Firebrand

Copper and Cat

Martel looked around. The prize fighters held their staves with grim expressions, and the guards likewise appeared prepared for trouble. His own emotions reflected how they looked, and for a moment, he imagined that Tibert had gathered all these men solely to take revenge on Stallion. Next to him, Maximilian emptied his flagon, letting him free one hand to pick up food from his plate.

"You're still hungry?" Martel asked incredulously.

"Always." The mageknight shrugged. "Besides, by the looks of it, I will need all my energy."

"You think he's here for me?" The novice whispered.

"No. We knew about this since the day before yesterday," Lothar explained, standing next to them.

"Kerra knew he would show up? And she still went ahead with all this?" Martel asked, not believing his own ears.

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of the woman herself. Dressed as usual in trousers and shirt, with a leather jerkin in addition and a dagger by her side, Kerra strolled through the assembled men to stand in front.

Martel did not understand how she could seem so calm and confident; Tibert had at least twice the numbers, and his men seem like hardened thugs and well-armed. He knew that Lothar, Cornelius, and Butcher could fight; he hoped that the doormen were similarly experienced.

People appeared from within the tavern, realising something was afoot. A few immediately made themselves scarce while some became spectators, watching with fascination; one even returned inside, only to reappear with others. Judging by the noise coming from within, the majority of patrons had yet to discover anything amiss.

Lothar gave Martel a staff, and he held it looking anxious. With a smirk, Maximilian emptied his plate, tossed it aside, and took the staff from Martel's hands. "He does not need a weapon," the mageknight explained. "Show them what a wizard can do. I will keep them back," he added towards Martel.

When a short stone's throw separated the two groups, Kerra spoke. "My apologies, Master Tibert, but you are not welcome here. I suggest you return to your own district."

"You ruined my business, you copper bitch. Now I return the favour." Despite his words, his expression remained blank; only his eyes showed their usual intensity, hinting at the anger underneath. "Leave the harlot alone, but destroy the rest!"

~

Numbers on their side, Tibert's men stormed forward to overwhelm the defenders of The Copper Drum. They clashed with loud yells and screams, smashing clubs or thrusting blades at each other. Three torches came flying through the air. Reacting without thinking, Martel seized them all with his magic. Extinguishing the fire, he tossed them aside.

His mind returned to the dreadful day at the square in the Khivan quarter, where the air likewise filled with shouts and blood. Fighting in the pit was one thing; it was a small, enclosed space against one opponent. Here, everything felt like chaos, and Martel was not sure what to do. Already, the attackers and defenders were embroiled, meaning any magic flung at the enemy might hit his own side.

Lothar, Butcher, and Cornelius had joined the fray, using their staves to great effect. Maximilian held back, surveying the field much like Martel did.

Looking to his right, the novice saw two barrels for collecting rainwater. He seized one with magic, tipping it over. The contents spilled out, and he could now lift the barrel into the air. Turning it around, open side downwards, he floated it over one of Tibert's men and let it fall.

Taken unaware, the rogue found himself trapped inside a barrel, and his muffled cries could be heard, turning to a scream as someone kicked him over.

Tibert looked over the fighting and saw Martel, standing elevated on the steps of the tavern. "That one's a mage! Kill him!"

Several of his men moved around to follow his command.

Maximilian went into action. His staff swung to crack someone's skull. Another opponent came only to receive an empowered kick to the chest, sending the man flying back. "Come at me!" the mageknight roared, relishing the fight. They obliged; a blade thrust forward, but was stopped by the acolyte's magical shield, and Maximilian smiled as he swung his staff again.

Someone approached on Martel's far right. Seeing them step onto the puddle of rainwater from the toppled barrel, the novice stretched out his hand and froze the surface. The thug slipped, and his curse turned to a whimper as he landed straight on his back.

The fight was turning, especially thanks to Maximilian. Tibert's men could only attack one or two at a time, and they were no match for a mageknight. His shield kept him safe as needed, and his empowered blows needed only strike once to send a man to sleep. Martel exhaled, allowing himself to feel relief.

Movement to his right caught his eye, and he turned to look. Tibert came running at full speed. "I'll get you, stableboy!" he shouted as their gazes locked. In one hand, he held a long dagger; a throwing knife in the other. As he leapt over the patch of ice, he flung his smaller weapon straight at Martel's chest.

Instinct saving him, the novice raised his shield. The knife struck against his magic and fell harmlessly to the ground, but straight behind came Tibert with murder in his eyes.

Raising both hands, palms outwards, Martel shot a stream of fire against his attacker. It hit the man straight in the chest, and his clothes ignited.

Heat and pain cut through any battle haze that Tibert might have felt. He shouted a curse, stopping in his tracks to look down at the flames on his torso. Throwing looks around, he spotted the other barrel of rainwater and leapt headfirst to extinguish the fire.

More than one could not help but laugh at this sight, Martel included. Seeing their leader brought low, not to mention two wizards among the defenders, Tibert's men broke.

Kerra, who had fought with a pair of long daggers, walked over to kick the barrel. As it fell, disgorging water and Tibert, she placed one knife at his throat. "Remember this moment if you ever consider returning to the copper lanes. Be thankful that this copper bitch respects the Pact and lets you live."

She pulled her weapon and stood aside, letting him get on his feet. From all sides, he saw only hostile stares, except those who looked at him with amusement. Still dripping wet, Tibert pushed at the people nearest and followed in the direction of his men.

~

Relieved laughter spread among the defenders. More people had appeared from within the tavern, watching the fight, but judging from the noise still emanating through the front door, plenty still partook of the festivities.

Watching the fighters and doormen slap each other's backs, Martel did not feel as charitable. He looked around to spot Kerra. "You knew this would happen. That's why you invited us," he spoke in accusation.

She shrugged. "I could have hired some poor saps to defend my tavern, but that would only have led to more casualties. I figured a pair of wizards could handle this more elegantly."

Maximilian joined to stand next to Martel. "That does not excuse luring us here under false pretences. You are lucky my clothes were not ruined."

"Your services shall not go unrewarded. Naturally, all your drinks tonight are on the house." Kerra took the purse by her belt and tossed it to Martel. "You won twenty silvers at every fight in The Broken Crown, right? The Copper Drum is happy to pay the same."

Martel felt the coins through the fabric. It annoyed him that she had the exact amount prepared in her purse, anticipating this very conversation.

She looked at Maximilian. "I'll subtract the same from your debt."

Martel glanced at his friend. "You still owe her money?"

"I gambled a lot trying to win my ring back," he admitted. "I will confess, a little brawl was missing from this celebration! And the spoils match the victory. Come on! We have a tavern to leave dry before the night is over." The mageknight stepped towards the entrance before looking back at Martel.

The novice stood indecisively. Already, the staff fighters had returned inside, slapping shoulders and exchanging remarks. He still felt angry at being manipulated yet again by Kerra – but he could nurse his wounded pride, or he could go inside and drink free ale with his friends. "I'm coming."

"Good man!" Maximilian slapped him on the back, and they went inside the tavern.