Firebrand

Martel remained quiet on the trip back to their house; he did not wish to discuss his thoughts with the other Asterians present or Khivans marching outside the carriage, including the lieutenant who understood the language. He spent the hour’s drive going over his observations, connecting them, until he could be alone with Eleanor.

“Did you notice anything odd?” he asked her.

“A different ceremony from how we would do it, but customs do vary from place to place. Why do you ask?”

“All these little things. It might have nothing to do with us, but I thought it might be worth mentioning.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I think the king is sick. That mask is not just vanity. He’s hiding it, from us or his own people.”

She sat down on the bed in their chamber. “Your reasons for believing so?”

Martel took a seat on the nearest chair, facing her. “His movements seemed stiff and slow. The air was so heavy with perfume, but I could smell it. Same odour as an infirmary after battle. Flesh rotting away. And his glove had a bloodstain on it. Surely they would have given him a clean glove if they knew, but I think his illness means he doesn’t feel pain.”

“What manner of disease might cause that?”

Martel cleared his throat. “Leprosy.” Eleanor widened her eyes. “That would explain why he hides his condition. I cannot imagine Khivan politics are more forgiving than ours.”

“Indeed. I don’t think it’s got anything to do with us – how could it? – but I thought it interesting.” ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by NoveI(F)ire.net

“Wait. What if it does have something to do with us?” she suggested.

He frowned. “How so?”

“You mentioned that the spy had a golden box on him, smuggling it into Khiva. We thought he might carry a poison in such a small container, but it could be the opposite. A potion, to cure the king’s illness!” She stared at him with a triumphant smile.

“That seems farfetched.” Martel’s voice revealed his scepticism. “Why would this king reveal his illness to Aster, not to mention ask them for a cure?”

“Where else to get one? Only alchemy or a powerful healer like Master Kelsos can cure leprosy. Is that not so?”

“True, but they could just get one from Sindhu. Someone they haven’t been at war with for over a decade.”

Eleanor’s smile only became brighter. “The Sindhians refuse to sell magic to Khivans. They have, ever since the latter banned it from their own lands. You will not find any Sindhian master of alchemy able to make such an elixir who would also defy the ban.”

“Unless she’s in Aster,” Martel realised. “Mistress Rana made that potion, and Wulfstan smuggled it into Khiva, so the king’s own people won’t know he’s getting forbidden magic to heal himself.” He laughed. “That’s why it had to be us signing the treaty!”

“Of course!” Eleanor had the same realisation. “All eyes were on us, activating the seal when we arrived. If the gold could not keep the potion hidden, it would not matter.”

“A lot suddenly falls into place. Why the negotiations took so long – this must have been quite the scheme to orchestrate, getting a cure to the king with his own people none the wiser.”

“Just the fact that the Khivan negotiators would ask for this – so few people could be allowed to know, whether about the king’s illness or his search for healing. I wonder what our envoys got in return for ensuring this.”

“Well, it does mean the Khivans aren’t planning on killing us as some kind of intricate revenge. Actually, come to think of it, I’m a little annoyed. They made us sail back across the entire Western Sea for this.”

“I suppose no other wizard could plausibly be invited, and no lesser diversion would ensure the potion got ashore undetected,” Eleanor speculated.

“Maybe,” Martel conceded. “I guess if any Asterians tried to cross into Khiva any other way, carrying something magical, they’d get executed on the spot. Well, that’s a mystery solved. Two more days and we’re done with this charade.”

The next morning, they gathered in the small yard of their residence, awaiting the carriage like yesterday. Dark clouds threatened to bring more rain, and Martel had no decent cloak to ward off the precipitation. He could perhaps use his magic to discreetly heat up his clothes and dry them, but that seemed a frivolous use of his powers, especially in the current location and circumstances.

“Strange. The lieutenant was punctual yesterday,” Eleanor remarked. The agreement was to meet at the eighth hour. Martel stepped inside the entrance hall of their home and glanced at its clock; the hands now pointed to thirty minutes after.

“All those watches are only useful if you look at them,” he spoke as he returned to the others. “Half an hour late, so far.”

The Asterians milled about, engaging in idle conversation. A few looked up and made comments similar to Martel’s thoughts on the weather. At least they would be indoors for most of the day’s ceremony, as the treaty was to be signed in a guildhall. No walking around a muddy camp.

Finally, heavy knocking on the gate. The guard opened the spyhole before removing the crossbeam to allow a carriage entry. Padmani jumped down from behind; Martel noticed the lack of an honour guard, not to mention the lieutenant’s anxious expression.

“Please, everyone, inside. We must leave at once.”

The other Asterians did as commanded, except for Martel and Eleanor. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“We must hurry,” he simply urged them rather than give an answer. “We have to get out of the city with all speed.”

“If plans have changed, we are not going anywhere without an explanation,” Eleanor declared.

The lieutenant looked down at the smaller yet formidable mageknight; Martel took a step to stand next to her, making Padmani look up at him. “A plot has been discovered to kill the shah – or you. Probably both. I’m taking you to him now.”

“Where’s your soldiers? Are they suspected?”

“No, but they can’t protect against this.” He lowered his voice. “The guildhall – the conspirators have brought in barrels of powder. They meant to ignite it once you and the shah were close.”

“Very well.” Eleanor looked at Martel. “Let us away. With these plans foiled, they might try other means.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Danger has already passed, it sounds like.” Martel made toward the carriage, as did she.

“It hasn’t!” Padmani immediately lowered his voice as he spoke again. “The traitors are holed up at the guildhall right now, with torches! They’re demanding free passage to a ship, or they’ll blow it up. The whole city will burn, so we must leave now!”

Eleanor responded as expected, hurrying to the carriage, whereas Martel arrested his movements. The entire situation became clear to him. He was the sole person who was not in danger; fire could not hurt him. And while he owed these Khivans nothing – in fact, a good handful of them had shouted for his blood not long ago – thousands of innocent people would be caught in the ensuing blaze such an explosion would cause.

“Will you get aboard?” shouted one of the Asterians, who evidently had heard the whole thing.

“Quiet,” Martel simply commanded. He looked at Eleanor. “I have to go there. I’m the only one who can stop it.”

“Do not do this to me,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Eleanor, fire can’t hurt me.”

“Fine. We shall both go.”

“No. It can certainly hurt you. I’m not at risk, but you are.”

“And if someone recognises you on the way there? They will not be aware of your purpose. They will see the hated battlemage and attack you.”

“If I must kill a few to save the rest, so be it. Eleanor, please. We have no time,” he impressed on her. “I can’t do this if failure means you burn alive.”

Padmani had so far been looking at them back and forth, his face expressing nothing but questions. “You have the power to stop the madmen? Your magic?”

“Yes. Where’s the guildhall? I’ll go now, and you take the others to the camp.”

“I’ll take you myself,” the lieutenant declared. “I will keep you safe, sir.” He looked at Eleanor. “I swear by the Eternal Flame. You should go.”

She grabbed Martel’s head to kiss him. “I expect you with us as soon as you can.” She jumped onto the carriage, and the lieutenant gave the driver an order in Khivan, who set the horses into motion.

Padmani turned to Martel. “Follow me.”