Chapter 374: A Day in the Infirmary
A Day in the Infirmary
Martel's thirst and especially his appetite had returned in full force when he woke the next morning. The sun had yet to rise, and it was too early for breakfast to be served, but the nurse on duty gave him water and bread, the latter soaked in a bit of wine to make it softer to chew and more nourishing. A simple meal, but it satiated the gaping hole in his stomach.
Unable to sleep further, but also not allowed to get out of bed, Martel studied his surroundings. Every moment his mind was unoccupied, it tried to think about the attack, so he did his best to come up with something to do. Other patients lay in the nearby beds, though he could not initiate conversation, as they still slept. The ceiling, high up, contained a lot of tiles he might count, which kept him occupied a while. He spotted a tray with different bottles and jars of medicine, entertaining himself by trying to guess the contents. He wondered how many of them contained ingredients prepared by his hand.
Eventually, the kitchens finished preparing breakfast, and a couple of servants entered the infirmary carrying large trays with bowls of porridge. Still hungry, Martel quickly devoured his portion. He watched the nurse feed those too weak to do so themselves; when he offered to help her with her chores, familiar to him from his own time working in the infirmary, she chastised him and told him to lie back down and rest.
***
Sometime later, still during the breakfast bell, he heard a commotion by the entrance, but a pillar blocked his view. Shortly after, the reason for the disturbance showed itself as Maximilian strode through the hall. "Nordmark!"
From across the space, the nurse shushed him aggressively.
"Max," Martel replied hoarsely, still feeling the effect of his ordeal on his voice.
The mageknight grabbed the nearby cup and filled it with a pitcher of water, which he handed over. "Apologies for my late appearance, but they would not let you have visitors yesterday. I barely got them to let me just now."
"I was asleep pretty much the whole time anyway," Martel explained. "But I'm glad to see you now." He cast a glance in the direction of the door; he wondered at Eleanor's absence. He could not imagine she had something more pressing to do at this hour, but apparently so.
"They got you good, did they?" Finding a stool for himself, Maximilian sat down by his bedside. "You have an amazing talent for creating a stir, my friend. The whole castle is buzzing with rumours."
Martel gave him a glance. "And you'd like to be the one who can confirm or dismiss them, I'm sure."
Maximilian raised his hands in a shrug. "Obviously, if you were dying, I would be suitably respectful. But I am told you’ll make a full recovery in no time, largely thanks to Master Kelsos."
"Someone tried to kill me on the street. Had a golden dagger he stabbed me with. I drove him off with a well-placed spell, though. That's the long and short of it, really."
"Hardly," came an objection. "Common folk do not try to stab mages on a whim, and they certainly do not happen to carry golden weapons with them. Was it an inquisitor? Half the school seems to think so. The rest is betting on the berserker we took down, coming back for his revenge."
"Both parts of the school are equally wrong." Martel was unsure how to explain this without going into excruciating detail, but Maximilian did deserve some manner of answer, lest he might go around thinking he was next. "I have been doing minor tasks in the city. Helping out various places where my gift would be useful. I ran afoul of some people, who thought I was helping their competitor, I guess."
"Minor tasks? Which are worth assassinating a mage over?" Maximilian gave him an incredulous look. "Nobody in Morcaster would be that stupid."
"It was an islander," Martel elaborated. "Pretty new to the city, I suspect. He underestimated me too, or he would have known to protect himself much better." He recalled how Flora had mentioned that the Silver Serpents were low on coin. It was Martel's luck that the assassin had not been decorated in gold from head to toe.
"Well, he'll definitely have underestimated the Lyceum's response. They are scouring the market district, I hear. They will have this fellow soon enough."
A reassuring sentiment, which perhaps had been Maximilian's intent. "Good."
"But Nordmark, if you needed money, why not say so? I would never refuse to lend you what I have?"
"I did. Don't you remember? My brother was sick and needed medicine. I borrowed money from you, Eleanor, and Master Alastair, and it wasn't enough. I didn't have a choice." Maximilian would never understand this; if any in his family were sick, his father would presumably pay Master Kelsos or another healer to deal with it without further thought.
"Ah, yes, I remember," Maximilian replied with an uncertain voice. He cleared his throat. "But you must tell me of the fight itself. I have never gone against anyone armed with a golden weapon. Tell me?"
