Firebrand

The drunkards stumbling through the harbour during the night saw a strange sight. Dozens of men filled the piers, and though they wore ordinary clothes, plenty of them were armed with short swords or daggers. The rest wielded clubs or other weapons that looked improvised. Even stranger, on occasion, a mageknight appeared from one of the ships moored by the docks, walking rounds and exchanging words with the men.

It rained, making for an uncomfortable watch. Martel slept in brief intervals below deck, but he felt too anxious to truly rest. Should anybody attempt something, fire would be the only method to truly damage them, which he was more than capable of defending against – assuming he was awake. So he slept a little before his own fears woke him up, making him walk up to scout the area with his magical senses.

Despite his performance in front of both the Nine Lords and the foreign council, Martel could not be certain all had been intimidated. Especially the former, where it took only one person to decide to act. But the night left and morning came without incident, and though sleep-deprived, Martel greeted the rising sun with relief.

The people appeared in long lines. Some of them alone, some with a sibling, some with their entire families. Henry and Eleanor, acting as prime organisers, had their hands full distributing them on the ships. The Khivans were reluctant to be separated, preferring to stick to their own as in Morcaster, and undoubtedly, many of the Asterians felt the same; Eleanor brooked no arguments, however, ensuring each ship had its share of either people. When they came to Archen, they would not repeat the mistake of having an enclave in the city.

Regnar and the actors came to say farewell. “An impressive showing, my boy,” the hedge mage remarked, pipe in his mouth. “Though if any could do this, I suppose it would be you.”

“Really, Eleanor is the mind behind all of this. I am more like the figurehead.” Martel glanced up at the nearest ship with its own version, carved to resemble a horse.

“Well, whereas we’ve been quite settled in the last years, you’ve been the traveller. I guess there’ll be less of that now, you coming to Morcaster.”

Martel shrugged. “We’ll be back, recruiting more volunteers and buying supplies that we need.” He looked towards the west, towards the copper lanes, where a trickle of people could be seen, making their way towards the ships.

“Very good, then.” Regnar followed his gaze. “Something vexing you?”

Martel frowned. “No, I just… I’m not sure. I had hoped… Listen, if Eleanor asks, tell her I ran an errand. I’ll be back before we’re ready to depart for sure.” The hedge mage shrugged and inhaled from his pipe. “As you say.”

Showing his face in the copper lanes, in the Drum nonetheless, could easily cause trouble, but this was the last opportunity, and Martel needed to know he had done everything he could. He had failed Sparrow on more than one occasion; perhaps it was too late, but if so, Martel would only accept that knowing he had exhausted every opportunity to rectify his failings.

Seeing the mage walk into the tavern, his black staff obvious, conversation died down, and all eyes turned to him. “I’m here to see Sparrow.”

The guard gave him a nervous look. “The chief said you weren’t welcome.” It seemed evident that he knew this was not a ban he could enforce.

Martel sighed. The complicated solution, it seemed. “Fetch your master. Now.”

“Right away,” the guard stammered and hurried away.

Weasel looked as he had done in the Undercroft. Still short and lean, no doubt retaining his skills as a pickpocket and thief. But his clothes were made of velvet, and he had golden rings in his ears and on his hands, along with a necklace. A precaution against mages, but also a display of the wealth he had gathered since the days when Martel had dealings with him.

The smirk that seemed his customary expression had not changed. “I hear we have a distinguished visitor. What can we offer you? I’m told you once enjoyed a tumble of the dice.”

“I’m here to see Sparrow.”

“She doesn’t want to see you. I’d appreciate if you had some manners and left the poor girl alone. Now, if there’s anything else that strikes your fancy…”

“If that’s the case, she can tell me herself, Weasel. Bring her to me.” ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel{f}ire.net

“The name’s Kell. Copper Kell, if you want.” Weasel’s smile slipped briefly. “You’ve exhausted your welcome, I think.” Around them, some of the guards had recovered their courage, it appeared. Judging by the golden weapons in their belts, they had been warned of this potential confrontation.

More than his welcome, Martel’s patience had been exhausted, and he figured a strong display of power would work the best. He simply looked at Weasel, and regardless of all the golden protection the young man wore, Martel set fire to his clothes.

With a scream, Weasel fell to the ground and rolled around, trying to extinguish the flames. Everyone in the tavern looked on in shock, but nobody moved. With another release of power, Martel doused the flames, and he stepped forward to tower over Weasel. “Bring Sparrow now, or I’ll let the fire finish its work.”

With an expression that swung between terror and hatred, Weasel sneered at his closest henchman, “Bring her!”

Uncomfortable silence reigned over the common room of The Copper Drum. Besides the guard sprinting off and Weasel standing up, nobody dared to move. The patrons sat frozen in their seats, staring at the wizard who could burn down the building with a thought if displeased. Their expressions only changed from fear to confusion when they saw that this revolved around a girl about fifteen years of age, making her way to towards the imposing mage.

“Martel, why did you come?”

“I want to know if you truly wish to stay in Morcaster.”

“Tell him,” Weasel sneered, “tell him so we can be done with this absolute –”

The gem on Martel’s staff ignited into flames, and whether it was the display of magic or the reminder, it shut Weasel up. “He has no power over you. Not in this moment. You are free to choose.” Martel stared into Sparrow’s eyes. “The decision is yours entirely.”

She bit her lip. “Will you hurt him?”

“Not any more than I already have.”

“The others?”

“Bring them all.”

“And we won’t be copper scum there?”

Martel shook his head. “You’ll be the same as the rest of us.”

She swallowed. “I need to get the others.”

“Do so. Leave for the docks. I’ll catch up with you.”

She sent a lingering look at Weasel, but even while doing so, she turned around and hurried away.

“Are you done?” Weasel snarled.

Martel slowly turned his head towards him. “Be grateful that I don’t kill people unless I must, or your life wouldn’t be spared.”

“I wish you’d spare me all your self-righteous vomit coming out of your mouth!” Stretching his neck, the chief seemed to have found his nerve. “You’ve done what you came for. Get out.”

“I didn’t say you’d be spared punishment.” Martel’s arm shot out and grabbed him by the collar. In one hand, he raised him into the air in full view of the tavern, his feet dangling. “I’ve learned how to deal with criminals like you. I’m quite good at it, at this point.”

“Put me down!” Weasel hissed through clenched teeth.

“But in your case, I won’t make it fast. No, I’ll be content with this humiliation. Because I know word will spread. They’ll whisper it, and rumours will grow. And all your people will watch your every step, doubting you more and more, waiting for you to misstep. And you must live with the mistrust, the fear, knowing that sooner or later, one of your own lieutenants will plant the knife in your back.” Martel threw him across the room and slowly walked out.

A strange sight came down the main road from the copper lanes to the docks. A tall wizard, surrounded by an aura of power, from his clothing to the staff he wielded. Behind him came a gaggle of children of different ages, carrying sacks over the shoulder of their small frames. In their giddy eagerness, more than once, one of them lost their balance; when it happened, an invisible hand came and steadied them. With laughter and quick steps, Mouse, Squirrel, Sparrow, Owl, Badger, and all the animals of the forest followed the mage.

Eleanor watched them walk down the pier; recognising her, several of the children waved while the rest beleaguered Henry to be told where they should go. “You persuaded them.”

“I did.” He looked at her. “Are we ready?”

She smiled. “We are.”

He grabbed her and kissed her, feeling a touch of giddiness overcoming him as well. “Let’s sail!”