Firebrand 8: The Sage by D.E. Olesen

Author:D.E. Olesen [Olesen, D.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2025-10-29T00:00:00+00:00

FORTY-EIGHT

MAXIMILIAN OF MARCHE

The two wizards stared at each other. They were of even height, both dark-haired, but they had no other similarities. One thin of frame, even under his mail, the other broad-shouldered. A staff and full armour compared to silk and linen with only a knife. Haggard as opposed to well-composed. Scraggly beard against clean-shaven. Different expressions filled with a host of emotions, though neither easy to read. And all around them, the common room flowed with customers, ignorant of the silent exchange happening between the two former comrades.

“It’s really you.”

“When I heard that you had returned, alone no less, I thought your expedition had foundered. But I am told you set sail at all speed.”

“I do. The settlement is thriving. We’re eager to begin mining iron for that reason.” Martel raised his voice loudly, should anybody else be listening.

“You have truly done it, then. Restored a city from ruin, drawing it out of legend’s shadow.”

“Not on my own.”

“I was angry at you for years, Martel.” The mageknight glanced around before he looked back at the battlemage.

“Was?”

“Even after you left Morcaster. See, each time I thought I could forget, I heard a new tale about you. You and Eleanor, of course.”

“She is well, in case you wondered.”

Maximilian did not seem to listen. “Meanwhile, I sat in my father’s house, doing nothing. All his plans for me ruined. All that effort wasted. He has his seat in the Senate, of course, but it does him little good. And each time he saw me, it reminded him of failure.”

Martel blinked, wondering if this was worth foregoing sleep.

“I tried. The Tenth would not let me join them. No trust in a former praetorian. The northern legions have no need for me either. The Tyrians are remarkably docile, it seems, after someone put them in their place. I finally thought about going somewhere far away. Sindhu, the Western Isles, Cathai… but of course, you have been all those places. Would I simply follow in your footsteps?”

“Max, what is this? I’m tired. Do you want an apology? An explanation? A promise I won’t go some particular place, so you may have it?”

“Do you recall my secret?” The mageknight stepped close as he spoke, whispering the final word.

Martel did. Maximilian was blessed with the gift of healing, the rarest talent among mages. He had never been as envious in his life as when he discovered that. “Yes. What of it?”

“It is all I have left. The only way I can distinguish myself. Make a mark free of my father, even free of your shadow. But if I reveal this in Aster, people will know I lied all my life, training as a mageknight instead.” Max’s eyes stared into Martel. “Or they will think I am lying now. Either way, it would not be auspicious.”

“So what do you want?”

“This city of yours. This school you intend to make, as I understand. Will there be an infirmary?”

“Of course. People get injured or sick anywhere.”

Maximilian smiled, though nothing like the boy that Martel had once known.

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