Firebrand

An Offering of Blood

Maximilian's team ended up winning the bout, though it did not avail them much; they lost their next match, one short of reaching the final round. That left him out of the games for this harvest, as mageknights could not participate in the final contest, taking place on Manday.

The grand melee involved ordinary warriors; former legionaries given the chance to relive old glories and earn the title as Sol's champion for the year along with a sizeable prize.

Maximilian not competing had the advantage that Martel and Shadi could once again join him on the benches. A few still grumbled at seeing them, but none made protests loud enough for the young viscount to hear.

"You fought very well yesterday," Shadi told him.

The mageknight waved a hand around. "Not well enough." He exhaled. "But thank you," he added as an afterthought.

The contestants marched in. The rules were similar to yesterday, except there would only be one massive fight. Two hundred warriors, divided into two teams. They did not wear cloaks, but simply a coloured ribbon around their arm to signal their allegiance, yellow against green. Any man who lost his weapon or was knocked down, forfeited the game. Beyond that, lacking magic, they had only armour, helmet, and shield to protect themselves. Unlike the other fights involving mageknights, people expected and shouted for blood.

The trumpets rang. Two hundred veteran soldiers stormed towards each other. The sound was deafening. Martel had been in fights before, but nothing involving these numbers. He could only liken it to his last visit at The Broken Crown when the crowd had gone into a frenzy, and he had felt trapped inside a throng of enemies as he looked up from the pit.

Everywhere his eyes fell, soldiers slashed and hacked at each other. Mostly, shields and armours held, but a lot would have nasty bruises tomorrow, and Martel believed he saw open wounds on some of the old legionaries limping away. He hoped they had skin and blood salve available.

He glanced at the other spectators. They seemed engrossed in the show, even his friends by his side. People shouted and laughed, elbowing each other in the sides to remark on a particularly vicious blow.

Martel did not know why he felt differently. Maybe it came from his own experiences, being in fights in the pit or on the streets. Or perhaps he had simply seen enough over the course of the fiveday. Regardless of the reason, Martel felt saturated by violence. He was glad that he had no special talent for empowerment magic. They would have made him become a mageknight, and every day would have been like this.

~

It took over an hour, maybe two before the grand melee ended; Martel had not kept track of time. The best fighters from either team were rewarded, one of them crowned as Sol's champion to thunderous applause.

Martel was only too happy when the ceremony had ended. Some manner of religious ritual followed, but since Shadi had no interest in that, he took the opportunity to leave with her, and they drifted towards the market district. With Kerra's money from last night, he could once more afford to be generous. Warm food, jokes with Shadi, and a change of scenery helped his mood; by the time the sun set and the full moon took its place, he had forgotten any ill feeling from earlier that day. When he finally went to sleep that night, it had all in all been a pleasant Golden Harvest, another first to add to his experiences in Morcaster.

~

Late into the night, Kerra walked down the street of the slums accompanied by one of her guards. "It's just down here," the man spoke, pointing at an old house straight ahead.

"Anyone live with the old woman?" asked the Copper Lady, pulling her cloak tighter around her against the cold wind.

He shook his head. "Neighbours said she lived alone. They wouldn't tell us much else. All claimed they saw nothing."

"How certain are you about this? You better not have dragged me down here for nothing."

The guard gestured towards the house as they stopped before it. "Go in and see for yourself, mistress." He extended the torch in his hand towards her. "If you don't mind, I'll stay out here."

She gave him a disdainful look, grabbed the torch, and entered the house alone. Although she walked with confidence, her free hand rested on the hilt of her dagger all the same.

At first glance, the place seemed entirely ordinary. A few pieces of furniture, a cooking hearth without any fire, a bucket of water, and some scattered morsels of food. Just like any house in the copper lanes, except perhaps in greater state of disrepair with creaking floorboards and loose shutters on the windows, causing the wind to howl through. Another example could have been the sound of water dripping through the ceiling – except the night was dry. It had not rained in days.

Faintly, the smell of blood lay in the air. Kerra followed the sound of drops falling to hit the floor. Kneeling down, she brought the torch close until it illuminated the patch of red liquid slowly spreading across the boards. Raising her eyes, she looked at the ceiling, providing the source of the droplets.

Continuing her investigation, Kerra climbed the ladder to reach the upper floor. It was, like below, a single room underneath the diagonal roof. The latter forced Kerra to bend her neck as she stood up.

She approached the bed, one of the only objects in the chamber. Holding up her torch, she looked down to see the body of an aged woman lying on the straw in the bedframe.

Staring at the resident of the house, Kerra saw how her throat had been slashed, which accounted for the blood. Her dress, already old and ragged, had been cut open from the collar down. Upon the torso, above the heart, a mysterious round symbol with intricate patterns could be spotted, seared onto the skin.