Firebrand

Lessons Outside of School

Despite their recent interactions, it appeared to Martel that his friendship with Eleanor remained buried. They had helped each other a few times, but that was it. She held firm to her decision, it seemed, disappointed with him over his reckless behaviour. Martel knew the sensible thing would be to simply accept this and move on; trying to force friendship upon an unwilling recipient was hardly a winning strategy.

Yet he could not help but think of ways to mend fences between them, especially since she had approached him out of the blue for help. He had not been able to provide much aid given his lack of knowledge concerning Tyrian runes, but perhaps he could do something else for her; something reminiscent of the way their friendship had begun months ago when Eleanor provided him with balm for his pain and discomfort.

Hearing about the unpleasant reaction she suffered from trying to learn the magic behind the runes had given Martel the idea. The apothecary had small vials of liquid pain relief, whose efficacy Martel had tried himself. Unfortunately, he had spent most of his silver and could not afford to buy one, nor did he know the recipe for making them. But the latter he could learn with a little guidance from the right person.

Thus, next morning as he arrived in the apothecary, he smiled at seeing Nora.

"Someone is in a good mood," she laughed.

"Today is a good day," he replied. "At least, I hope so. You know that elixir that relieves pain? I was hoping to make one of those today, for the first time."

The apprentice frowned. "Did you agree this with Mistress Rana? She didn't tell me."

"She told me I was ready," he said. It was true, from a certain viewpoint. Some fivedays ago, she had mumbled something to that effect, that he would soon be ready to learn this recipe; given how many days had passed since then, Martel interpreted that as permission. "Besides, if it is under your supervision, it can hardly go wrong."

"I guess so. I do have lots to take care of this morning, though, so I may not have time."

"That's fine. I was hoping to keep the potion afterwards anyway, so I figured I would get the ingredients myself from the market." Stretching the truth was one thing; Martel was not going to use the apothecary's supplies for his own purpose. He should have a silver piece squirreled away in his desk somewhere, and if not, maybe the herbalist would accept payment at a late date, given that he knew Martel. "And maybe we can do it later today?"

Nora chewed on her lip, considering his words. "Alright, yeah, that sounds fine. Later today. For now, let's get to work. The infirmary needs more of blood salve - two bands of former legionaries got into a fight last night over whose legion is toughest, so it's been busy."

~

When he had a spare bell, Martel went to market. He had located his last silver coin and a few coppers, which he hoped would be enough to fetch everything on the list that Nora had made for him. The weather was gentler compared to his last outing, and he walked leisurely down the street. As much as he enjoyed living at the Lyceum, especially with its heated bath during wintertime, it was also nice to get out of the castle and experience the hustle and bustle of the common folk, just like his hometown.

He avoided the square with the statue of Emperor Lucius; he did not need to see the corpse hanging in the gibbet. Instead, he strolled through some of the stalls, casting idle looks at their wares. With winter approaching, many peddlers had left the city, usually departing for Sindhu, and the district felt quieter than usual.

Eventually, he reached the old herbalist. "Master Martel! What will it be today?"

The novice handed over the scrap of paper listing the reagents for the pain remedy.

The vendor mumbled a few sounds to himself as he glanced over the note. "Should all be fine, nothing much to it. Well, you'll be clearing out my last willow bark. I thought your mistress had plenty of it? Her other apprentice came by just the other morning to buy lots of it."

"This is just for me," Martel admitted. "Trying a new recipe today. Thought I would only waste my own money."

The old man gave a scratching laughter as he assembled the items. "Speaking of which, one silver and five coppers, if you please."

Martel took out his coins. "I only have the three. Can I pay you the other two later?"

"Alright, but don't you forget," he grumbled, accepting the one silver and three copper coins. He handed over the herbs. "Sol bless you, Master Martel."

"You as well."

With his purchases, Martel turned back through the alley, walking towards the nearby square to make his way back to the Lyceum. Just as he reached the open area, two rough-looking men approached him. They wore workmen's clothes with unkempt beards and grim expressions.

"What's this then here?"

"What you got there, boy?"

