Three's a Crowd

Martel kept to himself all through Manday, waiting for tonight. He felt the weird mix of anticipation and anxiety brewing inside of him, threatening to reach a boiling point. He was not concerned about the fight as such, being two mages against a group of brigands. Yet he knew a moment of hesitation could cost him dearly. These thoughts remained in conflict within him, feeling confident one moment, concerned the next. It made him restless, unable to focus on much else. He spent the afternoon in his room, practising a few spells with poor concentration while looking at his Khivan clock every other moment.

As soon as supper was served, Martel ate heartily and left the castle straight after. For the third day in a row, he walked towards the harbour district and his new allies, trying to keep his emotions under lock.

They greeted him curtly, which either spoke towards their own state of mind being similar to his, or maybe it was simply discipline asserting itself, keeping them focused on the task at hand. They all changed into armour, and Martel was glad he had spent the time to become accustomed to chain shirts; the heavy weight of the iron made him feel calm, protected. With weapons distributed, they set out.

***

It took them perhaps an hour walking directly east. Even if still early in the evening, the sun had set, casting the streets into darkness except for the enchanted lamps posted along the main thoroughfares. They eventually left those, peering into the poorer neighbourhoods that straddled the border between the bridge district and the Khivan enclave. The buildings did not change, all of them being the cheap wooden houses common to this part of the city; only the appearance of the inhabitants determined when they strayed into the enclave and when they returned to the bridge district.

"I'll sneak around and enter through the back once I hear you've started the festivities," Flora told her companions. "Stay behind Marcus, do as he says, and you'll be fine," she added to Martel before she disappeared into an alley.

"That's the house just ahead, with the one man on guard outside," Marcus explained. Martel glanced in the direction, seeing the building as described. "You got a spell to knock a man out?"

"I can hit him with a blast of wind," Martel suggested. He adjusted the mask covering his face. "That should slam him back against the house and on the ground."

"Good enough. When we get inside and things heat up, I'll stay in front of you to keep them back. But you have to cast your spells quickly. I can hold back maybe three at a time, staying offensive, but more than that, they'll overwhelm me. And if any of them get past me, you don't hesitate. Understood?" The Night Knife warrior stared at his companion, wearing the same surcoat as himself.

"Got it."

"Good. Get that first spell ready. As soon as he reacts to our approach, you hit him with it. Come along." Marcus set into motion, walking down the street in the direction of the house. Quickly catching up, Martel followed.

Ten paces away, the guard outside took notice of them and became suspicious enough to place one hand on the hilt of his short sword. In reaction, Martel blasted wind at him, pouring spellpower into his magic just to be certain of the effect.

The thug flew backwards, hitting the wall before falling to the ground. Immediately, Marcus closed the distance and pummelled him in the head, knocking him out. Grabbing the unconscious man by the neck collar, he stepped forward and kicked the door in. As he walked through, still pulling the fallen guard with him, Martel rushed to follow.

Within, he saw five men, all of them looking rough and grim. They had different weapons, some of them looking professional, others makeshift. He noticed their collection of scars and in some cases, missing fingers, ears, or more. None of them strangers to war. All of them had gotten to their feet, brandishing their arms while staring at the intruders.

Letting go of their comrade, who fell to the floor, Marcus unclasped his cloak to reveal his surcoat with its emblem. "Listen carefully. You are not welcome here. Lady Pearl has seen fit to send the Night Knives to drive you out, and believe me, you lack the numbers and skill to win a fight against us. You have one opportunity to collect your friend and leave the bridge district. Refuse, and you'll lose even more limbs than you're already missing."

"Kill them!"

***

Drawing his axe and raising his shield, Marcus stepped in front of Martel. He kicked the nearest furniture to create an obstacle on his left while swinging his weapon at an attacker on his right.

Safe in the back for now, Martel knew he needed to make the most of it. He launched several bolts of fire, some of them hitting their target. Yet they did not accomplish what he had hoped, sending their enemies into panic. They extinguished the flames on their clothes and turned their attention on him.

"Boy's a mage!"

One of them jumped over a table to get past Marcus on the far left and slashed at the novice with his sword. Remembering his recent training, trusting in his armour, Martel met the blow with his forearm. The chain shirt held against the blade, and Martel unleashed a ray of flames straight into the man's chest. This time, he poured spellpower into his magic, creating flames that could not simply be extinguished. As his attacker retreated in terror, Martel kept the spell going and aimed the fire at an enemy behind him. Too slow; his target dodged.

The whistle of an arrow caught Martel's attention, and he saw it strike directly into Marcus’s chest. Quickly, Martel threw a gust of wind at the archer in the back, who had appeared from the upper floor. That disrupted the bowman, but two more came running down the stairs. They were badly outnumbered by far more enemies than expected.

Dropping to the ground, Martel repeated his spell from before. Bursts of flame shot out from the palm of his hand, now aimed just a little above the floor. He struck two people around their ankles, setting their trousers on fire. This time, it worked as intended, and they dropped their weapons while trying to put out the flames.

From all sides, Marcus took blows. Martel could feel himself been drained of magic, having eagerly spent his spellpower on his first spells. He had enough for a few more, but he would have to make them count. At least six enemies remained, and the archer had returned to the fight; Martel had reacted on instinct, choosing a poor spell rather than something that would disable him permanently.

The backdoor burst open, revealing Flora. A wall of earth shot up from the ground, breaking through the boards of the floor. The brigands in the back were now separated from their companions fighting Marcus, who eagerly went on the offensive, swinging his axe. Rocks flew through the air, striking their enemies.

However intense the fight, it ended quickly. Faced with two mages, the bandits fled if able; the others lay on the ground, groaning or unconscious.

"What kept you?" Marcus asked.

"Guard at the backdoor took a moment longer than I thought," Flora replied with a smile. "Well done, boys."

***

They left the fight soon after, their task done. "How was it, Martel?" Flora asked.

Frightening, but also exhilarating, he thought. "It was fine."

"Good to know I didn't misjudge you. Come by the apartment tomorrow afternoon?" she suggested. "I'll have collected payment from Lady Pearl by then, and she may already have another job for us. She hinted as much when I spoke to her last. Always one to tease, that one."

"Sounds good." At this rate, Martel would settle his debts in no time.