Firebrand 3 the acolyte, p.28
Firebrand 3: The Acolyte, page 28
But still, Martel did not regret these experiences. The very first play he had seen, with Roland and the wyrm, it had been an experience like no other. Martel had never been entertained like that before in his life. And perhaps he could recapture some of that magic tonight, especially with the same company.
With his classes over, Martel quickly made his way to the girls' dormitory tower and knocked on a familiar door.
"Martel," Eleanor expressed. "Is something the matter?"
"Do you remember the plays we saw last year?"
"Of course. What about them?"
"The actors are back. They set up a theatre in the bridge district and invited us to see their show. Want to come with me and Max tonight?"
"That is all it is, I trust? From what I recall, that hedge mage got you in some trouble." Eleanor gave him a piercing look.
"He's not even in town, they said. I promise, it's just entertainment. It wouldn't feel right to go without you."
A smile travelled across her mouth. "Alright. I would enjoy seeing a play with you."
As the trio arrived at the Four Flagon Tavern, shortly before last bell would ring, they joined a steady stream of other patrons, all making their way towards the basement. The crowd moved slowly, as they had to pay admission by the stairs; the young boy in the troupe, Ian, still handled this task. He grinned seeing the three young wizards moving forward with the mass of people. "Theo told me to expect you. Go right in."
Expressing their gratitude, they continued down the stairs. Below the ground floor, they found one big room, as large as the common room above. In the opposite end, a stage rose; between that and the entrance, numerous benches filled the floor. Lots of people already filled the seating, and Maximilian resolutely pushed his way forward to grab three seats, with his friends following at a more leisurely pace.
Once he sat down, Martel glanced around, as much as the surrounding crowd allowed him. Lamps hung along the walls, though primarily around the stage to provide good lighting, which already showed a background of some lordly hall.
Already, the whole space was aflutter with excited chatter, and Martel could feel it infecting him. He had no idea what the play would be about, but he had never seen a bad one.
It took a while to get everyone seated, and the impatience in the audience grew until at one point, people began clapping rhythmically while shouting for the show to begin. Finally, Theo appeared and gave a deep bow. "Good people of Morcaster, welcome to The Theatre Below!"
It turned out to be a comedy. This made Martel a little anxious for a while, remembering the consequences of the last amusing play performed by this troupe. Fortunately, none of it seemed to be hidden slights aimed at the emperor or the High Council. Once Martel noticed Eleanor laughing merrily without reservation, he relaxed and allowed himself to do the same.
It was an amusing tale of a peasant who went to sleep in his own hut and woke up in the bed of a baron, the latter playing a prank on the hapless serf. Watching the fool stumble around, questioning his good fortune until he accepted it, truly imagining himself a wealthy noble only to wake up in his own bed the day after, made Martel howl with laughter.
He did notice that the entire play was performed without any kind of magic. That perhaps explained the choice of what to perform; the actors did not require any spellwork to perform their jests and merriment, unlike the story of Roland and the wyrm, for instance, where the dragon breathed fire. Presumably, this meant Regnar was still away, which Martel felt oddly disappointed by. Meeting the old hedge mage would allow Martel to clear the air and move on; now he had to keep feeling odd about what had happened during their last time together. On the other hand, the rest of the troupe had done Martel no wrong, and he could enjoy the company without any awkward feelings caused by Regnar's presence.
As the play ended to great applause, Martel turned to his companions. "We got time to stay a while, right? I feel we ought to congratulate the players on their performance, and the new theatre." He glanced around at the space once again; he could only imagine the troupe was thrilled to have a permanent stage.
"I suppose a short while will not be any trouble," Eleanor conceded.
"Of course we are staying!" Maximilian almost bellowed. He had downed several ales during the break in the play.
Laughing, Martel got up and waited as people around him pushed their way forward towards the exit. His gaze idly wondering, he was taken aback when he noticed a familiar face. He blinked, unsure if the distance filled with other heads made him see wrong; the air in the basement felt heavy from the crowd, and standing up quickly had made him a little dizzy. But keeping his gaze locked as others paraded past him, he became convinced. Ruby and her red lips were in the audience, though rather than her practical clothes, she wore the dress of any typical commoner's wife.
Aware that his height made him easy to spot, Martel sat down. Only after he had done so did he wonder why. He had nothing to hide, after all. If anything, she should feel embarrassed in his presence rather than reverse. Gathering his resolve, Martel got back up, much to the amusement of his friends watching him moving up and down. But as he looked through the last of the crowd moving out of the basement, he could not see Ruby any longer.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
RUNES, HEDGES, AND ALCHEMY
Despite feeling strange about something so trivial – Martel did not even know if Ruby had noticed him – the evening spent at the Four Flagon Tavern proved to be the best in a long time. Martel found himself still laughing the day after, remembering particular scenes or witty remarks. And the company had been excellent; his two best friends together with an hour spent making merry with the actors afterwards.
