Chapter 382: Wheeling and Dealing
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Chapter 382: Wheeling and Dealing
Wheeling and Dealing
With empowered speed, Martel ran after the fleeing islander. He swore at his grey robe, longer than he was accustomed to, forcing him to pull it up in order to run. Plenty of drivers in the yard laughed seeing a monk hike up his clothes to sprint like a madman in pursuit of a stableboy. Laughter only increased as a second monk appeared from the stable, likewise in pursuit, though he quickly fell behind.
The islander was fast. Thankfully, the streets of the nobles' quarter were well lit, making it easy for Martel to see his quarry. Yet even with magical strength in his legs, empowerment never being Martel's strong suit, the mage did not easily catch up in a matter of moments as he might have expected. But he did get closer and closer, diminishing the distance between them, and he had other tricks up his grey sleeve.
A blast of air roared forward down the street, pushing the islander to trip. Yet in a fluid movement, displaying a feat of acrobatics, he rolled forward and regained his footing, barely losing time. Next, he turned down an alley, away from the streetlamps with their magical illumination.
Still in pursuit, Martel made the same turn. Darkness did not help his prey to hide; the islander's heat shone like a bonfire in the night to Martel's magical sight. He sent a pulse of power through the earth to spike up, creating an obstacle ahead. It seemed that he timed it poorly, for the youth managed to leap over it just in time, continuing his flight unhindered.
Swearing, Martel decided enough was enough. He disliked using fire, attracting such attention in the night, but he would not be made a fool of any longer. Fortunately, running down this narrow alley worked in the mage's favour. Ahead, he raised a wall of fire that barred all escape.
The fugitive immediately halted, and his head whipped in every direction. It did not matter; the flames rose taller than any could jump, and the surrounding house walls were bare, allowing no ledge or the like that might provide a steppingstone. He was trapped.
***
"Enough," Martel called out, slowing down as he approached. "It should be obvious I can kill you with ease. Sit down, hands behind your back, and I won't hurt you." That would also let him dismiss his spell, which otherwise would burn more of his spellpower to maintain.
The islander turned around and complied. More than that, once on the ground, he practically prostrated himself before Martel. "Please, great wizard, don't kill me! I am no threat."
Releasing his flame wall, Martel continued to walk forward, feeling most of all awkward. He felt both a spark of pity and a shred of embarrassment for the young man, humbling himself. "I already said I wouldn't. Just answer my questions."
Looking up, he wore an expression of fear. "My brethren will not forgive me if I reveal their secrets. Please, great wizard, I know you may kill me for such insolence, but they'd do worse to me, and my family afterwards." He spoke with a clear accent, and Martel guessed that he had not been that long in Aster.
"In that case, you've nothing to fear. You are one of the Silver Serpents, right?" It would be one Nether-damned coincidence if not, but still, not every islander in Morcaster would necessarily belong to that faction.
The youth licked his lips, but gave no reply.
"Your brethren are dead. They can't hurt you." Just as the acolyte said it, he realised that if the young fellow did not know, he was probably not involved in the plot to kill Martel.
"Dead? How?"
"They angered the wizards of this city. So I suggest you answer my questions."
"I did wonder why I had not heard from them... Spirits, I am alone in this city of stone!" He gave an almost theatrical wail. Martel felt even more embarrassed on his behalf.
"Look, tell me what I want to know. What were you doing in that house, dressed as a stableboy?"
"I worked there, master, as part of the plan. I'm young and new to the brotherhood, without ink yet. So I was well-suited to watch the stolen life-force that we hid."
The relic, Martel assumed. "But why? What on earth was gained by stealing it in the first place, not to mention hiding it inside a stable?"
"Forgive me, master, they did not tell me. Only that I was to expect those who wield the life-force to come looking for this item, and report back once it was found." Various expressions flittered across the islander's face, but most of them within the range of fear.
Distracted, Martel did not bother to reply. Such strange magic in his grip. It seemed a pity to hand it over, though he had no actual use for it. And if it protected him from the Nine Lords, all the better.
The Keeper's voice reached him, sounding out of breath. "What did I miss?"
***
A cart drove through the nobles' quarter of Morcaster in the quiet hours of the night. It carried a monk in grey robes and a wizard in red; Martel had changed clothes as soon as they were out of sight from the estate of House Thierry.
"I'll be damned," the Keeper finally said, glancing at the object in Martel's lap. "I honestly had no expectations we'd find it. I figured it had been months and that thing was long gone."
"Well, they wanted us to find it. Though you hid your lack of enthusiasm well."
"If the Pact dies, so do I. I'm rather motivated to protect it."
"What? How's that?"
"Plenty of lowlifes in this city that would love to cut my throat," the Keeper admitted. "The reasons for it are irrelevant. But the Pact protects me. If anybody tried, the Nine Lords would eviscerate them. And now that protection extends to you."
