Chapter 32: Gold, Steel, and Magic
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Chapter 32: Gold, Steel, and Magic
Gold, Steel, and Magic
Even in the frail light of his flickering flame, Martel recognised the one-eyed berserker in front of them. And his hammer. The first time he and Maximilian had spent time together, they had watched the Tyrian take down an experienced mageknight. Now, his opposition consisted of an acolyte, a novice, and a hedge mage chained in gold.
Maximilian pointed his blade at the berserker. "Walk away. We are armed with magic besides steel." Next to him, Martel tried to make his little flame look more intimidating. Unlike previous situations, it did not seem to work.
The Tyrian laughed. "Regnar, always getting others embroiled in your misfortune. Do your little friends know the reason for your predicament?"
The hedge mage dropped the boot in his hands. "I'm sure you can't wait to tell them."
Down the ladder came two more, accomplices of the berserker, who spoke again. "He and I used to work together. I fought in arenas for large prizes, and from the audience, old Regnar gave me a helping hand, and I always won."
"You cheated," Maximilian exclaimed.
"Then came the biggest fight. Me against five others, proven warriors. Prize money of a hundred crowns. And when it started, Regnar lay drunk in a ditch. All I got for my troubles was this." The berserker pointed at the scar that ran across his blind eye.
"Bjarki," the hedge mage spoke, "you got me. You'll have your gold and your revenge. Let the kids go."
The Tyrian shook his head. "If an apple falls in my hand, why should I throw it away?"
"I'm sorry about your gold and your eye," Martel meekly said. "We'll pay the ransom you want."
Bjarki laughed heartily. "The ransom! That was just to tap some money from those fools our friend travelled with. Passing the time waiting until our ship's departure."
"What ship?" asked Maximilian.
"To Sindhu," Regnar explained. "They're going to sell me."
"The Sindhians have slaves?" Martel asked.
"No, but they are masters of alchemy. And they can harvest a lot of magical ingredients from a mage," Bjarki explained. "What luck that we will have not one, but three mages to sell. Boys, take them alive!"
~
The berserker went against Maximilian, the only one who seemed a threat. His two henchmen approached Martel with drawn blades.
Flight was impossible. He already stood with his back against the wall, and the thugs blocked the way to the stairs. They wore sinister smiles. "Surrender, and we won't hurt you," one of them claimed.
Martel reached out with his magic. Everything on the shelves came flying through the air. Jars of clay and glass smashed against the bandits.
They cursed loudly, raising their arms to protect their heads. "You little bastard," one of them cried, swinging his sword wildly. He leapt forward, raising his blade for a deadly blow with no sign of capturing the novice alive anymore.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.
Staring death in the face, Martel reacted on instinct. He raised one hand in front of himself and called upon what lay in him. A stream of fire shot out.
It hit the bandit in the chest. It did not contain the power to kill or even scorch him as such, but it set his clothes on fire. Screaming, he dropped his sword and stumbled backwards, smashing his hands against himself to quell the flames.
"Even a dead mage is worth something." The other bandit, rubbing his head where a jar had mashed against him, cautiously moved towards Martel with malicious eyes.
"What do we do now?" Martel asked.
"We hand this overgrown peach over to the city guard," the mageknight declared. "I shall explain what happened. They will not doubt the word of a viscount."
"Useful," Regnar mumbled.
The sounds of footsteps upstairs reached them, and they all became quiet. "What's all this racket?" asked a voice, and a man came jumping down the stairs. It was the last of the thugs, who had been lured away by the street children.
He stared around the cellar for a moment before the pommel of Maximilian's sword sent him to the ground.
~
Hours later, Martel and Regnar walked onto the square with the travelling theatre. Maximilian had stayed with the city guards, explaining matters to the official and ensuring the berserker was taken properly into custody, golden chains and all.
"I should get back to the school. But your friends will be happy to see you returned," Martel spoke.
"If nothing else because they can't replace me," Regnar laughed. As he continued, his voice became serious. "Thank you again, lad. You stuck your neck out for someone you've only known a few days. I can never repay you. As little as my life is worth, I own even less." He laughed again.
"You needed help. Someone had to do it."
"An admirable attitude, though also rare, I fear."
"Well, if you feel grateful, anything you could teach me about magic..." Martel said hopefully.
Regnar smiled. From his pocket, he dug out his pipe and ignited the herb inside it. "These Asterian mages in their big school don't think like I do. You walk their path, Martel, not mine. But I will tell you this." He took a drag on his pipe, releasing smoke. "They'll teach your mind how to shape magic. But you have strong instincts, boy. Magic is not your servant like it is theirs, but it can be your friend in ways it will never be theirs."
