Firebrand

Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

Arriving at the apothecary the next day, Martel wondered a little to find Mistress Rana present. She rarely spent this much time in the workshop, though Nora had been absent for some days, going on her trip to visit the Stone of Archen, which did leave certain tasks unattended.

"What do you have for me today, mistress?"

She turned around to look at him. "Plenty. But there is something we should discuss first."

Martel swallowed. He thought everything had been resolved, leaving him in the clear, but now he suddenly feared that his clandestine actions would bear rotten fruit.

"I wondered at where you had obtained the materials for your little project in the copper lanes. I know you did not take anything from the apothecary."

"I would never," Martel impressed upon her. Besides knowing that Mistress Rana kept records of ingredients and remedies, the thought of stealing, violating the trust shown him, made the novice feel awful. "I pay for everything myself."

She nodded. "Master Jerome told me as much when I asked around. You have been busy doing chores for him."

"Yeah, it's not bad pay. And really the only option open to me." In general, the Lyceum frowned on its students doing any kind of work outside the school; it was not only undignified, but half-trained novices selling their magical skills presented a danger to everyone.

"When you first came here, we agreed that you would work one bell for free each morning. But the other day, preparing the mixtures for Master Kelsos, you worked an additional two bells in the afternoon, if not more." She put her hand into her pocket and withdrew something metallic that jangled. As she let it dump into Martel's palm, he saw four silver coins.

"This is so much!" Twice what he earned in the workshops with Master Jerome.

Mistress Rana gave one of her rare, thin smiles. "Skilled work pays better."

~

For his first lesson on this particular Manday, Martel knew exactly what to ask. Master Fenrick had told him not to investigate the matter further, but the novice trusted that his teacher would not deny any seeking knowledge. He never did before.

As soon as Master Fenrick entered the classroom, Martel ambushed him rather than let him get settled into another topic. "How do rituals work?"

Some of the novices rolled their eyes at the eager student in their midst, always asking questions.

The teacher gave Martel a scrutinising look. "I can guess the cause for your curiosity. That particular topic is not relevant for our lesson today."

"I was just wondering, as I heard we use them at the Lyceum too. Master Jerome uses rituals, doesn't he?" Martel hoped that his face wore the appropriate innocent expression, dangling a little more bait in front of the purple-robed man.

Master Fenrick grumbled a little before he nodded. "Roughly said, though plenty of exceptions exist, you can divide rituals into two different methods and two different purposes. A ritual may combine either method with either purpose. As for the former, we separate between those requiring any number of items, symbols, or even intonation, and those that are a pure expression of magical energy without any kind of aid from objects."

Martel thought about the basement in the copper lanes with its mark on the floor. "Why would someone need symbols, and others wouldn't?"

"Usually due to the origin, that is, which school of magic created the ritual in the first place. As you might have guessed, Tyrian rituals require singing, although I hesitate to consider their discordant noise as such." Master Fenrick smiled at his own jest. The novices just looked bewildered – the few paying attention, at least. "Enchanting, on the other hand, is done solely with magic, except for the item in question to be bespelled, of course."

"And what about the different purposes?"

"To put it crudely, rituals either seek to create an immediate or a permanent effect. The first would be done to a person, altering them somehow. The second to a place, such as the wards that protect the Lyceum – or enchanting objects, as mentioned."

Obviously, the maleficar had no intentions of laying any spells on the abandoned house in the slums. Perhaps he intended to enchant something like a weapon, but he had already claimed several victims. From what Master Jerome had told Martel, an item once bespelled could rarely if ever receive another enchantment; they would clash, usually causing one to ruin the other. Nor could it be strengthened by a second casting. It seemed most likely that the evil sorcerer intended for a ritual to be cast upon a person, such as poor Sparrow – or perhaps the warlock himself.

~

Passing through the common room on his way to his chamber, Martel noticed Maximilian sitting in the corner with a cup. The young viscount usually joined others for games of cards or chance, but he seemed subdued in mood. Late nights in the copper lanes had taken a toll not only on Martel, it seemed.

Martel had begun walking up the stairs when he became indecisive. He still felt slighted by Maximilian when the mageknight had humiliated him and thrown his poverty into his face. But it had been a while now, Martel missed his friend, and they had been through another experience together, which called for reconciliation. Turning back, he approached the acolyte.

"I was thinking we could go out tonight," Martel suggested. He withdrew his new hoard of silver from his pocket. "Beer is on me, at least while this lasts." It felt absolutely frivolous to suggest spending four birds simply on drink for himself and his friend, but Martel felt rich, which was a rare feeling for him, and he wanted to savour it.

Maximilian set his cup aside and slowly rose. He let a heavy hand fall down on Martel's shoulder. "Finally, Nordmark, you show initiative. The Golden Goose awaits!"

The novice frowned. "Didn't they ban you?"

"Only from gambling. They still want my coin. Or in this case, yours."

Martel shrugged. "The Golden Goose it is."