"Just some herbs." Either of the men looked to be twice his size, which probably emboldened them. But Martel was not in the mood to be cowed. He stared at them defiantly. "Let me pass."

"Oh yeah? You some kind of poison mixer? Like that fellow they strung up?"

Already, people's attention was drawn towards their exchange as the thugs spoke with loud voices. "Look at this lad," one of them practically yelled, making sure that everybody definitely looked in their direction. "We got ourselves a little alchemist, making and selling poison!"

As others approached to stand by the ruffians, Martel finally felt concerned. He had no idea why they singled him out or leapt to conclusions; plenty of people bought herbs as little remedies for various ills. He was not afraid to fight, given the advantage that magic conferred upon him. But he felt angry or suspicious looks from several directions, and he remembered how the crowd had turned into a mob months ago, turning on the Khivan quarter. "I'm a mage at the Lyceum," he protested, igniting flames around his open hand. "Back off!"

It did not have the intended effect. Egged on by the thugs, nearly a score of people now stood grouped together, perhaps feeling secure in numbers, or simply angrier than they were afraid.

"He's a filthy spellcaster!"

"Like the maleficar who killed those children in the copper lanes!" yelled one of the workmen.

"He's going to set the city on fire!" added the other.

Martel stepped back, feeling cornered. He had no spells to deal with this many people at once. He could not create the wall of fire either, as people had already begun to move around him, able to get at him from several angles. Fighting did not seem the best option. Instead, closing his eyes, he conjured the brightest magelight within his power. As the people suddenly squinted, raising their hands to shield their eyes, he turned around and ran down the alley.

"He's running!"

"Where? I can't see a damn thing!"

"This way!"

"Which way is that?"

Martel did not look back. He continued down the entire length of the alley, past the old herbalist who already hurried to assemble all his wares and pack them away. Emerging onto the street in the other end, Martel glanced in either direction to determine the best escape route.

"Master Martel! This way!" To his right, twenty paces down, a man waved for his attention, standing by the entrance to another alley.

Confused, fearful, but also in need of making an immediate decision, Martel decided to trust someone who knew his name. He ran to his right, turning into the alley where the man had already gone ahead.

"Come along!" Martel's unknown helper gestured for him to continue their hectic run.

They did so and advanced around various corners, moving deeper into the alleyways, constantly changing direction in the labyrinthine alleys of the district.

Only after several minutes did the man stop. "Alright, I think we lost them."

Catching his breath, Martel also collected his wits. "Who are you?" Now that he had time to think, he could not help but question what had just happened.

The man gave a broad smile. "My name doesn't matter. But you're the Copper Mage, and Kerra sent me to look out for you."

"She did? Since when?"

"Ever since you pledged to help us out down in the copper lanes. I've just been hanging around your school, keeping an eye out in case that Tibert might show up. I didn't expect this to happen, though."

"Me neither," Martel admitted, feeling relief settle over him. He had been a little worried that his escape had been the preamble to a trap.

"I must say, I'm glad you chose to run. I was thinking about how to best jump in, but you made that unnecessary." The man pulled out his sap, slapping the heavy leather pouch against the palm of his empty hand.

"Well, it's good to know I wouldn't have been alone."

The man grinned again. "Of course! We take care of our own."

Perhaps Martel had judged Kerra too harshly. And he also had his own to take care of. Even if Shadi was too proud to ask for help, Martel had a feeling she would need it. "Can you get a message to Kerra?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Tell her that I'll go with her to the meeting. She'll know what I mean. But I'll need payment of fifty birds."

"Will do, Master Martel."

~

As Martel made his way back to the Lyceum, Kerra's man turned around to stay in the market district. He walked the crooked alleys, occasionally checking that nobody followed him, until he reached a small, unassuming waterhole. A handful of people sat in the open room, shielding themselves from the cold of the street with cloaks and ale. Among the patrons were two rough-looking men, wearing workmen's clothes.

Kerra's man approached them, dumping ten pieces of silver onto the table between them. "Nice work."

The thugs eagerly seized their coins. "You never told us why you wanted to put the fright in that boy."

"He just needed to learn a lesson."