Chapter 466: Fury from the Sky
Fury from the Sky
Once finished with alchemy, Martel went to The Golden Goose. Like last time, he entered through the back and had one of the actors fetch Regnar for him. Soon after, they sat inside his chamber.
"I've not really learned much," the hedge mage admitted. "Vitus uses The Broken Crown as his domain, like Tibert did before him. He's not been seen in a few days, though."
Keeping his head down, waiting for things to play out with Lady Pearl's death, presumably. "Alright. Anything else?"
"Not really. Trying to figure out more about his activities didn't get me far. They're a suspicious lot, for good reason, and I can't really risk the attention."
"I understand. Do you think you could learn more about who bought the lightstones from you? They ended up in the hands of the Night Knives, which makes me wonder who acted as middlemen."
"I can ask, but if they didn't want me to know in the first place, there's probably not much I can find out," Regnar considered.
"Right. Fine. Seen any sign of the Night Knives?"
"Nothing so far. Might be they're already on a ship back to Aquila."
"Could be. Alright, thanks. I know where to go tonight."
The hedge mage reached out to take hold of Martel's arm. "Before you do – what exactly do you intend?"
Martel licked his lips. "Vitus needs to pay. I can't just let him get away with it."
"I can understand that, but have you considered how far you're willing to go? Any move you make, he'll feel forced to retaliate. You could start a war between him and you." Regnar looked at him apprehensively. "I'm worried about my people getting caught in between."
Martel exhaled, unsure what to say. Two days ago, he would happily have burned everything to the ground that Vitus owned. But he had begun to understand the scale of what this would require; it would require several attacks to dismantle Vitus' operation. It would also require a lot of information to be gathered, and he could not ask that of Regnar.
And Martel's anger, which had burned so fiercely, had begun to fade. Ruby was dead, but he had avenged her death immediately. It was not Martel that the Night Knives had betrayed or meant to attack; and he had taken revenge on them as well.
But he could not simply walk away without dealing a single blow to Vitus. Martel had allowed these Nine Lords to act with impunity against him time and time again. Even if Martel had not been the intended target, he would not simply stand aside meekly.
"Alright. There's something I must do tonight, but I'll stay hidden. No reason anyone knows it was me. And I'll lay low at the Lyceum afterwards. I won't come around here for a while, either. You discover anything, just send me a message."
Regnar nodded. "Very well. If that's what you think is best. Be careful, lad. Don't bait a fish too strong to haul ashore."
"I won't," Martel replied, doing his best to sound reassuring.
***
As Martel walked south towards the harbour, he noticed the darkening sky. The sun had nearly set, but even before then, dark clouds covered the sky above him, and it began to rain. His cloak around him and his hood up, Martel looked like most citizens of Morcaster.
Even at this late hour, the streets were full of people as he approached the docks. Sailors on shore leave did not keep to regular hours, nor did many of the establishments that serve them. From across the road, Martel regarded The Broken Crown. He had plenty of memories of the place, none of them pleasant. It seemed only fitting to take it away from Vitus. It was far less than what the scoundrel deserved, but Regnar was right. Martel was not ready to start or fight a war; he just needed to do something, a final act to release the anger inside of him that gnawed at him like building up a spell without releasing it.
The question was when to strike. Right now, it was full of light and life; lots of people who did not deserve to die. On the other hand, if Martel waited too long, there might be people inside asleep; usually, large taverns like this had quarters for the staff on the ground floor. They did not deserve punishment either.
In other words, Martel had to wait for when the tavern began to close and its patrons left, but before its residents would already be asleep. Accepting that he had a long wait ahead of him, Martel continued down the street until he found a small tavern down an alley with a quiet table and a mug of ale.
***
Every now and then, Martel would leave his chosen spot and wander up the street to observe The Broken Crown. Every time he found it open and as lively as ever, making him continue and find somewhere else to wait for another half hour or so.
Finally, the right moment arrived. Drunk carousers stumbled out of the front doors, which closed behind them. The shutters of the windows were likewise closed; through the cracks, Martel could see lamplight being dimmed, one after the other. It was time.
He stepped into an alley, leaving him unobserved by others on the main street while still giving him vision of the tavern. It was a large building made from solid stone – except for the roof and the interior.
Martel looked up at the sky. The rain had turned into a near storm. Martel did not have need of it, but it made matters easier for him, almost as if the heavens agreed with his anger.
Raising one hand into the air, Martel channelled magic straight up until he connected with the brewing storm and unleashed its dormant fury. Making a fist and pulling his hand down, as if breaking a branch from a tree, Martel tore a thunderbolt from the skies to strike at The Broken Crown.
The surge of both natural and magical energy could not be denied. It hit the wooden beams that made up the construction of the roof and ignited them.
It did not take long before people became aware, as the flames were highly visible against the dark night. Shouts and screams could be heard. The smell of heavy smoke from rain-soaked wood burning permeated the air. The doors burst open as the people inside the tavern fled. One man on the upper floor lowered himself out of the window, hanging by his fingertips from the windowsill before dropping down to the ground.
Still, the fire burned merrily. It was not possible to see from the outside, but anyone with knowledge of the interior could imagine how it blazed through floorboards and furniture. The balconies surrounding the pit where Tibert had once hosted prize fights was likewise made from wood and became another victim for the conflagration.
The fire patrol arrived. They organised human chains carrying buckets of water. While the building itself seemed lost, it was important to prevent the spread of the flames.
Their work turned out easier than expected. Almost as if the fire agreed with their purpose, it grew less and less. Once it had eaten the interior of the tavern, it did not advance further, allowing the legionaries and volunteers to keep it contained and eventually douse the remaining flames. Some thanked Sol for this miracle, others attributed it to the heavy rain. Walking with visible strain and laboured breathing, Martel turned away from the crowd, retreating further into the alley before he set a course home for the Lyceum.
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