Taking Matters into Small Hands

Martel left Maximilian's room in defeat. He could not rouse the mageknight. He went to his own room and sat down on his bed, thinking about his options. He could try to persuade the guards on his own, though the actors made that seem unlikely. Or he would have to free Regnar on his own. Lying back in his bed, Martel closed his eyes, thinking. He could scare street children or bullies with his magic, but hardened criminals? Doubtful. It would only work if he snuck his way in and out, avoiding a fight altogether.

Yawning, Martel became aware of feeling drowsy. The hour was late. His anxious energy from racing over here had gone, replaced by disappointment that he could not rouse Maximilian. He simply felt tired.

~

Martel woke by the ringing of the bell. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. He lay on his bed in his clothes from yesterday. From his window, he saw twilight outside. It was morning. The bell that just rung had to be the first of the day.

He had fallen asleep. Regnar. The street children. His plan. Stars, he had messed up.

Martel jumped out of bed. He ran upstairs to reach Maximilian's room. The door unlocked, he barged in to find the snoring mageknight.

"Wake up! Maximilian!"

The acolyte blinked. "Hold your horses," he mumbled. "My head! Who is yelling at this unholy hour?"

"It's me. I need your help."

"Then you better lower your voice, Stars damn you." He reached out to grab a mug of ale on his drawer and emptied it.

"Sorry. But it's urgent. Every moment counts."

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Maximilian blinked a few times and gave him a groggy look. "What is it?"

"Someone's in danger. Regnar. He's been taken. I know how to find him." At least, Martel hoped he did. He sat down on the bed next to his friend. "I need your help to free him."

"Calm your goats, Nordmark," the acolyte mumbled. "Who is this fellow? I have never heard of him."

"He's a hedge mage. He works with the travelling troupe. You remember, we saw their play?"

Maximilian frowned, slowly processing the information. "What? Martel, how long have you known him?"

"Uh, a couple of days. That's hardly relevant."

"If he is in trouble, I would say that is hardly your concern."

"Look, I know where he is. Hopefully. But the city guards won't help someone like him. Not unless someone of rank tells them." Martel stared at him intently.

"He has been taken – you mean, abducted? What for?"

"Ransom."

The mageknight rubbed his temples with each hand. "Martel, imagine ten city guards come marching down the street to where he is held. One look at those uniforms, his captors will slit his throat and abscond."

"I hadn't thought of that." Martel slumped in his seat. "What – what about us? Can we do something?"

The acolyte glanced at the novice. "Mate, all respect, you are learning to make it rain. You are not exactly a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield."

"But you are. You could handle a couple of brigands with ease."

Maximilian stared at him a moment longer before his shoulders visibly relaxed. "True. I could."

"So help me. Please."

"Martel, next time, you let strangers sort out their own mess."

"But this time?"

Maximilian exhaled. "Well, we can take a look. If there are not more bandits than I can handle... It might be a little interesting. The trouble with sparring is you are not allowed to really hurt the other person. It makes it tame."

"Oh, sure." Martel did not quite agree, but whatever convinced Maximilian.

The mageknight reached out to grab his sword belt; apparently he had taken it off during the night and thrown it on the floor. "Let us find this hedge mage of yours."

~

Led by Martel, the pair went to the alleyway where he had recruited the street children the previous night.

"Hello," Martel called out, waiting.

Maximilian glanced around, hands holding his belt. "Strange friends you got."

The boy appeared. "Thought you'd be back last night."

"Yeah, sorry," Martel mumbled. "We got held up. We're ready now."

"Our coin?"

Martel dug out the silver and gave it to the boy.

"Let's go. We got the house. Badger watches the front, and Mouse is in the back."

"Colourful company," Maximilian grunted.

Following the urchin, they moved south to reach the harbour district. Down one street, the street boy suddenly raised his hand. "Stop. There's the house ahead. The hovel with the red-painted door." To Martel's eyes, it looked an ordinary house, if rather worn. They were at the edge of the district near the city wall, far from the main streets and richer neighbourhoods. Their guide gave a loud whistle, and another boy appeared. "Any traffic?"

