Firebrand

As the ragged fleet reached its destination, its appearance alone drew flocks to the harbour. The ship moored, and with some difficulty, the attached rafts were pulled in to let people onto dry land.

With the docks full of people, Martel and Eleanor tried to be of aid while acknowledging there was little they could accomplish other than helping pull in some rafts. These people needed shelter and food, which the local officials would have to organise. With nothing else to do, they returned to the room made available at the magister’s estate.

After a bath, the Asterian pair rested in bed after their ordeal. “Are we leaving?” Eleanor finally asked. Get full chapters from novel★fire.net

“I think it best. It feels like we’re getting pulled into a conflict that has nothing to do with us. I can’t tell if the Consortium are in the right either, but we’ve been forced to help them twice simply due to circumstances,” Martel considered.

“Which could also make a target out of us. We stand out in this place, after all,” Eleanor mused. “If that wizard on the island recognised us from the crossing, we should expect reprisal.”

“One could hope he didn’t escape in time,” Martel mumbled. “But you’re right. We have the letter of passage, so it’s just a matter of going to the harbour and picking a ship going to our destination. But are we going east or west?”

“I see no reason to take the same journey back to Aster, going east. We have no cause to be homebound already,” Eleanor argued.

“I suppose so, though we’ll have to retread our steps eventually.”

“Not necessarily. If we go west to Cathai, we can follow the old trade routes south, which will eventually take us to Sindhu instead.” She sat up on one elbow, looking at him. “It may be slower finding passage along those routes, with most ships travelling to and from the Isles. But we will avoid taking the same journey twice.” “I should like to see Sindhu. Their alchemy.” Martel looked back at her. “West it is.”

At some point, a knock on the door disturbed them. Sighing, Martel rolled out of bed and walked over to open it, where he found a servant outside.

“Forgive me. The magister asks you to come,” the man said in heavily accented Asterian.

“Alright. Tell him we’ll be right there.” He looked back at Eleanor. “I suppose we need to get properly dressed.”

Soon after, they went to the study of the magister, who awaited them along with Marcus, who held a staff of black wood. “Once again, the Consortium thanks you. You came to the aid of our people in their time of need.”

Martel suppressed the urge to interject that his contribution had been modest at best; no need to indulge in self-pity, especially as Eleanor deserved the accolade. Although he had not witnessed it, he felt certain her cool head and strength had been essential in organising the escape, especially if the other Asterians had tried to take the ship for themselves.

“I am told by Marcus that you went to the island to find a staff suitable for a wizard of your stature,” the magister continued. “Thankfully, the Consortium has its vaults of treasures, and we found something fitting for you.” He waved at the mercenary, who presented the black staff to Martel.

As soon as his hand grasped it, he felt its power. It was not like the Asterian versions, with silver acting as a conduit toward a gem on top. This was pure wood, darker than night, but still imbued with magic. It did have a carving at the top, where a stone of pure black had been inserted. Fireglass, Martel surmised.

“As for the lady, we thought this might be suitable – our own warriors wear such trinkets as this into battle.” The magister opened a small box to reveal a necklace inside. A silver thread with a variety of small gems attached as pendants. Martel reached out with his supernatural sense and felt the magic upon the jewellery, though he could not tell the nature of the enchantment.

“We are most grateful for your generosity,” Eleanor replied with a bow of her head.

“Yeah, thanks,” Martel mumbled, echoing her gesture.

“You are welcome to stay as our guests for as long as you should wish it,” the magister continued.

“That is reassuring to know,” Eleanor told him. “For now, we should like to rest.”

“Of course. Consider your rooms to be your home on the Isles, at your disposal indefinitely.”

Once they had returned to their chambers, the two Asterians looked at each other. “Did it feel as if these gifts were not just tokens of appreciation?” Eleanor considered. “Not to diminish our efforts in aiding the evacuation, but these seem like most valuable artefacts.”

Martel nodded. “It’s a bribe, to make us stay. They’re expecting more trouble, and they’ve seen us being useful already.”

“My thought as well.” Eleanor packed away her new gift. “I assume this does not change our plans.”

“No.” Her companion shook his head. “This isn’t our fight. Let them sort it out.” His hand ran over the smooth wood of his new weapon. “This is a bloody nice staff, though, I’ll give them that.”

They met Marcus at the same taverna as on their first day in Port Verde, ordering enough food for twice their number. Hurried flight from certain death, along with intense spellwork, all helped to build up an appetite, and food had been scarce on the ship when they fled the other island.

Marcus seemed his jovial self, perhaps invigorated by the experience of escaping death. “A terrible shame about all the destruction, of course, and any poor souls that didn’t get out,” he said in between stuffing noodles into his mouth. “But these islanders are strangely calm about it. Some of them seem to almost consider it a sacred event, and I’ve heard about eruptions in the past that gave birth to new islands. Still, doesn’t feel like a blessed moment when you’re standing in it!”

Martel let him talk, focused on his food and letting Eleanor shoulder the task of carrying the conversation. A little unfair, perhaps, but maybe he could make it up to her later. He would look for a present for her at the market; he would have to buy ample supplies of the medicine that helped him against seasickness before they continued onward.

Someone approached their table, interrupting Martel’s thoughts. As he turned to look, he saw a face and heard a voice he did not expect to meet so far from Aster.

“Hail, captain. Legate. I greet you both.”

“Who’s this cat?” Marcus said gruffly, looking at the newcomer.

Martel exhaled, wondering what this meant. “This fellow works for the Imperial administration, specifically military intelligence. Or as you might say, he’s a spy. Wulfstan, what in Sol’s Eye are you doing here?”