"I'm not sure what that means," Martel admitted.
Barking laughter came from the hedge mage. "Good. Genuine wisdom is always confusing. If in doubt, Martel, trust your blood over your brain." He began walking towards the stage, but stopped to look over his shoulder. "On Manday is our last performance, and we always finish with a new play. Stop by and bring your friends. You got free admission." He smiled, winked, and continued on his way.
~
Walking past the gates to the Lyceum, Martel felt starved. He had not eaten all day, he realised, and the water clock in the entrance hall said fifth bell. Too late for lunch, and two hours to go before supper.
The clerks manning the desks stared at him as he walked by, but Martel was too hungry to care. He turned right towards his room; he was also deprived of rest, and if he could sleep for a few hours, it would make the wait for supper easier.
Walking past the workshop, the sounds of people at work reached him as usual. Only then did Martel remember; today was Solday when he had the task of assisting the artificer.
Guilt and embarrassment slithered over him. He had a good reason for his absence, but would it matter? Only one way to find out.
Turning right, Martel entered the workshop. He passed through the outer rooms until he found Master Jerome etching runes on a stone tablet. He cleared his throat.
Looking up, the artificer frowned. "Martel? You are rather late, boy. I must impress on you the importance of fulfilling your duties if you wish to finish your years at... what's that on your face?"
Martel's hand slid over his cheek, which felt hot and sore. It took him a moment to remember that Bjarki had slapped him, apparently with quite some force.
Jerome rose from his workbench. "What happened to you, boy?"
"Well, master, I've had a bit of a day."
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Chapter 32: Gold, Steel, and Magic
Gold, Steel, and Magic
Even in the frail light of his flickering flame, Martel recognised the one-eyed berserker in front of them. And his hammer. The first time he and Maximilian had spent time together, they had watched the Tyrian take down an experienced mageknight. Now, his opposition consisted of an acolyte, a novice, and a hedge mage chained in gold.
Maximilian pointed his blade at the berserker. "Walk away. We are armed with magic besides steel." Next to him, Martel tried to make his little flame look more intimidating. Unlike previous situations, it did not seem to work.
The Tyrian laughed. "Regnar, always getting others embroiled in your misfortune. Do your little friends know the reason for your predicament?"
The hedge mage dropped the boot in his hands. "I'm sure you can't wait to tell them."
Down the ladder came two more, accomplices of the berserker, who spoke again. "He and I used to work together. I fought in arenas for large prizes, and from the audience, old Regnar gave me a helping hand, and I always won."
"You cheated," Maximilian exclaimed.
"Then came the biggest fight. Me against five others, proven warriors. Prize money of a hundred crowns. And when it started, Regnar lay drunk in a ditch. All I got for my troubles was this." The berserker pointed at the scar that ran across his blind eye.
"Bjarki," the hedge mage spoke, "you got me. You'll have your gold and your revenge. Let the kids go."
The Tyrian shook his head. "If an apple falls in my hand, why should I throw it away?"
"I'm sorry about your gold and your eye," Martel meekly said. "We'll pay the ransom you want."
Bjarki laughed heartily. "The ransom! That was just to tap some money from those fools our friend travelled with. Passing the time waiting until our ship's departure."
"What ship?" asked Maximilian.
"To Sindhu," Regnar explained. "They're going to sell me."
"The Sindhians have slaves?" Martel asked.
"No, but they are masters of alchemy. And they can harvest a lot of magical ingredients from a mage," Bjarki explained. "What luck that we will have not one, but three mages to sell. Boys, take them alive!"
~
The berserker went against Maximilian, the only one who seemed a threat. His two henchmen approached Martel with drawn blades.
Flight was impossible. He already stood with his back against the wall, and the thugs blocked the way to the stairs. They wore sinister smiles. "Surrender, and we won't hurt you," one of them claimed.
Martel reached out with his magic. Everything on the shelves came flying through the air. Jars of clay and glass smashed against the bandits.
They cursed loudly, raising their arms to protect their heads. "You little bastard," one of them cried, swinging his sword wildly. He leapt forward, raising his blade for a deadly blow with no sign of capturing the novice alive anymore.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.
Staring death in the face, Martel reacted on instinct. He raised one hand in front of himself and called upon what lay in him. A stream of fire shot out.
It hit the bandit in the chest. It did not contain the power to kill or even scorch him as such, but it set his clothes on fire. Screaming, he dropped his sword and stumbled backwards, smashing his hands against himself to quell the flames.
