Firebrand 3 the acolyte, p.29
Firebrand 3: The Acolyte, page 29
"Thanks anyway."
"But you should come by while you're still in Morcaster, as much as you want," Regnar impressed on him. "While meeting another mage is commonplace for you, it's a rarity for me."
Considering his low count of friends, Martel was not going to dismiss someone willing to increase that number. "I will." He cleared his throat. "So, how come you joined the others late?"
"Ah, part of our deal for this place. The tavern is owned by a wealthy family of aristocrats. Besides rent, they wanted me to perform a few magical tasks for them."
"Anything interesting?" And hopefully not illegal.
"Just verifying some old artefacts were indeed magical and not fakes, checking wards on their estate and so forth. The head of the family just died, so lots of family squabbling over heirlooms and inheritance."
Something bothered Martel about this, like the feeling of being watched even if he could not spot anyone. "What family?"
"Ah, some typical noble name for this city. Thierry, it was. Got a big estate up in the northeastern district." Regnar inhaled deeply on his pipe.
It took a moment for Martel to remember, and another before alarm bells began ringing. Ruby had mentioned that name. Lady Pearl was dependent on this fellow, and now he was dead.
Another piece came to mind. Flora had mentioned another task, wanting Martel's help because – she expected to be fighting magic.
The acolyte looked at Regnar. "We need to go."
"Huh? What's the matter, lad?"
Before Martel could reply, someone on the stairs yelled across the cellar. "There's trouble afoot!"
Everyone scrambled to their feet. The actors gave up their work arranging the stage and moved through the theatre, Martel and Regnar following behind them.
As they came up to the common room, Martel noticed the change. Most of the customers had cleared out, and instead, a band of Night Knives stood on the floor, armed to the teeth.
EIGHTY
A SPELL TO HELP OR HINDER
Staying on the steps down to the basement rather than going all the way up, Martel remained hidden behind the others while he took in the scene. A handful of tavern guards stood scattered around the circle of Night Knives occupying the centre of the big common room. As of yet their weapons remained sheathed, but who knew for how long. A well-dressed man could be seen speaking with animated gestures and handwringing; Martel figured that would be the owner of the tavern.
"I don't understand, I have no business with you. I don't even know who you are!" the man declared.
"You have upset Lady Pearl, who runs this district. You'll close your tavern for the time being and throw those actors out," came the cold response.
Martel could not see, but he recognised the voice as belonging to Flora.
"Close it, with everyone coming for the show? Close it on the last day of the spring festival?" the owner complained.
"If you reach an understanding with Lady Pearl, you may be able to open it again one day. If you refuse, we'll close down your tavern right now. For good."
Martel heard whispers and turned his head to see the actors in quiet discussion.
"There's not that many," argued one of them. "With the tavern guards on our side, we can do this."
"What about the city guards? Send Ian to fetch those," suggested another.
"Lady Pearl will have bribed them," Martel interjected, joining their circle. "They won't interfere."
"We should do as we always do," Regnar declared. "Leave. It's never worth taking the fight. They'll only be back."
A loud voice, belonging to someone very young, broke through the two discussions taking place. "Leave our home alone!"
Martel looked towards the speaker and saw Ian stepping towards the Night Knives, hurling an empty tankard through the air. It hit the mercenary straight on the nose, and while hardly a threat to his life, he cursed and drew his sword to swing at the boy.
Perhaps it was the tension of the moment, perhaps the Night Knives had just waited for any provocation – they got extra pay in case of a fight, after all; regardless of reason, everyone seized weapons, and a skirmish broke out.
With the tavern guards scattered around the room whereas the mercenaries stood shoulder to shoulder, the latter held an advantage, immediately positioning themselves in ranks. Flora meanwhile retreated back to begin shooting spells from within their protective circle.
Martel could guess that the Night Knives would crush their opposition the way things looked now; experienced mercenaries and an earthmage against lazy tavern guards and a hedge mage. Unless a battlemage tipped the scales.
Looking at the people he knew on both sides, Martel made his decision. Retreating further down the stairs to give himself cover, he began blasting fire bolts at the ring of mercenaries ahead.
The air became heavy with sounds of fighting and the smell of both blood and magic. Rays of frost and streaks of fire battled through the space, felling fighters on either side. As everyone became aware of their enemy possessing magic, on both sides, the warriors grew cautious, keeping shields and eyes ready to protect against the spells.
Martel could not see Regnar, but he witnessed the efforts of the hedge mage. Rather than directly offensive spells, he employed the same magic as used on the stage. Lights, sounds, or even just gusts of air appeared across the room, distracting warriors to keep them from fighting.
Realising the opportunity, Martel began watching for the signs of the next spell from the hedge mage. As soon as he saw a Night Knife close his eyes or stagger backwards, Martel followed up with a fire bolt that hit perfectly.
But on the other side, Flora did work as well. Chains made of pure ice slunk through the air to wrap around defenders, immobilising them. Given their few numbers, not many remained; the Night Knives would soon dominate the room. The actors and those others unable to fight had fled down the stairs, leaving Martel and Regnar alone on the staircase; the acolyte was not sure he favoured their odds with only them left.
