Firebrand

Taking Charge

Manday provided the opportunity to ask a pertinent question. "Master Fenrick, how does a maleficar fight?"

The teacher narrowed his eyes. "That is a question for inquisitors, not for a novice."

"We won't always be novices. If you don't teach us now, who will?"

"Well, it's not a topic I am much familiar with. Maleficars use empowering magic, but in a different way than how we train you. We use it on ourselves, to be faster, stronger, and for protection, defensively." Master Fenrick cleared his throat. "Maleficars use it offensively to steal your strength and take it as their own."

Leechcraft, Martel thought, suppressing a shudder. "How do you defend against that?"

"Fortunately, our magical shield that protects against physical attacks also works against such magic. Perhaps because it is the same kind. That is merely a theory I have yet to test, and I am fine if I never get to test it." The teacher smiled behind his thick glasses.

"What if you don't possess magic, if you're exhausted?"

Master Fenrick gave him a look. "You run."

~

"Max, I have an exciting opportunity for you." Martel stared at his friend with what he considered his most winning smile.

The mageknight looked up from his plate. "Why do you look constipated?"

Martel's expression turned to a scowl. "Look, you want free drinks? And you can settle some of your debt to Kerra."

"That woman. You should be particularly suspicious when someone comes to you with both whip and carrot to do their bidding." Maximilian stuffed a large piece of bread into his mouth.

On the other side of the table, Martel next wore a look of disappointment. "It's not her asking, it's me."

"Well, what is it?"

"I'm training some of her guards on how to defend themselves against magic. Full moon next fiveday."

Maximilian snorted. "You? Training warriors?"

"You think you can do better?"

The acolyte looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I am a mageknight, Martel. Of course I can."

"Show me. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two as well."

Squinting, Maximilian finally shook his head. "You should not teach the commoners about magic. They have no business trying to fight a mage, and it is not knowledge you should share. It is beneath you. Certainly, it is beneath a mageknight." He let the other half of his bread follow the first.

Feeling a little hurt at being chastised, Martel remained quiet.

~

Alone, Martel reached The Copper Drum and walked straight to the courtyard where the guards waited for him, passing the time like yesterday.

"Kerra won't be here. Said you should just begin," Lothar explained.

"Fine. Listen up!" He shouted the second part, and the guards all turned towards him. "There's a good chance that if you meet a mage like a maleficar, they can conjure a shield. No matter how hard you hit, your blow won't hit." He pointed at Cornelius with his staff. "Give it a try."

Without hesitation, the fighter swung his weapon straight at Martel's head. It touched his hair, but did not cause any harm.

"Now I know how you managed to stay on your feet in the pits," Lothar remarked dryly.

"Yeah. Sorry," Martel mumbled. "So… You want to hit, you need gold on your weapon. Or on your fist. Who has some?

A woman with a set of metal knuckles in gold stepped forward.

"Hit me. In the chest, not the face, and not too hard," the wizard clarified. "My shield is up."

She did so, and Martel felt almost cold where the yellow metal ripped through his protection to prod him in the chest with enough force that he had to take a step backwards to keep his balance. The woman grinned and pulled back.

"Do not be fooled into thinking this will even the fight," Martel warned them. "An empowered mage is still faster and stronger. Attack me again, with all speed," he told the woman with her knuckles.

She gladly obliged, stepping forward to land a punch. Before it hit, Martel's hand came flying to grab her wrist with an iron grip, avoiding the gold on her fist. She tried to pull her hand free, and he let his magic increase his strength to prevent her. A flash of anger went across her face, which caused laughter, and he let her go.

"A mage is never without tricks," Martel told them, thinking about how he had defeated Leatherfist despite the latter protecting himself with gold. "The fight is not won unless they're dead."

"How do you kill a mage?" asked the woman with the metal knuckles; Martel hoped she did not ask because she still felt angry. Her name was Sigrid, Martel had learned.

"We bleed same as any," the young wizard told her. "You just have to get past our defences. Before we get past yours."

"That's what you did in the pit," Cornelius remarked, sounding perhaps a little annoyed. "Used that protection of yours to take our blows while landing your own."

"Master Martel was in the pit? How come I never saw him fight?" asked Sigrid, her fingers playing with her metal knuckles.

"Not ours. At The Broken Crown," Butcher explained with a smile. "That's how we're friends with him."

"Yeah, we all heard you brag about your wizard mate."

"Now he's friends with all of us, right?" a guard asked. "Aren't you, Master Martel?"

"I guess, though if I'm already drinking for free, I'm not sure what I need you for," the novice replied, making some laugh.

"Before you take advantage of that, can we train like yesterday?" asked Lothar. "I'd be glad to try it again. Still not used to seeing that blast of fire coming straight at me."

They all looked at Martel, waiting for him to decide, which took him aback. He wondered if he would get used to this, tough men and women far older than him yet ready to accept his decision.

"Sure," he replied. "Line up, and we'll do it again."