Firebrand

Chapter 444: Masks

Masks

A fiveday after his stitches had gone in, Martel returned to the infirmary to have them removed. While a bit early, the wound had been small, if deep, and it had healed well enough. With some salve for good measure, Martel felt mostly back to form. His shoulder remained a little stiff, which should wear off soon enough.

Yesterday's ambivalent feelings about the news from home had lessened as well, and Martel had gained enough clarity to simply feel happy about it. Even if he could not be back to celebrate with his family, he could still take joy from the occasion and share the news with his friends. During the second lesson of the day, when he had combat training with the mageknights, Martel waited until one of the inevitable lulls between sparring and approached the others.

"I got a letter from home," he began to say.

Both Maximilian and Eleanor looked at him. "Not ill news, I hope?" asked the latter.

"On the contrary. My brother is to be a father, and I'll be an uncle for the first time."

The viscount of Marche slapped a hand down on his shoulder. "Felicitations! A birth in the family is always a joyous occasion, and doubly so when it is a new generation."

"I agree." Eleanor gave him a smile. "Congratulations to you and your family."

"Thanks! It was quite a surprise. I didn't even know my brother had a woman. He's not the sort who talks much, you see."

She frowned. "You didn't know your brother was married?"

"He isn't," Martel helpfully explained. "He's marrying the child's mother this harvest."

"Well, they do say that wedding nights have such power, it only takes a few months for the first child to be born afterwards!" Maximilian roared with laughter.

Eleanor sent him a chastising look. "I suppose they can afford to stand less on ceremony in smaller towns," she remarked.

Martel was a little confused by their reaction; he could not see how the exact timing of all this mattered. A marriage was for life, after all, as were children. "I guess," he said, not seeing any point in discussing this particular matter. "I'm just sorry I won't be there. I could enchant some nice presents that would be helpful." He doubted that the Imperial post would accept a letter containing a heating stone weighing twenty or thirty pounds.

"You are learning enchanting?" Eleanor asked, looking curious. "I did not think they allowed battlemages to do so. I have not heard of others going through this."

"Fontaine, you are focusing on entirely the wrong thing," Maximilian chided her. "Our good friend will miss not only his brother's wedding, but the birth of his nephew!"

"Or niece," Martel mumbled, unless his friend had some kind of foresight, which seemed dubious given his poor luck in gambling.

"Obviously, it falls to us to remedy this as best we can. We must celebrate!"

"I knew that would be your conclusion." Eleanor rolled her eyes, but she laughed at the same time.

It did not require foresight either to guess Maximilian's intention, but Martel agreed regardless. If he could not participate in the festivities at home, he deserved to experience a taste of it here. "The yellow bird?" he suggested. No doubt, Regnar and the actors would be happy to join in.

The two mageknights both voiced their assent to the proposal.

***

Even if he figured that he knew the answer to any requests for taking leave, Martel nonetheless thought it prudent to ask. He knocked on the door to the overseer's chamber and waited only briefly before being admitted.

Mistress Juliana looked at him with the stern expression that seemed her constant companion. "Yes?"

"Would it be possible for me to journey home? Soon, allowing me time to be back before year's end."

Sitting behind her desk, the overseer gave him a scrutinising look. When he first arrived, it would have intimidated Martel; now, he simply held her gaze. "No. Too long a distance. The Lyceum may allow a few days of departure, but not enough to reach Nordmark and return."

"I figured as much. Just wanted to ask before I tell my mother."

"No ill news, I hope, that would necessitate your return."

He shook his head. "The contrary. My brother's wedding."

"A pity you will miss it, but such is duty. Convey my best wishes to your family if convenient."

"Certainly."

***

Once their performance for the evening had ended, the troupe at The Golden Goose joined Martel and his friends for their celebration. Wine rather than ale was brought from the stores of the tavern, only reasonably diluted before being served. The actors with musical skill played their instruments, and other patrons of the establishment joined in when they knew the song.

Martel sat at the edge of the table, watching the others with a smile. Normally, he would have been an eager participant, but his mood was clouded by the knowledge that these evenings would soon be at an end. He preferred taking a step back and letting the mood fill him slowly, like the warmth of a hot drink.

"How's that child you mentioned last we spoke?" Regnar appeared by his side, likewise staring at the revelries taking place. Theo, the storyteller, had hauled Eleanor to the stage, but before he could twirl her around in a merry dance, she used her strength to do the same to him, causing unbridled laughter.

"She's fine. For now, anyway. If not, she'll come knocking on your door."

The old hedgemage nodded to himself, pulling out his pipe. "Understood." He glanced at Martel with a glint in his eyes. "Your friends have no idea of what you get up to in the city, do they?"

"They've been along on more than one occasion," Martel replied, watching Maximilian throw a mug far into the air before piercing it with a throw of his knife.

"Ah, but you're sworn to the Pact. I can't imagine they're familiar with anybody in that neighbourhood."

Martel gave Regnar a quick look before he could hide his surprise.

The hedgemage laughed. "I keep my ear to the ground. I've rarely heard of others receiving such an accolade. Certainly not a wizard, or someone that young. I heard a garbled tale that you righted a wrong involving several of the vaunted lords that rule the streets of our fair city?"

"Something like that." Martel sipped from his wine. "I'm not quite sure how I end up involved in all that. One thing just leads to another."

"Well, my ear to the ground has heard rumblings. I've even been asked for some magical aid," Regnar related. "Wards to warn of intruders, or using my meagre skills in enchantment. I'd advise you to stay out of it all."

"Who's been buying your services?" Could be useful to know who was preparing for conflict.

"Part of the deal is discretion," the hedgemage replied with a wry smile. "For their sake and mine. Not all of my spellwork is sanctioned by the Inquisition. Well, none of it is, but they let me get away with creating fire-breathing dragons on a stage."

"That's fair."

"Besides, asking such questions is the exact opposite of staying out of it," Regnar added with a pointed look.

Martel thought about Ruby and the one evening he had spent with her in a similar fashion as this night. She had been working him, he figured, but he had enjoyed the feast all the same. Wearing a mask had made him feel free to be himself, in a way; instead of Martel the mage, whose gift gave him powers but also shackled him, he had simply been Martel.

He doubted that he would ever experience that again. The physical mask from the celebration could not hide all the other masks he had to wear in Morcaster. With his closest friends, he was the good student, excelling in his studies. With Ruby or the Friar, he was a mercenary trading his services for favours. With Sparrow, he was not only a teacher, but a protector, hiding his fears to keep her safe from the mage hunters. With the Night Knives and most of the Nine Lords, he was a dangerous entity best left alone. To the city guard and commoners on the street, he was simply a wizard, to be shown deference.

"Nordmark, this is your celebration, and you sit in the corner? Inconceivable!" Maximilian appeared out of nowhere, grabbed him by the wrist, and dragged him up to stand. Placing a smile on his face, Martel let his friend pull him into the merriment.