Firebrand

Blooded Anew

Martel spent another morning contemplating whether he should go to The Copper Drum, though he had different reasons for his indecisiveness this time around. He no longer feared a trap of some sort; he and Maximilian had spent at least an hour in the tavern without any trouble of any kind. Instead, he hesitated because of the conversation that lay ahead. Talking to Lothar last night had never been his plan; he had simply seen the opportunity and felt the old man deserved a warning about his new employer, same as Lothar had tried to warn him.

The other fighters would be angry at Martel, and rightly so. The mage did not relish the idea of giving them the chance to express their anger or scorn any apology he might make. Yet he knew this was the thinking of a coward; he had done wrong, and he ought to accept the blame for it.

~

His decision made, Martel set out for the slums second night in a row. As before, he took the longer route, avoiding the harbour. Approaching The Copper Drum, the place looked lively as ever. People drank and gambled, and he had begun to understand what services some of the younger women and even men sold at the place, dressed provocatively and laughing at Martel's reaction to their invitations.

Looking over the common room, he saw Lothar seated with Butcher and Oak. Rather than appear empty-handed, Martel bought three ales before he approached the table. He sat the drinks down before the men. Seeing confused looks sent his way, he hurried to speak. "I owe you an apology. Consider this a start."

Both Butcher and Oak squinted, staring at him. "No, you can't be…?" asked the portlier of the two.

"Afraid I am," Martel replied.

Oak ran his tongue over his wooden teeth. "You're the bastard who cheated? You can cast spells."

"I can."

"So I can't beat you up because you'll just knock me down with magic."

"Well, yes… But I don't want to. I didn't want to fight in the ring in the first place. Kerra sent me in, so she could steal Tibert's business, and I couldn't refuse her," Martel argued in defence of himself.

"You cost me silver, losing that fight," Oak growled.

"You cost us all silver," Lothar chimed in.

"I know, which is why once you finish these mugs, I'll get three more." Martel gestured at the beers on the table.

"That's a start, at least," Oak grumbled.

"Good," Butcher added, smiling. "Because I already finished mine while you lot were yapping." He placed his empty tankard on the table.

"I'll get three more," Martel promised.

~

After he had done so, the fighters grudgingly allowed Martel a seat at the table. They stared at him with various emotions on their faces, though none of them overtly hostile, at least.

"You're really a wizard?" asked Butcher.

Martel nodded and summoned a small flame at the tip of his finger, letting it wander around his hand.

Butcher stared with obvious delight. "That's amazing, Stallion!"

"My name is Martel," he hurried to explain. "That whole nickname was Tibert's idea."

"I always thought those made up names were stupid," Lothar grumbled.

"My name is Cornelius," Oak revealed. "I actually don't like being reminded of my teeth every time someone says my name."

They all turned to look at Butcher.

"You'll never find out what my real name is," he said happily.

"I scarcely believed my man when he said we had such an auspicious visitor." Kerra's teasing voice slithered into their conversation.

Immediately, the three fighters sat up straight while Martel turned his head to look at the proprietress. "My presence is not a problem, I take it?"

"Why ever would it be?" Kerra opened her arms in a gesture of protest. "You and I are on the best of terms. In fact, I thought you might have returned looking for work. Magic has many uses for a woman in my position."

"Better not be in the ring," Lothar mumbled.

"No, I just wanted to pay my respects to the other fighters, make sure they're doing all right, since they lost their previous work thanks to me, among others." Martel's heart beat a little faster, and he sat ready to summon his shield at any sign of hostility.

"In that case, nothing to fear. I take good care of my people. All the copper lanes, even, bringing business to the quarter."

An idea came to mind; he had not considered this before, but perhaps worth mentioning. "If that's the case, there's something you should know."

Kerra looked at him expectantly.

"A month ago or so, a man tried to kidnap one of the urchins that live here in the district."

"Regrettable, but those things happen. You're not suggesting I am involved, I should hope?"

Martel quickly shook his head. "No. I only mention it because the man is a maleficar. He had dark designs on the child he stole, and since she got away, he might try again." Martel kept his eyes locked on her, wondering at her reaction.

"Anything you can tell me about this evil wizard?"

"Not much. He disguised himself, tried to lure the girl inside an empty house. I don't know his plans, but he struck during a full moon, so I suggest you are mindful around that time of the month."

"I shall take your words to heart." The sly smile had gone from Kerra's expression, and her voice sounded only serious. "I'll have the maid bring you an ale as thanks for the warning."

She disappeared, leaving the three fighters to look at Martel with different degrees of alarm or concern. "I've heard of evil sorcerers, but I never imagined any would run around these parts," Cornelius muttered.

"Just the one," Martel remarked.

"I thought inquisitors took care of such people?" Butcher questioned.

"They have to find them first," Lothar said darkly.

Martel emptied his mug. "Sorry for spoiling the mood. I'll get another round."

~

After an hour at The Copper Drum, Martel made his farewells. Apart from the brief interlude with Kerra and talks of maleficars, it had been an evening well spent in good company. After the first few rounds, the fighters either forgot or forgave their grievance against Martel, and they were happy to share war stories, either from the ring or their time in the legions. The novice had not imagined he would enjoy himself this way in the company of three men remote from him in age, experience, and background, yet he had laughed merrily and gladly spent his silver buying more rounds. Since the coin came from winning fights against them, it seemed only fair.

His mind all wrapped in thoughts about the evening, Martel never noticed the one-handed man who stalked after him on the streets of the copper lanes, all the way to the heart of the city, where the dark stranger watched as the novice walked through the gate of the Lyceum.