He needed to step up. He needed to fight like a battlemage. Clear across the room, more than thirty feet, Martel conjured up a flame wall. It was a greater distance than he had ever covered before, and he poured his spellpower into the magic just to make it happen, but it worked. Half the mercenaries were caught on the same side as him and Regnar; the other half, including Flora, remained trapped on the other side.
With much fewer enemies to contend with, Martel abandoned caution to unleash a fire ray that struck two mercenaries. They screamed and dropped their weapons, running away and jumping out of the open windows to escape.
From the other side of his fire wall, Martel heard a cold and familiar voice call out, "Pull back!"
Obeying Flora's command, the mercenaries retreated, some of them carrying their comrades out. Martel waited until everything seemed clear before he dismissed his spell, and the wall of fire vanished.
"Bloody impressive spellwork," Regnar mumbled.
Martel walked off from the stairs and surveyed the room. Most of the tavern guards looked wounded, with no sign of the owner. "We are lucky it scared them off."
"That was the spell of a battlemage," the hedge mage pointed out. "I don't think these hired swords expected to encounter that."
"Probably not." Martel reached out and applied some heat to the ice chains still wrapped around some of the guards, melting them. "Curious that their wizard didn't do the same. She's an earthmage, and I've seen her raise walls like that to control the battlefield."
"Have you now," Regnar muttered. "Well, not much use here. With the basement below us, not a lot of earth for that spell to work with." He stamped his feet against the stone floor before bending down to examine the wounds of a guard. "Theo!"
With the sounds of fighting ended, the actors appeared on the staircase. "They are gone?"
"For now," the hedge mage replied. "Some of these lads need their wounds tended to."
Several of the players disappeared down into the basement again while Theo approached the two wizards. "When will they be back?"
"Their leader is an earthmage," Regnar considered. "They tend to be cunning, calculating, but not prone to rash action. My guess is, she'll assess the situation and what exactly she is up against before returning. I doubt they'll be back today, but tomorrow? Could very well be."
Theo nodded. "We can still carry on with the play, in that case."
Martel jerked his head around to stare at him. "Are you crazy? You need to leave!"
The storyteller shook his head. "We already took the fight. Doing the play will give us some much needed coin, especially if we do have to flee. Besides, the show must go on."
That seemed a strange sentiment to Martel, considering the show had not even started yet. Around them, the other actors returned with bandages and the like.
"Theo is right. Martel, could you stay and keep watch tonight? I'll be busy doing the effects for the performance. Once it's over, I'll relieve you of duty," Regnar said.
It seemed a foolish risk for them to take, but Martel also bristled at the idea of what amounted to basically thugs throwing his friends out of their new home. "I'll stay as long as I can," he promised. "But at some point, I have to go back to the Lyceum. If I miss class, I expect they'll end up chaining me inside."
"Not to worry," Regnar told him. "Now we know to expect trouble. Your presence will buy us some time that we can use to prepare a hasty departure, should it be needed. And until then, I do believe I'll place a few wards to protect this place."
Martel nodded in response before he went upstairs, choosing a room with a window that overlooked the main street outside.
EIGHTY-ONE
BLISSFUL SLEEP
Despite Martel's fears, nothing further happened at the Four Flagon Tavern that night. He left through a hatch hours after dark, emerging in the alley behind the building, and returned to the Lyceum to get what sleep he could.
When he woke, his fears still pursued him. It felt ridiculous attending class like any ordinary day, knowing the Night Knives might return to the tavern at any moment to finish their assignment. Yet Martel knew that absence from the Lyceum would not be tolerated; any freedom he currently possessed would quickly be withdrawn if he did not appear as required.
His concerns interfered with his focus, leading to poor performance as could be expected; Moira was swift to deride him, but at least she did not punish him further. And given Martel had participated in an actual fight yesterday, he would argue that he had gained more valuable experience from that than any training in the Circle of Fire.
The moment his second lesson had ended, Martel grabbed his cloak, cap, and a small vial before he entered the city. He would have to go without supper; he felt far too anxious to wait any longer. On swift steps, he rushed through the streets going east. With the spring festival at an end, he encountered much less traffic and could quickly make his way to the bridge district.
Reaching the Four Flagon Tavern, Martel noticed the doors stood open, which seemed a good sign. If it operated as usual, matters could not be all bad. Though he did also observe fewer people going in and out compared to the previous fiveday. Some of this might be because festivities had ended, or the hour of the day was still early, though Martel imagined it was because of the fight. Even though the actors had gone through with performing their new play last night, the benches had been less than half full.
Stepping inside, Martel found a dreary sight rather than a bustling tavern. Fewer guards compared to yesterday as well; perhaps because of wounds, though Martel would have imagined the owner immediately hiring more help in light of recent events.
Crossing the room, Martel continued down the stairs to the basement. He saw the actors scattered around the space, cleaning up or making preparations for tonight's performance. Pipe in hand, Regnar approached him upon spotting the acolyte. "Good seeing you, lad."
