Firebrand

Cordial Communications

Going to his class on Manday, Martel reaffirmed his conviction to stay out of trouble. He had barely been involved in anything since spring, and the last few days had been a temporary lapse in judgement. For Martel, it was back to focusing on his studies.

This was made all the easier with school becoming more interesting in the next month. Master Alastair had promised that once he grasped the basics of elemental magic, they would continue to more advanced spells. The dreadfully tedious lessons in empowerment under Reynard were almost at an end, to be replaced by far more interesting subjects. He had finally been able to make a satisfactory blood salve, which Mistress Rana had given the high praise of being 'adequate', hinting that he might be allowed to learn more.

As for theory of magic, Martel enjoyed every one of these classes. Sure, at times Master Fenrick spoke of very complicated matters, appearing more interested in discussing the topic with himself rather than ensuring his students could keep up, but delving into the very nature of magic fascinated Martel.

"Solstice is upon us," Master Fenrick declared. He gave his students a look halfway over the edge of his spectacles, halfway under, which usually meant he was building up to a question. "The longest day of the year, with early sunrise and late sunset. What does this mean for magic?"

The novices looked at each other, none of them having a clue.

"Most mages will not notice any difference, but then again, nor are they particularly aware of the fluctuations in magic. Let me ask another question. What are the common traits of such creatures as the living dead?"

Once again, the students exchanged looks, none of them eager to seem a fool. Being the oldest, Martel had begun to take it upon himself to be the first novice through the breach. "They are all cold. No body heat," he suggested.

"True, though not what I was thinking of in this context."

A few others dared to make suggestions, emboldened by Martel's example. "They are all monsters?"

"They are all magical?"

"Yes," their teacher exclaimed. "Or more correctly, the product of such. Whether by intent, such as the vampire, or by accident, such as the banshee. And when are you most likely to encounter such creatures, assuming any could be found within the bounds of our Empire?"

"At night," one novice replied.

"When the sun is absent," Martel elaborated, realising how this pertained to the subject.

"Indeed!" Master Fenrick gave Martel a look directly through his spectacles. "Sunlight seems to weaken if not outright harm these creatures. From this, clerics from the Faith of the Sun have inferred many a thing about the nature of magic and the sun, though most of it seems speculative at best. Except in one regard."

"What's that?" Martel asked.

"We will return to that another time in the lesson on metals," Fenrick said with a smug expression.

~

Martel's newfound desire to stay out of trouble lasted until lunch when trouble found him. "Any post for me?"

Henry the airmage looked up from his desk. "There is, actually. I noticed it because it looks so fancy." He rummaged around until he located an envelope and gave it to Martel.

The novice turned it over. It had his name on one side and the emblem of a horse on the other. Breaking the seal, he took out the message.

To Martel of Engby,

You are cordially invited to the summer solstice celebration at the house of Duke Leonard of Cheval on tomorrow's eve, this coming Solday.

The only signature was the same emblem as upon the envelope. Martel wondered if this was a jest of some sort, set up to make him look the fool. He certainly would not put it past Cheval – the son, to be precise. He would be surprised if the father even knew his name let alone would consider inviting him to his feast, and he could not think of any benign reasons for it. He needed advice.

He stood at the edge of the dining hall, tripping in place until he finally saw Eleanor moving to leave. She spotted him quickly, along with his restless manner and apprehensive expression. "Martel, what is it?"

He handed her the invitation. "What does this mean?"

Her eyes moved over the text. "It means you have been cordially invited to a celebration." She looked up at him. "But that is not your question, I take it."

"Why am I invited?"

She shrugged in ignorance. "I cannot say. Perhaps the duke was impressed when you took down a battlemage and his son in a duel. Perhaps he is furious. Maybe he wants a closer look at you, or maybe someone simply thought you promise to be a great mage and it would be wise to cultivate relations."

Martel stared at her, trying to process. "So – which one is it?"

"I have no clue. Could be a mixture of all."

"But should I attend?"

