; all his suspicions had been for naught. At least his obligations toward Lady Pearl had been met. He would have time tonight to practice some of his spellwork.
He became aware that the two women in the carriage stared at him. They had been discussing the meeting, which he had not paid any attention to, and now they looked expectantly at him. "Sorry, what did you say?"
"Wizards really do have their heads in the clouds," Ruby teased.
"The silk. Or the man himself, for that matter. Did you notice any sign of magic on him? Anything to suggest he may have fooled our senses," Lady Pearl asked.
"None at all. You saw both the fabric and him. Not the tiniest shine or glow of magic on any of them." Martel looked out the window again, his mind distracted.
The women glanced at each other and chuckled. "Darling, did you think us mere mortals can see the signs of magic? No more than we can see the air," Lady Pearl informed him.
Martel frowned for a moment, digesting this. Obviously, magical effects were visible to everyone, such as when he summoned a flame. But magic itself, raw rather than bound into an element – the thought had just never crossed Martel's mind, as he had never really considered the nature of magic. That it existed by itself, invisible except to those touched by it.
"I don't suppose any magical artefacts on his person would work with all his golden jewellery," Ruby considered.
"Oh no, none of it is real. I guess it must be brass," Martel speculated. "I can say with certainty he wore neither magic nor gold."
Lady Pearl gave him a sharp look. "You are certain?"
"Believe me, as a mage, I would have known. You can't hide gold from a wizard," he insisted, eager to regain some of his standing.
"Now that is curious. A man claiming to deal in silk from Cathai, yet unable to afford real jewellery? Darling, I think you answered a valuable question for me."
Martel was unsure what she meant, his thoughts already elsewhere, and he did not feel like asking; he spent the remainder of the journey in silence, trying to ignore Ruby's scrutinising gaze.
FORTY-SEVEN
GRACIOUS AS A SCARECROW
With his obligations towards Lady Pearl fulfilled, Martel could focus on his schoolwork again, in particular alchemy. Eager for any advantage he might gain unlocking the Sindhian craft, Martel's thoughts turned towards the library, which might contain tomes on alchemy that could help him; he had not investigated the books on the upper floors, where the real knowledge was shelved. Unfortunately, by the time he returned to the Lyceum, the librarian had left his post, and Martel still needed him to get past the inner doors. Hopefully soon, he would begin learning Tyrian runes.
Thus, Martel's visit to the library took place the next day, in between his lessons in fire magic. With a little assistance on where to look, Martel found the shelf containing all the volumes of alchemy. Choosing the largest one, he sat down and began to read.
It did not take him long to realise his error. The book dealt with Asterian alchemy, which focused on the elements and how they related to various ingredients, combining them to obtain the desired outcome. All very interesting, but useless for someone learning Sindhian alchemy. This accomplished nothing besides confusing him further, and he closed the pages. Not feeling particularly hopeful, Martel looked through all the other tomes on the topic. Same result. They only dealt with how Asterian alchemists worked. Sighing, Martel replaced the books on the shelves and left the library.
His second lesson in fire magic came and went. They still practised basic spells, which seemed unnecessary to Martel. He could not imagine himself improving much anymore when it came to casting a fire bolt. The magic came to him swiftly and reliably; if his attack missed, it was more to do with his aim. Maybe that was what they were supposed to train, but Martel would much rather learn more spells or at least practice his existing ones. But he suffered no illusions that he could in any way persuade Moira to change her teachings. The mere suggestion might earn him detention.
At supper, he ate with a voracious appetite thanks to all the training, paying little attention as Maximilian pontificated on various matters.
"You coming to the Chamber of Earth tonight?" The mageknight stopped talking, keeping his eyes on the fire acolyte.
Chewing on asparagus, Martel slowly swallowed to buy some time until Maximilian's question sank in. "Oh, I hadn't given it much thought. I practice combat six bells a fiveday, which feels like enough. Besides, the sparring done in the chamber is too casual to learn anything."
"Well, some of the mageknights are still sore about the other day. One of them, Julian of Sangmer, claims he can beat you if only given the opportunity."
