From the Tenth

As no fights were hosted on Peldays in The Copper Drum, Martel managed to get inside the tavern with relative ease. The common room still seemed filled with guests, but he could at least make his way through the crowd. His height also helped him locate his quarry; armed with several mugs of ale, Martel walked over to where Lothar and Oak – Cornelius sat.

"You know how to make yourself welcome, at least," the older veteran growled, seeing what occupied Martel's hands. They moved their chairs a little, making room for the novice to sit down.

"I thought you might like to know that Leatherfist paid me a visit the other night."

"That explains why your face looks like a Sindhian scarf," Cornelius remarked.

"I thought you mages had all these tricks to prevent exactly that." Lothar made a circular motion in the direction of Martel's face.

"He caught me by surprise, got the first punch in," the young wizard said in defence of himself. "I dealt with him, though. Handed him over to the guards, so I assume he'll get his punishment."

"The galleys are too good for that rotten bastard," Cornelius sneered through his wooden teeth. "A pity they won't sentence a cripple like him to pull an oar."

"Not sure what they do with someone like him," Lothar considered. "Not much use in the mines either."

"Either way, we are well rid of him. Loathsome brute," Cornelius muttered.

"Aye. Nothing good comes from the Tenth." The older of the veterans sipped from his mug. "We fight to put on a show, earn some silver, but he did it because he loves the violence."

"He mentioned that when he attacked me. The Tenth, that is. Something about showing how they did it. What did he mean by that?" Martel asked.

"The Tenth Legion. Legio Astra." Cornelius mumbled the words, sucking on his false teeth.

"What's so bad about them? Aren't you all former legionaries?" The novice looked at his companions, who exchanged glances.

Lothar crossed his arms. "Look, respect where it's due. The Tenth has the toughest posting in all the Empire. Stars, we might have lost the war long ago without them."

"What kind of post do they have?"

The old veteran scratched his scar across his eye. "They hold the hills east of the Savena delta. Constant skirmishes with Khivans, sharpshooters hiding behind every tree… Any man who makes it out of the Tenth alive has to be tough as nails. But you can't live through that kind of Nether-cursed ordeal without your mind getting warped."

"That may all be true, but that leather-gloved bastard was born this way, I bet," Cornelius argued. "He only left the legion because they wouldn't have him with one hand. You could see it in his eyes whenever he entered the ring. He'd do it for free just for the chance to hurt someone."

"Especially since he was cheating to always win," Martel remarked.

The two fighters stared at him. "How in Sol's name did you find that out?"

"Oh, I never told you. Lothar, you were right about the alchemist he always visited. He bought this concoction that he poured onto his glove. Once he hit you, and you absorbed it through your skin, it made you slow, tired."

Cornelius scowled. "You sure about this?"

Martel nodded. "It's alchemy. I learn alchemy."

"That mongrel used cheating, and he took my teeth? I'll wring his neck if I get my hands on him!"

"Be a good lad and get us another round, will you?" Lothar asked of Martel, digging up some coins. "I think he's going to need it."

~

When Martel was able to return, stocked up on drink, Cornelius had calmed down a bit. He still looked angry as he grabbed his beer, but his mutterings had ceased.

Martel, on the other hand, had remembered that Leatherfist would not be the only man with a score to settle. "Have you heard anything about Tibert?" Mainly, whether he was prone to hide in ruined buildings to ambush young mages on their way home from the copper lanes.

"I haven't been back at The Broken Crown. I've done him no wrong, but he's a man with a temper. Last I heard, he had trouble getting anyone past the doors. He might have bribed the guards to overlook what happened, but nobody wants to drink where riots took place," Lothar considered.

"Plenty of other taverns down the street with better reputation," Cornelius added.

Martel felt calmer hearing this. If Tibert was busy trying to keep his establishment afloat, he had better things to do than track down 'Stallion' looking for revenge.

The novice finished his drink and bid his companions farewell. He could have stayed a while longer, as the night was still young, but he had an errand to run before he could make it home. With a long walk ahead of him, he left The Copper Drum.

~

His errand took Martel to the Khivan enclave. To get there, he had to cross the harbour district, which he did with his hood up. None accosted him; he walked along the docks, some distance from The Broken Crown that lay nearer the market. Still, he was glad once the port lay behind him.

At length, he reached his destination. Crossing the small square with its temple and fountain, Martel found it empty at this late hour. The solitude and light of the half-moon made the place look eerie, reminding him of the aftermath from the riots – the unnerving change from sounds of fighting and screams to sudden quiet after the fighting had ended, and broken bodies scattered across the square.

He hurried onwards, approaching the watchmaker's home. He did not knock or enter, given the time; Master Farhad would not appreciate his presence, Martel guessed. Instead, he slipped a letter in an envelope addressed to Shadi under the door. His errand complete, the novice began the last leg of his journey home to the Lyceum.