Waiting for Master Fenrick to arrive, Martel toyed with the idea of returning to the theatre. He had rarely been so entertained in his life; the only argument against would be that it took an entire evening of his time, which could be spent practising spellwork or other such pursuits.
"Good morning, students. Another delightful bell of Tyrian runes awaits us."
Even if the words were spoken with a flat voice, Martel believed that Master Fenrick meant them. He truly took pleasure from discussing these matters of lore, whether Archean letters or Tyrian symbols. Given that the latter gave access to a new kind of magic, Martel felt the same way about that particular subject.
"I trust everyone found time to study the rune we discussed last fiveday?"
Martel had, sort of. They were supposed to practise drawing it, which he had done for a while. But he had been unsure for how long to do this, or how many times; since the simple exercise involved no magic at that point, he could not measure whether he was getting better, or doing it well enough. So after a while, he had just stopped to practise Sindhian magic instead.
Master Fenrick unfurled a large piece of parchment and held it up to show the rune of warning. "The word of activation is, though I'm sure you all remember, vara. And this means?"
Martel quickly raised his hand, eager to give the impression that he had studied the material. "To warn."
The teacher nodded, even as Martel heard Cheval nearby scoff. "Figures that the Tyrian half-breed knows." Nobody reacted, and Martel chose the same response.
"To recapitulate," Master Fenrick said, "this is a passive rune, meaning it will stay dormant until triggered by an outside action. In this case, movements by a person near it. How the rune knows to differentiate between a human and, say, a deer, I cannot explain. In general, passive runes, at least those known to us, only work on humans. The skálds are cunning like that."
Martel thought about his own rune token in his pocket, lying dull and grey, and those shining with magic such as the one he had seen in Lady Pearl's study.
"Now, time for you to actually give this a try. Each of you, draw the rune on your own parchment. Focus on your desire to be warned of any movement, and when you are ready, hold out your hand above the symbol and speak the word," Master Fenrick instructed them.
The symbol was simple, little more than a few lines crossing each other, but Martel still looked carefully at the example in his teacher's hand as he drew his own. When done, he looked down and thought about being warned. Once he felt ready, he held out his hand. "Vara."
Nothing happened. Feeling slightly disappointed, Martel looked around at the others. Whenever anyone felt bold enough to try and speak the relevant word, they did so to the same result as him, which did make Martel feel a little better. Still, he got the feeling that learning this would be as gruelling as when he had picked up any other kind of magic. Taking a deep breath, he once more looked down on the symbol and focused his mind to try again.
After two hours without discernible progress in Tyrian runes, Martel rather enjoyed his lesson with Master Alastair. Casting spells that he knew, even if he was still learning and improving, felt good after a bell of frustration. And he had cracked most of the facets of the elemental bolt; it could not be much longer before he had mastered the spell.
Likewise, following Mistress Rana up to her laboratory was a pleasure, now that Martel had gotten the hang of Sindhian alchemy. Certainly, he did much worse than her when it came to awakening the ingredients, but given that she was a master alchemist, Martel did not let this bother him. The fact that he had successfully brewed potions all on his own was good enough for him. He was only concerned now about learning more recipes.
As he saw the ingredients for the potion of cold waiting for him, Martel remembered Julia's request. "Mistress, I was wondering – is there an elixir that helps someone to sleep?"
"Certainly there is. I can give you six hours of uninterrupted, restful sleep if so needed. But you are not nearly ready to learn that."
"Of course, mistress," he quickly assented.
"Why? Do you sleep poorly?" She gave him a scrutinising look.
Martel shook his head. "Not at all. One of my friends asked, that's all."
"I see. Well, get to work. Time is wasting away."
"Right away, mistress."
When the work was done and bottled up, once Mistress Rana had squirrelled away the fruits of his labour, she returned with something in each hand. Five pieces of silver in one; a small vial in the other. "This is a potion of blissful sleep," she told him. "You can have your wages for the fiveday, or you can choose the potion if you have greater need of it." She moved her hands up and down, weighing each choice as it was mentioned.
Silver was always good, but Martel had plenty for now, and he would earn more, whereas it might be a long time before he learnt this recipe. His decision made, Martel accepted the potion.
After a long day of learning no less than three different schools of magic, Martel felt ready to rest. Of course, he would have to continue practising before that; he could not spend an entire evening doing nothing. And before he could even begin, a small note was delivered to him.
Dear boy,
I heard you came by.
What do you think of our home?
Hedge mage no more, just a
mage! Come again some time,
I'm back with the troupe.
Regnar
Despite his ambivalent feelings towards the no longer wandering mage, Martel did feel curious about what the old wizard had been up to. Who knew? Perhaps Regnar could show him a bit of spellwork that the Lyceum would not teach. Open yet another branch of magic for Martel. But such would have to wait for tomorrow.
