Firebrand

Chapter 473: Heartfelt Wager

Heartfelt Wager

It was the first day of the harvest festival, which left Martel with a decision to make. It would be most sensible for him to remain at the school until his quarrel with Vitus was at an end; however, today was also when the archery contest would take place, and he felt obligated to watch Eleanor compete. Weighing the risks, Martel decided on the latter, though he also took some steps to mitigate the danger. He had a seat with Maximilian at the stands for the nobility, which should be much safer; standing in the crowds would obviously be foolhardy, allowing anyone to get close to him unnoticed.

In addition, Martel dressed himself as nobility. Anyone searching for him would be looking for a wizard, first and foremost; wearing garb like this, he would not stand out among the other noble spectators on the stands. Silently, he thanked Maximilian and Eleanor for providing him with the appropriate clothing last year when attending the feasts at their homes; he could not remember how many times these garments had proven useful for him since.

Lastly, Martel did not join the other students walking to the festival square along the highly crowded main roads. Instead, he left through the infirmary gate and took a crooked path. It meant he had to leave much earlier, but it provided a few advantages. Besides disappointing anyone watching the main gate, it allowed him to keep his distance to others, should anyone wish to try their luck with a golden blade, and it gave him an opportunity to observe if someone followed him.

Seeing no sign of that being the case, Martel reached the site of the celebration just as the priests finished their rituals blessing the harvest. He received various angry looks and remarks as he pushed his way down the benches to reach Maximilian.

"I almost had my doubts," the viscount growled. "What kept you?"

"Just felt like avoiding the crowds walking here," Martel replied. Out on the open grounds, the overseers were making final preparations. As last year, each archer had to shoot down three metal plates floating in the air – first one to do so advanced to the next round. "When is Eleanor shooting?"

"Who knows? We shall have to wait and see. Though I fear for her chances. Lots of good archers in the field this year, I am told."

Martel glanced at him. "Care to wager on that?"

Maximilian returned the look with an intrigued expression; Martel might as well have asked whether a dog would like a bone. "What terms are we talking?"

"I'll wager that Eleanor wins. What kind of odds will you give me?"

The mageknight raised an eyebrow. "Eleanor against the rest of the field? One to five."

Martel knew that was low, but given what he knew about Eleanor's chances, he would not complain. "Deal. I wager ten silvers."

"Top!" Maximilian laughed. "Martel, do know how many archers are competing? I almost feel guilty about taking your coin."

Martel just smiled and watched as the first contestants lined up.

***

Both Martel and Maximilian applauded as Eleanor won her first round. They did so as well for the second, with Maximilian appearing suitably impressed. By her third victory, he was scowling at Martel. "What is going on?"

"Look, no shame if you can't pay your bet."

"Of course I can! But I have watched Fontaine shoot arrows for two years, once every fiveday, and she is nowhere near this good!"

Martel wondered when he should put his friend out of his misery. He was not actually sure if Maximilian could pay the lost wager, but he figured that if he simply avoided mentioning it again, the mageknight would forget about it sooner or later. It was one of the advantages of his poor memory and general inability to take note of details.

"That smirk makes me want to punch you," Maximilian declared, crossing his arms as they watched the final archers line up for the last round.

Feeling like he was goading a bull, Martel decided to enlighten his friend. "You remember last year when you bought those arrows enchanted with the rune?"

"Sure, you asked me where to find the fellow."

He did remember some things, it seemed. "Well, I did find him, and I figured out how the rune worked. Handed it over to Eleanor. Looks like she learned how to work it as well."

"I suppose that is better than Fontaine suddenly being a far better marksman than me," he grumbled. "You could have told me that was your intent, though. I could have gone with you and paid for the rune. She is my intended, after all."

The reminder put Martel in an eerie mood; almost as if a premonition of what were about to happen, Martel watched as an old mageknight struck down all his floating targets faster than anybody else, including Eleanor.

"You lost!" Maximilian exclaimed almost with glee before he cleared his throat. "Shame about Eleanor, though. It would have been nice for her to win. Come on, we should go to console her. She must be upset by her loss."

"You go ahead," Martel mumbled. He had lost any desire to be social; besides, he had been sitting still for an hour. It seemed folly to stay on the grounds any longer, and even worse to head down into the crowds of people. The contest was over; nothing further to watch. "I'll pay you later."

"See that you do!" The young nobleman waved a finger around in the air even as he walked away. "Maximilian of Marche does not forget a debt!"

***

Martel returned to the castle, following the same strenuous route back. At the Lyceum, he met nobody other than the sisters and their patients in the infirmary – already, the first victims of brawls had arrived, but otherwise, the great building was nearly empty. Just about every student was out in the city, celebrating. On his own, Martel went to his chamber and practised enchanting.