Chapter 427: Harvestmen
Harvestmen
The following day, Martel checked for a message straight after breakfast, and also after first bell had ended. Henry gave him odd looks, but the clerk did not dare say anything other than inform Martel that no missives awaited him.
During his chore in the apothecary, Martel chopped the plants with vicious blows, practically turning them to powder. If Nora sensed his mood, she had the wits to remain quiet and let him work out his anxieties with the herb knife.
Appearing from the laboratory, Mistress Rana had no qualms about addressing her helper. "Martel, we will not be gathering herbs on Solday, so you may have the day off to do as you wish. Instead, we shall go Glunday, and we will be out late, taking advantage of the full moon. I'll pack what we need. Don't worry about your lessons," she added. "I told your teachers you would be absent." She glanced at the current efforts of his toils lying on the worktable. "You're meant to chop it finely, not turn it into dust." Martel made no reply, his mind barely able to focus on what she had told him, and she swiftly left the apothecary.
***
Martel went again to the clerks after his first lesson, after dinner, and on his way to his second lesson in fire magic, all in vain. Yet as seventh bell rang, his sojourns to the entrance hall were finally rewarded. Mutely, Henry gave him a note, which Martel basically tore open.
The girl is where you feared.
Getting her released will be hard.
Meet at Grey Brothers at last bell.
Martel's heart pounded at double speed. Sparrow in the hands of the inquisitors was his worst fear now confirmed. But he seized onto the second line of the message; it might be hard, but as long as it was possible, Martel would see her freed.
His instinct was to go to the shrine immediately. But he had nearly two hours until last bell rang, and it would take less than half an hour to reach the temple. So he armed himself with patience, waited until supper was served and ate a good meal, in case he might need his strength tonight, and only afterwards left the castle.
***
Reaching the small sanctuary, Martel was silently greeted by a Grey Brother, who gestured for the wizard to enter. Inside, he found the Friar standing in front of a wall painting; one of the few ornaments that decorated the shrine.
"Interesting, isn't it? The Grey Brothers prefer their temples unadorned, but they make an exception for images that tell certain stories. But not the kind you'd expect, extolling the power and virtue of Sol. Nor do they depict Luna, or even the Triumvirate. No, they decorate with ordinary people doing simple, humble tasks. Perhaps to show that divinity rests in the smallest of us."
Martel glanced at the wall, showing a farmer harvesting wheat with a scythe. Lacking both interest and patience for art, he ignored the Friar's words. "You said that the inquisitors have Sparrow? But there is a way to get her out?"
The old monk turned towards his young companion. "Yes to both your questions. Calm yourself, Master Martel. You look ready to storm the Imperial Palace."
The wizard was not sure what exactly gave that impression; he was dressed as usual. He tried to relax his shoulders and stance. "I assume that won't be necessary, but I am ready to do what it takes."
The Friar scrutinised him. "Good. But it will not be your magical power that frees the girl, however impressive that might be. Brute force will not avail us. The Inquisition is backed by the Empire, and even you might have some trouble standing against them."
"Of course," Martel conceded. Part of him had in fact been ready for a fight, but he had known deep down that it would not be the answer. Assuming he could steal Sparrow away from the mage hunters, it would undoubtedly leave a bloody mess and make them both fugitives, with the full might of the Inquisition coming down on them. Still – he felt the slightest touch of disappointment that this would be resolved using guile instead.
"You did right coming to me. I have connections, goodwill, and favours to draw upon. I should be able to have the girl released."
Martel would have preferred a guarantee stated in absolute terms, but he knew he had to take what he could get. "Good. Please do so."
The Friar, whose eyes had returned to the painting, once more looked at Martel with a penetrating gaze. "Understand that this goes beyond any favours I might owe you. If you had been in trouble, I could point to your standing as a battlemage of the Lyceum and discreetly hint at the services you have provided for me. Helping you would have been a reasonable repayment for finding the stolen relic, and I would not ask anything further of you. But this girl, accused of using magic to steal – I will have to expend all my influence to have her handed over to me. It will come with conditions for both her and you. I will expect you to repay this debt. Do you understand?"
Martel did not see any other option. "I understand. Do it."
The monk nodded. "Without hesitation. As soon as it is done, I shall send word to you."
"Thank you." The young wizard exhaled in relief. He looked again at the painting. Beautifully done, but an odd choice for a decoration; it made the farmer look almost saintly, as if he swung his scythe to harvest the grain as a religious obeisance, rather than because the alternative was starvation. It seemed more like a city-dweller's idea of what a man working the land should look like, or how he should feel about it.
His mind too tired for debating artwork, Martel kept this observation to himself and left the temple.
The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l