Badger, who looked to be seven or eight, shook his head. "Not seen any come in or out."

"Let's check with Mouse."

They circled back and approached the house from a different angle, this time reaching the alleyway behind. It looked as dirty and dark as any in the city, with refuse piling up. Far ahead, a man stood leaned up against a house wall. Again, the small street boy whistled.

A girl appeared, as thin and dirty as the others. "Hey, chief."

"What you seen?"

"Nothing since we got here."

"The man with the coin, the one we first followed," Badger interjected, "I think I seen him upstairs. Lying down to sleep."

"Is he guarding our house in question?" Maximilian asked, his voice sounding even deeper when compared to the children. He nodded at the man in the alleyway.

"Yeah," the small chief said, "but they got someone on the upper floor watching the street through the window, so that way in isn't better."

Martel thought about Maximilian's words of what would have happened if the city guard came marching down the street. "Well, we can't go through the back. That guy will yell and alert the others."

"We will have to risk it," the mageknight declared. "Assuming we do this. How many are inside?"

"I've seen two fellows upstairs as said," Badger explained.

"With that guy standing guard that makes three in all, but him I will take out first," Maximilian contemplated. "Even with a few more, I am not worried about those odds." He stretched his shoulders. "I am ready."

"There may be a smarter way," said the street boy. "We can lure that guard away. You can slip in unnoticed. At least that'll let you surprise anyone inside."

"How?" Martel asked.

The boy smiled. "Leave that to us. Question is, you got the coin?"

The novice looked at Maximilian. "I don't have a single penny."

Grumbling, the mageknight found some copper coins and a piece of silver from somewhere in his tunic. "This better be worth it, you little rascals."

Accepting the money, the little chief grinned. "Badger, go ahead."

From afar, they watched the urchin stroll down the alleyway. Just as he walked past the guard, he threw a rock into the man's crotch. The latter bent over with an exclamation, grunting in pain, before he straightened up and ran after Badger.

Maximilian and Martel exchanged looks. "Time to go."

~

Carefully, Maximilian opened the backdoor with his blade drawn. It opened into the ground floor of the house, looking like most of such old homes in Morcaster did, built before the rise of the insulae. All one room, it had a fireplace in the middle for heat and cooking food with benches around, and a table in one end provided a place to eat. No sign of Regnar.

"Upstairs?" Martel whispered, looking at the stairs. Mentally, he prepared himself in case he had to fight.

Maximilian shook a finger and pointed at a hatch next to the table in the room. "Why is the cellar locked?" he asked quietly.

They shuffled over. Martel bent down to grab the padlock. "The guys upstairs must have the key."

Maximilian reached down to push Martel's hand aside. His look became intense for a moment before he ripped the lock straight off the hatch with his empowered strength. "I unlocked it," he remarked. He pulled it open and walked down the stairs into the cellar.

Martel followed straight behind him, igniting a flame in his hand for light. It was much like the storage room at his home in Engby, allowing a cold space for storing food. Dusty shelves filled the walls, holding a few jars. An empty barrel in the corner. And chained with his hands over his head against the opposite wall, Regnar sat.

The pair hurried over. Martel held out his hand, illuminating the hedge mage. His face was bloody and beaten. A thin chain ran down to lock his hands in manacles before going through a rusty ring on the wall.

"Boy, you shouldn't have come," Regnar whispered to Martel.

Maximilian gripped the rusty ring with one hand and pulled to no effect. "What?" he mumbled. He pulled again, straining himself.

"It's gold," Regnar explained, jangling his chain. "Our magic is useless. But my pin. Give me my boot! The left one." He stretched his chained hands down towards his left leg, showing his inability to reach.

"Your boot?" Martel asked confused.

"Yes, hurry, boy!"

Martel pulled the hedge mage's left boot off, unleashing a powerful stench that made him recoil his head. "What now?" he asked as he placed it in Regnar's hands.

"Lads, come on down in the basement!" a cold voice rang out. "We got company."

Regnar's eyes widened in fear. Maximilian and Martel turned around, the former raising his blade. In the other end of the cellar stood a large, one-eyed berserker, blocking the door while hefting a gruesome war hammer in his hands.