Martel frowned in thought. From what he remembered, Julian was a protector, so the fire acolyte had never fought against him. He had fought alongside him, and the mageknight had failed to impress. Not necessarily a bad warrior, but hardly impressive compared to others or a threat to someone of Martel's skills, the way Eleanor would be. "Pretty sure I could take him down in three spells or less."
"Now you have to prove it," Maximilian claimed with a smirk on his face. "Or will you let this pompous bastard continue to claim he could beat the infamous Scarecrow without breaking a sweat?"
Martel glanced across the dining hall to where Julian sat, stuffing food into his mouth. He sounded like another noble who thought that his blood somehow made him a better mage, despite all evidence to the contrary. "I guess I got time to cast three spells."
In the evening, Martel went to the Chamber of Earth as promised. He found the usual assortment of acolytes, numbering a score in total. About half of them were mageknights. Of the elemental mages, Martel was the only one in red. The other battlemages seemed to share his sentiment that there was little gained practising down here, compared to the gruelling hours that Moira put them through.
Many of the acolytes present glanced at him as he arrived, with a variety of expressions. Some looked excited or expectant, while others seemed disdainful or arrogant in their demeanour towards him. Martel ignored them.
Maximilian appeared by his side, handing him a staff. "Ready to show them the error of their judgement?" The mageknight already wore a grin.
Martel hefted the weapon in his hands. "Where is he?" The sooner this was done, the sooner he could go back to his chamber and do his Sindhian exercises.
Julian pushed his way through some of the acolytes to stand in front of the battlemage. He was of average height, but with a broad build, carrying an axe. Strong, but inelegant in his movements. Fighting more like a bull than a cat, which worked for a berserker, but not a protector. "Ready to fight me, Scarecrow?"
Martel sighed. He thought he had escaped that nickname, but he realised its absence was only because most of his classes as a novice had been solitary. Now as an acolyte, he was unfortunately subjugated to the regular company of his peers. "Just attack and let's get this over with."
Julian acted or reacted as expected. He quickly stepped forward, almost running to close the distance between them as he raised his axe for a heavy blow. Even blunted, it would leave a painful mark if it connected as intended.
Martel raised his shield to take the blow and pushed his staff forward and down to entangle itself between the mageknight's legs. The axe was held back by the magic, and with his clumsy momentum, Julian could not stop in time to regain his footing. The only thing left for Martel to do was to take a step to the side, avoiding the mageknight crashing into him. Instead, the stocky warrior fell flat on the ground, his own weapons preventing him from breaking the fall.
"Only took one spell."
As the acolytes laughed, Martel handed the staff back to Maximilian.
FORTY-EIGHT
THE GLOW OF AN IDEA
Malday meant another encounter with the mageknights, though not until his second combat lesson. Before noon, Martel practised staff fighting as usual with the other battlemages. He had long since abandoned the notion that this would be anything other than a waste of time. Despite how staff fighting had helped them win their brawl against the mageknights last time, the other acolytes seemed to still consider training with weapons to be beneath them. As probably the only one with experience in actual combat, Martel knew better, just as he had shown during the fight with the mageknights; but his attempts to explain this fell on deaf ears.
So he showed them instead. Their half-hearted approach to practising empowerment also left them slow at raising their shields, which more than once left them at Martel's mercy whenever he outmanoeuvred them to attack twice in succession, landing a blow somewhere painful.
Martel knew that complaining to Reynard would lead nowhere. Not because like Moira, the teacher believed he knew best, but simply because he did not care. He could ask Reynard to spar with him instead of fighting the other students, which would certainly provide the challenge he lacked. Unfortunately, Martel suspected that Reynard would take umbrage at this, perceive it to be a slight or challenge of some sort, and use the sparring to thrash Martel. Despite his success against the acolytes, Martel knew he stood no chance against the Master of War in a contest of arms.
So Martel continued, defeating the other three again and again, earning spiteful looks and mumbled insults in return. After a full bell, each of them had bruises and aching spots. They should be grateful for the opportunity to learn from a better fighter, but instead, they only seemed to be resentful towards him. Whatever understanding had been found on a previous Malday, uniting the fire acolytes against the mageknights, it seemed to have been short-lived.
The second lesson fared much the same. They performed practices and duels with the mageknights left unsupervised; as long as they took their positions as Reynard dictated, he did not care about their performance.
