Firebrand

Cutting Strings

Maximilian had surprise on his side as he strolled through the shattered door, wielding a war hammer and a shield. Yet the Broken Blades were all veterans, accustomed to danger and swift to react. Recovering quickly, they grabbed the nearest weapon to fight back, whether club, sword, or spear. In the back, one man reached for bow and arrow.

A spear came against Maximilian, who deflected with his physical shield. At the same time, he brought his hammer down on the shaft of the spear with an empowered blow to break it apart. An arrow flew straight at Maximilian's head, but it met his magical shield an inch before and fell harmlessly to the ground.

"He's a mageknight," their leader roared. "Spread out!"

Still tied up and rendered powerless, Martel's mind screamed out at watching his friend be surrounded. The weak light from the kitchen fire cast eerie shadows across the room, making it all seem like some dreadful nightmare.

The archer continued to shoot each time he had a clear line to do so, forcing Maximilian to maintain his shield and burn through his spellpower. From one side, a soldier with a club struck out while still keeping his distance to avoid retaliation. As Maximilian turned to protect against the blow, a soldier stepped forward from the opposite side to slash a blade across his back. It cut through his surcoat but nothing more, giving a screeching sound as the edge met the chain rings underneath.

"He's wearing mail! Switch!" Even as he barked the order, the leader advanced with his spear to strike at Maximilian, forcing the mageknight to defend from a new direction. This gave an opening for the soldier with the club, who closed in to smash the blunt weapon against Maximilian's shoulder.

In the faint light, Martel saw how Maximilian's magic shield glistened to soften the blow, but he still grunted and took a step back. Going on the offensive, the mageknight leapt forward to smash his hammer against the soldier's skull, caving it in.

The remaining soldiers took up new positions to outflank the acolyte, keeping their distance while waiting. From the back, arrows continued to whistle through the air. Martel saw the light reflected on Maximilian's face from sweating, and he doubted it was caused by physical exertion; the mageknight was pushing his magic to the limit.

Shadows moved down the stairs. Nobody seemed to notice except Martel, and he thought it to be a trick of the light. Yet the shadows continued to move, quietly sneaking along the wall to reach him. A small, rusty blade came out to cut the leather string around his throat, nicking his skin in the process. He gave a small yelp of pain, muted by his gag. The blade quickly cut his bonds as well, and Martel was free.

As the string and gold fell from his neck, Martel felt a rush of power more intoxicating than wine. The chill left his body, replaced by heat. He rose from the floor with vengeance in his eyes. But first, assist Maximilian.

He felt the heat of the archer's bowstring where fingers held onto it. Increasing that warmth, the twine combusted to burn asunder, ruining the weapon.

The kitchen fire provided further munition for Martel. Grabbing hold of a flame with his magic, Martel flew it across the room to land on the leader's head. He yelled in fear and surprise as his hair caught on fire. Maximilian helped him by using the distraction to step forward and extinguish the flames with his hammer. As the blow landed, the leader sank to the floor.

Martel's eyes fell on Marcus, who had tied the string around his neck, and the mage gave him the same treatment. Screaming, the bandit fled out of the building with his hair burning.

Something smacked Martel on the side of his head, and he fell to the ground. Wielding his bow as a staff, the archer struck at Martel again, aiming for his head.

Maximilian's hammer came flying through the air thanks to an empowered throw. It struck the brigand on his chest, audibly cracking his ribs. Wheezing for breath, he staggered backwards and took to flight.

~

A hand came down to grab Martel's, pulling him up to stand. "You alright?"

Despite Maximilian's casual demeanour, Martel could tell the fight had worn on the acolyte. Besides the intensity and danger of the situation, breaking a man's skull with your hammer had to leave an impact. The novice nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

"Same here."

Martel looked around the room. Two of the bandits lay dead; the rest had fled. The gruesome sight of blood and broken flesh made his stomach turn, now that the emotions of the fight had gone; good thing he had not eaten a while. "Thanks for saving me." He grabbed Maximilian's hand with both of his own and squeezed it.

"No sweat," Maximilian replied even as he wiped his brow of that same liquid. "I could not very well leave you. Though let us not make a habit of this."

"Agreed. But how did you know?"

"That little rascal came to get me. Your little mate from the streets."

As if summoned, a small figure emerged from the shadows. "I figured he could get the job done."

Maximilian glanced at Weasel and back to Martel. "You need better friends, mate. More friends like me, who keep you out of trouble rather than get you into it."

The young boy shrugged. "We never asked him to get involved. Pretty sure I told him to stay out of it."

"Come on. Let us get back to the Lyceum," Maximilian suggested.

Martel looked at the two bodies in the room. The flickering light only made the whole scene look creepier. "What about them?" He nodded at the corpses. "Shouldn't we tell the city guard?"

"You think the guards care what happens in the copper lanes? This is not a berserker or anything like that. A couple of dead thugs? They would see that everyday, if they bothered to come down here." Maximilian picked up his hammer.

"Leave it to us," Weasel suggested. "We know what to do with bodies. And since this building is now vacant, it'll make for a nice hideout for us. We'll have a roof over our heads, and the Broken Blades won't be taking our earnings anymore."

"Wait… Did you plan for this to happen?" Martel stared at him.

"How could I? You decided to mess with the Broken Blades. I didn't know how this would play out."

"But you are certainly reaping the benefits," Maximilian growled.

The boy, who looked to be ten years at the most, gave an ominous smile that felt much older. Martel had the worrisome suspicion that unwittingly, he had just helped to set up a new gang. "Let's go," Martel said to Maximilian.

~

The pair of friends walked home. As they moved north, the streets grew desolate, and lamps replaced moonlight as their source of illumination.

"Maybe we should keep this to ourselves," Martel suggested. "Not sure how the school looks at students who get into trouble like this."

"Yeah. That is fine by me."

They walked onwards in silence for a while until the mageknight yawned.

"I cannot wait to sleep," Maximilian revealed. "Hurrying down here, just to pull your chestnuts out of the fire, fighting those bandits, and now walking back home… I will sleep like a newborn."

"Me too. The few hours I'll get." Martel did not look forward to tomorrow morning, where he had four hours of work for Master Jerome and Mistress Rana waiting for him. If the memory of seeing the dead bandits would let him sleep at all.

"You will get no sympathy from me. Though if you are lucky, that nick on your throat will become a nice scar. Give the girls something to look at rather than your face."

Martel touched the scratch on his neck from Weasel's knife. He slapped Maximilian on the shoulder, who grinned in return.