Firebrand

Wasted Hours

Hours later, with sunrise not far off, two young mages staggered towards the Lyceum. Their gait came mostly from feeling drowsy; Maximilian had shown uncharacteristic restraint, and neither of them had been drinking much.

"I can't believe nothing happened," the novice muttered as they approached the castle. He should perhaps be happy that they had avoided danger and nobody had been hurt, yet he felt disappointed all the same.

"Honestly, Martel, the copper lanes are huge. Thousands upon thousands of people live there. Finding someone we know nothing about, not his age, face, or intentions, it was a doomed prospect."

Hearing Maximilian lay it out, Martel found it difficult to argue otherwise. Still, he made a few grumbling sounds. He wondered if Kerra had thought the same – she more than anything would know how difficult it would be to find someone in the copper lanes, and how many people it would require to effectively search the district. But perhaps she had done her best, and the maleficar had simply left after his last victim one month ago.

"We tried, I guess." Still, Martel intended to talk to Kerra. Just to make sure enough efforts had been put into this search. It made quite a difference if the maleficar had evaded discovery because he had gone elsewhere or because they had not tried hard enough to find him.

"Stars, I hate living on the top floor of the tower," Maximilian declared as they passed through the gate. The astronomical clock greeted them with its constant whirring sound.

"I'm sure that big room is a real burden to you."

"Lack of sleep does not make you disposed towards cordiality, I see."

They dragged themselves up the stairs of their dormitory tower, muttering a drowsy farewell as each sought his own chamber.

~

Fortunately, Martel did not have kitchen duty for breakfast on Peldays, allowing him to remain in bed a while longer in the morning. Falling back asleep, he only woke as he heard the bell ring. Confused, he looked at his Khivan clock and saw it pointed at eight, not six. He had missed breakfast, sleeping through the entire first bell. Getting up, splashing water into his face, putting on his robe and shoes, Martel quickly went through the motions and staggered towards the apothecary to work his shift.

Next bell was lesson in elemental magic. Martel figured there was something he should admit. "Master Alastair, the other night – Maximilian told me that he guessed the truth about me. That I'm fire-touched."

The teacher gave him a sharp look. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing more." No reason to reveal Maximilian's secret as well. "He promised to keep it between us." Given that the mageknight had freely admitted his healing gift, Martel had no reason to doubt him.

"Well, be thankful that his loyalty as a friend supersedes any loyalty he feels to the Empire."

"I am."

"How did he know?"

"Just from seeing me use fire magic. We spend a lot of time together, after all."

"That should be a lesson to you," Master Alastair said sternly. "You got lucky. Don't press your fortunes twice by letting another discover the truth about you unless you want to wear a prefect's surcoat."

"Yes, master."

~

Sleeping another bell in the afternoon took the worst of the sting from being out last night. While Martel did not exactly feel thrilled at the prospect of walking all the way to the slums and back yet again, it still bothered him that nothing had come of their preparations to find the maleficar. Affirming his decision from this morning to speak with Kerra, just to make sure nothing had been overlooked, Martel trod the beaten path to the copper lanes.

Reaching The Copper Drum, Martel noticed the place was busier than usual. Of course – Pelday was a fight night. He heard the cheers and shouts from the great chamber next to the common room and wondered if any of his friends were in the ring. But he had come for another purpose and would not be distracted.

Pushing his way through the many customers, he made his way up the stairs to walk deeper into the building. Wolfram, one of the guards he had trained, stood watch by the hallway and greeted him in a friendly manner. "Master Martel."

Martel nodded in response. "Is Kerra in her study? I'd like to speak with her."

Wolfram shook his head. "Trouble at one of the other locations. No idea when she is back, but it could be a long while."

Great. A wasted trip. Well, he could get a free ale for his troubles, at least, before he drudged the two hours back to the Lyceum.

"You can go see a fight before you leave," the burly guard suggested, perhaps sensing Martel's disappointment. "It's not like anyone here would charge you for a ticket."

"Thanks. I doubt I'll stay that long. How about you, you ever fight in the ring?" Given the man's size, and what Martel had seen of him during their training sessions, Wolfram would be a contender whether with staff or fists.

"Hah, I did enough of that as a Night Knife. Now I'm content earning my coin standing around, weapon in its sheath. Most evenings, anyway." He gave a wry smile.

"Wait, what knife?"

"Night Knife." The guard slowly pronounced each word. "A mercenary company out of Aquila. Well, that makes it sound more respectable than it is. They work both sides of the law. The chiefs here in Morcaster make use of them sometimes when they need outside muscle they can trust, no conflicting loyalties. Sometimes to guard shipments and the like, sometimes for… less savoury work. That's how I ended up here."

"You will have to tell me about that, some other night." Forget the free drink; Martel was just going to get a full night's sleep and consider that his only gain. "When you see Kerra, though, tell her I won't be around much. Just until the inquisitors get tired of looking around the lanes."

"Will do. You have a good night, Master Martel."

"Same to you, Master Wolfram."