Chapter 501: Almond Bread
Almond Bread
The following morning, Martel spent some hours practising his enchantment. No matter where he ended up, even simple things like light and heat might be luxuries; the stronger he could make such enchantments, the better.
During the third bell, he felt early pangs of hunger, but dinner was still a while away. As he still had a good amount of coin left from what Mistress Rana had paid him, he decided to reward himself with a few pastries from one of the vendors that crowded the square outside the school. As he would only be outside briefly, he did not bother with his cloak, intent on making it a quick errand.
Crossing the square, he regretted not shielding himself against the wind; if nothing else, it encouraged him to quickly make a decision about what to get. Deciding on some almond bread, he approached the relevant stall and held up two fingers to the old crone selling them. She nodded and pushed two pieces towards him while he dug out some coins.
As pastry and payment exchanged hands, Martel cast an idle glance around the square before he turned back towards the Lyceum. His attention was caught by a flash of blue. Trying not to be obvious, he walked a few steps and cast a surreptitious look in the same direction before he hurried inside the Lyceum.
Munching on the bread, he went over what he thought he had seen. Lots of people wore blue, usually along with garments of other colours. This had looked like a uniform, worn by a particular institution.
Martel had no idea why inquisitors would be watching him, but then again, they had done so before, and never for any good reason. And maybe they were keeping an eye on the school in general, rather than him.
Still, Martel would like to know for sure whether he should be alert and expect something from the mage hunters. But he did not wish to confront them and tip his hand that he had noticed their surveillance. He looked down at the second piece of almond bread in his hand and wondered if it would suffice to bribe Eleanor.
***
Leaving the Lyceum a second time, now wearing a proper cloak, Martel crossed the square roughly in the same direction as before. However, he stared straight ahead rather than give any indication that he noticed his surroundings. If he was being followed, he would not know. But Eleanor would, following at a discreet distance.
Martel did not intend for a lengthy trip; it should be simple and quick for Eleanor to ascertain whether someone stalked him. But he did have one trick he wanted to play before returning to the Lyceum. If an inquisitor walked behind him while bold enough to be in uniform, they would presumably also be covered in gold, which to Martel's magic would feel like a walking cold spot.
This did not help him while walking on the main street with lots of other people, whose presence would confuse his magical sense and make it hard to distinguish between them. But if he turned down an alley with few others around, Martel could let his magic feel for the presence of more gold than any commoner would ever possess.
Reaching a location suitable to his purpose, Martel turned a corner to head down a small, empty street. Even as he did this, he caught a flash of the blue uniform out of the corner of his eye, even though he did not look down that direction; the inquisitor needed to learn to keep their distance when surveilling someone.
Unless, of course, they planned to close that distance and attack Martel. But if so, he was not particularly worried, especially with Eleanor further behind. Once away from the crowd and distractions of the main street, Martel let his magic flow in every direction from him. To his surprise, it told him of a large source of heat some ten or twenty paces behind him; it was a little hard to get a feel of the length. Regardless, Martel's assumption about the gold had been wrong.
Feeling more and more curious, Martel saw no reason to tempt fate. He reached the end of the alley and turned another corner, headed straight back for the Lyceum. Perhaps Eleanor had noticed something useful to shed light on his stalker.
The strangest part was, Martel thought he had figured out why he was being watched. He had visited the location of an attack by the maleficar yesterday, and he had asked questions of the locals. It makes sense that the inquisitors would find out about this and decide to watch him, given their suspicious nature. But what sort of mage hunter would wear the blue uniform, yet none of their weapons and defences against magic?
As the school came into sight, Martel began putting the pieces together.
***
Once he had returned, Martel paced back and forth in the entrance hall, too excited to stand still. The clerks at the desks gave him odd looks, but nobody felt like saying anything to a battlemage.
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Finally, Eleanor returned. She moved with hasty steps, appearing as animated as him; perhaps she had realised the same. "You were right!" She looked around. "We should find somewhere quieter to talk."
Seeing the wisdom in that, he nodded and went down one of the corridors. It was dinnertime, meaning the librarian would be absent from his post; quickly, the pair ascended the stairs to enter the deserted library.
"You were right," Eleanor reiterated. "He was following you, and he is not an inquisitor."
"I knew it! I know what he is!"
"I think I figured it out as well!"
They both looked at each other.
"He's the maleficar!" Martel exclaimed.
"He is under a curse!" Eleanor declared.
They shared another look, this time born of confusion. "Alright, you first," Martel said.
"I got a good look at him. At first, I was confused. He followed you really closely, which seemed like an odd risk. Also, he kept bumping into people, and when they reacted or spoke to him, he made only grunting noises, almost like an animal. So I dared getting really close to him myself, and I realised his eyesight is terrible."
