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Firebrand - Chapter 469

Published at 12th of April 2024 06:24:42 AM


Chapter 469: Going to Market

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Chapter 469: Going to Market

Going to Market

Once his lessons of the day were over, Martel quickly went to his room, put on his cloak and woollen gloves, and left the Lyceum. The skáld had kept his stall by one of the squares in the market district last year, according to Maximilian's note; hopefully he had chosen the same spot this year.

It was not a long trip, and Martel soon found the right square, identified by a column raised in honour of Emperor Corvinus the Second. Looking around, Martel recognised the northern bard and approached him. "You're the skáld, right?"

This scrawny man looked at Martel. It always felt a little strange to look at eyes of the same colour as his own; it did not happen often in Morcaster. "Yes, yes, I am. You need good knife? Blade always sharp, never grows dull. I'll give you good price since we have the same blood."

"That's not why I'm here. You sell arrows marked with a rune. My friend bought some from you last year."

"Yes, yes, true. Are you mageknight? You don't wear their clothes."

"I'm not, but I'm still interested in buying one."

The skáld nodded and dug one out. "Three crowns. You sure one is enough? I can sell you more."

"One will be sufficient." Martel stared at the small symbol carved into the shaft of the arrow. "But I need you to activate the rune for me."

"Of course." The northerner held out his hand, and Martel placed two golden coins and ten made of silver in his palm, which he quickly deposited in a lockbox by his feet, out of sight. This done, he placed one hand over the arrow and whispered a word. "Visir."

Martel strained his ears to hear, silently mumbling the sounds to himself.

"Here you are. You need rune to keep water fresh? Simply place stone in barrel, and water will stay good."

Martel did not, but he had considered another question. He doubted this fellow could help – if he possessed such powers, he probably would not be peddling minor runes and the like. Still, no harm in asking. "What if someone has been grievously injured? Their head, that is. Their wounds are healed, but a blow to the head keeps them permanently asleep."

"Make way for the guard!"

Martel dismissed his wall of fire. While all he had done was defend himself, he was in no mood to answer questions or explain what had happened. Especially not since word would undoubtedly get back to the Lyceum. He picked up his arrow, pulled his cloak around him, and made his own hasty retreat.

***

Martel kept up the pace until he could step across the threshold to the Lyceum, finally feeling safe. Leaning against a wall in the entrance hall, he realised that he drew stares. He quickly realised why; he was gasping for breath while holding an arrow in his hand. At least his clothes hid his wounded arm, but if he began dripping blood on the floor, it would get awkward. Swiftly, Martel hurried to his room.

Once alone, he allowed himself to relax, placing the arrow on his drawer. His hand shook a little as he grabbed a writing instrument to note down the activating word for the rune, lest he forget. His wound hurt; it would need attention. More than that, he needed to know what had happened.

While he did not recognise his attackers, they had military bearing. Most likely, they were Night Knives. If they had carried out this attack in service to Vitus, this assassination attempt could be retaliation for The Broken Crown. Which amounted to nothing less than a declaration of war.

At the same time, using the Night Knives was clever. If Martel invoked the protection of the Lyceum, the school would go after the mercenaries, no doubt violently exterminating them as they had done to the islanders after their attack on Martel. He would have a hard time explaining why Vitus was behind the attack without having to elaborate on his own involvement. As much as being a battlemage gave Martel a certain privilege, being involved with criminals probably strained it to the breaking point.

On the other hand, Martel was unsure whether this actually bore the mark of a cunning mind with many resources at hand. Four assassins, but without sufficient golden protection to actually stand a chance against a wizard. This attack seemed as ill-conceived as it had been ill-fated. The dying gasp of a mercenary band attempting to gain revenge without sufficient means to do so.

If so, Martel could tell the Lyceum and claim their protection. They would destroy what remained of the Night Knives, and Martel would have his revenge.

But he would not do that for two reasons. Firstly, because Martel had no desire to attract more attention from the school administration or its Imperial counterpart. He had pushed back against Mistress Juliana's attempts to confine him; he was not sure what happened if he had to keep pushing. Also, being the target of a second assassination attempt could raise a lot of questions he was uncomfortable answering.

Secondly, Martel wanted to know. If he handed this over to the school, he would not find out the details of why he had been attacked. Perhaps most importantly, he wanted to be sure that the right people were punished for this transgression, and he wanted to do so himself.

Feeling calm and collected, Martel removed his cloak. Thankfully, the Lyceum served as a safe space where he did not have to fear further attacks while he figured out his countermove. Though just to be sure, he knew to continue using the rune of warning every night before going to sleep.

He pulled up his torn sleeve to look at the wound along his arm. This would definitely need stitches. With a sigh, Martel left his room to make his way towards the infirmary. Already, his mind concocted an explanation for the nurse. Something with preparations for the harvest festival and zealous mageknights training even at late hours – yes, that would do.




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