Firebrand
Chapter 462: Seeking Refuge

Seeking Refuge

Marching through the Undercroft, Martel felt exhausted. In the physical sense, but also in terms of his magic. Casting the lightning bolt had been beyond his remaining capabilities, being a spell he had yet to finish training. The fire ray after that drained what was left of his spellpower.

He could not even summon the weakest of magelight; he had picked up a lightstone and used that to illuminate his path. It burned so hot in his palm, he had to carry it with his sleeve down to protect his hand; Regnar was an interesting mage, but enchanting was not his main skill.

Each step felt heavier than the last. Martel wanted to lie down and sleep, but it felt dangerous to remain in the Undercroft a moment longer than necessary. He had to keep going; he had to get out.

***

At length, the light from the stone in his hand met resistance. The road ahead all but disappeared as it narrowed in between the cave walls. As he reached the tunnel, Martel cast a final look back at the Undercroft. Nearly all of the vast cavern lay hid in the dark; that included Ruby. He felt guilty for leaving her; she deserved far better for her final rest. But he barely had the strength to get himself back; trying to drag her body had not been feasible. Doing his best to ignore how wrong it seemed that she would lie here in slow decay, Martel continued forward.

***

The next difficulty lay in the guard. If he saw Martel emerge and none of his fellow Night Knives, he could probably guess what had happened. He had the lightstone, which he might throw into the mercenary's face for a distraction. He also had the fire pots in his belt; hopefully his aim would be true.

Once Martel appeared in the cellar, he walked over to the stairs to the upper room and waited. As hard as it was to remain simply standing, he forced himself to do so quietly while he listened.

Moment after moment passed with no sound. Nobody could sit entirely still; either the guard was gone or asleep. Regardless, Martel had to risk it. He pushed the hatch open, keeping the lightstone ready to throw it.

As he stuck his head up, he found the room empty. For one reason or another, the guard had left.

Not about to question his luck, Martel hurried up the stairs as fast as he could, which was not an impressive speed. He threw the lightstone away; it would only attract attention.

He walked outside and found the streets empty and quiet. In the distance, twilight preceding sunrise could be seen. His first lesson would begin in a couple of hours, but the idea of attending class seemed risible. In fact, Martel could not stomach the thought of returning to the Lyceum. Even if it was a sanctuary, he could not handle the idea of being surrounded by people with no knowledge of what had just happened, nor could he imagine explaining it to them. They would talk to him of insignificant matters or make trivial comments, and he had no patience for this.

Instead, he walked south-west towards the market district for the only other safe refuge available to him; with weary steps, he walked towards The Golden Goose.

***

Martel had a splitting headache by the time he arrived. Around him, the city was waking up; first bell had just rung. He walked around the back of the tavern to enter through the less conspicuous entrance, only to replace the door locked. Placing his hand on the handle, he tried to summon his magic to unlock it. It was like striking flint in vain; he felt sparks of magic in him, but nothing ignited. His exhaustion left him on the verge of vomiting just for the attempt.

Instead, he knocked heavily and repeatedly. Finally, the shutters of a nearby window opened, and the face of a small boy appeared. "Martel!"

"Ian, let me in."

The boy disappeared from view; moments later, the door unlocked. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to see Regnar. I can't talk." He stepped inside.

"Alright. He's probably still asleep, though."

Martel simply grunted and continued deeper into the building, navigating the hallways until he reached Regnar's room. Once again, a locked door.

It took insistent knocking before the hedge mage finally opened, looking at Martel with red eyes. "You look terrible. What happened?"

Martel entered, closing the door behind him. "We got ambushed on our way to the council. Everyone else but me is dead. Including my friend." He sat down on the bed, replaceing it difficult to stand any longer.

Regnar sat down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that, lad."

"I warned her," Martel continued, and he found it difficult to control his voice. "And I wasn't strong enough. I killed them, but it was too late."

The old mage squeezed his shoulder. "There's great power in magic, but it has its limits. And it doesn't make it easier to lose someone."

Martel swallowed. He did not know what else to say. No words could untangle the knot of pain in his chest. But he would not let this go. These Nine Lords had treated him like a fool and a pawn ever since he came to Morcaster, and now they had killed someone under his protection.

But he was not invincible. He had to consider how to proceed, or a gold-tipped arrow or blade might replace him as well. Most of all, he needed to replenish his powers. "I need to sleep."

Regnar nodded. "Take my bed. I'll let the others know to keep quiet about your presence here. And if anyone comes looking for you, we'll give you warning."

Martel mumbled his gratitude, wasting only a brief moment to unclasp his cloak and remove it before he sank into the bed. He had barely closed his eyes before he fell into a deep slumber.