Book 8: Chapter 37: Senses and sensibilities
Martel let his eyes wander around the assembly. Nine dignitaries, using the term loosely, each supported by their attendants, none with more than six. The Keeper in addition, and finally, two unaffiliated wizards. Letting his magic extend, Martel got the impression that several of the Nine had brought their own mages along, providing protection; in addition, all of them either wore lots of gold or artefacts. None of this troubled Martel or made him consider altering his plans.
At his side, Eleanor stared a little more than he did; while she knew the Undercroft, she had only ever heard of these people through Martel’s stories. As a patrician, she had lived her life in the capital without ever coming close to these people; like the Undercroft, their city ran parallel to Morcaster, adjacent yet inaccessible to most.
The Keeper jumped into the middle, taking the centre of attention, which he no doubt enjoyed. As he began his lengthy monologue, Martel scrutinised the Nine Lords, marking who he recognised. Most were the same as his first meeting in this place. Those with the skill and caution to survive in a hazardous position. The newcomers attracted Martel’s attention.
Weasel from the copper lanes. A possible choice for Martel’s stratagem, though complicated due to Sparrow and best avoided. That left two other new faces, those from the harbour and the bridge district.
“And with the Pact upheld and respected by all,” the Keeper added, whose life depended on that being true, “we are ready to hear from the mage who bid us come. He has stood before us in the past, but he returns to us as the Firebrand, the Blackstaff, he who was imperator of Aster!”
Clearly, the jester enjoyed the spectacle and the sense of grandeur that Martel’s presence and past deeds lent to the proceedings; he seemed to treat it all as a play. Martel strongly suspected that if he set the Keeper on fire, none present would care to put out the flames.
Doing his best to ignore the irritation, Martel took the Keeper’s place in the middle. From every side, nine pair of eyes stared at him intently; or eight and half, rather. Ironside had lost one of his eyes since Martel last saw him. “I am told some of you have grievances with me. I have come to address them. Now is your opportunity. Speak.”
It took a moment before someone responded. “You lure my people away. In their place, Asterians come. My district suffers,” said the Fire Eater.
Martel understood his position, but he could not sympathise. “They follow me because I offer them a better life. A home where they’re treated with respect. Perhaps you should join them.”
A few laughed. “I have no trouble with people following you onto a sailboat,” spoke the paladin, the pampered peacock from the palace district. “But I hope it’s not an excuse for them to flee their debts. That would be most displeasing.” “Heart-breaking, certainly. What else?” Martel slowly turned around, gazing at each of them in turn.
“If you need money so badly, why not come to me?” asked Yellowtooth, the merchant. “I find myself a little insulted you would meet with every trader in my district but me.”
That explained why Eleanor’s attempts to find new supporters among the merchant guilds had failed.
“Look, you want to lure away some hapless fools, that’s fine. But you even got some of my own people talking about joining up!” complained a woman. She had to be Serla from the harbour. “Let the other morons join, but I don’t want my enforcers signing up.”
“Or my wizard,” Weasel added with a scornful smile. “Find your own magelings. I spent a lot of money and time training this one.” Some of the others mumbled their agreement, presumably also afraid to lose such valuable assets.
“Same goes for my girls.” A toad of a man with a large mouth and frog-like eyes, small and wiry but hiding several golden daggers on his person, spat in front of him. From what Regnar had told Martel, this was Ox. Judging by his frame, the nickname was ironic. “I pay good money for them! And you think you can steal them away? No, good master, no pearl is given for free.” He spat again.
Martel let his magic reach out again, this time reading their moods. All of them felt tense, which the mage could have guessed. But most of them also felt wary or cautious, especially the older chiefs. Those who knew to be cautious and who remembered Martel from the past. Same went for Serla, who had gained her seat because of Martel’s actions, undermining her predecessor.
That left Ox. He only knew Martel by reputation, and he seemed most of all angry, even incensed. No trace of fear or concern; Martel focused his magic on his toady face to confirm his reading of the man’s mood. Yes, he would do.
“I have listened and let you speak. That is over. Now you will listen.” Martel stomped his black staff into the ground for effect, and the obsidian began to shine with such intensity, everyone had to squint and look away. “How dare you complain and moan to me! Are your memories so short? I was but a novice when Tibert tried to kill me, and for his troubles, he died. As an acolyte, when his successor Vitus declared war on me, I destroyed all that he had and removed him with ease.”
Martel doused his light, allowing them to see him again. Motes of fire began to spark around him. “I watched Pearl die in this place.” He stared at Ox. “She was weak. I survived and slew every assassin sent after her. Still only an acolyte.” Martel’s eyes glowed red. “I am the most powerful battlemage this Empire has ever seen. I destroy cities and armies.” He raised his voice to a shout. “You dare make demands of me!” Keeping his eyes locked on the master of the bridge district, Martel hissed his next words, yet thanks to his magic, they could be heard by everyone. “I will utterly destroy any who places the slightest obstacle in my plans. I will rain fire and lightning from the sky. I will boil your blood until the flesh falls from your bones.” He stomped his staff into the ground again. “This meeting is over.”
Martel strode down from his pedestal, cutting through the circle to begin the walk back. Eleanor joined him immediately; taken aback, the Friar and his entourage followed soon after.
“You think it worked?” she mumbled to him.
“He was seething. It’ll work.”
Despite his age and presumed frailty, the Friar caught up to Martel. “A little warning would have been preferred.”
“You looked as shocked as everyone else. I figured it was best nobody thought you in allegiance with me,” Martel explained. “Given the possible reactions.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“And it’s already paid off in one regard.”
“How so?” asked the monk.
Martel looked over his shoulder. “For once, the Keeper is silent.”