Firebrand

Martel woke with a pounding headache, as expected. It had been a while since he last exhausted himself to such a degree. As his senses returned to him, he became aware that he was gently swaying, lying on something hard. Forcing his eyes open, he reconciled this impression with the sight of a sail above him.

He was not surprised; Martel knew that Eleanor would never have allowed the ship to leave without them, or left him behind.

“Welcome back.” The concerned voice belonging to Eleanor reached him, before her face, wearing that same emotion, moved into his field of vision. “It always scares me when you push yourself this far.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Martel mumbled. “The people?”

“Most were able to escape. We built as many rafts as we could. But some of the workers were elsewhere on the island and did not make it to us in time,” she explained. “We had to leave.” Martel tried to sit up, and Eleanor caught him. “You should lie back down.”

“I’m fine.” With a tight hold on her arm, he struggled his way up to stand. Looking around the ship, he saw it covered in people. Like pearls on a string, a score of rafts was tied to the stern, floating behind, each of them likewise carrying as many people as could find room.

And in the distance, the island itself. Even from afar, Martel thought he could feel the heat. If he reached out with his magic, he might be able connect to it again, given how strong a lure it possessed.

“How long did I hold it?” he asked, turning to his companion.

“Hard to tell,” she admitted. “We had some hours from the eruption until we could no longer wait, but I was down by the shore for most of that time. I did not notice straight away that you had…”

“Collapsed.” Martel nodded to himself. Most likely, his efforts had made little difference against such a powerful force. It might not have amounted to more than a few minutes. In fact, it was possible he would have been more useful helping with the rafts, using his empowered strength. “I failed.” “You bought us valuable time. We all thought the burning rock would reach us at once, but it took much longer.” Eleanor’s voice slowly grew soothing, as if she knew where his mind was headed.

Looking out at the rafts, Martel knew this was not the whole town. There would be plantation workers trapped across the island, and probably locals living in villages.

If Martel had been an earthmage, he could have created a ditch to trap or divert the lava away, possibly. Or created a canal, if he was strong with water, to hold it back. But Martel’s strength was fire, the very element spewed forth from the entrails of the earth, and he had felt powerless.

Once again, his eyes swept over the pitiful fleet of refugees, knowing their number was too small. “If I’d been stronger…” The words fell out of his mouth.

“Martel, do not think that way.”

“If I had to, I could have killed everyone. Why couldn’t I save everyone?” He asked a question without an answer, looking at Eleanor with eyes that became misty. Sinking down until he sat with his back against the ship’s railing, he turned his gaze to the deck below his feet.

“Martel, nobody could have. It is folly to blame yourself for what nature did. No mage could have tamed this disaster.” Eleanor knelt next to him, her hand on his neck.

Only Stars knew why, but the visit to Engby came to mind. Martel thought about his family, attacked by soldiers in his absence as punishment for his rebellion. He had failed to be there when they needed him, only arriving too late with a meagre enchantment and bloody gold as gifts, trying to buy himself absolution. “How many died? How many failed to make it to safety in time?”

“Martel, nobody knows, nor is there reason to think like that. Look at all the people we helped save.”

He glanced around the ship. He saw a few old people, and the rest were children. The latter looked scared, or just exhausted. “Did any children die?”

“No.”

Her answer came smoothly, and Martel wanted to believe her; perhaps she even spoke the truth about those in the town. Yet as she had just admitted, they could not possibly know how many had died. Certainly if the island held other settlements than the town, there would have been terrible casualties.

Martel wanted to cry, and he wanted someone to hold him until he felt right. But as he looked at Eleanor, seeing her obvious concern, he felt guilty for indulging in his emotions. “I’m sorry. This must have been a terrible ordeal for you.”

She leaned up against the railing as well. “Keeping the other Asterians from taking the ship and leaving on their own, frantically building rafts while children cry and adults panic, seeing the man I love unconscious on the ground… I have had better days.”

He reached out to grab her hand. “You’re so strong. I’ve never seen you lose your head or succumb to panic.”

“One thing you learn, growing up in a patrician household – or maybe just as the daughter of my father. No matter what you feel, never let anyone see you caught flat-footed.”

“Stars.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “We made it through. We always do. I am not worried.” ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel⸺fire.net

They sailed toward Port Verde, being the closest and most obvious place to seek refuge. While a short journey, it gave time for another conversation, as the town’s magister approached the two Asterian mages with Marcus in tow.

“She’d like to talk,” the mercenary explained. “I said I’d translate.”

“Sure.” The two wizards got on their feet; after sitting down for hours, Martel welcomed stretching his legs. “What is it?”

The magister began speaking, followed by Marcus. “First of all, she says thanks for helping us all get out of there.”

“Of course. We could do nothing less,” Eleanor declared.

“You saw the wizard who threatened us, just before the eruption. Did he cause it?”

Martel had not even considered that, but seeing the anxious look on the magister’s face, he understood her fear. If those opposed to the Consortium possessed such power, they could destroy all of the Western Isles, and apparently, they seemed willing to do so.

Eleanor looked at him, deferring to his expertise as an elemental wizard. “No,” Martel said. “No human could have done this. You might as well try to extinguish the sun.”

The magister spoke again. “You are certain?” Marcus asked.

Was he? Martel did not know how islander magic worked. But he had not sensed any foreign presence, the way he had when entangling with the pirate ship attacking them on the crossing. “No single human,” he corrected himself. “Perhaps if you had dozens of wizards, all able to channel their power together in a ritual, they might have somehow caused a reaction, unleashing it without actually controlling it – but if this faction that opposes you have such numbers and such skill, they would probably have taken over Port Verde by now. I find it more likely they were able to anticipate the eruption and simply made use of this to issue their threat.”

If Martel’s answer eased the magister, he could not tell, but she made no further inquiries. He was not sure if he fully believed his own answer, given the limits on his knowledge of what islander wizardry could do. But this was not a fight for him and Eleanor; they owed nothing to the Consortium, nor did Martel hold much respect for pirates who had tried to sink their ship. Perhaps it was best to cut their time in Port Verde short.