Cornered

Walking home from the copper lanes third night in a row, the young men's mood was reversed from previous trips. Their purse was empty, their confidence shaken from being caught, and the threat of expulsion from the Lyceum, should their illicit activities be revealed, hung over their heads.

"You should have told me about the ring."

"I was embarrassed," Maximilian defended himself. "My father had it made and given to me when I joined the Lyceum, a sign of his pride in his mageborn son. Should one of his political rivals get their hands on it, it would make a mockery of both him and me."

All the trouble they were in, just for pride. "Why didn't you just ask your father for the coin?"

"He already gives me an allowance that I require for my daily needs. I could not very well explain the reason why I suddenly needed a hundred extra silvers."

Stupid, stupid pride.

"You will do it, right?" the young nobleman asked.

Walking on empty streets to the distant sounds of cats fighting, dogs barking, and sounds stranger than that, Martel thought back on the conversation with Kerra and the choice she had put before him.

~

"I want you to fight." Kerra's words rang through her study.

Martel sat gobsmacked, forgetting to close his mouth. "I can't fight," he finally protested.

"You have magic." Kerra stared at him as if she somehow understood sorcery better than he did.

"Yes, I can blow wind around or make ripples in water. I cannot wield weapons or punch people, and I certainly can't take any punches," Martel tried to explain.

"You're not entirely useless," Maximilian argued. "You have been in a few fights, and you do have a little empowering skill. Certainly enough to beat someone with none."

Martel looked from the crime lord to the nobleman and realised he was on his own. "My skill is elemental. If I use anything like that, I will be found out immediately. I've got no talent for the kind of magic useful in a physical fight."

"Then I suggest you learn swiftly." Any hint of the affable smile had left Kerra's face. "Tomorrow evening, I expect to be informed that you entered Tibert's tavern and agreed to fight for him. If not, I already have a messenger ready to go to the Lyceum, detailing your actions and relevant witnesses."

"I can't win," Martel tried to object.

"Losing a few fights is not an issue. In fact, it might even drive up your odds. As long as you put on a good spectacle and keep coming back. Eventually, you will earn your way to fight Tibert's top brawler, Leatherfist."

"I don't want to know why he's called that," the novice mumbled.

"He has never lost a fight. The odds of a gangly creature like you beating him would be insane. When you do, Tibert will lose so much coin, that should cure him of any desire to move on my business," Kerra claimed.

To Martel, this plan seemed far less fool-proof than she suggested. Sure, from her point of view, it was worth the attempt; she lost nothing if Martel got beaten to a pulp. He, on the other hand, stood to lose all his teeth. And he had no doubt the punishment meted out by the Lyceum, if he were discovered taking part in prize fights, would be the same as the one for gambling.

"Martel, I will be by your side," Maximilian guaranteed.

The novice looked at his friend. "In the ring?" he asked sharply.

"Not physically next to you. You know, I will be there to encourage and support you. Get you back on the horse," the mageknight said helpfully.

"And what happens when I keep losing fights and I never get to meet this – Ironfist?" Martel asked, looking at Kerra.

"I am not unreasonable. If all your attempts fail, and it is clear you cannot stand a chance of beating any of Tibert's top fighters, I will consider our matter closed. Of course, that means I keep your friend's ring with an increased appraisal of its value. In fact, its price will only increase day by day." Her cordial smile returned.

Maximilian growled, and Martel feared for a moment that the mageknight might spring into action, dagger drawn. But he wore no armour, and his magical shield would not stop a knife with a blade made from gold. "May I consider it, at least?" Martel quickly asked, hoping to keep Maximilian from doing anything drastic.

Kerra gave a nod. "Certainly. As I mentioned, I will await a report from my man in Tibert's tavern tomorrow night. You have until then."

Not much of a reprieve, but Martel had no room to negotiate. He got on his feet. After a moment's hesitation, so did Maximilian.

Kerra nodded at her guards. "Show our visitors out."

~

Soft rain fell over Morcaster, slowly soaking the two young mages on their way home. Ahead, illuminated by moonlight against the horizon, the Lyceum waited for them with its promise of a dry bed, though Martel could not imagine sleeping soundly this night.

"You will do it, right?"

Maximilian's repeated question pulled Martel from his memory of the conversation with Kerra. "I don't have much choice, do I? It's all right for you, but if I get thrown out of school, I'll be in debt for the rest of my life."

"Expulsion will have consequences for me too," the mageknight protested. "At the very least, my father will disown me."

"I can't wait to think of all the excuses I'll need to explain why my face is all bruised, lying to all of my teachers day after day."

"Hardly the first time you've lied to them, I believe. Simply claim that you sparred with me, and I got a bit too eager," Maximilian suggested. "In fact we should do that regardless. I have seen you, you are hopeless in a fight where you cannot use your elemental tricks."

"You told that crazy woman that I could win!"

"I exaggerated a little. In your current state, probably not. With my help, definitely. I imagine."

Martel sent him a dirty look as they escaped from the rain to enter through the gates of the Lyceum. "If not, I'll volunteer you to take my place."

"Fair."