Chapter 409: A Stone to Hinder
A Stone to Hinder
The hour grew late before Martel and the mageknights returned from the first night of the solstice. After the play, the troupe entertained them with songs and dances; Martel's many favours in the past had earned him considerable goodwill from each of the actors, and they were eager to show their gratitude.
The next day was almost depressively mundane in comparison, consisting of combat lessons. The only bright point during the day was the second class, where Martel could meet up with Maximilian and Eleanor again, sharing their fondest moments of the night before, whether it was watching the play, carousing with the actors, or singing and dancing together.
As evening came, Martel had no plans, even though the solstice celebration was continuing at full force in the city. Tomorrow eve would be the feast at the House of Marche, and two days after that, he would be a guest at Lord Fontaine's home; while Eleanor had not invited him yet, Martel had heard about it from Maximilian, and he expected an invitation would come any day now. Along with yestereve, that felt like more than enough celebration owed to Sol.
Instead, Martel went into the city to discharge another of his duties. If teaching Sparrow in the copper lanes was out of the question, he still had his other obligations; namely, he needed to check on Julia. Considering that she was shyer of people than a wild rabbit, this festival could not be easy on her. There would be people on the streets at all hours, and she was already intimidated because Martel, perhaps unwisely, had told her about the man stalking him.
He could probably not do much to ameliorate her fears, but he could do something simple like filling her water jar, sparing Julia the trip outside to the fountain.
Moving down the main street, Martel became aware of commotion. Approaching, it seemed to be an overturned cart with a merchant wringing his hands next to it; a patrol of city guards kept watch. Looking at the contents, Martel realised why. Furs lay stacked on top of each other. Pelts from beaver, fox, wolf, and probably other animals. Expensive to say the least; each would cost several gold crowns. They had to come from afar, probably even further than Nordmark; Martel knew that the Tyrians traded much in the furs, as their forests teemed with such animals.
"Don't even think about touching – forgive me, master mage." The merchant, whose expression changed from angry to apologetic immediately, bowed his head to Martel.
"Bad wheel?" he asked. It looked like one of the wheels had broken, making the cart fall to the side.
"If only, good master. Not all mages in this city are honourable wizards such as yourself. Look what they did!" The merchant pointed at the ground, paved with cobblestones.
Martel had to move around the cart to see, but he immediately understood. The stones of the road had been disturbed, one of them pushed up. Done at the right time, especially with a little force, it could easily break the wheel.
"The guards say this happens every day! The ground itself shakes, and as some poor merchant's cart topples, thieves hurry forward to grab what they can. They stole four pelts from me! How am I to make up this loss? I could barely afford them in the first place." He resumed wringing his hands again. "I've already waited an hour for the cart maker to come make repairs, which no doubt will also cost…"
Martel did not stay to hear the end of the trader's complaints; he had already turned around, making a speedy journey towards the slums.
***
Aware of the inquisitors' presence in the copper lanes, and also understanding the reason behind, Martel knew to make his way through the district using stealth. He avoided the main roads as much as possible, only crossing them after ensuring no blue uniforms were in sight; otherwise, he stuck to the alleys and made his way to Weasel's hideout.
Some of the children greeted him as usual; for his part, Martel responded in a tight-lipped manner. "Get Weasel and Sparrow for me."
Soon after, the two children appeared. Weasel closed the door behind him, to the chagrin of the others, leaving him and Sparrow alone with the wizard.
"Martel, look what I can do!" Sparrow reached out her hand.
Before she could cast a spell, Martel raised his own hand in warning. "No. Nothing of the sort while inquisitors roam this district. I didn't come to have a lesson, but to speak with you both." He looked towards Weasel. "I just came from the harbour district, where someone used magic – earth magic – to overturn a cart and rob it of several furs. I don't have to guess who was behind it."
Weasel gave him a challenging look. "So what? We do what we must to survive. You have no right to judge us, living in your castle with three meals a day!"
"I have always known how you made your living," Martel responded with rising anger. "It's how we first met. But using magic at the harbour to steal – are you mad?"
"I had to," Sparrow said, her lower lip trembling.
"We don't care what you think!" Weasel shot back. "If Sparrow's abilities give us an edge, I'll take it! If you don't like it, turn around and leave!"
"I expected as much," Martel retorted through gritted teeth. "But there is a vast difference between stealing apples from a cart or socks from a peddler, and using magic to steal luxurious goods in the middle of the street! The guards might chase you for a brief run for the former offence before they get tired. The second one? Why do you think inquisitors are swarming this district? Do you have any idea what they will do to you – to Sparrow if they catch you?"
"Don't tell us how to do our business," the little chief sneered. "We've evaded guards our whole life. Those bumbling fools will never find us."
"They figured out that you operate from the copper lanes, given how they're patrolling this district. And still you keep trying your luck!"
"We know what we're doing. It's only been a few hours, and we've already stashed the goods and made it back here," Weasel said.
"Sooner or later, you'll fail. You have to get lucky every single time – they just have to be lucky once," Martel warned him.
"Just sod off! How we make our coin is our business."
"You say 'our', but what does your little flock get out of this? You're stealing expensive goods, Weasel, yet your people still live in a derelict house, wearing rags. They take all the risk, and you reap the benefit, is that how it is?" Martel stared at the boy, trying to contain his anger rather than lash out with magic at a ten-year-old.
"Shut up! I spend that money keeping us safe, getting what we need! Just leave us alone!"
"Martel," Sparrow interjected, "aren't you going to teach me anymore?"
Martel turned his eyes from the boy to the girl. He had half a mind to reject her plea. But despite his fury, he remembered how Master Alastair had been angry with him on more than one occasion; it had not kept the old wizard from continuing to train Martel, accepting that he made his own choices. "I'll still teach you," he finally promised. "And how you use your magic is up to you. But stop making yourself a target for the inquisitors, and lay low when they are this hot on your heels."
"Who says I'll allow you to come here again?" Weasel stared at him defiantly. "This is my place, my gang, my rules."
Martel's patience was at an end, but he still restrained himself. Rather than fire, he sent a burst of air to push Weasel several steps backwards; a reminder of who had the power. "Do not come between a wizard and his apprentice. You will not interfere or prevent Sparrow from learning."
"You should be careful," the boy said in a menacing manner. "I also know where you live."
Martel's eyes glowed red. His hands felt unnaturally hot. "Do not threaten me."
With a final sneer, Weasel tore the door open to disappear inside the house, slamming it shut behind him.
Outside in the alley, Sparrow began to cry. Martel's anger dissipated, and he felt guilty. He knelt down to be closer at eye level with her, using his now cool hands to wipe away her tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you or make you upset. I'll come back another day, and you can show me your progress. All right?"
Sniffing, she nodded.
"But no magic while the inquisitors are around. It's just too dangerous."
No longer crying, she repeated her gesture.
***
By the time Martel returned to the Lyceum, most of the day was spent. He had forgotten his initial plan to visit Julia, and it was too late now. She would have to get through the next days of the festival without him.
Back in his chamber and getting ready for bed, Martel remembered Weasel's threat. Usually, he always felt safe within the walls of the Lyceum. The ancient wards on the walls were set to repel any intruders or those with evil intent. Yet on more than one occasion, Weasel had been able to sneak inside the castle. Martel had no idea how. He doubted that the young boy would dare to make a move against him, but it might be unwise to underestimate the urchin. Walking over to his door, Martel placed his hand against the wooden planks. "Vara." The rune of warning appeared, glowing briefly.
This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