Firebrand

Buried Beneath

When Martel eventually began to suspect that Julia would not appear, he got up from his uncomfortable seat on the ground and walked down the alley. He summoned a globe of magelight to hover in front of him and began searching for any entrance to the sewers. Unfortunately, he was rather hamstrung by not knowing how they looked. He had never had reason to find one before or take a closer look at his surroundings while walking around Morcaster, nor had his course on water magic dealt with this. After a while, shivering slightly from the cold wind, he gave up.

He did not do so lightly; he had no way of getting in touch with Julia. Abandoning this meeting meant he might never find her again. But he could not spend the entire night until daybreak on a fool's hope. She had not been interested in his offer when he proposed it; he had to take the hint that she did not want his help. At least he had been able to provide her with clothes against the cold and proper food. It would not last for long, but it was better than nothing. Trying to draw some consolation from that thought, Martel returned to the Lyceum and could finally sink into proper sleep.

~

Waking up, Martel did not feel as fully refreshed as he had somehow expected to be. The experiences and weariness of the Undercroft still marked his body, but he felt himself able to function, at least. His magic also seemed returned to full force; performing a few simple spells did not cause any reaction, and his spellpower appeared to be back. He felt a bit of the same relief as the morning after the feast in the Imperial palace, feeling his magic return after he had exhausted himself to the point of throwing up.

His first class of the day was also an easy one that did not require any use of spells. It would have been better if that were yesterday when Martel really could have used the reprieve, but no such luck.

His sojourn through the Undercroft not only lingered in his body, but also his mind. Last fiveday, Martel had asked Master Fenrick about that vaunted place without learning much. The novice suspected that perhaps by now, he knew more than his teacher, considering he had actually been there, as he doubted that Master Fenrick had seen its eerie streets as well. Not unless he had some rather surprising business with the Nine Lords. Though, who would have suspected that a novice would ever be invited to such a gathering – perhaps Martel should not be quick to dismiss anything, even if he felt rather safe in his assumptions about Master Fenrick.

But a related question made itself known to Martel. Meeting Julia, as well as her absence last night, made Martel speculate on what else lay below the city. When he had first ventured into the sewers with Mistress Vana, she had not warned them against the Undercroft, but instead the catacombs that also could be found underneath. It gave Martel cause to wonder at the connection between these places, both physically but also in terms of origin – had they come from the same hand? Had the many people presumably buried in the crypt once dwelt in the sunken city?

Master Fenrick made some kind of noise in his throat as he saw the hand raised. "Yes, Martel?"

"Mistress Vana told me about the catacombs beneath the castle, beyond the sewers. Who made them?"

His teacher scratched the beard on his cheek. He might seem annoyed at being asked about something irrelevant to his lesson, but he never refrained from answering. "Difficult to say precisely. If you are wondering if they are the work of outsiders, such as the Archeans who built this castle, I do not believe so. I am reasonably confident that the catacombs were delved by the original people of Morcaster, whose descendants still live in this city. But I cannot think of a more exact answer, as we cannot determine their age. They predate the arrival of the Archeans, as far as I know, which would make them more than five hundred years old."

Martel could not grasp such a long period of time. Having only lived sixteen years, anything above the age of thirty felt old to him. "What happened? Why did they become abandoned?"

"The Archeans. Their funeral ritual was to burn the deceased. Thanks to their influence, burial was no longer practised except in the case of some noble houses."

"Has anybody entered them since then?"

"On occasion, some foolhardy treasure hunter tries." Master Fenrick locked his gaze onto Martel. "They do not return."

~

Leaving the dining hall after the evening meal, Martel was intercepted by Eleanor in the hallway. As he saw her approach, he briefly considered simply walking along as if he had not noticed her; but the thought bothered him, ignoring her in that way. A moment later, his considerations became moot as she reached him.

"Do you have a moment?"

His gaze strayed, somehow finding it difficult to look straight at her. "Sure."

"What happened yesterday morning?" Her voice carried a tone of concern that reached him even if he avoided seeing the corresponding expression on her face.

"Nothing of importance. I was out in town, later than I should have been. I just felt tired and emotional, that's all." That was close to the truth; close enough that he did not feel bad about deflecting her question. He was not lying to her, not directly.

"I wish you would tell me."

Except she did not wish to know, Martel thought; she had made that clear previously. And he had been wrong to approach her that morning, dragging her back into his affairs. "It is not your business nor your responsibility," he replied, sounding harsher perhaps than he had intended. Nothing further to say in a conversation he could not salvage, Martel turned from Eleanor and walked away.