SEVENTY-NINE
REGNAR'S REUNION
As the fiveday came to an end, Martel woke on Solday feeling good. He had put all that with Lady Pearl and Ruby behind him; he was not going to be caught up in the affairs of the Nine Lords anymore, or let them take advantage of him again. He was learning alchemy, he had started learning Tyrian runes, and although he had not been able to enjoy the spring festivities much thanks to his busy schedule, watching the play at the Four Flagon Tavern with Maximilian and Eleanor was a memory worth revisiting. And with lots of spare time today, along with the invitation from Regnar, he might even catch another performance.
Martel considered asking his friends to join him, but the mageknights had class until late afternoon, and if things became awkward with Regnar, perhaps it was better to go alone. It would let him leave soon after lunch, and he could spend some time with the actors before their next show.
Crossing the streets of Morcaster, Martel noticed the festivities still in full swing; perhaps even more so, considering this was the last day. Although the sun remained up, people had already started drinking; every tavern that Martel passed by seemed full of patrons. Leaving the centre of the city to enter the bridge district, this only intensified. Evidently, revellers were making the most of what remained of the festival. And while this particular quarter did not have the abundance of open squares, lending themselves to stalls and entertainers that filled the market district, Martel still encountered much to please the eyes and ears. Approaching the Four Flagon Tavern, he even noticed one of the actors performing an amusing monologue, which Martel caught the tail end of.
"… And if you found that to your amusement," the orator continued, "come see our new play at the Four Flagon Tavern! It promises to be a spectacle like you have never seen, with daring tales of bold heroics, all of it augmented by magic! Performance begins at last bell!"
Judging by the size and mood of the crowd, seats would be full. Martel waved at the performer, and she smiled in return before she launched into another monologue. Having seen that one before, Martel continued the last stretch to reach his destination.
Unlike most public houses, the Four Flagon Tavern was at best half full with customers; presumably, most would arrive tonight before the performance, perhaps starting their celebrations elsewhere before moving to this locale. Appreciating the short wait for getting served, Martel got himself a drink. He was not particular thirsty, but seeing everyone else with a tankard in hand made it seem only right for him to have one as well. Once duly armed, Martel crossed the common room to move down the stairs.
He ran into the young boy, Ian, just as he reached the cellar. "Hullo, lad," Martel greeted him.
The child, perhaps ten years of age, looked up from his work, sweeping dirt from between the benches. "It's the wizard from the fancy school," Ian replied with a grin. "I never got the chance to ask, how did you like the play the other night?"
"It was amazing. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much."
"Yeah, it's my favourite! Though tonight should be great as well. I've seen all the magic Regnar has prepared, it's going to overwhelm everyone in the audience!"
"I'll be sure to catch it soon. Is Regnar back there?" Martel pointed towards the stage.
"He should be, yeah. You staying for the show tonight?"
"Maybe. If I feel I have the time."
"Else you can always come back another night," Ian told him. "We are here for good now, after all! No more constant travelling around."
"Which is why you have to sweep," Martel said with a smile. "This isn't some market square. You're happy to be staying then?"
"I really am. Travelling around is useful to get away from people that don't like us, but it also means I never have friends for longer than a few days. Other than the rest of the band, of course."
Being friendless was never easy. "I'm glad you're staying. Alright, you better get back to your broom." With a wink, Martel moved past the boy.
Approaching the stage, he saw the actors busy setting up for their performance. Backgrounds were exchanged, furniture moved around, and other preparations made. Even the old hedge mage gave a hand, hauling a chair with a token effort. "Martel!" he exclaimed. "I'll be right back," Regnar claimed, directed at the others working.
"Any excuse to get out of helping," someone mumbled.
Ignoring any remarks, Regnar jumped down from the stage – Martel wondered if someone his age should really be doing that – and approached the acolyte. "Come with me, boy, let's sit and talk."
They walked behind the stage, where the space held all sorts of items intended for the theatre. Every manner of clothing, primarily, but also weapons, many kinds of chairs, tables, chests, and the like, looking either fit for a lord's hall or a serf's hut.
Regnar plunked himself down on a throne and dug out his pipe, igniting it with the tip of his finger. "Good seeing you again, lad."
"Yeah, same. Even if I'm still annoyed at you pulling that trick on me last time." Martel was not going to get angry about it, but it needed to be said.
"Aye, I figured as much. Hence my farewell taking the form of a note. Traveller's habit, leaving before the consequences catch up to us," Regnar admitted. "But we're not ungrateful. You've looked after us like you're one of us, which is why I wanted you to know about our new home. If ever in need, you just come here, and we'll look after you likewise."
"Well, I probably won't be in Morcaster for long, but I appreciate that." He raised his flagon in response, like a salute.
The hedge mage glanced over his clothes. "Not just a fashion choice, then. You're a battlemage?"
Martel nodded. Somehow, it felt heavy to confirm it out loud. He thought that he had made peace with it, but maybe he had just been too busy to think much on it. He took a sip from his ale instead.
"Well, given how you wield fire, I'm hardly surprised. I'd offer to take you with us when we next go, except we're no longer going anywhere."