That reminded Martel of something. "So, all my arrangements with the Friar will stand?"
"Of course. He is a man who places extreme importance on oaths and promises."
"Because you agreed that I could study the relic before handing it over."
The Keeper sat silent for a moment. "I did, didn't I. Pray tell, when you say study, you mean...?"
"Nothing wild. I just want to show it to my teacher. He is a lore master. We might learn something."
His companion exhaled. "Very well. Keep it for now. Let's meet at our usual spot Solday evening, and you can give it to me."
"Agreed."
"But that hunk of flesh better be in one piece. I haven't gone through all of this just to lose that damnable hand again."
Martel raised both of his own still-attached appendages to protest the insinuation. "No harm will come to it, of course not." Probably not. The cart rumbled on.
***
Back in his chamber, Martel made sure the door was bolted shut before he placed the relic in the bottom of his drawer. So much trouble caused by this object; mostly by people who had no understanding of its real power. Islanders, Night Knives, Ruby and Lady Pearl, the Friar, and others, no doubt, all of them pursuing it for one reason or another.
Well, it was over. Martel had done his part and gained the protection of the Pact. Perhaps he could now be afforded some peace from all the endless schemes of Morcaster's underworld, allowing him to finish his education. He had about six months until his graduation when he would bid Morcaster farewell, maybe forever. Lying down to fall asleep, Martel wondered whether that thought should make him thrilled or sad.
Not that he could do anything about it. His time at the Lyceum was coming to an end; in half a year, he would be conscripted to a legion and sent to fight the wars of the Empire. In half a year, he would be a battlemage.
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Chapter 382: Wheeling and Dealing
Wheeling and Dealing
With empowered speed, Martel ran after the fleeing islander. He swore at his grey robe, longer than he was accustomed to, forcing him to pull it up in order to run. Plenty of drivers in the yard laughed seeing a monk hike up his clothes to sprint like a madman in pursuit of a stableboy. Laughter only increased as a second monk appeared from the stable, likewise in pursuit, though he quickly fell behind.
The islander was fast. Thankfully, the streets of the nobles' quarter were well lit, making it easy for Martel to see his quarry. Yet even with magical strength in his legs, empowerment never being Martel's strong suit, the mage did not easily catch up in a matter of moments as he might have expected. But he did get closer and closer, diminishing the distance between them, and he had other tricks up his grey sleeve.
A blast of air roared forward down the street, pushing the islander to trip. Yet in a fluid movement, displaying a feat of acrobatics, he rolled forward and regained his footing, barely losing time. Next, he turned down an alley, away from the streetlamps with their magical illumination.
Still in pursuit, Martel made the same turn. Darkness did not help his prey to hide; the islander's heat shone like a bonfire in the night to Martel's magical sight. He sent a pulse of power through the earth to spike up, creating an obstacle ahead. It seemed that he timed it poorly, for the youth managed to leap over it just in time, continuing his flight unhindered.
Swearing, Martel decided enough was enough. He disliked using fire, attracting such attention in the night, but he would not be made a fool of any longer. Fortunately, running down this narrow alley worked in the mage's favour. Ahead, he raised a wall of fire that barred all escape.
The fugitive immediately halted, and his head whipped in every direction. It did not matter; the flames rose taller than any could jump, and the surrounding house walls were bare, allowing no ledge or the like that might provide a steppingstone. He was trapped.
***
"Enough," Martel called out, slowing down as he approached. "It should be obvious I can kill you with ease. Sit down, hands behind your back, and I won't hurt you." That would also let him dismiss his spell, which otherwise would burn more of his spellpower to maintain.
The islander turned around and complied. More than that, once on the ground, he practically prostrated himself before Martel. "Please, great wizard, don't kill me! I am no threat."
Releasing his flame wall, Martel continued to walk forward, feeling most of all awkward. He felt both a spark of pity and a shred of embarrassment for the young man, humbling himself. "I already said I wouldn't. Just answer my questions."
Looking up, he wore an expression of fear. "My brethren will not forgive me if I reveal their secrets. Please, great wizard, I know you may kill me for such insolence, but they'd do worse to me, and my family afterwards." He spoke with a clear accent, and Martel guessed that he had not been that long in Aster.
"In that case, you've nothing to fear. You are one of the Silver Serpents, right?" It would be one Nether-damned coincidence if not, but still, not every islander in Morcaster would necessarily belong to that faction.
The youth licked his lips, but gave no reply.
"Your brethren are dead. They can't hurt you." Just as the acolyte said it, he realised that if the young fellow did not know, he was probably not involved in the plot to kill Martel.
"Dead? How?"
"They angered the wizards of this city. So I suggest you answer my questions."
