Firebrand

Chapter 453: Services Required

Services Required

While absentmindedly fending off Edward's feeble attacks with his staff, Martel thought about the journey to the Undercroft. It disturbed him for several reasons. His previous experience in that dark place did not make him wish to return. Getting wounded, fighting another wizard – even if he was much stronger now as a mage, the memories were unpleasant.

This time seemed almost certain to be a repetition, one way or another. And if all the Nine Lords gathered and began fighting, it would be mayhem. He had no intention of risking himself for the sake of Lady Pearl, but he would see Ruby safe.

Lastly, every time Martel thought back on the dark, empty streets of that eerie, abandoned city, he felt a sense of dread. It reminded him of the catacombs, even absent the old bones. Like trespassing in a place not meant for the living. Perhaps he was letting his feelings get away from him, but it felt certain that something ominous had to happen in that sinister place.

But if Martel could not prevent that – if Ruby would not see reason and stay above ground – he could at least proceed with open eyes. Or rather, open ears. When time permitted it, he left the Lyceum to find out what Regnar had heard.

***

"Not much, honestly." The hedge mage looked at his visitor, sitting inside his small room at The Golden Goose. "I asked around, but nobody could tell me about any displays of magic the other night. Or if they could, they weren't so inclined."

"Probably the latter. A wall of flames doesn't go unnoticed. I expect that this Vitus, master of the harbour, suppressed any talk. He's already got what he wanted."

Regnar raised an eyebrow. "You come to me for knowledge, but it sounds like you're better informed than me."

"The Nine Lords have called for a council. If you're familiar with what that means?"

"I've heard of it. They gather in some unknown place to settle their disputes with words rather than swords. How does that pertain to your little adventure by the docks?"

"They tried to catch my companion, but failed. Probably to use her as an excuse for gathering the council. But because of the ensuing brawl, Vitus has his excuse anyway," Martel explained.

"Sounds like trouble. When powerful people collide, those of lesser stature tend to get squashed." The hedge mage gave his young friend a discerning look. "But perhaps you don't consider yourself in the second category?"

"Honestly, I'd prefer to stay out of it. But my aforementioned companion is caught deep inside all of this… it doesn't feel right to abandon her."

Regnar gave a knowing smile. "Say no more. While I doubt that I can be of much help, I did hear something that I now believe to be connected to your news."

"What is it?"

"I have been approached by a few different parties over the last fivedays, seeking my services in the arcane."

Martel frowned. "That's vague. What exactly did they want?"

"Oh, each of them had different reasons. You remember I did work for House Thierry? Examining some of their artefacts."

Martel remembered; it had made the acting troupe seem aligned with the nobles, causing Lady Pearl to run them out of the bridge district. The main reason he would not lift a finger to protect her, should it come to that.

"They asked if I was available. I turned them down, of course. But some other old customers also reached out, asking me to create some enchantments."

"Who? What kind?"

"Just a merchant in the harbour, wanted a handful of lightstones. I'm quite good with such effects, after all. The silver was good, and I didn't see the harm – certainly didn't expect it had anything to do with you."

Martel scratched his cheek; that did sound harmless. "What else? Or who else?"

"Well, you're familiar with Ironside, who runs the market?"

"He tried to have me killed, if that counts."

"Right." Regnar cleared his throat. "Well, the Goose lies inside his territory. He warned me that if my little troupe was to be allowed to remain here, I was not to take up work outside the district."

"Like accompanying someone to the Undercroft for a fight," Martel considered.

"Is that what it's called?" The hedge mage looked at him with discerning eyes. "Well, he was right to do so, because a day later, I was asked to provide protection for an – unnamed party."

"Who?"

"I just said, unnamed. Obviously one of the Nine Lords, but they gave me no hint of their identity. I would have refused even if Ironside didn't tell me to," Regnar declared. "Not getting involved with these people. Not for all the gold in Morcaster."

"That's wise."

"Nor would you, I imagine. But it's blood rather than gold that drives you, eh, boy?"

Martel cleared his throat. He saw no reason to discuss that.

Regnar cackled. "We've all been young once, I suppose. But if you'll forgive me, I'll keep to myself over the coming days. Asking questions when everyone's on edge like this – I've already been warned to lie low. And if I misbehave, it's my little flock that pays the price."

"I understand." Martel did not imagine there was much more the hedge mage might learn anyway, listening to rumours in a tavern. "Thanks for your help."

"Of course, my boy. Listen, be careful, you hear? Don't let your good intentions get you killed. For all the power that magic gives you, it also makes you the first target in any fight." Regnar stared at him, his expression suddenly grave. "Always know your way out. And don't sacrifice yourself for others who'd be happy to let a mage die in their place."

Slightly sinister, but Martel could not claim the warning to be unfounded; he expected that once he laid eyes on that square in the Undercroft, with all the Nine Lords in attendance, something violent was bound to happen. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that." Regnar gave him a quick hug. "You're a good lad, Martel. The world's a better place with you in it."

Martel felt a strange echo of the sentiment expressed by Ruby, and he hoped the hedge mage was right. "Thanks. I'd say the same, but where you're concerned, I'd argue it's an even split."

Regnar laughed, digging out his pipe. "Probably!"