A Nest of Snakes

Glunday saw the continuation of Martel practising his fire ray spell. The boredom nearly drove him to turn his spell on Moira instead, but he restrained himself; at least he was spared detention or insults from her harsh tongue, as she busied herself with the other acolytes, still practising their wall of flames.

His work in the apothecary passed without any visit from Mistress Rana; as she did not give him any new list of ingredients to memorise, that meant he would be practising the fortitude potion again for tomorrow's labour in her laboratory. Martel did not mind as such; given how useful the tincture promised to be, he was happy to learn it to perfection. His only concern lay in the rarity of the ingredient; the Sindhian honey seemed expensive if even possible to obtain, since it had to be brought to Morcaster from across the sea. Still, it was good to learn and master the recipe.

With his chores done and supper eaten, Martel left the Lyceum at a leisurely pace; the hour approached for Martel to meet the Silver Serpent for the second and final time.

***

The man in question sat waiting as promised at The Golden Goose. Martel made his way towards his table, nodding in greeting as he sat down.

"Something to drink?" Charles asked.

"No thanks." Although thirsty, Martel did not plan to stay long. And he felt wary about accepting anything from people these days, especially when he was about to disappoint them. "I just came to say that while I appreciate your offer, I won't take you up on it."

"I see." The insinuation of a smile vanished from the islander's face. "May I ask why? If you have doubts, perhaps I can dispel them."

"Too many things tie me to Aster," the wizard replied truthfully. He did not know which bond exactly had tipped the scale, but the thought of leaving everyone and everything behind was simply too hard to bear. He would take his chances on the battlefield and hope that despite the years, his friends and family would greet him when he returned. The war had already lasted for over a decade; perhaps by the mercy of Sol, it would end soon. "But I'm flattered by the offer. If I had been free to come and leave Morcaster, I might have accepted."

The islander regarded the mage, and Martel could not tell what thoughts whirled behind the blank expression. "Very well," Charles finally said. "I wish you safe paths wherever you may tread."

"Same to you," Martel replied, assuming this was an islander saying or the like. He got up, bowed his head in farewell, and left The Golden Goose. His room back at the Lyceum waited for him.

He stopped on the way to enter another tavern, where he bought a small slice of pork wrapped in bread seasoned with garlic, adding a cup of ale to wash it down with. Having enough silver in his pocket to simply buy such luxuries without a second thought felt like such a blessing, Martel thought, paying the tavernkeeper; not to mention that he might walk down the street and find a vendor who could sell it to him without delay. Such a different place compared to Engby, and how different Martel was, compared to when he first arrived. Most of all, he no longer hid his magic, but celebrated it.

All in all, Martel did not regret coming to Morcaster; he hoped that he would not regret either staying in the city for as long as he could.

***

Their meeting done, the islander who called himself Charles also left the tavern. He walked south to enter a house not far from the docks, though still considered part of the market district. The building was small and old, wedged in between a large insula on one side and a prosperous butcher's shop on the other. The smell from the latter proved a pervasive influence; even once inside the old house, the stench of blood and butchered animals found its way through the cracks in the wooden boards.

Another islander sat on a stool by the cooking fire in the middle of the room, stirring the contents of the pot. The smell of herbs rising from the soup battled with the smell coming from their neighbour. "Well?"

'Charles' shook his head. "He rejected the offer and gave some vague excuse. Just as I knew. He is still in league with the Night Knives."

The other islander slowed his stirring. He had a serpentine buckle in his belt and the same symbol written in ink upon his hand. "We cannot know for sure. We have only heard rumours, and those same whispers spoke of discord between this wizard and his black-clad allies. Our own eyes in the city have yet to see proof of this alliance."

"They will soon enough. Keala is watching him?"

"Yes, he waited for him outside the tavern. You did not see?"

'Charles' shrugged. "He would be a poor Serpent if I noticed him." He stretched his neck. "Tama, this mage is undoubtedly the same as showed up to the artefact trader."

"How certain are you?"

"Completely. Young, blue eyes, red robes, tall. He fit the description perfectly." The islander wet his lips. "What more proof do you need? He is not only investigating our activities, he is doing so in the company of the very people we are trying to destroy. He must be dealt with."

Tama finally stopped stirring the soup. "I was warned by our superiors to avoid entanglement with this school they call the Lyceum. It would be a drastic move, I am given to understand."

"And yet they barely give us resources to work with!" came the frustrated reply. "If we are to succeed in gaining a foothold in the city, we need either coin or bold action. The money from our last job is nearly spent."

Tama began pouring soup into a bowl. "Patience, my brother. Here, eat." He extended the food towards his companion, who gave an annoyed look but nonetheless accepted the bowl.