"I did wonder why I had not heard from them... Spirits, I am alone in this city of stone!" He gave an almost theatrical wail. Martel felt even more embarrassed on his behalf.
"Look, tell me what I want to know. What were you doing in that house, dressed as a stableboy?"
"I worked there, master, as part of the plan. I'm young and new to the brotherhood, without ink yet. So I was well-suited to watch the stolen life-force that we hid."
The relic, Martel assumed. "But why? What on earth was gained by stealing it in the first place, not to mention hiding it inside a stable?"
"Forgive me, master, they did not tell me. Only that I was to expect those who wield the life-force to come looking for this item, and report back once it was found." Various expressions flittered across the islander's face, but most of them within the range of fear.
Distracted, Martel did not bother to reply. Such strange magic in his grip. It seemed a pity to hand it over, though he had no actual use for it. And if it protected him from the Nine Lords, all the better.
The Keeper's voice reached him, sounding out of breath. "What did I miss?"
***
A cart drove through the nobles' quarter of Morcaster in the quiet hours of the night. It carried a monk in grey robes and a wizard in red; Martel had changed clothes as soon as they were out of sight from the estate of House Thierry.
"I'll be damned," the Keeper finally said, glancing at the object in Martel's lap. "I honestly had no expectations we'd find it. I figured it had been months and that thing was long gone."
"Well, they wanted us to find it. Though you hid your lack of enthusiasm well."
"If the Pact dies, so do I. I'm rather motivated to protect it."
"What? How's that?"
"Plenty of lowlifes in this city that would love to cut my throat," the Keeper admitted. "The reasons for it are irrelevant. But the Pact protects me. If anybody tried, the Nine Lords would eviscerate them. And now that protection extends to you."
That reminded Martel of something. "So, all my arrangements with the Friar will stand?"
"Of course. He is a man who places extreme importance on oaths and promises."
"Because you agreed that I could study the relic before handing it over."
The Keeper sat silent for a moment. "I did, didn't I. Pray tell, when you say study, you mean...?"
"Nothing wild. I just want to show it to my teacher. He is a lore master. We might learn something."
His companion exhaled. "Very well. Keep it for now. Let's meet at our usual spot Solday evening, and you can give it to me."
"Agreed."
"But that hunk of flesh better be in one piece. I haven't gone through all of this just to lose that damnable hand again."
Martel raised both of his own still-attached appendages to protest the insinuation. "No harm will come to it, of course not." Probably not. The cart rumbled on.
***
Back in his chamber, Martel made sure the door was bolted shut before he placed the relic in the bottom of his drawer. So much trouble caused by this object; mostly by people who had no understanding of its real power. Islanders, Night Knives, Ruby and Lady Pearl, the Friar, and others, no doubt, all of them pursuing it for one reason or another.
Well, it was over. Martel had done his part and gained the protection of the Pact. Perhaps he could now be afforded some peace from all the endless schemes of Morcaster's underworld, allowing him to finish his education. He had about six months until his graduation when he would bid Morcaster farewell, maybe forever. Lying down to fall asleep, Martel wondered whether that thought should make him thrilled or sad.
Not that he could do anything about it. His time at the Lyceum was coming to an end; in half a year, he would be conscripted to a legion and sent to fight the wars of the Empire. In half a year, he would be a battlemage.
Chapter 382: Wheeling and DealingWheeling and DealingWith empowered speed, Martel ran after the fleeing islander. He swore at his grey robe, longer than he was accustomed to, forcing him to pull it up in order to run. Plenty of drivers in the yard laughed seeing a monk hike up his clothes to sprint like a madman in pursuit of a stableboy. Laughter only increased as a second monk appeared from the stable, likewise in pursuit, though he quickly fell behind.The islander was fast. Thankfully, the streets of the nobles' quarter were well lit, making it easy for Martel to see his quarry. Yet even with magical strength in his legs, empowerment never being Martel's strong suit, the mage did not easily catch up in a matter of moments as he might have expected. But he did get closer and closer, diminishing the distance between them, and he had other tricks up his grey sleeve.A blast of air roared forward down the street, pushing the islander to trip. Yet in a fluid movement, displaying a feat of acrobatics, he rolled forward and regained his footing, barely losing time. Next, he turned down an alley, away from the streetlamps with their magical illumination.Still in pursuit, Martel made the same turn. Darkness did not help his prey to hide; the islander's heat shone like a bonfire in the night to Martel's magical sight. He sent a pulse of power through the earth to spike up, creating an obstacle ahead. It seemed that he timed it poorly, for the youth managed to leap over it just in time, continuing his flight unhindered.Swearing, Martel decided enough was enough. He disliked using fire, attracting such attention in the night, but he would not be made a fool of any longer. Fortunately, running down this narrow alley worked in the mage's favour. Ahead, he raised a wall of fire that barred all escape.The fugitive immediately halted, and his head whipped in every direction. It did not matter; the flames rose taller than any could jump, and the surrounding house walls were bare, allowing no ledge or the like that might provide a steppingstone. He was trapped.