Firebrand

Chapter 56: Marbled Performance

Chapter 56: Marbled Performance

Marbled Performance

As Martel and Maximilian descended the stairs to the grand hall, they had a perfect view of the ongoing celebration. Across the wide space, tables stood scattered, decked with food and drink. In small groups, the guests congregated around these, supplying themselves with all manners of nourishment. While some of it looked recognisable to Martel, he could not claim to know the dishes. Various kinds of roasted fowls, for instance, but stuffed with vegetables. He reached out to grab a boiled egg, taking a bite. Rather than yolk, a spicy liquid filled his mouth. He almost spluttered in surprise, barely able to keep from spitting out the food.

"Do not choke," Maximilian chastised him. "That would be supremely poor etiquette." He grabbed two cups of wine, handing one over to Martel. "Some quick advice. Say as little about yourself as possible. In fact, avoid conversation unless others engage you. The more expensive clothes someone is wearing, the further you should stay away from them. See that man dressed in the purple doublet?" Maximilian discreetly nodded towards the other end of the hall.

"Yeah, what about him?"

"That would be the emperor's cousin or nephew, son-in-law, something. Definitely stay away from him. And if you are desperate, Eleanor is over there." The mageknight grinned and emptied his cup. "I better seek out my father. Do not let the wolves smell your fear." He abruptly left.

Martel felt too relieved at seeing a familiar face to be upset at Maximilian jesting with him. Trying to walk in a calm manner rather than rush over, he approached Eleanor. She stood with her friends from class, Elaine and Clarissa. The latter two looked at Martel like he was a smelly dog, and he waivered.

"It is good to see you, Martel," Eleanor said pointedly, to which he smiled and gave a small, awkward wave.

"I see Maximilian dressed up his pet," Elaine remarked. "Clothes are not everything, however. Come, Clarissa, leave Eleanor to her fraternisation with the lower classes." The two girls left for other circles of socialising.

"I apologise for them," Eleanor quickly said. "I am supposed to stay on good terms with them for my father's sake, but I find it increasingly difficult."

"You've nothing to apologise for," Martel told her. "I'm just glad to see one person I know."

Eleanor glanced over the grand hall. "I can imagine." There had to be hundreds of guests, spread out across the large space, with servants nimbly moving between to keep tables filled. The amount of food would probably have fed Engby for a month.

As for the clothes, they surpassed what even the richest people in Nordmark would wear. Martel had been impressed by his own garb, but he realised that he was wearing everyday clothes when comparing with the other guests. His shirt was white and plain as opposed to the other men with bright patterned shirts that matched those on their doublet and trousers. Their belts and shoes had buckles of gold. The women wore elaborate dresses, likewise richly ornamented. All wore jewellery of every kind, from rings on fingers and in ears to necklaces, armbands, and even in the hair. The thought came to Martel that if his borrowed garments were considered ordinary, that meant the rich wore silk every day.

"So what happens at these celebrations?"

"People arrive, eat and drink for now," Eleanor explained. "Later, musicians will play, allowing for dancing. And last year, Maximilian demonstrated his skills fighting with magic. I imagine he will again this year."

"You two have known each other a long time, I take it."

She shrugged. "It was mostly peripheral. Our families attend the same functions. We did not have classes together as novices. That only began when we started training as mageknights."

Martel reached out to grab a chicken leg. The meat had been seasoned with something he did not recognise, but he could not argue with the result. "I wish I could have been here in past years, and not just for the food."

Eleanor laughed, and Martel always felt a little touch of pride when he accomplished that. Her hair had been elaborately set in ways she never wore it at the school with soft curls that framed her face. It was also the first time he saw her in a dress rather than the mageknight's tunic, and her athletic form bore it well. She was the prettiest woman in the hall, without doubt; at the same time, Martel knew her magic in time would make her stronger than any of the ungifted men. For some reason, his mind turned to Shadi with her short hair and boy clothes.

Glancing around the room, Martel became aware of a man staring at him. Middle-aged, he wore a knight's sword instead of the more ornamental daggers and knives others did. His hair had been closely cut, and he was clean-shaven. An armoured fist served as the insignia on his clothes.

"Eleanor, do you know why that man is looking at us so intently? Is it me or you?"

She followed his gaze before laughing again. "Probably both. That is my father, Legate Richard Fontaine."

His title explained the sword, Martel supposed, though it felt a bit much appearing so armed for a celebration. "Let me guess, he is not fond of boys talking to his daughter."

"Most likely, he is simply curious as to who you are. He cannot determine so from your clothing, lacking any emblem."

