Firebrand

For a Few Drinks More

The games resumed Malday afternoon. Unlike the archery competition, mageknights did not compete. Instead, mounted soldiers and members of the nobility participated in the joust. Like yesterday, Martel watched with Maximilian, who was barred from participating. So they cheered for his older brother, showing the emblem of Marche on the field.

As only two contestants rode at a time, it took three hours to finish the joust. Maximilian's brother was eventually unhorsed after a respectable performance against his first opponents.

"At least he did better than me. Though I doubt my father will be satisfied either way." Maximilian exhaled.

They left the benches and stood on the square as activities wound down and people milled about. There would be no ceremony today and thus no reason to linger. "So, do you want to go back to the school?" Martel asked.

"Let us not bother. We have food and drink waiting for us. I say we advance upon The Copper Drum and make our own joust, spearing roast pigs and any drink within reach!"

"Sound strategy," Martel assented, and they set off towards the copper lanes.

~

Across Morcaster, people celebrated on the streets. Nightfall had yet to arrive, but this did not dampen the merriment. The crowds were in a festive mood, helped by liberal amounts of drink. Making their way through the festivities took some extra time, but the seventh bell had only just rung when Martel and Maximilian reached The Copper Drum.

Already, the place seemed full. Several doormen stood guard, rather than the usual one or two.

"It's five silver to join the feast," one of them said while holding up his hand as a gesture of warning.

"Not these two. Remember what the mistress said," another guard intervened.

"Right, sorry. Go right in." The first doorman stepped aside to let them enter, which they did with satisfied looks on their faces.

They found the common room filled with people busy eating and drinking. A constant stream of patrons moved towards the bar for food or refreshments and back to their tables. From a balcony, Kerra herself looked over the feast; she nodded and gestured towards the bar as she caught Martel's eyes.

Looking in that direction, he saw that Maximilian was already three steps ahead, and he hurried to walk after his friend. The mageknight pushed his way forward, and with a guilty look and mumbled apologies, Martel followed in his wake. They reached the bar and discovered that everyone was served the same. One tankard of ale and a plate with sausages, pickled eggs, wheat bread, beans in stew, and slices of boiled carrots.

Looking over the room, Martel saw the staff fighters of The Copper Drum with spare seats at the table. Both hands occupied, he gave Maximilian an elbow to gain his attention and nodded towards the table before making his way there. He nearly spilled his food when a drunken man suddenly stepped out onto the aisle, but swift evasion added by a bit of magic saved his plate.

He quickly sat down before anything else could happen, nodding in greeting to the men.

"You made it," Butcher remarked with a smile.

"You knew we were coming?" Martel asked. Maximilian sat down opposite with a growl counting as his introduction.

Lothar shot Butcher look. "Kerra told us to save some seats for you, that's all. Your companion, this must be Maximilian of Marche?"

Martel nodded. "Yes, a mageknight and my best friend at the Lyceum."

"Which is not as impressive as it sounds. I am everyone's best friend." Maximilian laughed and took a swig from his ale.

"You guys providing entertainment tonight?" asked the novice.

Cornelius shook his head while Butcher replied, "No, Kerra wanted us fresh. No fighting in the hall tonight."

"You talk a lot for a man always stuffing his face," Lothar growled at the portly man.

In response, Butcher soaked up the last of his stew with his bread, threw it in his mouth, and got up. "I better get another serving while they have them," he mumbled while chewing, grabbing his plate to leave for the bar.

Martel swallowed the last bits of his first sausage. "You can get more servings?"

"As many as you want until last bell rings," Lothar explained. "Same with the ale."

"Never heard of someone doing it that way before," Maximilian remarked before putting a whole egg into his mouth. "Certainly gets people through the doors."

"And once they're here after seventh bell, they'll keep drinking and pay for it," Cornelius added.

"Kerra knows what she is doing," Martel said, which made the fighters at the table glance at each other.

Maximilian emptied his plate and stood up. "Well, I better get another while time permits. Meanwhile, you should ask your friends why they keep giving each other furtive looks," he told Martel before he walked away.

The novice turned his eyes from Cornelius to Lothar. "What's going on?"

The older of the veterans scratched the scar across his eye. "There's a reason Kerra wanted two mages as her guests tonight. But she didn't want us saying anything."

"About what?"

Before he could get his answer, Lothar looked up towards the balcony where Kerra stood. She was waving towards the door, where one of the guards likewise gestured for attention.

"Get Butcher," Lothar told Cornelius. "Get your friend," he added, directed at Martel. "Meet us outside."

"What's happening?" the novice asked. But the fighters gave him no answer as they left the table. Unsure what else to do, Martel made his way through the crowd until he reached Maximilian. He touched him on the shoulder and said," Something is going on outside."

The mageknight grunted and followed with a plate of food and tankard of drink in his hands. Out on the street, Martel noticed his veteran friends, all armed with a staff, along with several of the guards at the tavern. Looking down the road, he saw a large flock of grizzled men approach. They looked armed, several bore torches, and they were led by Tibert.