Book 7: Chapter 43: Hidden gems
They quickly disembarked, leaving the dockworkers to their task. “We’ll stay with the magister. Her house got rooms, and it’s her responsibility to entertain guests of the Consortium,” Marcus explained as they made their way through the town. From the houses, women and children emerged, all staring unashamedly. Martel wondered at this, considering they had to be familiar with Asterians; he even saw two of them standing guard outside the warehouse as they passed it by.
It took him a little while to realise the centre of their attention was Eleanor; all the other Asterians these townspeople knew, probably had ever seen, were men. While not dressed for war but simply for travel, she carried a sword by her side. Martel smiled to himself, wondering what the islanders made of the mageknight.
“I’ll have work to do with the magister,” Marcus continued his explanations, “but I suggest you go east along the coast. You’ll find lovely beaches. Don’t stray into the forest,” he warned them. “It’s dense and easy to get lost. And whenever you feel hungry, just come back to the town.” He turned his head to smile at them as they walked alongside him.
“It sounds like an excellent plan,” Eleanor assented.
After briefly being introduced to the magister, the travellers left their belongings, along with Marcus, at her house to explore. The town itself offered little of interest; it was just a collection of houses for the Consortium workers, along with a few fishermen, a blacksmith, and the like. Still followed by a few curious glances, the two Asterians took Marcus’ advice and walked east, opposite the direction of the logging taking place outside the settlement.
The weather was hot; they walked along the edge of the forest to gain shade, but even so, Martel removed his robe, walking only in his undergarments. Eleanor soon followed his example. Passing a small brook, they slaked their thirst in the fresh water. Birds of the most colourful plumes watched them from branches, giving sounds. Other animals scurried about, though the undergrowth hid them, to Martel’s disappointment; after discovering elephants existed, he wondered what other creatures might live on these islands unknown to him.
Eventually, they reached the beach as promised. White sands continued as far as they could see, with waters so blue, it almost hurt their eyes. Eleanor did not hesitate; she ran until she could make a graceful leap and dive under.
His skill in swimming leaving much to be desired, Martel simply waded out into the water. When it reached his knees, he lowered himself down to enjoy the difference of the hot sun and the cool sea. As his eyes found it easier to handle the glare, he looked at Eleanor to enjoy her form as she swam with powerful strokes.
“What?” she called out, noticing his stare. “You can’t blame me for looking at the most beautiful thing in sight,” he replied.
She laughed and splashed water in his direction before diving under again. Martel laughed as well. He forgot about magic or being a battlemage, about war and suffering; there was only the sun and the sea, and he was nothing but a young man, watching the woman he loved swim circles around him.
Once hunger announced its arrival, they did as suggested and walked back toward the town. Much of the day had passed, to Martel’s surprise; he had not noticed the passage of time at all until Eleanor pointed out that sunset would not be far away.
In the waning light, they returned to the small settlement. Walking up the main road, along which the homes stood in rows, they quickly noticed a gathering of people outside the magister’s house.
Voices spoke in the islander tongue, leaving the travellers none the wiser. As they approached, they saw, besides the townspeople, both the magister and Marcus in the small crowd, along with the other Asterian guards. They looked grim, and all their attention was on an islander standing in front of them, speaking loud words.
Martel flinched, recognising the speaker; it was the islander wizard who had attacked their ship on the crossing. Next to him, Eleanor grabbed the hilt of her sword and drew it; she had noticed the same thing.
Despite the presence of an enemy, Martel restrained his spellcasting; the wizard did not seem to be performing any magic himself. Martel did not know what was going on, but striking the first blow seemed wrong; to do so was the instinct of a battlemage, but until battle actually broke out, Martel suppressed that instinct.
The magister gave some manner of reply, and the argument ended; the wizard turned and left. It did not seem a resolution as such though; the townspeople did not scatter or return home but muttered among themselves, and Marcus exchanged hushed words with the magister, who looked anxious.
“What is happening?” Eleanor asked.
“Our – visitor – is among those opposed to the Consortium. He came to warn us that we’ve displeased their gods or some nonsense,” Marcus explained. “Which to me just sounds like him and his mates are planning an attack they want to blame on higher powers.” He glanced at Martel. “I swear, I had no idea about this. These fellows aren’t usually this bold.”
“We’ve met him. He was on the ship that attacked ours,” Martel said in a curt voice. While he believed Marcus, he felt growing frustration at being embroiled in this conflict. He was not keen to be in this unfortified town with a band of zealots hiding in the surrounding forest with unknown magic at their disposal.
“We need to fortify the magister’s house,” Eleanor declared, ever the tactician. “And these people should return home and bar the doors. What would their target be? The goods in the warehouse? If so, let them have it. It is not worth our lives.”
“Well, it is my task to protect them, but I have less than ten guards. Won’t do much against a wizard,” Marcus mumbled. He glanced at the two mages in his company. “Unless… no, got it,” he quickly added, noticing their expressions. “Not your fight. I’ll tell the magister we’ll barricade in her home. Get the lads in there as well. We’ll get through the night and make new plans in the morning, once we know what’s happened.”
“Agreed.” Martel looked at the magister, who spoke little Asterian; insufficient to have understood the conversation, but she listened intently as Marcus spoke to her in the islander tongue.
Their conversation and plans all became disrupted by a sound so loud, it made their ears bleed, as if the heavens themselves had become torn apart and the stars thrown to the earth.
For a moment, Martel thought this was some terrible spell cast on all of them; looking around, he saw the townspeople and his companions showing the same distress he felt, all of them with blood dripping out of their ears.
As his eyes searched around, they turned inland, and he finally understood. This was not an island with a mountain at its centre; it was a volcano, currently in eruption.