Burnout

Malday saw the continued training of the fire acolytes in mail armour, and it seemed some of them took it more seriously after yesterday's lecture on golden bullets. Martel, already accustomed to the weight and feel, allowed his mind to dwell on other matters while the staff in his hands parried blows.

Flora needed to pay. Kerra had done the same to him, using his life as bait for a trap, and Martel had been forced to accept it; going to war with one of the Nine Lords as a novice at the time had not seemed feasible, and one way or the other, it would probably have gone poorly for him.

Not that he had given up entirely on the idea of one day repaying Kerra as well.

But Flora first. Martel was not the same naïve and untrained novice anymore. He had far more spells and control of his magic available to him now. Furthermore, he did not fear retaliation. The Night Knives had much fewer resources at their disposal, and Flora herself had shown Martel how to protect himself. To that end, in between classes, he sat down in his room and wrote down a letter detailing various events taking place between him and the Night Knives, making sure to mention Flora by name and profession, including a description of her appearance.

Deployed correctly, that would protect him from further harm inflicted by the Night Knives. That left the question of how to punish the earthmage for her conspiracy.

An attack in return seemed the most obvious answer, but Martel knew that was out of the question. Not due to fear, as Martel felt capable of taking her on in a fight and emerge the victor, but simply because it felt too similar to cold-blooded murder. Even if she survived, she would be horribly maimed and suffer intense pain from his flames. No matter how angry, Martel could not make himself do that just for the sake of vengeance. His mother would be horrified at the thought of her son doing such a thing, and he could imagine how it would have disappointed his father.

Setting the house on fire was another option that did not necessarily involve gruesome mutilation or death. However, it posed other problems. The fire might spread uncontrollably to other houses in the district. Even if Martel assumed he could control it, some unexpected development, such as being forced to defend himself against a regiment of Night Knives streaming out of the burning compound, might prevent him from containing the blaze. Having seen the damage done to the Khivan quarter, Martel would not be responsible for this happening elsewhere. Besides, someone would probably notice him starting the fire, and it was difficult to argue self-defence against a building.

Searching his memory for what he remembered of their headquarters, Martel finally decided on his choice of action during supper. His meal finished, Martel returned to his room briefly. He put the letter he had written earlier into an envelope and wrote the name of Mistress Juliana on the outside, afterwards placing it on his writing desk where it lay easily visible. His preparations done, Martel left the Lyceum.

***

On the horizon, the sun slowly set. Walking eastwards towards the bridge district, Martel its light behind him and could enjoy its dark yellow rays colouring the path before him. Reaching his destination, he looked upon the house that served as home for the Night Knives. None of them were visible on the street, but he could hear them on the other side of the wall that surrounded their yard. Walking up to the door, Martel gave it a heavy knock.

A warrior in the expected surcoat opened the door. He stared at Martel, either recognising him or simply recognising a wizard on his threshold, leaving him momentarily mute, it seemed.

Not a problem. Martel had come to deliver a message; it only mattered if the man's ears worked. He glanced behind the man to look into the yard and see it as he more or less remembered. "Tell Flora that when she is done putting out the fire, I'll be waiting for her on the other side of the street."

The Night Knife narrowed his eyes. "What are you on about?"

Martel nodded for the man to look over his shoulder; at the same time, he ignited everything within the yard. Crates and barrels with provisions, tents, surcoat, weapons rack and so on. Anything that would burn caught on fire. As the mercenaries shouted and ran around, Martel crossed the street to sit down on a stone and watch the spectacle through the open door. All in all, the conflagration was limited, and even Flora should have enough water magic to put it out.

His vantage point did not allow him to witness as the latter happened, but he felt the flames disappearing and saw black smoke rise above the garden wall. Moments later, Flora marched out towards him, the soldiers under her command following some distance behind. "That was months' worth of supplies!"

Martel stood up to face her, enjoying that the height difference allowed him to look down. "What I took from you can be replaced with coin. You tried to take my life from me, Flora. Be grateful."

"I have done no such thing! I would never be so foolish!"

"No, not directly. But you lay all the groundwork for the Silver Serpents to turn their daggers on me. You wanted them destroyed, and you were happy for me to die in the process." He stared at her in anger.

"If this were true, the Lyceum would have torched our home by now."

"Spare me. I did not come to hear excuses, but to deliver two messages. You have received the first. The second is this." He made sure to keep his eyes locked on hers. "I have written a letter describing my work with the Night Knives. But I added how I now fear for my life, and that I expect your mercenary band will seek to kill me after I defied you at the Four Flagon Tavern. Being true, the Lyceum should have no difficulty verifying these events. I made sure to describe you in excruciating detail, Flora. If anything happens to me, that letter will find its way to the overseer and unleash the same Nether-born storm upon your organisation as revisited upon the Silver Serpents. So you better pray that no further attempts on my life take place."

She opened her mouth, but no words came, and Martel knew he had beaten her. He turned around demonstratively and began walking away from the earthmage and her warriors, his magic sense extending behind him; at any sign of danger, he was ready to summon his shield or react with a counterspell. Nothing happened. Peacefully, Martel left the bridge district.