Firebrand

An Offer She Can't Refuse

"Today, we stay at the school. Study its stonework. Learn its secrets." Master Basil looked over his students in the entrance hall with such a placid expression, Martel wondered if the teacher actually registered their presence or simply assumed someone was around to attend his class. At least they were spared any slow-paced trip into the city and back again.

In fact, they barely had to move before reaching the first location for the lesson. Walking to the middle of the entrance hall, their teacher pointed at the floor beneath their feet.

"Notice the symbol." He pointed on the ground, letting some magelight illuminate the pattern. "A rune. From the barbarians in the North."

"What does it do?" asked one of the novices, the one with skill in earth magic. It was the first time any of them had spoken during Master Basil's lessons.

"It delivers a warning. When someone enters who does not reside at the Lyceum. It is only active at night. It alerts Master Jerome," came the slow explanation.

"Who is that?" asked the novice with an aptitude for air magic.

"The master artificer. You've never worked for him in the workshop?" the first novice whispered back.

The other student shrugged. "My parents paid for my education."

Martel had his own considerations while the others chattered; he thought about how often he had arrived home late, and if every time he had woken up the artificer from his sleep. "Does this mean Master Jerome wakes up whenever anybody comes home late?"

An expression and a coughing sound, which charitably could be interpreted as a smile and laughter, respectively, took over Master Basil. "No. The rune for those with the same mark. Look inside your sleeve."

Martel twisted the fabric around to find that a small symbol had been stitched into the cloth. He had never even noticed it before, being placed on the inside of the sleeve.

"This keeps the rune quiet. Like a key to the lock. But do not think that is all. The Lyceum has other defences." Their teacher walked towards the gate that led onto the street.

Martel and the other novices followed, and against expectations, he found his curiosity piqued.

"Place your hand on the stone. Feel the magic."

They all did. Martel was not sure he felt anything, other than perhaps the stone was warmer to the touch than he would have thought. The novice talented in earth magic, on the other hand, widened his eyes.

"Powerful spellwork in these stones. Made by the Archeans. Some of it even beyond our understanding," Master Basil admitted.

"What does it do?" someone asked.

"Many things. Some of it simple. Heating the air to keep cold from entering the castle." Their teacher cracked his attempt at a smile again. "I once saw a man come running with a drawn weapon. Pure magical force knocked him to the ground. The gate to the Lyceum is open. But do not consider that an invitation. If you mean to do harm."

~

They continued around the castle, with Master Basil pointing out the work done in stone and spell long ago when the castle had been raised. Martel had at times wondered at the lack of security, given that the Lyceum contained many valuables. Apart from enchanted objects, the books of the library, the remedies of the apothecary, and many other items of great value dispersed throughout, the place had to be a tempting target for any thief. And Martel knew that Morcaster did not lack those.

But during the tour, it became clear that any attempts of misdeeds would be foolhardy. Protections lay on every entrance, even the windows. It was fascinating to gain a glimpse into all the labours undertaken to safeguard the castle, and Martel found himself with renewed awe of the Archean wizards. Yet it was also frustrating; every question inquiring into the details of these wards was met with ignorance. The knowledge had been lost.

Coming full circle, the lesson ended back in the entrance hall. Before Martel could leave, he was approached by Henry, the air acolyte working as a clerk. With a sly smile, he approached Martel holding a note between two fingers. "Another message from the copper bird."

With an annoyed look, Martel grabbed the message and walked away, standing under Master Farhad's watch to read it.

Master Martel,

Your presence is requested at your convenience at The Copper Drum.

The matter pertains to your expertise, and your aid would be appreciated.

Respectfully,

The Copper Lady

Previous messages from Kerra had never boded well. The last time, he had been invited to a feast and found himself in a fight. Still, he felt intrigued. He wondered what necessitated a request for his expertise. If something magical was afoot in the copper lanes, where he did have quite a few friends by now, perhaps he was obliged to investigate. At the very least, he would hear Kerra out.

~

The doorman greeted Martel with a smile; the novice recognised the fellow from the night of Tibert's attack.

"Kerra said to send you straight to her study," The guard nodded at the door, signalling for Martel to continue on.

"Oh, I don't think I know the way," Martel admitted.

"Hah, yeah, it's a bit of wind-up. I'll take you." He got up and led the way.

The usual amount of patrons could be seen inside, some of them turning their heads to look at the newcomer, though nobody paid him particular attention. They continued up the stairs and deeper into the labyrinthine part of the building until the guard opened a door, and Martel once more stood in Kerra's chamber. He had a memory flash into his mind of the first time, feeling threatened and trapped. This time, only Kerra was present, and she smiled as she motioned for him to sit down opposite her.

"My thanks for coming here. I have a proposition for you."

A little wary considering the other times he had helped Kerra, Martel felt sceptical. "What is it?"

"In a fiveday or so, it will be a full moon. You remember what happened in the copper lanes at the last full moon, I take it."

Martel had not thought about the maleficar for a while. "I remember."

"I have armed my men with golden weapons – the price still haunts me – but they have no experience fighting mages. I have them on the lookout for anyone suspicious, but whether they can actually take down a dark wizard remains theoretical."

The same would go for Martel, who felt a little awkward. "You mentioned in your note that you needed my expertise, but I have no knowledge of maleficars either. I've never met one."

She looked at him intently. "I want you to train my men. Give them some experience fighting a spellcaster."

Surprised, Martel tried to think of a response. "I've never trained anyone," he stammered. "I wouldn't know what to do."

"Simply attack them. I saw what you did when Tibert and his thugs attacked us. Not to mention, you won several fights in his pit. Do the same here."

"What if they get hurt? Badly?"

"They'll be wearing gold. On that note, I'll pay you ten silver to train them, one bell every night."

Martel's eyebrows shot up. That was more money than working for Master Jerome or any other honest job he might do. Still not as much as winning a fight in the pit of The Broken Crown, but also less risk of expulsion.

Yet something in him felt guilty about accepting coin for this. They were threatened by magic; profiting from that, simply because he also possessed magic, somehow seemed dirty. "I'll do it, but instead of paying me, I'd rather you spent that money helping others. Maybe increase preparations against this maleficar, equip more people to fight him."

Now it was Kerra's turn to look surprised, though she quickly hid her reaction. "More than acceptable to me. Are you able to return tomorrow night, say at last bell? I'll have your recruits ready for you by then."

"I'll be there."

"Then it is agreed, with my thanks."