"Even a dead mage is worth something." The other bandit, rubbing his head where a jar had mashed against him, cautiously moved towards Martel with malicious eyes.
"What do we do now?" Martel asked.
"We hand this overgrown peach over to the city guard," the mageknight declared. "I shall explain what happened. They will not doubt the word of a viscount."
"Useful," Regnar mumbled.
The sounds of footsteps upstairs reached them, and they all became quiet. "What's all this racket?" asked a voice, and a man came jumping down the stairs. It was the last of the thugs, who had been lured away by the street children.
He stared around the cellar for a moment before the pommel of Maximilian's sword sent him to the ground.
~
Hours later, Martel and Regnar walked onto the square with the travelling theatre. Maximilian had stayed with the city guards, explaining matters to the official and ensuring the berserker was taken properly into custody, golden chains and all.
"I should get back to the school. But your friends will be happy to see you returned," Martel spoke.
"If nothing else because they can't replace me," Regnar laughed. As he continued, his voice became serious. "Thank you again, lad. You stuck your neck out for someone you've only known a few days. I can never repay you. As little as my life is worth, I own even less." He laughed again.
"You needed help. Someone had to do it."
"An admirable attitude, though also rare, I fear."
"Well, if you feel grateful, anything you could teach me about magic..." Martel said hopefully.
Regnar smiled. From his pocket, he dug out his pipe and ignited the herb inside it. "These Asterian mages in their big school don't think like I do. You walk their path, Martel, not mine. But I will tell you this." He took a drag on his pipe, releasing smoke. "They'll teach your mind how to shape magic. But you have strong instincts, boy. Magic is not your servant like it is theirs, but it can be your friend in ways it will never be theirs."
"I'm not sure what that means," Martel admitted.
Barking laughter came from the hedge mage. "Good. Genuine wisdom is always confusing. If in doubt, Martel, trust your blood over your brain." He began walking towards the stage, but stopped to look over his shoulder. "On Manday is our last performance, and we always finish with a new play. Stop by and bring your friends. You got free admission." He smiled, winked, and continued on his way.
~
Walking past the gates to the Lyceum, Martel felt starved. He had not eaten all day, he realised, and the water clock in the entrance hall said fifth bell. Too late for lunch, and two hours to go before supper.
The clerks manning the desks stared at him as he walked by, but Martel was too hungry to care. He turned right towards his room; he was also deprived of rest, and if he could sleep for a few hours, it would make the wait for supper easier.
Walking past the workshop, the sounds of people at work reached him as usual. Only then did Martel remember; today was Solday when he had the task of assisting the artificer.
Guilt and embarrassment slithered over him. He had a good reason for his absence, but would it matter? Only one way to find out.
Turning right, Martel entered the workshop. He passed through the outer rooms until he found Master Jerome etching runes on a stone tablet. He cleared his throat.
Looking up, the artificer frowned. "Martel? You are rather late, boy. I must impress on you the importance of fulfilling your duties if you wish to finish your years at... what's that on your face?"
Martel's hand slid over his cheek, which felt hot and sore. It took him a moment to remember that Bjarki had slapped him, apparently with quite some force.
Jerome rose from his workbench. "What happened to you, boy?"
"Well, master, I've had a bit of a day."
Chapter 32: Gold, Steel, and MagicGold, Steel, and MagicEven in the frail light of his flickering flame, Martel recognised the one-eyed berserker in front of them. And his hammer. The first time he and Maximilian had spent time together, they had watched the Tyrian take down an experienced mageknight. Now, his opposition consisted of an acolyte, a novice, and a hedge mage chained in gold.Maximilian pointed his blade at the berserker. "Walk away. We are armed with magic besides steel." Next to him, Martel tried to make his little flame look more intimidating. Unlike previous situations, it did not seem to work.The Tyrian laughed. "Regnar, always getting others embroiled in your misfortune. Do your little friends know the reason for your predicament?"The hedge mage dropped the boot in his hands. "I'm sure you can't wait to tell them."Down the ladder came two more, accomplices of the berserker, who spoke again. "He and I used to work together. I fought in arenas for large prizes, and from the audience, old Regnar gave me a helping hand, and I always won.""You cheated," Maximilian exclaimed."Then came the biggest fight. Me against five others, proven warriors. Prize money of a hundred crowns. And when it started, Regnar lay drunk in a ditch. All I got for my troubles was this." The berserker pointed at the scar that ran across his blind eye."Bjarki," the hedge mage spoke, "you got me. You'll have your gold and your revenge. Let the kids go."The Tyrian shook his head. "If an apple falls in my hand, why should I throw it away?""I'm sorry about your gold and your eye," Martel meekly said. "We'll pay the ransom you want."Bjarki laughed heartily. "The ransom! That was just to tap some money from those fools our friend travelled with. Passing the time waiting until our ship's departure.""What ship?" asked Maximilian."To Sindhu," Regnar explained. "They're going to sell me.""The Sindhians have slaves?" Martel asked."No, but they are masters of alchemy. And they can harvest a lot of magical ingredients from a mage," Bjarki explained. "What luck that we will have not one, but three mages to sell. Boys, take them alive!"