***"Enough," Martel called out, slowing down as he approached. "It should be obvious I can kill you with ease. Sit down, hands behind your back, and I won't hurt you." That would also let him dismiss his spell, which otherwise would burn more of his spellpower to maintain.The islander turned around and complied. More than that, once on the ground, he practically prostrated himself before Martel. "Please, great wizard, don't kill me! I am no threat."Releasing his flame wall, Martel continued to walk forward, feeling most of all awkward. He felt both a spark of pity and a shred of embarrassment for the young man, humbling himself. "I already said I wouldn't. Just answer my questions."Looking up, he wore an expression of fear. "My brethren will not forgive me if I reveal their secrets. Please, great wizard, I know you may kill me for such insolence, but they'd do worse to me, and my family afterwards." He spoke with a clear accent, and Martel guessed that he had not been that long in Aster."In that case, you've nothing to fear. You are one of the Silver Serpents, right?" It would be one Nether-damned coincidence if not, but still, not every islander in Morcaster would necessarily belong to that faction.The youth licked his lips, but gave no reply."Your brethren are dead. They can't hurt you." Just as the acolyte said it, he realised that if the young fellow did not know, he was probably not involved in the plot to kill Martel."Dead? How?""They angered the wizards of this city. So I suggest you answer my questions.""I did wonder why I had not heard from them... Spirits, I am alone in this city of stone!" He gave an almost theatrical wail. Martel felt even more embarrassed on his behalf."Look, tell me what I want to know. What were you doing in that house, dressed as a stableboy?""I worked there, master, as part of the plan. I'm young and new to the brotherhood, without ink yet. So I was well-suited to watch the stolen life-force that we hid."The relic, Martel assumed. "But why? What on earth was gained by stealing it in the first place, not to mention hiding it inside a stable?""Forgive me, master, they did not tell me. Only that I was to expect those who wield the life-force to come looking for this item, and report back once it was found." Various expressions flittered across the islander's face, but most of them within the range of fear.Distracted, Martel did not bother to reply. Such strange magic in his grip. It seemed a pity to hand it over, though he had no actual use for it. And if it protected him from the Nine Lords, all the better.The Keeper's voice reached him, sounding out of breath. "What did I miss?"***A cart drove through the nobles' quarter of Morcaster in the quiet hours of the night. It carried a monk in grey robes and a wizard in red; Martel had changed clothes as soon as they were out of sight from the estate of House Thierry."I'll be damned," the Keeper finally said, glancing at the object in Martel's lap. "I honestly had no expectations we'd find it. I figured it had been months and that thing was long gone.""Well, they wanted us to find it. Though you hid your lack of enthusiasm well.""If the Pact dies, so do I. I'm rather motivated to protect it.""What? How's that?""Plenty of lowlifes in this city that would love to cut my throat," the Keeper admitted. "The reasons for it are irrelevant. But the Pact protects me. If anybody tried, the Nine Lords would eviscerate them. And now that protection extends to you."That reminded Martel of something. "So, all my arrangements with the Friar will stand?""Of course. He is a man who places extreme importance on oaths and promises.""Because you agreed that I could study the relic before handing it over."The Keeper sat silent for a moment. "I did, didn't I. Pray tell, when you say study, you mean...?""Nothing wild. I just want to show it to my teacher. He is a lore master. We might learn something."His companion exhaled. "Very well. Keep it for now. Let's meet at our usual spot Solday evening, and you can give it to me.""Agreed.""But that hunk of flesh better be in one piece. I haven't gone through all of this just to lose that damnable hand again."Martel raised both of his own still-attached appendages to protest the insinuation. "No harm will come to it, of course not." Probably not. The cart rumbled on.***Back in his chamber, Martel made sure the door was bolted shut before he placed the relic in the bottom of his drawer. So much trouble caused by this object; mostly by people who had no understanding of its real power. Islanders, Night Knives, Ruby and Lady Pearl, the Friar, and others, no doubt, all of them pursuing it for one reason or another.Well, it was over. Martel had done his part and gained the protection of the Pact. Perhaps he could now be afforded some peace from all the endless schemes of Morcaster's underworld, allowing him to finish his education. He had about six months until his graduation when he would bid Morcaster farewell, maybe forever. Lying down to fall asleep, Martel wondered whether that thought should make him thrilled or sad.Not that he could do anything about it. His time at the Lyceum was coming to an end; in half a year, he would be conscripted to a legion and sent to fight the wars of the Empire. In half a year, he would be a battlemage.
