Chapter 390: The Right Hound
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Chapter 390: The Right Hound
The Right Hound
Pelday saw their last lessons practising with golden weapons in the Circle of Fire; as their class came to an end, Moira announced as much. "That's enough fooling around from you lot. If this won't teach you how to survive an attack with gold, you'll just have to die."
Encouraging as always.
"Glunday, we'll move on. Not that I expect much from you." She collected the gold-edged daggers from the students.
Martel noticed that none of them were his; he had not seen it once, in fact. It would be nice to know where his dagger was held. "Those weapons aren't kept in the armoury, are they?"
"What's it to you, boy?" she snapped.
Martel doubted she would be more amenable to his request for the return of the blade than Master Alastair had been. Better to give her a reason that aligned with her thinking. "In case we want to train with them on our own time. To get better."
"You got plenty of other spells you could hone," she retorted.
"Well, one of those daggers is mine. It seems only fair I have access to it if I want to practise," Martel argued.
His teacher narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze from wild to calculating. "I did see a new one. That's yours? From the attack?"
"It is. I should like access to it, so I can keep practising. In case someone else makes an attempt on my life using the same means." Martel figured that was reasonable; nobody could fault him for being eager to improve his fighting skills against gold-bladed weapons.
Moira laughed, looking and sounding like the old crone she was. Without further words, she turned around and left.
"I didn't lie about this," the young wizard protested.
"Of course not. You could have asked me for all kinds of favours, yet you chose this. But either the maleficar has absconded from the tombs, or he hides so deep inside, we cannot hope to find his trail in the twisting and turning hallways of that dark sepulchre."
Disappointment filled Martel. He knew already that this had failed, else the maleficar would not have been free to strike at the harbour the other night; still, it stung to think that nothing had come of all his troubles.
"Of course, another mage might succeed where my contact failed. One who already has the scent of this strange creature."
Martel became aware of the Friar staring straight at him, and he took the hint. He ought to decline. This was not his problem to solve. By all rights, the inquisitors should return and scour the catacombs, no matter how long it took.
But right and wrong had limited influence in Morcaster, and it seemed the maleficar had given up on targeting mages, turning his aim on the Sparrows and Julias of the city. People, children, those who none would or could protect – unless Martel did it.
He exhaled. "Very well. I'll join."
The Friar inclined his head. "I'll see to the arrangements."
***
Walking home, Martel felt disquiet about his decision. Entering the catacombs with a group of inquisitors – everything felt wrong about that. He knew that his friends always advised him to steer clear of the blue-clad zealots, regardless of reason; but so far, the Friar had proven true to his word, and his influence should protect Martel among the inquisitors. Should.
Certainly, he would not involve Maximilian or Eleanor. They had followed him once; he saw no reason to endanger them again. Asking them to face the jinni once more, this time surrounded by inquisitors – he had no right to make that request, and there might be a strong chance they would refuse. Best not to put them in that position.
But if Martel was to face either the jinni or the maleficar, possibly both, he wanted his golden dagger back.
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Chapter 390: The Right Hound
The Right Hound
Pelday saw their last lessons practising with golden weapons in the Circle of Fire; as their class came to an end, Moira announced as much. "That's enough fooling around from you lot. If this won't teach you how to survive an attack with gold, you'll just have to die."
Encouraging as always.
"Glunday, we'll move on. Not that I expect much from you." She collected the gold-edged daggers from the students.
Martel noticed that none of them were his; he had not seen it once, in fact. It would be nice to know where his dagger was held. "Those weapons aren't kept in the armoury, are they?"
"What's it to you, boy?" she snapped.
Martel doubted she would be more amenable to his request for the return of the blade than Master Alastair had been. Better to give her a reason that aligned with her thinking. "In case we want to train with them on our own time. To get better."
"You got plenty of other spells you could hone," she retorted.
"Well, one of those daggers is mine. It seems only fair I have access to it if I want to practise," Martel argued.
His teacher narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze from wild to calculating. "I did see a new one. That's yours? From the attack?"
"It is. I should like access to it, so I can keep practising. In case someone else makes an attempt on my life using the same means." Martel figured that was reasonable; nobody could fault him for being eager to improve his fighting skills against gold-bladed weapons.
Moira laughed, looking and sounding like the old crone she was. Without further words, she turned around and left.
"I didn't lie about this," the young wizard protested.
