Chapter 280: Slow Means
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Chapter 280: Slow Means
Slow Means
First thing, once back in the Lyceum, Martel went to the baths. He needed to get rid of the sewer stench; not only for his own sake, but to disguise where he had been. While scrubbing himself, he heard the distant sound of the first bell ringing. Sleep would have to wait. Trying to get any rest now, he would just end up sleeping through his chores at the second and third bell.
Removing the last traces of the sewers from his body, Martel wished he could do the same with his mind. He had no idea what he had encountered down there. Could something have escaped from the catacombs? That seemed the only explanation. As to its nature, Martel hoped he never had reason to find out. He considered whether he should tell someone, such as Master Fenrick. But besides revealing his own presence in the sewers, which he could not explain, he also had little evidence to offer. He knew nothing other than a vague sensation of deep discomfort. A sign of sinister magic, perhaps, but not anything useful enough for anyone to investigate.
After throwing his old robes to be cleaned, Martel got dressed in a fresh set. Sitting on his bed, he found it hard to get up. All the fear, excitement, and his battle reflexes, which had kept him going through the night, had dissipated once he returned to the Lyceum. Sinking down into hot water in the baths had only exacerbated the effect.
But he could not allow his mind to follow the example of his body. Tonight's troubles were not over. The inquisitors might still be on his trail, or watching him in case he made a mistake, such as leading them to Flora and Marcus. Which was another issue to handle; he had to find a way to get her the help she needed.
But first, he had one shift in the apothecary and one in the workshops to complete, exhausted or not.
***N0v3lTr0ve served as the original host for this chapter's release on N0v3l--B1n.
"I spent half the day going around the city, asking for a surgeon who might save her. But the only ones are across town, charging upfront fees I could never pay. Not even sure she would survive us dragging her that far. Assuming the guards would let us." Marcus sounded as despondent as his words suggested.
"You were right yesterday. She needs magical healing," Martel admitted.
"How do we get that? Can you get one from your school?" The warrior looked at him with an expression swinging back and forth between fear and hope.
The acolyte shook his head. "We'd have to bring her to the infirmary. And they'd report something like this to the guards, so the inquisitors would know."
Martel looked again at the earthmage drawing her shallow breaths. He had only known her for a few months; he would not describe her as a friend the way he would Maximilian or Eleanor.
But they were comrades. Brothers-in-arms, so to say. They trusted each other every time they went into a tough situation. The Night Knives had trained him on chain armour and improved his skill with a staff, doing more to ensure his survival in a fight than his own combat teacher back at the Lyceum. They had treated him as a fellow soldier, even if he was not actually a member of their band. Martel had to do the same for her now.
He thought about the time he had contracted consumption. Master Kelsos had healed him in an instant. Such was not available, but the children in Weasel's gang had also been cured through more obtainable means. "We need a healing potion."
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Chapter 280: Slow Means
Slow Means
First thing, once back in the Lyceum, Martel went to the baths. He needed to get rid of the sewer stench; not only for his own sake, but to disguise where he had been. While scrubbing himself, he heard the distant sound of the first bell ringing. Sleep would have to wait. Trying to get any rest now, he would just end up sleeping through his chores at the second and third bell.
Removing the last traces of the sewers from his body, Martel wished he could do the same with his mind. He had no idea what he had encountered down there. Could something have escaped from the catacombs? That seemed the only explanation. As to its nature, Martel hoped he never had reason to find out. He considered whether he should tell someone, such as Master Fenrick. But besides revealing his own presence in the sewers, which he could not explain, he also had little evidence to offer. He knew nothing other than a vague sensation of deep discomfort. A sign of sinister magic, perhaps, but not anything useful enough for anyone to investigate.
After throwing his old robes to be cleaned, Martel got dressed in a fresh set. Sitting on his bed, he found it hard to get up. All the fear, excitement, and his battle reflexes, which had kept him going through the night, had dissipated once he returned to the Lyceum. Sinking down into hot water in the baths had only exacerbated the effect.
But he could not allow his mind to follow the example of his body. Tonight's troubles were not over. The inquisitors might still be on his trail, or watching him in case he made a mistake, such as leading them to Flora and Marcus. Which was another issue to handle; he had to find a way to get her the help she needed.
