Chapter 432: The Fire Eater
The Fire Eater
For the lesson in the Circle of Fire, Martel noticed that Moira arrived with only three staves. It seemed his training with the weapon of a stormmage had come to an end. Once she had distributed the staves to the other acolytes, Moira handed him the wand of a weathermage. "You look ready to give water another try."
Martel waited for a biting remark to follow; none did. Accepting the wand, he glanced at it; the sapphire at the tip sparkled in the sunlight streaming in from the windows far above. Turning away from the others to face the wall with the slit that served as his target, Martel channelled his magic through the silver-streaked wood.
From the surrounding air, moisture knitted itself together and became drops on the gem. The water lingered for a moment before freezing to ice, shining with magic as it launched itself at the wall. It hit far from the mark, and Martel felt himself strained from the effort; still, the spell had worked.
***
When his obligations for the day had ended, Martel set out for the Khivan district. The route was familiar to him, though he could not recall if he had been to the enclave since the last time he saw Shadi. That had been at the year's beginning, some eight months ago. With her gone, he had no reason to visit.
Reaching the quarter, it looked the same at first. Old wooden houses, many of them in need of repairs, lined the streets; built in an earlier age where timber provided cheap and fast construction materials, now generally replaced by stone buildings everywhere else except for the copper lanes.
The local residents regarded him apprehensively, either because he was Asterian or a wizard; probably both. Yet now and then, he caught someone bowing their head towards him; every time, he nodded in return. And when he asked for directions to the home of the Fire Eater, the reply came swiftly and willingly.
His path took him towards the central square of the enclave. He avoided looking in the direction of Shadi's former home; he had no wish to stir those memories more than necessary. And soon, something else stole his attention.
North of the square, where the fire had raged before Martel intervened, a new building took form. So far, little more than the foundation had been prepared, but large slabs of stone lay piled up. No doubt once the building was complete, it would tower over everything else in the district; a brand-new insula that could provide homes for hundreds of people, potentially. Besides the ongoing construction work, Martel noticed at least a dozen heavily armed guards, probably with more elsewhere around the site.
Dismayed by the visible sign of how Duke Cheval's nefarious scheme had come to fruition, despite Martel's efforts, the wizard hurried onwards according to his received directions. His path took him south, past the temple for the Khivan faith until he could see the southern city wall in the distance. At length, he reached a building that stood in the same style as the rest of the quarter; the difference was that it was well-maintained.
Furthermore, a man stood outside, leaning against the wall in the manner that Martel had come to recognise; despite his casual demeanour, he was a look-out, keeping watch of the street. He wore the traditional Khivan robe and headscarf, as did nearly everyone else in this part of the district; as Martel approached, he abandoned his relaxed stance and stepped towards the wizard with a bow.
"My master bids you welcome. Know that you enter his house in peace and shall leave it in peace."
A promise of safe conduct, Martel figured. Regardless, he used his magic to look for golden weapons; the Khivan had none. Satisfied for now, he followed the look-out into the house.
***
As the first thing, Martel noticed this house had much richer furnishings than would be expected; secondly, it expanded backwards to be twice as large compared to the typical residences of the quarter, though done in such a way as to mask this expansion when viewed from the street.
Two Khivan children in their early teens, one boy and one girl, sat on pillows around a low table; they looked to be studying their letters. They both glanced up with curious eyes, leaving Martel bewildered; he had not expected this.
Martel was rescued by the appearance of whom he took to be the master of the house, and quite possibly the enclave as a whole. He did not look much like the man Martel had seen during the summit of the Nine Lords. While his hair and beard had the same cut, neither was oiled. He did not wear traditional garb, just a shirt and trousers like any Asterian would while at home; lastly, the dark lines painted around his eyes were missing.
"Master Martel. Welcome to my abode. I am Navid." Still taken aback, which was perhaps intended, Martel simply inclined his head. "Please, let us speak in the other room, or my children will never finish their lesson."
He followed his host out of the common room to enter a second; glancing over his shoulder, he noticed the boy and girl still watching him.
Navid gestured for him to sit down on a pillow in the corner of the room; once Martel had done so, he took a seat as well. "Thank you for accepting my invitation."
