Firebrand

Chapter 497: One in the Belt

Chapter 497: One in the Belt

One in the Belt

After a short night's sleep, Martel worked for about three bells, producing three potions, before he sat down at the one table reserved for food rather than work. He always missed the hot meals at the Lyceum whenever he ate at the warehouse; the building was not meant for habitation, and the big doors allowed plenty of cold to enter from the outside, struggling against the warmth created by the fireplaces that they used for their alchemy. The apothecaries had it even worse, as their work did not involve any fire at all. Martel had noticed though that their numbers had diminished over the last fiveday or so. He did not know why, but he assumed that they were also running low on materials, reducing the need for their labour.

Nora sat down next to him, dragging bread and cold cuts of meat to her. "Is all the dried rabbit gone?"

Martel dug out a plate hiding behind a block of cheese. "Still some left."

"Thanks."

They sat, eating in silence. Martel glanced at her, noting that she looked about as tired as he felt. They had never been close friends, and he doubted they would be even after this; but they had a shared experience now that nobody else at the Lyceum would ever understand. No matter what, Martel respected how much work Nora had done, night and day, working endlessly to help others. And unlike him, she had not had the luxury of going twice a fiveday to the Lyceum, escaping the dreary routine of the alchemy. And the same could be said for Mistress Rana.

Thinking of the sun only to see it shine, Martel looked over to find the alchemist entering the warehouse. She had gone to the Lyceum on some unspecified errand, and Martel guessed that her purpose had been to fetch ingredients or something else for the work. She did carry a small basket, but rather than go to their workstations, she brought it over to her apprentice and helper. "I think we have reached the end."

Nora and Martel looked at each other and back at Mistress Rana. "How so?" he asked.

"There's not enough reagents left to justify that you stay here. Nora, the apothecary back at the school is sorely lacking in supplies. As for you," she added, looking at Martel, "I know you have your examination soon. Focus on that. I will remain here and finish making what potions I can."

It was an eerie feeling for his labours to be dismissed in this manner. Martel had expected that by the end of their efforts, the quarantine would be lifted, the people of Morcaster would flock to the streets in jubilation at the end of the pestilence, and he would feel some sort of accomplishment. Instead, this felt like simply abandoning the work and leaving. At the same time, there was little gained by him staying; and though he tried to hide it, he felt relieved that his long hours in the warehouse had come to an end.

"Of course, I'm aware of how much you have done to help." Mistress Rana reached down into her basket and pulled out two large bags that jangled as they hit the table; the largest landed in front of Nora. "Not sufficient wages compared to how much you have toiled, but as much as I could spare. Most of it comes from the apothecary back at the Lyceum, though I added a little from the funds given to me by the Imperial administration to procure materials. Considering your work to save the city, I felt that only reasonable."

Martel took hold of the purse given to him; that certainly solved any immediate need he had for coin.

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"As I said, I realise this is inadequate payment. For that reason, I have something for each of you from my private store." Mistress Rana reached into her belt that, like Martel's, had several small pouches for potions. She pulled out two vials and carefully placed one in front of each of them.

Martel had never seen an elixir like this, but judging by Nora's reaction, he should be impressed. He picked up the vial, which contained a softly glowing, red liquid.

"Is this… a healing elixir?" Nora asked.

Mistress Rana nodded. "It has reduced efficacy against diseases, and you'd be better off finding the appropriate remedy for that. But if you are injured, no matter how grievously, this will bring you back from death's door."

Martel's eyes widened. This was a gift far beyond any value measured in coin. If Mistress Rana had been more approachable, he would have been tempted to hug her in gratitude. Instead, he cautiously placed the vial in his belt, making sure it was securely fastened, and bowed his head to the alchemist. "Thank you, mistress."

"You're welcome. Now make room. I missed dinner at the castle."

***

Making the journey to the Lyceum, Martel swung past the trader's house to make good on his promise and pay the remaining amount for the Tyrian runestone. He still had a sizeable amount left in his purse afterwards, and he knew what to spend it on next.

As he reached the castle, he did not intend to stay long; he steered directly towards Maximilian's room. Luck favoured him unlike the other day, where it had taken him several attempts to find Eleanor; after a few knocks, the scion of House Marche opened the door.

"Nordmark! What brings you to my doorstep?"

"We haven't really had any fun together since the festivities at the Imperial palace. My work is done down by the copper lanes, so I figured it was time. I got the silver to spare." He rustled the purse hanging by his belt.

"I have plans to spar tonight," came the dragging answer. "Our examination is in a few days."

"Exactly. You have all day tomorrow to prepare. Or has it come to this? You extol the virtues of attending school, and I must persuade you to spend an evening out?"

Maximilian raised one hand. "Enough. I will not be shamed in this manner. Let me grab my cloak, and I shall make you regret your words."

Martel grinned. "Be my guest."

***

Rather than go to their usual haunt, the pair drifted around the market district, trying one tavern after another. The cold weather drove people inside, leaving many places packed with customers thirsty for something that brought warmth.

Pushing his way through a crowd, Martel reached his friend and placed a mug in his hand. "It's weird to be surrounded by so many people after spending five days in a house, all on my own."

"Ah yes, Eleanor told me of your ordeal. But you seem no worse for wear."

"I was fine, yeah. Unlike the people in the copper lanes."

"That is what it means to be a mage." Maximilian took a hefty sip. "We are always fine."

"Until we are not." Martel paused for a moment. "I'm going to war, Max."

"You're shaping up to be the best battlemage in all the legions, Nordmark. They will not risk you by placing you directly on the front," the mageknight argued. "Your greatest enemy will be boredom. And at any sign of danger, you shall have a dedicated protector taking all the blows."

"I suppose. Do you have any idea who might be assigned to me?" Martel had no insight into how the Imperial administration decided these matters.

"Impossible to say, really. It seems unlikely it will be anybody from our year – most are either becoming praetorians like me or officers like Eleanor. I am sure they will have someone experienced and skilled for you."

Except if a mageknight was available to fight alongside Martel as protector, it made him wonder what had happened to the last battlemage they protected. "I guess."

"It will be grand, Nordmark. Whenever you have leave, you shall be back in Morcaster, and I shall ply you with drink commensurate with every night you have been gone."

Martel wanted to share his optimism, but it was harder to feel hopeful as the one actually going to war.

"Speaking of such matters, this is some watered down swill. On to the next establishment! We must find one more worthy of our patronage."

Martel gave half a smile and followed his friend into the night.