"Of course not. You could have asked me for all kinds of favours, yet you chose this. But either the maleficar has absconded from the tombs, or he hides so deep inside, we cannot hope to find his trail in the twisting and turning hallways of that dark sepulchre."
Disappointment filled Martel. He knew already that this had failed, else the maleficar would not have been free to strike at the harbour the other night; still, it stung to think that nothing had come of all his troubles.
"Of course, another mage might succeed where my contact failed. One who already has the scent of this strange creature."
Martel became aware of the Friar staring straight at him, and he took the hint. He ought to decline. This was not his problem to solve. By all rights, the inquisitors should return and scour the catacombs, no matter how long it took.
But right and wrong had limited influence in Morcaster, and it seemed the maleficar had given up on targeting mages, turning his aim on the Sparrows and Julias of the city. People, children, those who none would or could protect – unless Martel did it.
He exhaled. "Very well. I'll join."
The Friar inclined his head. "I'll see to the arrangements."
***
Walking home, Martel felt disquiet about his decision. Entering the catacombs with a group of inquisitors – everything felt wrong about that. He knew that his friends always advised him to steer clear of the blue-clad zealots, regardless of reason; but so far, the Friar had proven true to his word, and his influence should protect Martel among the inquisitors. Should.
Certainly, he would not involve Maximilian or Eleanor. They had followed him once; he saw no reason to endanger them again. Asking them to face the jinni once more, this time surrounded by inquisitors – he had no right to make that request, and there might be a strong chance they would refuse. Best not to put them in that position.
But if Martel was to face either the jinni or the maleficar, possibly both, he wanted his golden dagger back.
Chapter 390: The Right HoundThe Right HoundPelday saw their last lessons practising with golden weapons in the Circle of Fire; as their class came to an end, Moira announced as much. "That's enough fooling around from you lot. If this won't teach you how to survive an attack with gold, you'll just have to die."Encouraging as always."Glunday, we'll move on. Not that I expect much from you." She collected the gold-edged daggers from the students.Martel noticed that none of them were his; he had not seen it once, in fact. It would be nice to know where his dagger was held. "Those weapons aren't kept in the armoury, are they?""What's it to you, boy?" she snapped.Martel doubted she would be more amenable to his request for the return of the blade than Master Alastair had been. Better to give her a reason that aligned with her thinking. "In case we want to train with them on our own time. To get better.""You got plenty of other spells you could hone," she retorted."Well, one of those daggers is mine. It seems only fair I have access to it if I want to practise," Martel argued.His teacher narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze from wild to calculating. "I did see a new one. That's yours? From the attack?""It is. I should like access to it, so I can keep practising. In case someone else makes an attempt on my life using the same means." Martel figured that was reasonable; nobody could fault him for being eager to improve his fighting skills against gold-bladed weapons.Moira laughed, looking and sounding like the old crone she was. Without further words, she turned around and left."I didn't lie about this," the young wizard protested."Of course not. You could have asked me for all kinds of favours, yet you chose this. But either the maleficar has absconded from the tombs, or he hides so deep inside, we cannot hope to find his trail in the twisting and turning hallways of that dark sepulchre."Disappointment filled Martel. He knew already that this had failed, else the maleficar would not have been free to strike at the harbour the other night; still, it stung to think that nothing had come of all his troubles."Of course, another mage might succeed where my contact failed. One who already has the scent of this strange creature."Martel became aware of the Friar staring straight at him, and he took the hint. He ought to decline. This was not his problem to solve. By all rights, the inquisitors should return and scour the catacombs, no matter how long it took.But right and wrong had limited influence in Morcaster, and it seemed the maleficar had given up on targeting mages, turning his aim on the Sparrows and Julias of the city. People, children, those who none would or could protect unless Martel did it.He exhaled. "Very well. I'll join."The Friar inclined his head. "I'll see to the arrangements."***Walking home, Martel felt disquiet about his decision. Entering the catacombs with a group of inquisitors everything felt wrong about that. He knew that his friends always advised him to steer clear of the blue-clad zealots, regardless of reason; but so far, the Friar had proven true to his word, and his influence should protect Martel among the inquisitors. Should.Certainly, he would not involve Maximilian or Eleanor. They had followed him once; he saw no reason to endanger them again. Asking them to face the jinni once more, this time surrounded by inquisitors he had no right to make that request, and there might be a strong chance they would refuse. Best not to put them in that position.But if Martel was to face either the jinni or the maleficar, possibly both, he wanted his golden dagger back.
