Book 8: Chapter 61: Old scars
In a remote house, far from the occupied parts of the city, a handful of mages gathered together with a Khivan lieutenant. The operation was simple in theory. Cut the scars open and retrieve the gold; let Maximilian heal the wounds. After ensuring nobody lurked nearby that would witness it, Martel nodded for the others to proceed.
Padmani bit down on a leather belt, having already stripped to his torso. With a thin, razor sharp blade, Maximilian cut into the old scar just below the left side of the collarbone. Blood appeared, and the patient made an exclamation of pain through gritted teeth before he lay down on a mattress.
Now came the worst part. Two mageknights held Padmani still with empowered strength while another hand pushed at the hard lump below the wound, trying to move the golden pellet up. Meanwhile, Martel inserted the small tool meant to seize the metal; having the keenest and best-suited sense of magic for the task, the honour went to him. Closing his eyes, he saw it before his inner eye. The heat of Padmani’s body, the cool thongs sticking into it, and the cold lump of gold deeper in.
As the patient groaned and squirmed, Martel dug the tool down until he could seize the gold and pull it out. Quiet cheers went up, and Padmani visibly relaxed, though he was sweating and looked pale.
Swiftly, the procedure had to be repeated on the right side. Steeling himself, Padmani nodded for them to proceed. His eyes shone and his hair had already become wet with perspiration as they cut open the scar, held him down, and once more dug into his body to remove the gold.
As soon as it was done, Maximilian employed his magical skill to heal the wound. With relief, Padmani spat out the belt, and as they released him, he wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I am glad that is over with.”
Martel regarded the bloody lumps of gold, a small contribution to Archen’s treasury. “So far, so good.”
“What now?” Padmani looked at them expectantly. Nobody rushed to reply.
“I guess we don’t know. Nobody’s ever done anything like this,” Martel admitted.
“You need to rest. Your magic has been suppressed. First step must be to recover it. As Master Martel says, we cannot know how long that takes,” Eleanor explained. “Once it seems reasonable to expect a change, we should examine you for powers. Same as back at the Lyceum.” “Except it has a hundred devices for that purpose, and we have none,” Maximilian muttered. “I have an infirmary that awaits me.” He left.
“I have plenty of duties to discharge as well,” Valerius joined in, making his own departure.
“Alright. Atreus has found a place for you to stay outside the city,” Martel told Padmani. “You’ll stay there for now. Come, we’ll walk you there, and I’ll explain on the way.”
“Not a task you need me for.” Eleanor ran her hand over Martel’s cheek. “I shall see you at home. I wish you a speedy recovery in terms of your magic, lieutenant.”
Just the two of them left, Martel led Padmani through the western gate; Henry had yet to build more causeways to bridge the moat he and Cornelia had surrounded Archen with, leaving the other entries to the city obsolete for now.
“Atreus has the information about your new name and history,” Martel told the Khivan. “He’ll stop by your new home tonight. I can reveal that you are now the newest fieldworker in Archen. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Padmani gave a weak smile. “Do you have any knowledge about my magic, though? When I might expect something, or how I’ll know?”
“Honestly, I can’t say.” Martel scratched the back of his head. “Don’t lose heart if it takes a long while. It takes years for magic to manifest itself in children. It might be the same for you.”
The Khivan hesitated before asking his next question. “What if it’s too late? What if I’m too old?”
Martel exhaled. “That’s what they said about me.”
Returning home in the evening, Martel was greeted by the smell of meat and herbs boiling in a pot on a heating stone. “Am I home so late?” he asked. He glanced at the hearth, where the enchanted rock stood in lieu of a fire, with the tooth of a lindworm placed as decoration above.
“The reverse. I was home early, so I thought I might as well turn my attention to our evening meal. Enjoy it – it is the last of the game meat. We have hunted the forests clear nearby.” Eleanor, wearing linen trousers and shirt instead of her black tunic used for work, met him with a smile. “By the way, you were in so late last night and out so early this morning, you never told me how your conversation went with Maximilian.”
“Oh, not much to tell.” Martel unslung his empty bag that he used for herb gathering; today’s harvest was back at his half-finished workshop in the drying room. “I doubt we’ll ever be friends as we once were, but we can be on friendly terms.”
“Your suspicions are allayed? I did wonder why you worried when neither you nor Atreus found any deception in his thoughts.”
Martel shrugged and sat down. “Too accustomed to ulterior motives, I guess. But I think I did finally understand why Max decided to join us.”
“Pray tell.” Eleanor handed him two bowls, and he began pouring.
“Although he usually hid it under a carefree demeanour, Max always had something to prove. To his father, or because of his father’s ambition, I can’t say. Well, we destroyed any chance of that.” Martel handed her one bowl and received a spoon in return. “But he reminded me that once, I was envious of his healing talent.”
“You never mentioned that. Though I suppose it is enviable.”
In between helping himself to the stew, Martel continued his explanations. “This is how Max proves himself. To me, his father, the world, I don’t know. He is doing something none of us can. And I suspect we are preferable to the Empire, a reminder of failed ambitions, where he would be beholden to men he considers his inferiors.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow, lowering her bowl. “You gathered all that from a short conversation?”
Martel shrugged and dug his spoon into his stew. “Might just be that he was bored back in Morcaster. Also, the food is excellent.”
“I know you like the wild garlic and thyme.”