Firebrand

Chapter 402: Making Strides

Making Strides

Several fivedays followed where Martel focused on his schoolwork, free from the interruptions and entanglements of the wider city. Nobody sent him messages, requesting or demanding anything from him; for a while, he was like any student at the school. The only exception would be the few occasions when he went to teach Sparrow, or he visited Julia, also paying her rent for the month. Nothing out of the ordinary happened on those occasions either; no assaults upon his life, nobody surveying him or the like. It seemed that the peace of the Pact held.

One Solday morning, he entered the workshops to continue his labours in enchantment. The day before, he believed to have made progress; now came the moment of truth. Placing his hands against the stone, it felt cool to the touch, but Martel knew to look deeper. His magical senses washed over the rock and felt a kernel of heat within. That could only come from the spell he had infused into the stone yesterday; the fact that it still remained meant that he had succeeded in enchanting the stone.

Practically speaking, it made no difference, as the spell was so weakened, it had no real effect; but for Martel, it was a milestone, almost literally speaking. For the first time, he had cast a spell into an object, allowing the spell to continue even after he released it. No doubt he had a long way to go before he could make the fire pots that would be the end goal of his enchantment, but an important step had been taken.

***

Martel's eyes ran over the text on the table in front of him. It was an account of the Asterian invasion of Tyria, some ninety years ago. Interesting in its own right, though also filled with terrifying tales of berserkers, skálds, and witches turning their magic against the legionaries. Unfortunately, probably not anything that would be useful to them; all the magic mentioned was of an aggressive nature, rather than anything like healing.

"Martel, look at this." Eleanor placed her book on the table and turned it around that he could see. "This might be something."

One page was filled by a large illustration of what was clearly a Tyrian symbol. Below, its name was given as the rune of unbinding. "What does it say about it?"

"It's the story of a trader, who lived some years with the Tyrians. He mentions that this symbol was used to cure someone of their affliction and return them to their original state." She spoke with a normal tone of voice, though Martel noticed a touch of excitement.

He did not wish to throw water on her fire; at the same time, 'affliction' could mean many different things. "It might be something, yes." Having found nothing better, Martel decided against discouraging her. He had still not made any arrangements towards looking for a skáld among the underworld of Morcaster; not knowing how to contact the Friar made it easy to postpone the decision, giving in to his reluctance at becoming involved with any of the Nine Lords again. Until Martel could present a better solution for discovering a cure, he would support his friend in hers.

Resolutely, Eleanor picked up a feather pen and began copying the rune onto a piece of parchment.

***

As the long summer night took over the city, Martel strolled towards the copper lanes. Although solstice was not for another fiveday, people had already begun to arrive in anticipation of trade, entertainment, and general festivities. Even Martel sometimes had trouble making his way through the crowds, though if people noticed a wizard approaching, they usually shied away and made room for him. He always felt a little uncomfortable surrounded by others, especially after his experiences with the criminal elements of Morcaster, but he kept his head cool, a shield spell ready, and avoided the worst of the traffic on the main streets and squares.

Reaching the copper lanes, he approached his destination for the night. Sparrow had made good progress with her magic since Martel first began teaching her. She could hold a spell for thirty breaths now, and she could make the effect appear more than ten yards away from herself. She still struggled with the particular spell he was trying to teach her, the earthen armour, but Martel figured she would grasp it eventually. Earth being her affinity, there was no reason she would not.

Walking more casually, allowing himself to relax, Martel almost enjoyed the copper lanes. Although the district was marked by poverty, with crooked wooden houses rather than stone buildings, Martel felt more at ease. Fewer people were about, giving him plenty of room on the streets.

And while the lanes probably had more people ready to do violence for the sake of a few coins, Martel doubted any of them would be foolish enough to challenge a mage. It might seem strange, but he almost felt safer in the copper lanes than anywhere else in Morcaster, except for the Lyceum itself.

As if to mock his thoughts, an unusual sight came into view. Ahead of him, some hundred paces, two people walked wearing the distinct cloaks of the inquisitors. Their backs turned, they had not noticed Martel, and he had no particular reason to be worried; still, he took a turn down an alley rather than risk any confrontation.

The sight of them felt strange; not only their presence, but how they had appeared. Walking leisurely, almost strolling down the street. Obviously, they had not been keeping a building under surveillance, or a suspect, given how they walked in the open. Nor did they seem to move with a purpose, on their way to interrogate or arrest someone. He did not believe they were simply out for the purpose of amusement; the headquarters lay in the other end of the city, and he could not imagine inquisitors making the journey to the copper lanes for that reason. Even if they had some vices that only this particular district could fulfil, surely they would not wear their uniforms for such a purpose.

Looking up, an answer came to Martel. The full moon shone down upon him, though it would soon sink behind the horizon. They were probably out patrolling for the maleficar, knowing he chose this time of the month to strike.

Martel doubted they stood any chance of finding the dark sorcerer, no matter how much they patrolled. Morcaster was too big for them to effectively cover the city, and surely, he would simply notice and avoid them if their paths should cross. But perhaps their presence might deter him from his evil deeds, saving someone's life. If so, Martel could not complain.

It did make him reconsider his plan to visit Sparrow tonight. The last thing the girl needed was an inquisitor stumbling upon them while she practised her magic. He would have to wait a few nights until the full moon had passed. Turning around, Martel began walking home.