But first, he had one shift in the apothecary and one in the workshops to complete, exhausted or not.
***N0v3lTr0ve served as the original host for this chapter's release on N0v3l--B1n.
"I spent half the day going around the city, asking for a surgeon who might save her. But the only ones are across town, charging upfront fees I could never pay. Not even sure she would survive us dragging her that far. Assuming the guards would let us." Marcus sounded as despondent as his words suggested.
"You were right yesterday. She needs magical healing," Martel admitted.
"How do we get that? Can you get one from your school?" The warrior looked at him with an expression swinging back and forth between fear and hope.
The acolyte shook his head. "We'd have to bring her to the infirmary. And they'd report something like this to the guards, so the inquisitors would know."
Martel looked again at the earthmage drawing her shallow breaths. He had only known her for a few months; he would not describe her as a friend the way he would Maximilian or Eleanor.
But they were comrades. Brothers-in-arms, so to say. They trusted each other every time they went into a tough situation. The Night Knives had trained him on chain armour and improved his skill with a staff, doing more to ensure his survival in a fight than his own combat teacher back at the Lyceum. They had treated him as a fellow soldier, even if he was not actually a member of their band. Martel had to do the same for her now.
He thought about the time he had contracted consumption. Master Kelsos had healed him in an instant. Such was not available, but the children in Weasel's gang had also been cured through more obtainable means. "We need a healing potion."
Chapter 280: Slow MeansSlow MeansFirst thing, once back in the Lyceum, Martel went to the baths. He needed to get rid of the sewer stench; not only for his own sake, but to disguise where he had been. While scrubbing himself, he heard the distant sound of the first bell ringing. Sleep would have to wait. Trying to get any rest now, he would just end up sleeping through his chores at the second and third bell.Removing the last traces of the sewers from his body, Martel wished he could do the same with his mind. He had no idea what he had encountered down there. Could something have escaped from the catacombs? That seemed the only explanation. As to its nature, Martel hoped he never had reason to find out. He considered whether he should tell someone, such as Master Fenrick. But besides revealing his own presence in the sewers, which he could not explain, he also had little evidence to offer. He knew nothing other than a vague sensation of deep discomfort. A sign of sinister magic, perhaps, but not anything useful enough for anyone to investigate.After throwing his old robes to be cleaned, Martel got dressed in a fresh set. Sitting on his bed, he found it hard to get up. All the fear, excitement, and his battle reflexes, which had kept him going through the night, had dissipated once he returned to the Lyceum. Sinking down into hot water in the baths had only exacerbated the effect.But he could not allow his mind to follow the example of his body. Tonight's troubles were not over. The inquisitors might still be on his trail, or watching him in case he made a mistake, such as leading them to Flora and Marcus. Which was another issue to handle; he had to find a way to get her the help she needed.But first, he had one shift in the apothecary and one in the workshops to complete, exhausted or not.***N0v3lTr0ve served as the original host for this chapter's release on N0v3l--B1n."I spent half the day going around the city, asking for a surgeon who might save her. But the only ones are across town, charging upfront fees I could never pay. Not even sure she would survive us dragging her that far. Assuming the guards would let us." Marcus sounded as despondent as his words suggested."You were right yesterday. She needs magical healing," Martel admitted."How do we get that? Can you get one from your school?" The warrior looked at him with an expression swinging back and forth between fear and hope.The acolyte shook his head. "We'd have to bring her to the infirmary. And they'd report something like this to the guards, so the inquisitors would know."Martel looked again at the earthmage drawing her shallow breaths. He had only known her for a few months; he would not describe her as a friend the way he would Maximilian or Eleanor.But they were comrades. Brothers-in-arms, so to say. They trusted each other every time they went into a tough situation. The Night Knives had trained him on chain armour and improved his skill with a staff, doing more to ensure his survival in a fight than his own combat teacher back at the Lyceum. They had treated him as a fellow soldier, even if he was not actually a member of their band. Martel had to do the same for her now.He thought about the time he had contracted consumption. Master Kelsos had healed him in an instant. Such was not available, but the children in Weasel's gang had also been cured through more obtainable means. "We need a healing potion."
