Firebrand

Putting on a Performance

In his study, going through another dreary morning, Martel looked up as a guard stuck his head inside. "The berserker is here, sir. Are you ready for him?"

"Send him in."

Soon after, a tall, muscular Tyrian entered with a broad smile. "Mage of fire!"

Martel got up, and they clasped each other's wrists. "Thank you for coming."

"My days are not busy, though I was surprised to be asked. I have not seen you since before you took the city."

"Alas, my days are busy," Martel reiterated in complaint. "I appreciate that you'd come. And that you're still in Morcaster."

They both sat down. "It's interesting to be here," Starkad admitted with a shrug. "Most of my company has spent little time in your great city. And with everything happening, we are curious how events will develop."

"That's good. I thought you might be eager to return to northern lands."

"We do have purses filled with silver, and more than enough to buy a vessel. Not that your heavy ships are to our liking," the Tyrian remarked with a grin. "But we can't return home with only half a tale. When they ask us what happened to the mage of fire after he took the city, we must know what to say."

"Well, here's a little excitement to add to your story. It's about your arrows, with the runes." Martel knew the Tyrians had them in their quivers, since one of them had tried to kill him with such a rune-empowered projectile.

"What of them?"

"I want you to go to a tavern called The Golden Goose. It lies where the market district meets the harbour. A hedge mage lives there, together with the acting troupe that performs each night. Tell him loudly that you wish to sell your surplus of such arrows before going home," Martel explained.

Starkad frowned. "That is a strange request. To sell my craft to outsiders, that is not good. What purpose would this serve?"

"The hedge mage will act as an intermediary and ensure the right people buy your arrows. He has connections to the underworld and is known to have sold such magical trinkets."

"The knowledge of runes is not something to trifle with," the berserker declared. "I understand the scheme, but I ask again what the purpose is?"

"Incentive. Pushing matters along. Making things a little easier for my enemies. You will be rewarded for your part in the scheme," Martel promised.

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Starkad leaned back, crossing his arms. "I will do it on one condition. You tell me the full story when all is done, and it promises to be a story worth telling."

Martel smiled. "Guaranteed."

***

"I am surprised you would wish to visit the yellow bird again, and so soon," Eleanor remarked as they walked through the streets of Morcaster. "You did not seem to enjoy it much last time."

"I'll admit, it's not the play that attracts me. But it's been exactly a fiveday since last we went," Martel explained.

"How is that relevant?"

He smiled to himself. "It establishes a pattern. Along that note, we should move through here." He pointed at a branching street with close-built houses running on either side.

She exhaled. "You could just stay at the fortress. There is no need to take this risk."

"I want to know if the spy is right. It's the only reason he's still breathing."

"While I find it uncouth, we could – we could have him tortured."

Martel considered it. "If he is telling the truth, torturing people for warning me sets a bad precedent. And I suppose deep down I dislike the idea of tormenting anyone, no matter what they've done."

"That would be my opinion as well."

"And this way of discovering the truth is far more enjoyable," Martel added with another smile.

***

They arrived early, in good time before the evening's performance. Not that anybody would have denied them seats if Martel simply demanded to sit somewhere. This time, Ian recognised them, and he stared in awe. "You rule the city!" he finally exclaimed.

"I guess I do," Martel mumbled, feeling amused but also a little strange. He dropped a handful of silver into the boy's hands. "Is Regnar in the back?"

"Yeah, he doesn't come out until the play is about to start. Lazy old bastard," Ian said.

"I'll be back quickly," Martel told Eleanor.

"I shall hold our seats, I suppose."

With all eyes on him, Martel moved through the crowd – easily, as everyone hurried out of his way – to enter the back building of the tavern. He reached Regnar's room and knocked.

"Yes, yes, I'll be ready in a minute! Bell hasn't even struck yet," came a grumbling response.

"Regnar, it's Martel."

The door opened. "Dear lad, it really is you!" The hedge mage laughed and embraced him. "The play begins soon, so I have to be off, but are you here for the performance? Will you stay afterwards?"

"I'm here to see it, yes, but I won't be staying long after. I've come for other reasons than to be entertained," Martel explained. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "Tomorrow, you'll be approached in the tavern by a berserker named Starkad."

Regnar shuddered. "That bodes ill."

"He's my friend, don't worry. He'll tell you that he wishes to sell his arrows, marked with runes to always strike true. I want you to act as a middleman, spreading the word to your acquaintances in the underworld. Especially those with connections in the copper lanes."

The hedge mage frowned. "Boy, what are you involved in? Never mind. You're lord of this city now. It's far beyond a simple wanderer like me."

"Just make sure to take note of who comes to buy. Sell them only to someone from the copper lanes. Can you do this?"

"An easy task for sure. I must ask, will this bring danger to the tavern? I must think of my people," Regnar impressed on him.

"You'll all be safe," Martel promised.

"Regnar!" came the shout from the hallway. "Get into position!"

"Alright," the hedge mage conceded. "Enjoy the play, my lad."

***

Martel found the evening as satisfying as the previous night spent at The Golden Goose, at least in terms of spectacle. But knowing his primary purpose had been fulfilled made it easier to sit through. As soon as the performance came to an end, he and Eleanor left. They did so through the back, however, going through the quarters belonging to the acting troupe. And as they walked back to the fortress, they followed the exact same route as they had used on their journey out.