Firebrand

Eleanor examined the note. “This is that suspicious little monk we dealt with when negotiating for the creation of the Senate?”

“Well remembered. He is indeed. And one of the rulers of Morcaster’s underworld.”

“You have a habit of getting entangled with those people.”

“They entangle themselves with me,” Martel protested. “I’m not even sure what I could possibly have done this time around.”

“Are we going to meet with him?”

“I am. You don’t have to come. He’s far too crafty to make a hostile move disguised as this,” Martel claimed. “He handles matters through negotiation. And if not, he’d never involve his own name or be caught within ten steps of it.”

“Martel, the day I let you go alone to meet highly suspicious characters from Morcaster’s underworld is the day… you know what, I do not even care to complete that sentence. This whole thing is ridiculous, but if you insist on entertaining this charade, so be it.”

Martel smiled at her. “You make me feel so loved.”

The temple looked the same. A host of memories came to Martel, most notably investigating the theft of the Hand of Saint Laurentius from this place. That felt like an age ago when he had been an acolyte. He glanced at the entrance to the crypt before continuing.

If Martel had changed, the Friar seemed the same. He sat on a bench, patiently waiting. “Let me talk to him,” the mage told his companion. Eleanor nodded and began walking up and down the temple, keeping the vigil. “Your steadfast defender, if I remember her face,” the Friar remarked as Martel sat down next to him.

“We like to do things together. Even when someone summons me, naming place and hour, or perhaps especially then. I’m not some acolyte anymore. You’re lucky I wasn’t busy tonight.”

“You have indeed been busy, I’m given to understand. And while you’re certainly no apprentice mageling anymore, nor are you an imperator or captain prefect. You are an ordinary citizen.”

“Citizen, yes. Ordinary, hardly.” Googlᴇ search novel(ꜰ)ire.net

The Friar bowed his head. “I grant you that. I simply mean to point out that when citizens interfere in the business of the Nine Lords, it seldom goes well for them. You don’t have the Lyceum or your legions protecting you anymore.”

“What’s the Nine’s problem with me? I’ve not done a single thing to step on their toes,” Martel objected.

“On the contrary. You recruit the veterans from the harbour and serfs from the copper lanes, which draws money out of those districts. And you tried to poach the young mage belonging to Kell.”

Martel frowned, confused. “Who? Never heard of him.”

“Copper Kell. You may know him as Weasel.”

Martel laughed. “Sorry, do go on.”

“There’s also the young women who work the Pearl in the bridge district. Even the Fire Eater is displeased, perhaps more than anybody, considering you’re luring skilled craftsmen from his district.”

The battlemage snorted. “Anything else?”

“Yellowtooth – that’s the fellow from the merchants’ district – is displeased at all your meetings without involving him. And even the paladin is a little ruffled that so many soldiers of the Senatorial Guard, including their captain, is abandoning his district. Lots of them owe him debts it’ll be hard to collect in time. Your expedition is a big change, you see, and the Nine frowns on that. Especially when not informed.”

“Is that all?”

The Friar considered the question for a moment. “I believe so.”

“No complaints from you personally?”

The monk shrugged. “No need to so far.” He cleared his throat. “Now, they asked me to convey this message as I have previous dealings with you. I told them it would not dissuade your expedition, but I did it as a gesture of goodwill and to claim that I tried. And perhaps you can adjust your actions to placate some of them. The Fire Eater is obviously irrelevant, but Serla, who runs the harbour, could certainly complicate matters for you.”

Martel doubted that. She had her seat because Martel removed her predecessor, Vitus, who had his seat because Martel defeated his predecessor, Tibert. Unless she wanted to be the third, she would not invoke the wrath of a battlemage.

All the same, Martel knew that the Friar was right. On their own, none of the Nine Lords would be much of a problem. Martel knew their ways and how to fight back if need be. But if this many of them banded together to cause problems, they could do so in a number of ways that would be difficult to detect and avoid. Martel could not be present everywhere, and tracking down each Nine Lord to put the fear of Sol in them would take ages. Delays getting the expedition going would demoralise their volunteers and give many of them cause to reconsider.

“I am not an errand boy, so don’t expect me to take any replies. How you deal with them is up to you,” the Friar declared, interrupting Martel’s thoughts. “I have done my part.”

“Wait,” Martel interjected before the other could leave. He had no intention of bowing to the demands of any of the Nine, so he needed to deal with them, fast. Ideally all at once rather than chasing them all over Morcaster. And perhaps in doing so, he could shoot two rabbits with one arrow, solving another problem as well. “I think this can be handled speedily and through negotiations.” He said that mostly as bait for the Friar, knowing how the man preferred to operate. “But for that, I need a meeting. You have to summon a gathering of the Nine.”

Under his grey hood, the monk scrutinised him. “And this will deal with it? As said, I’m not going to run messages back and forth. The Nine Lords hate being summoned. You better make it worth their time.”

Martel gave a reassuring smile. “It’ll be worth it, I promise you.”

The Friar gave him another lingering look. “Very well. I’ll contact the Keeper. It’ll take a day or two. But you’ll have your meeting.”

“I appreciate it. I won’t ask you for another thing.”

“That would be my hope,” the old man said dryly.