Firebrand

Sailing east from Morcaster was a familiar trip. At times, Martel recognised the coastline and had the occasional talk with Eleanor about it. Their moments of recognition grew as they approached the Savena delta, and their conversation inversely decreased until, as they sailed past Esmouth, neither spoke. The bridge between the banks were gone; the town still stood on the eastern shore, but the walls of the legion camp on the western had been torn down. As their ship continued past the delta, they had reached Khivan waters.

They sailed for Anzalazh, the nearest port city. Martel knew nothing of it, other than envoys from Aster and Khiva had spent over a year negotiating terms for a permanent peace.

“Why the delay?” Martel asked. “It took me less than a month to negotiate an end to our civil war,” he pointed out, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied look.

“You answered to nobody. The envoys had to send messages back to their respective capitals for every significant development,” Wulfstan pointed out.

“Is there really that much to discuss? We have a natural border. We just agree to stay on each other’s side,” Martel argued.

“With respect, captain…” The spy did not finish his sentence, perhaps deciding that the best show of respect would be silence.

“It is not that simple,” Eleanor interjected, taking over. “We declared war – do the Khivans demand reparations for accepting peace? Will we open trade, and if so, under what terms? Will there be an exchange of hostages to ensure the peace, or other shows of good faith?”

“Hostages? Like who, the emperor’s family? Or a pair of mages?” Martel looked at Wulfstan. “That better not be why we’re being sent there. I’ll not take kindly to that.”

“Sir Martel, I assure you, my only intention is for you to sign that document and leave. To the full extent of my knowledge, those are the sole intentions of everyone.” “I notice you modified your statement rather heavily instead of just stating, ‘No, don’t worry, nobody wants that’,” Martel pointed out.

The spy shrugged. “In my work, you quickly learn that nothing is certain, least of all one’s knowledge about other people’s affairs and plans.”

“To wit, how will we be quartered? What precautions are being taken to ensure our safety?” Eleanor asked, a tad sharply.

“The Asterian delegation has a house rented with chambers for you. All the staff are Asterian too,” Wulfstan reassured her. “Once the Khivan king arrives, the signing will take three days.”

“Three days?” Martel exclaimed. “How long does it take for anyone to sign a piece of parchment?”

“Martel, this is a formal occasion. You are not borrowing money to buy a donkey,” Eleanor chastised him.

Wulfstan cleared his throat. “Indeed. First day, you’ll meet the king to be acknowledged as envoys. Second day, the actual signing. Third day, a celebration.”

“Fine. Anything else we should know?” ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ noⅴelfire.net

“Just what you would expect. The Khivans are skittish about magic. I’d avoid any display of your power.”

“Heard that before,” Martel mumbled. In the distance, the walls of a city began to appear.

Anzalazh had a large harbour, though half the piers stood empty; except for a few fishing vessels, the only other ships were galleys of war. Although their cannon ports were closed, Martel knew the destructive power each of these crafts held; his first encounter in the war had been to sink one of them, and another had threatened him and Eleanor one fateful night crossing the Savena to reach Esmouth. He felt unsettled seeing the ships anchored, even if he knew they posed no threat; he imagined it would take a long while before Asterians and Khivans felt comfortable around each other again.

A large gathering of the locals awaited them on land as they disembarked and walked down the pier. An honour guard or just soldiers to guard them; either could be the case. Martel felt Eleanor tense up next to him, her body becoming rigid compared to her usual grace. As for himself, he let his magic sweep out to gather information.

Some of the Khivans wore gold, but only as jewellery; the magistrate of the city, probably, or the envoy of the shah. The soldiers wielded spears but no weapons made of gold, nor any muskets in sight.

Martel noticed two other things to awaken his curiosity – or suspicion. Ahead, where the pier met firm land, he sensed magic. Tyrian in nature, which only made it seem stranger. In addition, the spy that walked two steps behind him had a small box or such made from gold.

Getting closer, Martel recognised it to be a rune of revelation. “What’s that about?” he whispered to Eleanor.

“How do you prevent magic entering the country?” she replied. “It’s not for us but to check those bringing goods into Khiva.”

It seemed that the Khivans made an exception about magic, as long as it was to stop magic. Martel hid a smile as they reached the delegation waiting for them.

The man in the most expensive clothes greeted them in words they did not understand. Next to him, a Khivan in uniform – Martel knew enough to recognise him as a lieutenant – spoke as well, this time in Asterian. “On behalf of His Majesty, King Kurus, we bid you welcome. You are our honoured guests.”

He added various other courtesies, which Martel did not pay attention to. Instead, he scrutinised the faces of each Khivan present. Most kept a blank expression, especially the soldiers, though a few looked displeased. As for the civilians, they seemed anxious or uncomfortable. More or less what he would expect; just in case, he kept a shield spell ready in his mind.

“Please convey our warmest gratitude for this welcome and the hospitality extended to us,” Eleanor said, leaving Martel grateful that she always handled these conversations.

More pleasantries were exchanged before the Khivans parted to the sides, showing a path to an awaiting carriage. As the pair of mages stepped forward, the rune on the ground glowed with a powerful light that made several of the Khivans flinch; a few soldiers began to lower their spears before arresting themselves, and one of the city’s dignitaries fell backward.

The Khivan lieutenant barked a few words in his own language. “My apologies, honoured guests,” he continued. “Despite knowing this would happen, not all were prepared. Few if any of us have ever seen the seal become active.”

“No harm done,” Martel replied. “We best be on our way.”

“Of course. Your carriage awaits.”

Moments later, the two mages began driving through the city. Belatedly, Martel realised that Wulfstan had not joined them.