Firebrand

Bread and Balm

Martel rarely if ever enjoyed his lessons in combat magic on Maldays, but today, he was more eager to get through them than usual. When he had made it home last night after visiting the homeless children, it had been after last bell, and Eleanor was already asleep.

He tried to catch her alone at breakfast, but her friends did not allow that to happen, and Martel was not interested in discussing anything within earshot of them. His first lesson and his work in the apothecary kept him busy for two bells after that; Mistress Rana reproached him for being distracted and warned him not to take his place for granted.

He considered asking Maximilian for advice, but he already knew the mageknight would advocate for swift action involving cracked heads. Since he would not be able to leave the Lyceum until his classes and chores were done anyway, he armed himself with patience and waited for his second lesson to be over.

~

After two hours where the mageknights sparred with each other and Martel practised his empowerment, he could finally catch up to Eleanor on her own.

"Hey, can we talk?"

"Sure. Do you mind if we walk towards the girls' tower? I really need a bath sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, no problem." They began to walk. Martel scratched the back of his head, not sure how to explain. "So, you said before I dive into something, I should ask you about it first."

"Yes…? Martel, are you in trouble?" She stopped to look at him.

"Oh no, I'm not. But there are these children living on the streets… I'm trying to help them."

Eleanor resumed walking. "That is admirable, but there must be thousands of such children in Morcaster. What could you hope to do?"

"But why doesn't anyone do something? The Faith of the Sun or the emperor."

"I think they do. I am sure the priests give out food and other charities as they can, but the resources are limited, and the emperor has other concerns."

"Then he is not a very good emperor."

Eleanor stopped in her tracks. "You should not say that out loud. You cannot know who is listening," she spoke softly.

"Fine. But what about the Lyceum? I do tasks for Master Jerome. Can't he hire some of these kids to work for him, so they don't have to live on the streets?"

"I doubt he has that great a need. Most of the work is done by the servants already employed. I am not sure there is much you can do for these children, except perhaps spare them some food or coin when you can."

"It's not just that. They have bruises all over, Eleanor. Someone is hurting these kids." Martel's dismay could be read all over his face. They slowed down as they approached the girls' dormitory tower.

"That sounds like someone I once knew." Eleanor stopped just short of the common room. "I need to visit the baths. Martel, this does not seem like anything you should tangle with. Morcaster is full of brutes. If they are willing to hurt children, think about what they are willing to do to you."

"They just looked so pitiful. I brought them some bread, and it felt like a drop in the ocean."

"It all helps. Do you still have the balm I gave you?"

"Of course, good idea. There's plenty left. Thanks."

She gave him a quick smile. "I am glad. Now if you will excuse me, I really need to soak."

~

After supper, Martel left the Lyceum armed with a jar of ointment, some slices of bread, and two apples he had saved from lunch. The unrest on the streets had become quiet, giving him no trouble to reach his destination.

As he stepped into the alleyway, he pulled out the food. "Here. I brought some more."

Quickly, seven children clamoured around him to get their share. The little chief took out a rusty, broken blade to carve up the apples. Even as he did this, distributing the slices, he regarded Martel with a suspicious glance. "What's your purpose here, beanstalk? Nobody gives away their food without wanting something in return."

"It's not really my food," Martel replied. "We have plenty of it at my school. Might as well share it."

"Well, if you're trying to recruit us, it won't work. We can do the odd job for you, like following someone around, if you got the silver to pay. But we won't earn for you."

"I just want to help. I have brothers and sisters. If any of them were in need, I hope someone would help them."

"Weasel, don't annoy him," the little Mouse exclaimed, looking at her leader. "He might not come back."

Martel smiled. "It will take more than that to stop me. Does that hurt?" He nodded at a purple mark on her upper arm, visible through the rags she wore.

"Sometimes. But that distracts me from feeling hungry."

Martel pulled out his small jar. "Would you like me to make it better?"

Her eyes widened. "Is that magic?"

"Be careful," hissed Weasel, their small chief.

"It certainly works like it. I use it myself." He undid the string that tied the leather around the opening and dug out some of the balm. Carefully, he smeared it on to Mouse's arm.

It did not take long for surprise to fill her face. "It feels better!"

Martel laughed a little. "I told you it would."

The other children pressed forward, pulling up sleeves or removing ragged shirts to reveal their own injuries, and Martel set to work.

"How did this happen?" He asked as he tended to a large bruise on Badger's back.

"It was big Gerald," Badger replied.

"Quiet," Weasel exclaimed.

"Who is this Gerald?" Martel asked.

"He's one of the bigger boys," Mouse explained. "He collects what we earn, and if we don't earn enough, he beats us."

"Don't tell him any more," Weasel shouted.

Martel's expression darkened. "Where can I find this fellow?"

"He comes every night after sunset to collect what we earned today," Badger helpfully said.

Martel looked up at the sky. Its colour matched his mood; it would not be long.

~

Frail moonlight and distant streetlamps struggled to illuminate the alley when a gangly youth of some eighteen years entered. With hard eyes, sinewy arms, and a few scars on his face, he was the sort of boy that would have scared Martel a year ago.

"Come out, Weasel, you little weasel." The boy laughed at his own joke. He fell quiet as Martel stepped out from the shadows. "Who the blazes are you?"

"You are done here. Don't you ever return."

Gerald howled with laughter. "Do you know who you're messing with? I'll be joining the Broken Blades soon. They got my back. And they'll carve you up, assuming I let you live." He drew a knife with a snarl and sprinted forward.

In a flash, Martel remembered Master Fenrick in the ruins, and how he raised an earthen wall to protect himself. Acting quickly, he stamped his feet into the ground pouring his magic through the motion. He saw it clearly in his mind and willed it to happen.

From the stamped dirt, earth shot up in front of his charging adversary. Not quite as impressive as Fenrick's wall, it only reached ankle height, but it was enough to trip Gerald. The scraggly boy fell, planting his face in the ground. Martel stepped forward to pin him down with a knee against his shoulder. Igniting flames around his hand, Martel held it in front of Gerald's eyes.

"I am a mage. If you ever come back here, I'll set you on fire."

Martel rose up and stepped back, letting the boy get on his feet, all the while maintaining the flames around his hand. Gerald stumbled backwards, turned around, and ran for dear life.