Enchanted Hours

Martel stared at the black liquid inside the jar, barely visible, and entirely hidden once he placed the lid back on. Yet he could feel it, coiled like a viper about to attack. It longed for fire, to burst into flames. Martel let his magic sense wash over the oily substance, connecting to it. This part was easy, especially after his work with Sindhian and Tyrian magic. The difficult part, as usual, was control. Feeding fire magic through the bridge to settle in the liquid without actually igniting it.

Whenever Martel tried, one of two things happened. The oil caught fire immediately, or it never did, no matter how much Martel shook the pot around. The idea was that the viscous liquid would be at the bursting point, ready to ignite once Martel removed the lid on the jar and allowed air to flow inside.

Grumbling to himself, Martel was tempted to set it aside and spend the bell relaxing. He could cast fire bolt spells all day; did he really need to have another in a jar?

His annoyance lasted a few moments longer before he sighed, knowing such feelings were childish. Master Jerome was right. Martel had known magical exhaustion on more than one occasion, leaving him entirely unable to conjure the slightest effect. If that happened again while surrounded by enemies – and the battlefield did seem a location that would fulfil those criteria – having a spell in reserve might save his life. Pulling himself together, Martel gave it another try.

***

Afterwards, Martel had some time before his afternoon meeting with Eleanor, and he decided to make the most of it. He had not seen Julia in a long time; he expected she would be home in the middle of the day, and she could probably use some money for supplies. Of course, Martel knew that she most likely stole what she needed, so she did not depend on his charity as such; but if he gave her the coins for it, she would not take the risk of stealing, and some poor trader would not lose their goods.

Swiftly, Martel traversed the market to reach the harbour district and Julia's insula. As he knocked on her door, his assumption was proven correct; the girl was home and opened the door for him to enter.

"Sorry it's been a while. I came by the other day, but you weren't home."

"Had to fetch water." She glanced at the jar in the room, nearly full.

"Of course. Here's a few eagles for you." Martel extended his hand to let some coins drop into hers. "Do you need more sleeping draughts?"

"I wouldn't mind another."

He nodded. "I don't have time or reagents with me, but I'll bring some for my next visit, and we can make you more."

"Don't rush. There's lots of the blue-cloaked people about." She looked at him with her big eyes; her expression seemed vacant, where he might have expected fear or concern. She was a strange child, but given her experiences, Martel could not fault her for that.

"Yes. They're hunting the evil sorcerer that plagues Morcaster. He struck again, down by the piers. You should avoid that area."

"I will. I don't want them to see me."

Martel considered the maleficar a far greater threat than the inquisitors, but he could see why she might think otherwise. "Don't worry. They seem to have left again. I went by and saw no sign of them. It's the evil mage you should be on the lookout to avoid."

"What about the blue man who hunts me?"

He frowned. "Who?"

"He's one of them inquisitors. But he travels alone. His eyes are hazy, and he can't really speak. He got my parents. He's always trying to get me." She suddenly shivered.

Martel recalled that Julia had spoken of such a fellow, long ago, but there had been no sign of him. "I've not noticed anybody like that." It sounded like this zealot was perhaps near-sighted; Martel doubted such an inquisitor posed much threat to anyone, or that anyone actually hunted Julia. "I'll let you know if I see him, but there's no inquisitors around. You're safe."

"Alright."

Her voice, devoid of emotion, made it impossible for Martel to tell whether she believed him or simply indulged him. He gave her the most reassuring smile he could.

***

After hastening back, Martel met up with Eleanor in the library. It was very satisfying to open the door to the upper floors himself; he placed his hand on the inscribed rune of attraction, spoke the activating word, and the door clung to his fingers as he pulled back.

Upstairs, Eleanor had already collected some manuscripts and texts that might yield insight into Tyrian runes, in particular if they possessed healing powers. For a bell, they combed through travel tales, treatises on magic, and anything else they could find. Eleanor had received a list from Master Fenrick of the most likely candidates worth reading, but as the bell rang, they could only cross out a few entries.

Nothing so far had related to their specific search, but Martel had come across more than a few interesting fragments, discussing runes that might be possible for him to cast. He made a note of each detailing what he had learned; while the books never delved into the actual symbols or commanding words, just knowing of their existence would be a starting point.

"I'm sorry we didn't find anything," Martel said as they began clearing the table. "But there's still lots of titles left on Master Fenrick's list."

"I am certainly not giving up yet. Will I see you next Solday?"

"Count on it."

***

Leaving the library to go back to his room took Martel through the entrance hall, where a message waited for him.

You have your meeting.

Tomorrow evening, seventh bell.

Shrine of Saint Laurentius.

The Keeper had done his part. And the meeting place was well chosen; it would remind the Friar of what Martel had done for him. Tomorrow, the young wizard would demand an explanation from the old monk as to why the maleficar still roamed the streets and tunnels of Morcaster with impunity.