The Riddle of Three

As soon as the symbol below Martel's feet lit up, several of the yellow-clad women wielding staves approached him. "No magical items are allowed within the convent, milord. This should have been explained to you." The nun speaking extended her hand.

Martel stared at the palm in front of him. He figured she was waiting for him to hand over any magical artefacts on his person. Hard to do when the magic resided inside his body. "I'm sorry," he stammered, trying to buy time.

"This is a powerful light," remarked another nun, looking at the Tyrian rune beneath their feet. "I can't remember seeing it glow like this before."

The question flew through his mind why they could see the light of the symbol, given that ordinary people could not normally see purely magical effects, but he sensed now was not the time for such a discussion. More and more of the nuns appeared, almost crowding around him. He briefly wondered if he could push them all back with a good wind spell, and how much Sol would condemn him for attacking nuns in a convent.

"Young master, are you a mage?"

Martel noticed the form of address had changed. He felt that boded ill.

"No mages are invited tonight," someone else remarked.

Martel glanced over his shoulder; more members of the clergy, monks included, had gathered to block his retreat. Stars, the inquisition would strangle him alive for using magic on all these men and women of the cloth.

"Is there a problem?" A frail voice, which nonetheless managed to cut through the murmur, reached Martel; the speaker likewise parted the other people to make himself visible and stand before the young mage.

One of the yellow-clad nuns bent down to whisper in the old monk's ear. Meanwhile, Martel took deep breaths while doing his best to pretend that he felt calm.

"Young man, are you a wizard?"

Martel looked at the monk, placing his trust that his status would protect him. "I am."

"Did you come to this place with intentions of violence?"

"No, honourable father, I did not."

"Then by Sol, I swear you shall not be met by violence on these grounds either. But we are causing a stir and interrupting tonight's proceedings. Would you follow me that we may speak with only four eyes present?"

Mollified by the oath, Martel nodded. The old monk briefly whispered in the ear of the nearest nun before he turned around and began to walk across the entrance hall, and the women parted to allow Martel to follow. As he did, he stared at the back of his guide, who felt strangely familiar. It was only when he noticed that the monk wore robes made from velvet rather than wool that he remembered. He had seen him before in the Undercroft; this was the Friar, the Ninth Lord of the temple district.

***

Martel followed the monk a brief distance across the entrance hall, his heart pounding and his eyes searching for an escape route. The Friar led him into a small cell, containing only a bed and a drawer, much like his own room back at the Lyceum. "The good sister will not mind if we borrow it, I'm sure," the old man said as he sat down on the bed. "Will you close the door?"

As Martel did so, he was keenly aware of being trapped inside this small room. But if they came for him, he could threaten the old monk. Since he had sworn by Sol that Martel would be allowed to leave, the mage saw no reason to feel guilty for defending himself.

"A wizard, and so young. The Lyceum has a handful of those, but only one causing so much stir in the city. Did we not meet in the Undercroft?" The Friar smiled while Martel kept silent, afraid that saying anything could be used against him. "But now you run with the Night Knives. I heard about your dust-up at the docks." His smile vanished. "I was disappointed to hear my name had been abused to set up that little affair. Can you guess who I found when I unravelled that thread?"

Martel could, but he stuck to his strategy of silence.

"Powerful enemies for one so young. One reason I wanted to meet you. To understand your character. You must forgive an old man for his curiosity."

"Sure." That felt safe enough to say.

"In fact, before you leave, would you indulge me a little further – are you familiar with the riddle of three?"

"Uh, no."

The Friar smiled again as he looked up at the mage, still standing. "I'm glad to be the one to introduce you. Though riddle is perhaps a poor word. It is more like a question with several answers. It concerns a young acolyte – much like you – who asks the same thing of his three masters."

"Yes?"

"He says to them, 'I know all the reasons for using magic. But what is the best reason to refrain from using it?' The first archmage responds, 'You should preserve your powers when possible, as you never know when the next battle will happen.'" The Friar coughed. "With me so far?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good. The next master replies, 'Always keep your true powers hidden and others guessing.' And the third says, 'Power is a privilege, only to be used when there is no better way.' Now I ask the same of you," the old monk continued. "Which of these answers would be yours?"

Martel considered the options. He could just say something, but that might upset the Friar, which seemed unwise. Better to give a measured response. The first answer made him think of Moira, preserving spellpower and talking of battles. The second sounded like something Master Alastair might say, with his subtle ways and clever spells. The last reminded Martel of Master Fenrick, whom he rarely if ever saw use a spell, yet the lore master knew more about magic than anyone else.

"The last one," Martel finally said.

The Friar gave him a scrutinising look, making the mage wonder what thoughts churned behind the wrinkly brow. "Very well. Thank you for letting me know. Please, don't let me keep you any longer."

The whole conversation had felt almost bizarre, but Martel was not going to question his luck. He inclined his head and opened the door, quickly leaving.

Appearing in the doorframe to the cell, the Friar watched the young wizard leave. One of the yellow-clad nuns appeared by his side. "You were right. A thief entered while we were busy with the mage. They broke into the vault. We're in pursuit."

"Follow the mage as well."

"Already done."