The Wrong Tool

Walking through the city with its endless monotony, nothing around them distracted Martel from the creeping sense of dread slowly overtaking him. They might very well be too late, making this entire ordeal worthless. Turning back no longer felt like a possibility; he was not certain they could find the way back. But if they emerged in the city too late, they would be trapped inside a city locked down and under heavy watch, with no good options for re-joining their own forces. He had been so confident in this plan, dragging Eleanor into it as well; now he feared that he had thrown everything away.

"Something ahead," Eleanor warned him. "How curious."

Martel strained his eyes, increasing his light a little more. He finally realised what he was looking at. An earthen wall stretched across the street, blocking the progress. "How did this come to happen?" she wondered. "Everything else is so straight and untouched."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "An earthmage raised that. This is where we were ambushed." He smiled, despite the unpleasant memories. "We are on the right street."

They walked closer to examine the obstacle. It rose to the height of two men, the earth too smooth to allow any place to climb. "Help me," Eleanor requested.

Martel cupped his hands for her to step on, and with empowering magic, she leapt up to grab the edge of the wall and climb on top of it. On the ground, Martel jumped up as well and caught her outstretched hand before she swung him up next to her. They each lowered themselves down on the other side and dropped the last distance.

"Are those… bodies?" Eleanor looked around at the clear remains of a skirmish. Rotting corpses lay scattered around the street with the occasional broken weapon or arrow. "You did not exaggerate when you called it an ambush."

"No. An earthmage raised that wall to prevent our escape." Martel pointed in the direction of the copper lanes. "They took position there, archers and fighters, trapping us." The memories were impossible to avoid standing in this place, but Martel held firm. He would not lose control of himself again. "Let's move on. We are not far from the entrance."

Perhaps sensing his unease, Eleanor took hold of his hand; together, they continued onwards.

***

Martel could have cried tears of joy as he saw the door. It looked entirely ordinary, yet he had never been so pleased to see an item of this kind. His worst fear had been that they would never find the way out, and they would become two more corpses, rotting on the streets of the Undercroft. "It's probably locked, but that shouldn't stop us."

"A swift kick should remedy that," Eleanor declared. She walked up to the door and smashed her boot against it. It did nothing but cause it to creak slightly. They exchanged a confused look before Eleanor sighed. "Gold. It is lined with gold."

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Suppressing a burst of panic, Martel pressed his hands against the wooden boards and sent his magic into them. It did not come far before feeling an impenetrable field, cold to his senses. She was right. "We're not going to let a door stop us," he declared, trying mostly to convince himself. "Maybe there is an axe back at the location of the ambush. We could run back and search for one."

"If there is not, we have wasted a lot of time. Better we choose a slower method certain to work." She drew her dagger and struck downwards into the wood that surrounded the handle to scratch it. Again and again, she hit it to splinter the board. This would take ages, Martel realised, but he had no better suggestion.

As the moments dragged on, he stepped back to let Eleanor work. Looking at the door, he tried to think of any other method that might be faster. The hinges were on the other side. Maybe some part of the wood was not protected by gold? If Martel could find that and ignite it to create a real fire, it would consume the whole door.

His considerations were for naught as the door suddenly swung open, knocking both of them backwards. On the other side, they saw a small room with a staircase beyond, both crowded with armed henchmen. "Who's that trying to break down my door?"

Gritting his teeth as he recognised the voice, Martel stepped forward that he might be seen through the entrance. "It's me."

Kerra's voice overflowed with honey. "The Copper Mage!"

Martel felt Eleanor give him a look. He looked up at the ruler of the copper lanes, standing halfway up the stairs with a dozen armed guards in front of her. "Kerra. We are in a hurry. Stand aside and let us pass."

"Just a moment. Matters have changed since we last met. From all I hear, you are a rebel now. Simply turning a blind eye might imperil me and mine, should it be discovered."

"If you want, I can kill you all with a single spell. Saves you the trouble of making a decision."

"Perhaps you can, but that is bound to attract a lot of attention. Witnesses screaming and fleeing in every direction, yelling about the Firebrand. Considering how the soldiers of the city feel about you, I assume you're not keen to draw their attention." She spoke with that smirk on her face that Martel absolutely detested.

"I can also burn down the entire tavern. I'd like to see you all try to outrun fire and magic."

"Instead of resorting to violence, why don't we come to an agreement?"

"Be very quick."

"Given your sudden appearance here while your five legions are camped outside the walls, I can guess as to your purpose. Now I am happy to stay silent and let you do what you need to do, but I should like to ask for a little something in return."

"I said to be quick."

"Your friendship. If the city changes hands, I should like to be friends with its new ruler. And have your protection against those who threaten me."

The lives of the Nine Lords had not changed, Martel noticed. Schemes, threats, and an endless cycle of violence. But he realised that making promises cost him nothing. As soon as he was out of her tavern, she would have no leverage over him. "Agreed. Now stand aside."

Kerra smiled. "Friends, let these good people pass."

They obeyed, and Martel practically leapt up the stairs, ignoring the urge to punch Kerra's teeth from her smiling mouth as he passed her. With Eleanor right behind him, he quickly found his way through the tavern, still familiar to him, until they reached the backyard. He had not wanted to ask Kerra about the hour, giving her any kind of information she might use against them, and he pushed the doors open to run outside.

He found the moon shining upon him, but nothing else. Dawn had yet to arrive. He almost laughed with relief. They were not too late. Morcaster could still be theirs.