Firebrand

Adventures in Law Enforcement

Master Fenrick gave Martel's battered face a second look but refrained from commenting, launching into his lesson instead. "I have spoken briefly about maleficars before, when I remarked upon necromancy, which is one study of magic favoured by these dark wizards, though by no means the only one."

Ignoring the discomfort from his bruises, Martel made sure to pay attention.

"As I may have told you before, maleficar simply means those who do evil. While inquisitors no doubt have a long list of what a wizard might do to earn this title, typically it is applied to mages pursuing one or both of two studies in magic. Necromancy, as mentioned, and leechcraft."

Martel silently mumbled the last word.

"When we cast magic, we draw upon our own lifeforce for power, particularly for more complex spells. This creates a natural limit. Eventually, your strength will run out, and you can no longer cast magic until you have rested." Master Fenrick let his eyes behind his glasses slowly glide over the students. "But what if we could take power from another to fuel our magic? Steal their strength and take it for ours?"

One novice raised her hand. "We could keep casting spells for ever."

Their teacher nodded. "Until our victim died, of course, and we'd have to find another. There are many wizards who are tempted by the promise of power in leechcraft, and you will undoubtedly come across stories and references in your future studies."

Once again, he moved his gaze from one novice to the next, weighing them down with the gravity of his words. None of them spoke.

"So I tell you now, no form of magic is considered more reprehensible. It will twist and scar the soul of those who pursue it. Furthermore, any knowledge of this dark art was lost with the fall of Archen. I have seen a few who despite warnings sought to recover this knowledge, and it has only ever ended in great suffering, for others and themselves."

~

When Martel had a bell to spare, he left the school to do as he had promised the princeps of the guard patrol last night. Mindful of the importance of giving the right impression, he changed from his brown robe into his expensive clothes, same as he had worn last night. Fortunately, he had not bled on his white silk shirt.

Last night had been Martel's first interaction with the city guard, and he was unsure how exactly to proceed. But the princeps had said he could make his statement at any station, so he would begin by finding one of those. He knew one lay near the school, just a stone's throw away.

The building looked slightly foreboding in between ordinary houses, having a heavy door and no windows. A sign above showed an axe surrounded by a bundle of staves, declaring who had the right to punish or execute.

Outside, a man wearing the red cloak of the city guard stood posted wielding a staff. "What's your business, citizen?" He asked the question with a cordial tone, almost sounding deferential despite Martel's young age.

"Last night, I was attacked, but the assailant was subdued and arrested. One of the guards said I should go make a statement in the morning," the novice explained.

"Certainly, good master." The guard opened the door. "Go inside, and the princeps on duty will write it all down."

Martel mumbled his thanks and stepped into the building. As could be expected, the room inside was dark, only lit by lamps. He saw a woodstove, not in use at this time of the year. A table in the middle with chairs held three guards in their distinct uniform, and stairs led up to the second floor. Lastly, a small writing desk stood to the side.

The soldiers had been playing cards, but seeing Martel, the oldest of the band stood up. "What's the trouble, good master?"

Martel repeated what he had told the man outside.

The princeps nodded and sat down by the writing desk, preparing paper and foil. "This happened last night?" As Martel confirmed, he wrote down yesterday's date. "Describe the man, and what happened. Not too fast, please." He gave a wry grin. "I don't write that fast."

Martel gave a quick description of Leatherfist, mentioning the missing hand. Once the guard had finished writing and looked up at the novice, he continued explaining the assault and how he had knocked out his assailant.

The other guards, who had seemed to mostly follow the story out of boredom, all widened their eyes at the mention of magic.

"You're a mage, master?" asked the princeps.

Martel nodded. Unsure if he was meant to prove it, he lit a flame in his hand. The guards stared and whispered to each other.

"What's your name, good master?"

"Martel of Engby, though I reside at the Lyceum."

"Of course." The princeps made some final scribbles and show the document to the novice. "If all this looks correct, please sign your name at the bottom."

Martel looked at the paper, straining his eyes to read the handwriting. He brightened the flame in his hand to provide more light. "Oh, I have a witness. My friend, Shadi, she was present and saw the whole thing."

The older guardsmen frowned. "That's a Khivan name, right?"

"Yeah, but her eyes work the same."

"I don't think the judge will be interested in her. The word of a mage will suffice. No need to bother the lass." He stood aside from the writing desk and gestured for Martel to sign it.

Feeling a little weird from the exchange, but also eager to be done, the novice placed the documents against the desk and quickly signed it. "What happens now?"

"We'll send this to headquarters. Your robber will go before a judge who reads your statement and passes a sentence. If there's any doubt, you might be asked to show up in person at court, but I doubt that'll be needed," the princeps explained.

"Alright. Thanks." Martel handed the paper over to the guard and gave a quick nod before he turned to leave.

"Happy to be of service, good master."