"Anything happen after I left?"
"A shed in the backyard burnt down. A warning to us, I imagine." The hedge mage inhaled from his pipe.
"At least this building is stone."
Regnar exhaled a few smoke rings. "Aye. I set up wards to protect us against intruders and the like. I'm mostly worried if they come back in force. Half the guards left."
Martel wanted to ask more about these wards, how they worked, and the magical principle behind them, but now was not the time. "They'll definitely be back."
"We'll see. Whatever this spat is, we'll have to ride it out."
Martel had somehow thought that Regnar understood what was going on, but he realised now that the old mage thought this was some trivial dispute. "I don't think you've grasped the situation. You've run afoul of Lady Pearl by joining up with her enemies and setting up shop basically a stone's throw away. She thinks you're a threat, and you're in her lair. She'll continue until she is rid of you."
"What you're talking about, lad? I know of this bald wench, but I figured her dispute was with Wendell, the guy who owns this place. That he didn't pay her tribute or something like that."
Martel shook his head. "That noble family you did work for, who set this all up, they're against her. Probably working with her other rivals. That's why they wanted you lot in here, in her district. As a provocation, to stir trouble, something like that. They probably made sure she knew as well."
Regnar removed the pipe from his mouth. "Stars, this is some quarrel between the Nine Lords, isn't it? I'll talk to the others. They are not as familiar with Morcaster as me, but once I explain what's going on, I'll convince them we are better off back on the road." He gave a melancholy smile. "Back to sleeping in hedges."
"That's good. Just tell them you're leaving, and you'll be safe. They won't care once you're gone."
"Alright. Appreciate you tipping us off, lad. Staying for supper?"
"I better get going. I have another errand, and I need to practise my spellwork." Last lesson in Tyrian runes had felt like a failure.
"A wizard's work is never done." Regnar smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Come back tomorrow to see us before we leave."
"I will!"
Despite his urgency to return to the Lyceum and spend an evening by drawing the same rune over and over, Martel still found time for a detour. In his pocket, he could feel the small vial that he had bought from Mistress Rana with the wages of the previous fiveday. Being a gift for Julia, Martel wanted to deliver it now rather than keep forgetting; if it worked and gave her restful, uninterrupted sleep, he might persuade Mistress Rana to teach him the recipe soon, and he could make more for his little apprentice.
And if his teacher was reluctant to show him, Martel could try to learn on his own, though he figured that was still too soon; working with some of these herbs, such as hemlock, made poisoning a real risk. Martel was pretty sure that the inquisitors did not care whether poisoning others was done accidentally or not. Not to mention, Martel would not forgive himself for hurting someone innocent in this manner.
Moving through the insula, Martel reached Julia's door and knocked. She quickly let him in and gave him a curious look. "What brings you by?"
He pulled out the small vial containing the elixir of blissful sleep. "This is for you. I don't know exactly how it works, but it was made by my teacher, so it's sure to be safe and effective. When you need a good night's rest, drink this."
Julia accepted the flacon with more interest and emotion than she usually showed. Evidently, this mattered more to her than his previous gifts. He could see why; food, shelter, clothes and blankets to stay warm, all these things could be obtained in different ways. But restful sleep, free of unpleasant dreams, that was a rare gift.
She looked up at him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Maybe once I learn the recipe, we can make some together."
"That sounds nice."
"I think so too." With a wink, Martel left again.
EIGHTY-TWO
THE FRIENDSHIP OF A MERCENARY
The first lesson of Malday came and went easily, Martel practising his staff fighting against the other acolytes. They still posed no threat to him, but he had stopped trouncing them; it only fostered bad blood, and matters had been reasonably cordial between them all lately. No point in upsetting that without cause.
A message found Martel as he stepped out of the dining hall after lunch, changing what had begun as an ordinary day into an unpredictable one.
Martel,
Meet me across the square.
You know the place.
I'm there during fourth bell.
Flora
Martel looked at the great clock in the entrance hall, showing an hour after noon. Halfway through the fourth bell; she had probably arrived just before lunch to deliver the message and now waited for him. Unsure what to expect, Martel figured it was best to find out. He only delayed long enough to burn the note between his fingertips before he left.
She sat at a table with a tankard in front of her; Martel gestured at the tavernkeeper to receive one as well before he joined her. Beforehand, he had glanced across the room just to take note of who else was present. Everyone seemed like ordinary commoners, and nobody carried arms. The audacity to ambush a battlemage just across from the Lyceum did not seem to fit the style of Flora or the Night Knives.
"Thanks for joining me." The words were cordial, but her voice sounded cold.
"I always do when invited." Martel did not feel nearly as casual as he attempted to appear; he took a sip of his ale to hide his expression and buy a few moments to feel less nervous.
"Me and the fellows did a job the other day. It did not go well. You see, I expected the others to have one mage on their side, but not two. And especially not for one of them to be a battlemage." She stared at him with an accusation in her eyes.
"Sounds like it was the wrong task for you to do."
