After the initial time spent drifting in and out of consciousness as the antidote began moving through his blood-stream, Martel spends a lot of time sincerely wishing he was still in that state over constantly bursting the stitches in his back when he's messily ill into the tin bucket by the bed. Nitral's personal physician stays with him through ( Read more... )

Just as he told his wife, Martel has no intention of going into battle - if it should become necessary, he's willing, but the Arums have an able commander already. He serves another purpose, and even if chafes at him to be cloistered in the ducal palace playing at diplomat when he could be on a horse with a sword drawn- that's not what he's there ( Read more... )

Winter is a miserable time to go to war - in particular due to winter being a miserable time to tramp down from the mountains - but the frost should have broken at least by the time they're passing Maghu, and between then and now Martel ought to have plenty of time to regret agreeing to this. It's a profitable thing, though, and God knows it's ( Read more... )

One of Martel's worst habits - in the opinion of the poor sod who gets to take care of it when his lordship can't reach the burns to clean them up on his own - is probably the fact that he appears to firmly believe few enchantments could fail to be improved by the involvement of fire. This one, though, this one needs it ( Read more... )

The trip to England - and then onto France - was a good idea, Martel knows. Having spent the past year devoting himself to establishment, he's missed all the things about traveling that gave him the wanderlust he had as a younger man in the first place. It's good to get away from 48 hour work days for a while, to be a little out of reach, to be so ( Read more... )

( The muffled metallic thud of a coin purse hitting the table interrupted his thoughts, and his gaze met that of the white-haired knight in front of him. )

( Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been thirteen years since my last confession. )

Some months ago, Martel hired Master Snape to handle the full warding of his Valdis property; to protect it, and to hide it from prying and unfriendly eyes. To put not too fine a point on it, between the two of them there is enough paranoia and sheer power to arm a small country, and when - after many weeks and much work - the wards are complete, ( Read more... )

After years of exile, something about riding through Elenia gave Martel an unpleasantly familiar feeling between his shoulderblades. All of the bridges had been burned, and he didn't belong any more; he fancied the land knew it as well as he did. His thrice-damned 'traveling companions' didn't make the trip any more palatable - if anything, less - ( Read more... )

"Nothing?" he demands of Ewar, without preamble, taking the stairs at a speed that forces even the well-trained Arum to hurry in keeping up with him ( Read more... )