Firebrand

Next morning, Eleanor and Martel divided their forces. While she went to negotiate prices with the merchants of the city, Martel set out for the copper lanes. He did so in the company of Ian, the boy of the acting troupe who had grown into a young man. As they walked, he entertained Martel by demonstrating the skills he had learned, like balancing a coin over his knuckles and making it disappear into his palm. Tricks used on stage to make it seem as if something had disappeared or to move items around while the audience was distracted. He also demonstrated his singing voice; Theo, leader of the company, had begun to incorporate songs in their plays.

Reaching the copper lanes, Martel found them busy as ever. Most people who settled in Morcaster ended up in the slums, as did those from other districts down on their luck. No guards could be seen, nor streetlamps, and the road was simple dirt, but what the copper lanes lacked, it made up for through sheer number of people.

They walked a familiar path until they stood outside The Copper Drum. Martel was not in a hurry. He stopped and waited as his companion eagerly related a tale from a night's adventure with his mates. When Ian finally finished, he looked around quickly. "Is this it? What is it you want me to do?"

"No need to hurry. In fact, the more people that see you with me, the better." Wearing his battlemage's robes, Martel looked the picture of a wizard. And his staff, completely black, perfected the image and revealed his identity to the knowledgeable observer. Martel knew that Regnar and the troupe had done their best to spread legends of the Blackstaff; seeing him with Ian would lend weight to anything the youth might say. With a leisurely movement, Martel dug out some silver and placed it in Ian's hand. "Start with the Drum. Afterwards, visit any other taverns that seem worthwhile."

"Sure. But what for?"

"Make friends. By some rounds. Especially with any who, by the look or sound of them, come from the countryside. Dirt under the nails, that sort of thing. Tell them of an opportunity to farm their own land. If interested, they should seek out me and mine at the tavern." Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novel※fire.net

"Seek out the Firebrand at the Firebrand tavern." Ian grinned. "You got it!"

As the young fellow skipped towards the Drum, Martel smiled and turned around.

Martel left the copper lanes via another path, going to the harbour. Besides sailors and merchants, it held a number of dockworkers and many taverns and tavernae serving them all. It also had a large presence of day labourers, flocking around the warehouses and piers in hopes of finding work when ships arrived. Those waiting in vain drowned their sorrows at the aforementioned establishments.

Martel did not have to search far before he found such a place filled with such people. In their clothing, they were indistinguishable from each other; however, the sight of the wizard birthed different reactions. Some seemed curious or cowed, but a few acted as if struck by lightning. They leapt to their feet, and one even saluted. "You’re men of the legion," Martel declared, making his way over to them.

"Yes, captain!" All the former veterans stood up, while their civilian comrades looked at them, bemused. "Third cohort, Thirteenth Legion!"

"Tenth cohort, Nineteenth Legion here, captain!"

"Fourth cohort, Twentieth Legion, sir! I fought at the merchants' gate when we took the city. I saw you fight!"

"I was wounded at Alonde, sir!"

The men continued like this until Martel raised a hand, commanding silence. "How is it finding work these days?"

"I got more chance dining with the emperor, sir."

"And me, more chance that I marry the fellow, captain."

"Ah, it's not so bad. Some days, there are few ships. Some days it's fine."

The men clamoured to relate their experiences until Martel silenced them again. "For those willing to seek a new home, I have a proposition. And if it's not to your liking, spread the word nonetheless. Veteran or not, anyone will be welcome." He smiled. "Let me tell you of open fields, waiting to be tilled."

Returning briefly to The Firebrand, Martel picked up Theo and took him to the bridge district. Standing outside The River Pearl, Martel briefly thought about all the memories the place held, much like the Drum. One more reason why it was best to send another. "You know what to do?" he asked Theo, placing silver in the storyteller's hands.

"Not often I get paid to go to the Pearl. Usually, it's the other way around!" He grinned. "Don't worry, I know what you want."

"Make all the jests you want, as long as you spread the word. To the right people, mind you. Anyone who could have the mind to join up."

"Don't worry. You want work to spread, you tell one person at the Pearl, and the whole city knows by morning." Hefting the silver in his hand, Theo smiled and went towards the tavern.

Martel's final destination for the day lay south of the bridge district. Walking another familiar path, Martel made his way to the Khivan enclave. Perhaps more than any other district of Morcaster, it had changed since he first set foot in the city. Not one but two great insulae dominated the neighbourhood. While all the old houses and buildings were still populated by Khivans, the new structures had primarily Asterians dwelling. There seemed to be an uneasy understanding; the Asterians stayed near the insulae, leaving the rest of the quarter to the Khivans.

Crossing the square in the middle of the district, Martel approached the small temple that served the Khivan faith. He did not enter, but sat down outside. The locals glanced at him as they walked by, clearly disturbed by his presence, though none spoke to him.

At length, the Khivan priest came out of his temple to stand apprehensively in front of Martel. "Forgive me, good master, is there something we might do for you?"

Martel looked up at him. "You recognise me?"

"You are a mage, good master, undoubtedly of great importance and might."

"My name is Martel. Almost ten years ago, thugs set fire to the neighbourhood. Right over there." He pointed across the square at where an insula of stone now rose. "Do you remember the fire?"

"Of course, a dreadful occurrence. A tragedy, though also a blessing that so few died."

"That blessing was me." Martel stood up and looked directly at the priest. "I imagine you remember that as well. A novice in brown clothing, standing atop your temple to extinguish the blaze."

The Khivan widened his eyes. "Of course! Forgive me that I did not remember you. It has been so long."

And Martel had changed so much, no doubt. "No matter. I'm here because I have a message I want you to tell your people. A message of the new opportunity in a land where nobody cares where you're from."