Shared Spoils

At breakfast, the same spectacle happened as last night's supper. Once Martel had taken a seat, novices and acolytes alike filled the table. A few asked eager questions of Martel, but his curt responses curtailed their inquisitive behaviour; he was not in the mood to relive the events.

"Move over." Maximilian's words made several of the students hurry to make room for him, allowing him to sit opposite Martel.

"Maximilian, how was it to fight a berserker?" someone asked.

"Quiet," the mageknight growled. He looked at Martel. "I got something for you." He pulled out a heavy purse and threw it with a thud onto the table. "Your share, Nordmark."

"My share? Of what?"

"We apprehended a dangerous criminal." Maximilian grinned. "One with magical powers, even. A reward is only suitable."

The other students stared with envious looks, but none of them dared speak.

"Return the purse to me when you can," the mageknight continued. "It is my third-best."

"Sure. How is your nose?"

"I could not be more thrilled," Maximilian claimed.

"How so?"

"Now I have a great story whenever someone asks me how I broke my nose."

~

Counting the coins, Martel found himself thirty silvers richer. One afternoon of danger had yielded the same payment as thirty bells of work. He saw the appeal.

When his second combat lesson arrived, he tossed the purse back to Maximilian. "Thanks," the mageknight grinned. "Satisfied with your plunder?"

"It's more coin than I've ever owned," Martel admitted.

"A poor peasant, what a surprise," Cheval jeered.

Nobody laughed. Martel slowly turned his head to look at him. He could not fathom why he had ever been afraid of the acolyte. Some rain and mud had been enough to defeat him. Martel knew that if it ever came to a fight, he would torch the mageknight.

Cheval met his withering gaze for a moment before he made a sneering sound and walked away.

With a faint smile, Martel looked at Maximilian again. "The players are giving a new performance on Manday. We are invited."

"Why not? We deserve a good show."

A displeased voice cut through. "If you have time to stand around, you have missed the point of this class." Reynard entered the gymnasium. "Fetch your weapons and get to training."

"Have you heard, master?" said one mageknight. "Maximilian here defeated a Tyrian berserker."

"I did." Their teacher nodded at Maximilian. "A noteworthy feat."

Despite being overlooked, Martel decided not to speak up. Choosing his battles, this was an unnecessary one; he did not need any more attention or acknowledgement than he already received, least of all from Reynard.

"You should all take heed. The enemy is not only at our border, but in this very city. Tyrians, Khivans, they fill our streets with violence, undermining us from within," the Master of War continued.

Martel clenched his fists. He caught Eleanor's gaze, and she shook her head at him. He did not take her hint. "Yet the Tyrian had three accomplices, Asterians all," the novice spoke up.

"Criminal scum," Reynard replied, his eyes moving over his students. "No surprise they threw their lot in with a Tyrian. Thankfully, good and decent citizens outnumber these brigands many times over."

"So all Tyrians are criminals, but Asterian criminals are just a few bad apples," Martel considered. "How convenient."

The teacher glanced at the novice with an overbearing look. "I am not surprised a half-blood has trouble understanding. Now, get your weapons and start practising. As for you, weather boy, stay out of my way. I am tired of wasting time on you."

~

His classes done, Martel had two errands in town. His purse heavy with silver, he kept it tight in his grip as he moved through the crowd of both customers and peddlers hawking their goods. Avoiding offers of food and drink, clothes of every kind, and cures for all ailments under the sun, Martel made his way through the market district. Approaching the harbour quarter, he entered a particular alleyway.

This time, the children appeared before he even spoke, and they did not have their hands ready to draw weapons.

"I'm here to pay you your share," Martel told them.

"For what?" asked the boy that acted as their chief.

"A dangerous criminal was captured, and we got a reward." He counted out fifteen silver coins. "These are for you." He placed them in the urchin's hands, who could barely contain them all.

The boy's eyes widened before they regained their hard edge. "You're alright. For a longshanks." The other children gathered around, staring at the money.

Martel imagined that was the greatest compliment he could receive from these children. "Thanks. If I ever need criminals watched, I know where to go."

"I'll find one for you right now," Badger suggested. "Or two! Three!"

"Of course, our price will go up," the chief added. "After all, we've proven that we're worth it." His companions clamoured in agreement, and Martel chuckled as he left them.

~

Martel's other errand took him across the harbour, full of sailors now that spring allowed ships from Sindhu to reach Morcaster, before he reached the Khivan enclave. Here and there, he saw small groups of drunks, clearly enjoying the spring faire; notably, they were Asterians, and he wondered why they would come to the Khivan quarter, which neither held their homes nor the festivities.

They all eyed him suspiciously, a few throwing remarks after him, which he ignored; he could barely understand their slurred words anyway. He reached the watchmaker's shop and knocked. From a window upstairs, Shadi's head appeared.

"Martel! I'm sorry, I don't think my dad will let me go out tonight."

"That's alright. Honestly, my legs are tired. I've crossed half of Morcaster and back."

She leaned out further, looking at his face in the waning sunlight. "What happened?" she exclaimed.

He ran his fingers over his bruise. "It's a funny story. Or not funny, but if you let me in, I'll tell you all about it."