Firebrand

The Bond of the Ring

Martel spent most of his morning considering whether to go to The Copper Drum or not. On the surface of it, it posed no danger. Kerra's note had said as much, that she considered their business concluded. He had no specific reason to avoid the place, other than his own opinion on the proprietress of the tavern.

But Kerra had already made a fool of him, blindsiding him completely. Could this be some kind of a trap? Her note had extended an open invitation, which he had ignored. What if she had made Weasel dangle bait in front of him to lure him towards The Copper Drum? Given her sway, it would not be hard for her to discover Martel's friendship with the urchins, nor would it be the first time that Weasel let him walk into an ambush.

In the end, curiosity won over caution. He had no specific reason to suspect a trap. But just to be on the safe side, maybe he should take Maximilian along. Even if Eleanor's words about relying on the mageknight to save his skin still stung, Martel had to admit that he would not have escaped The Broken Crown without his friend's assistance. And he had no reason to expect trouble that would require intervention. And should it happen, Maximilian would probably relish the prospect anyway.

"Max, do you want to go see a fight with me?"

The acolyte looked up from his lunch meal. "I wondered how long you could keep up this façade of dutiful student. I did not expect you would want to see a prize fight of all things, but why not?"

"Great. There's one tonight, at The Copper Drum."

"Wait." Maximilian frowned. "You want to go to that hag's place? Since when do they host fights anyway?"

"Exactly. Rather suspicious timing. I can't deny being curious."

The mageknight regarded him carefully. "You realise we might walk into a viper's nest? Considering what happened last time we went."

"I don't plan on starting anything. Our business with that woman is done. But should something happen – we are mages, aren't we."

Maximilian slapped his hand against the table. "Indeed we are!"

~

The Copper Drum was all but packed. Not the common room, though it saw its share of patrons as well, but the new fighting hall that had been added or constructed among the chambers of the complex. It resembled its counterpart at The Broken Crown, with a lowered pit and balconies allowing for many spectators. Paying the admission for himself and Maximilian, Martel entered with his friend to find a spot among the crowd.

The fight had already begun, so Martel missed any announcement of the fighters. He did not require it where one party was concerned; looking down into the pit, he recognised Lothar.

For the next ten minutes, they watched the old veteran thrash his opponent. Although Lothar made it seem tense and as if the outcome might have been in doubt, Martel could tell from experience who had the upper hand from start to finish. Finally, the other fighter yielded, and Lothar emerged from the pit to applause.

The two mages left the fighting hall along with the other spectators, who poured into the common room or the gambling chamber. "Are we getting something to drink or what?" Maximilian asked as they finally made their way to the bar.

Martel looked out at the room to note Lothar sitting alone, quenching his thirst. "Yeah. Can you get started? There's someone I should talk to."

They separated, and Martel wove in and out among the other patrons to reach the old fighter. Looking up, he glanced at the novice for a moment before recognition flitted across his face, and he scratched the scar that ran down his cheek. "I see that your eye has healed better than mine."

"Yeah." Guilty about his deception, Martel was unsure what to say. "I'm sorry I lied to you. You tried to help me out. Warned me against Leatherfist."

"That's a lot of good it did me." Lothar took a sip from his ale, but he kept his eye on Martel. "You're really a mage, then?"

"I am, though I'll deny ever having set foot in The Broken Crown if anyone asks."

"Given your disguise, it's not like there's a lot of witnesses. Tibert's in hot waters, once they found out about the illegal fights and him bribing the city guard. As for me, nobody is going to take the word of an old veteran doing illegal fights over that of a mage." Lothar watched him with an inscrutable expression. "The truth doesn't matter in the city, only who you are."

"People don't like me either just because one of my ancestors is Tyrian. And they hate my friend just for being Khivan, even though she was born right here in Morcaster."

"There's no helping your friend, but you at least got a way out. Nobody messes with a mage, certainly not anybody among ordinary folk. I've seen guards bow and scrape to your kind while having only disdain for veterans like me, despite all our years of service to the Empire."

"I'm sorry they treat you that way," Martel said earnestly. "Even if I am a mage, I know what it's like to be hungry. The only reason I ended up doing the prize fights was to get coin for my friend, so she wouldn't get kicked out of her home."

"Times are hard." Lothar gave him an examining look. "Did you use magic when we fought?"

"The second time, yeah."

"At least I didn't get beaten by a pup still wet behind the ears," the old veteran grumbled.

"Actually, since you tried to warn me about Leatherfist, I wanted to return the favour. You should know that your new employer was behind everything. She made me do the fights, and she revealed my secret to cause all the chaos and panic."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She already had the pit built and everything, and she was awful quick offering me and the other boys to work for her."

"You should watch your back. I don't know if I trust her enough to stay in her employ," Martel said.

Lothar gave a shrug. "She went after Tibert, not me or mine. Here, we have a home, food, and silver. For an old man with no other skill than fighting, this is as good as life gets."

Maximilian pushed his way through the throng, careful not to spill his mugs of ale. "There you are," he growled. "You could have told me where you went."

The veteran looked up at the mageknight before turning his attention to Martel again. "Look, I'm not in the mood for more talking tonight. But I'm not the only one you injured, boy. If you want to make amends, come by tomorrow evening." His gaze turned intense as he locked Martel's eyes with his own. "You cheated in the pit, broke the bond of the ring. The others deserve to hear that from you."

The old man got up, emptied his mug, and let it hit the table with a forceful sound. Maximilian took his seat, glancing at Lothar as he left. "Nice of him to give us his table."