Firebrand

Chapter 27: Playing Hero

Playing Hero

Eleanor unfolded the cloth, revealing a handful of berries, which she dropped into her morning porridge.

"I wish my family sent me berries," complained the girl next to her.

"They would be rotten if so," argued a third girl sitting opposite. "Do not pretend your family has a cold storage or anything like that."

"They could have," came the offended reply.

"We both know they do not. You will have to contend with eating fruit actually in season."

Eleanor looked at the other two girls, mageknights like herself. "Clarissa, you do not even like these berries. Else I would have shared."

"Well, no, but it is nice to have the option to refuse."

"Eleanor, always so charitable." The third girl smirked. "Like helping the half-blood peasant boy. As if your goal was not transparent."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell, what is my goal?"

Her friend shrugged. "It is obvious. Maximilian has befriended him, Stars know why, and so you do the same to get close to the count's son."

A tired sigh came from Eleanor. "That is not remotely true." f reeweb novel.com

"I do not judge," the other girl replied. "I would have done the same if I could hold my nose as well as you. Sadly, I do not have your patience with those of a lower station."

Eleanor ran her spoon through her bowl with sharp movements. "My patience does wear thin."

~

Maximilian glanced over the table at Martel. "Tell me all my good work was not in vain."

The novice stared down at his breakfast, feeling embarrassed. "She liked the present."

"And?"

"That's it. But we're going to see the play tomorrow night," Martel reminded him.

"Right. I vaguely remember. I look forward to being a third wheel."

Martel shook his spoon at the other boy. "As if you mind the attention. I saw you perform your little sword swinging, the whole square did."

"Yeah, yeah. Look, you owe me for all my invaluable help. So tonight, and I mean tonight, not afternoon, we are going out to properly sample the offerings of the spring faire," Maximilian declared, almost making it sound like a threat. "You and me, just two lads."

"That's fair," Martel assented.

Movement drew his attention, and he looked right to see Eleanor approach. "Martel, I would like to see the play tonight. Do you want to accompany me?"

"Sure," he blurted out. At a nearby table, the two girls from his empowerment class sent him disdainful looks.

"Good," Eleanor replied loudly. "I enjoy your company." She marched away.

Maximilian gave him a disappointed look. "What happened to the lads?"

"She took me by surprise," Martel admitted. "Just come along. We'll go out after the play." He glanced over at the table to find the female mageknights still staring at him. "What's going on with them?" he asked in a quiet tone.

"Girls. Who knows." Maximilian sighed and crossed his arms. "They better serve ale at that play."

~

After supper, the trio gathered up like yesterday and set out towards the market district. "I thought you were not much for the faire," Maximilian remarked quietly to Eleanor.

"I changed my mind."

"Tired of those wagging tongues, I wager."

"They are my friends," Eleanor reminded him.

"And yet you knew at once whom I referred to."

Martel walked a few steps ahead, still able to hear their conversation. He envied their easy rapport and felt like an intruder just for listening. Yet he could not blame anyone or anything. They had attended the Lyceum together for years; he had barely arrived by that reckoning.

They walked through winding roads to reach the square that hosted the theatre. A stage had been built, creating a raised platform. Large pieces of canvas shielded the ends and back of the stage, hiding what lay behind. In front, numerous benches stood to allow the audience a seat during the performance.

"Two silvers to sit, one to watch," a boy shouted dressed in bright colours making a patchwork. A few spectators had already grabbed the front seats.

Resolutely, Maximilian strode forward to claim a bench. "This one is ours. Well, three seats on it, anyway. I am not sitting further back."

The brightly clad boy trotted up to them, holding out his hand. "Two silvers for each of you."

"Let me." Eleanor opened her purse and counted out six coins.

Martel almost shivered at the thought of paying six coins just to sit down, especially since they could watch the same show for half price by standing up. Yet he did not know how to protest.

"Keep our seats," Maximilian told them, rising to his feet. "I need something to fortify me."

Eleanor did so, and Martel intended to join him, but something caught his eye. The actors could be seen and heard rummaging about on the scene, preparing for their play. Yet in front sat an old man on a barrel. In one hand, he held a pipe with smoke rising from it; the other had a wineskin. He looked like a vagabond with a wild beard and unshorn hair, wearing worn clothes.

The old man caught Martel's gaze and winked. The novice stepped forward without thinking, wondering what about the old trotter seemed so unusual. Nothing in his appearance nor the expected smell of tobacco and bodily odour that hung around him.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Martel."

"You're one of them wizard novices from the big school, aren't ya."

"How do you know?"

The old man smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. "I can smell the magic on you."

Martel frowned. "You're a mage?"

"Hedge mage, they call me. I learned my magic in the wild rather than surrounded by stone."

Martel had heard of them as a child without really understanding much. Coming to the Lyceum and occasionally seeing references to them in books, he knew a little more; primarily that they were rumoured to possess unusual magic and strange herblore. Some even had healing powers, the most elusive magic of all. Perhaps, Martel considered, here was a path to strengthening his own magic.

"Are you here to watch the play?"

The hedge mage laughed. "Seen it a thousand times, but from up there." He pointed at the canvas covering the back of the stage. "I help the spectacle along, you see. Bit of ominous thunder when the villain enters, that sort of thing."