"Well, if the duke wanted to harm you, given his resources, he does not need you to appear at his home," Eleanor speculated. "And rejecting his invitation would be seen as a slight."

Martel's breath escaped his lips in a sigh. "So you're saying I should attend."

"I am as well. You can stay by my side the whole evening, and I will see you unharmed through the meals, music, and other forms of entertainment."

"My brave protector." Martel's smile and tone was only partly sarcastic.

"But you need new garments."

"I have a suit of fine clothes."

Eleanor gave him a withering look. "You have worn it twice. A third time, at the house of the richest man in the Empire bar the emperor himself? No."

Martel cleared his throat. He could barely afford a new pair of socks. "Nobody will care. I certainly don't."

"I do," she replied curtly. "When is your next lesson?"

"At sixth bell."

"Good. Follow me."

~

As they entered the city, Eleanor walking swiftly with Martel trying to keep up, he made a few more attempts to protest. "Look, I'm fine. I don't need anything."

"Do not argue. If I am to shepherd you through tomorrow night, this is the price for my aid. We are going to the tailor."

As she continued to dismiss his objections, he finally gave in to the truth. "Eleanor, I cannot afford it. I have barely two pennies on me." And none elsewhere, he added in his mind.

She glanced over her shoulder. The crowd made it hard for them to walk side by side. "We are putting it on my father's account. You made his daughter look good at his own celebration. Trust me, he would pay for ten tailors in gratitude."

"One is enough," Martel mumbled. "I don't like charity."

"As I believe I just explained, it is compensation for a valued service you provided, under quite some duress." Eleanor stopped to turn around and face him. "Martel, my father had no right to put you under such pressure. I would like to do this for you in return."

"Fine," he assented. "If that's what you want."

"It is. Come along, we are nearly there."

~

Eleanor finally stopped outside a door, above which hung a sign showing a threaded needle. She went inside with Martel following her. The workshop looked as one would expect. Fabric everywhere, either in rolls or cut out into various sizes. Several wooden dummies held garments in different stages of completion. An old man and two younger all looked at them as they entered, ceasing their work cutting and stitching cloth.

"Lady Fontaine, always a pleasure." The tailor quickly rose to greet her with a bow. The two apprentices likewise got on their feet, lowering their heads. Hearing her addressed so formally sounded strange in Martel's ears.

"Master Abelard, my companion requires a new doublet for tomorrow evening. I know the notice is short, but I have faith in you," she explained.

The tailor glanced up and down at Martel. "It can be done. Assuming I have the fabrics. We may be limited in choice and colour, milady." He dug out a ribbon for measurement. "Good sir, if you would remove that – I suppose robe is the technical term."

A little hesitant, Martel did as commanded, standing in his shirt and trousers. As one apprentice resumed his work, though his attention strayed to the lady in their midst, the other took down measurements as called by the tailor, who all the while kept a conversation going with Eleanor. "If milady wants velvet, it will have to be red, I fear. But I can stitch it with a lovely green thread, and make the sleeves the same colour."

"Green will work perfectly, as I have some ideas for the insignia."

"Marvellous." He stretched out one of Martel's arms. "Good thing we don't have to worry about sleeve length."

This continued for a while with Martel feeling like a doll being controlled by a puppeteer as one might see at the market. Finally, the tailor was satisfied.

"I shall begin at once, milady. Delivery to your home?"

"My room at the Lyceum. And on my father's account, naturally."

"Naturally."

Martel donned his robe once more to follow Eleanor and her satisfied smile outside.

~

When the day had reached its end, classes and excursions over, Martel returned to his room and found a note on the floor. A small scrap of parchment with shaky scribbles.

We are free. Took

ship to Sindhu. See

you next year. -R

Martel's eyes moved over this short message. He was unsure what to think about Regnar and the other travellers. His annoyance at the hedge mage stood in contrast to his affection for the troupe as a whole. While he understood why they were gone, and he knew it was their nature to move on from place to place regardless, he still felt left behind.