While thinking of the fight evoked disturbing memories, Martel feared being left alone in the infirmary even more, so he began to relate the tale.
***
The rest of the morning moved at a snail's pace, with dinner being one of the few breaks in the tedium. Nurses came and went, as did the occasional student who had an injury that required attention, but Martel's limited vantage point did not let him see much. The sisters were too busy with their chores to spend much time chatting with him, and the same applied to the novices doing their month's rotation in the infirmary. Martel did notice that they glanced at him frequently, but if they had questions, they refrained from asking. And still, every time he lacked something to do, his thoughts churned around the memory of the bloodied, golden blade.
Late afternoon finally brought a change. Hearing the door open, Martel broke off counting the tiles in the wall and looked towards the entrance until Eleanor appeared from behind the pillar that obstructed most of his entertainment. She strode towards him with hasty steps, carrying a book under one arm; she used her free hand to grab Martel's and squeezed it. "You seem well. I was uncertain whether to lend much credence to Maximilian's observations. He seemed rather casual about the whole affair."
"For once, he was right. Master Kelsos healed me. I think I'm just being kept here out of precaution. You spoke to Max, then?"
She nodded and sat down on the same stool that his previous visitor used. "We both came this morning to visit you, but the nurse will only allow one of us to enter. So I decided to let him go first and report to me later, allowing me to fetch this in the meantime." She held up her book.
Embarrassed that he had doubted Eleanor's interest in his well-being, Martel was only happy to focus on the tome instead. "Sling, blade, and breaker," he read. "What is it?"
"A book about the three most famous heroes of Archen. It is my sister's favourite, but I have read it to her plenty of times. I do not think she will mind that you borrow it."
A remedy for boredom. Martel had rarely been so grateful in his life. He carefully wiped his hands on his blanket before he accepted the book. "You are a treasure, Eleanor Fontaine."
She smiled. "I am aware. But you can read once I am gone. Your zealous jailer will not allow me to stay long, I suspect, so first, tell me what happened. Maximilian's recounting of your explanation left something to be desired."
Taking a deep breath, Martel began to relate the same as he had done this morning.
***
When finished, Eleanor gave him a long look. "Martel, I know you get into trouble and usually find your way out of it again, but you must concede, this is different."
Martel was unsure; Tibert, Leatherfist, Duke Cheval, and now the Serpents, it was quite a list of people who had tried to best him. "I know you tend to worry. But I'm trained for trouble, just like you. I'll be fine."
"If Mistress Juliana will ever let you out of here again," she considered. "Tell me you will be careful in the future."
Martel wanted to; his mind formed the words that would reassure her. "Eleanor, I'm going to war. If I can't survive Morcaster, I won't fare better on a battlefield. You'll just have to trust that I can handle myself."
"I am not sure that I do," she muttered. "Enjoy the book. If you are still confined here tomorrow, I shall return for another visit."
"I look forward to it already."
***
As night-time fell, two cloaked figures made their way through the market district. As they approached an alley, they stopped and turned towards each other. "You are absolutely certain?" Underneath his cape, Alastair wore a surcoat with a leather jerkin underneath. In his hand, he held a staff that had a ruby embedded in the top.
Next to him, Juliana nodded. She wore full armour with a sword by her side and a round shield strapped to one arm. Anyone walking down the street who became aware of them instantly shied away and gave them a wide berth. "All of the inhabitants are islanders. One of them was seen running inside around the time of the attack, and none of them have left since. And the neighbours have heard moans consistent with someone badly injured or in great pain. Lastly, a helpful urchin confirmed that he had seen the serpent buckle on one of them once. There can be no doubt."
"How many?"
"Four, including the one Martel wounded. No guard outside, but probably one on the upper floor, watching the alley. Once we walk around this corner, we will be spotted."
The former battlemage nodded a little and looked at the woman who had served as his protector. "Lead the way."
The pair set into motion, rounding the corner to hurry down the alley. Each unclasped their cloak to let it fall behind. Moving faster with empowered speed, Juliana reached the front door of the building and kicked it in. She entered, Alastair following right behind her. Weapons were drawn, fire erupted, and screams could be heard. The justice of the Lyceum was being meted out.
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