Firebrand

Equine Parentage

Martel sat in Master Fenrick's class, his mind stuck on a particular question. Finally, he raised his hand.

He could not tell if his teacher was exasperated that he always had something to ask irrelevant to the current subject, or delighted that he had something to ask. Perhaps both.

"Yes?"

"Master Fenrick, how can you detect if someone has magical abilities? In case they are trying to keep them hidden, that is."

"For this, we have turned to our neighbours. For some reason, Asterian mages have never developed such a method. Perhaps because, as we simply copied our neighbours, we never had need for our own."

"But what are they?"

"Our southern friends in Sindhu have, naturally, a complex mixture made from alchemy. Sprinkle it over any person or indeed any item, and the powder will ignite into sparkling bits of light. Very reliable, and useful as it can be used both on people and objects."

Martel remembered the gambling establishment, being exposed to such a powder. "What's the other?"

"One of the Tyrian runes has the ability to light up when in contact with magic, though I believe it only works on people. Due to their rather different understanding of magic, it might not always react either as we expect, or it might be easy to draw in a wrong manner, thereby ruining the effect."

The question of how to counter these effects burned at the tip of Martel's tongue, but it felt a suspicious thing to ask. He considered raising the topic with Mistress Rana, who surely would know all about Sindhian powder, as long as he could do it in an innocuous way. As for the runes, perhaps the library possessed a book. Not that Martel intended to try his hand at gambling again; but being able to hide his magic seemed useful, and since it certainly would have been once already, he at least wanted to know more about it. Pushing the topic from his mind for now, he turned his attention back on Master Fenrick's lecture.

~

Martel's second lesson of the day was the practical companion to the theory lessons, where the students trained their endurance and expanded their ability to manipulate magic. They did this in two ways, either by repeatedly casting a challenging spell such as drawing water from the air, or by maintaining a magical effect for extended periods of time.

It did not matter what they did, as long as they pushed their reservoir of magical power to be emptied, much like physical exercise would make a person stronger. Unfortunately, Martel expected he would need all his magical strength for the fight tonight, and he could not afford to waste it on the lesson. So he simply summoned a few flames, which he could do without causing any strain to himself, and pretended that keeping them burning left him tired. If Master Fenrick suspected that he was slacking, nothing was said.

~

Maximilian knocked on his door as evening approached. "Ready?" he asked through the barrier.

Martel checked that he had the items of his disguise in his pockets. He wore the clothes of a stableboy, as he could not change once they left the school, but wearing the eyepatch walking down the corridors of the Lyceum would invite more ridicule than Martel felt up for. For now, it rested alongside with his cloth mask in the pockets of his trousers.

He opened the door. "Ready."

~

Approaching The Broken Crown, Martel pulled out both eyepatch and mask, putting both on. He began steering towards the back alley behind the tavern when Maximilian stopped him. "You should go to the common room, get something to drink."

Martel's eyebrows made a frown, though only one of them was visible. "But I don't want a drink. I shouldn't have had one last time either. I am anxious enough as it is."

"Exactly! You need something to smoothen the wrinkles."

Martel shook his head. "I need to be focused. My stomach is already in a knot. Drinking or eating is just going to upset it."

"Fortunately, that is not a concern for me. I will see you in there for the fight, I suppose." Maximilian slapped his friend on the shoulder and continued down the street towards the front entrance of the tavern.

Martel watched him leave. He knew it was best they entered separately anyway, but Maximilian sitting at the bar, drinking and having a good time, made him feel a little abandoned. Finally, he left the thoroughfare, walking through the back alleys to enter unnoticed.

~

After letting Tibert know of his arrival, Martel waited in the same room as his first fight. This time, when the boy appeared with a flagon of ale, Martel waved him away.

Tibert appeared through the other door. "You're up, Stallion."

Martel groaned inwardly, made sure his mask sat tight, and walked out to the fighting ring.

As before, crowds filled the entire space. Last time, Martel had been so anxious, he had not really taken it all in. The noise alone had seemed to overpower his other senses. This time, he took better note of how many balconies rose up the walls, and just the smell of so many people tightly packed together.

The throng parted to grant access, and he climbed down into the pit. Moments later, he was joined by his opponent for the evening. A man with hefty girth, looking like he weighed twice as much as Martel, even if a head shorter. He bared his teeth. "I'm going to bite your fingers off and stuff them down your mouth hole," he declared with an intense look in his eyes, following up with an imaginative insult concerning horses and Martel's parentage.

Martel stared with wide eyes. It had been his clear impression that mutilation was not part of the fights. Or was the only guarantee that they did not fight to the death?

Thinking about his last fight, how superior Lothar had seemed, Martel fervently hoped he would be allowed to surrender rather than lose any digits, should defeat be imminent.

From a balcony above, Tibert raised his hands. Two staves were thrown into the pit; Martel picked up his.

"Fight!"