Firebrand

Two figures now stalked through the streets of Morcaster in the waning night. “You are certain you wish to spring the trap?” Eleanor mumbled as they made their way towards the bridge district.

“It is what he expects. That the hot-headed firemage retaliates immediately after the assassination attempt, walking into his trap,” Martel replied. “If we delay, he’ll get suspicious. He might go into hiding.”

“I understand the reasoning,” she said pointedly, “but I do question the plan that we walk knowingly into the snare set before us.”

The battlemage laughed. “If these people had the slightest understanding of what I can do with magic, I’d have died ten times already.”

“Reassuring.”

Martel stared at The River Pearl, famous across Morcaster for its offers of entertainment. All who could afford the prices came at least once, and many came often. For those worried about reputation, masked events allowed discretion. The establishment had such a strong clientele, even the death of its mistress, the eponymous Lady Pearl, could not end its reign. Her successor had simply taken over and continued with business as usual, which many in the city no doubt appreciated. And unlike The Firebrand or most other taverns, it never closed its doors regardless of the hour.

That seemed true even now, with dawn fast approaching; light could be seen through the cracks of the shutters. But for once, no guards stood outside, as if tempting any would-be assailants to charge in. “Are we certain that going in through the main entrance is how we wish to spring this particular trap?” Eleanor asked.

“Ever the mageknight,” Martel smiled. “No need to complicate it. But I’m happy to let you go first if that’ll make you feel better.”

“You aim a lot of jests at the woman intended to keep you alive in battle,” she replied. Hefting her shield in one hand, drawing her sword with the other, though she did not ignite its magic, Eleanor walked up the stairs and kicked the doors open. Behind her, Martel followed, activating his shield spell.

Martel had not been in the Pearl since his days as an acolyte. The new owner had made a few changes. Notably, a balcony had been added to the staircase that led to the upper floors, allowing extra space and for people to observe the common room from a higher vantage point. As for the patrons and staff, they seemed no different. If not the same people, at least the same sort. Harlots mingled with craftsmen, merchants, and those members of the nobility that preferred their entertainment away from marbled halls. Except as Martel extended his magical sense, all the current customers had gold on their bodies. Not only in the form of jewellery, but concealed weapons.

The girls did not; evidently, their purpose was simply to disguise the trap. Martel wondered if they had been forewarned that the Pearl would become a battlefield tonight. Judging by how they screamed and ran away, seeing a mageknight stride into the tavern in full armour, probably not.

Ox’s thugs responded with admirable discipline at the sight of two mages ready to fight. They pulled their weapons, more of them emerging from hidden locations. Behind Martel, someone closed the doors from the outside; by the sound of it, they added a crossbeam to keep it shut. It made the wizard smile; it would not stop him if he truly wanted to get out that way, but also the simple notion that they thought the wizards were the ones trapped inside the room. Time to prove it was the reverse.

As the first thing, Martel destroyed every bowstring of the archers that had appeared from behind the bar, using heat to snap them in twain. That removed the danger from any gold-tipped arrows.

Several of the thugs launched themselves at Eleanor. Their golden jewellery and weapons lessened the efficacy of her spellcraft, but she was still a trained knight in full armour. Using the flat of the blade, she smacked her attackers around, sending them to the floor with ringing ears and pounding heads.

Martel likewise restricted himself, using air to blast any assailant away and knock them about. If he wanted them dead, he could just have set the tavern on fire from the outside, controlling the blaze as he pleased. But they posed no serious threat, and Martel saw no reason to kill unless necessary. He had done plenty of that.

Instead, Martel simply waited. He figured someone like Ox would want to witness the supposed destruction of his enemies, watching his trap spring. If not, they would have to search through the building to find him, but the confrontation worked best in this place full of witnesses.

Using his staff to smack another attacker down, Martel glanced up at the balcony and saw his patience rewarded. Ox had appeared, standing with his hands clutching the railing. Perhaps he was starting to have second thoughts about tonight.

Martel would not give him the chance to reconsider or make like a rabbit. He reached out with his magic.

Asterian mages could only touch the physical realm, such as the elements, or themselves. Asterian magic never entangled directly with other humans, who possessed a mind and a soul in addition to their physical bodies.

But it could be done. Martel had seen other schools of magic do this, and he knew the Archean mages could thanks to their mastery over all forms of magic. Most pertinently, Martel had felt it done to himself during the fight against the lich, who had seized control of Martel’s body.

Focusing, Martel took hold of Ox’s body with his magical grasp. It felt weird and uncomfortable, much like when he had inadvertently entangled his own powers with that of an islander wizard, years ago on the crossing to the Isles. But nothing pushed back. Nothing stopped him.

Pulling his hand back, Martel yanked his enemy with such force, his body broke through the railing and fell down to land on a table. Striding through the room, Martel grabbed the man by the collar and held him up with empowered strength. “Enough!” he shouted. “This fight is over!”

Seeing their chief apprehended, the thugs obeyed, at least those still on their feet. Sharing uncertain looks, they stepped back, putting distance between themselves and the mages.

“Throw down your weapons. And anything gold on you,” Martel commanded with a harsh voice.

As he did this, he dropped his staff and used that hand to do to Ox as he had commanded the others, removing the man’s golden jewellery. His victim tried to protest, or maybe he simply moaned; falling face down onto the table had broken his nose, and besides the pain, blood was flowing down into his mouth.

“This man’s life is forfeit,” Martel declared. “Whoever kills him may take his place.” He dropped Ox, who fell back on the table.

It took a moment where everyone in the room assessed the situation. As the first, Ox got on his feet and leapt down to run through a backdoor. Immediately, his own henchmen broke off into pursuit, or they made their own escape, following the same paths as the women who had fled when the fight broke out.

Left alone, Martel and Eleanor picked up the discarded jewellery and evaluated the small hoard. “Think it’ll be enough? I guess depends how much Regnar can sell it for.”

“Well, we have it. This was a sordid affair, and the sooner we leave, the better,” Eleanor remarked.

“We’re here. I’m not leaving until we have what we need. Follow me.” Martel went up the stairs, trusting that Ox had not changed too much about the Pearl. He remembered where the old proprietress had her chambers; taking the same path, Martel led Eleanor to the personal quarters once belonging to Lady Pearl and afterwards her successor. Tomorrow, it would have yet another owner, but tonight, its valuables lay forgotten, left behind in a hasty retreat.

The furniture had changed, or maybe it was in fact the same; Martel had not scrutinised it on his brief visit the first time. Regardless, he did not have to search by eyesight or hand. Martel let his magic flow out to sense the gold, and he pointed to one of the floorboards. “There.”

Eleanor walked over, knelt down, and glanced up at him. “This does feel like theft.”

Martel shrugged. “You can’t rob a dead man. Besides, you’d rather this coin goes to our expedition or into the stash of another criminal?” ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NoveI-Fire.ɴet

“It feels rather like sophistry to claim we are not responsible when the man in question is dead from our actions, if not by our hand,” Eleanor grumbled, but she punched her fist through the floor to break the board and reveal a hiding place underneath. Reaching her hand down, she pulled out several small bags. Even without opening them, Martel knew they contained gold crowns and probably gems.

Martel grinned. “Wasn’t that easier than negotiating with the merchant guilds?”

She gave him a look and walked out of the room.