Firebrand

Chapter 378: Slow Fire

Chapter 378: Slow Fire

Slow Fire

By the time Martel had to appear in the Circle of Fire again for lessons, his wounds seemed almost healed, and he could shed his bandages. While still sore, his injuries had closed, and only silvery scars remained as visible reminders. Martel once more marvelled at the power of magical healing, even if it also meant a speedy return to his lessons with Moira.

The aged woman strode into the chamber, and her wild eyes fixed on Martel. In her hands, she carried a bundle. "You. Boy. Tell us of the fight. What happened?"

Feeling suddenly awkward with everyone's eyes on him, he cleared his throat. Talking still might be preferable to whatever exercise she could have cooked up for them. "I was walking down the street at the market when I felt this stabbing pain in my back. Turned out, it was because I had been stabbed."

"Spare us the feeble attempts of humour. What did you do?"

"I turned around and saw my attacker, knife in hand." Martel swallowed, as he felt more and more uncomfortable. The memories were unpleasant, as was the attention. The other students looked at him with detached curiosity, like he was a strange traveller passing them on the street, and the teacher seemed almost gleeful in her expression. "I summoned my shield to protect me."

"What happened then?"

"His knife cut through to stab me again. It was made of gold."

"And?"

"I blasted him away from me with air, to buy time. When he came at me again, I hit him with a ray straight in his chest. He burned and ran away." Martel spoke the final sentences quickly, wanting this to be over with.

Moira finally looked away, towards the other acolytes. "Anyone trying to kill you, who poses a real threat, will use gold. Khivan sharpshooters are issued a golden bullet, in case they can get a mage within their sights."

All the youths looked visibly disturbed. Being in battle sounded dangerous enough; it gave Martel a creeping sensation down his spine to imagine a Khivan musketman aiming his weapon and launching a projectile that pierced all magic.

"Fortunately, it can't do much to ordinary steel, so I hope you fools are all training diligently with the chain shirts in Master Reynard's class," Moira continued. "Regardless, as demonstrated by the beanstalk here," she continued, nodding at Martel, "other dangers lurk. You may find yourselves attacked by someone with a golden dagger or chains or such, requiring you to fight differently."

Martel frowned at the examples; he had yet to encounter any using chains as a weapon. The only thing that came to mind would be inquisitors, using golden chains to subdue mages… Martel narrowed his eyes, looking at Moira. Perhaps she had one redeeming feature.

The old woman unfolded the bundle in her arms, revealing two daggers with golden blades. Every student immediately looked uncomfortable, Martel especially so. It also made him wonder what had happened to the one he had taken from his attacker; maybe Moira had taken it for her armoury of mage-slaying weapons.

"You'll practise today fighting with these weapons. One student attacks, using only the dagger. The other defends with their magic. It will teach you both how to fight against such weapons, and how to fight should your gifts be disabled." Moira distributed the blades, one for Martel and one for William, and directed them to attack the other two acolytes.

Martel disliked the touch of the weapon, even if the hilt was simply leather; he could practically feel the edges of gold along the steel blade, killing his magic. He also had no experience with knife fighting. Ignoring the discomfort from the metal, Martel ran a finger along the edge; blunted, at least. Taking position the way Eleanor did with her sword, he readied himself to attack Harriet.

***

After a full bell reminding Martel of being attacked, he decided to meet the Keeper. Just in case the motley-dressed fellow had something worthwhile to relate. But, also just in case, Martel decided for once to bring support. He loathed the idea of putting Maximilian in danger, but it seemed prudent; also, most likely, nothing would happen.

"Max, are you busy tonight?"

"No more than usual. Why?"

"Someone's asked to meet me. Said they have information about the fellow who attacked me," Martel explained.

"I thought they had all been dealt with," the mageknight replied with a frown.

"Yeah, probably. I just figured I'd hear him out. Do you mind coming along? Just have a drink while I talk."

Maximilian shrugged. "Why not? Drinking I can do."

"You're the best."

"That is self-evident."

Martel smiled and parted from his friend, leaving to set up the meeting.

***

In the evening, Martel arrived at the tavern with his temporary protector in tow. Immediately, he sent out his magic to sense for gold – no dead pockets larger than a few coins. No hidden assassins wielding mage killer blades, it seemed.

With a nod, Maximilian went to the tavernkeeper while Martel found the Keeper at the expected table and approached him.

"You brought company," the jester remarked. "Reasonable, given your ordeal. If you will believe the word of this rogue, I am pleased to see you still among the living."

Martel sat down. "I might believe that, yeah. I'm more interested in what you claim to know about my 'ordeal'."

The Keeper bowed his head. "I shall attempt to be brief."

That, Martel knew, was a lie.

"Given the revenge wrought by the Lyceum, the identity of your attackers is known to you, yes? You are familiar with the Silver Serpents."