"Sure."
"Not what you expected, I imagine."
"You're the first Ninth Lord I've met who conducts his business from home," Martel replied. He noticed that the Khivan spoke Asterian like a local with no trace of foreign roots.
"I am not much like them. I did not take this mantle to amass wealth or power. My sole interest is protecting my people. I am content with living like them."
With a few more luxuries than Martel imagined the average Khivan could afford. Besides the furnishings and the improved size of the house, he had noticed the children read by candlelight, but there was no odour of tallow in the air, meaning it was made from beeswax, probably.
He became aware that Navid scrutinised him. "To us, you are perplexing, Master Martel. The old country teaches us to hate magic, which is rooted in the hearts of many, even those who have never set foot in Khiva."
Martel saw no reason to interrupt his host just yet; let the man talk and reveal as much as he wanted.
"Ah, thank you." Navid interrupted himself as a woman appeared through a door in the back and placed two cups on the table between them. With a smile, she poured tea for them both; she did not seem servile, making Martel suspect her to be Navid's wife. She disappeared again, back the way she came. "I hope you like tea."
Not really, but it felt early in the conversation to be impolite, so Martel took his cup and inhaled the scent. It smelled about as he had expected.
"To your health, Master Martel." Navid took a sip from his cup; after watching this, Martel did the same. "Where was I? Ah yes. Our apprehension about magic. Especially fire wizards, as our faith considers this to be the primordial element. To see it manipulated by magic is sacrilegious to many. And yet you did so, saving the lives of my brethren, and our homes."
And it cost Martel more than the Khivan knew, he suspected, but he kept this thought to himself.
"Simply put, many of my people don't know what to think of you. However, I am not one of them. I came to Morcaster when I was two. I have no memory of any home before that, and the Asterian language comes swifter to my tongue than Khivan. If you will be our friend, master wizard, I am only happy to embrace you."
Martel sensed they had begun to broach the actual subject. His host wanted something that only a mage could provide. He took a sip of his tea, letting the man continue.
"On your way here, you passed the new building under construction, I take it? On the ashes of what burned that fateful night when you tamed the fire. Do you know who owns it?"
"Duke Cheval, I assume."
Navid gave a nod. "Correct. From what I gather, the fire was started on his orders." Seeing no reaction from Martel, he spoke again. "But you already knew this."
"What about it?" Martel's patience was reaching its end.
"Once it is finished, that insula may provide homes for hundreds of people. Asterians, no doubt, who can pay higher rent than us Khivans. In this way, they push us out of the only district where we may settle."
"I'm sorry. Nobody should lose their home."
"Your sympathy is well noted, master wizard. Not many feel as you do. My people have tried to disrupt the construction, but it is heavily guarded. Any form of confrontation is dangerous for us – the law provides little to no protection nor restitution for Khivans, should any of these hired thugs attack us."
"Something I don't agree with."
"Neither do I, yet it is the reality of the situation. If we are to prevent this construction…" Navid took a deep breath before he continued. "We need stronger powers on our side than what gold or steel can provide."
There it was. Martel emptied his cup of tea, buying him a few moments to think. He really only needed one moment, though, to know that he had to refuse. This was not his fight, no matter how much he sympathised with the Khivans; as much as his status as a battlemage shielded him from certain consequences, there had to be a limit, and Martel was not keen on finding it.
Antagonising Duke Cheval further also seemed the wrong move; even if the nobleman already hated Martel, it just seemed a poor idea to give the duke another reason to seek revenge.
"I'm sorry," Martel finally said. "Fire can do little against stone. I'm not the right kind of wizard that you need."
"You may be the only one we have," Navid argued.
"I'm sorry to say, you don't even have that." Not in the mood to be guilted, Martel got up from his pillow. "Forgive me, but it's late. I should return home."
"Of course. I'm the one asking for your forgiveness, keeping you so late. You were most kind to visit me." The Khivan hid his disappointment well, remaining unfailingly polite.
"Thank you for the tea." Martel stepped over the table and made his way towards the door.
"Goodbye, Master Martel. May the Flame illuminate your path."
With the eyes of the children on him, Martel nodded in farewell and left the house.
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