~The berserker went against Maximilian, the only one who seemed a threat. His two henchmen approached Martel with drawn blades.Flight was impossible. He already stood with his back against the wall, and the thugs blocked the way to the stairs. They wore sinister smiles. "Surrender, and we won't hurt you," one of them claimed.Martel reached out with his magic. Everything on the shelves came flying through the air. Jars of clay and glass smashed against the bandits.They cursed loudly, raising their arms to protect their heads. "You little bastard," one of them cried, swinging his sword wildly. He leapt forward, raising his blade for a deadly blow with no sign of capturing the novice alive anymore.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.Staring death in the face, Martel reacted on instinct. He raised one hand in front of himself and called upon what lay in him. A stream of fire shot out.It hit the bandit in the chest. It did not contain the power to kill or even scorch him as such, but it set his clothes on fire. Screaming, he dropped his sword and stumbled backwards, smashing his hands against himself to quell the flames."Even a dead mage is worth something." The other bandit, rubbing his head where a jar had mashed against him, cautiously moved towards Martel with malicious eyes."What do we do now?" Martel asked."We hand this overgrown peach over to the city guard," the mageknight declared. "I shall explain what happened. They will not doubt the word of a viscount.""Useful," Regnar mumbled.The sounds of footsteps upstairs reached them, and they all became quiet. "What's all this racket?" asked a voice, and a man came jumping down the stairs. It was the last of the thugs, who had been lured away by the street children.He stared around the cellar for a moment before the pommel of Maximilian's sword sent him to the ground.~Hours later, Martel and Regnar walked onto the square with the travelling theatre. Maximilian had stayed with the city guards, explaining matters to the official and ensuring the berserker was taken properly into custody, golden chains and all."I should get back to the school. But your friends will be happy to see you returned," Martel spoke."If nothing else because they can't replace me," Regnar laughed. As he continued, his voice became serious. "Thank you again, lad. You stuck your neck out for someone you've only known a few days. I can never repay you. As little as my life is worth, I own even less." He laughed again."You needed help. Someone had to do it.""An admirable attitude, though also rare, I fear.""Well, if you feel grateful, anything you could teach me about magic..." Martel said hopefully.Regnar smiled. From his pocket, he dug out his pipe and ignited the herb inside it. "These Asterian mages in their big school don't think like I do. You walk their path, Martel, not mine. But I will tell you this." He took a drag on his pipe, releasing smoke. "They'll teach your mind how to shape magic. But you have strong instincts, boy. Magic is not your servant like it is theirs, but it can be your friend in ways it will never be theirs.""I'm not sure what that means," Martel admitted.Barking laughter came from the hedge mage. "Good. Genuine wisdom is always confusing. If in doubt, Martel, trust your blood over your brain." He began walking towards the stage, but stopped to look over his shoulder. "On Manday is our last performance, and we always finish with a new play. Stop by and bring your friends. You got free admission." He smiled, winked, and continued on his way.~Walking past the gates to the Lyceum, Martel felt starved. He had not eaten all day, he realised, and the water clock in the entrance hall said fifth bell. Too late for lunch, and two hours to go before supper.The clerks manning the desks stared at him as he walked by, but Martel was too hungry to care. He turned right towards his room; he was also deprived of rest, and if he could sleep for a few hours, it would make the wait for supper easier.Walking past the workshop, the sounds of people at work reached him as usual. Only then did Martel remember; today was Solday when he had the task of assisting the artificer.Guilt and embarrassment slithered over him. He had a good reason for his absence, but would it matter? Only one way to find out.Turning right, Martel entered the workshop. He passed through the outer rooms until he found Master Jerome etching runes on a stone tablet. He cleared his throat.Looking up, the artificer frowned. "Martel? You are rather late, boy. I must impress on you the importance of fulfilling your duties if you wish to finish your years at... what's that on your face?"Martel's hand slid over his cheek, which felt hot and sore. It took him a moment to remember that Bjarki had slapped him, apparently with quite some force.Jerome rose from his workbench. "What happened to you, boy?""Well, master, I've had a bit of a day."