"If you plan to tell him tonight, wait until I'm beyond reach of his sword, please."

She chuckled. "He respects mages, do not worry. Any who serves the Empire, really."

Their conversation ceased as musicians entered the hall, clearing a space.

~

Led by a minstrel, song and music followed as could be expected, along with dancing. Martel retreated, as he did not know any of the steps. His companion in conversation left him, turned into a dance partner by Maximilian. Martel watched them float around the floor; he enjoyed seeing his friends smiling and enjoying themselves, though he wished that he could participate.

"They make a magnificent couple, do they not?" Elaine sauntered over next to him.

As she only ever spoke to him with venom on her tongue, he did not reply.

"Rumour has it their fathers might be considering a match."

That made sense. Both mageknights, both from families of high status, close in age. That seemed like a good match, and Martel knew he ought to feel happy for them. Watching them on the floor, treading steps he did not know, it also reminded him that his only friends at school belonged to a world forever beyond his reach.

"Of course, Count Marche may have his doubts, given that Eleanor's father does not have the highest standing at court. Anything that reflects poorly on her, such as lesser company, could endanger her future. I have tried telling her this, but she is disinclined to listen. Honestly, she does not deserve my friendship. As you do not deserve hers."

Her message delivered, Elaine left. Martel did not dignify her with a single look.

~

Once the music came to an end, it was time for Maximilian's performance. Receiving a sword and shield - Martel noticed it was not a hammer - Maximilian took position in middle of the hall. He did not strike a particularly warlike figure, dressed in fine clothes; the four swordsmen who surrounded him looked more than ready for a fight in comparison.

They fell upon him from all sides. Presumably the swords were blunted, for they did not hold back, aiming their weapons against Maximilian's unarmoured body; plenty of experienced warriors in the crowd, Martel assumed, who would have noticed if their attacks stood no chance to actually hit. Maximilian moved faster than them, turning to deflect blows. Although impressive, Martel did observe a marked difference from the other fights he had witnessed. Every man here fought with a cool head, unlike the savagery that might accompany a battle involving life or death. Still, it provided great spectacle.

One after the other, Maximilian disarmed or struck his opponents to the ground. When all four had been vanquished, the crowd cheered.

After that, an archer stepped forward, and Maximilian lay his shield aside. The bowman loosened several arrows in swift succession, and this felt more dangerous. Even with blunt tips, they flew with such force to cause real hurt if they struck their target. But just a hand's width in front of the mageknight, the arrows hit his magical shield and fell to the ground. Once again, the audience voiced their approval.

A herald announced the next performance, involving a battlemage. It took Martel a moment to realise they meant him. Further space was cleared, presumably in fear of the famed destructive powers of the battlemage. Well, they were about to see the modestly shiny powers of the novice. No matter what his friend expected, Martel was not going to do anything more impressive than what any typical student at the Lyceum could conjure up.

Martel and Maximilian took position opposite each other. Picking up his shield, the mageknight gave a small nod. In response, the weathermage-in-training conjured a flame into his hand. It shone brightly but hardly had the heat to light a candle. Martel threw it across the room until it burst against Maximilian's shield. The flames dispersed to all sides, quickly disappearing, but it looked imposing as the mageknight stepped forward through the remnants of the fire.

Not sure what else to do, Martel simply repeated the manoeuvre. He heard gasps from the crowd, so presumably he was doing it right; anyone with actual magic talent in the hall would know how harmless a spell it was. Meanwhile, Maximilian moved steadily towards him, shield raised and sword ready.

Martel wondered how this was meant to end; he quickly found out. Resisting another benign bolt of fire, Maximilian came within reach of the novice. With the flat of the blade, he struck Martel on the leg while his shield pushed against the chest. All done swiftly in a fluid motion, no doubt it looked great; Martel could not tell, as the loss of balance sent him flat on his back. Hitting the marble floor, he groaned while the audience laughed and applauded.

Looking up to see Maximilian waving his sword in the air, accepting the crowd's accolades, Martel felt a flash of anger. He did not deserve to be humiliated this way, especially not when he had only agreed to do this for Maximilian's sake.

The feeling subsided as swiftly as it had appeared. Maximilian had come to his aid twice, risking life and limb. If the price was a little loss of pride, Martel could not complain about such a bargain. As the mageknight reached down a hand to help him stand, he accepted it.

"Well done, mate. You were brilliant."

Martel felt anything but, yet he accepted the praise with a hollow smile. Catching Eleanor's eyes in the crowd, he thought he saw pity on her face; it stung worse than any humiliation.