Martel blinked. The thought of using magic purely for entertainment struck him as mad. With such powers at your command, why spend them wandering the land creating cheap thrills? Still, his curiosity proved stronger than any indignation.

"What's your name, master?"

"So polite. Never met a novice from that damned school of yours before who didn't look like they wanted to spit on me," the old man laughed. "But that wasn't your question, no. I'm Regnar."

A Tyrian name, Martel noted, though he spoke Asterian as a native. "I'm Martel."

"Well, Martel, enjoy the show." Regnar emptied his wine skin before he got to his feet and disappeared behind the stage, and Martel joined his friends on the bench.

~

The actors played out the old and familiar story of Roland and the wyrm. To those experienced with theatre and the story, the performance provided little to be considered new or exciting.

Martel was enraptured.

He had been told the tale a few times as a child, which did nothing to spoil his enjoyment. Watching Roland endure the seven trials captivated him entirely. He feared for the hero as he braved the ring of fire or passed through the howling gale.

"Surrender before I hurt you in ways you cannot imagine," cried out the villain as thunder broke the sky, and Martel shivered. Next to him, the mageknights seemed more amused by their companion's expressions than the play.

Martel's attention only wavered when he caught movement at the corner of his eye. Almost on instinct, he clutched his purse by his belt. So annoying they made them too big to fit into a pocket. He felt rather than saw someone move behind him. A small shape, that of a child. It passed by, and he breathed a little easier. Until he thought about his companions. Looking at Eleanor by his side, he saw only frayed strings hanging by her belt; someone had cut her purse strings.

Without thinking, Martel leapt to his feet and pushed through the seated people. A glimpse of a child running down an alley reached him, and he set off in pursuit.

~

Martel would not have expected to have any trouble catching up to a child several years younger. Yet the urchin had the advantage of familiar territory, weaving through narrow streets with obstacles to slow a larger pursuer.

Martel only possessed one way to even the field. Without thinking, he willed his magic to help him. Soon, his legs became stronger, moved faster, leapt higher. As they reached the end of the market district, he had almost caught up.

The thief, constantly switching direction, took a sharp turn into yet another alley. Surrounded by buildings, the moonlight struggled to illuminate it. Martel did not require it. He felt the heat from the child ahead of him; the little rascal had stopped. Either a dead end lay ahead, or maybe he hoped to hide in the darkness, unaware of Martel's extra sense.

In the boy's hand, Martel saw Eleanor's purse tightly clutched. "Hand it over."

Noise came from all around. Refuse and debris was pushed aside. Like scurrying rats, more children emerged. Some of them were even younger than the thief, who drew a rusty, ragged knife. Well, if the cut did not kill him, the ensuing infection might, Martel considered. The other urchins also drew improvised weapons, surrounding him. They looked to be eight to ten years old.

"Why don't you hand over yours," the thief demanded, his eyes on Martel's purse.

The way Martel saw it, he had three options.

He could turn and run, trying to get past the street children unscathed.

He could hand over his purse, hoping they would be satisfied with that.

Or he could face them like a wizard.

Martel focused on Eleanor's purse with his magic and pulled it to him. It flew out of the boy's grasp and into Martel's right hand. He raised his left and let flames ignite to entwine around his fingers. "Leave before I hurt you in ways you cannot imagine," he threatened them.

Once again, it worked. Nobody was going to mess with a mage wielding fire, especially not a bunch of starving children. As they scrambled to get away, and with his fear dissipating, Martel took a closer look at them. Wearing rags that could barely conceal their bodies, he saw how their skin stretched over their bones.

In Engby, orphans would be taken in by farms that could use the extra labour; failing that, the temple would provide for them. If nothing else, they would be housed, clothed, and fed. Not so in Morcaster. With a lump in his throat, Martel guessed they were too many to take care of them all. Or maybe people simply did not care.

Thinking of starving children he had known, Martel grabbed his purse. He felt their eyes on him, gazing from the dark with a feverish shine from deep within the alley. He turned the pouch around, letting his silver fall to the ground. Turning around, he stalked away.

~

The audience clapped, some with more enthusiasm than others, as the play ended. "What happened to Martel?" Maximilian asked. "I thought he enjoyed the play."

"I cannot say. He stormed off like his shoes were on fire," Eleanor said.

"Maybe his last meal did not sit well with him," Maximilian snorted.

"Oh, there he is." As the crowd dispersed, the mageknights walked towards him.

Holding Eleanor's purse in one hand, his own deflated by his waist, Martel already regretted giving away his silver. It had taken him months to gather it. Yet seeing the sunken cheeks, the hollow arms and legs, the sickly shining eyes – Martel knew the signs of starvation too well. Whether he had given the coins or not, he would have left that alley feeling ill for one reason or another.

"What happened to you, mate?" Maximilian asked.

Martel waved Eleanor's purse in the air, and her hand flew down to her waist, feeling only the cut strings. "A thief. I got it back, though the little fellow got away," Martel explained.

"You really should not have bothered," Eleanor told him. "I did not have much silver with me. Besides, chasing thieves through Morcaster in the dark invites greater danger than a few coins are worth."

"Now you tell me," Martel complained, returning the pouch.

"Bah. Our boy here is a mage. Who would dare to tussle with him?" Maximilian slapped his friend on the arm.

"Well, let me buy you something to drink or eat for your troubles," Eleanor suggested.

Maximilian nodded eagerly. "Best suggestion all night!"