Firebrand

Chapter 429: Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather

Martel woke Solday morning to the strange and almost unsettling feeling of having nothing to do. No work in the apothecary, nor the workshops; not even a study session with Eleanor in the library. With this day originally meant to go harvesting for herbs with Mistress Rana, Martel no longer had any obligations on Soldays; with their excursion postponed until Glunday, that left him entirely to his own devices.

As it turned out, he did not know how to spend his newfound spare time. He did not wish to leave the castle, in case a message should arrive from the Friar concerning Sparrow. He could seek out Eleanor and Maximilian, but he knew that he would probably feel too distracted to relax and enjoy their company; or maybe it was the thought of making merry while Sparrow was still imprisoned by the inquisitors that stole his interest in spending time with his friends.

In the end, he went to do what he would have done on previous Soldays; down in the workshops, in the small laboratory, the stone he used to practice enchantment waited for him. It was difficult to gather the necessary focus for enchanting with thoughts of Sparrow troubling him, but he took it as an added incentive that might help him learn better control.

***

He spent an hour working his magic into the rock as slowly and deliberately as he could. When he was done, it almost hummed with the heat of his spell. Martel felt he had done better than previously, but only time would tell how long the enchantment would last this time around. He would have to check in the coming days on occasion, measuring how much warmth the stone exuded before finally going cold again.

He realised with winter coming, this might also prove a useful gift similar to his thoughts about the lightstone, assuming he could improve his skills sufficiently. Master Jerome had given him the impression that a master enchanter could easily make such a simple spell last for months. Martel would not increase his skill to such heights any time soon, probably not even before he had to leave Morcaster; but if he could make it last a couple of fivedays at least, he could gift one to the street children in the copper lanes. If he enchanted it just before he left, it would hopefully take the sting out of the worst winter days.

He could also give one to Eleanor, who like him would end up in an army camp somewhere. As for Maximilian, destined for the Imperial Palace – Martel did not feel any pity for him.

***

After a large dinner – enchanting was hungry work – Martel practised Master Alastair's exercises. He did not know if he had much luck; he needed his teacher present to tell him whether he balanced the magic equally or still continued to favour fire too much. Perhaps it was also too soon after spending so much effort on enchanting; maybe his mind, or his body, or both needed a break before trying something else that also required such focus.

Allowing himself a break, Martel ambled to the entrance hall and checked for messages; the third time he had done so today.

It is done. Meet at the

shrine, seventh bell.

Martel exhaled, relief filling his being. The thought of Sparrow being strangled by inquisitors because he had taught her magic – it had been like a chain around his throat as well. He could breathe freely again. And he still had several hours until seventh bell rang. Feeling his mood increase every passing moment, he went back towards the boys' common room, looking to find Maximilian for a game of cards.

***

Martel arrived at the shrine early. A Grey Brother washing the floor looked up as he approached, got on his feet, nodded quietly at Martel, and disappeared into the back room of the shrine. Moments later, a shadow ran through the hallowed yet short hall of the temple and threw her arms around Martel's waist.

He hugged the girl tightly, albeit awkwardly, as she was half his height. Behind her, the Friar appeared. "If you could spare a moment before you leave, I should speak with you privately." He gave a knowing look towards Sparrow.

Extricating himself, Martel knelt down to look her in the eye. "Give me one moment to speak with my friend. Just wait here, and then afterwards, I'll take you home."

"Wait, don't leave me!" she cried out as he stepped away.

"I won't, we'll be right here in the room. You'll be able to see me the whole time," he promised, taking the handful of steps to cross the small space and join the Friar. "Thank you," he said earnestly, as he reached the old monk.

"You're welcome, though as I said, there are conditions. Where the girl is related, I had to claim that she will be sent far from Aster, to our enclave on the Western Isles, where she'll be raised in a religious order."

"Alright." Martel saw no harm in that; whatever the inquisitors needed to believe.

"This means that if she is caught again, and they recognise her, there's nothing I can do. They'll not entrust her to me a second time," the Friar cautioned. "If she is discovered using magic to break the law, no matter her young age, expect her to be executed. I trust you will impress the severity of her situation upon her?"

Martel swallowed. He could not imagine the depravity or religious zeal it took to condemn a child to death for the crime of stealing to survive, but he already knew the inquisitors were not to be reasoned with. He could only thank the Stars that somehow, the Friar had managed to do so and get Sparrow released. He nodded.

"Good. As for you, if I have need of a mage, expect to receive a message."

With luck, that would not happen within the next four to five months; given how fortune treated Martel, though, that probably meant it was bound to happen. But he would leave tomorrow's concern for tomorrow. "I understand. Now, I better take her home."

They nodded in farewell, and Martel returned to Sparrow; taking her by the hand, they began the walk home.

***

"Will you be alright walking all the way to the copper lanes? I know a place not too far where you can sleep."

"No, it's fine. I've spent the last days in a cell. I can walk."

"Did – did they hurt you?"

"They slapped me a few times. Guards always do that, to teach you a lesson or something. But I've heard rumours of others they did much worse to, so I guess I'm lucky."

Martel cleared his throat. "I meant the inquisitors."

"Oh. They put golden chains around my hands. That was probably the worst. I couldn't feel the earth anymore."

Martel recognised it from his own experience, long ago, of having gold tied around his throat.

"They were mean. It's weird. The guards can be cruel, but it's more like an afterthought. They slap you because they can, but they don't really care more than that. Those people in blue, they didn't hit me, but their eyes looked at me with hatred." She shivered, perhaps not just because it was a cold night. "I've known people to be angry at me, run after me while shouting and yelling, but I've never seen that before."

Martel squeezed her hand. "Hopefully, you won't again. I need to tell you, Sparrow, I won't be able to get you out another time. You can't ever use magic for stealing. There's no telling what they'll do if they catch you again."

"Weasel won't like that."

"It's your life that's at risk. You tell that little bastard that I'll set him on fire if he tries to make you."

She giggled a little. "Don't set him on fire, though. He works hard to keep us safe."

Martel sighed. "I guess he does. There's something else." He turned south to walk through the market district on their way to the copper lanes. "Have I told you that I'll be going away in some months' time?"

"Weasel told me. Said you wore the colours of a battlemage, and you'd be going to war soon."

"I'm sure he relished saying that. Well, he's right. I can't stay, as much as I'd prefer to."

They walked for a few moments in silence before she spoke. "I'm sorry you have to go."

"Me too. Which is why I'm taking you this way."

"Why's that?"

"You'll see in just about – just down there. See that tavern with the goose on the sign?"

"Yeah?"

"Inside, there's a troupe of actors. They got an old hedge mage named Regnar. If you're ever in trouble again, and I'm not here, find him. He's my friend, and he knows what it's like to have magic you're not supposed to have," Martel explained. "He'll help you."

"Alright." After another brief period of quietude, she spoke again. "It's weird walking in the middle of the broad street, out in the open with so few people around." At this late hour, they encountered mostly drunks or others in search of nocturnal entertainment. "Usually I have to hide or run around in the crowd. Keep out of sight. People see me, they grip their purse. Sometimes throw rocks at me."

"They won't tonight." Martel tightened his grip on her hand a little. "Tonight, you walk with a wizard, and he'll boil anyone that tries anything."

She giggled again.