"I'm sure that's frustrating for him, but I wouldn't call that a curse."
"Of course not," she replied impatiently. "But I remember from Master Fenrick's lessons. A common element of curses is that they severely hinder the victim's senses, preventing them from seeking help for their affliction. He has bad eyesight, and he sounds like he is mute."
"There could be countless explanations for that, all of which are more plausible than him being cursed. There's not even a mage in Aster who has the power to curse anyone – how would this even have happened to him?"
"Well, the witches of Tyria could have done it," Eleanor argued, though she sounded less certain. "Maybe if you had seen him yourself. His expression was almost vacant, with drool down his chin. He certainly did not seem like a cunning maleficar. What makes you think he is?"
"Well, we agree that he is not an inquisitor? I used my magical sense, and he wore no gold at all. For some reason, he has disguised himself as one of them. For what purpose?" Martel looked at her with a triumphant smile. "If the inquisitors are chasing you, what better disguise? They'll never suspect one of their own. Nor will anybody question his presence near a location where the maleficar struck. If he is audacious enough, he can even use this disguise to infiltrate them and keep track of their investigation."
"I would not tribute such acting skills to the man I saw," Eleanor retorted. "Though admittedly, that might just speak to how good of an actor he is. But why not wear any gold? Surely that makes his disguise less efficient. "
"It would also prevent him from using his spells if he suddenly needs to."
"I thought you believed he did not actually possess magic. You mentioned how he could not even prevent Sparrow from escaping his grasp."
Martel frowned, a little impressed by her memory. "Alright, so I might have been wrong about that. I had less information than I do now."
She crossed her arms, face furrowed in thought. "I admit, your explanation makes more sense. Or," she added in a contemplative voice, "perhaps we are both right."
"How so?"
"Remember the creature we met in the catacombs? The monster made of smoke that sent us fleeing."
"Hard to forget."
"We know curses can change a person's appearance completely. Tyrian witches turning someone into a werewolf. What if the maleficar is the creature? That would explain why chasing one, we found another. Why he does not use magic," she considered. "He is magic."
Martel took a deep breath. "That would really make confronting him a lot more dangerous." His hand went inside the pocket to the rune token he carried around; he had figured it could be used to unbind a jinni in magical chains – could it unbind a curse?
"I would say we have excellent arguments to present to the faculty. They must be the right people to handle this."
Martel shot her a look. "I'm almost surprised you didn't suggest going to the inquisitors with this."
She scoffed. "Accusing someone wearing an inquisitor's uniform of being a maleficar? They will strangle us both just for the heresy of having the thought."
"But we don't have any good proof. This makes sense to us, but from their point of view, we are accusing a man of wearing blue clothes and being swivel-eyed. Why should they listen?"
"If we explain everything in detail, they might believe us." Eleanor did not sound confident in her own claim.
Martel walked over to the window that overlooked the square in front of the school. He saw a blue figure in the distance, but who knew when the villain might leave? Once he did so, they had no hope of finding him again. "We need to act fast. And I think there's a way we can prove that we are right without necessarily confronting him."
"How?"
"Whether maleficar or cursed, he has magic – or he is magic. And we know how to prove that. I have an idea of what to do. Though should something go wrong… Perhaps it's better to be three than two."
***
Maximilian looked from one to the other. "You want to assault an inquisitor? Look, if you could guarantee that nobody would find out, maybe…" His voice trailed off.
"He's only disguised as an inquisitor," Martel explained, trying not to get frustrated. "And we won't fight him. Just lead him down a certain path to step on a particular rune to confirm our suspicions. Once we have proof, we lead him back here, where the teachers will be waiting to deal with him."
"So, what you need me for?" The mageknight crossed his arms. Martel and Eleanor had approached him in his room where he had intended to nap, and he seemed disinclined to change his plans.
"You know, in case something goes wrong… and we have to fight him."
"Maximilian, consider the glory if we uncover the maleficar who has plagued Morcaster for more than two years now," Eleanor added.
"You told me that last time. Pardon me if I'm not convinced."
"But are you willing to risk it? Last time, we were on his trail. Now, he is right outside these walls, just waiting for us to unmask him. Consider what it would do for your career," Martel told him.
"No other praetorian can boast of something like that," came Eleanor's honeyed voice.
Maximilian sighed and looked over his shoulder at his bed. "Can it wait an hour? Preferably two."
Martel shook his head. "It has to be now. We don't know when he might give up watching the castle and wander off." He looked at Eleanor. "I'll get what we need. Meet you both down at the entrance hall."
She gave him an encouraging smile, though tinged with concern. "We will be ready."
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