Chapter 425: Nocturnal Visitations
Nocturnal Visitations
As Moira arrived at the Circle of Fire, Martel noticed that she once again carried four staves rather than three and a wand. Perhaps she was no longer amused by the jest of seeing a fire acolyte wielding the tool of a weathermage, or she considered it in vain. In a way, Martel felt a little disappointed; even if he would never use a sapphire for his magic on the battlefield, he would rather spend his time learning how to use it than waste these hours with the ruby staff, which he had already mastered.
He only realised his error when Moira distributed the weapons. His was made of pale wood – ash, by the looks of it. More importantly, as he glanced at the tip, he saw a diamond placed into it.
"Get to it," Moira barked at the other students before turning back to Martel. "Sapphire was perhaps too hasty. Took a lot of persuading, but Master Gilbert finally let me borrow that one. Stupid git, he's got plenty of them for his few acolytes…" She continued to mutter something incomprehensible.
Martel had not expected that she actually put any thought into his progress; he had assumed she just threw challenges at him, content to watch whether he would sink or swim. Inspecting the weapon in his hand, he found it similar to the staff of a battlemage with silver lines leading up to the gem. The only difference was that it amplified air magic rather than fire; the weapon of a stormmage.
For a moment, Martel imagined himself on the deck of a ship, dispelling dark skies and raising the wind to fill the sails with a course for distant lands. Going to Sindhu to further his studies in alchemy or beyond.
"Why are you dallying about, boy?" Moira shouted, almost making him flinch.
He returned to the present; his future lay on land, not at sea. At most, he would only board a ship to sail to war. Trying to focus on spellcasting instead, Martel sent his magic through the staff, channelling a spell through the gem.
***
Martel continued to practice with the same staff for his second lesson of the day; nothing else worthy of note happened, and he spent his evening practising Master Alastair's exercise. When his Khivan clock showed two hours before midnight, he carried out his final routines and went to bed.
Sleeping, the strangest sensation intruded upon him. It felt like someone grabbing his arm and pulling him in one direction, and it was enough to jostle him awake.
Sitting up in bed, his mind addled by being pulled from sleep, Martel tried to make sense of his surroundings. The moon, one fiveday from being full, gave enough light that he could recognise his room, but he could not see what had caused him to wake. A strange shimmer of light on his door caught his eye, and Martel recognised it a moment later. It had become a habit every night before bed to place the rune of warning on the entrance inside his chamber. Now he watched as the handle turned downwards, and the door slowly opened.
A shape in dark clothes pressed through to enter Martel's room. Sensing heat, the wizard could guess at the nature of his intruder even before the moonlight revealed anything. "Hullo, Weasel." Martel threw his blanket aside and stood up, preferring to face the boy on his feet rather than in bed.
A look of shock crossed the urchin's face. "But I didn't make a sound," he protested, as if him being caught was somehow against the rules.
"I have other methods. You made a mistake, Weasel. I don't know if you came to rob me or worse, but you won't get away with this. You've crossed the line one too many times with me."
"I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to get help," Weasel hissed. "Sparrow's gone!"
Martel stared at him with a cold demeanour. "If you're lying simply because you got caught, this will only make it worse for you."
"I wouldn't lie about something that important," he claimed. "The fact that I'm here, asking for help, should tell you how serious it is."
"Assuming that you're telling the truth, which I have no particular reason to believe that you are." Despite his words, Martel could not dismiss a growing sense of concern. He had taken Sparrow under his wing and felt responsible for her. The maleficar had already tried to take her once; perhaps he had come back to finish what he had started. The acolyte looked over his shoulder and out his window; it would be several days until the next full moon. That seemed too early for another victim to be taken, but perhaps he had made an exception with Sparrow.
"What you looking out the window for? I thought you’d want to help, if you meant all that about her being your apprentice."
Suddenly, Martel realised what had happened. If he had not been rustled from sleep, he probably would have guessed sooner. "You didn't heed my warning. You kept up your conspicuous thefts, and now Sparrow will pay the price!"
The little chief glared at Martel, who expected some angry rants. Yet when Weasel spoke, his voice quivered with emotion. "You don't know what it's like! How much I have to pay Kerra every fiveday, or she'll kick us out, back to the street. Or worse, let some thug take charge of us, just like the Broken Blades did. Thanks to Sparrow's magic to steal, it's the first time we've done better than just scrape by." As he spoke, anger asserted itself in his voice, replacing the earlier sense of despair. "You can judge me when you spend a day in my shoes!"
A pang of guilt touched Martel's conscience. Perhaps he was also to blame. He had taught Sparrow, but given no thought to her other needs. His salary from Mistress Rana would probably not have been enough to cover Weasel's needs, but it might have meant they did not need to take such risks. It had not even occurred to Martel that he should offer some of his money, content with letting Weasel bear the responsibility for looking after his band of urchins. Having taken no responsibility himself, it was not Martel's place to judge.
Besides, arguing about blame would not help Sparrow. If she had been arrested for using magic to break the law, the outlook was not good. But Weasel's words gave Martel an idea. "If you are paying Kerra for protection, isn't this the sort of situation where she's supposed to protect you?"
Weasel shook his head. "We are not officially part of her people. More like, she tolerates our presence. And she only does it because we steal from outside her district. Which is also why she won't help us. If we are caught stealing in another district and she intervenes, she's acknowledging that her people are doing their business on another Ninth Lord's territory. That's a whole other headache, could even be considered a violation of the Pact. She'd never do that for Sparrow."
Unfortunately, that sounded plausible. "Alright. Who has Sparrow? It must be possible to negotiate her release."
"The guards," Weasel replied. "They set up an ambush for us along with the mage hunters, though they weren't much needed. The kind of disturbance Sparrow does for us, disrupting the earth, it tires her out. With the guards waiting for us, she was an easy grab. I barely got away myself."
"The inquisitors were present? So they would have taken Sparrow into custody?" Martel's heart began beating faster.
"No, I just said the guards have her," came the frustrated reply. "They ran after all of us, but she's the only one who got caught. One of them took her away while the mage hunters kept after us. I lost them, doubled back, and followed the guards taking her to the Hole."
"What hole?"
"You know, their station in the market district. With the dungeons, the Hole, where they throw us when they catch us," Weasel explained impatiently.
"So she's a prisoner of the city guard," Martel summarised.
"As I've been explaining all along!"
"Alright, quiet down. Don't wake up the rest of the floor. This is better than if the inquisitors have her – no telling what they'd do to her."
"No telling what the guards will do either," Weasel argued. "Usually, they throw us in the Hole for a night or two. We're too small to work in the mines or galleys, not worth the bother of a trial over a few apples, but with the kind of expensive stuff we've nicked…" Despite his frustrated demeanour, concern could be heard in his voice.
"Still, we'll get her out. And I know how." The young wizard began dressing himself.
"So, you'll help?"
"Yes." Digging through his drawers, Martel found his small hoard of silver. "I can't abandon my apprentice."
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