"Yes." Martel figured it was best to keep his responses brief.

"Are you aware of why exactly they chose such a foolish decision to attack a mage without the wherewithal to see it through?"

"I rejected their offer."

The Keeper gave half a smile. "You think that spurning their advances enraged them thus, it required fatal retaliation?"

Granted, it did seem like an overreaction. "Why then?"

"Now we approach it, though I fear the explanation takes some winding turns."

Of course it did. "Get to it."

"The Silver Serpents have been – or rather, they were targeting Lady Pearl. Using their gifts of subterfuge to undermine her position, already precarious with the death of her benefactor, the old Lord Thierry."

Martel recalled that Flora had told him as much. "And?"

"As mercenaries of sort, they have – had no agenda of their own besides acquiring money and a foothold in Morcaster. They had no reason to attack Lady Pearl, unless someone paid them. Another Ninth Lord, whose patronage would allow them to establish a base in the city, and who could use them to strike at Lady Pearl from the shadows while feigning ignorance of their actions."

"Claiming no breach of the Pact."

"Indeed. Here's the part that concerns you. Over the last fivedays, the Night Knives had resumed their offers of selling the services of not one, but two mages. Whether they have acquired another wizard in the company, I cannot say, but as you are known to have previously filled the position, I suspect the Silver Serpents drew their own conclusions and decided to hamstring the competition. Lacking in resources, they could not strike at the compound of the Night Knives, but they could strike you." For once, a serious demeanour lay upon the Keeper's face.

Even with limited information, the jester had it right, Martel realised. He recalled the odd meeting with Flora, her overly friendly behaviour. As the pieces fell into place, a slow fire began burning inside the battlemage.

"Unfortunately, this means you are not necessarily out of danger simply because the Silver Serpents have been removed. The employer has no reason to relent in the attack upon Lady Pearl, and if they still assume you remain an ally of hers or the Night Knives, they might make another attempt on your life. While not even a Ninth Lord would casually risk the wrath of the Lyceum, nothing seems certain anymore."

"Well, thanks for the warning." Perhaps Martel should have listened to Mistress Juliana after all and stayed inside the Lyceum.

"I offer more than that. Do you not see the connection yet? Whoever hired the Silver Serpents, they desire strife between the Nine Lords. It would not have been hard for this band of rogues to carry out the theft of the relic, assuming they were given the necessary resources by their benefactor."

"You want my help. This is still about the relic for you." At last he got to the point.

The Keeper nodded. "If we find it, your role will be known. You will have helped preserve the Pact and thus fall under its protection, same as I. We can unravel this conspiracy, learning the identity of who moves against you, and ensure you are protected. For should they even raise a hand against you, the remaining Nine Lords are bound to move against them immediately."

"Convenient, except the relic is most likely far gone." This whole hunt for the artefact felt like chasing a rabbit.

"Granted, which is why the Friar is willing to sweeten the deal. If you help at least one more time, regardless of the outcome, he swears to protect you against the one institution that even the Lyceum are powerless against."

It took Martel only a moment to understand. "The Inquisition."

"Exactly. As you can imagine, the Friar wields significant influence in the religious organisations and communities of Morcaster."

While the inquisitors most of all seemed like bumbling fools to Martel, they did wield the power to see him executed if they could only come up with sufficient evidence. And they had certainly tried in the past. As much as Martel hesitated to tangle with the Nine Lords, the Friar seemed a monk of his word. And protection against the Inquisition was not something to scoff at. "How am I to help?"

The Keeper smiled, almost relieved. "The celebration at House Thierry. It is in two days. I shall arrange disguises and invitations for us, and you may search around looking for the scent, so to say. Even if the relic is no longer there, its presence might linger, which would at least confirm what little we know."

It seemed dubious, but Martel accepted. And that gave him time to deal with another matter tomorrow. "Let me know the information when you can."

The jester bowed his head deeply and responded with a sly smile. "Agreed."

***

The two acolytes walked home soon after. "You are quiet," remarked Maximilian. "What did that ill-dressed man tell you?"

"Nothing of importance. Everything is fine." Martel was not going to drag his friend any further into this. Satisfied, the mageknight began humming a tune.

Meanwhile, Martel's mind swirled like a maelstrom around what the Keeper had inadvertently also revealed. Not only had the Silver Serpents targeted Martel because of the Night Knives; as a graduate of the Lyceum, Flora would know how they would react to one of their students being attacked in this manner. She most likely also knew or had guessed that the islanders either surveilled her, him, or both. She set up the meeting and spread those rumours to make Martel bait, and the Serpents had swallowed the hook, thereby causing their own destruction. A deft manoeuvre by the earthmage, removing her rivals while leaving Martel to pay the price; tomorrow, he would collect on that debt.